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Vivienne glanced at her watch. It was close to ten. She knew she had to unpack a few of the boxes tonight to select something to wear to bed and for the following day. And, she'd also promised Alicia that she would call with an update. Looking around, she realized she'd left her handbag on the table in the foyer.
Retracing her steps, she made her way down the staircase and across the darkened living room to the foyer. A lamp on the table provided enough light for her to see her handbag. She'd just reached for it when a voice stopped her.
“Quitting already?”
Spinning on her toes, she saw a shadow. Then Diego stepped into the light. Why, she mused, hadn't she noticed the stubble on his lean jaw when they'd sat together in the office? He moved closer, and the lingering fragrance of his cologne mingling with his body's natural scent was a potent sensual bouquet that served to remind her how long she'd been without a man.
“No, I'm not.” Her voice was low, as if she'd run a grueling race. “I came down to get my handbag.” There came a beat before she asked, “What are you doing lurking around in the dark?”
Diego took another step, bringing him within inches of the woman who intrigued him and upset his equilibrium. “I didn't know I needed your approval to set the alarm. After all, I don't want to be responsible for not protecting my houseguest.”
She smiled. “I thought I was your employee.”
He returned her smile. “Eso, también, Vivienne.”
She froze. It was the first time Diego had initiated speaking Spanish to her. “Houseguest and employee,” she drawled. “Now, which one carries more clout?”
“I would have to say employee. My houseguests usually have to fend for themselves, while I take full responsibility for my employees.”
Vivienne met the dark gaze that seemingly bored into her. She'd attempted to conceal her own feelings behind a sometimes too-bright smile and witty repartee. She'd kept up a brave front for four years, and continued the deception when she was photographed as the grieving widow.
“Lucky me.” She wiggled her fingers. “¡Buenas noches!”
“Good night, Vivienne.”
Diego waited until he was certain Vivienne had made it up the staircase, then he followed the trailing scent of her perfume. The fragrance was like the woman herself—delicate and sexy.
But, it wasn't her face, perfume or body that nagged at him hours later when he found himself in bed tossing and turning restlessly. It was Jake's e-mail and the part about Vivienne's divorce action. If Sean Gregory hadn't been killed in a hit-and-run, then everyone would've known that he wasn't sleeping with his wife. And, the question was, if Congressman Sean Gregory wasn't sleeping with his wife, then who had he been sleeping with?
Diego peered at the clock on the bedside table at the same time as he punched the pillow under his head. It was two in the morning and he wasn't going to get much sleep this night—if any, and he knew the reason for his insomnia was a woman who slept in a suite next to his.
Tossing back the sheet, he moved off the bed. Walking on bare feet to the windows, Diego slid back the glass door and screen. The light from a nearly full moon cast an eerie silvery light on the beach. The damp ocean air swept over his naked body. His flesh pebbled, although the nighttime temperatures were in the seventies. The humidity was as thick and heavy as a wet blanket.
He went to the far end of the balcony and peered over the edge. Strategically placed lights surrounding the rear of the building and the moon provided enough illumination for him to see a couple sitting close to each other on the beach. He smiled. It was apparent he wasn't the only one unable to sleep.
Diego saw movement out the corner of his eye and turned to see Vivienne rise from a chair at the opposite end of the balcony. Time appeared to stand still; she was bathed in moonlight, the outline of her body visible through the lightweight fabric of her nightgown. Within seconds his body reacted violently, the flesh between his thighs stirring to life. Gritting his teeth, he swallowed a curse.
He couldn't remember the last time his body hadn't followed the dictates of his brain. Unable to move, and helpless to stop the blood rushing to his groin, Diego closed his eyes and waited, waited for the shadowy image of Vivienne's slender body to fade. When he opened his eyes he saw that he was alone. Vivienne had retreated to her bedroom, while he had to wait a little while longer before he could do the same.
Breathing heavily, Diego lay facedown on the bed. Shivers of self-doubt taunted him as he chided himself for not only hiring Vivienne Neal but also for mandating that a condition of her employment was that she had to be a live-in personal assistant.
