The Garrisons: Parker, Brittany & Stephen: The CEO's Scandalous Affair
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So he took the cue—even if it wasn’t the one he wanted—along with the file, and worked for a solid nine hours, through breakfast, lunch and almost no small talk, until they landed.
Through it all, she never tired, never complained and never even took the damn jacket off. Maybe that was the real reason he didn’t make the move to seduce her: they were kindred spirits. Workaholics, both of them, with a bone-deep love for control over their respective worlds.
Sex, in fact, could really screw that up.
By the time they landed and took a late-night cab ride through the still-vibrating streets of London, Parker was entirely comfortable with keeping the weekend on the level of strictly business. He abandoned the idea of taking her sightseeing the next day; they—or at least, he—would work, grilling Brandon Washington on the situation in the Bahamas and tracking the progress of several high-power land deals he had in the works.
Tomorrow night, he would introduce Anna as his assistant and she would no doubt wear her hair in a bun, don a conservative dress and stay stone-cold sober.
“Wow!” Anna froze midstep as they followed the cheerful old doorman into the smothering luxury that was the Ritz-Carlton London.
“Yeah, it’s not exactly the Miami Beach hip of the Garrison Grand,” Parker agreed. “This is pure old-world sophistication. You either like it or you feel suffocated. I, personally, love it.”
“It’s fantastic,” she said, her voice a little hushed as she took in the three-story rotunda that capped the lobby, trimmed by ornate gilded woodwork.
Smiling at her enthusiasm, he stepped away to check in. But after a few keystrokes and frowns, the formally dressed clerk informed Parker that there’d been an error in the system and Ms. Cross’s room was not available.
“Not ready or not available?” Parker asked.
“We are so very, deeply sorry, Mr. Garrison,” the solicitous clerk, who obviously had not been in the hotel business long enough to recognize Parker’s last name, crooned softly. “We are booked, overbooked and double booked with several very large events this weekend.”
Parker knew, without the slightest doubt, that a single word with a manager would get a room. He’d been raised in this business and “no rooms” meant there were a half dozen on reserve.
“Your suite has three bedrooms, Mr. Garrison, and it’s quite lovely and spacious,” the clerk added. “And perhaps something will become available tomorrow.”
Parker squeezed the bridge of his nose, fighting the exhaustion that came with trans-Atlantic travel. He turned to see Anna, who still scanned the lobby with a little bit of wonder in her eyes. There really was plenty of room in that suite. She’d love the decor.
And if it got a little cozy…
He nodded to the clerk. “We’ll make due with that, then.”
After a moment, a bellman whisked their luggage ahead and Parker joined Anna with a regretful smile. “Slight change in plans,” he said.
“Oh?”
“There’s no room for you.”
She drew back, frowning. “I know I booked it. And, surely, if you tell them who—”
He held up a hand in agreement. “I can fight it, absolutely. But the suite has three bedrooms, all with their own baths, and enough room for a party of fifty people.” He grinned. “I believe I had one there once.”
She shrugged, a little weariness—or was it wariness?—giving a delicate set to her jaw. “All right. I’m beat, anyway. I just need a shower and sleep.”
He tilted his head and put a casual hand on her shoulder to guide her through the lobby. “I only have one rule.”
She slowed her step. “Which is?”
“No singing in the shower.”
Late the next afternoon, Anna broke the rule.
Secretly, quietly and probably way off-key, she warbled a pathetic version of “Can’t Help Loving That Man” from Showboat as she let blistering hot water pulse over her skin.
She couldn’t help it. Showers were made for singing.
Anyway, Parker hadn’t emerged from the woodpaneled library long enough to even enjoy the ridiculous opulence of a suite that was about three times the size of Anna’s little house in Coral Gables, let alone hear her in the shower. And, oh, what he’d missed while he mumbled and barked orders to his lawyer, his accountant, his minions.
Anna could have spent the day just roaming the endless array of museum-quality rooms, admiring the Louis-the-something furniture, taking in the view of the avenues and stores from every arched window. As it was, she’d lost half an hour that morning just brushing her fingers over silk, damask and velvet pillows of celery and sage on delicate settees and graceful dining-room chairs.
