Breathless Passion
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Emilie Rose
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18.1K
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11
One
Lily West stormed through the front doors of Restoration Specialists, Incorporated, determined to flush out the skunk who’d tried to bamboozle her brother and to erase the stench he’d left behind.
RSI might have an outstanding national reputation for adapting historic buildings for modern usage, but that didn’t make their contract any less of a rip-off—a rip-off she couldn’t afford if she wanted to hold on to the family farm.
As her booted feet rapped across the wide-planked hardwood floor toward the nineteenth-century pub bar serving as the reception desk, she couldn’t help admiring the way the historic cotton mill had been renovated into a modern-day construction company’s headquarters. Tall windows. An abundance of natural light. The perfect place for plants. But there weren’t any. In her plant-loving mind, the room looked naked.
The reception desk was vacant and the computer shut down. But if everyone had already left for the holiday weekend, then why had the front door been unlocked?
She drummed her short nails on the polished surface and battled frustration. If she didn’t get this contract amended in the next thirty minutes, Gemini would be bound by it. The three-day right of rescission ended today at five. Darn Trent for hiding this deal from her until it was almost too late, but as usual, her brother saw the big picture and not the small details.
“Hello?” Only the echo of her own voice bouncing off the high ceiling and walls answered her call.
Clenching her teeth, she tightened her fingers around the contract rolled in her hand and scanned the three-story lobby. Ah ha! Lights on in an office two floors up. She climbed the steep wrought-iron spiral staircase in the corner and circled the balcony that wrapped around the open reception area like an iron catwalk.
Inside the lit office she found a broad-shouldered man with sun-bleached short blond hair bent over a wide file-covered desk. She rapped on his open door.
He looked up and her breath caught. Bedroom blue eyes pinned her in place. Gorgeous from his aristocratic straight nose to his chiseled lips. Even the golden five-o’clock shadow on his square chin looked scrumptious.
“Can I help you?” His deep, rumbling voice swept up Lily’s spine like the soft, fuzzy brush of a pussy willow bud.
Pull it together, Lily. “I’m Lily West from Gemini Landscaping. I need to speak to someone about our recent contract with Restoration Specialists.”
The hunk rose in a smooth, athletic shifting of muscle and sinew and came around the desk. She looked up—way up—which was unusual given her height. The man in front of her had to be six and a half feet tall—almost the same height as her brother—but this guy’s breadth made her feel small and delicate. She’d never been accused of either.
He wore a chambray shirt with the company logo embroidered on the breast pocket, jeans almost as worn as hers and work boots. The muscles testing the shoulder seams of his shirt spoke of manual labor, which meant he wasn’t the corporate pencil pusher she needed. “I need to speak to someone in management.”
“You are.” Her skepticism must have shown. He offered his hand. “I’m Rick Faulkner, Chief of Architecture and Design.”
His name sounded familiar, but she knew they’d never met. When his long fingers curled around hers in a firm handshake, it took Lily a minute to remember to inhale, and when she did, his clean woodsy scent filled her nostrils.
He checked her out as thoroughly as she’d inspected him. His blue gaze traveled from the top of her short dark hair, which hadn’t seen a comb since morning—cringe—to the toes of her worn work boots before he looked her in the eye again.
Her skin prickled and her lungs constricted. She regretted that she hadn’t taken the time to do more than wash her face before coming over, but makeup never had been her thing, and even if she poured it on with a concrete mixer, she’d never have what it took to attract a hunkarama like him.
“Is there a problem, Ms. West?”
His clipped question clued her in to the fact that she still clung to his large, warm hand and gawked. Her skin heated. She pulled her fingers free, dragging across a callus or two. A tickle of awareness raced up her arm and skipped down her spine.
“This contract stinks like fresh manure. I want to amend it or tear it up.” Oh, nice, Lily. Impress the guy by talking about manure. No wonder men aren’t lining up at your door.
His smile—a killer one, she admitted reluctantly—displayed straight white teeth and put a sparkle in his sky-blue eyes that threatened the stability of her knees. “You don’t want to do business with us?”
“Not if I have to pay kickbacks.”
His humor faded and his eyes narrowed. “The contract isn’t fair?”
“Not by a long shot.”
“Is that it?” He nodded toward the papers crushed in her fingers.
She unrolled the offensive document and handed it over. “Yes. I’ve highlighted the objectionable parts. Your contract guy squeezed in all kinds of little extras that will make the deal unprofitable for us.”