He knew he hadn't made a mistake in hiring her, but in having her in the bedroom next to his. It was apparent Vivienne was more aware than he was of the proximity of their sleeping arrangement when she'd asked whether there were bedrooms on the first floor.
Cursing under his breath in English and Spanish, Diego punched a pillow with enough force to release the feathers from their casing. His plan to utilize his personal assistant's skills as his hostess had just backfired. He'd prided himself on his iron-willed self-control when it came to women. Yet he had found himself fully aroused when he'd glimpsed the outline of her body through a layer of fabric.
“I don't do bosses.” He could still hear Vivienne's taunting voice.
“And I don't sleep with female employees,” he whispered in the darkened room. He repeated it over and over until he fell asleep.
Chapter 4
Vivienne opened her eyes to find sunlight coming through the silken sheers at the windows. She'd slept fitfully, alternating sleeping on the cushioned lounger on the balcony and in her bed. It wasn't that the bed wasn't comfortable. It was her surroundings. She'd never been one to adjust easily to change, so she knew it would take her several days before she'd feel completely comfortable in the Palm Beach duplex. The fact that she would be alone most of the day would ease the transition from sharing Alicia's three-bedroom house for the past two months to living with a man.
And she was living with a man—albeit her boss. She knew when she called her mother to apprise her of the new change in her life she would have to endure Pamela Neal's tirade that she didn't raise her daughter to cohabitate with a man unless that man was her husband. However, she was prepared for her mother. What could Pamela say when she'd finally disclosed that she could count the number of times she and Sean slept together under the same roof and also how many times they'd made love during their short marriage.
Glancing at the clock, Vivienne noted the time. It was nearly five-thirty. She knew she had to get up, because she'd promised Diego that she would prepare breakfast. This was one morning where she'd wanted to linger in bed but knew it wasn't going to happen. Although she wasn't going into a traditional office, she still had to go to work.
Her motions were slow and mechanical as she got out of bed and headed for the bathroom. The night before she'd emptied all of the boxes and put away her clothes. Her wardrobe in the expansive closet reminded her of half-empty racks at department stores after a megasale. A shopping spree was definitely a priority if she was to accompany Diego to social events.
Twenty minutes later, she skipped down the stairs, making her way into the kitchen. The heat of the rising sun coming through the pocket doors warmed the marble floor under her bare feet. A group of seagulls had gathered along the beach, examining the remnants left on the sand with the incoming tide.
A smile parted her lips when a gull swooped down, dropping something from its beak. There was a loud commotion as the others rushed over in an attempt to claim it. Vivienne saw a large clamshell on the sand after they'd flown away. The gull had dropped the shell in order to open it, but his feathered friends had duped him out of his breakfast.
Shifting her attention from the scene beyond the glass, she examined the gourmet kitchen with granite-topped cabinetry in a pale paneled wood that gave the space a sleek but warm feeling. Most of the appliances, including the dishwasher and double refrigerators and freezer, were covered with the same light wood, while the backsplashes were covered in glass tiles.
Diego's claim that the refrigerator was well stocked was confirmed when she opened it to find everything she needed to put together breakfast, lunch and dinner. Working quickly with a minimum of effort, she set the table in the dining area, ground fresh coffee beans for the coffeemaker, cubed a mango, cantaloupe and honeydew melon, and then placed four strips of bacon on an unheated stovetop grill. She'd just begun dicing peppers and onions and cubes of smoked ham for an omelet when Diego walked into the kitchen.
She glanced up, and in the instant when their eyes met she felt the energy that made him so undeniably powerful. But she also felt the sexual magnetism that gave him a sense of self-confidence some men would spend a lifetime perfecting.
“Good morning.”
He smiled. “Buenos días.”
Diego wanted to tell Vivienne that it was more than a good morning. In fact, it was a glorious morning. He'd finally fallen asleep and when he woke it was to the resolve that nothing would ever come from his attraction to his personal assistant. This morning she looked much younger than thirty-one. Dressed in an oversize tee, jeans, bare feet and with her hair pulled back in a ponytail, she reminded him of his younger female cousins.
