The Bad Boy Read online

  He leaned forward and put down the pen. "Sara’s been focused on a record-breaking opening day for this batch of new stores. Let’s give her a reprieve from the drudgery of everyday operations, at least for today."

  "Absolutely," Joseph concurred.

  Peter said. "No problem."

  Sara smiled at Alex for coming to her rescue, but her relief lasted only a moment. replaced in a flash by the same spiraling horror she’d felt after Joseph joked about Cooper being after her job. As her father had been, she was in charge of Operations. Something from which she should never be allowed a reprieve. Woolgathering--or worse, sexual fantasizing--was a definite no-no during these meetings.

  Peter closed his leather folder and stood. "Then there’s no reason to keep you all a moment longer."

  His good-natured temperament was what had made her father recommend that Joseph hire him nearly twenty years ago. "Especially not when there’s a party to be planned. Right, Joseph?"

  Joseph raised a hand. "Oh. everything is already planned. Peter. The party is only two days away! Now it’s simply a matter of seeing those plans executed. And just so everyone knows. I’ve agreed to allow that sweet Maddy Monroe from Entertainment This Evening to cover the event."

  Sara’s stomach lurched and her mouth went dry.

  Alexander made a grumbling sort of noise, but Sara couldn’t tell from looking at him if he was displeased or simply annoyed. She hoped she was doing as good a job at hiding the terror mounting inside her.

  Joseph stood. "Granting her an exclusive will keep the intrusions to a minimum and give us some semblance of control over what information gets out."

  Alexander pushed to his feet also and added, "At least, we hope it does."

  He hadn’t looked at her, but Sara knew in her gut that Alex was sending her a subtle reminder. She had to get a handle on what Cooper was doing to her or she might very well earn a permanent reprieve. She shuddered. Thankfully, everyone was too busy preparing to leave the boardroom to notice.

  Cooper would have noticed. He seemed to have connected with her in a way no one else ever had. One that gave him free access to her thoughts and feelings.

  This time she shivered. He’d be sitting at the slender oval conference table before long, his blunt fingers tapping on the glossy mahogany surface as his quick mind searched for a weakness in the company he could exploit. How much longer before he started searching for a weakness in her?

  No. He wouldn’t do that. She clung to her belief in his honor. She pushed back from the table, the coasters on the plump maroon leather chair gliding silently across the tight-nap beige carpet.

  Maybe she did need to allow him into her apartment, to let him see firsthand how important this company--her gaze settled on Joseph as he stood off to the side, allowing everyone else to leave before him with a kind, personal word for each--this family was to her. And she was running out of time.

  She rose and left the boardroom, giving Joseph a warm smile when he patted her on the shoulder on her way by. She wouldn’t provide him with a reason to lose faith in her.

  She opted for the stairs to minimize her contact with Alex’s curious regard. her blood pumping fast by the time she reached her office one floor up. If only she could place the blame for her racing heart entirely on the mild exertion.

  Cooper wasn’t in her office. She went next door, but his office was empty, also. Stopping by her assistant’s desk, she asked Natalie, "Do you happen to know where Mr. Anders is'?"

  "He told me he was calling it a day--something about having to buy some dinner fixings."

  Sara planted a fist on her hip. Indignation surged at not having the chance to let him know she’d changed her mind, that the decision was hers, not his.

  She rolled her eyes at her own irrationality. She had decided to allow him to come over and fix dinner for her, and his preparing to do so was all that mattered.

  "Thanks, Natalie. I think I’ll head out, too."

  The last thing she wanted was Cooper reaching the carriage house before her. She had to have time to pick up before he arrived. While she was ready to let him see an important part of her life to win him over, she wasn’t about to let him see her freshly washed undies hanging from the shower rod.

  CHAPTER NINE

  "I’d decided you weren’t coming."

  Cooper stared, struck dumb by the sight of Sara wearing snug calf-length jeans and a V-neck white undershirt, one bare foot propped on top of the other as she held her front door open. He’d thought her the sexiest thing in a power suit. but she was auto-repair-shop-calendar worthy in denim and cotton.

  He’d probably keel over dead but happy if he ever saw her in less. Which he wouldn’t if he was smart. But what he feared he was--at least where Sara was concerned--was his father’s son. Hound Dog Two.

  He shifted the grocery bag in his arms as he cleared his throat. "l went home to change." He glanced down at his jeans, dark blue T-shirt and favorite cowboy boots. He’d needed to feel more like himself to have this conversation with Sara about why she hadn't busted him to Joseph or Alexander. He’d needed it to

  keep a hold of his purpose.

  "And l wasn’t about to invite myself over, then show up empty-handed." He lifted the groceries. "Besides, I figure you’re the type with nothing more than a jug of juice and a moldy avocado in your fridge."

  She planted her free hand on her provocatively defined hip. "What’s that supposed to mean?"

  "You work too much. You’re never home enough to actually cook for yourself. I’ve seen you buy a veggie wrap from the office deli and tuck it in your briefcase often enough."

