Tempted by Her Billionaire Boss(26)

That's what happens when you have hot, sweaty sex with your boss. When  you connect on a level that's way beyond the physical, putting your  feelings in distinctly dangerous territory. You avoid.

She picked up the contract and got to her feet. She was so tired of  avoiding she wanted to scream. At least when she was back with Coburn  she could get back to normal. She wouldn't be dreaming about that night  with Harrison. She wouldn't be wondering about her boss's every mood and  she wouldn't be feeling the irresistible desire to comfort the beast  even though he was making that hard. It would no longer be her job.

She headed toward his office. The worst was the party. She had to attend  the damn thing with Harrison when she'd rather spend the night washing  dishes at Masserias. And that was saying a lot.

He was on the phone when she knocked and entered. She waved the contract  at him. He motioned for her to stay and wrapped the call.

"That's it?"         

     



 

"That's it. Fully executed and ready to go. Jack said to call if you had any questions."

"Good." He laced his fingers together and pressed them to his chest.  "You've been such a huge part of this. Why don't I take you to lunch?"

Lunch? She stared at him as though he was nuts. "You have a lunch meeting."

"So I'll cancel it. You deserve some appreciation for the great job you've done."

She eyed him. She'd done her job and this was his kiss-off lunch. It was  guilt talking. Looking at that contract in his hands, knowing what he  was going to do with it, knowing thousands of people were likely going  to lose their jobs when he folded Siberius into Grant made her feel  unwell. Angry. Used.

"No, thank you," she said stiffly. "I appreciate the offer, but I seem to have lost my appetite today."

His black eyes glittered at her. "You okay?"

"Perfect. Would you like me to go down to the deli for you?" She gave  the clock on the wall a pointed glance. "Your meeting starts in ten  minutes."

"I'll get it myself afterward."

She spun on her heel and walked.

"Francesca."

She held up a hand and kept going. Last week it had been him on the edge of an explosion. This week it was her.

* * *

Harrison dressed for the annual Grant summer party the next evening with  the grim determination of a man who'd been through the interminable  small talk and politics so many times he could have run it in his head  before it had even started. Divorces would be announced, affairs would  surface and rumors would abound about everything from political  campaigns-namely his or his lack of one this year-to high-profile job  losses and corporate defections. The only thing that changed was the  players. And sometimes, if they were misguided or unlucky enough, they  stayed the same, too.

He'd been in a filthy mood ever since Francesca had walked out of his  office, her back ramrod-straight, her icy look telling him exactly what  she thought of him. Which was so unfair. They were adults, they'd done  what they'd done and sulking wasn't going to help the situation.

Meanwhile, he was struggling. Did she think this was easy for him? He  had done everything, everything to put her out of his head and move on,  including setting up his "accidental" meeting with Anton Markovic with  exquisite care. He had buried himself in work, used the nights to  consider his future and refused to think about how much he craved  Francesca's level set outside the office as much as he valued it inside.

While he attempted to deny that that night with her had changed everything.

He muttered an oath. Picking up his jacket, he rode the elevator to the  parking garage and drove the short distance to Francesca's apartment on  the east side.

Something inside him did a slow roll when he saw her standing on the  sidewalk, glowing in a crimson-colored gown that was less body-hugging  than the one she'd worn to Leonid's party, but still heart-stoppingly  sexy on her hourglass figure. She was an unattainable goddess for a man  still mired in his head.

He got out, walked around the car and stopped in front of her. He  couldn't help taking a long look. Her hair was up, done in a million  curls caught on top of her head. Sparkly earrings dangled from her  perfect ears. Her feet were encased in dainty silver shoes that  accentuated the arch of her delicate foot. But it was her eyes that  tugged at his heart. They were a deep, unsure gray, so unlike her usual  spirited self.

It was going to be a long, long night.

"Hi." His voice when it rumbled from his chest was rusty and not his  own. Frankie's eyes flickered. How insanely articulate of him. That was  the way to handle a tough crowd.