He bent his head over the papers and leaned back against the desk, drawing Lily’s attention to flexing thigh muscles and denim faded in interesting places. Shame on you for looking, Lily.
She redirected her attention to more appropriate objects: his drafting table, the bookshelves loaded with architectural tomes and his leather desk set. Limited-edition pictures hung on the rough-hewn walls, and his office furnishings were of the finest quality. No resemblance to her thrift-shop office here.
“Why don’t you have a seat, Ms. West, and give me a few minutes to study this.” He waited until she’d settled herself in an oak chair by the window before reseating himself and opening one of the files on his desk. He extracted a piece of paper. One long finger traced down a column of numbers, and then he paused, scowled at the contract and started at the top again.
The large window spanning the length of the outside wall drew Lily like a bee to pollen. She spent most of her waking hours outdoors with the wind on her cheeks, but this spectacular view of downtown Chapel Hill and the small university town’s surrounding hills might make being cooped up tolerable—for a short while.
It was the last day of August, but already the trees were beginning to turn due to the dry summer. In another month, red, orange and yellow would wash the hills with color, and if she was lucky she’d be working her fanny off trying to cover the leaf-raking and pruning jobs fall generated. Since her stepfather’s death last year every job counted. Big ones like this were rare, but the RSI job was beginning to look like a bonus-size headache. What had Trent been thinking?
“Did you tamper with this contract?”
She turned to find his eyes zeroed in on hers with unsettling directness. “Of course not.”
He nodded and went back to the contract.
Peeling her gaze away from his surfer-blond hair, she studied his diploma. Faulkner. Now she knew why the name sounded familiar. “You’re the owner’s kid?”
His brows lowered. He glanced up. “I’m thirty-four, too old to be a kid, but, yes, my father is the CEO of RSI.”
No wonder Broderick Faulkner, III, didn’t wear a suit. Rules and dress codes wouldn’t apply to the owner’s son, but evidently, Rick had the brains to earn an architectural engineering degree. She twisted in her seat to study the small balsa wood models on the shelves. His collection included houses, industrial buildings and a classic Mustang—all painstakingly detailed.
The creak of his leather chair drew her attention back to the man at the desk. “Our contracts manager left for a two-week vacation this morning. Would you like me to void the contract or do you want to renegotiate?”
Gemini needed this job. Badly. Lily leaned forward in the chair, parking her palms on her knees. “I’d like to do business with your company, Mr. Faulkner, if we can come to terms.”
He rested his hands on the desktop. He had capable, long-fingered hands with neatly trimmed nails. “Your terms are the ones written in the margins of the contract?”
“Yes.”
He initialed and dated the changes she’d made to the contract without arguing, and then flipped to the last page. “Is Trent West your husband?”
“My brother and my partner.” Trent had been blinded by the clause granting Gemini exclusivity on RSI’s local projects for the next two years, and he’d missed the problematic parts of the contract.
“Your brother should be more careful, and if he’s your partner so should you.” He shoved the contract in her direction and offered his pen. Their fingers touched, and a spark of static electricity zapped her and zinged around in her belly like a lightning bug in a jar.
Her breath hitched, and the pen clattered to the desktop. He’s out of your league, Lily. “Shouldn’t we all be wary? Anything that looks too good to be true usually is.”
He retrieved the pen and handed it to her again. The metal casing had absorbed his body heat. “That’s a bitter sentiment for one so young. Initial and date the changes, please.”
“I’m twenty-five, and a fast learner.” She did as instructed and then sat back to study him. Correcting the contract had been too easy. In her experience rich guys never took responsibility for their mistakes. There had to be a catch. “Are you sure you’re authorized to do this?”
His lips—great lips, actually—firmed, hiding that lush bottom curve and straightening the chiseled V on top. “I’ll carry it straight to my father.”
She bent her head to hide her derisive expression. Right, Daddy held the power. Rick was probably nothing more than a figurehead with a title—a fine-looking figurehead.
“Did I miss something?”
She jerked up her chin. “Like what?”
He steepled his fingers and rocked back in his chair. “You have an expressive face.”
She met his gaze and answered truthfully. “I’m wondering if I shouldn’t be dealing directly with your daddy. I can’t say I’m willing to trust your contracts man again.”
Rick sat forward suddenly and his expression hardened. A muscle bunched in his jaw, and Lily suspected she’d offended him. “My father will be out of town until Tuesday. It’s a holiday weekend. Either deal with me or we cancel the contract and you renegotiate with my cousin, our contracts man, when he returns in two weeks.”
