Текст книги "Crazy Ever After"

Автор книги: Kelly Jamieson

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“Are you...”

“Don’t say it!” She jumped to her feet. “I’m fine. I’ll show you my room.” Damn. That sounded disturbingly intimate. But trying to reword it would just draw attention to her poor choice of words, so she brushed by him to lead the way upstairs.

He didn’t move out of the way, and his body was warm and solid, making her tingle all over. Conscious of his eyes on her, she walked stiffly to the foot of the wide, polished oak staircase, a plush runner in a muted sage green running up the center of it. She put a hand on the gleaming banister and started up the steps then paused to look over her shoulder.

His eyes were on her ass.

Holy crap.

She froze in place, one foot on the bottom step and stared at him. He lifted his gaze to her face, and she was pretty sure she saw a flicker of discomfort in his eyes as he realized she’d caught him checking her out. Oh, Godfrey. Once again her mind started spinning. What the hell did that mean? It couldn’t possibly mean anything. If it hadn’t been for that shift in his eyes, she would have assumed he was just following her and his eyes just happened to be looking there.

She forced herself to turn and lead him up the stairs, but her skin tingled with awareness, hot and tight, knowing as she climbed the stairs in front of him her butt was at his eye level. Then she had to lead him to her old room. She threw open the door and walked in, unsure of what to expect. If it was exactly the same girly pink teenage room, she was going to be embarrassed.

But no. The bubble gum color was mostly gone. Her eyes moved over walls now painted a soft taupe, the puffy duvet on the bed shades of chocolate, taupe and pink. Assorted matching cushions in various patterns of the same color were piled on the bed, and the armchair had been reupholstered in chocolate brown fabric. The rug she’d loved as a teenager, patterned in various shades of pink and beige, remained. It still looked feminine but also modern and grown up.

Samara hated to admit it, but she liked it.

She walked over to the big window looking out over their property. Behind the house were two acres of lush woods. She stared down at the stone path winding from the patio into the trees, lined with hostas and lilies lovingly planted by her mother years ago. She had so many memories of walking on that path, some of them with Travis.

She turned to face him, again fighting down the hurt and sadness that had resurfaced so unexpectedly, so strongly.

“Thank you,” she told him. He set the suitcase down on the floor but still stood there.

“Thanks for staying here. It means a lot to your mother.”

“You seem very concerned about her,” she said tightly, moving away from the window.

“Why wouldn’t I be? Parker was my business partner, my mentor...” His voice thickened. “He was a friend. She’s a friend too.”

“Right,” she said. “Well, that’s just lovely.”

His mouth flattened, and his eyes narrowed.

“I’m sure my father would be happy that you’re looking out for her,” she continued, unable to stop the sarcastic tone that came out. Travis’s eyes flashed and a nerve started flicking in his jaw, and Samara’s insides trembled.

Chapter Three

Travis stared at Samara across her bedroom. Being in this room with her was so not a good idea. He could not believe that after all these years she still had the ability to affect him this way. She was even more beautiful than she’d been as a teenager, now with a sophistication and polish she hadn’t possessed seven years ago, the expensive-looking little suit she wore hugging her slender curves. Much to his embarrassment, she’d caught him staring at her ass, so sweetly displayed in that snug skirt, and that bed right over there gave him even more dirty ideas. Get a grip, man.

“I think your father would have wanted me to look out for both of you,” he murmured finally. His mouth twisted into a wry smile. Yeah, right. If Parker weren’t already dead, he’d be having a stroke over the fact that Travis was standing in Samara’s bedroom alone with her. But for some reason, he felt protective of her, even though she was grown up now, and even though it had been seven years and she was apparently still pissed at him. Still hadn’t gotten over that night. Jesus.

And what the hell was between Samara and Dayna? He knew how Parker had agonized over the rift between them all these years and knew firsthand how hurt Dayna had been by her daughter’s refusal to come home, to barely talk to her. He’d been hard pressed over the years not to call Samara up and ask her what the hell she was doing, cutting herself off from family who cared about her. What the hell could have happened?

“I don’t need looking after.” Her little chin tilted up. “I can look after myself.”

“I’m sure you can,” he murmured.

She stared at him, her huge hazel eyes gleaming with those unusual gold flecks. She was so like her mother in many ways. Although a little taller, she had the same fine bone structure, the same thick, straight auburn hair, a feminine face with high cheekbones, big eyes and a small, full mouth. Samara’s hair hung long down her back, with a swish of bangs she constantly pushed aside, where her mother wore her hair cropped short. Samara’s eyes combined Dayna’s emerald green with a ring of brown and flecks of gold in the unusual irises, surrounded by long thick lashes. Those eyes and that mouth. Ah, hell.

