Ben was suddenly all business, talking rapidly on his cell, passing her notes to read for the meeting.
"It wouldn't occur to you to send these to me ahead of time," she exclaimed.
He covered his phone with one hand. "I didn't know you were joining me until three hours ago, did I?"
She scowled, slipped on her glasses, and dove in to the papers. Of course they might have discussed this on the plane, but they were otherwise occupied. Nervous suddenly, she fumbled over her blouse buttons. Hopefully the people they met with wouldn't sense anything out of place.
As the limo rolled into a circular driveway, bordered by tall palms, a porter was waiting to take their luggage. He greeted Ben with a wide smile.
"Mr. P, sir! Nice to have you back."
Ben shook his hand warmly. "Good to be back, Joe. How are the kids?"
So he remembered the porter's name. Bry was impressed.
"They're doing fine, Mr. P. Just fine. How've you been? Lookin' good, sir." The porter glanced at Bry.
"Joe, this is Ms. Mulligan. My accountant."
"Really?" The man took her hand and shook it. "Brains and beauty."
She laughed. "I don't know about that. Nice to meet you, Joe."
"Well, it all adds up now, sir. It all adds up."
"Very funny, Joe." Ben gave him a large tip and steered Bryony through the rotating doors into the cool hotel lobby.
"What adds up?" she demanded.
"It was a joke about you being an accountant."
"There was more to it than that." The porter had a wily grin and a very wicked spark in his eyes. He'd been altogether too amused at his own joke—even more amused at Ben's hasty reply.
At the check-in she discovered he'd only booked one room. It hadn't occurred to her that she wouldn't have her own.
"Don't worry. It's a suite," he told her calmly. "Plenty of space."
"And only one bed?"
"Of course."
"Do you usually share a bed with your accountant?" she whispered as they stepped into the elevator.
"No." He looked at her, his face unusually solemn. "You're a first."
Well, that was something, she supposed.
Ben was right about the size of the suite. In fact he'd understated. It was three rooms divided by white, louvered pocket doors. One long balcony ran the length of the suite, overlooking endless azure ocean, a curved, pearly-sand beach and a clear, pristine sky. She walked out immediately to feel the sun on her face and that warm, gentle breeze on her legs. "Have I died and gone to heaven?"
He was behind her, one hand on her ass. "That's what I thought when you took my cock in your mouth today."
"Ha ha."
"Truthfully."
Bry glanced at him over her shoulder. This man had suffered the hots for her, according to his cousin Carl, for years. She still didn't know whether to believe it. Why wouldn't he have said something? He was a great believer in being straight-forward and honest. Yet if Carl was right, he'd hidden his feelings from her. That would suggest he wasn't quite as ballsy as he looked and acted. "Aren't we supposed to be in professional mode now?" she asked. "What time is the meeting?"
He checked his wristwatch. "In fifteen minutes."
"So..."
"Time enough for a kiss, Mulligan. Before you go over the numbers with me again."
Surprised that was all he had in mind, she said nothing, just let him kiss her. The ocean breeze ruffled her hair, stroked her legs and rippled the sleeves of her blouse. His kiss did the same to her insides.
Ben Petruska was a very, very good kisser.
She raised her hands to his shoulders and kissed him back, sliding her tongue against his, arching her body, tangling her fingers in his hair.
As their lips finally parted hers felt bruised, swollen. His hand patted her ass and he cleared his throat. "Lets get to work, Ms. Mulligan."
* * * *
The meeting lasted all morning, but she barely noticed the time. It was fascinating watching Ben do what he did best. Well...the second thing he did best. He charmed and joked and demanded attention, very much in control the moment he walked in and sat down. He wanted that property and he meant to get it—at his price and despite the red-tape of bureaucracy. There wasn't much for Bry to do, but sit there and back him up once or twice when he asked for figures. Fortunately she was efficient at picking up facts and could memorize a page of numbers after a few brief scans. Never had that skill stood her in such good stead.
She actually managed to look as if she'd worked for Petruska Industries longer than a few hours. And her mind didn't wander too much, even when he moved his hand under the table and laid it over her thigh for a quick squeeze.
When the meeting adjourned, she knew he had a few others lined up, but apparently he didn't require her for those.