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“Working late?”
Startled by the unexpected intrusion, she nearly dropped the phone. She looked up to find Charles standing in the doorway between their two offices. She couldn’t help but wonder how long he’d been standing there watching her.
“I’m sorry, what?” she said, setting the phone back in the cradle.
Her reaction seemed to amuse him. “I asked if you’re working late.”
She looked at her watch and realized that it was nearly eight p.m. She’d worked clear through lunch and dinner. “I guess I lost track of the hour.”
“You’re not required to work overtime.”
“I have a lot of work to catch up on.” Besides, she would much rather have been busy working than sitting home alone in the flat she had been forced to rent when her father could no longer afford to keep the family estate. Since she was born, that house had been the only place she had ever called home. But there was a new family living there now. Strangers occupying the rooms that were meant to belong to her own children some day.
Every time she set foot in her new residence, it was a grim, stark reminder of everything they had lost. And Charles, she reminded herself, was the catalyst.
He held up what she assumed was to be her new phone. The most expensive, state-of-the-art gadget on the market. “Before Penelope left she brought this in.”
She felt a sudden wave of alarm. His secretary was gone? Meaning they were alone?
She wondered who else was in the building, and if working alone with him was wise. She barely knew him.
“Is everyone gone?” she asked in a voice that she hoped sounded nonchalant.
“This is a law firm. There’s always someone working late on a case or an intern pulling an overnighter. If it’s safety you’re concerned about, the parking structure is monitored by cameras around the clock, and we employ a security detail in the lobby twenty-four seven.”
“Oh, that’s good to know.” Still, as he walked toward her desk to hand her the mobile phone, she tensed the tiniest bit. He was just so tall and assuming. So…there.
“It’s a PDA as well as a phone. And you can check e-mail and browse the Internet. If you take it to Nigel in tech support on the fourth floor tomorrow morning, he’ll set everything up for you.”
“Okay.” As she took it from him their fingers touched and she had to force herself not to jerk away. It was barely a brush; still, she felt warmth and electricity shoot across the surface of her skin. Which made no sense considering how much she disliked him.
“I’ve been going through your phone messages,” she told him. “Your mother called. Many times.”
“Well, there’s a surprise,” he said, a definite note of exasperation in his voice. “I should probably warn you that when it comes to dealing with my mother, you have to be firm or she’ll walk all over you.”
“I can do that.” Being firm had never been a problem for her. In fact, there had been instances when she’d been accused of being too firm. A necessity for any woman in a position of power. She had learned very early in her career how not to let people walk all over her.
“Good.” He glanced at his watch. “I’m on my way out, and since it would seem that neither of us has eaten yet, why don’t you let me take you out to dinner?”
First a lunch invitation, now dinner? Couldn’t he take no for an answer? “No, thank you.”
Her rejection seemed to amuse him. He shrugged and said, “Have it your way.”
What was that supposed to mean? Whose way did he expect her to have it? His?
“I’m going to the dry cleaners tomorrow to pick up your laundry,” she said. “Do you have anything dirty at home that I should take with me?”
“I do, actually. My housekeeper is off tomorrow morning but I’ll try to remember to set it by the door before I leave for work. Would you like my car to pick you up?”
“I can drive myself.” Her father had always had a driver—until recently, anyway—but she never had felt comfortable having someone chauffer her around. She was too independent. She liked to be in control of her environment and her destiny. Which had been much easier when her father owned the company. When she was in charge. Answering to the whims of someone else was going to be…a challenge.
He shrugged again. “If that’s what you prefer. I guess I’ll see you in the morning.”
Unfortunately, yes, he would. And nearly every morning for the following six months. “Good night.”
For several very long seconds he just looked at her, then he flashed her one of those devastating, sexy smiles before he walked out of her office, shutting the door behind him.
And despite her less-than-sparkling opinion of him, she couldn’t help feeling just a tiny bit breathless.
Victoria checked her caller ID when she got home and saw that her father had called several times. No doubt wondering how her first day had gone. All she wanted to do was fall into bed and sleep, but if she didn’t call him back he would worry. She dialed his number, knowing she would have to tread lightly, choose her words carefully, so as not to upset him.
He answered sounding wounded and upset. “I thought you wouldn’t call.”
It struck her how old he sounded. Too frail for a man of sixty-five. He used to be so strong and gregarious. Lately he seemed to be fading away. “Why wouldn’t I call?”
“I thought you might be cross with me for making you take that job. I know it couldn’t have been easy, working for those people.”
