Never Naughty Enough

Oh, yeah.

“It’s called Persuasion.”

“What?”

She wiggled her tempting little red-tipped, pink-striped toes at Wagner. “My nail polish. It’s called Persuasion.”

“What about the stripes?”

“That’s a technique one of my friends taught me. She says it never fails to grab a man’s attention. She calls it ‘take-me-now toes.’”

Her friend was dangerous. How easy it would be to walk to Annabelle and draw her into his arms. To learn with his fingers and lips if she wore a bra or not. To drive out the burning need to make her his.

“All work and no play makes Wag a dull boy. So before I shut the door, I plan to introduce a little play into your life.”

“How do you plan to do that?”

Annabelle’s fingers played with the gathered material of her skirt, lifting it an inch. “By letting you know I’m not wearing any panties.”

Dear Reader,

Have you ever loved someone from afar? A man so sexy and exciting your every nerve ending sparks to life as soon as he walks into the room? You want to say something, to tell him how you feel, but every time you try, your nervous system locks down and you freeze. That’s what happens to Annabelle Scott and her own mouthwatering, unattainable man.

For Annabelle, a woman who has quietly been in love with her boss for years, courage comes from the most unexpected place. Finally her true naughty nature is released, and she takes Wagner Achrom on a wild, sensual adventure he’ll never forget. I hope you have as much fun reading Annabelle and Wagner’s story as I did writing it.

This past year has been amazing. Right before the holidays last year, I received THE CALL that Harlequin wanted to buy Never Naughty Enough. Now one short year later it’s in the stores. This is a dream come true for me. I’ve loved reading romance since my grandmother handed me my first Harlequin novel to read on the long, hot summer days.

I’d love to hear from you! E-mail me at jill@jillmonroebooks.com or visit my Web site at www.jillmonroebooks.com.

Happy reading!

Jill Monroe

Never Naughty Enough

Jill Monroe

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

1

SHE WAS STRETCHING again.

Wagner Achrom rubbed the bridge of his nose as he watched his assistant, Annabelle Scott, slowly rotate her shoulders, first her right, then her left. Then closing her eyes, she swayed from side to side in her chair, her breasts jutting from the blue sweater she wore.

A curl of tension snaked through his body. He’d never noticed Ms. Scott’s breasts before. Of course, she’d never worn a curve-hugging sweater before now. But the inviting, fuzzy material of her sweater, with the hint of flashing metallic, didn’t quite fit with the cool, professional image his assistant usually projected.

Cool…at the moment Wagner was anything but cool.

He dug a finger under his collar to force a little calming air on his skin. Skin. His eyes strayed to Ms. Scott’s smooth skin, flushed a pretty pink above the plunging neckline of her sweater. He’d never noticed her skin before either. But then, she never revealed anything below the top button.

Maybe they should discuss the office dress-code policy. Henceforth, sweaters were strictly forbidden.

Not that her clothes were inappropriate, just surprising since she normally wore ankle-length skirts and loose-fitting suit jackets.

His gaze was irresistibly drawn to her ice-blue sweater and his mind took another unexpected, and unwelcome, turn toward the sensual. Something easily dealt with and restrained. Well, not easily, but he would restrain it. He had too much at stake with the Anderson deal to let a blue sweater, and the woman wearing it, distract him.

Anderson. Oh, yeah. Right. With calm and firm determination, he reached for the file Annabelle had left on his desk. He needed to examine the latest demands before he signed, green-lighting the proposed merger between his company and theirs.

Anderson’s stock would bullet up the exchange once this merger was finalized. They’d acquire free reign of his father’s patents. Using the technology behind Mason Achrom’s energy storage ideas, Anderson’s Research and Development team planned to develop a large-scale solar-and-wind-power network, retooling and often replacing much of the aging electrical grid system. It was a far different vision than Wagner’s of bringing cheap, independent power to the farms and rural areas of the world.