He cleared his throat. Took another stab at it. "You look stunning."

"Thank you." Her stiff demeanor wasn't bending one bit. Fine. He could  play this game. He put her in the car, walked around to the other side  and started driving. Relentlessly he plied her with small talk. Frankie  gave one-word answers, sometimes a handful. It was a ninety-minute drive  to Long Island and that got old fast. She was angry, concluded the male  in him. Women didn't know how to separate the emotional from the  rational while men were rarely in touch with their feelings. He wondered  how it actually ever worked.

He even asked her how Tomasino and the gang were doing at the church.  Instead of scoring him points, it made her mouth tighten even more. So  he shut his mouth, turned on the radio and drove.

They arrived at the Grants' redbrick Georgian mansion on Long Island  Sound just in time for cocktails. Dropping their bags in their rooms, he  gave her a quick tour of the elegant, dark-paneled house with its  checkerboard marble grand hallways and massive tapestries. He could tell  instantly Frankie liked it more than his penthouse.         

     



 

The minute they appeared in the back garden, his mother pounced on them,  emerging from a crush of people gathered under the fairy-light-strung  trees with her usual gray-haired, impeccable elegance. She had Frankie  summed up in three seconds flat, her keen blue gaze sliding over the  brunette who bested her petite frame by a good six inches.

"So you're the Frankie my boys are so enamored with."

Frankie blushed. "Enamored is hardly the word. You have lovely sons, Mrs. Grant. I'm lucky to have my job."

"They're lucky to have you," Evelyn Grant countered smoothly. "Every powerful man needs a supporting cast."

Harrison kept a supporting hand at Frankie's back, even though it was  clear she didn't want it there. If anyone knew the value of a supporting  cast, it was his mother. She had been that her entire life as the  matriarch of this family, these days focusing far too much of her  attention on her sons' careers.

His mother gave him a pointed look. "Tom Dennison was asking after you. Perhaps I can introduce Francesca around?"

He didn't know why it bothered him to let Frankie go. It was better that  way, keeping their distance from each other, and his mother would  undoubtedly do a superb job being the social queen that she was.

He glanced at Frankie. "Okay?"

She nodded, but he knew her well enough now to catch the trace of  trepidation in her eyes. His mother had a reputation, no doubt about it,  but Frankie was more than up to it handling her. She had no problem  handling him.

He left the women and found Tom Dennison enjoying a drink on the far end  of the patio with a couple of other power-broker CEOs. Dennison made a  joke about him being a mirage, then folded him into a tight-knit  discussion of politics and current affairs. It was clear Dennison was  offering him his backing and that of his political sidekicks if he  elected to run. He kept his poker face on and tested the waters.

His mother, true to her word, introduced Frankie around. At some point  she handed her off to Coburn, who kept her at his side as he moved from  group to group, his usual life-of-the-party self. As the night wore on,  he watched Frankie's sparkle return. Her eyes glowed, and as Coburn's  eligible friends flirted with her, she smiled often with that  combination of shyness and pleasure he found so damn appealing.

A knot formed itself in his chest. More than a few of the single,  imminently successful types seemed interested in the beautiful brunette.  And why not? She was everything a man could ever want in a woman.  Gorgeous, smart and witty. The type of girl they could put a ring on and  know they were damn well lucky to have her.

He grabbed a glass of wine from a passing waiter's tray, the tightness  in his chest growing. He was not those men. No man could ever really  change his spots for a woman. Not even for one who'd turned his mind and  body upside down in the space of a few weeks. If the darkness in him  didn't destroy her, his life would. Because after he'd brought Anton  Markovic to his knees, he might enter the nastiest arena of all-a place  he could never imagine good-hearted, ethical Frankie in.

Hors d'oeuvres were served and the champagne flowed. The four-piece band  who'd been playing the Grant party for almost two decades struck up a  tune. He had just extricated himself from a long discussion with one of  his father's oldest friends when Cecily Hargrove found him in all her  bubbly blond enthusiasm.