That was the way he’d referred to the royal family lately. Those people. “I’ve told you a million times, Daddy, that I am not upset. It’s a good job. Where else would I make such a generous salary? If it does well, the profit sharing will make me a very wealthy woman.” She found it only slightly ironic that she was regurgitating the same words he had used to convince her to take the position in the first place.
“I know,” he conceded. “But no salary, no matter how great, could make up for what was stolen from us.”
And she knew that he would live with that regret for the rest of his life. All she could do was continually assure him that it wasn’t his fault. Yet, regardless of whose mistake it was, she couldn’t help feeling that she would spend the rest of her life paying for it.
“Is it a nice hotel?” he asked grudgingly.
“Well, I didn’t actually see the hotel yet.”
“Why not?”
Oh, boy, this was going to be tough to explain. “There isn’t a manager’s position open in the hotel right now,” she said, and told him about the job with the duke, stressing that her contract wouldn’t change.
“That is completely unacceptable,” he said, and she could practically feel his blood pressure rising, could just imagine the veins at his temples pulsing. He’d already had two heart attacks. One more could be fatal.
“It’s fine, Daddy. Honestly.”
“Would you like me to contact my attorney?”
For all the good that would do her. “No.”
“Are you sure? There must be something he can do.”
Was he forgetting that it was his attorney who was partially to blame for getting them into this mess?
“There’s no need, Daddy. It’s not so bad, really. In fact, I think it might be something of a challenge. A nice change of pace.”
He accepted her lie, and some of the tension seemed to slip from his voice. He changed the subject and they went on to talk about an upcoming party for a family friend, and she tried to remain upbeat and cheerful. By the time she hung up she felt exhausted from the effort.
Performing her duties would be taxing enough, but she could see that creating a ruse to keep her father placated would be a long and arduous task. But what choice did she have? She was all her father had left in the world. He had sacrificed so much for her. Made her the center of his universe.
No matter what, she couldn’t let him down.
Three (#ulink_14206d28-e182-52d5-a3e2-d906e9e7b645)
Charles lived in an exclusive, heavily gated and guarded community fifteen miles up the coast in the city of Pine Bluff. His house, a towering structure of glass and stone, sat in the arc of a cul-de-sac on the bluff overlooking the ocean. It was a lot of house for a single man, but that hardly surprised her. She was sure he had money to burn.
Victoria pulled her car up the circular drive and parked by the front door. She climbed out and took in the picturesque scenery, filled her lungs with clean, salty autumn air. If nothing else, the duke had impeccable taste in real estate. As well as interior design, she admitted to herself, after she used her code to open the door and stepped inside the foyer. Warm beiges and deep hues of green and blue welcomed her inside. The foyer opened up into a spacious living room with a rustic stone fireplace that climbed to the peak of a steep cathedral ceiling. It should have looked out of place with the modern design, but instead it gave the room warmth and character.
She had planned to grab the laundry and be on her way, but the bag he had said he would leave by the door was conspicuously not there. Either he hadn’t left yet or he’d forgotten. She was guessing the latter.
“Hello!” she called, straining to hear for any signs of life, but the house was silent. She would have to find the clothes herself, and the logical place to look would be his bedroom.
She followed the plushly carpeted staircase up to the second floor and down an open hallway that overlooked the family room below. The home she had grown up in was more traditional in design, but she liked the open floor plan of Charles’s house.
“Hello!” she called again, and got no answer. With the option of going either left or right, she chose right and peered into each of the half-dozen open doors. Spare rooms, mostly. But at the end of the hall she hit the jackpot. The master suite.
It was decorated just as warmly as the living room, but definitely more masculine. An enormous sleigh bed—unmade, she noted—carved from deep, rich cherry dominated the center of the room. And the air teemed with the undeniable scent of the woodsy cologne he had been wearing the day before.
She tried one more firm “Hello! Anyone here?” and was met with silence.
Looked like the coast was clear.
Feeling like an interloper, she stepped inside, wondering where the closet might be hiding. She found it off the bathroom, an enormous space in which row upon row of suits in the finest and most beautiful fabrics she had ever seen hung neatly in order by color. Beside them hung his work shirts, and beside them stood a rack that must have had three hundred different ties hanging from its bars. She wondered if he had worn them all. The opposite side of the closet seemed casual in nature, and in the back she discovered a mountain of dirty clothes overflowing from a hamper conveniently marked Dry Cleaning.
It was shirts mostly. White, beige, and a few pale blue. She also noted that his scent was much stronger here. And strangely familiar. Not the scent of a man she had known only a day. Perhaps she knew someone who wore the same brand.