But like always, the best view in the place was the one of her boss, wearing casual khaki pants and a simple but achingly expensive pullover and, God help her, no shoes.
That had been what finally sent her into the streets of London. Not his suggestion that she use the car and driver to explore. Not his implication that he needed complete privacy to conduct his business. No, what sent her out to the shops of Piccadilly, past Buckingham Palace and into the pristine paths of Hyde Park were Parker Garrison’s bare feet.
She closed her eyes and paused midsong, water sluicing over her bare skin, as hot as the fire that tightened her stomach into a knot of arousal. She thought she’d seen everything attractive on the man… but she’d never seen such beautiful feet.
Long and narrow, strong boned with the faintest dusting of black hairs on his toes and a high arch where his khaki pants broke.
Oh, Anna Cross, girl, you have it bad. Swooning over feet.
But she’d nearly dumped her china coffee cup when he’d emerged from his room that morning, the shoulders of his red shirt spotted from droplets of just-showered hair, the natural scent of his soap still clinging to him. Averting her gaze from his freshly shaven face, she’d looked down.
Big mistake.
When she’d returned to the suite only an hour ago, he’d still been in the damn library, with the door closed. So she’d decided to start getting ready for the gala, planning to take a lot of time and care with her hair and makeup. After all, he’d said this was a PR move. It would be a PR disaster to arrive with a sad-looking date.
Getting ready might take some time because it had been many years since she’d arrived at a formal affair on the arm of a rich and powerful man. With a hard jerk, she twisted the knobs of the shower, wishing she could shut off the flow of her thoughts as easily. She didn’t want to think about the man who’d changed everything. Not her boss, in that case, but her boss’s rival.
But ever since she’d taken the job for Parker, thoughts of Michael Montgomery, another powerful, influential man, were close to the surface. The fact that once before she’d given in to a weakness for a handsome power broker with class, humor and style was nothing to be ashamed of, she reminded herself as she applied some makeup and twirled her hair into a French twist.
But her weakness had made her a pawn caught in the cross fire, forced to run and give up her home… all because she’d given in to an attraction to a man who was, ironically, very much like Parker Garrison.
Her father, a very wise man, had once told her that the definition of fool was someone who didn’t learn from a mistake. She wasn’t a fool. Was she?
When she’d been with Michael Montgomery, she’d been twenty-four, young and naive. Now she was nearly twenty-nine, and had successfully escaped her past. Sure, she had a crush on Parker the size of the Garrison Grand, but she was human and female. And she’d managed her attraction for three months.
But now, she was in London, sharing a suite with him, no less. And about to slip into a slinky gown she hadn’t worn for four years. And no doubt she’d have to dance with him.
Oh, how much could a girl take before she did something… foolish?
Makeup and hair done, she covered her skin with a lightly scented cream, stepped into tiny bikini panties and opened the closet door to inch the drab navy suit to the side.
He hadn’t given her time to shop for something new, she thought as she touched the red silk. And she’d only worn this dress once, so it didn’t make any sense to spend money on something else. Plus… oh, forget rationalizing. She loved the dress.
Fingering the plunging neckline, she remembered how beautiful she’d felt the last time she’d worn it—right before her boyfriend had betrayed her, and she’d been run out of Indiana by bad press and false accusations.
She buried the thought. Tonight, she’d just revel in the dress, in the thigh-revealing cut and the backless dip that nearly touched her tailbone and the flared skirt that shimmered like liquid fire when she walked.
Anna reached for the hanger, a little sad she’d cover the revealing bodice and back with a simple black pashmina wrap and take small steps so as not to show too much leg. Because, all rationalization aside, she didn’t need to attract any attention.
And she had to remember that powerful, sexy, controlling men with smoldering smiles and mouthwatering bodies were dangerous. Especially, oh, God, especially if one of the things they controlled was your paycheck.
She slipped on the dress, fastened the halter top and added some simple silver earrings and strappy black sandals. She dropped a tube of lipstick and a compact into her evening bag. Now where had she put the wrap?
“Anna?” From the sound of Parker’s voice, he was outside her door. “The limo’s here.”
“I’ll be right out,” she promised, flipping through the closet for the pashmina. Then two drawers. Then her empty suitcase.