He placed a small square white object on the countertop. “This is a programmable remote device for your car. When you depress the right button, my name and security code will go directly to the gatehouse. You'll have to do it whether you're coming or leaving.”
“What's the left button for?”
Diego gave her a long, penetrating stare. “A GPS panic button.” He smiled when Vivienne's delicate jaw dropped. “If you break down anywhere along the road leading to the complex, or if you believe someone's following you, then press it and the security team will respond.”
A slight frown touched her smooth forehead as she concentrated on dicing ham in precise cubes. “I don't understand something, Diego.”
“What's that?”
“Why would you install a security system when you live in a complex with armed security?”
“The armed security protects us from outside intruders, the inside security from resident intruders or their unsavory guests.”
“Whatever happened to background checks?”
“If you have enough money and know the right people, you, too, will be able to fly under the radar.”
Placing a paring knife on the cutting board, Vivienne wiped her hands on a towel. “Come stand in the sunlight so I can check out your socks.”
As Diego came toward her she noticed things about him she hadn't before. He had a quick step for a man who stood several inches above six feet and the toe of his right foot was turned in slightly. He was impeccably dressed in a stark white shirt with a spread collar and French cuffs with silver cuff links bearing his monogram. The hem of his dark gray pleated-front trousers ended at the precise break above a pair of polished slip-ons. The silk pinstripe gray tie was knotted in a perfect Windsor. Her gaze came to rest on his cleanly shaven face. Although not classically handsome, she thought Diego extremely attractive. Fastidiously well-groomed, he not only looked good but also smelled good.
Vivienne met Diego's gaze and what she saw in the dark, deep-set orbs caused the muscles in her stomach to contract. Diego Cole-Thomas's expression could not disguise the curiosity lurking behind his enigmatic gaze. Her eyelids fluttered before she was able to bring her fragile emotions into some semblance of order. She'd met enough men to recognize that particular look, and at that moment she knew what her boss was thinking even if he wouldn't openly admit it—he was more than interested in her.
“What do you want to know, Diego?”
He blinked once. “Say what?”
“What is it you want to know about me?”
His eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about, Vivienne?”
She glared at him in what would've become a stare-down, but dropped her gaze. “Forget it.”
Reaching out, he caught her wrist. “No, I'm not going to forget it. Something's bothering you, or you would've never asked me that question.”
She struggled to free herself, but his slender fingers were like bands of steel. “I'm sorry I brought it up, Diego. Now, please let me go so I can finish making breakfast.”
Diego released her wrist. “We'll continue this later tonight. If we're going to live and work closely together, then I don't want to have to deal with your moods. If I tick you off about something, then I expect you to tell me. “¿Comprende?”
She nodded. “Yes, Diego, I understand.”
“Good.” He winked at her. “You can check my socks now,” he said, pulling up his suit trousers.
Vivienne leaned over, peering closely at a pair of black socks with dark gray specks. “They're good.”
Diego curbed the urge to run his fingers through Vivienne's hair. There was something so endearingly domestic about her getting up to cook breakfast and check his appearance that he wondered if she'd done the same early on in her marriage to Sean Gregory.
“Do you want me to help you with anything?” he asked when she straightened.
Vivienne shook her head. “No, thank you. I have everything under control. I'm making an omelet for myself. Would you like one?”
Moving closer to Vivienne, Diego rested a hand at the small of her back when he glanced over her shoulder, the gesture as natural as if he'd executed it countless times, as she picked up the knife to finish dicing the ingredients for an omelet. “I like my eggs over easy. Hey, you're pretty good with that knife.”
Tilting her chin, Vivienne smiled up at him. Even though Diego was close, very, very close, she loathed asking him to move back. There was something so natural about them standing together that it took several minutes for her to realize what she was sharing with him at that moment was what she'd wanted with her late husband. The only time Sean had entered their kitchen was to open the refrigerator to get a bottle of mineral water or a cold beer.
“That's only because I took a few cooking courses in France and Italy.”
“Which do you like better—French or Italian cuisine?”
