Tempted by Her Billionaire Boss(2)

She was about to dig into her noodles when she realized the restaurant  had forgotten to include a fork in the bag. Eating noodles with her  hands not being an option, she toed her way around for her shoes and  came up empty. She stuck her head under the massive desk and looked for  them. It was dark under there and it took her eyes a few moments to  adjust. Finally she located a shoe she'd kicked to the left and was  holding it triumphantly in her hand and reaching for the second when a  deep voice laced with an arctic coolness pierced the solid wooden desk.         

     



 

"It didn't occur to me you were going to like it, Geoffrey. I pay people  like you to make things happen, not for your incredibly insightful  strategic thinking."

Harrison Grant. Oh, my God. What is he doing back tonight?

She reared her head up, her skull connecting hard with the inch-thick  top of the desk. Stars exploded behind her eyes. A curse escaped her as  she dropped the shoe, clasped her head in her hands and absorbed the  pulsing aftershocks.

"Good God." The harsh-edged voice came closer. "Geoffrey, I'm going to have to call you back."

Frankie was vaguely aware of strong male hands levering her chair away  from the desk and lifting her chin. She blinked as he pulled her hands  from her head, and tipped her skull back. A clear head might have been a  good weapon to face Harrison Grant with for the first time, but her  cerebral matter was hazy, her vision shadowy as she took him in at close  range. Dressed in a black trench coat in deference to the rainy,  overcast New York day, he was tall, imposingly tall. The charcoal-gray  suit he wore beneath the trench coat, the amount of rough stubble  shading his aristocratic jaw and the laser-like stare of his black eyes  under designer glasses made her giddily wonder if he was the devil  himself.

Biting out a low curse, he tossed his cell phone on the desk and cupped  the back of her head with one of his big hands, his fingers pressing  into her scalp to feel for a bump. When he located the growing mass that  was causing the deep throb in her head, a furrow ruffled his brow.  "What exactly were you doing down there?"

"Shoes," Frankie muttered absently as the world began to right itself.  She sucked in a couple of deep breaths and examined him closer. Along  with those deadly dark eyes, he had a perfect aquiline nose that framed a  firm, wide mouth. Apparently the devil came in extremely good-looking  versions that also smelled amazing.

He held up three fingers. "How many?"

"Three."

"What day is it?"

"Tuesday, the sixth of August."

He let his fingers slide from her head. His black gaze, however,  remained pinned on her face. "Unless this is Goldilocks and the Three  Bears redone to feature a brunette, you are sitting in the wrong chair."

Her heart sped up in her chest at his low, silky tone, as curiosity  radiated from the inky darkness of his somewhat mesmerizing gaze. "What  if this is actually the right chair?" she offered in an attempt to  defuse the tension.

His mouth curved. "Now I know that would have to be a tale, because this  chair belongs to my assistant, Tessa, and you," he murmured, his  sweeping stare taking in all of her, including a rather comprehensive  study of her legs, "are not her."

Frankie swallowed hard and followed his gaze. In the commotion, her  conservative skirt had ridden up her thighs, baring the lacy black  pull-ups that were her one nod toward femininity in her proper office  attire. Oh, God. She tugged the summer-weight wool back to her knees, so  much heat rushing to her face she might as well have been on fire. With  difficulty, she moved her gaze back up to his and saw...disappointment?

"Tessa," she murmured, searching vainly for a way to rescue the  situation, "went into premature labor and had her baby last night. Co-"  Her words died in her throat as a flash of silver glinted across the  room. She blinked, thinking her swimming head had manufactured it, but  when she looked again, the sight of two armed guards bearing down on  them, guns drawn, made her mouth drop open.

"Put your hands in the air."

The guards roared the words at them, their attention fixed on Harrison.  Frankie stuck her hands in the air, her heart slamming so violently  against her chest she thought she might pass out. Her gaze sat frozen on  the glare of the lights reflected off the silver barrels.

She tore her panicked gaze away finally, flicking it to Harrison, whose  face had a bemused look on it. Instead of following the guard's orders,  he put his palms on his thighs and moved to straighten.