Was it possible the woman who never forgot anything had left the cover-up at home? She closed her eyes and pictured it hanging over the chair in her bedroom where she’d placed it with a mental note to pack it last.
“Damn.” She’d forgotten to pack it at all.
“Anna? Do you need help with a zipper or something?”
Or something. She fingered the plunging neckline and swiped her hand over the curve of her hip. Evidently she wasn’t going to be able to hide a thing from anyone tonight.
She put her hand on the doorknob and took a deep breath. “I seem to have forgotten my wrap,” she said. “I hope that’s not a problem.”
When she opened the door, she inhaled sharply at the sight of Parker in a tuxedo. Really, there ought to be a law against looking like that.
He merely stepped back, and made absolutely no effort to hide the slow sweep of his gaze over her face and body. “Uh, no.” His voice was tight, the way it had been in the bathroom the other morning, and his eyes turned just as dark and hungry. “That is definitely not a problem.”
But the way he reached for her hand, and the way that designer tux rested on his broad shoulders, and the way he smelled like cinnamon and spice… oh, that was a problem.
He leaned a little too close and took a deep breath, a soft moan in his chest. “You certainly are good at hiding… things.”
She managed a tight smile. “Not really.”
Oh, yes. The problems were just starting to mount.
Three
“I thought I should wear a wrap.”
Parker gave in to the urge to check her out top to bottom one more time. Anna was stunning. Extraordinary. Perfect.
“Why would you cover that up?” he asked.
“I just… I’m cold.” She rubbed her bare arms self-consciously, the gesture drawing her breasts together in the most provocative way.
He’d reached to touch her shoulder, but his hand continued over her back, drawing her closer, warming her. “You don’t need a wrap. You’ve got a date.”
Goose bumps rose on her skin, and beneath the thin red material that hugged her breasts, her nipples hardened, sending a few gallons of his blood below the belt.
What was that stupid decision he’d made on the plane? Something about kindred spirits and messing things up with sex and…
Never mind. Some decisions just screamed to be second-guessed.
“You look incredible,” he said, letting genuine admiration warm his voice as he leaned closer and took a whiff of her musky perfume. “And you smell like heaven.”
“Thanks,” she said softly, stepping away from him in one easy move. “You clean up nice, too, Mr.—”
He pointed a playful finger at her. “Don’t you dare.”
“Parker.” She smiled and moved another step away. “I’m sorry, it’s a hard habit to break.”
“I’ll help you.” Reaching for her hand, he lifted her knuckles to his mouth and placed a soft kiss on her silky skin. “Every time you use the word mister, I’m going to kiss you.”
Her eyelashes shuttered and the goose bumps returned, but she laughed softly. “Kind of like Pavlov’s dog?”
“Nothing like Pavlov’s dog.” He guided her toward the door. “But consider yourself warned. And every time you force me to kiss you, it’s going to get…” He tempered his smoky look with a half smile. “More serious.”
Maybe that would nudge her toward that “cue” he’d been waiting for.
“Then I’ll have to be very careful of what I say,” she promised, her pretty mouth turned up in a teasing smile.
As they walked toward the elevator, he drank in her staggering combination of sexuality and elegance. The gown narrowed at her waist, then flared and then…
Oh, man. The thigh-high slit made his mouth go bone dry. How was a guy supposed to keep his hands out of that treasure trove?
He hit the elevator call button and leaned closer to her. “I have to tell you,” he said, glancing down at the open pleat. “You have great legs, Anna.”
Color darkened her cheeks. “Thank you, Mist—”
Parker grinned as he dipped down and kissed her cheek. “What were you going to say?”
She chuckled softly. “Thank you, Parker.”
“My pleasure,” he said, his voice rich with double meaning. Sliding his arm around her waist, he placed his mouth close to her ear as the elevator bell dinged and the doors opened. “Next time it’ll be on the lips.”
“Well, if it isn’t the Grand Garrison himself.”
Parker froze at the ice in the familiar voice, the frisson of sexual play extinguished by the sound of an archenemy. He led Anna into the car, sparing Jordan Jefferies no more than a passing glance as he nodded hello. Just long enough to see the tall, muscular man looked tan and fit, and wore a tuxedo.
