Perfect Fit (2 page)

***

8:15. Shit. She was late.

The Harrisons’ longtime housekeeper, Margaret, opened the front door at her knock. When the older woman smiled and stepped back for her to pass, it occurred to Rowyn that the housekeeper might be the only person pleased to see her tonight. Her mother, Pamela Wright Harrison, would be pissed because she’d arrived late. Daniel Harrison, her mother’s second husband and Rowyn’s stepfather, would be irritated because of the interruption her arrival would cause. And her stepsister, Cynthia, or Cindy, as they all called her, would wear her usual pretty smile and add a vapid comment or two.

Fun, fun, fun.

Yeah. Like a stake in the eye.

“They are in the small living room,” Margaret said, taking Rowyn’s purse from her.

“Thanks, Maggie.” Rowyn inhaled and released the breath in a low gust of air. Then she stretched her lips into the brightest, phoniest smile she could manage. “Here’s my social smile,” she murmured through clenched teeth and a stiff mouth. “How does it look?”

Margaret chuckled and shook her head. “Lovely, Ms. Rowyn.”

The older woman turned and headed toward the hall closet, still laughing softly. Rowyn stared after her, noticing the hair contained more gray strands now than black. The drill sergeant stride that had struck awe and fear in her heart as a child had slowed a bit. It dawned on her like the coming of a new day that if this proud woman were gone, Rowyn would lose the only person who had loved her unconditionally.

She’d entered this home at her mother’s side a scared and nervous eleven-year-old, trying so hard to mimic Pamela’s aloof expression. But Maggie had taken one look at her and had detected the fear lurking beneath the adult mask. And through the years, the housekeeper had loved Rowyn—even when she’d been unlovable.

Amusement mingled with the pang of sadness. There had been times when she’d been damn unlovable.

As she turned toward the living room entrance, humor drained away like the alcohol that doubtless flowed too easily down her mother’s throat. With her hand on the knob, Rowyn started to slab on layer after layer of mental cement around her emotions and heart. A quick scan ensured no cracks existed, and then she twisted the knob, pushed open the door, and entered.

And walked into Charlotte Bronte’s version of hell.

Daniel faced the entrance, speaking animatedly to the tall man across from him. Her mother—surprise, surprise, with a highball glass raised to her lips—and stepsister filled in the small circle. At the sound of the door closing behind Rowyn, all four turned to stare in her direction.

Oh. Damn.

The gasp was trapped in her throat, and the world screeched to a halt as if God had slammed his foot on the brakes of time. She sucked in a breath—a difficult task, since all the air seemed to have been vacuumed out of the room. Perspiration prickled her palms, and if she could have moved, she would have rubbed them against her skirt.

It can’t be.
She stared, her heart performing a dizzying tap dance against her rib cage.
It’s not possible.

Yet meeting the bright blue eyes that had haunted her dreams for the past six months, Rowyn couldn’t deny what her gaze refused to accept.

Him.

She’d convinced herself he couldn’t have possibly been as beautiful in reality as he’d appeared in her dreams. After all, when a man gave a woman the most intense, just-this-side-of-death orgasms she’d ever experienced, she could be forgiven for imagining him larger than life. But no, as he stood mere feet away, staring at her with his impenetrable gaze, Rowyn realized her dreams hadn’t been exaggerations.

The same deep cobalt eyes that reminded her of the heart of the ocean. The same olive-tinted skin that reminded her of Italian villas perched on craggy cliffs and romantic beaches. The same beauty that, if he’d been born centuries earlier, would have had Michelangelo drooling to sculpt him for his
David
. His dark brown, closely-cropped curls enhanced the image of a Greco-Roman work of art. And Jesus, the body—she shivered. Tall, elegant, and hinting of an almost primitive power that existed under the civilized black jacket, slacks, and maroon shirt.

She’d been on the receiving end of that power, unleashed and wild.

The intense stare held her immobile and might as well have been a length of steel chains wrapped around her body. She couldn’t move, couldn’t avoid the hard questions in his penetrating gaze.

Unbidden, a memory of the last time she’d been with him flared in her mind. Just the thought of that night could make her nipples tingle and her sex clench. There were nights she still woke from erotic Technicolor dreams, body trembling and breath rasping out of her throat. Dreams of a face hardened with lust, gleaming blue eyes, and a big, muscled body sliding on top of hers, thrusting deep in her pussy. Stretching and filling her…

Rowyn shivered. Damn. All this time later, and an emptiness lingered, a hollow emptiness that could only be filled by a man she believed she’d never see again—the man not five feet away.

“Rowyn,” Pamela drawled, snatching her from the stupor she’d tumbled into. “How nice of you to show up. Late.”

The barb might as well have been a rubber ball, for it bounced right off of Rowyn. Her mind felt like it had been wrapped in yards of bubble wrap. What was Darius doing here? In Boston?

“Darius, please forgive my daughter. She’s a terrible workaholic.” Her mother’s smile was nothing but a tight pull of lips. “Gets that from her father, I’m afraid.”

Rowyn gritted her teeth. The other people in the room may have assumed Pamela referred to Daniel Harrison, but she and Pamela knew her mother meant Rowyn’s biological father, Charles Jeong. The man Pamela resented even eight years after his death.

