Kitabı oku: «Big-city Bachelor», sayfa 2
With the purposeful, controlled tread of a prowling animal, he moved closer. No, he was too civilized to be compared to an animal, wasn’t he? His shoes gleamed with a polish as glossy as the table, and his charcoal suit and snow-white shirt were as crisp as a new dollar bill.
Lord, he was too good to be true, she thought, trying not to stare. No man really could have hair that thick and black, or eyes that seductively brown, or cheekbones that strong or a jaw that square. His nose was perfect, straight, strong and regal. He smiled, and masculine lines in the shape of twin brackets framed his perfect mouth. His teeth were perfect, too. And as if to ensure that all that perfection wouldn’t get monotonous, there was a dimple in his chin.
He stopped in front of her and held out his hand. “Welcome to New York, Miss Hamill.”
His voice was as impressive as his appearance. It was deep and rich, with the polish of aged mahogany and the power of distant thunder. It was a voice that would be equally at ease commanding a legion of knights on horseback or murmuring incantations over a love potion.
She cleared her throat, certain there was a frog in it somewhere. “Hello,” she croaked. She dropped her hand from the sign and extended it tentatively, uncertain whether she wanted to risk destroying this hallucination by trying to touch it.
“I’m Alexander Whitmore,” he said, enclosing her fingers in a warm, firm and indisputably real grip.
Alexander Whitmore? No. He couldn’t be. This man was at least one and a half decades away from fifty, no more than a few years older than she was. He didn’t look old, or kindly. Or anything as bland as nice. “Mr. Whitmore?”
“Please, call me Alex,” he said in that love-potion voice.
“Alex,” she repeated like a tongue-tied idiot, although her tongue was feeling too thick and clumsy to do anything as agile as tying itself in a knot.
This was her partner? This man with the bedroom-brown eyes and toothpaste-ad smile was the man behind the name that was linked to hers? The man who had sent her flowers? Twice? And wine?
Of all the things that had happened in the past few hours—heck, in the past few weeks—this topped them all. Maybe she was dreaming. Maybe in another second she would wake up to the sound of her alarm clock and her neighbor’s yappy poodle. Yes, it had to be a dream. What other explanation could there be? No living, breathing man could actually look like…that.
Or maybe it was more than a dream. Maybe, as Marylou had said, Lizzie really had managed to fall into a fairy tale.
She must have. Of course. It was the only reasonable explanation.
Because if this was a fairy tale, then she had just come face-to-face with an honest-to-goodness Prince Charming.
IT WAS ALL working like a charm, Alex thought, holding on to his smile as he extricated his hand from Miss Hamill’s grip. So far she had been cooperating beautifully. The campaign that he and Jeremy had planned was off to a flying start. And from the starry-eyed look on her face, his new partner was well on her way to being thoroughly softened up. Good God, it was going to be almost too easy. Like taking candy from a baby.
He sidestepped the burst of conscience that followed that thought by reminding himself he would be doing her a favor. Candy wasn’t good for babies. Besides, why should he feel sorry for her? She was a Hamill, wasn’t she?
Yes, she was a Hamill. Of that there was no doubt. She had the same uncontrollable red hair as her uncle, although she’d made a valiant effort to confine it into a knot at the back of her head. She had the same devilish arch to her eyebrows, although naturally hers were a narrower, feminine version. There were echoes of Roland in her broad forehead and her pointed chin, too, but the rest of her face was uniquely hers.
She poked at a strand of hair that had corkscrewed loose from its knot. “Mr. Whitmore?”
“Alex,” he corrected gently. “May I call you Elizabeth?”
“Well, sure. If you want.” She pressed her lips together and appeared to be wrestling with her tongue. “But most people call me Lizzie,” she burst out.
He watched as a blush spread over her cheeks. It gave her a wholesome, fresh-from-the-farm appearance. Damn, she wouldn’t last a day in the ruthless environment of the business world. He definitely would be doing her a favor by making sure she returned to Hicksville as soon as possible. “Lizzie,” he said.
“Yes?”
“You wanted to ask me something?”
“Oh.” She chewed briefly on her lower lip. She had full lips and a generous mouth that looked as if it were perpetually on the verge of a smile. “Oh, not really ask you, I guess.”
