Temptation In The Boardroom
“A bit of lightning in the area. It could be rough for a while but no worries. Captain Danyon is the best.”
Frankie turned a greenish color and unbuckled her seat belt. “Are you okay?” he asked her.
She nodded. “Just going to do like the pilot said.”
When she came back, she had a set, determined look on her chalk-white face. They worked through the Aristov presentation. When the captain turned on the seat-belt sign and the bumps began, Frankie kept her gaze fixed on his computer screen and kept talking. As far as storms went, it was a good one. The tiny plane swooped on fast-moving air, then rose again, some of the plunges taking his breath away.
“We can stop,” he suggested. “Wait until it’s over...”
“Keep talking,” she commanded, clutching her seat with white-knuckled hands. “It’s keeping me from freaking out.”
He wasn’t sure how much she was taking in in her terrified state, but he kept going, working through the back end of the presentation. Forty-five minutes later, they’d finished it and were going through a checklist to make sure they hadn’t missed anything crucial.
“We haven’t included the most recent market stats,” Frankie announced, shuffling through her papers.
“They’re on the third slide.”
“Oh.” She sucked her bottom lip between her teeth and chewed on it. “Do we have that graphic in there, too? The one you asked me to fix and expand?”
“It’s in there.” He pulled his gaze away from her lush mouth to study her. She didn’t look as green as she had earlier, but now she was acting a bit...vague.
“Francesca, are you okay?”
“Perfect.” She forced a smile. “I think that’s it, then, isn’t it? I’ll make a note of any questions Aristov asks, although I don’t expect he’ll have any with this much information put in front of him. Oh—and I’ll bring the backup.”
The way she said that last part, as if it was a ‘nice to have,’ alarmed him. “Yes,” he said deliberately, “the backup is key. We can’t forget the backup.”
“No problem.” She rubbed her palm across her forehead. “Can we talk about the shareholder meetings now? I really need to get a handle on them.”
“If you’re a hundred percent clear on the meeting, yes.”
“A hunnndred percent, yes.” She nodded and tucked the folder in her briefcase and pulled out her notepad. “So for the shareholder thing...”
“Meetings,” he corrected. Had she just slurred that word? Or was she being funny?
“Right. The meetings... They cover the Monday and Tuesday, right? With the Wednesday afternoon kept for additional items that come up?”
“The Tuesday afternoons are for open items, yes. The meetings are over Tuesday night.”
She blinked at him. “That’s what I said. Tuesday.”
“You said Wednesday. It’s Tuesday for the open session. Here.” He pulled the schedule from her unopened folder. “Look at this.”
She studied it with the glazed-eyed look of someone who wasn’t taking anything in. “Got it.” A sigh escaped her. She put her elbows on the table and rubbed her eyes. “I’m so sorry. My head is very cloudy all of a sudden.”
A wave of guilt spread through him. “You’re probably exhausted. It’s been a long week.”
“Yes, but this...” She put her palms to her temples. “I think I might need to lie down.”
He pulled her hands away from her face. “You’re not feeling well?”
“I’m fine...it’s just—” Her bleary gaze skipped away from his. “I—I took a pill my sister gave me for the turbulence. It’s making me...”
“Where is it?”
“In my purse.”
He grabbed her bag off the seat, opened it up and plucked the pill bottle off the top. Scanning the label he saw it was a sedative.
“Have you taken these before?”
“No. I didn’t think they’d hit me this hard.” She plopped her chin in her palms, elbows braced on the table, and closed her eyes. “Maybe it’ll wear off in a few minutes. Maybe I should have some coffee.”
“How many did you take?”
“Just one. But I feel...light-headed.”
He uttered a low curse. “It’s going to last for hours. You need to lie down.”
“I’d rather have some coffee.”
He stripped off his seat belt, rounded the table and undid hers. Her eyes half opened. “The seat-belt sign is—”
“Shut up.” He slipped his arms underneath her knees and back and lifted her up. She was surprisingly light for a female with her curves, and it should have been an easy carry to the bedroom at the back of the jet, but the plane was dipping and swaying beneath his feet and it was all he could do to keep his balance. Her fingers dug into his biceps with a strength born of fear, her body trembling in his arms.
