Defiant Mistress, Ruthless Millionaire(8)

Nine. She'd phone him at nine on the dot and sort out some time to drop it back to him.

Decision made, her head finally felt clearer. She could almost enjoy her  low-fat cereal and milk, sweetened with a scattering of dried apricots.  Almost. By the time the clock had ticked slowly to nine she had already  showered, dressed, stripped her bed and remade it, and her first load  of laundry was nearly ready to be hung on the line.

The machine beeped discreetly from the annexe in her garage, letting her  know the cycle was finished just as she picked up her phone and punched  in Josh's home number.

The repetitive burr-burr of the ringtone was almost hypnotic. Clearly he  wasn't home, but didn't he have staff, or even an answering machine?  She was on the verge of hanging up when the phone was picked up.

"Tremont."

The two syllables hammered down the phone with no-nonsense decisiveness.

"It's Callie."

Suddenly the tone in his voice changed to the warm texture of liquid  honey. "Ah, Callie. Give me a minute, I've just got out the pool and I'm  dripping everywhere."

She heard the receiver clatter to a hard surface and a rustle of fabric.  While she waited, her mind went into overdrive, imagining how Josh  would look sleek and wet and straight from the pool. His dark hair would  be slicked back, exposing the broad strong plane of his forehead and  rivulets of water would track down the corded strength of his neck and  over his powerful shoulders. She threw the brakes on her thoughts before  her imagination went any further.

There was a faint scraping sound through the earpiece and then his voice filled her ear again.

"How are you this morning?"

"I'm fine. Look, I should get right to the point. I really appreciate  what you did with the painting last night but I can't accept it."

"Why is that, Callie?" Her name rippled through the handset of her phone  in his rich, deep voice, sending a stroke of something forbidden down  the back of her neck. "I thought you liked the picture."

"I do, it's just … "

"Just?" he prompted.

How did you tell your employer that such a gift was inappropriate  without putting his nose out of joint? Especially since she had to  inveigle herself into his world more effectively than she had already  done if she was to garner any of the information Irene would no doubt be  pumping her for soon.

So far Josh had appeared to be exactly what the world expected.  Charming, successful, driven-a man who gave 100 percent at all times and  expected the same in return. As an employer, Callie couldn't fault him.  In fact, she'd almost begun to wonder if he wasn't just particularly  gifted at reading the market and hadn't had to resort to corporate  espionage to undermine the Palmers.

Josh continued. "You have a strong connection with the picture. Am I wrong?"

Callie drew in a sharp breath at his acuity. "No, you weren't wrong."

"Then it's yours."

"No. It's worth far too much."

"And if I think you're worth that, and more?"

"I-" She faltered.

"Don't make a big deal of it, Callie. You liked the painting, I bid on it on your behalf and my bid won."

He made it sound so simple. She liked the painting, connected to it,  therefore it was hers. The fact that the price tag had probably run into  five figures had nothing to do with it. Her mind scrambled for logic,  suddenly latching on to his very words to give her valid cause to return  the picture to him.

"No," she said firmly. "I can't accept it. I do identify with the painting, perhaps a bit too much."

"It upsets you?"

"Yes," she lied, catching her lower lip between her teeth and biting hard before she changed her mind.

"I'm sorry. That wasn't my intention."

"I know," she hurried to say. "And I appreciate the gesture, really, I do. But I'd like to return it to you. Today if possible."                       
       
           



       

He didn't answer at first, then she heard a soft exhalation. "Dinner, my place, six-thirty."

"But-"

Dinner? With her boss? At his home?

"I'll see you then. Don't dress up."

The rapid-fire beeps indicating a disconnected tone signalled that he'd  ended the call. Did she really have to go? Callie replaced her handset  in its charging station and walked to the sitting room. Her eyes fixed  on the painting. If she really meant to give it back, she would have to.

Callie alighted from her parked car and tucked the rewrapped package  firmly under one arm. He'd said not to dress up, but she'd felt the need  to make some effort. The floating hand-painted silk panels of her pale  emerald sundress swirled around her legs as her feet, clad for once in  flats, marched toward Josh's front door.

When she'd arrived at the entrance to his driveway she'd almost  chickened out, telling herself she should have waited until Monday. But,  she had to admit, his summons for dinner gave her the perfect  opportunity to observe him in a different setting-and she needed to find  some grounding in her observations very soon.

The driveway to the mansion was imposing enough with its boxed hedging  trimmed to immaculate precision, but the house itself was something else  entirely. The twin-arched portico of his home stood austerely before  her and an entire squadron of butterflies went into battle formation in  her stomach.

Everything was so incredibly perfect. Not a line or even so much as a  leaf out of place. He must have a whole fleet of gardeners keeping it  all so pristine.

"Are you going to stand out there all day enjoying the garden or did you want to come inside?"

Callie jumped. She hadn't even heard the front door swing open. She gave Josh a half smile.

"Your gardens are very … " She faltered. "Beautiful," she finally said.

It was the truth, they were beautiful. But despite their perfection she  missed the exuberance of colour and shape she was used to seeing in a  spring garden. These precisely clipped hedges and trees lacked  something.

Soul. That was it. While there was growth in abundance, there was no  life in what she saw. It was as though everything was about appearances  and not about personal pleasure.

"But you don't like them, do you?" Josh leaned against one of the  cream-coloured pillars supporting the arches at his front door.

"It's not that," Callie said carefully. "They are lovely, just a little too controlled for my liking."

"And you prefer things more uncontrolled?"

There was a wealth of innuendo in Josh's tone and Callie felt a flush of  warmth rise up her throat and spread through her cheeks. Heavens, she  hadn't blushed in years!

"When there's a time and place for it, yes."

Callie lifted her chin and met his gaze full on. His eyes gleamed with  humour. He knew he'd embarrassed her with his teasing and he was  enjoying it.

It was a side of him she hadn't seen before. In the office he was driven  professionalism all the way. She found it interesting that her first  impression, of the outside of his home at least, was exactly the same. A  place for everything and everything in its place.

Yet, as something deep inside her unfurled under his amused gaze, she knew much more lay beneath the surface.

"Come inside," Josh said as he pushed off from the pillar and gestured  to the door. "We can have a drink by the pool before dinner."

Callie took the few steps necessary to close the distance between them and slid the wrapped painting out from under her arm.

"Here, this is yours."

Josh reached to take the package from her, but paused for a moment before accepting it.

"Are you sure?"

"Definitely."

He gave a small nod and accepted the packet. Then, with his hand settled  on the small of her back as he had done last night, he guided her  inside his home.

Callie tried to ignore his closeness and the heated imprint of his hand  through the silk of her dress, but it was nearly impossible. Every nerve  ending concentrated on that one spot. On the outline of his fingers, on  the warmth of his palm. She let go the breath she hadn't even realised  she was holding when he stepped away from her to shut the door.

Dressed casually, he was no less imposing than he was in his standard  office attire. He still favoured dark colours, the navy polo shirt  hanging loose over jeans whose cut and style screamed designer chic. He  wore no cologne today, but his intrinsic male scent still put every  hormone in Callie's body on full alert.

What was she thinking? She was supposed to be spying on the man, not lusting for him.

Josh placed the picture on a sideboard, then continued to guide Callie  outdoors to the pool area. As they exited the wide-open French doors to  the back of the house, he removed his hand from her back and let her  move forward a step or two away from him. She had her hair up again and  he found his eyes riveted to the smooth straight line of her neck. A  tiny curl had escaped at the edge of her hairline and caressed her nape.  His fingers itched to gently wind the tiny strand of hair around them,  to see if his touch would cause a shiver to run over her skin.