Emma Holly (4 page)

"They consider it part of his benefits. Plus, I doubt you'd take me seriously if I approached you anywhere but here. It's a measure of trust, Charity, that we make this offer without knowing what you'll say. Potentially, you hold not only B.G. Grantham's reputation hostage but Future-Tech's as well."

She liked the low-key way he put this. He'd made his pitch, and now he was leaving the choice to her.

The only sign that he might be impatient was his tapping the pen on his thigh.

"Ever been burned by someone you picked?"

"Never," he said. "We pride ourselves on how well we choose our candidates. For the last three years, each and every one has honored their agreement."

In this day and age, that was practically a miracle.

Go ahead
, said the inner voice she never knew whether to trust.
Open the door. This is the way you
want to go
.

Never mind her mother had all too often followed her hunches straight to Stupidville. What else did Charity have to go by? Whatever Eric said, she knew she wasn't the biggest brain in the Western world.

"All right," she said aloud, putting out her hand for the pen. "I guess I can give this a shot." She signed with a flourish she was proud of, then looked up. "Who's my slave boy?"

"Excuse me?" Eric said.

"My keeper. The guy who's supposed to keep my motor revved."

"Um." Eric's face looked as if he'd taken too much sun. "That would be me."

"You!" She supposed her reaction was rude, but she was too surprised to keep it in. The last thing she'd expected was that he would take a job like that.

"Yes," he said, "unless you have some problem with my assuming that position…"

Charity's snort of laughter was directed at herself rather than him, but he pressed his lips together anyway.

"Oh, no," she assured him, unable to resist. "I have no problem with you assuming any position at all."

"Good," he said, ignoring her double meaning. Still stiff, he rose from the chair and once again shot his cuffs. His small gold cufflinks flashed exotically. "I trust you'll remember that I don't answer to you. I am not, strictly speaking, anyone's
slave
."

Charity was forced to swallow back another snicker. Though she suspected he wasn't someone to play with, she couldn't contain her giddiness.

"I trust you'll forgive me," she said, "when I say that's a freaking shame."

Eric's
boss had accused him more than once of being a worrier, but Eric hadn't felt this overwound since his previous employer's stock underwent a dot-bomb implosion.

Let her make the right choice for her
, he thought as she looked over B.G.'s contract.
Even if the
choice is no
.

Somewhere inside him, his libido laughed. It knew the only answer it cared to hear.

He couldn't help staring at her while she read. She was the most naturally feminine female he'd ever met: soft and curved from head to toe. Her eyes were Liz Taylor violet, her lips a bee-stung pout. She'd been biting them the first time he'd seen her typing at her desk. Something about the unconscious habit had sent an instant jolt of possessiveness through his veins. Ever since, he'd been unable to keep his cool. How could he, when any man with half his lizard brain intact would find her attractive?

B.G. would have explained Eric's reaction with a quip about his particles having known hers in a previous life.
You're entangled
, he would have said.
A pawn to the laws of physics
. Eric himself had a simpler reason.

Charity Wills was Woman with a capital "W."

What really
got
him, though, what had him nervous as well as enticed, were the things he saw in her eyes. For all their sooty-lashed bedroom appeal, the soul that swam behind them was no siren. This girl was the walking wounded, tough in her way, but bruised. Once he'd perceived this, nothing Dave Massey dug up surprised him.

Her eyes couldn't hide how much she yearned to be loved.

He wanted her to have every advantage Future-Tech could give her, wanted her to meet the kind of man she should really be shooting for. B.G. could give her a taste of that. Maybe so could he.

This bit of ego faltered when she expressed her shock at him being her keeper. Of the many results he'd pictured, that wasn't one. Caught off-balance, he bristled at her joke about him assuming the position, enough that he made her uncomfortable—which wasn't in the least how he'd meant to start.

He'd wanted—no, needed—her to trust him if this game was going to play out successfully.

Doing his best to unstiffen, he stuck his hand across the desk to shake. "I'm sorry if I've disappointed you, but I'm glad we're going to be colleagues."