Purely out of curiosity she picked up one of the shirts and held it to her face, inhaling deeply.
“I see you found my laundry.”
She was so startled by the unexpected voice that she squealed with surprise and spun around, but the heel of her pump caught in the carpet and she toppled over into a row of neatly hung trousers, taking several pairs with her as she landed with a thump on the floor.
Cheeks flaming with embarrassment, she looked up to find Charles standing over her, wearing nothing but a damp towel around his slim hips and an amused smile.
She quickly averted her gaze, but not before she registered a set of ridiculously defined abs, perfectly formed pecs, wide, sturdy shoulders, and biceps to die for. Damn her pesky photographic memory.
“I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said. He reached out a hand to help her up and she was so tangled she had no choice but to accept it.
“What are you doing here?” she snapped when she was back on her feet.
He shrugged. “I live here.”
She averted her eyes, pretending to smooth the creases from her skirt, so she wouldn’t have to look at all that sculpted perfection. “I’d assumed you’d left for work.”
“It’s only seven-forty-five.”
“I called out but no one answered.”
“The granite in the master bath was sealed yesterday, so I was using the spare room down the hall.”
“Sorry,” she mumbled, running out of places to look, without him realizing she was deliberately not looking at him.
“Something wrong with that shirt?” he asked.
She was still clutching the shirt she had picked up from the hamper, and she realized he must have seen her sniffing it. What could possibly be more embarrassing?
“I was checking to see if it was dirty,” she said, cringing inwardly at that ridiculously flimsy excuse.
Charles grinned. “Well then, for future reference, I don’t make a habit of keeping clean clothes in the hamper.”
“I’ll remember that.” And she would make a mental note to never come into his house until she was entirely sure he wasn’t there, or at the very least fully clothed. “Well, I’ll get out of your way.”
She turned and grabbed the rest of the clothes from the hamper, stacking them in her arms. He stepped out of her way and she rushed past him and through the doorway.
“Might as well stick around,” he said.
She stopped and turned to him, saw that he was leaning casually in the closet doorway. She struggled to keep her eyes from wandering below his neck. “Why?”
“I was going to call my driver, but since you’re here, I’ll just catch a ride into work with you.”
He wanted to ride with her? “I would, but, um, I have to stop at the dry cleaners first. I don’t want to get you to work late.”
“I don’t mind.” He ran his fingers through the damp, shiny waves of his hair, his biceps flexing under sunbronzed skin. She stood there transfixed by the fluidity of his movements. His pecs looked hard and defined, and were sprinkled with fine, dark hair.
He may have been an arrogant ass, but God, he was a beautiful one.
“Give me five minutes,” he said, and she nodded numbly, hoping her mouth wasn’t hanging open, drool dripping from the corner.
“There’s coffee in the kitchen,” he added, then he turned back into the closet, already loosening the knot at his waist.
The last thing she saw, as he disappeared inside, was the towel drop to the floor, and the tantalizing curve of one perfectly formed butt cheek.
Charles sat in the passenger side of Victoria’s convertible two-seater, watching her through the window of the dry cleaner’s. He would have expected her to drive a more practical car. A sedan, or even a mini SUV. Not a sporty, candy-apple-red little number that she zipped around in at speeds matched only on the autobahn. And it had a manual transmission, which he found to be a rarity among females. Sizewise, however, it was a perfect fit. Petite and compact, just like her. So petite that his head might brush the top had he not bent down.
She was full of surprises today—the least of which was her reaction when he greeted her wearing nothing but a towel. To put it mildly, she’d been flustered. After her chilly reception last night in the office, he was beginning to wonder if she might be a bit tougher to seduce than he had first anticipated. Now he was sure that she was as good as his. Even if that meant playing dirty. Like deliberately dropping his towel before he cleared the closet door.
Victoria emerged from the building with an armload of clean clothes, wrapped in plastic and folded over one arm. She tucked them into the trunk, then slipped into the driver’s seat. Her skirt rode several inches up her thighs, giving him a delicious view of her stocking-clad legs.
If she noticed him looking, she didn’t let on.
“They got the stain out of your jacket sleeve,” she told him, as she turned the key and the engine roared to life. She checked the rearview mirror for oncoming traffic, then jammed her foot down on the accelerator and whipped out onto the road, shifting so smoothly he barely felt the switch of the gears.
She swung around a corner and he gripped the armrest to keep from falling over. “You in a hurry?”
She shot him a bland look. “No.”
She downshifted and whipped around another corner so fast he could swear the tires on one side actually lifted off the pavement.
“You know, the building isn’t going anywhere,” he said.
