Caroselli's Baby Chase. Michelle Celmer

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СКАЧАТЬ I don’t understand is why we’re in here,” Rob told her, “when you should be in the conference room telling them you can’t work here.”

      Her brows rose. “Why would I do that?”

      “Well, first, despite what my family believes, your services are not required or desired by anyone on my staff. And considering the circumstances, I don’t think your presence here would be appropriate.”

      “What circumstances are those?”

      Was she kidding? “The ones we’ve been discussing since we stepped in here. It’s unlikely either of us could be objective in light of what happened the other night.”

      “I don’t know about you, but now that I know what a macho jerk you are, it isn’t going to be an issue for me. In fact, I think I’m going to enjoy it.”

      He had been accused of being inattentive, arrogant and at times insufferable, but macho jerk was a new one. “Are you sure about that?”

      “Absolutely.”

      “You can remain completely objective?”

      “Yep.”

      Rob was not the type of man to behave rashly. He never made a move before he’d had time to completely think through a situation, weigh the pros and cons. So maybe it was pride that propelled him forward, or the satisfaction of proving her wrong, or just compromised judgment that motivated him to take her by the arms, pull her to him and crush his mouth down on hers.

      Carrie made an indignant sound and pushed at his chest. She resisted for all of three seconds, then her fingers curled into the lapels of his jacket and her lips parted beneath his.

      Having made his point, he should have let go. Instead he wrapped his arms around her, pulled her closer. It had been just like this on New Year’s, his brain shutting down the second he kissed her, his body reacting on pure instinct, a carnal need to overpower and dominate. One that he’d never felt with a woman before her. Because despite her claim, he was not a macho jerk. Of all his cousins and uncles, he was probably the least chauvinistic man in the family. Her gender had no bearing whatsoever on his professional opinion.

      Carrie slid her hands up his chest, tunneled them through his hair, taking two fistfuls and jerking his head back so she could kiss—ow—make that bite his neck. Growling, he backed her against his office door, cringing as her head hit the surface with a thunk, cushioned only by the ugly bun in her hair, but it only seemed to fuel her desire.

      “I want you right here, against this door,” she said, her eyes locking on his as she slid her hand between their bodies, gripping his erection through his slacks.

      Sucking in a breath, he grabbed the hem of her skirt and shoved his hand underneath, sliding it up her leg, and—damn—she was wearing a garter. He had just reached the top of her bare inner thigh, his fingers brushing the crotch of her panties, when his cell phone started to ring.

      Damn it. Talk about lousy timing.

      Carrie grumbled unhappily as he pulled his hand from under her skirt and backed away from the hand that had been busy unzipping his fly. “Yeah,” he answered.

      “We’re ready for you,” his father said.

      “Be right there.” He hung up without saying goodbye, so his dad wouldn’t hear his labored breathing, and told Carrie, “They’re ready for you.”

      She nodded, her cheeks rosy, pupils dilated. “I just need a minute to catch my breath.”

      He shoved his phone back in his pocket and zipped his pants. “Now do you see what I mean?”

      “That you have pitiful lack of self-control?” Carrie said, straightening her jacket and smoothing the wrinkles from a skirt six inches too long for her height. “I definitely noticed that.”

      “I didn’t see you trying to stop me.”

      She looked up at him, her lipstick kissed away, a stubborn tilt to her chin. “You enjoy being right, don’t you?”

      “Not always.” Not this time. They had chemistry, but that was about it. With fifteen million dollars riding on his choice, she was the exact opposite of what he was looking for in a woman. Not only did he consider her the enemy, but she’d said herself that she had intimacy issues, and she had never been in a serious relationship. Rob needed a woman with baby fever, someone to marry and pop out a male heir. She wasn’t it, and having her around to tempt him would only make a difficult situation that much more tense.

      “So, have I made my point?” he asked Carrie.

      “You certainly have,” she said. “We should get back to the conference room.”

      They walked side by side down the corridor, an uncomfortable silence building a wedge between them. There was nothing left to say. It had been fun, and now it was over. She would go back to California, and he and his team would work out a plan to beef up sales. And hopefully, sooner rather than later, he would find a woman to give him a son, and everyone would be happy.

      The conference room was silent as they stepped inside. Carrie took her seat, and Rob returned to his.

      “Sorry to make you wait,” his dad told her.

      “I completely understand,” she said.

      Rob waited for her to break the bad news, but she just sat there.

      “After going over the final numbers,” his uncle Leo said, “we’re pleased to tell you that we agree to your terms and we would like you to start first thing next Monday morning.”

      Rob waited for the big letdown, wondered how everyone would take her turning down their offer.

      “I don’t come cheap,” she said, then looked directly at Rob. “But I don’t disappoint.”

      She may as well have drawn her sword and challenged him to a duel. And clearly she had only been humoring him. She had never intended to turn down the assignment.

      If that was really the way she wanted to play this, fine.

      You want a fight, sweetheart? Well, now you’ve got one.

      Three

      After the contracts were signed, everyone filed out of the conference room, shaking Carrie’s hand, congratulating her and welcoming her to the company. Rob watched, gathering the binders—a task typically left for an assistant—growing increasingly impatient as Elana stopped to admire Carrie’s briefcase of all things, and they launched into a conversation about women’s purses and accessories. When he’d run out of ways to stall, he flat-out asked Elana, “Could I have a minute with Ms. Taylor?”

      Flashing him a knowing look and a wry smile, Elana said, “Sure, Robby. See you Monday, Carrie.”

      Elana knew that there was no faster way to irritate him than to address him by his childhood nickname. The first half of it anyway. It had been years since anyone dare uttered the phrase that had been the bane of his existence from kindergarten to his first year of college.

      She СКАЧАТЬ