His good manners seemed to rattle her. Her hand fluttered to the neck of her snug blue top before coming out to join his. To his surprise, given her smart-assed comments, when he gripped her fingers they were cold. He brought his second hand up to warm them without thinking twice.

Maybe she wasn't as fearless as she seemed.

"Don't worry," he said, his voice instinctively dark and soft. "It's our responsibility to see that you enjoy yourself, not the other way around. You can't fail, no matter what you do."

"That'll be a first," she said with a raspy laugh.

"It's
your
desire B.G. hopes to rouse. Really, Charity, you can't go wrong."

At his use of her name, color rose like wine to her cream-pale cheeks. Too late he realized he'd

betrayed the more personal component to his interest.

"You can call me Eric," he said, dropping her hand as his own face threatened to heat.

His awkwardness seemed to cure hers. She cocked her head to the side, a smile playing lightly around her lips. "That sounds mighty informal," she said, her voice revealing the slightest twang. "Are you sure you wouldn't prefer Master Eric? Or Mucky-Muck Number Two?"

"Those aren't quite the kind of games we play."

"No?"

He shook his head. "You'll see how it works when we begin."

"I thought we had begun."

He smiled at her teasing tone. "Not yet."

"In that case, there's something I'd like to clear up first."

He tensed, but she didn't have more bargaining in mind. Instead, she came around the desk and stepped toe-to-toe with him. Taking hold of his lapels, she pulled his head down for a slow, openmouthed kiss. It wasn't a coy kiss by any means, more like a declaration of intent, full of tongue and wetness and—underneath—an unexpected tenderness. To Eric's dismay, her mouth was as irresistible as the rest of her. Though he didn't grab onto her the way he wanted, he was gasping by the time she let go, his heart pounding as if he'd run the circumference of the floor.

All she had to do to feel it was uncurl her hands.

When her tongue came out to lick the taste of him from her lip, he thought he'd burst.

With a smile of feminine pleasure, she fastened the buttons of his suit. "There," she said, giving his chest a pat. "That was off the clock, cowboy, to let you know I'm genuinely interested."

He tried to speak through his hoarseness. "Wow. Um. I'll just, uh, call the driver and tell him to bring the car around."

He had to unbutton his coat again to reach his cell. Charity laughed, taking her chance to ogle what she'd been kind enough to cover up. "Not bad," she said, one judicious finger to her chin, "unless you're filling that out with socks."

Her suggestion—definitely a first—made him fumble the phone. "I'll put you on the clock," he warned once he caught it. "Then you'll have to behave."

If anything, her grin grew broader. Two deep dimples appeared on her cheeks. Seeing them, Eric's stomach did an alarmingly pleasant flip.

He was beginning to suspect Charity Wills had a bit more spirit than any of them were ready for.

In
no mood to talk to Dave, the "private" investigator, Charity asked Eric to retrieve her purse while she waited by the elevators. He handed it to her when he returned.

"Dave didn't mean any harm," he said. "Researching you was his job."

"Hah," said Charity. "He's a snoop."

The elevator dinged shut, enclosing the two of them. Still buzzing from the kiss, which had seemed like a good idea at the time, Charity tried to pretend she couldn't smell Eric's woodsy cologne. Bad employee or not, she knew it wasn't smart to get too stoked by your co-worker.

My
keeper
, she corrected, a long, warm thrill slipping down her spine. She pressed her thighs together in self-defense, but that couldn't keep her body from going wet. What would Eric do to her, she wondered, and what would she be able to do to him?

She stood a bit behind him as they rode down, her gaze drifting from the slightly rumpled pleat of his linen trousers to the breadth of his athletic back. The little curves of hair at the base of his haircut were sticking darkly to his neck. As if he felt her eyes, he ran one finger around his white collar. She was certain he hadn't been sweating before they kissed.

