One time only he had allowed a woman to get close, and she had taken all she could on her way out. David hadn’t even guessed she was going until he arrived at the near-gutted mansion and one of the maids informed him of Lexi’s hasty departure. When he called and asked Lexi why, she told him he better learn to pay attention. She thanked him for “all your mom’s old stuff” and wished him luck with what he deserved: a “silly, vapid” girl or better yet, a “hard-edge” like him.
David ran harder.
Well, Sloane certainly couldn’t be described as silly, vapid, or hard-edged, and, best of all, she was nothing like Lexi. Sloane seemed a rare blend of all the best female qualities—soft, pretty, smart, and one heck of a kisser. He couldn’t imagine Sloane stealing anyone’s couch.
The thought made him chuckle. What did he know? Complicated. That’s exactly what those thoughts were—Lexi, his mother, and now Sloane. He liked complications to lead to computations that led to cash. Money was as complicated as he liked to get. How complicated might Sloane be?
By the time David ran two miles, he’d decided Sloane was a curiosity to him, a person he could possibly help as he helped himself. She needed a job, and that was done. Now David could concentrate on making Sloane all his.
All his?
What an odd phrase.
He reminded himself he only wanted Sloane for fun. She made him laugh. That certainly didn’t spell exclusive. But, if he were utterly truthful, he couldn’t imagine seeing Sloane with any other man. And he couldn’t imagine any other woman measuring up to Sloane.
David dialed up the speed and the incline, and the overworked treadmill buzzed loudly.
Sloane’s kisses belonged to him. He didn’t like to share, and she wasn’t a woman to be shared. He could sense she was virtuous, even if experienced. He believed her ardor revealed a vulnerability that made her even more desirable. She could have submitted to their mutual lust. He knew she wanted him, but she held back, denied him. Oh, and how graciously she had smiled while doing it. Was she too classy, too well-raised for a quickie? Or maybe she knew that she would get a whole lot more if she made him wait for it?
David hoped she wasn’t
that
kind of woman, the only type he’d ever really dated. One thing for certain, Sloane aroused him fiercely, and he couldn’t wait to touch her, to fill her.
Realizing meeting up with Sloane again was the good luck he needed right now, especially as this huge deal was about to close, David slowed his pace a bit.
As he wiped his brow with the Egyptian cotton towel around his neck, he pictured the hollow at the base of Sloane’s throat, the way her pulse raced when he put his mouth there. He couldn’t wait to see her again. The day had put a bounce in his step he hadn’t felt since he was a kid on the pitcher’s mound. He fist pumped the air and then laughed at his own enthusiasm.
He logged a quick five miles and took a fast shower in the bathroom adjacent his giant bedroom. Quiet filled the mansion. David enjoyed his solitary life, even if it was a little lonely so late at night with no one in sight but the guy in the mirror.
Envisioning Sloane standing next to him, brushing her chestnut tresses or washing her perfect face, he hoped the flowers he’d sent earlier brought a smile to her lips. She seemed like a woman who would enjoy bright colors and sweet scents, enjoy a home filled with ... what was it? Nature. Yes, that’s the word she had used.
He realized he had never let a woman invade his mind or his heart.
Heart?
Ridiculous.
It must be the late hour, the lack of sleep. David knew he better get to bed before he lost all sense of himself.
He clicked off the light as he exited the giant bathroom and got into his king-sized bed. The heavy white drapes did their best to block out the gloaming of the Alaskan summer night. David had been an insomniac all his life, but he used the extra time he had each evening to work, to make money. Tonight he felt too distracted to think about either. David tossed and turned, trying to ease the stiffness between his thighs.
Sloane was not only on his mind, but she was all over his body. He couldn’t shake the memory of her hands on his, of her lips on his. He wanted to rest, needed to rest, but all he could do was imagine how incredible she would be in his bed tomorrow night. Once he had her in his bed, he’d know all there was. Then he could stop thinking about her.
“Sloane,” he groaned as sleep finally claimed him.
Sloane reached out and took the documents in her hands. “To Mr. Grant? At his home? Oh, Okay. Yes, Mr. Forster.”
Sloane’s stomach, which had been living on a roller coaster since yesterday, did another 360. “Oh, and take your time, Sloane. David might want to study the file before he signs. As long as you drop it off this afternoon. Thanks.”
She smiled brightly at her new boss and turned to leave the expansive downtown office.
When she’d called Tony that morning, she hadn’t expected to be put straight through to Human Resources. A magnanimous woman named Debbie Pierce told her to come in and sign W-2s that morning. Sloane threw on a black linen skirt and a crisp white blouse. She tugged on a gray sweater over the perfunctory ensemble, and put on a pair of black pumps. She was off to work!
Hired, Sloane’s new title was executive assistant to Tony Forster, president of Forster Industries. Like David, Tony had a staff that accommodated all his requests. Sloane’s perfect driving record apparently recommended her for running errands. Her first task: deliver documents to David Grant for immediate signature.
Sloane peered into the small vanity mirror in her sturdy, compact, all-wheel-drive vehicle and checked her face. No amount of foundation could hide the evidence of a poor night’s sleep. But her eyes shone brightly, keen with joy. She had a job, and she had a date. The only thing she was unsure about was this first assignment.
Would she just hand this file off to another assistant, or would she actually lay eyes on, maybe even speak with the man she was expecting that very evening? Sloane didn’t have time to worry about the particulars. She programmed the address emblazoned across the manila envelope into her GPS. She soon found herself navigating through unfamiliar territory. The tonier neighborhoods of the upper crust loomed large along the Chena River.