Some choice. “I’ll deal with you.”
He rose and held out his hand. She stood, but hesitated, not wanting to touch him again—not because he repelled her, but exactly the opposite. Rick Faulkner was too darned handsome for his own good. Stick to your own kind, Lily, or you’ll get your heart broken, her momma had always said.
“I need to make a copy of the changes for our records.”
Her cheeks warmed. She passed the papers to him. “Of course you do.”
The phone on his desk rang. He picked up the receiver and answered briskly, “Rick Faulkner.” He grimaced and mouthed, “Excuse me.”
Lily turned toward the window to give him privacy.
“No, I haven’t forgotten about the party.” His voice lowered into knee-melting range. Surprised by the dramatic change from clipped corporate raider to gentle giant and even more by her pulse-accelerating reaction to his velvety tone, Lily glanced over her shoulder and caught his wince. “Yes, I’ll bring a date. No, I won’t tell you who she is…. No, you’ve never met her….” He pinched the bridge of his nose and tipped his head back, rocking it from side to side—a sure sign of someone under stress. “I can’t talk right now. I’m with someone. I’ll have to get back to you—Mom, I’ll call you later.”
Mom. Dates. Stress. Story of her life.
He hung up and shoved his fingers through his hair, ruffling the sun-streaked strands and causing some of the shorter bits to stand in golden spikes. “I apologize for the interruption. Give me a minute to make the copies.”
“Matchmaking mother?”
His short laugh sounded more exasperated than amused, and his wry grin stole her breath. “Yes, and she’s relentless in her quest for grandchildren.”
Lily wrinkled her nose in sympathy. “I have one of those, too, and it takes a lot of fancy footwork—not to mention eyes in the back of your head—to avoid the traps. Right now I feel like I’m on vacation while my mom spends a couple of months with her friend in Arizona. Don’t get me wrong. I love my mother, but it’s incredibly nice to come home at the end of the day and not find an unexpected somebody’s-cousin’s-nephew staring at me across the dinner table. Blind dates are the pits.”
The man does not care about your pitiful love life. Why are you running off at the mouth?
His assessing eyes narrowed, and her heart missed a beat at his speculative expression. “What are you doing two weeks from tomorrow?”
She jerked in surprise. “Me? Why?”
“My father is having a retirement party. I need a date who knows how to dodge matchmaking mothers. It sounds as if you do.”
Lily’s stomach pitched, but then reality made her roll her eyes. “Oh, right. Like I’d fit into your crowd.”
His gaze probed from her windblown hair to her work boots and back to her eyes. Her skin flushed and tingled, and she wished like the devil she’d brushed her hair. “Why wouldn’t you?”
A disbelieving laugh erupted before she could stop it, but warmth curled and spiraled inside her. “I wear denim and dirt. Your lady friends wear designer clothing and diamonds.”
One dark golden brow arched. “And you know this how…?”
Because she religiously read the Chapel Hill society column for any hint of news about the man who pretended she didn’t exist. “I know your type.”
“Do I detect a touch of reverse snobbery, Ms. West?”
“Hardly. Just the bite of reality.”
“Reality is what you make of it. What do you say, Lily, will you be my date for my father’s retirement party?”
“Not a chance, Mr. Faulkner. Besides, I don’t even own a dress.”
“The name’s Rick, and I’ll buy a dress for you.”
Surprise knocked her back a step. “No, you won’t.”
A wicked let’s-play-games glint twinkled in his eyes, and her insides fizzed like a shaken can of soda. “Afraid to show your legs?”
She lifted her chin. “I have great legs, thanks. My cat tells me so every time he purrs against them.”
His rusty chuckle warmed her, stirred her and tempted her to throw caution to the winds. “Join me for dinner tonight and give me a chance to change your mind.”
His charm hit her like a tidal wave, but she and Trent were living proof of the kind of trouble rich guys with too much sex appeal could cause. A sudden thought made the hair on the back of her neck rise. She put the chair between them and gripped the back until her knuckles ached. “Is my contract dependent on my acceptance?”
“Not a chance.” He threw her words back at her. “Follow me.”
She trailed him down the balcony and into another room. He ran two sets of copies and then handed her the original. “You have the contract in your hands, signed, sealed and delivered. Now, will you join me for dinner, Lily?”
“I’m hardly dressed for the Top of the Town.” She named the most prestigious restaurant in the area, the kind his type frequented, but her heart beat a little faster. Why would a man from one of Chapel Hill’s founding families want to go out with her? And what woman in her right mind would turn Rick Faulkner down? One who didn’t want a heartache, that’s who.
