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The Man Behind the Pinstripes
Melissa McClone
Becca Taylor has worked hard to overcome her troubled past and start a new life.So when CEO Caleb Fairchild marches into her life, the instant attraction to this gorgeous pinstriped man is the last thing Becca needs – especially when Caleb wants to be closer. But Becca knows that when her secrets are revealed, betrayal’s inevitable.
“You’re the kind of guy who plays by the rules.”
“Normally, yes.” He moved closer. “But this isn’t normal.”
Becca agreed with him. She fought the urge to step back. “Being here?”
Caleb stopped in front of her, only inches away. “Being here with you. I’m tired of playing by the rules.”
Her heart slammed against her ribs. She should step back. Way back. Put distance between them. For her own good.
But her feet wouldn’t move. She remained rooted to the spot, waiting, hoping, anticipating.
He lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her. Hard.
Becca had never known what it was like to be possessed, but she felt possessed by Caleb’s kiss. She didn’t mind one bit.
About the Author
With a degree in mechanical engineering from Stanford University, the last thing MELISSA McCLONE ever thought she would be doing was write romance novels. But analyzing engines for a major US airline just couldn’t compete with her “happily-ever-afters.” When she isn’t writing, caring for her three young children or doing laundry, Melissa loves to curl up on the couch with a cup of tea, her cats and a good book. She enjoys watching home decorating shows to get ideas for her house—a 1939 cottage that is slowly being renovated. Melissa lives in Lake Oswego, Oregon, with her own real-life hero husband, two daughters, a son, two lovable but oh-so-spoiled indoor cats and a no-longer-stray outdoor kitty that has decided to call the garage home.
Melissa loves to hear from her readers. You can write to her at PO Box 63, Lake Oswego, OR 97034, USA, or contact her via her website, www.melissamcclone.com.
The Man Behind the Pinstripes
Melissa McClone
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To Jan Herinckx for introducing us to Chaos and the world of dog-showing!
Special thanks to: Terri Reed, Jennifer Shirk, Jennifer Short.
And the Immersion Crew: Margie Lawson, Elizabeth Cockle and Lori Freeland.
CHAPTER ONE
THE INCESSANT BARKING from the backyard of his family’s palatial estate confirmed Caleb Fairchild’s fear. His grandmother had gone to the dogs.
Cursing under his breath, he pressed the doorbell.
A symphony of chimes filled the air, drowning out the irritating barks. Forget Mozart. Forget Bach. Only a commissioned piece from a respected New York composer would do for Gertrude Fairchild, his grandmother who had founded a billion-dollar skin care company with his late grandfather in Boise, Idaho.
Caleb was here to put an end to her frivolous infatuation with man’s best friend. It was the only way to keep Fair Face, the family company, successful and profitable.
The front door opened, greeting him with a blast of cold air and a whiff of his grandmother’s floral scent perfume.
Grams.
Short white curls bounced every which way. She looked fifty-seven not seventy-seven, thanks to decades of using her own skin care products.
“Caleb! I saw your car on the security camera so told Mrs. Harrison I would answer the door.” The words rushed from Grams’s mouth faster than lobster tails disappeared from the buffet table at the country club. “What are you doing here? Your assistant said you didn’t have any free time this week. That’s why I mailed you the dog care prototypes.”
He hadn’t expected Grams to be so excited by his visit. He kissed her cheek. “I’m never too busy for you.”
Her cornflower blue eyes danced with laughter. “This is such a lovely surprise.”
Sweat trickled down his back. Too bad he couldn’t blame the perspiration on the warm June day.
He adjusted his yellow tie then smoothed his suit jacket. But no matter how professional he looked, she wasn’t going to like what he had to say. “I’m not here as your grandson. I need to speak with you as Fair Face’s CEO.”
“Oh, sweetheart.” The warmth in her voice added to his discomfort. “I raised you. You’ll always be my grandson first.”
Her words hit him like a sucker-punch. He owed Grams … everything.
She opened the door wider. “Come in.”
“Nice sari,” he said.
Grams struck a pose. “Just something I had in my closet.”
He entered the foyer. “Better add Bollywood to your bucket list.”
“Already have.” She closed the door. “Let’s go out on the patio and chat.”
Chat, not speak or discuss or talk. Not good.
Caleb glanced around. Something was … off.
Museum-worthy works of art hung in the same places. The squeaky dog toys and ravaged stuffed animals on the shiny hardwood floor were new. But the one display he expected to see, what he wanted to see, what he longed to see was missing from its usual spot.
His throat tightened. “Where are the—”
“In the living room.”
Caleb walked around the corner and saw the three-foot U.S. Navy aircraft carrier replicas showcased on a brand-new wooden display case. He touched the deck of the USS Ronald Reagan.
Familiar. Soothing. Home.
“I’ve been making some changes around here,” Grams said from behind him. “I thought they deserved a nicer place than the foyer.”
He faced her. “Gramps would like this.”
“That’s what I thought, too. Have you eaten lunch?”
“I grabbed something on my way over.”
“Then you need dessert. I have cake. Made it myself.” She touched Caleb’s arm with her thin, vein-covered hand. “Carrot, not chocolate, but still tasty.”
Grams always felt the urge to feed him. He knew she wouldn’t give up until he agreed to have a bite to eat. “I’ll have something before I leave.”
A satisfied smile graced her glossed lips.