He waited, watching with interest while her deepening blush spread to the roots of her hair. When was the last time he’d seen a woman blush, or known one who was even capable of blushing?
“I wanted to thank you for the flowers,” she said finally. “And the fruit and the wine. I didn’t try the wine yet, but I’m sure it’s really good.”
“It was the least I could do, considering how you’ve traveled all the way here to visit us. I want you to feel welcome.”
“Oh, I do. You’ve been so kind.”
Kind? If she was impressed by those throwaway gestures, persuading her out of her shares was going to be even easier than he’d hoped. “Please accept my condolences over the loss of your uncle.”
“Thank you.”
“His death was so unexpected, it must have come as quite a shock.”
“I’d never met my uncle,” she said, glancing toward the wall behind him. “It’s a shame, but you would have known him much better than I did, being his partner and everything.”
“Roland was a memorable character.”
“Did he think up those ads?”
Alex didn’t need to look at the posters to give her an answer. “No, unfortunately your uncle didn’t take an active role in the company for the last few years. Jeremy will be able to explain all of that to you later.”
“Jeremy Ebbet, your lawyer?”
He nodded. “But we have some time before we have to wade through all the legal business, Lizzie. Would you be interested in seeing the rest of the office?”
She hesitated for only a moment before her mouth gave in to the smile that had been hovering. “Thanks, I’d like that.”
The smile took him off guard. It dimpled her cheeks and made her eyes sparkle. And it was so warm and innocent and genuine, it zinged right past his brain to stir an unexpected, unwelcome and unmistakably masculine response.
The reaction jarred him. He shouldn’t be feeling anything at all for Lizzie Hamill. He never let emotions interfere with business, and this was purely a business relationship, one that he hoped to terminate as soon as possible.
She turned away, and despite his best intentions, his gaze dropped. The loose-fitting blue suit didn’t reveal much about the rest of her body, but from what he could see as she walked toward the door, his new partner had an astoundingly shapely pair of legs.
He knew he shouldn’t even be noticing, but he nevertheless found himself taking in the view, from her trim ankles to the beginnings of her luscious thighs. His gaze paused on the vulnerable, pale skin at the backs of her knees and he stared, oddly transfixed.
For a crazy instant, he wondered what it would be like to touch her there, to stroke his fingertips along those tender hollows. How would she react if he did? Would she freeze him with a look, the way Tiffany used to? Would she slap him with a harassment suit?
Or would another blush spread across her cheeks? Would those devilish green eyes sparkle with interest? Would her incredibly expressive mouth move into another smile?
What was the matter with him? It must be stress. The future of the company, the security he’d planned for his children, it all depended on his ability to persuade Lizzie out of her shares. Whether she knew it or not, she was his adversary.
So he simply wouldn’t allow himself to be affected by her smile or her legs or her wholesome attractiveness. Right. Discipline and control, that’s what was necessary to keep the company running smoothly. That’s what kept his life running smoothly.
The only aspect of Miss Lizzie Hamill that he could consider attractive was the fifty percent of his company that she owned.
And the only part of her body that he was concerned about was the hand that would sign over her shares.
Chapter Two
“And this is my office,” Alex said, holding open a door.
Lizzie stepped inside eagerly, knowing this was the culmination of her guided tour of Whitmore and Hamill. Maybe now they would get down to business and she’d learn what her responsibilities in this company would be. Besides lending her name to the letterhead, that is.
For the past hour or so Alex had ushered her around the entire complex layout of the thirty-sixth floor. They had progressed from meeting rooms to the tape editing rooms and the layout studio and then on to an array of individual offices ranging from windowless cubbyholes to spacious corner rooms.
As Alex had introduced her to the rest of the staff, she’d been astounded by the number and the variety of the people who worked here. She met a few fashion plates who could have been clones of Pamela the receptionist, and she also met some genuinely friendly people who had claimed to have been very fond of her uncle. It had been a pleasant experience, since overall the staff had treated her with the same polite hospitality that Alex had been displaying.
Their last stop had been the office her uncle had used, but there had been little to see there—Alex had already explained that Roland hadn’t been involved with the company for a few years. Lizzie had lingered, hoping to find some clue to the character of the man she’d never known, but the shelves and the desk were bare, giving away nothing that could begin to satisfy her growing curiosity.
