On her way to the elevator, Stephanie spotted Jonas talking to Donald Black, head of the accounting department. Her pulse quickened at the virile sight Jonas presented. He was an attractive figure, tall and broad-shouldered, and—she freely admitted it—he was a handsome devil. Her heart swelled at the sight of him, and when his gaze happened to catch hers, Stephanie smiled warmly, revealing all the pleasure she felt at seeing him again.
Jonas didn’t respond. If anything, he almost looked right through her, as if she were nothing more than a piece of furniture. If any emotion showed on his taut features, it was regret. Stephanie swallowed, feeling as if she had a pine cone lodged in her throat.
When he did happen to glance in her direction, Stephanie read the demand in his eyes. What happened outside the office was between them, but inside Lockwood Industries she was nothing more than a secretary, and she’d do well to remember that.
Humiliated and insulted, Stephanie stiffened and looked past him as though he were a stranger, pretending she had neither the time nor the energy to play his infantile games. She thrust her shoulders back in a display of anger and pride, and held them so stiffly that her shoulder blades ached within seconds.
From the minute Jonas had left her the night before, Stephanie had been happy and content. Now her spirits plummeted to the bottom floor at breakneck speed and landed with a sickening thud. She turned her gaze to the front of the elevator and refused to look at him another moment.
She heard the two men walking behind her, but Stephanie ignored them both.
“Good evening, Miss Coulter,” Jonas said in passing.
“Good evening, sir,” she responded tightly, in a professional crisp tone.
The elevator arrived, and without another word, Stephanie joined the others in the five o’clock rush. She rode the elevator to the street level, and five minutes later caught Metro bus #17 that dropped her off a block from her apartment.
Affronted by his attitude, chagrined at how much she had read into the simple evening they’d shared, and disgruntled that she’d allowed Jan and friends to talk her into believing Jonas Lockwood had a heart, Stephanie quickly changed clothes and decided to weed her miniature herb garden.
She hadn’t been home more than thirty minutes when the doorbell chimed. Glaring at her front door, she continued pulling up the weeds in the small redwood planters, then stared down at her garden gloves and realized she’d uprooted more basil than anything else.
She didn’t need to answer the door to know it was Jonas who stood on the other side. When the doorbell rang sharply a second time, Stephanie impatiently set the trowel aside and stood up.
She muttered under her breath as she marched across the living room floor, and swore that if he commented on her purple tennis shoes one more time she would slam the door in his face. She jerked off a dirt-covered glove and pulled open the door.
“Hello, Stephanie.”
“Mr. Lockwood,” she responded tautly. “What an unpleasant surprise.’’
“May I come in?”
“No.” She avoided his eyes. It took all her willpower not to close the door and be done with him. But she’d decided to play this little charade out. She might not come from a rich, powerful family like Jonas’s, but she didn’t lack pride. “As you can see, I’m busy,” she finished.
“This will only take a minute.”
“I’m surprised you’re lowering yourself to come here,” she added waspishly. “Your message this afternoon came through crystal-clear.”
“I’d like to explain that.” Disregarding her unfriendly welcome and her unwillingness to allow him into her apartment, Jonas stalked past her and into the living room.
“It seems I have no say in the matter. All right, since you’re so keen to explain yourself, do so and then kindly leave.”
“I honestly would like to explain—”
“Go ahead,” she cried. “But let me assure you, it isn’t necessary.”
Jonas leaned heavily on his cane as he walked to the center of the room. Stephanie stubbornly remained at the front door. She’d closed it, but stood ready to yank it open the minute he finished.
He turned to face her, and placed both hands on the curve of the polished oak cane, using it for support.
“I realize the name Coulter may not cause a banker’s heart to flutter, but it’s a good name. My father’s proud of it, and so am I.”
“Stephanie, you misunderstood my intentions.”
“I sincerely doubt that.” Her voice trembled with the strength of her emotion. “I understood you perfectly.”
His eyes were blue and probing as they swept her tightly controlled features. She wondered if a splattering of mud was smeared across her cheek, but wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of running her fingers over her face to find out. No doubt he’d view it as a sign of weakness. She
was
weak, she realized, but only when he held her and kissed her, and she wouldn’t allow that now.
“It wouldn’t matter to me if your name was Getty, or Rockefeller, or Hughes for that matter. Don’t you understand that?”
