As You Like it

3

MARISSA HADN’T EXPECTED the guy to be so good-looking. Or so damn stubborn.

Dash warned you.

To hell with Dash. She wasn’t about to let his doom-and-gloom predictions affect her. She was a professional. The best. She didn’t give up easily. She had guaranteed Judd and Francine that she could deliver Beau Thibbedeaux and by hook or by crook she was determined to achieve her goal.

After knocking over Beau’s beer bottle, she’d left the bar in a fluster, disturbed by her body’s intense reaction to the man and unnerved by the fact she had lost her temper. She needed some distance and time to regroup before mentally wrestling with him again.

She just had to find out what made the guy tick. Obviously, it wasn’t money. This afternoon she had made a monster mistake in trying, by sheer will of her personality, to convince him to take the job. What she needed was a more subtle approach.

What she needed was an angle.

Ashamed that she hadn’t done more extensive research on Beau before showing up in New Orleans, Marissa crawled into bed in her jammies, whipped open her laptop and plugged it into the phone jack behind the nightstand in her hotel room.

Tackling the task with zeal, she logged on to the Internet. She did a Google search, keyboarding in the name Beau Thibbedeaux, and was rewarded when a string of references popped up. She read each entry with interest, searching for his history, his weaknesses, his appetites, anything and everything that might lend her an edge in dealing with the guy.

What she discovered dampened her enthusiasm. He was an eccentric computer genius. He was rich beyond her wildest imaginings. That explained his cavalier attitude toward money. He seemed to enjoy hiding out from the world, preferring to spend his time with a small but close-knit circle of family and friends.

Beau was a homebody and homebodies were harder to motivate. Absentmindedly, she toyed with a paper clip fished from her briefcase and pondered the situation.

Think. You can do this. You must do this, her internal taskmaster, who was the emotional equivalent of a chain-gang guard on Benzedrine, insisted. Everyone’s depending on you to sign him.

Well, except for Dash, he was counting on her to fail. She suppressed the fear wading around uncomfortably inside her stomach. She had a lot riding on this outcome. She could not afford to stumble. At the image of Dash’s smugness over her failure, fresh determination rose within her.

Albeit determination mingled with a tinge of guilt. Some people might say she was pushing too hard. If Beau wasn’t interested she should simply accept the fact and move on. But Marissa wasn’t a quitter, never had been, never would be. She wanted the account directorship, and by gum, she intended to do everything within her power to get it.

Fisting her hand around the paper clip, she closed her eyes and replayed the mental tape of her disastrous first encounter with Beau.

In her mind’s eyes she could see him, cocked back on the legs of that chair, a slow, mischievous I’m-up-to-no-good grin lighting up his lips the minute she’d marched into the bar. He exuded a sultry masculinity that called to her.

And turned her on.

Sighing, she opened her eyes and restlessly linked a second paper clip to the first.

They’d shared an instant connection. An ephemeral, nonspecific sort of “hey there” feeling one didn’t run across every day. She’d certainly never felt anything quite like it, and their unexpected bond still held the power to affect her, even several hours later.

She chained a third paper clip to the first two, then another and another.

Not to mention he was handsome as sin and possessed a muscular body that bespoke hours in the gym. She ran her tongue over her lips just thinking about his full biceps. She admired a man who was dedicated to health and fitness. Then again, what else did the guy have to do but stay in shape?

It wasn’t just his body that attracted her. The soulful expression in his eyes called to her, as well. The aura of loneliness clinging to him made her want to cuddle him.

Yes, there had been a spark.

But then she’d gone and spoiled it all by moving too soon and speaking too fast. Now the damage had been done and repairing her mistake was going to be a lot harder than making a good first impression would have been. Why hadn’t she been more attuned to the nuances rippling between them?

Why? Because the man rattled her.

To the bone.

And she didn’t like being rattled.

Something about the manner in which he’d studied her, as if he knew exactly what she looked like naked, panicked her in a way she couldn’t explain.

Even now, recalling how his silver-gray eyes had leisurely tacked their way up and down her body caused Marissa to shiver involuntarily.