Walking into Alex’s office now, Lizzie admitted to herself that her uncle wasn’t the only partner of Whitmore and Hamill that she was curious about.
“Why don’t you relax for a while?” Alex suggested, pausing beside the door. “I’ll ask Rita to make us some coffee while we wait for Jeremy.”
Lizzie smiled and agreed, pleased that her tongue seemed to have recovered fully from its initial paralysis.
Alex slipped out of the office with the same animal grace that characterized all his movements. His voice drifted back through the doorway as he spoke quietly with the dour, middle-aged woman he’d introduced as his secretary. Even though Lizzie couldn’t make out the words, she tilted her head, simply enjoying the sound. No matter how often she heard him speak, his words still evoked thoughts of spells and fairy tales.
She might never get used to his appearance, either. What normal woman would? Especially one whose last suitor had considered a ripped-out cedar tree to be romantic.
Hold on there, girl, she cautioned herself. This was her business partner. Their association had happened literally by accident. Just because she had trouble keeping her imagination in check didn’t mean that she had to let him know about it. Prince Charming. Lordy, he’d think she was a complete fool if he ever knew the thoughts she’d been entertaining about him.
Lizzie turned from the door and walked slowly around the room, pausing to read the framed certificates that attested to awards of excellence that the company had won. Her company. Whether it was deserved or not, she felt a surge of the same kind of pride she’d felt on seeing the plaque with her name.
It’s yours. For once in your life, you have something that’s just for you.
Well, it wasn’t all hers. Fifty percent of it was Alex’s. Clasping her hands behind her back, she moved toward the massive L-shaped oak desk that dominated the spacious office. There was a computer set up on one side and an area for paperwork on the other. No clutter marred the polished surface, though. Everything was neatly aligned, from the gold pen set and the leather-trimmed blotter to the telephone that wouldn’t have looked out of place on a space shuttle. Even the picture frame was angled so that it was parallel to the pen set.
Picture? After a quick glance at the empty office doorway, Lizzie moved closer and picked up the frame to get a better look. To her surprise, it was a photograph of a pair of boys. Brothers, perhaps even twins, judging by the smiles that were reflections of each other. They both had black hair and dimples and were completely captivating. Almost as captivating as…
Who? Their uncle? Their father? What relation were these children to Alex? They had to be related somehow. There was a strong resemblance to him, not only in their coloring but in their expressions. Even though the boys appeared to be no more than five years old, there was a definite twinkle in their eyes that would probably develop into full-blown charm by the time they grew up.
Lizzie felt herself smile in response.
“Rita reminded me it’s getting late,” Alex said, striding into the office with two steaming cups of coffee in his hands. “We’ll try to wrap up our business with Jeremy as quickly as possible.”
“That’s fine with me.” She glanced up. “Who are these adorable kids?”
He hesitated when he saw what she was holding. “They’re my sons.”
“I can see the resemblance. What are their names?”
“Jason and Daniel. Jason’s the one on the left.”
“They really are adorable. How old are they?”
“They’ll be five in a few months.”
Her smile grew. “Twins. I figured that. We have a pair of twin girls in the day care center where I work. They’re always full of mischief, but they’re only three so the mischief isn’t that hard to contain.”
“You sound as if you enjoy your work.”
“I love it. I’m a sucker for kids, always have been.” She replaced the photograph on his desk and reached to take the cup he was holding out to her.
He moved the photo she had replaced, realigning it so that it was parallel to the pen set, then guided Lizzie to the sitting area in front of the corner window. He waited until she had settled comfortably into one of the deep burgundy armchairs before taking the matching one across from her. “So, how long have you worked in the day care business, Lizzie?”
“Almost four years now.”
“And before that?”
“Oh, I worked at the Packenham Dairy and then helped my stepbrother Benjamin at the cheese factory.”
He sipped his coffee slowly, watching her over the rim of his cup. “Cheese,” he repeated.
She nodded. “Pedley Cheese. He couldn’t afford to keep me on, so that’s why I started up the day care center.”
“That’s an interesting switch. What made you decide on day care?”
“It seemed to come naturally. Like I said, I’m a sucker for kids. Probably because of my family.”
“Oh? I thought you were your uncle’s only surviving relative.”