“Obviously not,” she returned stiffly. “You were putting me in my place, and you did a good job of it, I might add. I’m a lowly, brainless secretary and you’re the big, mighty boss, and I shouldn’t confuse the two. Since I’m not the mature woman you prefer, I would do well to bow low whenever your shadow passes near me. Isn’t that what you meant to say?”
“No. Damn it, I should have known you’d be unreasonable.”
“Me? Unreasonable? That’s a laugh. I’ve worked for Mr. Potter for nearly two years, and we’ve never exchanged a cross word. Two seconds in your company and I’m so angry I can hardly think.”
“Would you stop with this lowly secretary bit? I wouldn’t care if you were the first vice president,” he shouted. “Anything that’s between you and me has to stay out of the office!”
“Of course it must,” she simpered. “It would do your reputation considerable harm if anyone knew you’d lowered yourself to actually date an employee.”
“It’s not me I’m thinking about.”
“You could have fooled me.”
“Stephanie, if you’d get off your high horse a minute, you’d see that it’s good business. Hell, I probably shouldn’t be seeing you now; I’m supposed to be at a meeting.”
She jerked open the door. “Don’t let me stop you.” Stephanie recognized the flash of anger in his eyes and experienced a small sense of triumph.
He ran a hand over his face, wiping his expression clean as he fought for control of his considerable temper. “Can’t you understand that I’m doing this for your own protection?”
“Forgive me for being dense, but quite frankly, I don’t.”
He continued as though she hadn’t spoken. “Some no-good busybody is going to drag your name through the mud the minute they learn we’re seeing each other. The next thing either of us knows, you’ll be the subject of jealous, malicious gossip. You won’t be able to walk into a room without people whispering your name.”
Stephanie swallowed convulsively. “I hadn’t thought of... that.” Her friends were supportive, but they were only a small fraction of the personnel employed by Lockwood Industries.
“A thousand times, I told myself that seeing you would only lead to trouble.” A dark, brooding look clouded his eyes. “Even now, I’m not convinced it’s right for either of us.”
Stephanie had to swallow down the words to argue with him. It felt incredibly right to be with Jonas.
“If you’re seeking my apology for what happened earlier,” he said in a gruff, low-pitched voice, “then you have it. It has never been my intention to offend you.”
“I owe you an apology as well.” With her hands clasped in front of her, Stephanie took a step toward him. “You’re right about the office, Jonas, only I was too much of an idiot to see it.”
He smiled one of those rare, rich smiles of his, a smile that Stephanie was convinced could melt stone. “I’m pleased we cleared away this misunderstanding,” he said, and glanced at his watch, frowning. “Now I really must be going.”
“Thank you for coming.” Knowing that he’d found it important to explain meant a great deal to her.
He walked to the door, then suddenly turned to her. “Do you sail?”
“Sure.” She’d never been on a sailboat in her life. “At least, I think I can, given the chance.”
“How about this weekend?”
“I’d like that very much.”
“I’ll call you later,” he said on his way out the door. Then he muttered something about her not making bankers’ hearts flutter, but doing a hell of a good job of his own.
Stephanie closed the door after him and leaned against it, grinning with a smile that beamed all the way from her heart.
Chapter Eight
A stiff breeze billowed the huge spinnaker, and the thirty-foot sailboat heeled sharply, shaving the water-line with a razor-sharp cut. Stephanie threw back her head and laughed merrily into the wind. The pins holding her hair had long ago been discarded, and her blond tresses now unfurled behind her like a flag, waving in the crisp air. “Oh Jonas, I love this.”
His answering smile was warm. “Somehow I knew you’d be a natural on the water.”
“This is marvelous.” She crossed her arms over her breasts as though to hug the sense of exhilaration she felt.
“You’ve never sailed before?”
“Never.” She noted the way he steered the boat from the helm, his movements confident, sure. “Can I do that?”
“If you’d like.”
Stephanie joined him and sat down at his side. “Okay, tell me what to do.”
“Just head her into the wind.”
“Okay.” She placed both hands on the long narrow handle that controlled the rudder and watched as the boat turned sharply. Almost immediately the sails went slack, but one guiding touch from Jonas and they filled with wind again.
“Hey, this isn’t as easy as it looks,” Stephanie complained, though not strenuously. The day was marvelous. There wasn’t any other way to describe it, but the weather had little to do with Stephanie’s evaluation of this particular Saturday.
