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“My mother died when I was four. Her family had never accepted their marriage, so my parents had moved in with my dad’s father, supposedly just until Dad could finish high school. Grandad was the one who started O’Halloran Shipping. When he passed away—I was six, I think—the business was almost bankrupt. My father turned it around.”
“More than that. What kind of price did you pay?”
“Me?” Paige was startled. No one had ever questioned what she had given up through the years.
“A young father, a growing business demanding every minute of his time. Did you pass from one baby-sitter to another, one housekeeper to another?”
“I grew up at my father’s feet. The first few years, whenever I wasn’t in school, I was at the office, or following him to the docks, or traveling with him to sign deals. We made an apartment out of some office space, then as the business boomed we bought a house. I worked for the firm in various capacities until I went off to college. He came home for a few hours’ sleep each night.”
“Sounds like he didn’t have a social life.”
“He didn’t. He loved my mother beyond belief. Beyond sensibility, even. He still worships her memory.” One I will never live up to.
“Are you like your mother?” he asked.
“I don’t know. I have little memory of her, mostly things my father told me. I don’t think I look like her, not from what Dad says, anyway.”
“Don’t you know what she looked like?”
“No. In a fit of rage shortly after her death he destroyed her pictures.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“Didn’t you ask?”
She shook her head briefly, sharply. She was tired and on edge, uncomfortable with the emotions surfacing. If she looked at Rye right now, she’d see sympathy. She didn’t want sympathy.
“Tell me how you met my father,” she said, lifting her coffee again.
His hesitation was brief and considering. “Patrick and I met when he and a few competitors discovered consistently short shipments on certain routes. I was hired to find the source.”
“But how did my father know to call you?”
He lifted a shoulder in a brief shrug. “There is a labyrinth of information that filters among industrialists. They guard their contacts, yet they also share, especially regarding security. What affects one company often affects another.”
“Keeping a lid on the information flow also keeps your identity a secret,” Paige said. “Without anonymity you couldn’t function as well.”
Rye nodded. A jolt of awareness struck him, fascination with the way her mind worked. She cut through layers with knife-edged logic, and the revelation staggered him physically—a twist he could live without.
More in his favor, though, she wasn’t a vulnerable woman. She was strong and in control, probably not as much in need of his protection as Patrick believed. It was important that she stay strong. If she showed one bit of weakness, his own vulnerability could surface. And that he needed to avoid at all costs.
“Listen, if you want to do some work, I’ve got calls to make,” he said.
She drained her coffee cup and returned it to the lace-covered table. “How soon can Lloyd pick up a printer for me?”
“He’ll call when he wakes up. Whatever you need, just tell him.”
She picked up her computer pack and set it on the table beside the remnants of their breakfast. “What’s the story on Lloyd? Is he an employee or what?”
“Or what.”
She turned around. “Meaning?”
“I leave the telling of that story to Lloyd, if he so chooses. He’s not an employee, but he helps me out sometimes.”
“Is the limousine his or yours?”
“It’s rented. Why?”
“The windows are tinted. We would be safe inside, wouldn’t we? I can’t stand the thought of being cooped up here.”
Ending the conversation with a “We’ll see,” he picked up the telephone, leaving her to her own devices as he began a series of calls that required decoding to be fully understood. He spoke in the jargon of his business, words sprinkled with numbers, letters and abbreviations. He filled the yellow pad before him with page after page of notes. Part of her stayed tuned in to him because she admired the way he dealt with the business first then took a minute for the social niceties, remembering to ask about family members, health statuses, even special occasions.
He had never had a phone conversation like that with her. Resentment burrowed into her and built. What was she? Less than a human being to be treated as cavalierly as he had these last years? Why had she deserved less consideration than any other client?
When he made probably the tenth call in two hours, his voice changed. Softened. Took on a note of tenderness.
“Hi... I’m doin’ great. How are you?... I’ve missed you, too. Are you feeling okay?... I’d be with you if I could, you know that... How’s our little one?”
