His dark gaze drifted across the front of her lab coat, implying that his answer was "more of you." "So far I've only seen the inside of corporate offices and conference rooms. I'd like to see the lab, then … " He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. Was he laughing at her? "If you can take some time from your busy schedule, I'd like to see the retail floors."
Of course she had time. All her other plans were irrelevant if the boss's "son" needed her. Couldn't he find someone in retail for that? He was definitely laughing at her. Now that she'd insulted him by trying to throw him out, he was going to toy with her like a cat with freshly trapped prey. Irritation prickled over her-along with something else she couldn't put her finger on.
She crossed the room, conscious of his big body keeping close to her. "This is a photon microscope." She gestured at her pride and joy. "We're working with microfine powders that can reflect light to create the illusion of optical smoothness."
Instead of glazing over, his eyes fixed on hers. "Nanotechnology."
A spark of surprise leapt inside her. "Yes. We've found that by manipulating photons in layers we can create dramatic effects with both colors and surfaces."
"Fascinating." He ran a big thumb over the top of a microscope, which caused a disturbing ripple of sensation in her belly. "And you've created a marketable product?"
"I can see you understand the business. Our biggest challenge wasn't finding something that worked, it was making it marketable. People won't buy a cake of white powder just because they're told it's a great red lipstick that never bleeds and won't wear off. We've come up with a compound we're calling ReNew, because it makes damaged skin look new again."
"Are you a chemist?" His eyes drifted over her lab coat again. Made it feel hot against her skin.
She lifted her chin. "I have degrees in chemistry and business. I'm here to lead the team." And take back my father's stolen legacy.
Tarrant Hardcastle would never give her dad a word of credit, even if his life's work made millions for the company. They had no idea she was his daughter. If Tarrant found out he'd probably fire her.
She needed to get this new Hardcastle out of her lab, and now. She'd been surprised in the middle of her unofficial "research" and didn't want Tarrant's son poking around and jumping to any conclusions.
She started to unbutton her lab coat. "You wanted to see the public areas. Shall we start with the department store?"
He seemed distracted by her fingers on the buttons. When his eyes lifted to meet hers they were darker than ever. "Sure."
His voice was low, suggestive.
He hung behind her as they walked out of the lab and she could feel his gaze on her. Her fitted, dark red skirt and blouse had been chosen to curry favor with her boss, Tarrant Hardcastle-lover of all things expensive and feminine. Making an effort to look good was part of the unofficial job requirements around here. Apparently she'd succeeded, because she sensed Dominic Hardcastle's approval radiating like a heat wave.
She hung her lab coat on a hook by the door, ushered him out then locked the door behind her.
Phew.
The tour didn't require much travel, since Tarrant was such a megalomaniac and control freak that he had gathered his entire empire under the slate mansard roof of a former hotel, a robber-baron-era extravaganza overlooking the southern tip of Central Park. The palatial building contained the corporate offices, conference rooms and auditoriums, the lab, a private art gallery, three glittering retail floors and a world-class restaurant on the top floor.
Costly fragrances hung in the air as they stepped out of the elevator on the ground-level retail floor. Hardcastle's exclusive products took pride of place among Chanel, Dior, et al, in the cosmetics department. Bella watched Dominic stride unself-consciously past counters laden with seventy-dollar lipsticks and "miracle" skin-renewing potions.
His easy chatter with retail associates demonstrated an insider knowledge of the business. It also revealed total ignorance about cosmetics-or was that feigned to encourage more blushing and fluttering explanations from the stunning girls behind the counters? He even let one raven-haired goddess spray him with the latest unisex Calvin Klein scent. Bella resisted the urge to roll her eyes.
"Where are you going so fast?" A big hand closed around her upper arm as she tried to march onward. Heat gathered under the silk of her blouse.
She eased her arm out of his grasp. "There's a lot to see."
"Indeed there is. Can you blame me for wanting to take my time to enjoy the view?" His face revealed a raised eyebrow and a twinkle of humor. Though his eyes were on her face she had a distinct impression he was appraising her body.
She lifted her chin. "It's nearly seven o'clock and I imagine you'll want to at least see the couture and designer collections on our women's apparel floors."
"Not really." He continued to smile pleasantly. "I had something else in mind."
For a second she thought his voice was thick with suggestion, then she decided she must have imagined it.
"What, exactly?" Her voice sounded clipped.
"Food."
"Oh." She distracted herself from his hungry stare by brushing a tiny piece of white lint from her sleeve. "Is that your specialty as a retailer?" She was following the usual lawyer's advice to never ask a question unless you knew the answer. Several associates had gushed over his chain of food stores.
"In fact it is, but I was thinking dinner."
She blinked rapidly. Did he expect her to have dinner with him? She needed to get back to the lab and put those files away.
"I think you owe me, don't you? You did try to get me thrown out of the building."
He cocked his head and let his gaze drift over her mouth. The mouth that had called security to eject the boss's son.
She swallowed.
"I hear The Moon is quite the place to be."
"Oh yes. Five stars," she murmured. She'd read the reviews but had never been there. Way out of her price range.
"Tarr-my father told me to be sure to eat dinner there, on his tab." Something about the way he said the word father made her ears prick up. His tone had a guarded quality that surprised her. "It would be my pleasure if you'd join me."
His expression looked entirely genuine, and warmth shone in his dark eyes.
She blinked as part of her brain demanded that she agree without hesitation and another more sensible part told her to make up a good excuse, and quick.
"Um, gosh." She checked her watch while she racked her mind for a way out. It's my hair-washing night? "Sure, I'd love to." She forced a smile.
It was an interesting experience, walking beside him through retail floors, amid the glamorous, well-heeled shoppers. Every female eye swiveled to Dominic, drinking him in, from his slightly unruly black hair to his black wingtip shoes. After about forty-five seconds Bella began to feel like a cheap handbag draped over the arm of a couture-dressed model.
There was definitely such a thing as being too good-looking, she reflected, as another beauty narrowed her heavily made-up eyes at Dominic Hardcastle. The chiseled jaw, the I-just-got-back-from-the-Caribbean tan that no doubt extended well underneath his custom-tailored suit.
It was all a bit too much.
Vulgar, even. Like so many aspects of his father's glittering retail empire.
"The Moon is on the top floor." She pressed the button. Tried not to notice how his big body filled the tight space of the private staff elevator. "Do you live in New York?"
"Miami. But I might move up here. I'm doing a lot of business in the city these days. And Tarr-my dad wants me to be close to headquarters."
Again, the word dad had a forced quality that intrigued her. She knew Tarrant had a daughter, but she'd never heard that he had a son. With security expert Sylvester-who she knew had been with Tarrant since before she was born-to vouch for him, she knew he must be the genuine article, but why had he suddenly appeared out of nowhere?
She couldn't help herself. "I don't mean to pry, but I didn't know Tarrant had a son." There, she'd said it. And it was at least fractionally more polite than asking "who the heck are you, anyway?"
"I'm a love child."
Her gaze jerked to his face. Again that hint of humor simmered in the muscles under his skin. Was he mocking her?
"Tarrant had a fling with my mom back in the seventies. They met on the dance floor at Studio 54."