The CEO's Little Surprise (5 page)

“Well said.” With a cryptic nod, she brushed past him onto the front steps, engulfing him in a delicious haze of jasmine and other exotic spices. On Cass, the scent was half “come and get me” and half “I'm untouchable.” A thoroughly arousing combination.

Somehow, he managed to drive to the restaurant without veering off into a ditch. Or a shadowy hiding place between two buildings where he could ravish the cool beauty in the next seat. If he wanted her willing, he had to get back on track. But the ice in her spine seemed extra hard and cold tonight.

The restaurant was as highbrow as they came, making him glad he'd tossed a suit in his overnight bag, just in case. The maître d' led them to a secluded table in the back, exactly as Gage had instructed, and left them blessedly alone.

Except Gage still didn't know how to play this dinner. Seduction or strategy? Which would get him an invitation through the front door of Cass's house at the end of the night? Because seduction might be the only way to get what he wanted in the end. A sated Cass might make for a much more reasonable Cass. But they did need to work together on the leak or the formula would be worthless. He couldn't ignore the need to discuss strategy.

Fortunately, what he apparently lacked in ESP, he made up for in charm and ingenuity. So he'd wing it. Like always.

Gage barely glanced at the wine menu before handing it over to Cass. “Since you called dibs on ordering the wine, here you go.”

She arched one of those cool brows and took the leather-bound wine listing. The movement drew attention to her cleavage, where scarcely-contained nipples threatened to burst free of their cranberry lace cage at a moment's notice. A bead of sweat slid between his shoulder blades as he tore his gaze from her breasts.

“I was expecting more of an argument,” she commented as if the sexual undercurrents didn't exist. “You're not a fan of wine, if memory serves.”

No, but the fact that she recalled his preference put a good deal more warmth down south. As if he'd had room for more.

“I'll make an exception for you.”

The more she drank, the less she'd remember to act like the ice goddess, or at least that had been the plan once upon a time when his faculties were in order. Back in her office, she'd seemed...brittle. As if she'd needed someone to pay attention to her. Cass was in sore need of a glass of wine and an orgasm, and not necessarily in that order.

That made up his mind. He wanted to give her a chance to relax, as he'd entreated her to. One of them should be able to anyway. Seduction first. And then they could talk leak strategy later. Much later.

With their food, Cass ordered a four hundred dollar bottle of wine—exorbitant, as promised—and once the waiter left to retrieve it, she folded her hands, contemplating Gage as if she'd found an amusing little puppy she didn't know whether to pet or send outside for peeing on the floor.

“Tell me something,” she began in her boardroom voice that he should not find so sexy.

“Sure. I'm an open book.” He spread his hands wide, earning a small, less-than-amused smile. She needed to drink more. Maybe her Gage-proof armor would fall off along with her inhibitions.

Once, they'd talked about everything under the sun and he'd enjoyed hearing her thoughts and soothing her through her angst. Just like he'd enjoyed being her mentor, shaping her, guiding her.

Maybe you hope to fall into that role again, with the hero worship and Pygmalion overtones, hmm?

Yeah. He did. And she needed his help to find the leak. Needed
him
. So what? Seduction
and
strategy, then. All of that worked together to get him the formula. Where was the harm?

“Why the interest in my formula?” she asked point-blank. “Other than the song and dance about how I owe it to you. For real. Why? You've expanded your retail reach enormously over the past five years and you just landed that endorsement deal. Something must have prompted you to show up on my doorstep.”

“That's a fair question,” he acknowledged, impressed that she'd done her homework on his company. And that's why he chose to answer her honestly. “It's simple really. My target consumers are starting to pay close attention to things like bar-fight scars and wrinkles. So I launched my own product. I don't want any competition.”

“Gage, there are a hundred wrinkle creams on the market. Your competition is legion.”

“No.” He caught her gaze and held it. “There's only one person who's my equal.”

“So this is a pride thing.” Looking away, she sipped the glass of wine the waiter had placed in front of her and murmured her appreciation for the red blend. “You can't stand it when a competitor is primed to beat you.”

He might as well be made of glass when it came to Cass and that was sexy, too. Dang if he could figure out why he was so drawn to her when all he should care about was whatever got him that formula.

Ignoring his own vile glass of headache in a bottle, he grinned because it would be pointless to argue when she clearly saw the truth. But that didn't mean they had to dwell on it.

Gage slid a palm across the table and captured her hand before she could prevent it. “Don't think of me as your competition, not tonight.”

She glanced down at their joined hands but didn't snatch hers away. He could tell she was contemplating it, though, hopefully because she also felt the electricity between them—and it was working to loosen her up.

“But you are. Always and forever. We sell similar products or you wouldn't be here. Nor would you have been my mentor. Competition is not something you can will away.”