She lifted a shoulder. “I'm somewhat partial to Italian.”
Diego nodded. “So am I,” he said. “Do you like to travel?” He recalled the entry on her résumé that mentioned she'd traveled extensively for her former employer.
“It all depends on where it is and the accommodations. The older I get, the less I'm willing to rough it.” Diego's hand fell from her shoulder when she moved over to the sink to wash her hands, and she missed his warm touch.
“I can assure you if you travel with me on ColeDiz business, you definitely won't have to rough it.”
Vivienne turned and stared at Diego as if she'd never seen him before. “I have to travel with you?”
“Didn't Ms. Novak tell you that it was a part of your job?”
“No. What she did ask was if I had a valid passport, and I told her yes.”
“I'm sorry she wasn't more explicit. But to answer your question, yes, you'll have to travel with me on occasion.”
“How often is ‘on occasion'?”
Diego stiffened as if Vivienne had struck him. He glared at her. “Why do you always challenge me, Vivienne?”
“I'm not challenging you, Diego. I merely asked a question.”
“Well, I don't like being questioned, nor do I want to have to edit everything I say to you because if I don't, then you're going to mouth off at me.”
Vivienne's temper flared. “Are you such a tyrant that you're going to deny me my First Amendment right to free speech?”
His eyebrows shot up. “Is that how you see me, Vivienne? You think I'm a tyrant?”
Vivienne stared at the man towering above her like an avenging angel. At that moment Diego Cole-Thomas had become her late husband. Her frustration with and resentment of a dead man had been transferred to a man who ordered her about as if she were chattel.
“Yes I do, Diego. You issue orders, and then expect me to fall in line, in lockstep like an automaton. Despite what you've been led to believe, you are not perfect, Mr. Cole-Thomas.”
Diego found Vivienne's tirade amusing and somehow quite sexy. Watching her chest rise and fall under the T-shirt was definitely a turn-on. All traces of gold had disappeared from her eyes, leaving them the color of strong black coffee.
“I know I'm not perfect,” he drawled, “because after all I am color-blind.”
Vivienne curbed the urge to swat him with the dish towel. “I wasn't talking about that, Diego, and you know it.”
“Don't try and put words in my mouth, Vivienne,” he said, repeating what she'd told him the night before. “Arguing with you is not only bothersome but also tiring. Keep it up and I'll take it out on some hapless employee who needs his or her job.”
Her jaw dropped, and she gave him an incredulous look. “You'd fire someone just because you're in a bad mood?”
It was Diego's turn to stare at Vivienne as if she'd lost her mind. How was she so sophisticated, yet so gullible? Had her marriage failed because she'd believed everything Sean Gregory told her until she'd had enough of his excuses? Or had she chosen to believe there was nothing wrong with their marriage because politicians were expected to spend time away from their families with the excuse that they were affecting change on behalf of their constituents?
Reaching over, he tugged on the end of her ponytail. “No, Vivienne.” His voice had lowered to a sensual timbre. “I'd never take my frustrations out on someone else.”
A momentary look of distress crossed her face. “What are you frustrated about?”
“Let it go, Vivienne.”
“Didn't you hire me to uncomplicate your life? If you let me know what's bothering you, then perhaps I can help.”
Crossing his arms over the front of his crisp white shirt, Diego angled his head. “Unless you're willing to go upstairs and take off your clothes and permit me to make love to you, then I don't think you can be much help to me.”
Vivienne wasn't able to stifle her gasp of surprise. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. It was the first time in a very, very long time that she'd found herself at a loss for words. Her shock faded, replaced by anger. Diego had lied to her. What happened to his I-don't-get-involved-with-my-female-employees pronouncement?
“Lighten up, Vivienne,” he continued, smiling. “You don't have to worry about me trying to seduce you.”
Picking up the towel, she flicked it, deliberately missing him by inches. “I'm going to pay you back for teasing me, and that's a promise.”
His smile grew wider. “There you go issuing challenges again.”
Her smile matched his. “It wasn't a challenge, Diego. It was a promise.”
