Affair with the Rebel Heiress (2010) (4 page)

Ford spent the time hanging out on the sofa, first answering his e-mail on his iPhone, then reviewing some specs Matt had sent him, and then finally playing Tetris on his phone.

He might have left, but the truth was, the tension was palpable. Too much remained unsaid between them.
Under any other circumstances, he would have let it slide, being something of an expert on unresolved emotional issues. But with Kitty, it was different. He'd never before been in a position where he'd have to work with a woman he'd slept with. The last thing he wanted was some emotional complication mucking up the coming negotiations. If she was going to have a problem working with him, he wanted to clear the air now.

Finally her bedroom door opened to reveal Kitty encased in a shimmering deep purple gown with a low-cut, heart-shaped neckline. Her dark hair fell in sleek waves about her shoulders. He nearly laughed at the expression of surprise that flickered across her face when she spied him.

He stood. "You look lovely."

She fell into step beside him, not bothering to suppress an exasperated sigh. "You're still here."

"Much to your disappointment, I'm sure." He put a hand at her back to guide her to the door, only to discover a generous expanse of naked skin.

"Not at all," she murmured, suddenly all charm. "I had trouble with my zipper. You can't imagine how worried I was you might get tired of waiting and leave."

"Trouble with your zipper? For over an hour?"

"It's a long zipper."

He leaned away to look pointedly at the back of her dress. A delicate triad of beaded straps criss-crossed at her shoulders. Her skin was left bare all the way to just below her waist. The sparkling fabric molded to her bottom before falling in a straight line to the floor.
Just over the crest of her bottom he could see the faint outline of the zipper hidden in the seam. It couldn't have been more than four inches long.

"So I see."

Kitty was no scrawny fashion model. She had a body that managed to be both slender and voluptuous. Her bottom was lusciously rounded. Just looking at it made his blood throb with lust.

She elbowed him in a way that was both playful and seductive. "Stop looking at my zipper," she murmured huskily as she locked her door.

He shrugged as they started down the stairs. "If you don't want people looking at your
zipper
, you shouldn't display it quite so prominently."

"That's sexist," she chided.

"No, it would be sexist if we were at work and I ordered you to display your zipper. Or I hired you or fired you based on the size of your zipper. But this is a social situation, so I don't think either of those apply. Besides, a woman doesn't wear a dress like that unless she wants to be looked at."

He hailed a cab when they reached the street.

Kitty frowned, her bottom lip jutting forward in a pout. "Oh. We're going in a cab. How...prosaic."

"I try to avoid hiring a driver when I come to the city. They spend too much time looking for parking and driving around. It's a waste of gas and resources." He held open the cab door for her, admiring the swath of leg revealed as she slid into the car.

"Hmm. Like I said. How prosaic."

He climbed in beside her. "Being aware of the environment isn't prosaic." A hint of his annoyance slipped into his tone. "FMJ has made most of its money in green industries. Our image as a green company is a priority. Not just for the company, but for all of us."

She yawned delicately, but with obvious boredom. Annoyed by her attitude, he nearly called her on it, but before he could, it hit him. "You're doing this on purpose, aren't you?"

She looked taken aback. "I...I don't know what you mean. Doing what?"

"This." He gestured toward her body-skimming dress. "The sexpot dress. The self-indulgent pout. The childish behavior. It's all a way of keeping me off balance."

She blinked, and he couldn't tell if he'd insulted her or if she was merely surprised he'd seen through her. "You're just trying to distract me. To avoid that conversation we need to have."

"However did you get that idea?"

"Probably because you've been pushing me away ever since I walked into the conference room today. You've made it obvious that you don't want to relinquish control of Biedermann's. You may have fooled everyone else into thinking that's the only thing going on. But I can see right through you. I know the truth."

Oh, God. What did he mean? He knew
the truth?
What truth? That she was a total fraud? That she had no idea what she was doing?

He leaned closer, a seductive grin on his face. "I know what you're really afraid of."

"Afraid of?" she squeaked.

He brushed his thumb across her lower lip, once again sparking the desire that heated her blood every time he touched her.

She should not be attracted to him. He was so not what she needed right now. Or ever, for that matter. Geesh, he wasn't even wearing a tux. Okay, so he looked fabulous in an Armani jacket thrown over a gray cashmere sweater and black pants. And, yes, the understated elegance of his outfit made him look outrageously masculine. Never mind that he carried it off. Never mind that the day's worth of stubble on his jaw made her fingertips tingle with the urge to touch him. Never mind that she could tell already all the other men at the fundraiser would look overdressed and foppish by comparison. She couldn't possibly be attracted to a man who didn't even know when to wear a tie.