At least one of them was happy.
Back in the foyer, he kicked a tennis ball with his foot. “It’s a miracle you don’t break a hip with all these dog toys laying around.”
“I might be old, but I’m still spry.” His grandmother’s gaze softened. She placed her hand over her heart. “Heavens. Every time I see you, you remind me more and more of your father. God rest his soul.”
Caleb’s stomach churned as if he’d eaten one too many spicy Buffalo wings. He strived hard to be nothing like his feckless father. A man who’d wanted nothing to do with Fair Face. A man who’d blown through money like a hedge fund manager’s mistress. A man who’d died in a fiery speedboat crash off the Cote d’Azur with his girlfriend du jour.
Grams’ gaze ran the length of Caleb. She clucked her tongue. “But you’ve got to stop dressing like a high-class mortician.”
“Not this again.” Caleb raised his chin, undaunted, and followed her out of the foyer. “You’d have me dress like a rugged, action-adventure movie star. A shirtless one, given the pictures you share on Facebook.”
They walked by the dining room where two elaborate chandeliers hung above a hand-carved mahogany table that sat twenty.
“You’re a handsome man,” Grams said. “Show off your assets.”
“I’m the CEO. I have a professional image to maintain.”
“There’s no corporate policy that says your hair can’t touch your collar.”
“The cut suits my position.”
“Your suits are a whole other matter.” She pointed at his chest. “Your tie is too understated. Red screams power. We’ll go shopping. Girls these days are looking for the whole package. That includes having stylish hair and being a snazzy dresser.”
And not taking your grandmother’s fashion advice.
They walked into the kitchen. A basket of fruit and a covered cake stand sat on the marble counter. Something simmered on the stove. The scent of basil filled the air. Normal, everyday things, but this visit home felt anything but normal.
“Women only care about the balance in my bank account,” he said.
“Some. Not all.” She stopped, squeezed his hand, the way she’d done for as long as Caleb remembered. Her tender touch and her warm hugs had seen him through death, heartbreak and everyday life. “You’ll find a woman who cares only about you.”
Difficult to do when he wasn’t looking, but he wasn’t telling Grams that today. One piece of bad news a day met her quota. “I like being single.”
“You must have one-night stands or friends with benefits.”
He flinched. “You’re spending too much time on Facebook.”
A disturbing realization formed in his mind. Discussing sex might be easier than talking to Grams about her dog skin care products.
She placed her hands on her hips. “I would like great grandchildren one of these years while I can still get on the floor and play with them. Why do you think I created that line of organic baby products?”
“Everyone at the company knows you want great grandchildren.”
“What’s a woman to do?” She put her palms up. Gold bracelets clinked against each other. “You and your sister are in no rush to give me grandbabies while I’m still breathing.”
“Can you imagine Courtney as a mom?”
“She has some growing up to do,” Grams admitted, but without any accusation or disappointment. She walked into the family room with its leather couches, huge television and enough books on the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves to start a library. “Though I give you credit for at least proposing to that money-grubbing floozy, Cash-andra.”
Unwelcome memories flooded him. His heart cried foul. Cheat. Sucker. “Cassandra.”
The woman had introduced herself to him at a benefit dinner. Smart and sexy as hell, Cassandra knew what buttons to push to become the center of his universe. She’d made him feel more like a warrior than a businessman. Marriage hadn’t been on his radar screen, but when she gave him an ultimatum, he’d played right into her hand with a romantic proposal and a stunning three-carat engagement ring only to find out everything about her and their relationship had been a scam, a ruse, a lie.
“Cash-andra fits.” Grams held up three fingers. “Refusing to sign the agreed-upon prenup. Two-timing you. Hiring a divorce attorney before saying I do. No wonder you’re afraid to date.” He squared his shoulders. “I’m not afraid.”
Not afraid of Cassandra.
Not afraid of any woman.
But he was … cautious.
After Cassandra wouldn’t sign the prenup, he’d called off the wedding and broken up with her. She’d begged him for a second chance, and he’d been tempted to reconcile, until a private investigator proved the woman was a gold digger in the same league as his own mother.
Grams waved a hand in the air, as if she could brush aside bad things in the world. Light reflected off her three diamond rings, anniversary presents from his grandfather. “I shouldn’t have mentioned the Jezebel.”
At least Caleb had gotten away relatively unscathed except for a bruised ego and broken heart. Unlike his father who’d wound up with two kids he’d never wanted.
She exited the house through the family room’s French doors.
Caleb followed her outside to see new furniture—a large gleaming, teak table surrounded matching wood chairs, a hammock and padded loungers.
The sun beat down. He pulled out a chair for his grandmother, who sat. “It’s hot. Let me put up the umbrella.”
Grams picked up a black rectangular remote from the table. “I’ve got it.”
She pressed a button.
A cantilevered umbrella opened, covering them in shade.
He joined her at the table.
“What do you think about the dog products?” Gertie asked.
No birds chirped. Even the crickets seemed to be napping. The only thing he heard was an occasional bark and his grandfather’s voice.
Do what must be done. For Fair Face. For your grandmother.
Caleb would rather be back in his office dealing with end-of-quarter results. Who was he kidding? He’d rather be anywhere else right now.
“Interesting prototypes,” he said. “Appealing fragrance and texture.”
Gertie whistled. “Wait until you see them in action.”