Travis shook his head. Memories assailed him of the guilt he’d experienced for wanting Samara so badly, knowing he couldn’t have her, couldn’t touch her, shouldn’t even think about having her. She’d only been seventeen, not even legal, for Chrissake.

Wanting her had nearly cost him everything important to him in his life.

“We should go back down,” he said abruptly, turning to the door.

“I’ll be down in a few minutes,” she said. “I’d like to change.” She was likely still wearing what she’d had on when he’d called her at the office that morning.

He nodded and shut the door behind him. He stood there for a long moment, one hand still on her doorknob, the desire to shove back in there and jump her sexy bones almost overpowering.

He rubbed a hand over his face. Jesus. This was insane. Seven years later and he was still a horny kid with a hard-on for her.

He wished he could say he hadn’t even thought of her in the last seven years, but that would be a lie. Soon after that night everything had gone to shit, she’d left for college in San Francisco without even saying good-bye. And then had been the big blow up with Parker when Travis had been banished to Los Angeles.

At the time he’d had his own problems to worry about, and he hadn’t kept in touch much with Dayna. His interactions with Parker had been all about business for a long time, but as they’d gradually rebuilt their relationship, he’d learned that Samara never went home and barely spoke to her mother. Parker had never been able to find out what had happened between Samara and her mother to cause such a huge rift. It had baffled and hurt both of them. It must have been a helluva fight over something. Samara had been headstrong and stubborn and opinionated, but he couldn’t imagine what they could have argued about that would split up a family like that.

Travis shook his head and slowly walked down the stairs. As he returned to the den, he passed the empty dining room. How many times had he sat at that table across from teenage Samara, listening to her drive her father crazy with her quick wit and provocative statements? He remembered laughing, so entertained by their discussions—arguments?—thankful he wasn’t the one who had to deal with her, then wishing he was the one who had to deal with her. He’d shut her up by grabbing and kissing her until she had no breath left.

His gut feeling like a stone, as were other parts of his body, he found Dayna in the den, setting the cups on the tray to go back to the kitchen. She looked lost in thought.

“Hey,” he said.

She looked up and smiled faintly. “Thanks again for being here,” she said. “I know this is hard for you too.”

He nodded. “Yeah. Christ. I can’t believe this.” He rubbed his chin.

“Samara looks so beautiful,” Dayna said softly, almost talking to herself. “So grown up. I can’t believe she’s here. It’s been so long.”

“Yeah.” He gnawed his bottom lip. “And she still seems to be uh...carrying a grudge.”

Dayna sighed, a small crease between her auburn brows. “Her father just died. She’s probably not herself right now.” Her defense of her daughter, even after how badly Samara had hurt her, made Travis smile. “But she’s here.”

“Yeah. She is.”

Dayna’s housekeeper Ava appeared in the French doors. “I’ll take that, hon,” she said, reaching for the tray.

“Thanks, Ava,” Dayna said.

“Dinner is ready whenever you are,” Ava added.

Dayna sighed. “I really don’t feel like eating.”

“You have to eat,” Ava said, her eyes clouding.

“Yeah,” Travis said. “And I, for one, am starving.”

“While you’re eating, I’ll go put fresh sheets on Samara’s bed.” Ava said. “Where is that girl? I haven’t even seen her.” Ava had worked for their family for many years and probably had missed Samara too.

“I’m right here.” Samara’s voice came from the door.

All three of them looked over at her. She’d changed from the business suit into a casual sundress in shades of orange and gold that flattered her pale gold skin and fiery hair. Christ, still so gorgeous.

Ava set down the tray and went over to pull Samara in for a hug. “Sammy,” she murmured. “How are you, hon?”

“I’m okay.” Samara’s voice came out sounding choked, and she hugged Ava’s plump form back in a tight, heartfelt embrace.

“It’s been too long, Sammy,” Ava scolded her, drawing back. She shot a glance toward Dayna. “I missed you.” Ava studied her and smiled. “Look at you, all grown up.” Her smile faded. “I’m so sorry about your dad, honey.”

“Oh, Ava. I’m sorry too.” They hugged again, and Travis’s heart shifted.

“We’ll talk more later,” Ava said, drawing back.

Samara gave a teary but still wry smile. “Okay.”

“You look beautiful, Samara,” Dayna said. “Let’s go eat, shall we?”