Anderson would gain the better end of this deal. A fact he acknowledged, but couldn’t avoid grinding his teeth over. Once pegged as a corporate raider, Wagner would have torn a small, undervalued company like Anderson apart with a few swipes of his pen, all while making a healthy profit. In the past, he’d made the best deals in the southwest. Deals where he, and the investor group he’d worked for, came out on top. But these weren’t the old days, and this merger provided exactly what he desperately wanted. Cash. Cold, hard and lots of it.

With that money, he would finally put to use the only thing his dad had ever left him. To some, the lines, graphs and chemical equations resembled nothing more than scribbles. But Wagner saw what his father was never able to, those patents represented cheap, clean fuel. And cheap fuel was something others would be willing to pay millions to attain.

He hated to share the lucrative development rights to his father’s patents. Except, without a capital injection, they weren’t doing him any good anyway. The Anderson people could have the large-scale energy network, the short-term profitable end of the deal.

But not for long.

Wagner wasn’t the type to throw it all away. He had a new project in mind. Abetter one. With Anderson’s money, Wagner would take some of his father’s unfinished ideas off the drawing board and create a small, inexpensive fuel cell. One with amazing power that could be almost instantly charged and ready to operate anything more draining than a solar calculator.

Now that his mind had successfully dulled the image of Ms. Scott’s breasts, he made himself read the document word by word. A moment later, Wagner seized his red pen and underlined a key point.

A soft, feminine sigh wafted in from the outer office. Glancing up, he witnessed his always competent assistant ably reach for a manila file, while showing an amazing stretch of leg. Her softly muscled calf, her slender thigh, the—

The contract slipped from his fingers and floated to the beige carpet. As he bent to pick it up, he knocked his forehead on the metal handle of his desk. “Ow.”

“Are you okay?” She’d pivoted in her swivel chair and faced him. An eyeful greeted him. Two eyefuls. Her nipp— Ms. Scott must be very, very cold. Had he turned the thermostat down? No, sweat was dribbling down his neck. The air in here was downright hot.

He shot up in his chair, rubbing his head. “Yes, fine.”

“Are you sure?” Her eyebrows pulled together, as if she was concerned, and her voice sounded husky. No one had given a damn about him since his mother’s death five years ago. He was oddly… what was the word? Touched.

“Fine,” he told her.

She gave him a slight smile, then returned to her typing.

Wagner watched her fingers move quickly over the keyboard. Ms. Scott was the perfect assistant. Always punctual and always efficient. They’d worked together over four years now. If she’d shown concern in the past, he hadn’t noticed.

Why now?

Developing an affinity was only natural. He’d been alarmed the time her car wouldn’t start. When he’d checked it out for her, he’d discovered the car was so dilapidated he’d insisted she find more reliable transportation. The next day, he’d left printouts featuring several reasonably priced, dependable cars on her desk, satisfied she could handle it from there.

Yes, the concern she’d just demonstrated was born out of two people working side by side. Nothing more. And nothing like the thoughts he’d had about her moments before. Those thoughts had no place in their working relationship. Annabelle clicked her mouse a few times and his guilty mind shifted back to work.

Usually he liked the sound of her fingers lightly tapping the keyboard. At least it gave the office an illusion of productivity. His start-up capital long gone, he’d been dipping into his personal savings until he could count what remained without using a comma. The creditors would be swooping soon.

If this merger didn’t happen, he’d be back to working for someone else. To making someone else money. To never succeed with his own vision. Wagner swallowed his distaste. He was more than a hatchet man. He aspired to build. To leave a mark.

He grabbed the file and resumed reading. He’d driven a hard bargain to ensure autonomy for Achrom Enterprises after they moved under the new business umbrella. Although he’d sit on Anderson’s board he’d still run his own shop, still be able to develop his own ideas. Anderson would not lawyer away those concessions from him in this final contract.

Annabelle sighed again.