"Yes," he continued. "You're afraid of the attraction between us."

As his words registered, she was flooded with an odd sense of relief. He was still talking about sex. About what had happened between them in Texas.

Maybe it shouldn't have made her feel better, but somehow it did. Physical intimacy she could handle. Men had been pursuing her since she hit puberty. She knew how to handle that. She knew how to entice without promising anything. To lure and manipulate a man while staying just out of his reach.

What she didn't know was how to handle a man who was interested in her. Not her body. Not her net worth, but her.

Thank God, Ford was proving no different than any other man she'd ever met. She'd learned long ago the secret to keeping men at arm's length.

The mere suggestion of sex was enough to distract the average man. The possibility that you might one day have sex with him made most men so befuddled they never bothered to look beneath the surface.

To that end, she let herself sway toward him slightly, as if she couldn't resist his draw. Then she ran her tongue over the spot on her lip that he'd touched. It was a gesture sure to entice him, but she found it disconcertingly intimate. She could almost taste him on her tongue.

Suddenly memories flooded her of their one night together. How could she have forgotten what it had been like to kiss him? To feel his hands on her body? To give herself over so completely to his touch?

She felt her breath catch in her chest, found herself leaning toward him, not in a calculated way, but as if he were a magnet and the heart pounding away in her chest were made of iron, pulling her inexorably toward him.

He cleared his throat, breaking the spell he seemed to have cast over her. Nodding toward the cab door on her side, he said, "We're here."

When had that happened? Damn him. She was supposed to be distracting him. Not the other way around.

Feeling befuddled, she looked from him to the
crowded street outside her window, to the cab driver rattling off the fare. Her mind was embarrassingly sluggish, but finally she got moving.

Staying one step ahead of Ford was going to be harder than she'd thought. This was going to take some serious work.

Then just when it seemed like things couldn't get any worse, a camera flashed a few feet away. Great. Just what she needed.

Paparazzi.

F
ord stood near the bar, nursing a tumbler of weak Scotch, wishing he could have ordered himself a Sierra Nevada Pale Ale. He would have thought that at five hundred bucks a ticket, they could have stocked the bar with some decent beer. But of course, the best beer in the world wouldn't have distracted him from what was really bothering him. His date.

From the moment the first camera had flashed outside the hotel and she'd practically leaped from his side, she'd been avoiding him. At first, he'd assumed she just didn't want their picture taken together. That she was averting the potential scandal. But things hadn't improved since they'd made it into the event.

She'd immediately sent him off to get her a glass of
white wine and she'd been dodging him ever since. Not that he wasn't having a grand ol' time, between the event organizer who'd hit him up for a ten-thousand-dollar donation and the drunk society maven twice his age who'd been hitting on him. He hadn't had this much fun since his root canal.

Then he spotted Kitty across the room. On the dance floor. With another man. A guy who couldn't have been more than five-six and had very clingy hands.

Ford wasn't used to women blowing him off. After all, he'd only come out tonight because he'd wanted to make sure she was okay. After the near waterworks in the elevator, he'd been worried about her emotional state. Judging from the way she was laughing at Mr. Grabby's joke, she was doing just fine. But enough was enough.

He handed his drink to a passing waiter and wove his way through the crowd to the dance floor. He cut in, sweeping Kitty into his arms before she could protest. But he could tell she wanted to. As her hand settled into his, a scowl twisted her perfect features.

"I'm starting to think you're avoiding me."

"Whatever gave you that impression? After all, it's not like you wheedled your way into coming with me uninvited or anything."

He grinned at her, some of his annoyance fading at the bite of her sharp tongue. In Texas she'd been relaxed and open. Who would have guessed he'd find her bristly defenses just as appealing. "I'm a grown man. I don't wheedle."

"Hmm..." She paused as if considering her words. No doubt searching for the best way to skewer him. "How about coerce? Or maybe bully? Are those descriptions more to your liking? Are those masculine enough for you?"

He stared down at her, studying her expression. As they danced, his body brushed hers. He couldn't help remembering what it had felt like to dance with her in that bar in Texas. There, her body had melted into his; here, she held herself more stiffly. This was less a dance, more a battlefield.

"I don't like to think," he said seriously, "that I've bullied you into anything."

She arched an eyebrow. "Then perhaps you shouldn't be trying to buy my company out from under me."

"That's business."

"I thought you said it was
all
business?" she countered smoothly.

"That's not what I meant and you know it." She felt good in his arms again. Solid, yet soft. Curved in all the right places. Tempting and a little bit dangerous.

Suddenly he couldn't remember why he was supposed to leave her alone. Something about the business deal, right? It was a bad idea to mix business with pleasure. He knew that.