Our little one? The pencil in Paige’s hands snapped. So, he has someone special in his life. A wife? Perhaps even a child? So what? And why does that surprise me? she thought, disgusted with herself. He’s intelligent and attractive and successful, and he’s proving right now that he can be tender. A lot of women probably like a macho superstud. Not me, though.
So why are you so disappointed? she asked herself. Because a part of me—a tiny, almost insignificant part—wishes a man like that would be interested in me. There! She’d said it. A moment of honesty. She’d dealt with it; now she could relegate it to the strongbox of lost dreams she kept locked in her head.
Thoughts of her mother escaped as she tried to close the lid. A perfect woman, according to her father. The perfect woman. Soft-spoken and soothing, a paragon of femininity. Paige had tried to emulate what she knew of her. Only Rye had broken through the wall of control she’d cultivated.
If she had learned nothing else from her debacle with Joey Falcon, she had figured out that she just wasn’t herself right now. She had been feeling more than restlessness, more than a mild desire for something to happen. For the last year, she’d felt an urgent tug toward something unknown, a yearning to discover passion, not only physically but spiritually. She wanted to break out. But to what? How do you stop continually strolling down garden paths if no one ever invites you on a marathon?
You sign up, she admonished herself. She knew she had to take charge of her own destiny. She just didn’t quite know how to do it, especially when she was being reminded by her father and Rye that she was powerless at the moment. Follow orders; we’ll take care of you.
And she didn’t recognize the person inside of her who just wanted to be taken care of.
Rye hung up the phone and stretched hugely. A glance at his watch confirmed what his stomach announced—that it was time for lunch. His gaze settled on Paige as she hunched over the too-high table her laptop sat on. She shifted her shoulders and rolled her head, easing unseen tension. Or was it really so unseen? As little as he had observed her, he was already able to pick up on her moods.
She would undoubtedly deny she had moods, of course, but he’d already seen several. Of them all, he most liked the playfulness he’d seen when she’d commented on his socks last night. He liked her belligerent side pretty well, too. Both made him laugh. He scrutinized her a little longer, pushed himself up from the couch and moved behind her.
When he settled his hands on her shoulders, she nearly jumped out of her seat.
“Don’t sneak up on me,” she ordered as she tugged herself forward.
He pushed his thumbs into the knotted muscle at the base of her neck and smiled at the involuntary groan he drew from her. “Should I stop?” he asked.
“No.”
He grinned, deepening the massage, adding his fingers and palms. Her fragility startled him, making him ease the pressure. Her head drooped forward. “Hang tight a sec,” he said. He swept up a pillow, instructing her to stand. Spinning the chair around, he laid the pillow over the chair back.
“Sit backward,” he said. “Lay your head on the pillow.”
She eyed her skirt, then the chair. Cautiously, she straddled the seat, but for every inch she lowered her body, her skirt raised an inch. She started to back off. “I don’t think—”
“Harry, I’ve seen my share of female leg. It won’t bother me.”
“But—”
“Trust me.”
Four
Her skirt rode up, exposing the tops of nude-tone stockings, garters attached to strips of midnight blue satin and a few mouth-watering inches of skin. She plucked ineffectually at her hem while shifting her bottom, only succeeding in hiking her skirt higher.
“Leave it,” he ordered, an unfamiliar hoarseness scraping the words along his throat.
Stiffly, she leaned forward, until she could lay her head against the pillow.
“Close your eyes. Relax.” In other words, don’t watch me drool over you, he thought with little humor. He settled his hands on her shoulders again, finding them even more tense than a few minutes earlier. Involuntary little sounds filtered from her mouth as he attended her, making him wonder if she moaned during climax. Damn. He shouldn’t think about it.
But how could he not think about it when his fingers itched to slide under the edge of her stockings and tease her skin, when he wanted to tug the hem of her skirt higher and see if her underwear matched the satin of her garter belt.
He trapped a groan of his own and tried to focus on her back. How delicate it was, how slender. The scent of her perfume drifted around and through him. She wasn’t wearing a bra under her top, but a lacy sliplike thing. What was it called? He couldn’t remember, but he wanted to see it. He wanted to pull the skimpy blouse over her head and feast his eyes on the skin and silk beneath, slide the straps down, cover her breasts with his hands...his mouth.
