Ulterior Motives (5 page)

“Can we talk about this?” he asked.
 

“I think I already know what I need to know.”

“Shelley, I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to hear it from someone else.”

“Then you should have told me yourself yesterday,” she pointed out.

“Yes, I should have,” he said with a sigh. “I just thought we would need some time to discuss our options, and there didn’t seem much chance of talking to you alone in your office.”

“Our options?”

“Can I come inside?”

“I think it would be better if you left now, Ross.”

“I think it would be a big mistake to leave now,” he countered as he leaned against the doorframe.

“Look, Ross, yesterday was very nice, but—”

“Nice?” he repeated. “
Nice?
Shelley, how often do you suppose something like yesterday happens to two people?”

“It happens all the time in Frank Sinatra songs.”

“Well, yes,” he said, slightly amused. “But how often has it happened to you?”

“That depends on which part of yesterday you’re talking about. The part where you entered my office as a guest and neglected to tell me who you really were? The part where I felt like a fool after I found out? The part where I wondered why you hadn’t been honest with me? The part where—”

He took her chin in his hand and forced her face up. His blue eyes were intense and his voice was low when he said, “I’m talking about the instant attraction between us and then very real pleasure we took in each other’s company yesterday.”

His touch was electric. His eyes were compelling. His voice burned straight through her, setting off little reactions deep in her belly.

“You misled me,” she said shakily. “You’re going to try to undermine my business. Why on earth should I trust you?”

“I’m not asking you to trust me, not yet, anyhow. Just to talk to me.” He didn’t plead or cajole; he simply asked, and the effect was devastating on Shelley’s system. She forgot what very sensible thing she had planned to say next.

“I... Um... You...”

“Let me in so we can talk about this,” he whispered, his eyes holding hers.

He smelled so good, she thought irrelevantly; it wasn’t cologne or soap, just a clean, musky, male smell. Wordlessly she backed into the apartment while he followed her. He closed the door behind them and looked around the room. It suddenly seemed very intimate to have him here, and she hoped he would like it.

“It’s like you,” he said, obviously meaning it as a compliment. “Is that coffee I smell?”

Shelley nodded. “Would you like some?”

“I’d love some. I take it black.”

She brought him a big colorful mug filled to the brim. His eyes were soft as he took it from her hands. He looked even better today than he had yesterday, casually dressed in tight blue jeans, a pale shirt, and a black leather jacket. His jet-black hair was windblown.

“You left the top down,” she said suddenly.

“I promised, didn’t I?” he said with a smile. “We’ll be lucky if we don’t catch pneumonia, though.”

Shelley looked wistfully out the window. “I’m tempted, Ross, but I just don’t think we should pursue this any further. It just wouldn’t be intelligent. Or responsible.”

“Shelley,” he said firmly, “I didn’t know who you were until you told me. And I’m not interested in you in the hope that you’ll let your guard down and say something I can use against you.”

He looked so honest and strong. But he had looked that way yesterday, too. Maybe it was just a gift of bone structure.

“Shelley...” he prodded.

He was irresistible, which made her question her judgment in this case. She wanted to be with him enough to talk herself into anything.
 

“Not today,” she said at last. “I have to think about this.”

Ross saw the determination in her eyes and realized that was the best answer he would get for now. At least she hadn’t told him never to darken her door again.

He let out his breath in a rush and put his coffee cup down in a graceful motion. Everything he did looked good, Shelley thought distractedly. It wasn’t fair. He crossed the room swiftly. Before she knew what was happening, she was in his arms.

Ross lost himself in her eyes, which were warm and soft with confusion. “If you want time, you’ve got it. But I’ll be thinking of you,” he said huskily as he lowered his mouth to hers.

It wasn’t the tender caress of yesterday. It wasn’t an affectionate embrace. And it certainly wasn’t a respectable ten-o’clock-in-the-morning kiss. His kiss was hot, passionate, and erotic. His tongue tickled her lips, then plunged without warning into her mouth to stroke and taste and explore. He shifted her against him, so that their hips pressed close together while his mouth continued to pillage hers. His hands came down and stroked her bottom with a slow, firm caress that pulled her even closer. All Shelley saw was swirling black. All she heard was the sound of their mingled breath. All she felt was the hot pleasure of his touch, his kiss, his strong body against hers. All she thought was,
sweet, sweet, oh, that’s so good.

They were both breathing quickly when he released her. Finally Shelley remembered to open her eyes, and she was pleased to see that he looked almost as dazed as she felt.

“You’re... good at that,” she said weakly.

“You inspire me,” he whispered and dropped a soft kiss on her forehead. He moved away from her and went to the front door. He paused on his way out. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Not tomorrow,” she said, wanting to beg him to stay.

“Monday, then.”

“No... later.”

“I’ll call you,” he repeated. He took one last look, his eyes seeming to burn through her clothes, then left, closing the door softly behind him.

Shelley gave an enormous sigh, partly from relief and partly from longing, and dropped into an easy chair. This was going to be tougher than she had thought.

Since Ross’ hopes for a day spent with Shelley had come to naught, he decided to get some work done. That’s why he was in Cincinnati in the first place, wasn’t it? He might even take time out to consider the possibility that he was wrong—an activity he seldom wasted much time on once he’d decided what he wanted. It was possible that Shelley was right and that they should, for the sake of common sense and good business, call a halt to this thing between them before it even began.