He kept her braced against his chest as he negotiated the door handle to the bedroom, shouldered himself in and deposited her on the bed with a lucky move that brought him down hard beside her. The jet dropped, this time a good fifty feet, pulling a low, agonized cry from Francesca. He kept a hand on her, his body half draped over her. The jet leveled out. “Swallow,” he commanded.
Her throat convulsed as she did. “This is soooo not good.”
“It’s just turbulence.” He recovered his own breath.
“Still.” Her eyes popped open, valiantly hanging on to her terror. “Donnn’t leave me.”
“I can’t at this moment.” He gave the sky a grim look through the tiny, oval windows. It was an inky, endless black canvas crisscrossed by vibrant streaks of jagged gold lightning.
Francesca pulled him toward her as if he was a pillow. He put a palm to her shoulder to push her back into the bed. A whimper escaped her throat. “Please.”
He crumbled. Gathered her soft curves to him and held her while the storm raged on outside. She smelled like orange blossoms—like intoxication and innocence all in one. The plane leveled out and stayed that way for minutes. In the warmth of his arms, Francesca stopped trembling. He tried to remember the last time he’d held a woman like this, for comfort, and didn’t have to think long. It would have been seven years ago when Susanna had left.
The thought did something strange to his head. He glanced out the window as the lightning receded and the space between rumbles of thunder lengthened. Having Francesca wrapped around him like this was inspiring the need to find out whether his dream would come anything close to reality... The thought made him hard so fast, comfort was obliterated on a long, potent surge of lust.
He stood and dumped her on the bed. Her eyes flickered open. “It’s calming down now.” She curled up in the fetal position and used the pillow as a cushion instead of him. He turned and made for the door as a whole lot more creamy thigh was exposed. Mother of God.
Back in the main cabin, he buckled himself in and stared out the window at the storm. He’d called this one—he had. It had been a bad idea. A bad idea that was getting worse every minute.
CHAPTER FOUR
FRANKIE WOKE WITH the instinctive feeling something was not quite right. Bright light beat an assault against the throb behind her eyes. Her head felt fuzzy...heavy.
She closed her eyes harder against the overwhelming light. She must have forgotten to close the blinds. And on a morning when she had a blinding headache... Great.
A low, insistent hum beneath her ear made her frown. Were they renovating the brownstone across the street again? The floor dipped beneath her, riding a stream of air. Floors don’t move unless you live in California. Her eyes sprang open. The light streaming in was coming from tiny oval windows, a world of blue flowing by. She wasn’t in her bedroom; she was in the Grant Industries jet on her way to London. And it was morning.
Her gaze flew to the watch on her arm—8:00 a.m. Oh, lord.
Pieces of the night before assembled themselves in her head. That awful thunder and lightning storm... The way the jet had been tossed around like a toy airplane, subjected to God’s fury. That pill of her sister’s she’d taken that had knocked the lights out of her...
Oh, no. Her heart plummeted. The rest of it she didn’t want to remember. Her boss carrying her in here in the middle of that madness because she’d been half passed out. Him putting her to bed. Him holding her...
She buried her face in the pillow. She’d clung to him like a woman possessed. So far from the independent, strong woman she was it made her cringe to think of it. Made her cringe to think she’d given him yet another reason to think her less than competent.
Heat flooded her face. Tessa would never have put herself in that position. Tessa would have been cool as a cucumber in the face of almost certain aeronautic death.
She got out of bed in a hurry, made it behind her and attempted to straighten her rumpled suit and hair. Deciding nothing was actually going to be accomplished until she changed clothes and redid her makeup, she made her way out into the main cabin.
Harrison looked fresh in a crisp blue linen shirt, tie and pants, his jacket slung over the back of the seat beside him. Ready to do battle with Leonid Aristov.
He looked up at her. “Feeling better?”
She nodded. “I apologize for last night. I had no idea that pill was going to affect me that way.”