“I apologize.” Rowyn found her voice and the strength to tear her attention from Darius Fiore.

Daniel stepped forward. “Darius, I’d like to introduce my stepdaughter, Rowyn Jeong. Rowyn”—he nodded—”this is Darius Fiore, a business associate from Seattle.”

“Nice to meet you.” The greeting sounded formal, polite, and as if she’d never sucked his cock to the back of her throat.

A small half smile tipped a corner of Darius’s mouth, and for a moment she feared he would mention that they knew each other—biblically. But no; he stepped forward and extended his hand. “It’s a pleasure, Ms. Jeong.”

Rowyn accepted his hand, and he closed his fingers around hers and squeezed. She stared down at their clasped hands and was pummeled by flashes of those same long, elegant fingers stroking in and out of her pursed lips as he demonstrated how he wanted her to suck his cock. Her clit set up a pounding like the drum section in a marching band. Cream moistened her slit, and
God
, she swore that even now, months later, the tangy flavor of his skin lingered on her tongue.

Her breath rasped in her throat, and she snatched her hand away as if his palm held a live coal. She avoided his gaze and shifted back a couple of steps, placing distance between them. So close to him, his fresh-air-and-sunbaked-sand scent enveloped her, and she could imagine him holding her against his body, his arms wrapped around her. She took another step back.

“Are you okay?” he murmured, reaching out to steady her.

“Yes, fine,” she rasped and moved her arm out of his reach. She glanced up, cleared her throat, and locked eyes with him again. “I’m fine.”

“Rowyn is one of the most capable women I know.” Cindy’s sweet, bell-like voice interrupted their visual noon showdown. Her younger, gorgeous stepsister slipped an arm through Darius’s and offered Rowyn a glass of wine. “If she claims she’s okay, then believe me, she is.” She chuckled, the sound as delightful as everything else about her sister, and guided Darius back to Daniel and Pamela, leaving Rowyn to follow.

Rowyn contemplated the pair. Objectively they made a striking couple. Cindy’s brown curls brushed his shoulder, making his tall stature appear even more so, her slender frame the perfect foil for his strong, broad-shouldered physique.

But subjectively, Rowyn wanted to warn Cindy that if she didn’t remove her touch from Darius, she’d draw back a nub.

Jesus. This is going to be a long-ass evening.

“I’ve always wanted to visit Seattle,” Cindy commented, smiling up at Darius. “It’s beautiful scenery. So picturesque and romantic.” She cast a glance over her shoulder in Rowyn’s direction. “Rowyn has been there several times, though. On business, of course.”

“What other reason would she have to travel? Our Rowyn is married to her job.” The brittle laugh failed to blunt the verbal slice. After thirty years of the emotional stabs, Rowyn should have ceased to bleed fifteen years ago.

“It is a beautiful part of the country,” Darius said, smoothly filling the uncomfortable silence following Pamela’s thinly veiled barb. “I moved there ten years ago from Florida, and I’ve never regretted it.”

“I’m sure Seattle has never regretted it either,” Daniel said, clapping the younger man on the shoulder. “The employment rate must have had a boost with your chain of department stores.”

Rowyn fought to contain her surprise. It had never occurred to her that she and Darius worked in the same field. Of course, they hadn’t talked about business that night. Funny how she knew his favorite movie was
The Breakfast Club
, he had no clue who Lady Gaga was, and he couldn’t pass by a Hershey’s bar with almonds without buying one. But how he earned his living had never surfaced in their myriad conversation topics.

Then again, maybe not so funny. That night she had craved being someone other than Rowyn the coldhearted businesswoman. Rowyn the plainer, bitchier stepsister.

Rowyn the out-of-wedlock mistake.

She studied the dark red depths of her glass, imagining it were a crystal ball. Maybe that explained why her mother drank like a fish. Maybe she too hoped answers lay at the bottom of her glass.

“With the success and popularity of your women’s department, this merger could be highly profitable for both of us.”

Merger?
Rowyn frowned and fixed her gaze and attention on Daniel. She hadn’t heard the slightest whisper of a joint venture with another company.

“You’re considering merging, Daniel?” Rowyn asked, voice as placid as she could manage even though tiny quivers of disquiet rippled through her stomach.

“Yes.” Her stepfather regarded her with a faintly puzzled frown. Maybe he forgot I’m still standing here, Rowyn mused. “We’re starting off small. Just the women’s fashion department for now.”

The quivers swelled into breakers that threatened to tow her under their water of disbelief, anger…and hurt. After years of Daniel’s indifference and careless, sporadic affection, Rowyn had believed her stepfather could no longer hurt her.
I stand corrected.

“Since that is my division, what would happen to the offices here? As well as the employees?”
Me?

A furrow of irritation appeared between his brows, as if her questions were too pesky to address…as if his stepdaughter was too inconsequential to consider.

“All that can be worked out.” He waved off her concerns with a small flick of his hand. “Everyone can be reassigned.”

The pain radiated out from the center of her chest and infected every part of her body, until Rowyn felt like a walking, throbbing wound.