She led the way to the dining room then stood there surveying the formally set table with sparkling crystal, china and gleaming silver. She paused. “I don’t want to eat in here tonight,” she said. “I’m sorry, Ava. Can we eat in the breakfast room?”

“Of course. I should have thought of that, with it being just the three of you. You’ve all eaten in the breakfast room so many times.” Ava quickly picked up dishes of food and whisked them back into the kitchen.

Samara picked up a place setting—a plate, cutlery and a water goblet—and followed Ava. Travis did the same. “Thanks,” Dayna said. “Sorry about this.”

“God, Dayna, don’t apologize,” Travis said. “There was a time when I ate here more often than I ate at my own home. I can help out.” He didn’t want to even think about how much he’d missed being in their home, being a part of their family. Except he really wasn’t part of their family, as he’d painfully learned.

She nodded and gave him a sad little smile.

In a few moments they were settled in the small alcove off the kitchen with cheery yellow walls and painted white furniture. A wall of windows looked out onto the patio and the yard beyond, clay pots overflowing with colorful flowers and greenery. The house faced south so the breakfast room received light almost all day long. Now the sun was lower in the sky, and the rich light made the flowers glow and cast long shadows across the patio and lawn.

Uncharacteristically quiet, Samara pulled out a chair and sat down, unfolding her napkin. Fatigue drew down her mouth and eyes. She must be wiped. She was putting up a good front, but this had to be killing her. She and her father had been close, despite living so far apart these last years. Even with the tension between him and Parker, and Parker’s reluctance to talk to Travis about his daughter, Travis knew Parker had kept in frequent contact with her after she’d left Portland. Parker had been so worried about her when she’d been traveling in Central America that year after high school, he’d gone to meet up with her in Brazil and in Matagalpa. When she’d started college in San Francisco, Parker had traveled down there to help her find a place and get settled. He’d been thrilled when she’d wanted to work at Cedar Mill Coffee Company after college, although frustrated when she’d insisted on working her way up on her own. Travis knew Parker hoped she’d come home to Portland and work there with him, maybe move into the executive ranks some day when she had more experience.

He couldn’t help but watch her as she smoothed the napkin over her bare knees, and he deliberately took the seat adjacent to her so he didn’t have to look directly at her. Dayna sat in her usual spot.

“Are you hungry, sweetheart?” Dayna asked her daughter, reaching for a platter.

Travis’s stomach growled at the scent of the food. There’d been no time for lunch. After hastily rearranging his schedule and cancelling meetings, he’d flown from L. A. to Portland and had gone straight to the office there to make sure staff was all told what had happened and everything was okay. Many of them were in shock, especially Parker’s assistant, Paulette, who’d worked for him for fifteen years. Travis had sent her home.

Then he’d come here to see Dayna, knowing she would be devastated by the news, and waited for Samara to arrive, annoyed at how hungry he was to see her, how just hearing her voice on the phone that morning had aroused all kinds of memories.

“I’m not that hungry,” Samara said. “But it smells awesome.”

“Ava makes the best roast chicken,” Dayna said.

She helped herself to some of the meat from the platter and passed it to Travis. He piled his plate up and passed it to Samara, who took it without even looking at him. They all scooped up servings of the yellow beans and carrots, the tiny little potatoes dotted with parsley and gleaming with butter, and the golden lemony gravy that accompanied the chicken. Travis dug in hungrily but after a few minutes he realized the two women were just playing with their food, pushing it around, cutting it up and eating tiny bites.

He watched Dayna glance repeatedly at Samara, as if she still couldn’t believe she was there. “Tell me about your life, Samara,” Dayna invited softly. “Do you like living in San Francisco?”

“I love it,” she answered, pushing a piece of chicken around her plate. “It’s a wonderful city. There’s so much to do.”

“Well, it’s much bigger than Portland.” Dayna rolled her lips in briefly, looked down at her plate. “And your job? Are you enjoying it? Dad said you’re doing so well.”

Travis knew that. He, sadly, had followed every step of her career with Cedar Mill, from the days when she’d been a barista at the store on Northwest Broadway when she was still in high school. During college, she’d been a shift supervisor at one of their San Francisco stores, allowing her to work part time while going to school but still get to know the business from the retail ground up. After college, she’d started in the San Francisco regional office and had already been promoted a couple of times.

“It’s going great. I love working there.” Samara looked down at her own plate, her fork still.

“You always did have an interest in the business,” Dayna said. “And a passion for coffee. I’m glad it’s working for you.” She lowered her gaze to the table. “Your father was so proud of you. And I am too.”