“I mean my stepfamily. When my father died, my mother remarried, and her new husband was a widower with three young children of his own. I was fourteen, and as the oldest kid in the household, I ended up helping raise the little ones.”
“Do your mother and stepfather still live in Packenham Corners?”
“Junction,” she corrected. “Packenham Corners is on the other side of the county line.”
“Sorry.”
“That’s okay,” she said generously. “Lots of folks get them mixed up. Anyhow, my stepfather, Warren Pedley, still lives on the family farm about ten miles from town, but my mother died the year after she married Warren.”
He sat forward, bracing his forearms on his thighs as he cradled his cup between his hands. “That must have been very difficult for you.”
She shook her head, not wanting to remember those dark years of her adolescence. “The Pedleys were wonderful. They always made me feel like one of the family.”
“And in return, you tried to pay them back by being helpful,” he said.
The accuracy of his insight startled her. They had met less than two hours ago, yet he had zeroed in on one of the major reasons her life had taken the direction it had. She studied him over the rim of her cup. Maybe there was more to him than a pretty face.
Of course he was more than a pretty face, she thought, exasperated with herself for dwelling on his appearance. The success exhibited by the luxury of the Whitmore and Hamill offices, as well as the famous ads and slew of awards that were displayed on the walls, made it obvious that there had to be plenty of intelligence behind those brown bedroom eyes.
“I suppose you’re right,” she continued. “I still like to help them out, but instead of baby-sitting them, I baby-sit their children. Except for my youngest stepbrother. He’s a long way from settling down and raising a family of his own.” She heard the wistful note in her voice and shifted uncomfortably. “Of course, with so many nieces and nephews to love, he could be happy just the way he is.”
“You sound as if you’re still very close to your family.”
“Oh, yes. We’re not blood relatives, but we’re still close.” Her gaze strayed back to the photo of the twins. “You’re very fortunate to have two sons. They look like fine children.”
“Thank you.”
Suddenly she realized what should have been obvious at her first glance of Alex’s children. It had taken two people to produce those boys. That meant they had a mother, too.
She glanced at the large, capable-looking hands that clasped his coffee cup. There was no sign of a gold band on any of those long fingers, but that was no guarantee these days.
Was Alex married?
Not that it should make one whit of difference to her, of course. So it was simply polite curiosity, from one business partner to another, that prompted her to ask the next question. “Does your wife take care of the children while you work?”
“Excuse me?”
“As a day care provider myself, I was simply wondering who’s taking care of Jason and Daniel.”
“My housekeeper, Mrs. Gray. She’s been with us for the past few months.”
Simple curiosity, she told herself again. “I know several working couples who would prefer to have someone in their home like that.”
“Mrs. Gray certainly keeps things running smoothly.”
“What kind of work does your wife do?” she asked, abandoning her attempts at subtlety.
“I’m not exactly sure what Tiffany does these days. Right now she’s in Europe.”
Well, that answered her question. Sort of. “I see.”
“We divorced three years ago, Lizzie. She’s on her honeymoon with her new husband.”
She felt a blush warm her cheeks. Darn. He’d probably known what she was angling to find out all along. “I’m sorry.”
He lifted his shoulders in a shrug that would appear casual if it weren’t for the way his knuckles whitened on his coffee cup. “These things happen. One learns from one’s mistakes.”
She felt a stirring of sympathy for him, coupled with a strange urge to reach out and cover his hands with hers. Instead, she placed her empty cup on the table beside her and laced her fingers in her lap. “So,” she said in a blatant attempt to change the subject, “how did you get into the advertising business, Alex?”
The flash of white knuckles disappeared as if it had never been. His charming smile was firmly back in place. “The art of persuasion has interested me from the time I finished college. After my first position with an advertising firm evaporated when the company failed, I decided to establish my own agency.”
“Is that when you met my uncle?”
“Yes, we met through a mutual acquaintance. Roland and I formed a partnership and the rest, as they say, is history.”
She suspected there was probably a lot more to the story, but before she could form her next question, there was a quiet knock on the open door.
Alex glanced over his shoulder, then rose to his feet. “Hello, Jeremy.”
The man who walked into the room looked exactly as Lizzie would have expected from hearing his voice on the phone. At least this wasn’t a surprise, she thought wryly.