He waved a hand at her. “Forget about it. It was a bad storm.” He flicked a glance at his watch. “We’re landing in just over an hour. If you want to shower and change, do it now.”
She nodded. She wanted desperately to tell him this wasn’t her, not the way she’d been acting lately. But he stuck his head back in the report he was reading. Not the time to plead her case. And a part of her knew with Harrison, actions spoke louder than words.
She retraced her steps to the bedroom and headed for the shower to make herself into the deadly efficient assistant she knew she was. She could do this. She could.
* * *
They landed without incident at London City Airport, where they were picked up by a car and spirited to the Chatsfield. The opulence of the swanky hotel with its reputation for hosting anyone who mattered bounced off Harrison’s consciousness as they were ushered up to their luxury suite. His mind was focused on the meeting ahead and getting Leonid Aristov to sign on the dotted line.
He checked his smartphone as Francesca dropped her belongings in her bedroom. An email had come in from Aristov. A feeling of foreboding swept over him.
Grant—Stuck in Brussels. I’m hosting a charity gala tonight at my house in Highgate. Why don’t you come and we’ll talk there? Two tickets will be delivered to you this afternoon. L
Rage bubbled up inside of him, swift and all-consuming. Was he kidding? He had dragged himself across an ocean, put together an exhaustive presentation that obliterated the Russian’s concerns about the acquisition and he wanted to talk at a party?
His brain whirred as he struggled to figure out why Aristov was suddenly putting this deal on the back burner when he had been so anxious to sign just weeks ago. Forty million dollars was going to go a long way to pulling the Russian out of the financial mess the oligarch had found himself in recently, bad luck and bad decisions plaguing him in his home country and threatening the empire he’d built.
He shoved his hands in his pockets and walked to the floor-to-ceiling windows with their incomparable view of London, agitation raising his pulse rate. Aristov had told him he was getting out of the automotive business and realigning his assets. So why?
A niggling worry entered his head, one he hadn’t let himself think of until now. Could Aristov have guessed his true intentions? That acquiring Siberius was only a stepping stone to destroying the man who had killed his father? Impossible. He had made sure every company, every lifeline he had snapped up that kept Anton Markovic’s automotive empire in business had been buried so deep behind red tape they could never be traced back to him. The one or two deals he’d made publicly could innocently be explained as smart business strategy.
That Siberius was the only supplier in the world left that could keep Anton Markovic manufacturing engines once Grant Industries cut off his other lifelines was something Aristov could not know.
His head pounded with a deep throb, drawing his hand to his skull. If he didn’t obtain Siberius as planned, Markovic would continue production, the Russian’s company would gain more influence and his plan would be dead in the water.
A fiery feeling stirred to life low in his gut. He would never let that happen, not while he lived and breathed on this earth.
His head took him back to that night. To the horrific scene that had met him when he had walked into the Grant family home on the eve of his father’s announcement he would run for governor. The unnatural silence in the house. The eerie feeling that something was very, very wrong. His father’s body had been limp and lifeless, slumped over the desk he had created such genius at.
His body went rigid. The beast in him climbed out of the box he had placed it in seven years ago and into his head, blurring his vision. Anton Markovic had been as responsible for his father’s death as if he had pulled the trigger himself and he would have a target on his back until he lived his own personal version of hell.
There was no other possible outcome.
The gray mist in his head swirled darker. He pushed it ruthlessly away. If he let the wolves in his head win, if he let the beast rule, he would make a mistake. And any wrong move at this point would bring it all crashing down.
Francesca chose that particular moment to walk back into the room. Her apprehensive expression as he turned to face her had him wiping the emotion clean from his face.
“Is something wrong?”
“Aristov is stuck in Brussels. He wants to discuss the deal at a gala party he’s throwing in Highgate tonight.”
Her eyes widened. She wisely held her counsel. He turned back to the windows to study the city he’d flown thousands of miles to reach only to be slapped in the face by Leonid Aristov. He could fly back to the States tonight and be done with it, or he could make one more attempt to try and figure out what was going on in Aristov’s complicated head.
The thought that regulators would be looking at the deal in weeks had him turning around.
“Go buy yourself a dress. We have a party to attend.”