Jonas had arrived at her apartment early that morning, bringing freshly squeezed orange juice, croissants still warm from the oven, and two large cups of steaming coffee. Stephanie had always been a morning person, and Jonas apparently was as well.
She had prepared her own surprise by packing them a picnic lunch. Included in her basket were two small loaves of French bread, a bottle of white wine, a variety of cheeses and some fresh strawberries that had cost her more than she cared to think about. But one look at the plump, juicy fruit and Stephanie couldn’t resist them.
The journey into Duluth was pleasant, as Jonas spoke of his family and their home on Lake Superior. His mother lived there now, and Stephanie would be meeting her later that afternoon.
“You’re quiet all of a sudden,” Jonas mentioned as he reached over to correct her steering once again. “Is anything troubling you?”
“How could anything possibly be wrong on a glorious day like this one?”
“You were frowning.”
“I was?” Stephanie glanced out over the choppy water. There wasn’t another boat in sight. It was as though she and Jonas alone faced the mighty power of this astonishing lake. “I was thinking about meeting your mother. I guess I’m nervous.”
“Why should you be?”
“Jonas, look at me. I could be confused with a fugitive from justice in these old jeans; I only wish you’d said something earlier so I could have brought a change of clothes along.”
“Mother won’t care.”
Perhaps not, Stephanie mused, but
she
certainly did. If she was going to come face-to-face with Jonas’s mother, Stephanie would have preferred to do it when she looked her best. Not now, with her hair in tangles and knots from the wind and her face free of makeup and a pinkish-red from the day in the sun. On the other hand, Stephanie’s musings continued, Mrs. Lockwood would see her at her worst and be pleasantly surprised if she met her later. Her lazy smile grew and grew, and she glanced at Jonas.
His look was thoughtful. “Stephanie, I don’t want you to fret about meeting my family.”
“She must be a marvelous woman.”
“As a matter of fact she is, but you sound as if you know her, and that isn’t possible.”
Stephanie’s gaze momentarily scanned the swirling green water in an effort to avoid meeting his intense gaze. “You’re right, I could pass her on the street and not know who she is, but she’s a special person.” The woman who bore and raised Jonas would have to be.
Jonas placed his arm around her shoulder, and Stephanie leaned her head back against the solid cushion of his chest. Gently, he kissed the top of her head.
Stephanie turned so that her lips touched his throat where his shirt opened. His skin was warm, and she both felt and heard his answering sigh. His large hand was splayed against the back of her head, and he directed her mouth to his. Stephanie didn’t need any more encouragement, and their mouths met in a gentle brushing of lips. She moved away from the helm and slipped her arms around his neck. He kissed her again, longer this time, much longer, but still he was infinitely gentle, as though he feared hurting her. Jonas released her when the sails began to flap in the wind, but he did it with such reluctance that Stephanie’s heart sang.
“Are you hungry?” she asked, more for something to do than from any desire for lunch.
“Yes,” Jonas admitted hoarsely, but when she went toward the wicker picnic basket, Jonas’s hand caught hers, delaying her.
Stephanie raised questioning eyes to his. “Jonas?” In a heartbeat, he gently pulled her back to him, his hand slipping around her waist. “It isn’t food that tempts me.” He kissed her again, his mouth moving on hers with an urgency as old as mankind itself. Stephanie threaded her fingers through his hair and held his head fast as his tongue brushed against hers until she was so weak that she slumped against him.
“Jonas,” she breathed as his hand slid up the front of her shirt to cup her breasts. They swelled in his hands, throbbing, aching, begging for his touch. With limitless patience, he raised her blouse, freeing her breasts of the confining lace. Her breath caught in her throat as his lips sought her nipple. She could feel the heat of his mouth, closing snugly around the pink crest of her breast. He tasted it and kissed it until Stephanie tossed back her head to better capture the wild sensation that erupted within her. When he’d finished with one breast, he moved to the other, gently rolling the beaded nipple with his tongue. Had Stephanie had the power to draw in a breath, she would have gasped and cried out at the pleasure he was giving her. Her fingers dug deeper into his hair, and moisture filled her eyes. Nothing she had ever experienced with a man had been this beautiful. Nothing had ever been so intimate. She felt as if her breasts were melting like spun sugar against his tongue. A sound must have slipped from her throat, because Jonas paused and slowly raised his head.