“Maybe not. I can, however, ban all business talk until later. Then we're just old friends reconnecting. Like I told you in your office.”

He had the distinct impression she didn't loosen up easily these days. If there was any competition going on tonight, that was it. And he didn't intend to lose this particular contest.

“I'm curious,” she said, her gaze back on him but not nearly warm enough for his taste. “I never see you at trade shows. My email address is easy to locate on Fyra's website. If you have such an interest in reconnecting, why haven't we done so before now?”

A hot prickle walked across the back of his neck as he instantly recognized a spring-loaded trap, ready to close around his leg if he moved the wrong way. An unsettled feeling bled through his chest.

And in the end,
he
was the one to pull his hand back from hers, suddenly uncomfortable with the contact.

“I hate trade shows. They're stifling. And they're always on weekends when I'm...busy.”

That had sounded much dirtier than he'd intended, especially when lately, his weekends had consisted of giving Arwen a bath or taking her to the lake so she could have fun practicing her pointer skills.

Cass watched him without blinking, silently waiting on him to stop stalling and get to the meat of her question, which was basically designed to force him to admit he'd developed an interest in her in order to get his hands on her formula.

Maybe it had started out as a little of both—seducing her to ensure she remembered what she owed him. He wasn't a saint.

But at this moment, he really did want to be a friend. None of her other so-called friends seemed to realize how brittle she was under her super-CEO costume. Someone had to banish the shadows of fatigue and uncertainty in her gaze. Give her a safe place to let her hair down, which would preferably be in his bed, like she'd once done.

Yeah. He'd like to pull those pins from the tight blond twist at her crown, all right. His lower half went rock solid as he imagined that fall of hair raining down around her bare shoulders as he peeled that lacy, sexy cranberry-colored dress from her beautiful body. It was crazy to be so hot for her again after not seeing her for so long—or to her point, after not actively pursuing reacquaintance for all these years.

He should have looked her up. Why hadn't he?

He blew out a pent-up breath. “Truth? I didn't drive up from Austin to reconnect over a drink. I want your formula. But that's just business.”

Tonight was very personal.

Nodding at the wine bottle, she drained her glass and held it out for Gage to pour her another. “I'm surprised you'd admit it.”

“I told you, I'm an open book. I don't mind being cagey when the occasion calls for it, but I don't have deep dark secrets.” Who had time for that noise? Life was too short to care about other people's opinions, and that's all secrets were—things you didn't want others to know because you feared their judgment.

Cass leaned forward and the new angle did fascinating things to the deep V over her breasts. Not that he was a lecher, but come on. A lady didn't wear a dress like that if she didn't want her date to notice her spectacular breasts. And a lady who didn't want a man to imagine tasting her breasts definitely didn't
lean
.

“Really. No secrets?”

“Really, really.” His tongue was still a bit thick.

“Sounds like we need to play a game of truth or dare, then.”

Five

C
ass held her breath as Gage's gaze flew to hers. It had been lingering somewhere in the vicinity of her cleavage, and the heat from his appreciation had been warming her uncomfortably for the better part of ten minutes. But what had she expected with such a daring wardrobe choice?

Gage's eyes on her body were far more affecting than any other man's hands would be.

Question marks shooting from the top of his head, Gage lifted a brow. “Yeah, truth or dare. That's what I was thinking, too. How did you know?”

She bit back the laugh. Even when he was being sarcastic, he was still charming. She wasn't falling for it. “I'm serious. If you don't have any secrets, should be an easy game.”

And she could pump him for information about his involvement in the leak without raising red flags. It was brilliant.

Lazily he traced the rim of his untouched wineglass, watching her with undisguised calculation. But what all those equations added up to, she had no idea. The clink of silverware against china filled the sudden silence, along with snatches of conversation from other diners.

“You know how that game works, right?” he finally asked.

She waved dismissively. “Of course, or I wouldn't have suggested it. I ask you a question and if you don't choose to answer it honestly, you have to do whatever I dare you to.”

“And you have to do the same.” The once-over he slid down her body unleashed a shiver.

She'd considered that. Not enough, apparently. “Yeah, so? I'm not worried.”

The waiter brought their dinners but instead of picking up a fork, Gage folded his hands in front of his plate of salmon and asparagus. “You probably should be. But now I'm insanely curious what you want to know that you feel you have to bury inside a game. You could just ask.”

Her pulse tripped as she scrambled for a response. She was slipping. How had he seen through that ploy so
easily
? “That's no fun.”

His laugh curled up inside her thickly. “It
so
can be, but it's all in the asking. No matter. I'm in. Truth or dare away. Truth for my first round.”

Forking a bite of salmon into his mouth, he watched her expectantly and it bobbled her pulse again. This was why she sold cosmetics for a living instead of becoming an investigator. There was a skill to it apparently, one that she lacked. Too late to back out now.