Samara stared down at her plate mutely. Travis repressed a sigh.

Dayna changed the subject. “I guess tomorrow we’ll go the funeral home and make the arrangements.”

Samara nodded. “Do you know what kind of funeral Dad wanted?”

“No. He was only fifty-two years old. Who would have thought he was going to die?” Dayna’s voice choked a little bit. She paused, her fingers tightening on her fork. “I know he hates...I mean, he hated organ music. And he said once that he wanted a big party.”

Samara’s mouth dropped open, and she snapped it shut. “A party?”

Dayna nodded. “You know what he was like.”

“I can see him not wanting tea and dainties in the church basement after the service,” Travis said. “More like a few bottles of Lagavulin and some dirty jokes.”

Dayna’s lips curved into a reluctant smile. “True.”

“But...” Samara hesitated. “Okay, fine. Obviously, it has to be what he would have wanted.”

Dayna nodded. “We can have the party here. I wasn’t sure what to do, but I called the funeral home. The woman I spoke to was very nice.”

“The funeral director is a woman?”

“Yes.”

“Is it Gia?”

Dayna’s eyes widened. “Why, yes. Gia Stephenson. How did you know?”

Samara smiled wryly. “That’s Gia Rizzuto. She married Brent Stephenson. I knew they owned a funeral home.”

“Oh, I remember Gia. You two were such good friends.”

“A long time ago.”

“Well. It will be nice for you to see her again, even if not under the best circumstances.”

Travis watched as their eyes met and connected, but Samara looked quickly away, blinking.

Travis licked his lips, flicking his eyes to Samara and back to Dayna. Why wouldn’t Samara just give in and let her mother comfort her, let them comfort each other? Ah hell, Parker. You weren’t supposed to do this. Pain lanced through him at the thought that Parker was really gone.

After dinner, they had coffee and dessert on the patio, but again he was the only one who even tried to eat the huge piece of strawberry shortcake. The late spring day was cooling off as the sun sank low in the sky. The trees of the woods were vivid shades of green and richly textured in the late evening sun. A squirrel sat high in a nearby tree, chattering agitatedly at something they couldn’t see. The fresh scent of cedar and pine drifted on the evening breeze.

It was like being in the country here. So unlike Los Angeles, his home for the last seven years. He lived near the beach, which was great for him with his love of surfing and sailing, but L.A. was a big city with pollution, crowded freeways and lots of concrete. This was quiet and serene, almost pastoral.

“You must be tired, sweetie,” Dayna said to Samara. “You should go up to bed. Ava has gotten your room ready.”

Samara nodded slowly and rose to her feet. “I am tired. I still can’t believe...” She looked at Travis. “I guess I’ll see you at the funeral...”

He shook his head. “Oh, I’ll likely see you in the morning.”

“Travis is staying here too,” Dayna put in.

Samara looked at him, then at her mother. “How nice,” she said, her voice flat. “Well, good night then.” She gave them her back and stalked inside, closing the French door with a bang.

What the hell was her problem?

Chapter Four

He was staying there? In her parents’ house?

Samara hurried up the stairs to the privacy of her bedroom. She’d said she was tired and she was, but even so, once in bed she lay wide awake in the darkness. Her body was tired but her mind remained active, churning over everything that had happened that day, starting with that phone call from Travis.

Seeing him again. All those memories flooding back, the ones she’d locked away in the very back of her mind. She turned her face into the pillow, her chest aching, remembering all those intense teenage feelings she’d had for him. Remembering that night just after her high school graduation, the night she’d done the stupidest thing in her life, and how wounded she’d been.

She’d had a crush on Travis for so long. Every boy she dated was just that...a boy. She’d compared everyone to Travis—his athletic body, lean and muscled from the surfing, sailing, and climbing he did on weekends, his maturity, his willingness to get into deep discussions about things like fair trade and conditions in developing countries and how to take market share away from Starbucks. The magnetic attraction his easy smile and sparkling blue eyes held for her. Nobody even came close to appealing to her like Travis did.

Sure he was older than her. He was her father’s friend and business associate, and maybe that made him seem a little forbidden, a little dangerous. She was honest enough with herself to question whether that increased the attraction for her, and she didn’t know the answer. She only knew she wanted him so badly and truly felt like she was falling in love with him.