  She stiffened.

  He smiled in understanding at her defensiveness. "You haven’t noticed that the whole time you were keeping tabs on me, l was watching you back."

  The smooth skin beneath her cheekbones flushed pink.

  He struggled not to grin wider. The woman was so easy to read. Except when it came to why she’d given him the credit for what she’d pulled off today, instead of hanging him out to dry. Which was why he was standing on her doorstep begging to be let in. He wanted to know why, that was all. So he could defend himself if he had to.

  He nodded at the package of meat at the top of the bag. "These filet mignon steaks aren’t meant to be aged, Sara."

  She still didn’t drop her arm and invite him in.

  He met her gaze and cut to the chase. "We have to talk."

  She closed her eyes for a moment, and her obvious struggle with herself over him alternately ticked him off and elated him. She blew out a breath and opened her eyes, then dropped her arm. "You’re right. We do." She moved aside and gestured for him to proceed. "Come in."

  Cooper stepped past her, resisting the temptation to brush against her as he went by. They really did have to talk. lf he touched her...

  He shook his head at his lack of control around her as he moved farther into her home, his cowboy boots loud on the hardwood floor. He shifted his focus to what she’d done with the living space above the free-standing double garage the McCoys had probably never used. Like the main house, it had been built to look as though it had existed in an era when carriages had been housed in buildings like this. But it was loaded with modern fixtures and creature comforts.

  The layout of the place was straightforward. A decent-size kitchen to the right. An eating area in front of French doors leading out to a deck rubbing shoulders with huge maple trees, one of the doors partially open, as if she’d just come through it. Then a cozy living area and a short hall with a door on each side, probably leading to a bathroom and a bedroom.

  He really wasn’t sure what he’d expected--single career women’s decorating could range anywhere from an overdose of flowery chintz and throw pillows to futons and scarf-covered milk crates. But Sara’s home was as appealing and beckoning as the woman herself.

  The dining area sported a glass table on a scrolled metal base. surrounded by four chairs. She’d filled the living area with an o
versize tan couch with matching chair and ottoman, and an antique coffee table and armoire. A large Oriental rug with swirls of browns and reds anchored the oversize pieces. Framed photos covered the walls. Real plants, not a brown leaf or curled edge in the bunch, occupied every corner. The woman was such a nurturer.

  He had the strongest urge to kick off his boots and stay a long while.

  What he deserved was a kick in the head.

  He took another step, and his toe hit something, knocking it over with a thwump. He looked down and saw he'd bumped over Sara’s soft-sided, black leather briefcase. Not like her to leave something in the middle of the floor. Like her office, her place was tidy and organized. Recalling her messy desk this morning, he acknowledged he’d really knocked her off track today. And damn if he didn’t feel guilty for it. But he did his best to quash the sentiment. She wouldn’t want it and it didn’t help him at all.

  She shut the door and quickly moved to pick the bulging briefcase up with a muttered "Sorry." She grunted softly when she hoisted it off the floor and the muscles in her slender arm stood out.

  "Heavy?" he asked.

  She cast a glare at him before taking the briefcase to a beautifully finished old rolltop desk set against the wall next to the door. "I fell behind on my usual work today."

  He made a derisive noise as the jab hit a mark his guilt had already tenderized. "I didn’t ask you to."

  "No, you certainly didn’t. But you know darn well I had no choice."

  His insides churning, Cooper turned away from the frustration, anger and hurt clouding her pretty green eyes. If only he could turn away from the guilt she fanned as easily. "Neither did I, but let’s save it until after dinner, okay?"

  She was silent behind him as he placed the bag of groceries on the counter separating the small but well-appointed kitchen from the rest of the place.

  ·

  "Okay," she softly capitulated. He felt, more than heard, her come toward him. "Did you really buy filet mignon steaks?"

  Ridiculously relieved that she didn’t want to resume their argument right then and there before she sent him packing, he started unloading the beer and dinner fixings he’d bought. "Yep, though I had to go to two stores to find ones that would live up to my grilling standards."

  She laughed as she reached his side. "You mean ones thick enough to withstand being burned?"

  "Scoff now, woman, but I promise you’ll be praising my culinary skills before the evening is over." He pulled another package out of the bag.

  "That’s mighty big talk-- Wow. prawns, too?"

  "Surf and turf. I noticed you favor either the roast beef sandwich or the shrimp salad they bring up for lunch meetings. Besides, steak and shrimp are my specialties."

  She shifted her weight as if his noticing things about her didn’t sit all that well.

  He supposed it sucked when the enemy stood the closest with the best view.

  She shrugged self-consciously. "l would have figured you as the omelette type."

  He arched an eyebrow at her as his body joined in the imagery whole hog. "As in morning-after omelet?"

  She shrugged again. her attention on the asparagus he’d just unloaded.