"Here we are," he said as they hit the black marble lobby. From this, Charity knew she'd ruffled him. He didn't strike her as a man who talked just to make noise. She would have reveled in her victory if the knowledge hadn't sent a fresh pulse of excitement between her legs.

At this rate, she was going to be begging for it within the hour. While his boss might like the begging, she had a feeling it would bug her.

"We'll go to your apartment," he said, "so you can pack."

The car—a limo, actually, and a welcome distraction—was waiting on the street outside. Freeway Park rose behind it, a man-made green space straddling Highway 5 on a concrete bridge. Charity liked to eat her lunch beside its waterfalls. It felt peculiar to think she wouldn't go there today.

As if to underscore the unexpected shift in her fate, the limo's uniformed driver emerged. He was built like a wrestler, the World Wrestling Entertainment kind, right down to his mane of shaggy blond hair. The style was out of place with his shining cap and professionally sober expression. Behind his mirrored sunglasses, she sensed him watching her approach. She wondered if he, too, were a player in Grantham's game. For sure he was giving off some kind of vibe, as if how she looked and who she was might have relevance for him.

He wore a headset, the kind receptionists used to save them from having to hold the phone. Charity considered the contraptions a form of bondage, but this guy didn't seem to mind. "Subjects approaching,"

he muttered into the mouthpiece, like maybe he watched too much TV.

But that was okay. Whatever it took to
get
into your job. And he did make his look kind of sexy.

"Wow," she said, pretending she hadn't noticed his attention as she slid her hand admiringly down the limo's hood.

Left running, the motor purred beneath the black expanse. "Must be nice to take this to work every day."

"It's a Rolls," Eric informed her. "A custom Phantom. Direct injected V12 with self-leveling air springs.

It'll float you right around a corner. Cars are kind of a hobby of mine."

She allowed herself a private smile for boys and their toys, then obeyed the chauffeur's gentlemanly gesture to get in back. The seat was leather, of course, squeaking nicely and smelling good. Her hip-hugging skirt slid right across it. Eric followed her with the reluctance of a man who would rather drive. He sat just far enough away that their knees didn't touch. Charity rectified this oversight by turning sideways, causing her hose to rasp his linen pants. As if he couldn't help it, his gaze flicked to her thighs.

Gratified, Charity put her elbow on the seat back and propped her jaw on her hand. True to Eric's promise, the limo glided silently from the curb. Seattle's hills could be a challenge to pedestrians, and never mind to cars, but the limo didn't labor once. She sensed more than saw the driver glance in the rearview mirror. That he knew the way to her house without being told was no surprise. Like the Rolls, this adventure was a well-oiled machine.

"He's not a regular chauffeur, is he?" Charity asked.

"No," Eric admitted, seeming fascinated by her eyes. His had a ring of blue around their stormcloud gray. "Maurice was hired because he's good, but not so long ago, he came to B.G.'s estate just like you."

"Were you there?" Her body tingled as a possibility rose in her mind. "Were you his keeper?"

"I was."

"I guess you, uh, swing both ways then."

"I do." Apparently not offended, he turned on the seat, his fingers mirroring her jaw-supporting pose.

"Both men and women push my buttons, so to speak. I hope that doesn't bother you."

She pretended to think as she fought the urge to squirm. Not hardly it didn't bother her! "I think that's fine," she confessed when she thought she'd hesitated long enough. "I've always wondered what boys get up to with other boys. I just wouldn't have guessed. Looking at you, you seem kind of straight-laced."

"If I were exactly what I appear, I couldn't do my job."

"Are you good at it?"

His smile was slow and scrumptious. "That question is for you to answer in due time."

The way he looked at her, the lust he was able to convey with just his eyes, made a wash of heat rush out from her core. Those eyes held all the things he wanted to do to her but wasn't allowed, things she couldn't begin to dream of, things she might not dare to do with anyone else. He hadn't even touched her, and she was soaked.

Charity had a feeling she was even more out of her league than she'd feared.

"Phew," she said, laughing nervously as she leaned back and fanned her face. "Remind me not to doubt you again."