"I said put your hands in the air," the guard bellowed, waving his gun at Harrison. "Now."

Her boss put his suit-clad arms in the air in a slow, exaggerated  movement. He might have acquiesced, but every muscle in his big body was  tensed to revolt, his black gaze glittering. They sensed it, their eyes  remaining trained on him. "Hands behind your back."

The CEO's mouth parted. "I think-"

"Hands behind your back."

Her boss put his hands behind his back, a dark thundercloud stealing  over his face. The guard closest to him holstered his gun, turned the  CEO around with a careful appreciation of his powerful frame and snapped  handcuffs around his wrists.         

     



 

Oh, my God. Frankie's frozen brain registered the guards now as Grant  Industries security guards. But what were they doing arresting Harrison  Grant?

The guard with his gun still drawn crooked a finger at Frankie. "Over here."

The logical part of her brain told her she didn't want anything to do  with a man with a gun. Even one in uniform. Maybe these men were posing  as Grant security guards. Maybe they wanted to rob them...

"Move," the guard growled at her. Frankie's behind left the chair in a  hurry. She wasn't sure how she did it because her legs were mush, but  she wobbled over to where the guard stood, shaking so hard her teeth  chattered. His partner pushed Harrison down in the chair she'd vacated.

"What happened?" the guard beside Frankie asked.

She gave him an uncomprehending look. ‘Wh-what do you mean? You just came tearing in here..."

"You hit the panic button."

Panic button. What panic button? She vaguely remembered something in her  training about an emergency button she could press if anything ever  happened, but she'd laughed it off at the time, thinking it would be  more useful for handling Coburn's discarded girlfriends than an actual  situation. Hers had been on the wall beside her desk.

Her gaze slid to the wall beside Tessa's desk. No button.

"It's under the desk on the left," the guard said.

Under the desk? Her gaze slid to the big mahogany desk where her new  boss sat handcuffed. A sick feeling enveloped her. She must have hit the  button by mistake when Harrison walked in and startled her.

Oh, good lord.

The guard pointed at Harrison. "Pete said you were up here working alone. He had his hands on you when we arrived."

Frankie's stomach rolled. The guards were new. They'd changed to a  different company last week. "He," she clarified weakly, "is Harrison  Grant, the CEO of this company. I hit the panic button by mistake."

The guards assumed identical gray complexions. Harrison Grant's  expression moved from one of disbelief to an even darker countenance  Frankie chose to avoid.

The guard beside her turned and surveyed the tall, elegant male in the chair dubiously. "You're supposed to be abroad."

Harrison's dark-as-night eyes glittered back at him. "I parked underground and took the back elevators."

"You don't look like your picture."

Frankie wanted to scream not to poke the beast. The glimmer in the CEO's  eyes turned deadly. "I can assure you that she," he said, nodding his  head at Frankie, "whoever she is, is telling the truth. Being the  workaholic I am, I've acquired glasses since my last headshot."

"You got some ID?"

Her boss dipped his chin. "Front pocket."

The guard closest to Harrison retrieved his wallet from his jacket with a  ginger movement that made Frankie hysterically wonder what he thought  he'd do. Bite him? The man had his hands manacled behind his back. The  guard flipped the wallet open, scanned it and went even grayer. Bile  climbed the back of Frankie's throat.

"Apologies for the confusion." The guard slid the wallet back into  Harrison's pocket. "The situation you two were in, the bottle of wine,  we read it wrong."

Frankie's gaze flew to the bottle of Pinot Grigio on the desk. Oh,  heavens. The way Harrison had been leaning over her... They couldn't  possibly have thought this had been an assignation gone wrong...could  they?

The grim look on her boss's face suggested that's exactly what they'd  thought. He directed a laser-like stare at the guard. "You have exactly  five seconds to get these cuffs off me."

The guard retrieved his key and had Harrison stand and turn around while  he removed the cuffs. "We work on rotation," he said apologetically as  he slid them off. "We're new in this building. So sorry we didn't  recognize you, Mr. Grant."