Silk on the Skin: A Loveswept Classic Romance (2 page)

She climbed out of the vehicle and slammed the door. The frothy waves crashing on her front “yard” beckoned, and she flipped off her high-heeled sandals and strolled across the island’s only major road and onto the cream-colored sand. She stopped at the edge of the water and stared sightlessly out at the placid ocean, all the while roundly cursing herself.

Dallas Carter wanted something more than lunch tomorrow, and she knew it. She’d read about him in the
Wall Street Journal.
He was probably the only free-lance corporate president in the country—if not the world. He had a reputation on Wall Street for turning companies in trouble around and ruthlessly winning every corporate raid he’d ever instigated. Companies hired him for fabulous sums of money to do exactly that. M & L had hired him because the company wanted to increase its profit margin. Funny, but she never would have imagined he was an executive, not with that body. She’d always thought company presidents would be much older and have a paunch—

Don’t look at the man, she sternly told herself. Instead look at the way he’d hustled her into a lunch date. That was a minor point. The problem was what he was hustling for, and she had a very good hunch about that: her M & L stock.

Besides the family name on the company logo, the stock she owned was her only connection with M & L. Marks and Lindley sold lingerie to exclusive department stores all over the world and had their own boutiques in New York, San Francisco,
and Palm Beach. Her grandfather, the original Lindley, had left her the stock when she’d been eighteen. She’d always known “Pop” had never expected her to take an active role in the business. Her own father had sold his shares back to the company long ago to demonstrate his preference for horses and women. Not necessarily in that order, she thought with a smile as she remembered her six—so far—beautiful stepmothers. She also had a stepsister she barely knew.

Still, even her grandfather had been a silent partner at M & L; he’d had the money and Elias Marks had had the manufacturing know-how. The shares had been a gift to her, and she didn’t believe in selling a gift, so she’d kept them. But she had also kept up the Lindley tradition of non-involvement, and had signed a proxy for her voting block that allowed first the son, David, and then the grandson, Ned, to vote for her only when she was absent from board meetings. Her grandfather’s lawyer had insisted on that restriction when he’d drawn up the agreement for her.

As the rising tide began to lap over her bare feet, Cass admitted that she had never known what to do with the damn stock. Selling lingerie was a bit like selling respectable sex, and if she had wanted to sell sex she’d be selling lingerie. Still, she felt that there ought to be a Lindley somewhere in Marks and Lindley. Signing over the proxy had seemed like the best solution to her dilemma.

But Dallas Carter had come looking for her.

Remembering his charming smile and the way his assessing eyes had settled on her with open
appreciation, Cass shook her head to rid herself of his image. So he was attractive. So what? She’d met attractive men before, but she’d had several hard lessons with men that had taught her to see beyond the facade. A little voice inside her protested, though, that she’d never met a man quite as attractive as Dallas Carter before. She forced the notion away. She had to keep in mind that he wasn’t the friendly president he seemed.

Walking back toward the house, Cass decided that lunch with Dallas Carter might not be such a bad idea after all. It might be a definite advantage to find out exactly what he was up to. Thinking of her initial physical response to him, she swallowed back a flutter. He was an attractive man, but she had handled attractive men before. She could handle this one.

When she reached the bottom of the flight of open wood stairs that led to her front deck, she was grateful to have no packages to carry today. The view from the front deck was terrific, she admitted, but the stairs were a killer on shopping day.

Grateful that she had just her purse and sandals, which were dangling from one hand, she slowly climbed the weathered steps, letting her free hand glide lightly up the wood railing. The long day and the tension she’d experienced earlier had finally taken their toll, and she felt drained of energy. First a good, relaxing dinner, she decided as she thought of the crab salad chilling in her refrigerator. Then an even more relaxing bath.

The fourth step from the top gave its usual loud
protest, then, to her horror, suddenly broke out from under her. She grabbed wildly at the rail with both hands to catch her balance at the same moment that she felt a hot fire rake her right calf. She managed to scramble up to the next, very solid step. Panting for breath, she stared down at the broken edges of the step just below. She realized she was no longer holding her purse and sandals when she saw them lying on the concrete carport. Better them than a broken bone or worse, she thought, shivering.

“Cass! Are you all right?”

She swallowed, then turned a wide-eyed gaze toward the voice coming from next door. Her neighbor, Verna Colson, was leaning over her deck railing, her expression showing the concern she felt.

“I’m okay,” Cass said, glancing down at the jagged bleeding scrape along her right calf. Her leg must actually have gone through the step and dragged against the split wood before she’d saved herself. She hoped there weren’t any splinters. She hated splinters. It took nerves of steel and a wealth of patience to work them out. “It’s just a scratch.”

“You sure, honey?”

She nodded. “I’m sure. The step must have rotted through.”

“Just as long as you’re not hurt,” Verna said. “That’s the important thing.”

Yet bet your bippy, Cass thought as her heart rate slowly returned to normal. She remembered that the step had been creaking lately. It was her own fault for not paying more attention to the
warning signal. The continual moisture in the air wreaked havoc with the wood in the homes here. She should have had enough sense to realize that her place was no more immune than anyone else’s. She decided she’d call someone out to inspect the entire house for wood rot.

And it beat the heck out of falling through the bathroom floor to find out a checkup was definitely overdue.

Two
 

“You’re limping,” Dallas commented as he ushered her into the Lobster House Restaurant the next day.

“I … slipped on the stairs,” Cass said. The last thing she needed was to look like an idiot who hadn’t the sense to have her stairs inspected for rot, she thought. The steps were being repaired right now. According to the carpenter, the wood had had a stress seam in it and had cracked, allowing the continual sea dampness to attack the unprotected wood. She was grateful the injuries had only been a deep scrape and two splinters, which had left her weak and shaken after she’d removed them.