Why was she even thinking like this? Steve had just broken up with her. The last thing she wanted was to get involved with a potential coworker, especially since it would greatly complicate things.

Maybe her botched relationship with Steve was the reason why. Steve wasn’t the first lover to walk on her because she was too single-minded. Marissa hated to fail at anything and in most areas of her life, she was very successful, but when it came to romance, she didn’t seem to have what it took to make relationships last beyond a few months.

All the more reason to stop fantasizing about Thibbedeaux.

But what a smile he had! Slow and seductive and charming.

Snap out of it, Marissa Jane. Keep your head in the game.

Their personal styles were diametrically opposed. Where she was proactive, he was reactive. She was industrious and precise and energetic. Beau was laid-back and easygoing and languid.

Or at least he had been until she’d pressured him. Clearly, coercion did not work with this dude.

So what did?

She reviewed their conversation again, searching for places when things had gone well.

During their first exchange of smiles and handshakes, she had definitely gotten receptive vibes from him. But once they started talking, everything had gone downhill from there.

Except, Marissa recalled, he’d enjoyed teasing her about sex. Not that she’d been thrilled with his innuendo. She’d felt as if he’d been making fun of her.

Then again, maybe she was too sensitive. After Steve ditching her and Francine’s lecture on the importance of whimsy, maybe Beau’s insinuation that she didn’t know how to have fun had simply struck a raw nerve.

Was there some way she could turn his fondness for fun to her advantage?

Marissa looked down and realized she’d unknowingly created a paper clip necklace, and in that silly bit of office-supply jewelry, she came full circle.

She smacked herself on the forehead with the palm of her hand.

Duh! Of course! That’s what she needed.

A link, a chain, a connection.

Why hadn’t she recognized it before? He was a Southern man and Southern men generally cared deeply about home and family. They liked to be charmed and cajoled and coaxed. If there was one sure way to win him over to her way of thinking, adopting his idealized view on life stood the best chance of winning out.

It might not be perfectly honest and aboveboard to tap into his basic human needs in order to snare him, but capitalizing on physical attraction certainly wasn’t immoral or illegal or even unethical. It was simply a man/woman thing.

Use what you’ve got. Show a little cleavage, act contrite about what happened at the bar, smile a lot, slant him coy glances from the corner of your eye. Take things slow.

It wasn’t the way she normally did business, but mirroring his needs by indulging in flirtation was harmless enough.

Yep. Take advantage of the sexual chemistry. That was the ticket.

Bet you a thousand dollars you can’t win the guy over without sleeping with him. Dash’s taunt rang in her head.

Well, Dash was wrong. She could and she would persuade Thibbedeaux without stepping over the line. Yes, she might use her womanly wiles to convince him, but she wouldn’t go any further than flirtation.

Act available, be unattainable.

Marissa smiled and began to hum a song about industrious ants knocking over rubber-tree plants. She knew exactly what she was going to do next.

BEAU SAT in a rocking chair on the back porch of Greenbrier Plantation and gazed out at the riverboat cruising down the Mississippi. Anna, the family’s seven-year-old golden retriever, lay at his side. After he had made his first million designing video games, he’d bought back the Thibbedeaux ancestral home that his father had been forced to sell in order to pay for his numerous custody battles with Francesca.

Reestablishing old connections. Restoring his links to the past. Making up for what he had missed out on all those years.

He’d refurbished the small but stately manor into a B and B and then turned it over to his half sister, Jenny, to run. She’d done a damn fine job of it and now the place was usually booked solid year round. Except for the attic room Jenny always kept available for Beau’s unexpected appearances.

The early-January wind was brisk but not uncomfortable and it tousled a lock of hair over his forehead. He’d left New Orleans yesterday evening after his odd encounter with Marissa Sturgess and made the twenty-mile journey northwest of the city in an attempt to get the vexing woman off his mind.

The powerful sexual attraction he felt for her spooked him. Beau wasn’t accustomed to such rampant physical desires, especially toward a woman who provoked all his worst qualities.