  "And which do you prefer? Denver or Spanish? So I’ll know which fixin’s to buy." He tossed out an offer she was sure to refuse.

  She glanced at him, a flash of ego-boosting temptation crossing her face, then she rolled her eyes when she spotted his teasing grin. She went into the kitchen, her bottom more than tempting in the snug jeans, and brought out white plates from an overhead cupboard.

  She set them down next to the groceries. "Compensating for a lack of skill elsewhere?"

  He chuckled, inordinately--not to mention unwisely--pleased she was willing to banter with him after his attempt to sabotage the store openings that morning. "Only one way to find out."

  She turned away and yanked open a drawer, but he still heard the strangled sound she made. "Do you need foil for the prawns?"

  He allowed her the change of subject, for his sake, as well as hers. She’d already won that match. There was no point rehashing it. "No. Everything goes directly on the grill. Even the asparagus. I’m assuming said grill is out on the deck?"

  "Yes. And the bag of briquettes and lighter fluid are under the little table the grill is on." She turned back, her color still high, but she didn’t look at him. Her avoidance was intriguing. "Matches are in the top drawer in front of you." Her hand shook as she took the asparagus and went to the sink to rinse it.

  He wanted to promise her he wouldn’t bite her, but he wasn’t entirely sure he wouldn't. "I'll get the briquettes going, then." He easily found the matches in the exceedingly organized drawer and elbowed his way out the French doors.

  The evening air felt cool on his skin, bringing to his attention just how much Sara overheated him. A chorus of insects tuned up for sunset and a welcome breeze rustled the leaves of the maple trees the carriage house had been tucked amid, undoubtedly to shield it from view from The Big House off to the side. But the narrow deck that ran the length of Sara’s second-floor apartment was still a great place to sit and watch for glimpses of the rolling pastureland beyond the trees.

  Cooper lifted the lid off the small, slightly rusted tabletop grill and set it aside, then dumped a pile of briquettes from the full bag he found beneath the bent-willow table and doused them with lighter fluid. He lit the stack. Fortunately, the briquettes were the quick-heating kind. Hanging out in her home for most of the night would not be a good idea. He hadn’t had much practice denying himself thus far in life.

  As a teen, he’d latched onto every impulse just to feel something besides pain. The pain of loss, the pain of being unwanted, the pain of doubt. As an adult, he’d finally grown a brain and channeled that destructive energy into making some sort of a life for himself.

  He turned away from the grill and his unwanted thoughts. He wondered how often Sara came out here. Two wide-backed chairs that matched the table were pulled close to the well-maintained white railing. He could see her out here in her robe, sipping her morning coffee, her bare feet propped on the rail.

  With a lover from the night before sitting next to her?

  Unexpected jealousy flared. He shook the image away. No, not Sara, not with the self-proclaimed moral seat of the county so near.

  At least, he didn’t think so. But she was so appealing, so beneficially connected, he couldn’t believe that some shallow corporate hotshot hadn’t tried to use her as a shapely ladder to climb up the McCoy Enterprises hierarchy. The thought was like lighter fluid on his internal coals.

  The briquettes glowing nearly as much as his need to know all sorts of things about Sara--and not just what had motivated her to credit him with, instead of blame him for the late store openings--he headed back into the kitchen.

  She was still washing the asparagus. Either she was as thorough in food preparation as she was with everything else she did, or he’d really gotten to her. When he’d only wanted to fluster her, the realization that he was having an effect on her had given him a surge of satisfaction. Now guilt and foreboding severely tempered the feeling. Because now he knew he wasn’t immune to her any more than she was to him.

  Talk about complicating matters.

  The calf-length jeans left no doubt about her commitment to her yoga class, and the contrast of her shiny chestnut hair against her white undershirt made him forget every reason he’d come here for.

  The devil in him that had landed him in trouble on more than one occasion sent him to the sink behind her. She stiffened when he neared, and stilled completely when he reached around her with both arms to squirt some soap from a dispenser behind the sink into his palm. He washed his hands in the stream of water running off the asparagus she appeared to have forgotten she held.

  She seemed much daintier and more delicate barefoot, her head fitting easily beneath his chin. She smelled so sweet and enticing he wanted nothing more than to wrap his arms around her
and bury his nose in her thick hair. If she relaxed her stance even a little he might...

  She didn’t. So he kept the contact to the merest brush of his arms against her shoulders.

  But he’d put her through so much today he felt compelled to say. "Has anyone ever told you how good you smell?"

  "You’re smelling the soap. It’s melon and cucumber." He could see her lush breasts rise and fall as she took rapid, shallow breaths, the tiny anchor nestled at the top of her cleavage going for the ride of its life. His own chest, among other things, grew tight.

  "No." He rubbed his chin lightly against her silky hair. "It’s you. Fresh, flowery and cinnamony. From those candies you eat." He filled his lungs with her scent one more time, stupidly sending his need for her into the stratosphere. "I’ll never forget how good you smelled the day you bailed me out of jail."