Sloane found David’s address on the imposing iron gates blocking a long driveway. She pulled onto the concrete driveway and buzzed the intercom. A camera swung toward her car, took her picture, and a moment later the gates ratcheted wide. Sloane eased her car along the arboraceous route to David’s home, feeling a bit like Little Red Riding Hood in the dark forest.
Her mother would say, “Be nice, but not too nice.”
Sloane bit her lip nervously as she approached the giant stone and brick edifice. It looked to be at least 7,000 square feet of modern wealth. The entryway was shaded by Sitka Spruce reaching hundreds of feet into the air. The contemporary home looked as if it had been magically placed within hundred-year-old foliage, and the juxtaposition of natural and human-made captivated Sloane’s untrained eye.
She didn’t know a thing about real estate, but she did know this was the most magnificent structure she’d seen during her time in the Golden Heart City. She parked her car in the circular drive right behind the black Italian sports car, checked her face in the mirror again, applied fresh pink lipstick, and exited her vehicle. The heady scent of pine and the rushing of the river followed her up the brick path to the twenty-foot high oak doors.
The door opened as she approached, and she paused a moment before entering the cool hallway of David’s home.
A sallow-faced young man in blue jeans and a multi-colored plaid button-down shirt stood just inside the door.
“Are you here from Forster?” he asked, already reaching for the envelope Sloane clutched in her hands.
“Yes, I was told to deliver these to David Grant. Is he here?” Sloane asked, not sure if she should hand the file over or wait to see if she might actually deliver it to its intended recipient.
The young man waggled his outstretched hand in exasperation. “Just give it to me. Mr. Grant is expecting the file. You can wait in the drawing room or out on the terrace.” He lifted his chin and pointed to the left, where a yawning doorway led into another large room.
“As you wish,” Sloane acquiesced with a small nod. Her kind tone and good manners must have caught the guy off balance because his head jerked questioningly, and he looked Sloane straight in the eyes for the first time. He appeared surprised.
As he snatched the envelope, she smiled and he blushed crimson. “Sorry, I was so rude. Mr. Grant has been waiting. It’s not your fault.”
“I am sorry to have kept Mr. Grant waiting, but I came as soon as I was handed the documents. I don’t drive a Maserati, like some people.” She winked conspiratorially, one underling to another.
The young man rolled his eyes and said, “I’m Nate. I’ll be right back, I hope.”
Sloane held up both hands and crossed her fingers. They grinned at each other, and he turned and disappeared down the hallway. Sloane meandered into the next room, where she had been instructed to wait.
So David was here. She wondered if he would sense she was in his home. She wondered if he’d even thought about her once since hanging up on her the night before.
Maybe she was just a blip on his calendar. Nothing more. Sloane didn’t want to doubt her instincts, but this house and its stark modern furnishings made her feet go cold. Not one portrait or family memento could be found. The room was filled with abstract sculpture and leather and chrome, just like the offices of Grant Oil.
That was it: the home’s interior resembled an office building. The outside exuded charm as well as wealth, but the inside, though it gleamed exorbitantly, lacked warmth and personality. Surrounded by what only millions could buy, Sloane still felt a twinge of melancholy. She decided to step out onto the terrace as Nate had suggested.
The balcony spread like an unfurled flag over the land and water. Stepping to the outermost edge, Sloane felt as if she were on the prow of a ship. The warm wind buffeted her face, and she unbuttoned her sweater and took it off. The day, bright and crisp, reminded her of a time in her own past when things were easier, but far less exciting. Picking berries, swimming in the pond, bicycling down quiet country roads: these were the activities of summer in rural New York, but here in Alaska, where the roads could be avenues for moose, grizzly, or caribou, outdoor activities proved a bit more challenging.
Sloane considered the spectacular views of thick timber and clamoring river. Breathing in the clean, fresh air rejuvenated her, and she realized it was lunchtime and she hadn’t eaten since her banana on the way out the door to Forster. Her stomach growled, and she put her hand to it. She needed food.
As if on cue, a small woman in a beige dress appeared with a tray of assorted fruits and bread and cheeses. A bottle of water and a small carafe of coffee completed the repast.
“Thank you so much,” Sloane gushed to the quiet woman setting the tray down on the mosaic table near the center of the terrace. Sloane immediately sat in a wrought iron chair and popped a strawberry into her mouth.
“You’re welcome, Ms. Porter,” the maid said as she slipped back through the doors into the house.
Sloane wondered how she knew her name. From that thought came the realization that David knew she was at his home.
“Hello, Sloane.” The deep baritone filled Sloane’s body like a much anticipated kiss. Thank goodness she was sitting down or her legs would have collapsed like old tent poles.
David approached her, a smile on his handsome face. With the bright sunshine illuminating his rugged good looks, he looked even better than she remembered. He had on an immaculate gray suit that showed his lean form to its best advantage. She stood to greet him with her hand extended.
His eyes gleamed as his brilliant brown eyes flitted over her face, finally landing on and capturing her eyes. He took the hand she proffered and brought it to his lips. He kissed the knuckles with moist lips, then closed his eyes. He turned her hand over, and her palm involuntarily opened. Placing it to his cheek for a moment, he leaned into her soft hand before letting go. The gesture was gallant and intimate, but it also made Sloane’s insides turn to jelly. How romantic, she couldn’t help thinking.