The sound loosened a spiral of desire in his gut, compelling his gaze her way once more. She curved her back as she stretched, tugging her sweater taut over her breasts again. Her long, brown hair had loosened from her clip and tangled down her back, teasing the skin at her neck. And him. She looked like a woman languid from kissing.

And wanting more.

He slammed the file shut on the desk, startling her. With a darting glance his way, Ms. Scott quickly returned to her typing.

What was the matter with him? He leaned back in his chair. Ms. Scott was too valued an assistant to bear the brunt of his frustrations. Merger or sexual.

Sexual? God, yes, but when had he begun to see Ms. Scott as sexual? As far as he knew, she led as celibate a life as he did. No quiet phone calls at the office, no picture on her desk. His own desk was just as bare. And no one used his private line. Demons from the past haunted his future. Did they haunt hers, as well?

Hell, with all the sighing and key clacking, it was no wonder he couldn’t concentrate. He needed a plan and he needed it fast.

Pushing his chair back, he crossed the threshold between his office and hers.

“Ms. Scott, do you have a cramp in your back?”

She looked up with a startled expression. “Uh, no. Why?”

“With your groaning out here, I thought you were in pain.”

She blinked and shook her head. Despite her sweater, leg-flashing skirt and wild, loose hair, she appeared to be the same Ms. Scott. Her desk was neat and orderly, and her coffee cup sat on a coaster.

And that’s the way it would remain.

His gaze drifted from her face, but he stopped himself before he moved past her collarbone. He’d get back on track just as soon as he turned the heat up. He couldn’t have her being cold.

Wagner nodded and reached for the metal door handle to his office. “Hold any calls, please. I need to concentrate on this latest counteroffer from Anderson’s representative.”

And, with a decisive click, he shut the door.

ANNABELLE SLUMPED in her chair and stared at the silver knob of Wagner’s door. From experience, she knew she wouldn’t see him for the rest of the day. He’d probably e-mail her for coffee.

She released the breath she’d sucked in when he’d reappeared, large and agitated, in the doorway, his broad shoulders practically touching the edges. A dark lock had fallen across his forehead. His hands had braced either side of the frame, his large, muscular body filling the empty space.

For one exciting minute there, she thought she’d spotted a flicker of the hunter in his blue eyes as his gaze rooted her in her chair. A tingle, starting in her belly, had spread throughout her body. Her nipples had hardened and rubbed against her sweater.

You’re a femme fatale, she’d repeated in her mind.

You’re an idiot, she’d corrected after he’d slammed the door. No, he hadn’t slammed. Wagner would never gather enough emotion to feel the need to slam anything.

But she did.

She grabbed a pen and slammed her desk drawer shut. Then she reached for the notepad she’d hidden under the large, multiline telephone console on her desk. Wagner would never search for anything there. Not that snooping around on her desk was an activity he’d do, but sometimes he did try to make himself useful in the front office. She shuddered as she remembered the disastrous results and the paper cuts from his last attempt. She hadn’t been able to find her letter opener for weeks.

Opening the pad, she clicked the pen. With long, hard strokes, she put several dark lines through her notes.

1 Wear sweater. Banned from the closet.

2 Sigh. Never again.

3 Arch your back. Don’t strain yourself.

Her upper lip curled as she crossed through her last note. She’d printed it in all caps and had even starred the sucker. YOU’RE A FEMME FATALE.

After tossing the list aside, she removed her headset. This telephone call required holding the receiver. With quick fingers, she dialed her best friend, Katie Sloan’s, number. Katie answered on the second ring.

“I give up,” Annabelle told her.

“Already? It’s not even ten-thirty? Did you wear the sweater?”

Annabelle glanced at Wagner’s doorway and rounded her shoulders. Now she felt ridiculous in the clingy thing. “Yeah, I wore it.”

“Hmm, that should have gotten some reaction.”

She yanked the sweater higher on her shoulders— the plunging neckline was a little too…plunging. “This sweater’s not even made from materials known in the natural world.”