“Have you ever...” She cursed silently. Thinking on the fly was one of her strong suits but not with Gage's hazel laser beams boring into her.
Say something.
“Cheated on your taxes?”

“That's your question?” He shook his head with a laugh. “I'm almost afraid to ask what the dare would be. But it doesn't matter because I have nothing to hide. As much as I think the corporate tax structure needs to be reworked in favor of businesses, no, I've never cheated on my taxes.”

Taxes.
Could she be more boring? Despite having warned him that she was not a fun date, she had a goal here and she needed to get on it by steering the conversation toward his ethics. “But you cheat at cards. All the time.”

His slow smile did something X-rated to her insides. “That's only when we're playing strip poker, darling. And believe me, it's worth it.”

The memory of messing around in college, using things like card games as foreplay, spiked through her. They'd always ended up naked and breathless. The anticipation had been drawn out over the length of a game she could hardly pay attention to because Gage had been revealing himself oh-so-slowly while she sat there in a similar state of vulnerability.

Kind of like now.

And she couldn't unthink it. Back then, when they'd finally come together, she'd exploded under his careful and thorough lovemaking. Because he had always thoroughly engaged her—mind, body and soul.

And that hadn't changed. The moment she'd recognized Gage in the parking lot, it felt as though she'd woken up from a coma. She hadn't realized how much she'd missed being so comprehensively engaged. How much she missed a man paying attention to her.

No. Not any man. This one.

Their gazes met over the table, burning up the atmosphere. Obviously he was recalling their hot and heavy times, as well, and his expression unleashed a shiver she couldn't control. Something unknitted inside, falling apart as if all the glue holding her together melted at Gage-point-five degrees.

They'd once been so close because they had so much in common. They'd shared the same goals, and she'd always been able to count on him to have the answers she sought. She'd counted on him to encourage her, to push her. Because he understood her.

It was so much more powerful now that they were equals. Gage Branson, CEO, was so much more attractive than he'd been as her mentor.

Fork suspended in midair, he tilted his head. “Weren't we playing a game?”

Cass blinked. The game. The suspicions. Her precarious position within Fyra. She bit back an unladylike swear word and took a fortifying sip of wine.

How had she fallen into Gage so easily that she'd forgotten what this dinner was supposed to be about? He'd cursed her with his magic voice and wicked personality, lulling her into believing they were former lovers reconnecting over a drink.

He wasn't on her side, not like he used to be. Maybe he never had been. As he was making love to her, he'd probably already be plotting his escape. Just like he'd almost assuredly plotted to steal her formula.

Gage Branson, CEO, wasn't any more of a good bet with her heart than he had been as a graduate student.

She steeled her spine against the good memories and dredged up the bad ones. She'd spent years working sixteen-hour days so she could fall into bed exhausted and actually sleep. Otherwise, she lay there in misery, aching over having lost the love of her life.

And here he was again, ripe for a comeuppance and deserving of whatever she threw at him. She narrowed her gaze and shoved back the past. “We got off track. Sorry. Next question. Have you ever stolen anything?”

“I'm supposed to say whether I want truth or dare first.” Warily, he eyed her. “What's with all these moral questions anyway? Admittedly, it's been a long time since I played truth or dare, but I seem to recall we always asked things like who was your first crush or have you ever gone skinny-dipping?”

“Those are great questions for eleven-year-olds. This is the adult version,” she informed him pertly and was instantly sorry as something wicked flashed through his expression.

“Why didn't you say so?” His slow smile had all sorts of danger signs attached to it. “I'd like to take the dare, then.”

She cursed.
Should have anticipated that he'd take the dare, dummy.
“I dare you to answer the question.”

“Oh, no, honey,” he said with a laugh. “It doesn't work like that. You promised me the adult version and I'm fully prepared to pay up for not answering. Lay it on me.”

Clearly he expected the dare to come packaged in a thinly veiled sexual wrapper. So she indulged him with a sensuous smile. “I dare you to take your shirt off.”

“Here?” He glanced around the crowded, high-class restaurant with a dubious line between his brows. “It doesn't seem fair to show up all these other guys. Can't you think of something else?”

Typical male machismo. Of course if his body still looked like it used to—and chances were high that it did—his point was valid.

“Chicken?” she asked sweetly. “You wanted the dare.”

“I'd be happy to take my shirt off,” he growled. “In the car. In your living room. In your office. No card game required. Pick another locale, sweetheart, and dare me to get naked to your heart's content. Unfortunately, there are both a dress code and health regulations in a restaurant. Which means your dare is invalid.”

First the insistence he always paid his fair share of taxes and then he'd refused her dare because of
health regulations
? She bit back the noise of disgust. Barely. “When did you become such a boy scout?”