He was damn glad she’d given up and gone on back to New York after the beer-bottle incident. If she had kept pestering him, he didn’t know if he would have had the courage to resist her. He was that damn attracted. And the last thing he needed was to get involved with a woman who charged through life stuck in high gear.

Been there, tried that.

Marissa never took the time to smell the daisies or stroll through the grass barefoot and feel the dew between her toes. She never just sat on the porch and watched the river roll by. Even if she went to a trendy spa and paid people to rub the physical kinks from her body, she never mentally let go for a moment.

He knew this about her because he used to run the same fast-track lifestyle she was racing and it had almost killed him. Beau knew what she needed, even if Marissa did not. She needed to find the joy in just being alive. She needed to lie on her back on a blanket and look up at the stars. She needed to roller-skate and roast marshmallows around a campfire and catch lightning bugs in a jar.

She needed to let go of her high ideals and lofty expectations. She needed to value herself first and foremost as a human being and not solely for what she could produce. She needed for someone to strap her to a rocking chair and make her sit there until she really saw what was going on around her.

Or maybe she needed someone to tie her to the bed and give her the most mind-altering orgasms of her life.

Beau grinned at the provocative image.

Thank heavens she’d left Louisiana or he just might have volunteered. This sex-simply-for-the-sake-of-good-sex idea would not be such a hard concept to master if it involved someone as enticing but inaccessible as Marissa.

He also hated that he couldn’t seem to stop thinking about her job offer. Already his creativity—which had pretty much gone underground after he’d left New York—roared back to life with a startling vengeance. Consumed by a tumble of ideas for the video game, he’d barely slept last night.

“I’m not doing it,” he muttered. “I’m not going back. I can’t go back.”

The thought of returning to the high-pressure world that drained every ounce of fun from him caused Beau to shudder. He might currently be directionless, but it was a damn sight better than feeling as if your life had been stolen and your very soul sucked dry.

Still, tempted a part of him, it might be a kick to try your hand at designing a sexual video game.

His grin widened at the idea of playing that very game with Marissa and goose bumps actually broke out on his forearm. He blamed the cool breeze but he knew he was fooling himself. Marissa was what had him feeling tense and restless, not the chilly air.

“Forget that woman. She’s nothing but trouble.”

Ignoring his direct order, his psyche delivered up a mental picture of her. Intelligent brown eyes, determined chin, forceful carriage, firm caboose and her take-no-prisoners strut.

He got excited all over again.

“Easy, bucko, she’s a man-eater.”

Anna lifted her head, whined and gazed at Beau expectantly.

“No, not you. Go back to your nap.”

The dog thumped her tail but made no move to get up. He reached down and stroked her golden head that uncannily enough was almost the same color as Marissa’s hair. How come women couldn’t be as loyal and uncomplicated as man’s best friend?

Yes, considering the way he was dwelling on her it was a very good thing she’d left town.

He heard tires crunch on the graveled driveway in front of the house and he glanced at his watch. Ten-thirty. A little early for guests to be checking in, but the Scarlett O’Hara Room was vacant.

The sound of a car door opening punctuated the quiet followed by the aggressive strains of a hip-hop beat. He furrowed his forehead in surprise. Most of Greenbrier’s guests consisted of older couples seeking to avoid the hustle and bustle of New Orleans or history buffs looking to revisit the past. Neither of whom seemed the type to listen to Snoop Doggy Dog.

To each his own. Beau shrugged it off. He’d go help with the luggage.

Anna sprang up the minute he got to his feet, wagging her tail and ready for action. He bent down to retrieve her Frisbee and tossed it out across the lawn before turning and heading around the side of the house.

Snoop Dogg snapped off in midsentence and the car door slammed shut.

Leisurely Beau sauntered around the corner, Anna at his side with her slobbery Frisbee in tow. He saw a fire-engine-red Thunderbird convertible parked beside one of the ancient magnolias lining the driveway.

Flashy wheels, he thought, and wondered just who was driving the car, but the trunk was up, blocking his view of the occupant.

Maybe it was one of Jenny’s friends.