A new scent reached him—arousal. He let go of the effort to restrain his own, knowing she felt the same. Welcoming the heat and the swelling, he closed his eyes and slowed his hands, letting his fingers glide over her shoulders to press against her collarbone, feeling her push herself into the pressure in unspoken invitation. Did he dare let his fingers drift farther, touch the nipples he’d earlier watched tighten enticingly? Could he pull her back against him and let her feel the strength of his desire as he ran his hands down the front of her body?
This was crazy. He’d been hired to protect her, not seduce her. Ignoring the ache in his loins, he concentrated only on her shoulders. Her eyes opened for a few seconds, as if she was about to say something, then they shut again, allowing her retreat.
Paige jerked upright as the jangle of the phone sliced into the tense quiet. Pushing herself off the chair, she stood and straightened her clothes as she listened to his end of the conversation, deciding Lloyd was on the other end. Rye had his back to her, but she saw him attempt to unobtrusively adjust his jeans. She didn’t know whether to crow or cower.
She glanced at the holstered gun cradled under his arm. His strength scared her a little. His pure maleness was a hundred times more potent than she’d ever attempted to handle. He could crush her so easily. She was inordinately pleased that he was attracted, especially given their adversarial relationship, but knew she was a fool to think he’d risk letting down his guard.
Then there was the matter of the woman he had spoken to so tenderly on the phone. Who was she? And how did she fit into his life? Where would she fit? A brief fling in a moment out of time? What the other woman didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her?
No. Paige thought more of herself than that. Still, it might be interesting to see how far she could push him and what he’d do about it.
“Harry.”
She blinked and looked at him, deciding it wasn’t the first time he’d called her name.
“Talk to Lloyd. Tell him what you need.”
She forced her legs to move. “Good afternoon, Lloyd. I hope you caught up on your rest.”
“I did, thank you, miss.”
She rattled off the brand and model printer she needed. Hesitantly she asked if he might be willing to pick up something casual for her to wear, a sweat suit or something.
“Of course, miss.”
“I don’t need much. I might be going home today, for all I know, so don’t spend a fortune. As for sizes—”
“Unnecessary, miss. I’ll be there within the hour.”
“But—”
He hung up. Paige held the phone out and stared at it, then shook her head as she set it down. Rye came out of the bathroom as she did so, his hairline damp, as if he’d splashed his face with water.
“What side of the bed do you sleep on?” he asked.
She straightened, surprised. “Why?”
“Because I’m going to lie down until Lloyd gets here, and I don’t want to sleep on your side.”
“To be honest, I kind of roll around.”
“Oh. Well—”
“But don’t let that stop you,” she rushed to assure him. Anything to get him out of sight for an hour and let her think clearly. “I don’t mind.”
“If you’re sure?”
“Positive. Please. Be my guest.”
He closed the door between the rooms halfway, enough so that she couldn’t see what he was doing, but could hear. Boots falling to the floor, the shift of fabric as he slid under the comforter. Lord. Nothing like this had ever happened to her before. Why now, when she was at her most susceptible to temptation? Was she having a mid-life crisis at age twenty-eight?
She stretched out on the couch to think. Her eyes drifted shut. It took too much effort to open them.
The sound of a key being fitted into the lock brought her awake. Lloyd entered, his arms loaded with packages. He nodded at Paige as she yawned and stretched. An hour had passed.
“Warner’s asleep,” she whispered, taking a couple of the bags from his hands.
“No, I’m not.” He emerged from the other room, tucking his shirt in.
“Pasta salad for Miss O’Halloran and a submarine sandwich for you, sir,” Lloyd said as he placed two bags on the coffee table. “I’ll put your dinners in the refrigerator. Pop them in the microwave for five minutes or so when you’re ready.”
“Pasta salad...my favorite!” Paige said. “How did you know?”
“He’s a mind reader. Be careful what you think.”
“He’s joking, of course, miss. I hope the clothing is as much to your liking.”
