Tempted by Her Billionaire Boss(20)

He released her hand before he did it. His skin pulsed with the need for  more because that touch, her touch, was the only thing making him feel  alive right now.

He brought his back teeth together. Fought it. Recited to himself all the reasons he couldn't have her. Good reasons.

Derrick slid the partition open and asked, "Where first?"

He gave him Francesca's address.

She shook her head. "We're closer to you. I need the papers for the  Detroit project to work on while you're out in the morning. I'll come  up, get them, then Derrick can drive me home."

It made sense. It would also get him out of this car sooner. "Fine. That works."

Derrick stopped in the circular driveway at the side of the building.  They rode the elevator to the penthouse in silence, neither of them  about to address the tension and push things over the edge.

He found the papers she needed on the desk in his study and carried them  out to the living room. "Text me if you need any clarification." The  delicate fingers he'd just held closed around them. Her gaze fastened on  his, probing, seeking. "I'll see you tomorrow afternoon then."

"Yes." He willed her out of the apartment with a curt, dismissive look.  He needed to be alone or he needed to drown himself in her, but he  couldn't do anything in between.

She was halfway to the door when she stopped and turned around. "Harrison, are you okay?"

"I'm fine. Thank you for your help today."

She nodded and left. When the door closed behind her and he heard the  sound of the elevator whishing its way toward ground level, he poured  himself a drink he knew he didn't need and took it out onto the terrace.  The moon was a perfect, giant orb in a sheet of black. Luminous; full  of promise. It should have been another signpost of where he was headed.  Vengeance. Yet he continued to feel nothing. The fear he dreaded always  found a way in, insidious as it was, worming its way into his  consciousness.

He lifted his palms to his temples. Willed it away. It was nights like  this, nights when he scaled Mount Everest and won, when any other human  being would have been basking in the glory, that he wondered if the  darkness would claim him, too.

There had never been any sign he had picked up his father's genetic  markers for mania, but the depression beckoned, whispering along the  edges of his mind. He raised his eyes to the Grant tower, a shining  beacon of what made America great. Had his father known how close to the  flame he was flying? Or had he been blinded by the heights he ached to  achieve?

Would it be too much for him? His head pounded with the weight of too  many decisions. Too many paths that were no longer clear. Too much, too  much.

A jet banked over the Hudson, the lights on its wings flashing in the  darkness. He stared at it, hypnotized by the pulsing flares. Is destiny  the fate of every man? Is your path irreversible no matter how you  pursue it? Or is there a way to rise above it? A way to blaze a path  that is yours and yours alone?

The throbbing in his head intensified. He needed to escape, but he didn't know how.





CHAPTER NINE

FRANKIE COULDN'T GET into the car. The haunted, hunted look on  Harrison's face when she'd left, the way he'd been ever since Leonid had  agreed to sign the deal, was gnawing at her. She'd expected him to be  victorious and superior. Instead she'd found him dark and introspective.         

     



 

Working nearly 24/7 with someone meant you were in tune with their  moods, and the Harrison she'd witnessed tonight was one she hadn't seen  before. One that scared her. Leonid might have passed it off as  exhaustion, distraction, but she knew it was much more.

Derrick gave her a quelling look. He wanted to get home to his family.  He thought she was nuts standing here on the sidewalk, utterly caught in  limbo.

She got into the car. They pulled smoothly away from the sidewalk,  weaving into traffic. Her stomach churned in big, conflicted circles.  She had led Leonid to believe he could depend on Harrison when in  reality he would likely be bitterly disappointed. Whether Leonid had  read between the lines or taken her words at face value was something  she would never know.

A soft curse left her lips. She didn't want anyone's future revolving  around her. Then to make her choice only to have Harrison turn into a  stone wall when he had been handed everything he'd wanted? What is going  on?

She clenched her hand into a fist and pressed it against the seat. Was  he feeling guilty for what he was about to do to Leonid even though he'd  laid his cards on the table? Or had he finally realized, with the final  piece in place to destroy Anton Markovic, that vengeance was a poor  substitute for a broken heart? That it would never bring his father  back?

Or was it something else entirely? That call from Tom Dennison today? The twisting in her gut intensified. She couldn't do it.

She tapped on the screen. Derrick opened it. ‘Yes, ma'am?"

"Can you take me back? I've forgotten something."

He gave her a supremely patient look. "Of course. Let me just find somewhere to turn around."

When he deposited her on the sidewalk outside Harrison's building once  more, she thanked him and told him to go home. "I may be a while."

Derrick nodded. "Call me if you change your mind."

She was out of her mind. Setting her jaw, she entered the building  through the side entrance. The door required a thumb scan to get in but  Harrison had taken care of that for her last week when she'd had to come  collect some documents for him. She rode the whisper-quiet elevator to  the penthouse, heart pounding in her ears.

The doors of the elevator swished open. The apartment was eerily silent  as she moved through the entrance way and into the living room. The  precious artwork glowed silently on its perfect cream backdrop. No  Harrison.

His study was in darkness. A glow from the terrace suggested he was  there. She walked through the living room and stepped outside. Harrison  was standing at the railing, looking out at the skyline. Her heels  clicked on the concrete as she walked toward him. He turned around,  frowning. "Did I forget to give you something?"

"No." Her knees betrayed just the slightest wobble as she took the last  few steps toward him. "I just-" Her voice trailed off. Just what? What  the heck was she doing here?

She came to a stop in front of him. Her gaze rose to his. He was as tall  and commanding as ever, as stomach-clenchingly beautiful, but the  tormented look dominated now. It emanated from every pore of him,  blanketing her in his desperation. She pulled in a breath.

"I wanted to make sure you were okay."

The shadows in his face darkened. "I told you I was fine. Go home, Francesca."

"But you aren't." The words spilled from her mouth. "Ever since Leonid agreed to the deal, you've been off."

"I'm fine."

She frowned. "It's what we've been working toward. I thought you would be happy."

"I am happy." The emotion vibrating in his voice sent a shiver down her  spine. He turned to look at the skyline again. "It's none of your  concern, Francesca. Go home. I'll see you in the afternoon."

She stood her ground, legs shaking now. For a man who claimed to feel  little emotion it was written in every taut muscle of his body. In the  rigid column of his back, his neck. In the barely leashed confusion that  surrounded him. It reached out and wrapped itself around her, pulling  her toward him.

"Sometimes," she said quietly, laying a hand on his arm, "the things we  want the most, the things we think are going to make us feel better,  don't. Can't because they were never the solution in the first place."

He spun to face her, dislodging her hand. Antagonism poured off him in  waves. "Nailing Anton Markovic to the ground is going to make me feel  better, Francesca. Much better. Make no mistake about it."

Her heart thudded against her rib cage. "Then why? Why are you like this?"

"Because I have too much going on in my head." He practically yelled the  words at her. "This is not another case of you saving the day,  Francesca. It's far more complex than one of your little sermons can  fix."         

     



 

Her stomach lurched. "I didn't suggest that."

His mouth curled. "Go."

"I won't leave you like this."

The deliberate way he looked at her made her pulse buzz in her ears.  "You would be very wise to do so," he suggested in a low, deep voice  that made her insides liquefy. He lifted a finger and dragged it across  her cheek, watching as she shivered in reaction. "Otherwise I will do  what I was aching to do in the car and drown myself in this. And I think  we've both agreed it's an unacceptable result."

His touch felt like fire on her skin. The kiss from London sizzled  through her head, beckoning her on to sure destruction. They were like  hot and cold fronts converging in a storm it seemed impossible to  outrun.

But he was her boss. She loved her job. She really must go.