Ambling closer, he could make out a woman’s shapely backside protruding from the trunk. Beau squinted against the sunlight and discovered she wore a tushy-hugging black miniskirt and four-inch high heels. Peculiar travel outfit.

His curiosity was definitely aroused.

She pulled a suitcase from the trunk, set in on the ground, then straightened and gazed toward the veranda. The direct sunlight slanted through the magnolia leaves, bathing in her silhouette. She turned her head and he caught a glimpse of her exquisite profile.

Something about her looked very familiar.

A sense of wariness stopped him in his tracks. She hadn’t spotted him. Shouldering her luggage, she turned and stalked toward the house.

It wasn’t! It couldn’t be.

But it was.

His heart dropped into his stomach.

There, looking for all the world like General Patton storming his enemies’ stronghold marched Marissa Sturgess, stilettos and all.

“WHAT IN THE HELL are you doing here?”

“My goodness, where’s your famous southern hospitality?” Marissa put on a calm, cool facade but inside, her knees were quaking and her heart was doing the cha-cha-cha.

Beau Thibbedeaux had scooted up the path in front of her and he was now blocking her way, his hands fisted on his narrow hips. He didn’t appear any too happy to see her. In fact, he looked really mad.

“What are you doing here?” Beau repeated with a growl.

“Why, I’ve taken a room for the night. The Scarlett O’Hara, I believe it’s called.” She forced a lighthearted tone into her voice.

“I thought you went back to New York.”

“I don’t know where you got that idea. I never said I was leaving.”

“I told you no.”

“Can’t a girl take a vacation?”

“Not at my sister’s B and B.”

“Why not? The local guidebook gave it an excellent rating.”

“How did you know I was here?” He glared.

Time to drop the pretense. He wasn’t going to play the game.

“I went by your house in New Orleans and your housekeeper told me where to find you,” Marissa admitted.

“So you just thought you’d come right up here and be a thorn in my side.”

Charm him.

She smiled. “Something like that.”

“Well, you can just forget about it.”

“Now, now. I came here to beg your forgiveness. My behavior yesterday was inexcusable.”

“You’re going to stand there and try to tell me you didn’t come here to coax me into taking on your design project?” he accused.

“Hello,” called out a pretty young woman from the wide front porch. “You must be Marissa Sturgess.”

Marissa peered around Beau’s shoulder and wriggled her fingers. “Hi, yes I am and you must be Jenny.”

“Uh-huh, and this is my rude brother who’s letting you cart your own suitcase. Beau,” Jenny chided him, “please take Ms. Sturgess’s things to her room.”

Marissa dropped her suitcase at Beau’s feet and blithely walked around him.

She extended her hand to the auburn-haired, freckle-face woman with a winning smile who came down the steps to greet her. Jenny was dressed casually in blue-jeans overalls, a white long-sleeved turtleneck sweater and blue-and-white Keds. She had the kind of friendly, open face that made you want to tell her everything about yourself all at once.

“I would like it if you called me Marissa.”

“Of course, Marissa, welcome to Greenbrier.” Jenny linked her arm through Marissa’s. “Let me show you the house.”

They went on ahead, leaving Beau to bring up the rear with her suitcase.

Jenny began to tell Marissa about the house and its history, and while she was very interested, she couldn’t get her mind off the fact Beau was glaring at her so hard her neck was perspiring.

This wasn’t working out quite as she had planned. It was a little hard to flirt with a man who acted as if her face was on the wanted poster at the post office. She had no idea she had upset him to this degree the day before. So much for charm. Apparently he wasn’t one to easily forgive and forget.

Jenny guided her up the sweeping staircase and past a hallway chock-full of antique rocking chairs. “My mother is a rocking-chair connoisseur,” she explained. “We even hold a rock-off every summer.”

“A rock-off?”

“The annual rocking-chair finals. Last year one of the contestants made it into the Guinness Book of World Records for most consecutive hours spent rocking.”

It sounded like a fate worse than death and Marissa found all those rockers lined up a little spooky-looking. They put her in mind of mobile coffins. But she was concentrating hard on adopting the Southern lifestyle long enough to win Beau over.