Parker swore mentally. Jefferies was headed to the same gala, no doubt.
“I’m afraid your escort is too rude to introduce us,” Jordan said to Anna. “I’m Jordan Jefferies.”
She gave the man a blank look as if she’d never even heard of him before. But how could she not? She must have heard the name around the office. She had to know the Jefferies brothers, both this one and the adopted Emilio, were the bane of Parker’s existence. What the hell was he doing here, anyway? He hadn’t been on the guest list Parker had requested to see before he’d left.
“Anna Cross,” she said politely, shaking his hand.
Jefferies turned her fingers, gave a little fake Euro-bow and kissed her knuckles. Parker seethed silently.
“A pleasure, Anna,” Jefferies said.
“Couldn’t find a date, Jefferies?” Parker said, only half teasing.
“I decided to fly over at the last minute,” he replied, his blue eyes riveted on Anna. “And certainly I couldn’t find anyone to rival this beautiful woman.”
Anna sneaked a sideways glance of disbelief at Parker, and he wanted to kiss her again for not succumbing to the wiles of this snake. Instead, he slid a possessive arm around her and eased her into his side. Where she’d be spending the evening.
And, if all went well, the night.
The car stopped at a lower floor and when the doors opened, Parker’s stomach dropped at the sight of yet another archenemy.
Emilio Jefferies nodded to his brother, but his sage-green eyes swept over Parker, his olive complexion darkening just a little. “Parker. Pleasant surprise to see you here.”
Parker doubted that it was pleasant or a surprise, but he did the right thing and introduced the other Jefferies brother to Anna.
“I assume you are both headed to the gala,” Anna said.
“We are,” Emilio acknowledged.
“I’m sure you’ll have a wonderful time,” she said.
He nodded and looked at Parker. “How is your family?”
“Fine.” Parker studied the numbers above the door, calculating just how many more seconds he’d have to exchange oxygen with Jordan and Emilio Jefferies.
“Your sisters?” Jordan asked.
Parker speared him with a look. He’d kill either of his sisters if they even talked to these two snakes. “Fine,” he repeated.
“Miss Cross.” Jordan directed his attention back to Anna, ignoring Parker. “Are you in the hospitality industry as well?”
“Anna is my assistant,” Parker said before she could answer, infusing the pride he felt into his voice.
Jefferies notched a knowing eyebrow. “Well, that must be convenient.”
Parker’s fingers twitched with the desire to land something convenient in Jordan Jefferies’s smug face but Anna just relaxed into him, her smile all grace and class. “It certainly is, as Mr. Garrison is so gifted when it comes to mixing business and pleasure.”
Jordan drew back as the door opened, surprise and admiration on his sculpted features. He stepped aside and let Anna out of the elevator first.
“You know I love nothing more than taking what you want, Garrison,” Jordan murmured to Parker under his breath.
“And I love nothing more than making sure you don’t.”
“Then you’d better hold on to your assistant.”
“I plan to.”
“And everything else,” Emilio added with a smile that looked more like a sneer.
Parker gave them both venomous looks, then muscled past to walk Anna through the Ritz lobby. They didn’t speak until they’d been whisked through the doors and cocooned into a waiting limousine.
“That was the perfect way to handle them,” Parker said as he handed her a bubbling glass of champagne the driver had just poured.
Anna accepted it, and tilted her head. “Why, thank you, Mr. Garrison.”
She’d used the name on purpose, he had no doubt. Flashing her a victorious grin, he leaned closer and brushed her lips with his.
“Next time,” he whispered against her lips, “it’s a French kiss.”
“Thanks for the warning.” The crystal clinked. “Parker.”
He sipped the champagne, admired his beautiful date and imagined just how many times he could get her to call him Mr. Garrison in the next few hours.
In no time at all, Anna surrendered.
How could she not? No woman could resist the magic of a magnificent, historic banquet hall shimmering with a million candles and a thousand elegantly dressed guests. She just gave in to the music, the moment and, of course, the man. The sounds of a full orchestra reverberated off the carved stone walls of Guildhall and echoed from the grandiose stained glass windows. Laughter, tinkling glasses and chatter vibrated around the well-dressed guests gliding across the glasslike marble floor.