Everyone.

She’d busted her ass for his company—for
him
—for five years. The long hours, the hard work… They had been all she’d had to offer Daniel that he’d willingly take. Never had Rowyn disillusioned herself that she could win his love—that had been reserved for his dead first wife and their daughter—so she’d given him the one thing she had. And now he’d literally brushed it off as one would an annoying gnat.

Jesus. When would she learn?

When the hell would she stop caring?

Chapter Three

“When the prince set eyes on Cinderella, he was struck by her beauty. Walking over to her, he bowed deeply and asked her to dance. And to the great disappointment of all the young ladies, he danced with Cinderella all evening.”—
Cinderella

“Welcome back, buddy.”—Darius Fiore, to his penis after seeing Rowyn Jeong again

When Darius had turned twelve, his cousin Jared had liberated the new four-wheeler he’d received for his birthday and wrecked it before Darius had a chance to ride it. At twenty, he’d caught the college undergraduate he’d believed himself in love with treating her economics professor to a late-night blowjob—and who thought Darius should have understood, since she needed a
C
, as the class was in her major.

And when Darius was twenty-five, his father had promoted a lazy imbecile over him because he hadn’t wanted his son to rise too quickly in the family business. And that same month, he divorced Darius’s mother and married the aforementioned undergraduate. Apparently the economics professor hadn’t been the only man she’d been blowing behind Darius’s back.

In every one of those experiences, Darius had been mad as hell. But not one compared to the fury that consumed him as he stood next to Daniel Harrison and witnessed the disregard and cold rejection of his oldest daughter. Correction:
stepdaughter
, as the businessman had been quick to point out when Darius had inquired about her.

Blood relation or not, she deserved more respect than Daniel had granted. Before considering partnering up with Harrison Companies, Darius had researched the huge chain. Numbers didn’t lie. The business’s main income was derived from the women’s fashion division. And its success could be directly attributed to Rowyn Jeong.

Of course when he’d read her name on his reports, he hadn’t realized the departmental head and the woman he’d nearly killed himself fucking six months ago were one and the same.

He paused inside the entrance to the living room they’d congregated in earlier. She stood at one of the long, oblong windows, staring out into the darkness. For the moment they had the room to themselves. Her parents had been held up by their housekeeper, and Cindy had excused herself, most likely too polite to say she needed to go to the bathroom.

As he stared at the proud line of Rowyn’s spine in the simple but stylish wine-red sheath, Darius was thankful for the time to study her. Ramrod straight. Unbending. A perfect description of the woman he’d spent the evening sitting across a dinner table from. With a reserve that rode the edge of detachment, Rowyn had dined quietly while her stepfather alternated between boasting about his company and rhapsodizing his younger daughter’s virtues, her mother complained and emptied glass after glass of wine, and her stepsister chattered nonstop about…hell, whatever. He’d stopped listening after the first mind-numbing round of local gossip.

Through the long dinner hour, Rowyn had appeared untouched, even indifferent. Yet, sitting across from her, he’d spied the flicker of hurt that had darkened her eyes at Daniel’s callous rebuff. And he’d detected the minute cracks in her armor as Pamela delivered well-aimed jabs and cutting remarks.

“For an educated woman, you have nothing relevant to add to this conversation.” “I wish you would do something with your hair. No wonder a man isn’t attracted to you.”
Jesus. It almost seemed as if she
disliked
her daughter. He had wanted to jump in and demand the older woman lay the fuck off. He’d wanted to catch Rowyn’s gaze, assure her that she wasn’t alone in this battle that masqueraded as dinner. But Rowyn had studiously avoided making eye contact with him, and he’d had to swallow his disappointment along with the Sir Galahad syndrome that had reared its chivalrous head.

He could have saved his worry, though. Rowyn had taken her mother’s verbal stabs in stride. If he hadn’t been studying her so closely, he would have missed the slight tightening of her lips and the small tilt of her chin.

Who
was
Rowyn Jeong? The contained, aloof businesswoman? Or the sensual, uninhibited lover who had disappeared without a hint to her existence except for the lingering scent of sex on his bedsheets and a beautiful necklace and pendant?

Determined to find out, Darius stepped forward. He noticed her back stiffen as he approached, but she didn’t turn around to face him. He didn’t pause until the lapel of his jacket grazed the deep red satin of her dress.

He shoved his hands in the pockets of his slacks. It was either that or grab her arms, turn her around, and lick the curve of her plump bottom lip before sliding his tongue deep into the mouth he’d had wet dreams about.

Their eyes met and held for a brief space of time in the darkened window that reflected their images. Unlike Cindy, the top of Rowyn’s head grazed his chin, and he didn’t feel like a hulking giant next to Thumbelina. From experience, he knew her sexy curves complemented his body like a perfect puzzle piece. Again and again, her breasts had pressed to his chest, his hips to that beautiful rounded ass. He inhaled. And like a deer scenting water, his body reacted to her skin’s perfume.

His breathing deepened; his skin prickled. His cock hardened to the point of sweet pain. Fuck, the smell of her was like a hot palm squeezing his dick.

“Did you just smell my hair?”