One corner of his mouth tilted. “There’s a barbecue place beside the railroad tracks on Highway 86 that doesn’t care how we’re dressed.”
Her mouth watered at the mention of her favorite restaurant, but she hesitated for a couple of reasons. One, the restaurant had also been Walt, her stepfather’s, favorite, and she hadn’t been there since Walt died. And two, as the bastard child of a billionaire, she’d learned the hard way that the haves and the have-nots of this small university town didn’t mix.
For crying out loud, all he’s offering is dinner. “I never have personal relationships with business associates.”
“This is business. I’ll explain over dinner. Is someone besides your cat expecting you at home, Lily?”
She bit the inside of her lip. She was not disappointed that his interest was purely professional. “No, but I’m warning you that you can’t change my mind about being your date for your father’s party.”
A spark of challenge ignited in his eyes. “You wouldn’t condemn me to eating alone, would you?”
She gurgled a sound of disbelief. “Oh, please. I’ll bet you could pick up the phone and have a flock of women on your doorstep within minutes.”
“The only female I eat with on a regular basis is my dog, and Maggie is spending the night at the veterinary clinic after being spayed today. My house is empty.”
Oh, dang it. She was a sucker for a guy who liked animals. “Just dinner.”
“No dessert?” He waggled his brows and her heart flip-flopped. He had that be-bad-with-me glint down pat, and boy, was it tempting.
“Only the kind you can eat in the restaurant.”
His boyish grin deepened the laugh lines fanning from the corners of his eyes and the brackets beside his mouth. Her knees weakened. “You’ve got it. Let me file these away.”
He put the contract in a file folder and locked it in his desk drawer. “My truck’s parked out front.”
She squared her shoulders. “So is mine.”
He paused. “You’re offering to drive me to dinner?”
“No, I’m agreeing to meet you there. I’m familiar with the restaurant.” Her momma hadn’t raised any fools. If you didn’t know a guy, you didn’t get into a car with him. No matter how far back he could trace his ancestry.
“Are you going to insist on splitting the check, too?”
She shrugged. “I might. It depends on whether or not your business proposition is legit.”
A flash of surprise lit his eyes. Lily nearly laughed out loud. Obviously, Rick Faulkner wasn’t used to women refusing to fall at his big feet. He gestured for Lily to precede him. “Shall we?”
She turned and led the way down the stairs and out the front entrance, waiting while he locked the door. She had to be out of her mind to agree to go out with him. On the other hand, what could one dinner hurt? She had to eat and returning to the empty house and another peanut butter sandwich didn’t appeal. When her mother called later tonight Lily would tell her that she’d had dinner with a man. That should buy her at least a month without her mother’s friends dropping by with their nephews in tow.
And as long as she remembered that a meal was all she and Rick Faulkner could ever share then she’d be safe. As for his request that she partner him at his daddy’s retirement party… Lily snorted. It would never happen.
He was Chapel Hill royalty and she was the hired help.
Lily West couldn’t be more different from the high-maintenance women Rick usually dated if she tried.
Was that why she fascinated him?
He sat back in his chair, sipped his iced tea and studied the woman sitting across the table from him. She was pretty in a girl-next-door kind of way. The color of her short, glossy, mahogany hair, plump red lips and peachy skin looked natural. Long dark lashes naked of mascara cast shadows on her cheeks as she unrolled her paper napkin and set her silverware in place. Her slender fingers looked graceful without the benefit of the artificial nails so many of the women he knew favored these days. The only jewelry she wore was a pair of tiny gold stud earrings and an inexpensive man’s watch, and as far as he could tell, she wasn’t wearing perfume. All he could smell was woman.
She hadn’t demanded her dinner be broiled or her dressings be served on the side. As a matter of fact, she’d ordered the same platter he had plus a side of onion rings, and she wasn’t shy about putting it away, either. Lily West was a woman with an appetite. An earthy, natural woman with an appetite. Why did the combination make him think of bare skin, rumpled sheets and hot, sweaty sex?
Don’t go there, Faulkner.
She looked up and caught him staring when he should have been eating. “What’s so important about this party?”
He took a bite of his barbecue sandwich, yanked his thoughts back in line and weighed his answer while he chewed. Lily had inadvertently handed him ammunition with her contract dispute, but this was only one contract. He needed more—much more—or his slippery cousin would find a way to place the blame on someone else the way he always had before.
