Blackhawk Desires: Blackhawk's Betrayal. Barbara McCauley

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СКАЧАТЬ reputation in an awkward situation. Sexual harassment claims and lawsuits were hardly good for business. Because he’d never stepped over that boundary before, it had never been an issue for him.

      Until Kiera.

      He wished he knew what it was about the woman that intrigued him to the point of distraction. She was pretty—beautiful, even. And sexy, for damn sure. He wished the attraction were as simple as that. If it were, it would pass quickly enough. But something, some little, annoying itch between his shoulder blades, told him it was more than that. Much more.

      He sighed, sank down farther in his seat. Maybe it was the mystery surrounding her, he thought. Maybe when he’d seen that black eye, some primal need to protect had been awakened. Or maybe he’d simply been without female companionship longer than he was accustomed to. Of all the reasons, he preferred that one. It was the easiest to rectify.

      He straightened suddenly, spotted her across the parking lot, getting out of her car, her arms loaded with brown grocery bags. She’d driven right past him and he hadn’t even seen her!

      So much for his reconnaissance expertise.

      By the time he came up behind her, she had her key in her hand and was juggling the bags in her arms while she reached to unlock her door.

      “I’ll get it.”

      With a gasp, she jerked her head up and stared wide-eyed at him. “Sam!”

      He took the bags from her, nodded at the door when she just stood there, staring at him. “You going to open it?”

      “What? Oh, yes.” It took her a moment to fit the key into the lock. When she opened the door, she turned and blocked the doorway, reached for the bags. “This really isn’t a good time, maybe you can—”

      “I’m coming in, Kiera.”

      She hesitated, then stepped to the side.

      The room was spacious, with a small kitchenette, chrome dining table, box-shaped tweed sofa and a rust-colored armchair. Over the sofa, a large, framed print of a sunny, palm tree–lined beach attempted—unsuccessfully—to brighten up the drab room. An open door to the right of the sofa led to the bedroom.

      He jerked his gaze away. The last thing he wanted to think about right now was the bedroom.

      He set the groceries on the Formica kitchen counter, caught the scent of fresh herbs wafting from one of the bags, noticed two wine bottles in another. “Are you expecting company?”

      She stood by the still-open door, white-knuckling the doorknob. “Why do you ask?”

      “Why are you answering a question with a question?”

      At the sound of a car pulling into a parking space close by, Kiera quickly glanced outside, then shut the door. “Just because I’m cooking doesn’t mean I’m expecting anyone.”

      Again, she hadn’t answered his question. “You have two bottles of wine.”

      She arched an eyebrow. “Are you the wine police?”

      When he frowned at her, she sighed, then moved into the kitchen and lifted a bottle of cheap Bordeaux out of the bag.

      “One’s for drinking, one’s for cooking.” She plucked a corkscrew out of a drawer. “Why don’t you just tell me why you’re here.”

      “All right.” He watched her effortlessly open the bottle. The dark, tangy scent of the red wine drifted across the counter. “I want to know if you’d like to file a complaint.”

      “Yes, I would.” She pulled a frying pan out of a cupboard under the stovetop. “This frying pan is too small.”

      “Dammit, Kiera.” He narrowed his eyes. “You know what I mean.”

      “Assuming you’re referring to our little breach of conduct this afternoon, of course I don’t want to file a complaint.” She set the pan on the stove and met his gaze. “Sam, we’re both adults. What happened … just happened, that’s all.”

      “That’s all you have to say?” he said tightly. “‘It just happened?’”

      “What do you want me to say?” With a shrug, she fumbled in one of the bags, pulled out fresh herbs, butter and an onion.

      What did he want her to say? he wondered. Her answer should have relieved, not annoyed him. If he had half a brain, he’d be done with this, with her, and get the hell out now.

      Apparently, he wasn’t that smart.

      “I kissed you, Kiera,” he said, stating the obvious. “I shouldn’t have.”

      “Because you’re my boss?”

      “Of course because I’m your boss.” His annoyance increased when she didn’t answer him but grabbed a knife instead and sliced off a chunk of butter, then dropped it into the pan.

      “And what if you weren’t my boss?” she said casually, then reached for the basil.

      His pulse jumped at her comment. He couldn’t tell if she was playing one of those coy, female games, or if she was seriously asking him a question. He watched her chop the basil, smelled the pungent scent of the spice filling the room. Dammit! Why can’t I read her?

      “If I wasn’t your boss,” he said slowly, evenly, “I’d have done a hell of a lot more than kiss you.”

      In spite of her resolve to be nonchalant, Kiera couldn’t stop the winged stutter in her heart. She shouldn’t have asked him that, knew her question was playing with fire. But somehow the words had just slipped out, and there was no taking them back now.

      And if—for once—she was going to be truthful, she didn’t want to take them back.

      Her stomach jumped when he moved around the counter toward her. She didn’t look at him, didn’t dare. If she did, he’d certainly see everything she was thinking. Everything she was feeling. She wasn’t ready for that. Not yet, she thought. It was too soon.

      “Are you thinking about quitting?” He moved closer. “Or are you suggesting something else?”

      Something else? She glanced up sharply as she realized what he meant, felt her cheeks warm. She supposed her question did sound like some kind of a proposition to have a secret affair or be a kept woman. She lifted her chin. “Of course I’m not suggesting anything else.”

      “What if I did?”

      She stilled at his words, not certain if she should be insulted or excited. “What if you did what?”

      “For starters—” he reached down and took the knife from her hand, laid it on the cutting board, then reached for her “—this.”

      His mouth covered hers. A hot, hungry kiss that stole her breath, sent her pulse racing and her mind spinning. And there it was again. Absolute pleasure, intense need. It streaked through her like liquid lightning, setting her skin on fire. She met the moist heat of his tongue with her own, slid her hands up the rock-solid wall of his chest. СКАЧАТЬ