CHAPTER FIVE
THE MOST EXPENSIVE dress she had ever bought, times ten, floating around her ankles, hair tamed into a sophisticated up-do by the Chatsfield salon staff and some simple makeup in place, Frankie finally allowed herself a look in the mirror. Her eyes nearly bugged out of her head.
The haute-couture-clad, daring stranger that stared back at her was not the Frankie Masseria she knew. She would never in a million years have bought this dress if the saleswoman had not insisted it was exactly right for “Leonid Aristov’s party of the year.”
“Anyone who is anyone is going to be there, sweetheart. Trust me, you cannot be ordinary.”
So here she was, anything but ordinary, and not at all sure she could carry it off. Ordinary had been her mantra her entire life. Sure, she had a killer figure; reactions from men had told her that. But she didn’t have her two sisters’ striking blue eyes to go with her dark hair. She was not a doctor, psychologist, chemical engineer or entrepreneur. She was the girl her mother sent in to calm a particularly difficult customer when no one else could. She and her nondescript GPA had been so good at it her parents had urged her to stay in the family business. But she hadn’t wanted to do it. She’d wanted to become a somebody. And coming to work at Grant Enterprises had made her feel like a somebody.
She gave her appearance another assessing look. The dress, a stunning, smoky blue color the salesperson had said perfectly matched her eyes clung to every inch of her body as though it had been painted on. But because of the way the beautiful material slipped elusively away from her skin, it was come-hither rather than tacky.
What had sealed the deal, though, and made her set Harrison’s black-label credit card down on the counter was the back of the dress. The gorgeous cutout that revealed the graceful sweep of her shoulder blades and much of her back was sexy yet ladylike.
A knock sounded on the connecting door. Her nerves amped up another notch or two. Harrison. Tessa had been right. You could have timed the Swiss train system after him, he was that punctual.
Wary of keeping the beast waiting, she picked up her wrap, draped it around her shoulders and swung the door open. Her breath stopped somewhere in her chest. He looked obscenely handsome in a tux that was undoubtedly as expensively made as her dress, the elegant formal wear a perfect foil for his clean-edged, dark masculinity.
She looked up at him before her gaping became obvious. But he was too busy looking at her to notice. His dark gaze seemed to be caught in a state of suspended animation as it moved over her, taking in the daring dress. And he didn’t remove it right away. The full-on stare went on for a good three or four seconds, sending a wave of heat through her. Unlike some men’s open admiration that had, in the past, made her feel uncomfortable, Harrison’s stare made her feel unbalanced.
He cleared his throat. “You look...beautiful.”
His uncharacteristic struggle for words unleashed a fluttery feeling deep in her stomach. Stop it, she told herself. He’s your boss. Now is the time to act cool and collected so he knows you can actually do it.
“I hope it’s not too much,” she offered casually. “The saleslady said it was perfect for tonight.”
“It’s not too much.” He looked as if he was going to say something else, then clamped his mouth shut. “We should go.”
The ride to Highgate was smooth and quiet as London flashed by the tinted windows of the Rolls-Royce. Harrison was silent, a frown etched in his brow, formulating a plan of attack for Leonid Aristov, no doubt. Her nerves skyrocketed as they entered the exclusive London suburb. Georgian homes shook hands with fascinating Victorian Gothic structures. Not to be outdone, a handful of architecturally brilliant modern homes made their own statement on the tree-lined street.
All impressive, but it was Leonid Aristov’s Georgian Revival mansion that was the most impressive of all. Tucked between a canopy of trees as they climbed the hill, the redbrick mansion stood white-pillared and regal on rolling acres. Massive. She’d read it contained fifty-two rooms, including eighteen bedrooms and ten bathrooms, an Imperial-inspired ballroom and an underground bath that harked back to Roman times. As they continued to climb, she stared up at the structure gleaming with light. She’d never seen anything like it.
When they reached the top of the hill, they turned a corner and accessed the property from the official entrance off a quiet road cradled in the branches of giant oak trees. Limousines pulled to a halt in a parade of arrivals in the circular driveway.