He gave her that assessing look she had quickly come to recognize. The muscles in her thighs tightened in reaction. Lord, he looked sexy in casual slacks and a brilliant-blue shirt. Realizing her thoughts were dangerous, she forced a smile
to her lips and added, “I probably pulled the muscle a little.”

He nodded. “I’ve got a trick knee from my high-school-football days, and it sometimes goes out on me.” He grimaced. “Hell, I only have to look at it, and the damn thing will decide to act up.”

High-school football, Cass mused as he turned to signal the hostess. He had probably been the quarterback, and she imagined cheerleaders falling all over him in girlish glee. He must have loved it.

She hid a smile of amusement as she watched him charm the hostess into giving them a table immediately. The main dining room was jammed.

“We’ll be out on the deck,” he said, taking her elbow and guiding her through the crowded room to the outside eating area, along a picturesque canal.

“Did you slip her a tip?” she murmured over the din of glasses, silverware, and voices.

“For shame. Sheer genius wins out every time,” he replied in a low voice.

Cass chuckled. “I never would have guessed you had it in you.”

He grinned at her, refusing to be baited. She refused to be rattled. And that wouldn’t be easy, she thought. She was all too aware of his nearness … and the knuckles of his hand barely touching the side of her breast through her pink linen jump suit. She forced herself not to think of it.

After they were seated at one of the umbrella tables, Cass stared out at the boats drifting by the restaurant. The tension in her body was growing, and she hoped the peaceful scene would dispel it.

“How long have you lived here?” he asked.

She forced her gaze to his hard features. “Since I got out of college. I’ve always loved the shore, so this is where I settled and opened WinterLand. It made no sense to major in marketing and not use it. I like working for myself.”

He smiled at her blatant hint. “I like fixing things. Sort of goes with the business-administration degree. Unfortunately, corporations tend to locate in cities.”

She nodded. “There’s a sense of community here. Belonging.”

“You like that?”

“Yes,” she said, not bothering to elaborate. Explaining her crazy childhood was like explaining the national budget. Damn near impossible.

He turned toward the canal for a moment, then back. He smiled, and she realized he was making an effort to be an easy, relaxed companion. He was probably doing it to get her off her guard, and it was working. She forced herself to stay sharp.

Once their meal had been served, Dallas said, “I thought you never ate lunch.”

“I never eat lunch that I have to pay for,” Cass said quickly, remembering her lame excuse to avoid this meal. What the heck, she thought as the beloved aroma of shellfish made her salivate. She dug her fork into her deviled crab cakes.

“Okay, then it looks like I talk,” he said, after eating one of the clams from his steamer platter.

He gave her a very innocent smile. She braced herself for whatever bomb he would drop.

“In 1296, the
Clericis laicos
forbade any ruler,
under pain of excommunication, to levy taxes on Church property without permission of the Holy See.”

Cass stared at him for a moment, then burst into laughter. “Where did you learn that?”

“The local library,” Dallas said, smiling at her. “Which isn’t easy to find in a shore resort. Since canon law was the only conversational topic allowed at this lunch, I thought I better brush up. By the way, that little ditty on taxes came from Boniface the third.”

“And now I suppose you can name all the popes,” Cass commented mirthfully.

“Peter, Linus, Anacletus, Clement, Evar—”

“Okay, okay,” she interrupted, chuckling at his recitation.

He gave an exaggerated sigh of relief. “I’m glad I don’t have to do all the rest. I tend to get lost around the tenth century. Now for my next trick …”

She watched as he set the edge of his fork against the edge of the spoon. He hit the spoon, and the fork flipped up in the air. He caught it in mid-flight and proceeded to scoop out another clam.

Cass burst into laughter again as several nearby diners applauded. She admitted that it was hard not to like a man who went out of his way to memorize all the popes and flip forks for a woman. Still, popes and forks couldn’t have anything to do with the reason he had invited her to lunch. The sooner she knew why he wanted to talk with her, the better. She’d avoided it long enough.

“Leaving the topic of canon law for the moment,” Cass said, “why don’t you tell me the real reason behind this lunch?”

He raised an eyebrow. “People with a common interest have lunch together every day. We both have a common interest in M & L, and we’ve never met before.”

“You joined the company six months ago and never bothered to look me up before this,” she said, keeping her gaze steady on him. She felt as if she were fencing with Captain Kidd—a very attractive Captain Kidd. Ignoring the thought as best she could, she added, “I wonder why that is.”

Dallas gazed at her for a long moment. It was hard not to when she was wearing a jump suit that molded to her every curve. Her hair was pulled up into one of those artfully untidy buns so that wispy, incredibly sexy-looking tendrils caressed her slim neck and shoulders.

The measuring expression in her green eyes was hardly that of a spacy, lost-in-the-past girl, and he reminded himself that he would have to be careful with her. It was important that he plant the seed that would start her thinking. If she was anything like her grandfather, she’d be chairman of the board before the year was out—and never realize he’d maneuvered her into it!

At last he responded to her. “I was brought in as president because I’ve turned around several faltering companies. It’s what I like to do. M & L’s been taking heavy losses for several years now.”

Cass frowned. “I know the profits haven’t grown. But that’s no reason to call them losses, certainly not heavy ones. And anyway, there’s been a recession, most companies’ growth rates are slower—”

“Most of M & L’s profit
loss
,” he pronounced softly, “is the result of bad judgment on the part of its chairman. Nothing more.”