But Biedermann's was in serious trouble and FMJ looked like the only people stepping forward to help out. Besides, if everything went as planned, this would leave her even richer than she was now. Kitty was a businesswoman first and foremost.

But she was also a woman. A very desirable, powerful woman. He'd be an idiot to ignore the tension simmering between them. Not just because the sex would be fantastic, but because the more they tried to ignore it, the more likely it was to get in the way of business. He couldn't let his former relationship with Kitty muck up this business deal. He wouldn't let his buddies down like that.

Ford smiled. "What's going on with Biedermann's is all business. This thing between us isn't business at all."

"There is no thing between us."

Her voice was so emotionless, he almost believed she meant it. But his body had been inside hers. He'd watched her face as she climaxed. Women didn't forget that kind of thing. Sure, he could let her go on pretending they had no past, but that would just make things worse down the road if this blew up in both their faces.

"There was something between us back in Texas. I'm betting there still is."

She hesitated, her feet missing the rhythm for a moment. But then she picked up the beat again and fell into step. "You're wrong."

"And you're avoiding the obvious," he said. "You're acting like we didn't have hot, steamy sex in the back of my truck."

Her gaze narrowed into a glare. "And you're acting like a sixteen-year-old girl who put out on prom night and now wants to hear the quarterback still respects her."

He nearly chuckled at the image, but that seemed to only irritate her more.

She leaned closer to whisper vehemently, "You want to know the truth? Yes, the sex was hot and steamy. But it was just sex. Sex with a nameless, faceless stranger. It was never meant to be anything more than that. If you'd wanted a long-term relationship you should have put an ad up on one of those Internet dating sites."

"Trust me. I'm not a relationship kind of guy. I'm just not willing to be whipped. Least of all by you. Why would I? So far, you've been insulting, arrogant and generally a pain in the ass."

Surprise flickered across her face and he might have felt a twinge of guilt if every word he said wasn't true. Possibly even an understatement.

"Don't get me wrong," he continued. "It's kind of cute. In a spoiled brat kind of way."

"Cute? Spoiled brat?" She sputtered as if searching for a response. "How da--"

"How dare I? I dare because whether you like it or not, we have to work together. Whether
I
like it or not, for that matter. I thought talking about what happened in Texas might make things easier for you." Though the music continued to play, they'd slowed to the point they were no longer dancing. "Apparently I was mistaken. You don't want to talk about it? Fine. Just make sure you don't bring any of this baggage into the boardroom when we start negotiations."

She pulled her hand from his. Her gazed narrowed to a venomous glare. "Thank you for clearing that up for me. Here I was worried FMJ's offer might have been motivated by some chivalrous impulse on your part."

"Sorry, sugar." He softened his words with a grin. "I don't have a chivalrous bone in my body."

"I'm glad you've disabused me of that notion. Now I can go about being my normal...what was that phrase you used? Oh yes, pain in the ass...without feeling bad about it. That makes things much easier."

Shooting him one last haughty look, she spun on her heel and left the dance floor.

"I 'disabused her of the notion'?" he muttered to the empty spot where she'd been. "Who the hell talks like that?"

He stood there for a minute until he realized the couples around him were staring with interest. He flashed his best charming rogue smile and shrugged. "Women."

Several men tried to hide their smiles. A couple laughed outright. The women either rolled their eyes or just looked away. But he could see in their eyes that they were more amused than they wanted to be.

If the audience was keeping score, it looked like he'd won another round. It didn't feel that way, though. If only he'd believed her when she said she wasn't interested in sleeping with him. Hell, he'd even be satisfied with believing himself.

Kitty's heart pounded in her chest as she maneuvered through the maze of bodies on the dance floor. Nausea clung to her, sticky and thick. She wasn't sure how much longer she could maintain any semblance of calm around Ford. Her nerves were frayed to the point of exhaustion.

Selling Biedermann's was something she'd never
thought she'd consider. Just meeting with FMJ to discuss it had been abhorrent. But she'd done it. She'd dug deep to find strength she'd never known she had and she'd done the right thing for the company. And this was how fate had punished her.

Why, oh, why, did it have to be him? Why did he have to be the
F
of FMJ? Six billion people in the world and the one she never wanted to see again just happened to be the one who held her future in his hands. It was cruelty piled on top of humiliation. It was completely...nauseating.

She flattened her hand against the restroom door and shoved her way inside. The room was thankfully empty. A fact that she only had a second to appreciate before another wave of nausea washed over her. She bolted for the closest stall just as bile mixed with the rich appetizers she'd been so hungry for when she'd first arrived.

Talk about humiliation.