Frankie tugged the low bodice of her dress up and checked her hair for the tenth time as they waited in the queue. Harrison shot her a quelling glance. “Stop fidgeting. You look perfect.”
She stuck her hands back in her lap. “I suppose you do this once a week.”
A fleeting smile crossed his lips. “Not once a week. Remember—they are people like you.”
Her heart did a little flip. He was breathtaking when he smiled. How had she ever thought Coburn the better-looking brother? Where Coburn was stunning in a flashy, attention-getting way, Harrison was devastating in a complex, unforgettable way. He had about fifty layers. She wondered if anyone ever got to the bottom of them. It made a woman want to try, that was for sure.
She removed her gaze from him. The only lover she’d had was a year-long relationship two years ago in college. What did she know about unpeeling layers? Heavens. She needed to focus on keeping her job, not unraveling her boss in a very distracting way.
The car slid forward to the pillared entrance. A white-gloved, uniformed staff member stepped forward to open the door. “Welcome to Gvidon House.”
Harrison stepped out and offered her his hand. She took it and emerged into the flashing bulbs of paparazzi cameras. He leaned down to her. “Gvidon House?”
She blinked against the blinding lights and rested her hand on his arm for balance. “He’s a prince from a Russian fairy tale. Apparently Leonid is a big fan of them.”
“Fairy tales?”
She nodded, settling her weight firmly on two feet as she eyed the red carpet. It seemed long and never ending.
Harrison set a hand to the small of her back to guide her toward it. “How do you know that?”
“I did my research.”
He gave her a measuring look. “Then you know his current girlfriend is Juliana Rossellini, who works for one of London’s top auction houses.”
“Who is fifteen years his junior.”
He nodded. “See if you can gain some intelligence about Leonid from her.”
She would, but right now she was too consumed by the distracting feeling of his palm on the bare skin of her back as the handlers indicated they could start down the carpet. It was big and warm. Comforting yet disconcerting at the same time.
His fingers increased their pressure on her skin. “Relax. Pretend it’s a walk in the park. You’re smelling the flowers...enjoying yourself.”
The park didn’t have fifty cameras stuck in her face. The park hadn’t just realized it was Harrison on the carpet, causing an unexpected buzz. They called his name as they moved forward. Frankie stuck the fakest smile of her life on her lips and held it.
“What if they connect us in the photo?”
His mouth quirked. “It wouldn’t do my reputation any harm having a stunning brunette on my arm. I’ve apparently been going through a dry spell.”
A stunning brunette. A flush she was certain would show up in the photographs deepened her cheeks. She was quite sure she didn’t compare to any of his beautiful escorts. She’d seen them. They were way out of her league.
“Does it bother you?” she asked. “Being in a constant media spotlight?”
He shrugged. “It’s been my life. You get used to it.”
They made it down the carpet without incident to the entrance where a queue was forming. People were removing their wraps, shoes... “Metal detector,” one of the greeters explained.
A metal detector?
Frankie looked around for something to hold on to while she took off her shoes. Harrison held out his elbow. “Why is it always the women’s shoes?” she complained.
His mouth curled. “Because they are weapons. With you, they could be a dangerous thing.”
She made a face at him. They made it through the metal detector unscathed and were directed to the terrace where the cocktails were being served. Frankie was gobsmacked by the scene. Some guests were milling about the exquisitely landscaped, multilevel terrace in the same formal wear she and Harrison had on, jewels dripping from their necks and ears. Others were lounging in the pool in bathing suits, cocktails in hand.
Her eyes widened at the sight of a diamond-encrusted blonde in the pool across the bridge. She was pretty sure those were real diamonds making up the hardly there bikini. They were just too sparkly not to be.
“Apparently,” she murmured to Harrison, “I just needed to bring my bathing suit. It would have been a lot cheaper.”
He gave her one of his dark, fathomless looks. “I think you’re a lot safer in the dress.”
The heat that passed between them was swift and unmistakable. She bit the inside of her mouth. Unfair, her eyes told him. I thought we were playing by the rules.
You asked for that one, his gaze flashed in return. Be honest.