Diego stared at Vivienne under lowered lids, silently admiring the fullness of her bottom lip, a lip he suddenly wanted to taste to see if it was actually as soft as it looked. And it was the second time in a matter of hours that he'd found himself lusting after a woman who would sleep under his roof for the next six months.
He knew he had to put some distance between himself and his personal assistant or he would violate everything he'd been taught and had come to believe as the head of his family-owned business. With the exception of the family secret that involved his great-grandfather and his young secretary, the succeeding ColeDiz CEOs had lived scandal-free lives.
Everyone remarked about his startling physical resemblance to his maternal great-grandfather, Samuel Claridge Cole, as he was being groomed to take over the reins from his father, Timothy Cole-Thomas. It wasn't his father but his uncle Martin Cole who'd apprised him that his business style was very similar to the approach that his father had taken when he set up the company following the Great War.
His uncle refused to tell him whether he approved or disapproved of his style. He'd been prepared to accept Martin's constructive criticism, and this left him less than confident about the company's direction. Diego knew his style was very different from his father's, but a year after he'd initiated changes and had grown the company to include cotton, soybeans and eventually tea, he felt comfortable not only as the head of ColeDiz International, but also in his own skin as the corporate CEO.
He'd hired Vivienne because of his commitment to service and not-for-profit organizations, and many of his personal contacts were lifelong friends, college buddies and the sons and daughters of other business giants. For him there was no delineation between business and social life. For Diego, socializing was always business-driven, but not necessarily the reverse. He'd made it a rule not to date the daughters or sisters of the men in his social circle.
Hiring Vivienne would serve a twofold purpose. With her as his date and hostess, he wouldn't have to concern himself with female companionship, and just her presence would be enough to indicate he was unavailable.
He'd struck the mother lode with Vivienne as his assistant. She was both smart and socially astute. There was no doubt Sean Gregory was aware of her assets when he married her. But Diego would do what the flashy politician had neglected to do. He intended to capitalize on Vivienne Neal's intelligence, grace and beauty.
Diego winked at the woman standing in his kitchen, a woman who made him laugh and a woman who made him feel things he didn't want to feel. He hadn't known her twenty-four hours, yet felt as if he'd known her forever. It was apparent he'd had to shuck a few oysters before finding that rare pearl. Vivienne had become that exotic rare jewel.
He winked at her. “I can't say I haven't been warned.”
Vivienne returned his wink. “As long as you don't forget, then you'll be all right.”
He shook his head. “You just have to have the last word, don't you?”
She gave him an innocent look. “Yes,” she said after a comfortable pause.
“I think it's time I eat breakfast, so I can go to work where I know I'll always have the last word. Be ready to go out with me this afternoon.”
“What's happening this afternoon?” Vivienne asked.
“I'm taking you shopping. You're going to need a few outfits for this weekend. And while you're there, you can pick up whatever else you want or need.” She lifted her eyebrows at this disclosure. There was no doubt his offer to take Vivienne shopping had surprised her.
“Where is there, Diego?”
“Miami. We'll drive down, shop, hang out long enough to have dinner and then come back.” He glanced at the watch under his cuff. “I'd love to stay and debate you, but I have to leave within the next twenty minutes.”
Vivienne opened her mouth to tell Diego there was a difference between asking a question and debating, but thought better of it. It was no concern of hers if he'd decided to go to Miami to shop when they could've easily gone to Worth Avenue.
When she'd called Alicia to tell her what she thought of her new boss, Alicia had opened up about what she'd read and heard about Diego Cole-Thomas. There were rumors floating around the business world that he was a maverick. And, despite the salacious gossip, Alicia said there was a waiting list for those wanting to work for ColeDiz International Limited.
She recognized that Diego was a complex man, that he didn't like to be questioned or challenged, and she'd done both. If he wanted to take her to Paris for a pair of shoes, then who was she to complain? If she was going to understand half of what made him who he was, then she had to choose when to say something and when it was appropriate to remain silent. Working as Diego Cole-Thomas's personal assistant wasn't going to be a walk in the park, but it wasn't as if the position didn't come with perks.