Lily’s list of grievances had been real but paltry, compared to the padded bid Alan had submitted at the conference just this morning. His cousin had reported that he’d agreed to pay Lily’s company thousands more than her version of the contract actually stipulated. Were there more crooked contracts in the files? If so, how could Rick get into Alan’s file cabinets to find them? And what would his father say if the news leaked out that Alan was skimming company profits? Broderick Faulkner, Jr., insisted on maintaining appearances.
Dammit, the only surefire way of nailing his cousin was with a confession, but that was about as likely as a July snowfall in Chapel Hill, North Carolina.
“My father is supposed to name his successor at the retirement party.”
“And you want him to choose you?” She popped a hush puppy into her mouth and tongued the glistening honey butter from her lips.
The sight of her damp, pink tongue grabbed his hormones in a stranglehold, surprising the hell out of him. What was wrong with him? He’d never had lusty thoughts about a business associate before. Hell, he hadn’t had lusty thoughts about anyone in months. Maybe that was it. He needed a new playmate.
He sipped his iced tea and shifted in his seat. “Yes, I want to take my father’s place as CEO.”
“It’s not a sure thing?”
“No. My grandfather founded the company fifty years ago. His death divided the business between my aunt and my father. My aunt and uncle retired to the coast four years ago, leaving my cousin and me with an equal chance for promotion.”
Alan wasn’t the right man for the job. Rick was. His grandfather had groomed him for this since before Rick had started shaving, and he’d be damned if he’d let Alan take over, run the place into the ground and kill his grandfather’s dream.
“Surely your father would favor you?”
A bark of humorless laughter exploded from Rick’s chest, and that old nagging pain gnawed at him. “My father puts nothing before money.” A lesson Rick had learned the hard way as a child. “He’ll choose whomever he thinks will make the company more profitable or the one he believes to be the most stable.”
“What’s his definition of stable?” She licked a crumb from her fingertip, and his groin tightened.
Come on, Faulkner. Get a grip. You’ve never been one to chase an unwilling woman or to mix business with pleasure. But Lily was tempting him to do both. “Married.”
“Ouch. It’s bad enough to have your mom singing that song, but to have your dad join in the chorus…” She shuddered.
“Yeah.” But his mother believed in love. His father believed in suitable alliances. According to Broderick Jr., sentiment had no place in a marriage, and the time had long passed for Rick to choose a bride with the right connections. Marry wisely and marry well, his father spouted on numerous occasions. Choose with your head, not your heart. Love has no place in an alliance as important as marriage.
As far as Rick could tell, his father didn’t love anyone, and as the years passed and no woman captured Rick’s heart, he feared he might be just like the coldhearted SOB who’d fathered him. The broken relationships in his past reinforced his point. He hadn’t mourned any of them.
“Is your cousin married?” Lily’s question broke into his thoughts.
“No, but he’s been in a steady relationship for a while.” A steady suitable relationship.
“And you haven’t?”
“No.” He’d tired of women who wanted to marry the Faulkner fortunes more than they wanted him, and lately his ability to overlook a woman’s craving for his wallet seemed to be out of whack. “What made you and your brother decide to go into business together?”
Sadness darkened her eyes to the color of strong coffee. She waited until the waitress refilled their glasses and departed before answering. “My family owns a farm here in Orange County. Eighteen months ago my stepfather’s tractor overturned, killing him instantly. My mother didn’t want to leave the home they’d shared.
“Trent and I graduated with degrees in horticulture, and we paid our way through college by working for different landscaping firms in the area. We had the knowledge, so after Walt’s death we quit our jobs with the companies we’d joined after graduation, pooled our resources and opened our own business on the family farm.”
“How’s that working out?”
“Good, but not great. The first year of any new company is always tight financially.” She lifted her chin, drawing his attention to the smooth, graceful line of her neck. Lily was tall without the benefit of heels. He’d guess her height at five feet ten. Her loose cotton shirt and jeans hinted at curves, but he couldn’t be sure. And he shouldn’t be guessing.
But her answer told Rick what he needed to know. Lily West was like every other woman he’d ever known, after all. She needed money, and the one lesson his father had taken the time to hammer into Rick’s skull was that everyone had a price. That being the case, convincing Lily to pose as his girlfriend and to help him catch his cousin was simply a matter of finding out how much he’d have to spend. He leaned forward, flattened his hands on the table and looked into Lily’s deep, dark eyes.
“What would it take to convince you to be my escort for the party, Lily? Name your price.”