“You’ve got some beautiful pieces here,” she commented, the scent of Beau’s sweet basil–scented cologne toying with her nostrils. To distract herself from his disconcerting aroma, she stroked the arm of a nearby rocker. It glided smoothly like satin, without a single creak or groan.

How someone under the age of eighty could sit here and rock for hours on end was beyond her. Guinness Book of World Records champion or not.

“Are you a collector?” Jenny asked.

“No, not really,” Marissa admitted.

“Oh. I thought you might be in town for the antiques auction at the Conroy estate.”

“She’s here,” Beau muttered darkly, “to drive me crazy.”

Jenny turned and looked at Beau. “Do you two know each other?”

“We met yesterday,” Marissa explained.

“She showed up at the bar trying to get me to go back to Manhattan and design sex video games for her.”

“No kidding?” Jenny looked surprised.

“It’s not like that.” Marissa glared at Beau. The way he said it made her sound like a pervert. “The videos are for Baxter and Jackson. You know, to help the clinic’s patients overcome sexual dysfunction. It’s completely tasteful.”

“Cool.” Jenny grinned.

“You like the idea?” Beau blinked at his sister.

“I think it’s a great idea.”

“Good grief.”

“I can see how designing a sex video game might drive you crazy,” Jenny teased. “Seeing as how you haven’t been with a—”

“Hush!” Beau commanded and Jenny shut up.

But not before Marissa caught the gist of what the younger woman was saying. Apparently it had been quite a while since Mr. Thibbedeaux had enjoyed sex with a partner.

Marissa grinned.

“I think you should do it,” Jenny said to Beau.

“You think I should go back to Manhattan?” Beau frowned.

“Oh, not that part.” Jenny waved a hand. “You were miserable in New York. But couldn’t you just design the game from here?”

Marissa snapped her fingers. “Of course he could. You’re a genius.”

The concept had never occurred to her. The level of effort would be easier to keep tabs on him in Manhattan, of course, because that’s where the programmers were, but if a long-distance arrangement was the only way she could get him to sign on, then why not? She had already negotiated her travel expenses into the contract, so shuttling back and forth shouldn’t bother Judd.

“Beau really needs something to do,” Jenny said. “He loves designing video games but he’s got this thing against competition. Totally weird.” She rolled her eyes.

“Back off, the both of you,” Beau snapped. “You’re discussing this as if it’s not my decision to make.”

He stalked past them, opened the door to one of the bedrooms and deposited Marissa’s luggage on the floor. Then without another word, he turned and disappeared down the stairs.

Marissa blew out her breath. “That went down like rock salt.”

“Oh, he’s just blowing off steam. He does it when he’s feeling cornered, but if you really want to know, I can tell you how to handle him.”

“Spill!” Marissa grabbed Jenny’s arm.

“Boy, you are eager to make this happen.” Jenny chuckled.

“The promotion I’ve wanted for three years hinges on me signing him.”

“Well, I have to warn you, it takes him a long time to make a decision. Be patient.”

“Gotcha.”

“He rebels under pressure, nagging or complaining. Goes back to life with his mother.”

“You two don’t have the same mother?”

“We’re half siblings. Francesca is a terror. She’s a diva to end all divas.” Jenny shook her head. “I barely knew Beau until he was old enough to get away from her. But that’s a long-drawn-out story. What you need are the Cliff Notes.”

Marissa nodded.

“Do you really want to know the best way to get him to agree to develop the game for you?” Jenny enticed.

“Oh, absolutely.” She would do almost anything to make this deal happen, even if it meant donning kid gloves and an asbestos suit in order to handle Beau Thibbedeaux.

Jenny grinned. “Then play with him.”

4

WITH ANNA TROTTING at his heels, Beau sauntered toward the two-story detached garage, whistling under his breath, determined to ignore the walnut of agitation lodged low in his belly. That’s what fast-paced people excelled at—disturbing the rest of the world with their high-pressure hurry, hurry, hurry, go, go, go tactics, twisting everyone else into knots.