She dug into a bag and withdrew a cream cable-knit sweater that would fall mid-thigh, soft blue jeans and a teal T-shirt and matching leggings. Two simple white cotton-knit camisoles, saved from being merely undershirts by their skinny shoulder straps, tumbled out next. Further investigation yielded white sneakers, size nine, narrow, and three pairs of slouchy socks. Everything looked as if it would fit.
“I don’t get it,” she said. “How did you know my size?”
Rye grinned mutely at him, seemingly daring him to answer.
Lloyd’s expression never changed. “I have an eye for such things.”
“I’ll say. Good taste, too,” Paige said. “What’s in the box?”
“Chocolate chip cookies, miss. Homemade. From Mrs. MacKenzie, sir.”
Rye carefully set down the sandwich he’d been about to take a bite of. “She doesn’t know—”
“Of course not, sir. She has been on a baking binge and forgot I can’t eat chocolate. Let me see if I have her words correct...I believe she said something about domesticity being the pits.”
Rye chuckled. “That’s my Kani.”
“Who’s Kani?” Paige asked as she sprung the lid on her salad.
The phone rang. Rye snatched it up.
“Yeah?... Put him through. It’s your dad,” he said to Paige as he waited for the connection to be made. “Patrick, what’s up?... Did they trash the place?... Do you want to bring the police in on it?... Keep me current. I’ll let you talk to Paige.”
“Dad?” She clutched the receiver with both hands.
“Somebody broke into your house, honey.”
“Oh, God! My presents! Did they take the presents?”
“Well, it’s kinda crazy. Not much seems to be disturbed. I came to add water to the Christmas tree stand like you asked. The door wasn’t shut tight.”
“Ask him if they took your address book,” Rye said to her as he paced, thinking.
“I heard him,” Patrick said. “Where do you keep it?”
“In my drop-leaf desk in the living room. Nothing was destroyed? Are the presents under the tree?”
“I count about fifteen.”
“That’s probably all of them. Can’t you find my address book? It’s around six inches square, sort of peach colored.” She could hear him rustling papers.
“Don’t see it.”
“He says it’s gone,” she said to Rye.
“What about at work? Anything missing? A Rolodex, maybe.”
“Tell Rye I’ll call when I get back to the office.”
Rye extended his hand. “Let me talk to him. Patrick, listen, if something’s gone from her desk, question everyone about who might have had access today. Maintenance men, delivery people, anyone who’s not employed by you. If you come up empty, have your security people start running traces on your newest employees and work backward. Call me anytime... She’s fine here with me. I promise. Even if they’ve got her Rolodex and can get my address, they won’t be able to track us... Let me know as soon as possible.”
Rye hung up the phone and followed Paige’s movements as she paced in front of the hearth. “Don’t you have an alarm in your house?”
She fired a glare at him. “No.”
“A woman alone, in a big city?” he pressed.
“It’s a quiet neighborhood. I’ve never had any problems.”
“It only takes once.”
“Look, Mr. Secret Agent Man, I’m upset enough without you criticizing my home security—”
“Or lack thereof.”
“Indeed.” Ice formed around the word.
“I can’t believe you don’t have a system. They’re so easy to install.”
“They’re expensive.”
Rye frowned. “Expensive? A thousand dollars for peace of mind and safety? I’d say they’re a bargain.”
She gestured impatiently. “Of course you would. You think flying first class is a necessity.“
“Well, now that you’ve seen me, you must understand why I need plenty of room.”
“I’m not responsible for your gene pool, Warner. I just pay the bills. We spring for business class on international flights. If you want royal accommodations, you pay the difference.”
“It wasn’t like that before you took over as comptroller.”
“What can I say? I run a tight ship. We haven’t lost money since I took over, either.”
“That’s because you’re a—”
“I used to design women’s clothing.”
Lloyd’s firmly enunciated words drowned out whatever insulting tag Rye was going to apply to Paige. They both stared at him.
“What did you say?” Paige queried.
“I said I used to design women’s clothing. That’s why I could estimate your size easily.”