From the moment they’d arrived, Parker teased, flirted, danced and introduced Anna as if she were his most prized treasure, keeping one possessive hand on the small of her back.
As they danced to a ballad, he whispered tidbits about the guests, making her laugh with his insights, impressing her with how well he knew so many of the people in his industry.
“That’s Davis Brookheiser, the owner of that new line of spa resorts out in California,” he said, tilting his head toward an older man who slowly—very slowly—waltzed with an attractive young woman.
“And that’s Davis’s daughter?” Anna asked, letting just a little sarcasm tinge her voice.
He laughed. “That would be the third Mrs. Brookheiser.” Then he frowned a little at the couple. “Maybe the fourth. I’ve lost track of Davis’s trophies.”
As the couple danced by, Anna caught Mrs. Brookheiser staring at Parker over her much shorter husband’s shoulder. But he ignored the obvious attention, keeping his focus on Anna.
“She hasn’t lost track of you,” Anna teased.
He applied a gentle amount of pressure to her back, easing her closer so she could feel the steel muscles of his body and the unmistakable message of desire in his touch.
“No thanks. I’ve got my hands nicely full at the moment.”
Blood rushed through her veins, firing up her nerve endings, making her boneless and light-headed. If he had any idea how many nights she’d put herself to sleep with this very scenario in her imagination. Parker, holding her and making promises with his eyes. Parker, inches from her mouth for a kiss.
Parker.
She took a slow, steadying breath and forced herself to admire the pageantry around her. She had to remember why she was dead set against acting on her attraction. She had to remember why he was all wrong for her.
He’s your boss, dummy.
Yeah. Right. She was having a very difficult time remembering that. At the moment, she could barely remember her own name.
“Just imagine how many royals and prime ministers have danced on this very floor,” she said, leaning away, striving for casual conversation even though the music and the movement were anything but casual.
But her gesture just gave him an opportunity to lower his gaze to her throat, study the V in her neckline and eventually return for a good, long examination of her mouth. Only then did he politely follow her glance around.
“Many, since Guildhall has been hosting high-end affairs since the fourteen hundreds.”
“I guess the association can’t hold this event at a hotel,” she mused. “That would be like playing favorites.”
“Exactly,” he agreed. “This has to remain neutral ground for all the members. See that gray-haired matriarch under the arch? Genevieve Dufresne.”
“The Swiss resort Dufresne?”
He gave her a satisfied smile. “You do pay attention to the business, don’t you? Yes, she is the head of the mighty Dufresne family. So, believe me, there might be a spirit of shared camaraderie since we’re all in similar businesses, but there’s competition in the air.”
“Like in the elevator.”
He made a distasteful face.
“Why do you hate them so much?”
The music ended and he guided her toward the table, where she picked up her handbag.
“Let’s walk outside,” he suggested, pausing to snag two crystal champagne flutes when a white-tailed waiter walked by.
She took hers, but didn’t sip. The atmosphere and company were intoxicating enough. They wandered through one of the dozens of soaring archways that led to various halls, a museum and crypts housing centuries of folklore, legends and art.
On a wide stone veranda, where a number of partygoers dallied at tables and benches to enjoy the evening air, they found a cozy bench, blocked by a large planter and secluded from the other people.
“Perfect,” he said, taking her hand and tugging her next to him.
“You didn’t answer my question,” Anna said after a moment. “Why do you hate the Jefferies brothers?”
He gave her a wry smile. “You could ruin a perfectly awesome night with that line of questioning. Truthfully, I don’t hate anyone, but if I were going to, Jordan and Emilio would head the list.”
“Why?”
“They’re ruthless, cutthroat empire builders.”
She stifled a smile. “And you’re not.”
He opened his mouth to argue, but then let out a soft, self-deprecating laugh. “Not ruthless.”
“Yes, ruthless.”
“Not cutthroat.”
“Yes, cutthroat.”
“Not… All right.” He grinned. “But not underhanded. And I think they are and I don’t want that womanizer Jordan around my sisters.” He inched closer and draped a possessive arm around her. “Or you.”
“Me?” The champagne tickled her nose, mixed with the soft, masculine scent of man. Unable to resist, she nestled into the expensive fabric of his tuxedo jacket.