Jeremy Ebbet was a few inches short of six feet and a few pounds shy of filling out the shoulders of his pinstriped suit. His hair was dark blond and thinning and his face bore the long-suffering worry lines of a farmer in a drought. After shaking hands with Lizzie and exchanging a few stilted pleasantries, he sat on the edge of the chair beside Alex, set his briefcase on his knees like a grasshopper with a wheat husk and clicked open the lid.
“We appreciate your willingness to clear up this situation so promptly, Miss Hamill,” he said, adjusting his steel-rimmed glasses with a poke of his index finger.
Alex crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in his chair while he listened to Jeremy set the second phase of their plan into motion.
As Alex had advised him, Jeremy emphasized how Roland hadn’t been involved with Whitmore and Hamill for years, and how the company had been running profitably under Alex’s sole control. Lizzie nodded, already prepared for this by the carefully chosen comments Alex had made during their tour.
“Your uncle was in the process of negotiating the sale of his shares when he met with his tragic accident,” Jeremy said, withdrawing a sheaf of papers from his briefcase and passing them to Lizzie. “Here’s a copy of our offer.”
She nibbled on her lower lip as she concentrated on reading, drawing Alex’s attention to her mouth yet again. Her generous, ready-to-break-into-a-smile mouth. Alex had been distracted by it unexpectedly throughout the course of the afternoon. Especially when it had curved with a touch of wistful sweetness while she’d been looking at the picture of his sons.
Damn. She might be going about it in a completely different manner, but if he didn’t maintain control of his thoughts, in her own way Lizzie might prove to be as disruptive to the smooth course of his life as her uncle had been.
Yet another reason to close this deal and get her on a plane back to Packenham Corners. No, Junction. Whatever.
“As you can see,” Jeremy continued, “we have substituted your name for Roland’s, since you are now the sole owner of his fifty percent.”
She stopped nibbling and pursed her lips in a whispered whistle.
The pucker made Alex think about kissing. He shifted in his chair and focused on her hand, the one that would hold a pen.
“Is that what my shares are worth?” she asked in a voice that approached a squeak.
“It’s an excellent offer,” Jeremy said.
“Lord love a duck.”
“Excuse me?”
“I had no idea.” She looked up, turning toward Alex. “This is so fast. I just found out I own half the company, and now you want to buy me out?”
Alex wrenched his gaze from her mouth and met her eyes. “It must be overwhelming for you, but I’m sure you see that it would be the best solution for everyone.” He paused a moment before adding the final nail. “It’s what Roland would have wanted.”
“But I had thought that…I mean, when you arranged for me to come all the way out here…” She trailed off, shaking her head as she looked at the paper in her hand. “Do you mind if I take this back to the hotel with me?”
“Go ahead,” Alex said. “Take all the time you want to consider it, Lizzie. I don’t want you to feel pressured.”
“Thanks. I need to think about this.”
Alex pushed back his sleeve and checked his watch. “Let’s continue this discussion tomorrow. In the meantime, why don’t we grab dinner and then catch a Broadway show? I understand this is your first visit to New York?”
She folded the offer and slipped it into her purse, then smiled and nodded her head.
Like taking candy from—
Rising to his feet, Alex refused to listen to the nagging little voice. He also refused to acknowledge the tug at his pulse as he noted the way his partner’s plain navy blue skirt molded delectably curved thighs as she shifted to stand up.
And the way her lips softened with her smile.
And her eyes sparkled with earthy sensuality.
And the touch of her fingers on his skin when she took his hand sent a shock of heat through his nerves…
But apart from that, everything was progressing according to plan.
THE SCENTS of smoldering candles and expensive perfume were as subtly pervasive as the background hush that permeated the restaurant. The black-suited waiters didn’t bustle, they glided. Polished silverware winked from the white linen tablecloths and tiny lights twinkled in the crystal wineglass Lizzie held. Clutching the stem securely, she lifted it in response to Alex’s toast.
“To New York,” she repeated, taking a healthy sip of the wine Alex had ordered. It was as smooth and sweet as spring water with honey.
“What would you like to see tomorrow?” he asked. “The Statue of Liberty? Times Square? The museum?”
“The Statue of Liberty, I think.”
“Wonderful. It’s been years since I went there.”