Paige eyed him, noting the slightest show of tension and deciding their argument had made him uncomfortable. “I apologize, Lloyd. We always fight like this. It’s just the first time face to face. It’s harmless.”
Rye snorted. “Oh, yeah. I know it always makes my day. I really look forward to our conversations.“
Her gaze flickered to him as he swept up his notepad and stared at the words there. It struck Paige that she had enjoyed their discussions. In fact, the last few times she’d called him to request receipts for his expenses and more detailed information about his invoices, her heart had pumped loudly in anticipation. She had begun to enjoy hearing him say, “Oh, for God’s sake, Harry,” when she questioned a ten-dollar breakfast or a cab fare he couldn’t confirm with a receipt.
She had forced him into a better accounting of his expenses, but, in truth, she didn’t want him to get perfect at it—so she occasionally changed the rules.
Not that he didn’t get even once in a while. There was the time he had submitted a bill in paragraph form instead of an itemized list, forcing her to unearth the charges from a field of words. She’d paid the bill with forty-nine separate checks, one for each item, forcing him to endorse each check separately and complete several bank deposit slips. The bank had called her about it, curious and annoyed, but he had returned to a more standard statement format the next time.
She always found fault with his bill, but she had never really questioned why, until now. She’d have to give it some thought tonight while she took her bubble bath.
Paige and Rye ate in silence as Lloyd called housekeeping to request clean towels, then busied himself straightening the rooms before unboxing Paige’s printer and helping her set it up. She asked him if he could wait an hour or so until she finished the project she’d spent the morning working on and could print up a copy to send to the office.
“I’m at your disposal.”
“If you’d like something to read, I have a couple of magazines—”
He held up a hand. “I just realized that I forgot something, miss. I’ll return in an hour.”
“Oh. Okay. I hate putting you out.”
“Think nothing of it, miss.”
She watched him exit the room, the door closing on a whisper behind him, before she returned to the computer.
“Was Lloyd telling the truth or was he just trying to distract us?” she asked Rye later as he hung up from his umpteenth phone call.
“The truth?” He continued to write, her interruption barely breaking his concentration.
“Did he design women’s clothes?”
Rye looked up and grinned. “Again, I’ll leave the telling to him. He’s had a checkered career.”
Paige leaned an elbow on the table and propped her chin on the heel of her hand, considering. “Why don’t you just leave me here with him and go about your business? It’s obvious that’s what you need to do.”
He tossed his pencil down, stretched and rolled his neck. “Because I made a promise to your father.”
“I’m sure he’s only concerned that I be safe.”
“What’s going on, Harry?”
“I’m just trying to make your life easier.”
“I don’t think so. I think you’ve figured out you could manage Lloyd.”
“I could?”
“He likes you, that’s obvious. There’s no way I’m leaving you with someone you can wrap around your little finger. You’d have him out sight-seeing by tomorrow. We can’t take that chance.”
“I wouldn’t—”
“Like hell you wouldn’t.”
She frowned. “Well, maybe I would. But I’d be really, really careful.”
“There’s no such thing in this situation.”
Paige pushed herself out of the chair and moved to the refrigerator. She pulled out two bottles of spring water, held one up to Rye in question, then passed it to him and opened her own. “I can’t believe I got myself into this mess. It seems so...so like a B movie.”
“Even his name’s a cliché,” Rye commented. “Joey Falcon.”
The same thought had occurred to her more than once, but she bristled at his rubbing it in. “That’s interesting. That was my impression of you at the airport.”
“What was?”
“That you were a walking cliché, with your black leather jacket and everything.”
“Black is unobtrusive. Am I supposed to wear camouflage?”
“Well, no, but—”
“You seemed pretty interested in me, cliché or no.”
“I was not.”
“You weren’t checking out every inch of me by the baggage carousel?”
His self-assuredness irritated her enough to circumvent any embarrassment at having been caught surveying him. “I noticed you because I recognized you from the plane. And because you stood motionless when everyone else was working the kinks out after the flight. And because you seemed so fascinated with the woman in the red minidress.”
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