“Did you remember your mantra?”

You’re a femme fatale.

“Yeah, I tried it. The mantra stinks.” Annabelle clicked the pen again and obliterated the mantra with a few more ink swipes.

“Did you arch your back?”

“He thought I had a backache, for crying out loud. He’s probably looking up the name of a good chiropractor in his Rolodex right now.”

Silence greeted her from the other end of the telephone line. Annabelle suppressed a groan. Katie was rarely silent. It meant trouble. Annabelle in trouble. Since meeting in the second grade, Katie had been devising “brilliant” ideas that usually backfired with Annabelle getting the blame. In school it was detention, last year it was a weeklong rash from a sunless tanner. On her face.

“I just had a brilliant idea. It’s time to bring out the big guns,” Katie finally said. “Is there some way you can lock him in the supply closet with you?”

“He’d spend the whole time devising a way to buy out the door company and take over the management.”

“I’m not so sure it would work. That was the old Wagner Achrom.”

“True.” Annabelle sat a little straighter in the chair and eyed the doorknob. That lock appeared pretty flimsy, a good safety net if she— “No, forget it. Former corporate raider or not, he’d figure a way out. Besides, I did everything but recline naked on my desk.”

“Now, that has possibilities.”

A quivering in the small of her back propelled her forward in her chair. “Out of the question.” If she didn’t stop this line of thought right now, Katie would have her convinced greeting Wagner wearing nothing but high heels and a tie, à la Pretty Woman, was a fabulous idea.

Annabelle pushed her glasses down lower on her nose and rubbed her eyes. “There has to be another way for him to finally notice me.”

“You ever heard the phrase ‘You’re pumping a dry well’?” Katie asked.

“Of course I’ve heard it. We’re in Oklahoma.”

“Well, you should have paid attention to it ’cause, sister, the well’s done gone dry. And I’m not sure it had much juice to begin with.”

Annabelle swiveled her chair toward Wagner’s door. No molding, no scrollwork. Just hard wood. Like Wagner. “Maybe you’re right.”

“Well, of course I’m right. Although sometimes I still think there may be something there. Remember how he was about your car?”

“He was probably only worried that his daily agenda wouldn’t be typed and sitting on his desk.”

“Now, girlfriend, you did that to yourself. It’s one thing making a man dependent on you. It’s quite another when you rig the outcome without making damn sure he knows he can’t live without you.”

She glanced at his closed door. “You’re right. I’ve created a monster.”

“Men.” Katie didn’t need to say another word. That one said it all. “Okay, I’ve got it,” she said.

Annabelle’s stomach muscles clenched in apprehension. No telling what this “brilliant” idea would involve. Probably her walking a tightrope from her desk to the copy machine in nothing but a thong and a smile.

But still, her curiosity had her wondering. “What?”

“A great new plan for this afternoon. Write this down—Nothing is more seductive than food.”

“What?”

“Actually, this is brilliant. A picnic. I can see it now. The birds and bees doing their thing. His head in your lap as you feed him grapes. That’s a very sexy food, by the way.”

“May I remind you we’re in the middle of December?” Annabelle glanced outside the large glass window lining the waiting area. “The sun may be shining right now, but how long is that going to last?”

“All right. All right. Then have it on the office floor. In fact, I like that idea better. He has that nice, long leather couch in there, too. See what we can do when we brainstorm together?”

Annabelle glanced from the black leather couches in the small waiting area to the chrome and steel of her desk and file cabinet. The office of Achrom Enterprises was designed to evoke confidence and professionalism. Not picnics. Certainly no grapes. “That would be inappropriate in the office. Besides, he’s not the picnic type. For that matter, neither am I.”

Katie sighed heavily. “Really, as smart as he is, I don’t see why he hasn’t realized you’re perfect for each other. I’ve never met two squarer people.”

“I resent that remark.”