She took another sip of wine as she listened to the sound of his voice. She was vaguely aware that he was detailing the tour he planned to take her on tomorrow, but as had happened before, she paid more attention to his voice than to his words. And why not? She might as well enjoy it while she could. His devastating handsomeness, the dazzling restaurant, the wine…come midnight, it would probably all disappear.
That would be a fitting end to this fairy tale, wouldn’t it?
She should have seen it coming. Lord, she must be pathetic to confuse, even for a minute, the attention Alex had been showering on her. He wasn’t being kind. This was purely business. What other possible reason could there have been for someone like him to whisk her to New York and give her flowers and treat her to dinner at a restaurant with no prices on the menu?
Considering what he was willing to pay her for her uncle’s shares, what would the cost of a few roses and a filet mignon matter?
She put down her glass and toyed with her fork, annoyed with herself for the disappointment that was totally misplaced. Her imagination had really gotten the better of her again, that’s all. Of course, he wouldn’t want someone he didn’t know for a partner. Of course, he’d think she would be anxious to sell her half of the company and scuttle back to her stable, safe, secure, happy life in Packenham Junction.
She should have seen it coming, she thought again, poking at a morsel of meat that had already gone cold. She was Auntie Liz. Good old Lizzie. The perpetual baby-sitter and bridesmaid, destined to exist forever on the periphery of other people’s lives.
In a way, there was a fitting irony to the situation. This entire trip, what she’d seen as her one chance at adventure, had the sole purpose of ensuring that she would return home and stay right where she’d always been.
“Is there something wrong with your meal?”
She put down her fork carefully so it wouldn’t clang and disturb the hush. “No, it’s delicious.”
“I could have the waiter bring you something else.”
“Please, don’t bother,” she said, reaching for her wine once more. She knew she shouldn’t be drinking it, considering the fact that she still hadn’t eaten anything today, but swishing dollar-a-mouthful wine through her teeth was another one of those things she might as well enjoy while she could.
Alex had made her a generous offer. Heck, it had more zeros than she’d seen in one place since she’d sneezed while she’d been typing out the day care center’s financial statement. With that much money, she could build a new barn for her stepfather, pay off Jolene and Tim’s mortgage, even pay Zack’s way through Harvard.
That is, if they would accept the money.
What a stubborn bunch her family was. It must hark back to their pioneer roots, when money in the bank was a foreign concept and people bartered for what they needed. Too bad Whitmore and Hamill didn’t make milking machines or something else useful.
Her lips curved at the thought of the immaculately groomed Alex Whitmore being involved with anything as mundane as a milking machine. He probably wouldn’t know which end of a cow to install it on. With his long fingers and firm grip, though, he likely wouldn’t have too much trouble coaxing out the milk by hand.
She glanced across the table, and a slow flush rose to her cheeks at the mental image of Alex with his long, strong fingers turning his attention to such an earthy task. If the way he moved was any indication, there was plenty of physical strength beneath his sophisticated appearance. Plenty of determination behind his good manners, too. He’d have a gentle, purposeful touch, the kind that would soothe and stimulate at the same time. And he’d be murmuring soft words in that deep, love-potion voice of his, and his brown eyes would grow smoky, and…
Lordy, he was one impressive specimen. Maybe it was the excitement of this whole situation, but never in her life had a man made such an immediate impact on her. She wasn’t so naive as to confuse physical attraction for something deeper, yet knowing what it was didn’t do anything to eliminate it.
It had never been that way with Bobby. Even when he’d been stripped to the waist on those hot summer days on her stepfather’s farm, and his shoulders had flexed with the effort of slinging those hay bales around, and his jeans had clung damply to his hips and thighs, she had never felt more than a comfortable kind of interest.
If she ever had the chance to see Alex Whitmore flex his muscles while he was half-naked and gleaming with sweat, she doubted if she would feel anything close to comfortable.
With a sickening clunk, her wineglass tipped over, spilling the remainder of its contents across the tablecloth in a sudden flood.
Alex whipped the linen napkin from his lap and stemmed the flow. “Sorry, I must have jarred the table,” he said.
She knew that he knew that her own fidgeting had been responsible for the mishap, yet he was willing to take the blame in order to spare her embarrassment. He was a regular…prince. A bubble of laughter hiccuped past her lips.