“I've never willingly broken the law.” He shrugged. “So there's your answer since I can't take the dare. My turn.”

“Your turn for what?” she asked, temporarily distracted by his claim to be a law-abiding citizen.

Honesty? Just because truth was the name of the game didn't mean he wasn't lying. But in reality, he'd never been anything but forthright in their relationship. Sure, he'd dumped her and broken her heart. But he'd been honest about it.

“To ask you a question.” He finished off his dinner and chewed thoughtfully. “What's the name of the last guy you were in love with?”

Love.
The word echoed through her chest cavity, which was still empty thanks to the last guy she'd fallen in love with. Her stomach rolled and the wine soured in her mouth.

Stupid game. She could lie. But he'd see through that as though he was reading her mind. And she couldn't take the dare—she'd bet his hundred million it would be something impossible like sit in his lap for five minutes or put her underwear in his pocket with her toes.

Why had she started this game? To prove he'd become someone untrustworthy, when she had no evidence of his involvement in the leak? To prove she wasn't affected by him any longer, when she'd only managed to prove the exact opposite?

Or some deeper reason that she couldn't admit, even internally?

Trapped and furious with herself, she stared at him as her frustration grew. And then she pictured the shock on his face if she blurted out
Gage Branson
in response to his question. That was perhaps what stung the most—he didn't even realize he'd detonated a landmine in her heart.

The emotional agitation inside boiled over. And that was unacceptable.

“Excuse me.” She threw her napkin into the middle of her plate of uneaten chicken marsala and fled to the bathroom before the sob beating in her throat escaped.

* * *

What in the...
Gage watched Cass do the hundred-yard sprint through the obstacle course of tables and waiters, presumably headed for the restrooms at the rear of the building.

She'd started this silly game. Was she really that upset he hadn't taken her dare? Why—because she wanted him naked and was too afraid to come right out and say it?

He shook his head and thought seriously about draining his untouched glass of wine to see if Cass made any more sense when he had a buzz. The subsequent headache would at least be more easily explained than the one Cass was giving him.

She didn't return for a long while. A little concerned, Gage followed her, hoping to find a female employee to check on her if need be. Except she was sitting on the velvet bench at the end of the long hallway, her vibe so edgy, he could almost feel the tension.

“Hey,” he said softly as he approached. “What's up? Trying to skip out on me? I said I'd pay.”

The joke didn't get the smile he'd hoped for. In fact, her expression remained completely blank. “I'm fine.”

“Yeah. I can see that.” Taking a chance that she'd welcome the company, he sat on the bench next to her.

She didn't move. He'd noticed she did that a lot, holding herself frozen. But this time, he was close enough to see the muscle spasms in her thighs as if she was fighting her body's natural instincts to flee in some kind of mind-over-matter contest.

“I'm sorry I didn't play the game fairly,” he said sincerely. And gingerly, in case that wasn't the reason she was upset. Women and emotions were not his forte and he wouldn't be surprised to learn this was one of those situations where if he didn't know why she was upset—she sure wasn't going to tell him.

“You did.” She stared straight ahead. “I'm the one who was playing unfairly. You were right, the dare wasn't valid.”

Somehow, her admission of guilt managed to sound as if she felt it was anything but her fault. Which was a rare talent.

“Okay. You ready to get out of here, then?” He nodded toward the end of the hallway. “Or do you want to finish dinner?”

“What would be the point of finishing dinner?” she asked in a monotone that pricked the hair on the back of his neck.

This strange mood went well beyond her normal reserve. When he'd labeled her demeanor as
brittle
earlier, he'd had no clue how much more so she could actually become, as if he had to watch how heavily he breathed for fear of shattering her into a million pieces.

“The point of dinner is so I can spend time with you,” he said. And...some other agenda items that had somehow slipped his mind in favor of the woman herself.

That earned him a sidelong glance. “I told you I wasn't a fun date.”

“I'm having fun,” he told her automatically and then had to clarify. “Well, I
was
. And then you disappeared.”

Physically and mentally.

“That was fun?” She tilted her head toward the dining room, her eyes incredulously wide. “I made you drink wine, which you hate, and then foisted a teenagers' sleepover game on you. Which part did you find the most entertaining?”

“All of it.” He grinned in spite of her mood and accepted her scowl with a nod. “You heard me. I have legs and I know how to use them. Trust me, I've got no problem walking out of a restaurant in the middle of a date. I don't waste my time on things that aren't fun.”

“Really?”

“Honesty. It isn't just for breakfast anymore.”

And finally, he scored a small laugh. Why did that make his chest feel so tight and full?

“I guess I'm done with dinner.” She sneaked another glance at him and he pretended not to notice.

“But not with spending time together?” He resisted the urge to reach out. He wanted to touch her but he couldn't gauge if her mood had shifted enough to welcome it.