Although he realized that adhering to Shelley’s sense of duty would certainly make life simpler while he was here, Ross’ life had never been simple, so why start now? Since she had made it clear she didn’t want to see him the rest of the weekend, he expected to have plenty of time to consider all the angles of the problem tonight in his elegant, luxurious, and very lonely hotel suite.

So much for the glamorous life, he thought wryly. Despite the long rest he’d taken the previous year, he was aware of feeling burned-out again. He was tired of changing cities—or even continents—every few months, tired of hotel rooms, plane flights, long-distance calls, sudden changes of plans. Oddly enough, despite his protests to Henri Montpazier, he still liked the work itself. At least he still liked the language schools, although he was tired of firing people and hoped he wouldn’t have to do it again.

Parking downtown proved to be no problem on a Saturday. Elite, like Babel, was open on Saturdays to accommodate its students. The regular office staff didn’t normally work weekends, though, so Ross was surprised to find Charles Winston-Clarke there. Charles was startled to see him, although his formal expression didn’t really give much away. Ross greeted him politely and let himself into his own small, makeshift office, noting with amusement that Charles wore a suit and tie even on Saturdays.

Within minutes Ross was studying the school’s financial records for the past year. He knew that central accounting had been complaining about the Cincinnati school for more than two years, and he had been given written and verbal briefings on the whole situation. The various financial logbooks were inconsistent and messy. The high turnover of staff at this school only further complicated matters. One accountant had even lost a vital logbook, and his successor had been forced to begin a new log in midyear with no record of the first six months.

And this was only one aspect of the job. As usual, Ross had his work cut out for him. However, things didn’t look as bad as they had on his first job for Elite. That had been eight years ago in Toulouse. The assignment had been a bargain, a bet, really, between Henri Montpazier and a brash young man who had always rebelled against authority. Ross was older and calmer now, more experienced and more confident; he’d succeeded at this enough times to know he was very good at it. Perhaps that was why he wasn’t concerned with his job this morning nearly as much as he was concerned with Michelle Baird.

Shelley.

Ross leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes briefly.

Perhaps if he’d been more alert, he would have made the connection sooner. He had known that the director of the Babel Language Center was negotiating with Keene International, and he had assumed she would be at their reception. But from the instant he’d noticed those big gray eyes staring at him with open interest, he’d been so taken by her that some of his brain cells had stopped working. Besides, what little he knew of the director of the Babel Language Center made him expect a brisk and aggressive businesswoman, which certainly didn’t fit Shelley’s easy warmth and humor.

He smiled ruefully. The only thing about Shelley that fit in with his previous image of her were her simple, plain, even austere clothes. He supposed she dressed that way to make men keep their minds on business. It hadn’t done any good in his case. He could picture her in velvet, in silk, in lace, in nothing at all... He’d buy her something beautiful, something to go with her eyes, when he got to know her better.

If
he got to know her better.

The memory of her kiss, the sweetness of her mouth, the feel of her full breasts pressing against his chest stirred inside him. He thought she was like a sexual fantasy—but with many other wonderful qualities that exceeded mere sex appeal.

It was no wonder that so many businesses had contracted Shelley’s services since her arrival in Cincinnati. She was lovely and intelligent, but even more than that, one immediately sensed her innate honesty and fairness. She would be a pleasure to do business with, someone you could trust. Her warmth and friendliness would reach out to clients, making them feel good about themselves and their potential for adjusting to a new culture and a new language. Shelley could make people feel that she understood what they, their family, or their company needed from her school.

Ross’ work had taught him how difficult it was to find good language school directors. He wondered where she had come from and what she had done before Babel.

“Ross, you seem lost in thought,
mon
ami,”
said Charles, sticking his head inside Ross’ cramped office.

Ross smiled faintly. Charles had obviously found out about his background. Born to an American father and a French mother, he was bilingual. Ever since his arrival two days earlier, Charles had been peppering his speech with French phrases pulled straight out of an Agatha Christie novel. It was an affectation Ross had encountered many times before. In this case he wasn’t quite sure whether Charles was exhibiting awkward goodwill or a worn-out sense of humor... or was simply being a pompous idiot.

“Have a seat, Charles,” Ross invited. As Charles slid into a chair, Ross wondered whether the middle-aged man had any facial expression other than the cool half smile he had been wearing since Ross’ arrival.

“Finding everything you need?” Charles asked.

“Yes. You’ve been very helpful,” Ross replied, trying to detect some trace of animosity in Charles’s expression. Since Ross’ very presence at the school implied ineffectual management, and since his job might include firing Charles, he was prepared for resentment, even anger. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time, he thought wearily. Charles, however, during Ross’ first two days at the school, had been courteous and cooperative, if understandably nervous. Ross had to appreciate the man’s attitude.

“I’m afraid the books are in a terrible mess,” said Charles. “We’ve had such an unexpectedly high turnover of staff here. I’m so bad at bookkeeping that I don’t even go near them myself. I can understand why the head office would object to that, of course. Perhaps I’ll have to learn something about accounting after all. I’m afraid I’m just not a financially oriented man.”