“You resemble that remark. The picnic idea will work precisely because he’s not the picnic type. It will knock him completely off balance. And personally, I think throwing him for a loop is long overdue.” Katie exhaled expectedly into the phone. “Look, we can forget the whole thing if you want.”

Annabelle worked the pen in her hand. “I want to give this plan a try. It’s time. I’m moving on with my life. I just stamped and mailed away my last loan payment yesterday. In four weeks I’ll have my degree.”

She glanced around the office she’d helped Wagner create. They’d begun with such dreams and high hopes. Now he faced a merger.

Sadness and a new anticipation mixed in her heart. With her loans to cover her father’s shady deals paid off and her finance degree in hand, she was finally free. Free to pursue her own dreams and goals.

“I can’t stay here—I don’t even want to. The only thing holding me back is him. He gave me a job when everyone else sent my résumé to the circular file, if not the shredder. He saw past my family name. He gave me a salary and responsibility, and he looks incredible in a suit.”

“You got me there.”

Annabelle’s gaze focused on Wagner’s hardwood door. “If it’s not to be, then I want to close the door firmly behind me and never look back.”

“Then work with me here. You don’t have much time before lunch. You still have that deli on the bottom floor of your building?”

“Yes.”

“Great. Then repeat after me. New mantra. You are a seductress.”

WAGNER SMILED and a twist of satisfaction curled in his stomach as he red-lined a point he wanted to clarify with Anderson’s front men, Smith and Dean.

Good try, fellas. Not going to work.

Did they think he would miss the clause virtually shackling him to Anderson’s side for the next ten years? He might have been out of the game for the last few years, but he still knew all the tricks. Hell, he’d invented some of them.

Red slashes marked the next two paragraphs for extinction, as well. The lawyer who drew up this contract obviously didn’t know Wagner’s cutthroat reputation. At the age of thirty, he’d earned millions of dollars for other people. Now some four years later, some punk associate thought he could outraid him. Not going to happen.

He’d been on the inside since his mom, in blind trust, sold the family home. He’d bought his first company with the proceeds, then paid his mother back threefold from the profits of selling that company in three separate pieces. Afterwards, he didn’t need to risk his own money, working instead for a top-notch investor’s group. For a while, he reveled in the money. Provided the kind of things his father had never been able to give to Wagner’s mother. Tasted the satisfaction of forcing out some of the very people who’d never given his father a chance.

His mother’s death showed how empty and shallow Wagner’s life had become. He’d made a boatload of money, but he had nothing of value. Now he’d only work for himself.

Although Wagner had stopped looking at companies as potential prey, that didn’t mean his hunter instinct didn’t ripple below the business suit and the trappings of small-business owner. He could spot a corporate raider sizing him up and setting a trap aimed to shaft him. Like any good huntsman, he knew how to circle around and cut the guy off before he could blink.

Forcing the smile from his face, he focused on the next page of the contract.

A knock at the door interrupted his train of thought. Ms. Scott walked in carrying a large wicker basket and a champagne bottle. He surged to his feet as she approached. “What’s this?”

“We’ve both been working so hard and I wanted to celebrate.”

His gaze shifted to the marked-up pages of the Anderson contract. Hope of an easy merger with some shreds of his former glory intact faded each time he took the cap off his pen. He didn’t need a Vegas bookie telling him the odds were low on forging out everything he wanted from this contract. What he really wanted was to do the job on his own. “What’s to celebrate?”

She gave him a tentative smile. “The near completion of the merger and… my degree.”

Real joy for her success filled him. It was nice to see good things happen to people who deserved them. They shared a common background of dead-beat dads. He’d met Annabelle when he was at the top of his game and she was at her lowest: completely alone except for the debt her father left her. The man had stolen from his relatives and she’d vowed to repay every penny. Now with a balance sheet firmly in the black, she presumably was ready to start her life. His pleasure vanished, replaced by… apprehension? He straightened his tie and cleared his throat.