As if throwing up--in public--wasn't bad enough. As Kitty knelt on the bathroom floor with one hand propped on the toilet paper dispenser and the other wedged against the wall, she heard footsteps outside the stall.

"Oh, my, are you all right?" asked a wavering voice from behind her.

The voice sounded kind--benevolently maternal. Kitty wasn't taken in. Too many "kind" women were starving for gossip.

"I'm fine," Kitty managed. She raised her left leg, felt around in the air a bit for the door, then kicked it shut.

"Is there something I can get you, dear?"

Hmm...a cool washcloth? A glass of water? Retrograde amnesia? Any of the above would do.

Kitty shoved the hair out of her face and straightened, wiping at the corners of her mouth with the back of her hand.

"Perhaps I could notify your date that you're not feeling well?"

Nosy and persistent, then. Kitty stood, smoothing down her dress. In her haste, she stepped on her hem and pulled it out. But that couldn't be helped. Praying she looked better than she felt, she left the sanctuary of the stall. Kitty turned to see an elderly woman hovering by the sinks. Though she had to be nearing ninety, the woman was well-dressed and obviously took pains with her appearance.

Kitty remembered something her grandmother had often told her. There's no situation that can't be improved with a fresh coat of lipstick.

Sayings like that had made Kitty roll her eyes as a teenager. Inexplicably, Kitty chuckled. "I think I'll just freshen my makeup."

The older woman smiled. "Always a good idea, if you ask me."

Kitty faced the mirror. Her hair had lost its smooth sheen and now looked tousled beyond repair. Her face was ashen, her lips dry. Even her eyes seemed to have developed dark circles. She could only suppose they'd darkened to match her exhaustion.

And here she'd thought she looked pretty good just a few hours ago when she'd left the condo.

She sighed. By the sink there was a selection of hand lotions and perfumes, along with a bottle of mouthwash and a stack of tiny cups. She filled one of the cups with water to rinse out her mouth.

Spitting as delicately as she could, Kitty said, "This is quite embarrassing. I don't think I've ever thrown up in public before."

"Think nothing of it, dear. Every woman goes through it."

Kitty raised her eyebrows. "Every woman--" she started to ask in confusion.

"Well, not every woman. But when I was pregnant with Jake, my second, I couldn't keep anything down, either."

"Oh, I'm not...That is, I've just been under a lot of stress."

The woman gave her a pointed look. "Is that what they're calling it these days?"

"I'm not--" But Kitty's protest died in her mouth. "Pregnant."

Her vision tunneled, fading to black at the edges but staying piercingly bright in the center, where she could see her reflection in the mirror. Pale. Frightened. Terrified.

What if she was?

She couldn't be. But even as she thought it, reality came crashing back.

She was losing Biedermann's. Ford was back in her life. Running her company. So why wouldn't she be pregnant?

Ford stood in the grand ballroom of The Pierre, scanning the room one last time as the nasty truth sank in. Kitty had left him standing on the dance floor, dashed off for the bathroom and then--somehow--sneaked past him on her way out.

As unpleasant as the idea was, there was no other explanation. Kitty was nowhere to be found. Hell, he'd waited long enough for her to put in an appearance.

Maybe he had it coming. After all, this wasn't an actual date. He'd pushed his way in. Bullied her into agreeing, to use her word.

Still, he wasn't going to let her get away with this.

Forty-five minutes later, he was standing at her door, a lavish bouquet of orchids in his hands.

Her hair was loose about her shoulders, no longer sleek, but tousled as if she'd been running her fingers through it. Her face had been scrubbed clean of makeup, leaving her cheeks rosy. Her mouth was still impossibly pink, though.

She'd changed out of her dress and had a long silk robe cinched tight around her waist. The result was that she looked like one of those forties movie starlets. Somehow, even devoid of makeup and expensive clothing, she still exuded class. As if she'd been simmered in wealth since childhood and now it fairly seeped from her pores.

She eyed him suspiciously, her gaze dropping to the orchids and then back to his face. "What are those for?"

Since she didn't seem inclined to invite him in, he
elbowed past her into the apartment. "They were my excuse to get in the building. One of your neighbors was leaving. I told him I was here to apologize for a date gone bad so he'd let me in."

"And he believed you?"

"What can I say? I was persuasive."

After a moment of indecision, she closed and bolted the door. "Don't worry. It won't happen again. I'll hunt him down and kill the jerk."

"Don't do that. If you're mad at me, take it out on me." While she considered his words, he surveyed her apartment. A dingy kitchen led off from the living room and he headed there with the flowers. "Do you have a vase?"

"I thought the flowers were just a ruse."

"That's no reason not to enjoy them. Do you have any idea how hard it is to find flowers at midnight on a Friday night?"