There were moments where she was convinced he wanted her too. Like at the dinner table when she’d look up at him and he’d be staring at her with such focused intensity she immediately became hot and disoriented. Or at the company golf tournament when they’d golfed on the same team, when she’d sunk a putt to birdie the ninth hole and he’d grabbed her in an exuberant hug that had lasted just a little too long, awareness surging between them. Maybe if those things had never happened, she never would have let herself think there could really be something between them.

That evening just after graduation, she’d taken Travis out to show him the new gazebo they’d had built in the yard. She’d led the way down the stone path through the woods, the late evening sun casting long dappled shadows through the lacy leaves of the trees. They’d been all alone in the tranquil grounds. Travis had been quiet—tense.

She took his hand in hers as they walked and she chatted away. When they arrived at the gazebo, all decorated with Victorian gingerbread, she led him inside. In the dim light, she turned to face him, still holding his hand. They stared at each other wordlessly for a long, stretched-out moment, and her heart had thudded so hard it made her breathless. Then she tugged on his hand, moving them closer together, her breasts brushing his chest.

She was the first to admit she’d been aggressive that night. It seemed like the perfect opportunity, and who knew when she’d have another one? So, she’d boldly gone up on her toes, wound her arms around his neck, and kissed him.

He’d kissed her back. When he closed his hands on her waist and opened his mouth over hers, she’d started shaking with excitement and lust. Finally, finally they were together! And it was delicious. Better than she’d imagined in all her feverish fantasies alone in her bedroom. She pressed her aching breasts against his hard body, threading her fingers through his shaggy hair to pull his head closer.

His hands tightened on her and she could feel how hot he was, almost damp, how his body was shaking too. Triumph and exhilaration sparked through her veins. The kiss went on and on. He tipped his head to deepen it, licking into her mouth to find her tongue.

She was dizzy, hot, beyond thinking as she responded to the hormones and lust that drove her, kissing him back, open-mouthed, hungry, desperate for him.

Then he’d closed his eyes and turned his head away from her seeking mouth. “Christ, Sam,” he muttered, jaw tight, nostrils flaring.

“What?” she murmured. “I know you want me too, Travis.” She kissed his jaw, the growth of whiskers there thrillingly rough and masculine.

His hands were hard on her waist as he set her away from him, turned, then covered his face with his hand. She stood there, open-mouthed.

“Travis? What?”

“Samara. We can’t do this.”

“Why...why not?” Her voice came out high and shaky.

“You’re seventeen.”

“Eighteen.”

“Not yet, you aren’t. You’re just a kid.”

Her heart cracked a bit, making her gasp, and her stomach turned over. “I’m not a kid.” She wanted to argue, to protest, to beg. She laid a hand on his shoulder and tried to get in his face. “Travis. Please.” Her body still ached for him, but she was starting to feel a burn of humiliation. Heat seared her cheeks.

He shook his head, moving determinedly away from her. “Let’s go back.”

Her sharp intake of air hurt her chest. Her eyes stung, and her stomach heaved. Why was he being so mean about this when she knew he was just as turned on as her? She wasn’t very sexually experienced—okay she had no sexual experience at that point—but she knew what a hard-on felt like, and he’d had one. A huge one.

“But, Travis...I love you.”

He groaned, rubbed his face. “Oh god. No you don’t,” he said, his voice gravelly. “You’re just a kid.”

She stared at him, burning with humiliation, her face hot, her heart pattering so fast she felt dizzy. She swallowed a moan, whirled around and fled.

She’d been humiliated. Hurt. She couldn’t stop thinking about him and why he’d rejected her when she knew he’d felt something for her too. She’d been trying to think of ways to show him that she was nearly an adult, that the age difference between them didn’t matter, but only a few days later, she’d overheard that conversation between him and her mother, and she’d found out the real reason he’d rejected her.

She’d been hurt, so badly, and not just by Travis, but by her own mother. Her own mother had taken away the man she loved.

Now, hot tears spilled onto her pillow, tears she hadn’t allowed herself to shed since she’d left home seven years ago. She’d shut off her emotions and focused on school and work and the coffee business, intent on making a new life for herself far away from the people who’d hurt her and betrayed her, people she’d loved most in all the world. Only her father had never let her down and now...he had. He was gone. Damn him.

Hot anger swelled up inside her, making her face burn. How could he have done this? What had happened to him? He was the one who’d always been there for her. “Damn you, Daddy,” she whispered into the darkness, her throat aching. “Why’d this happen? Why’d you have to go? I can’t handle this.”

Yes, you can.

She heard his voice as if he were in the room with her.

“You can do anything you put your mind to,” her father had told her so many times. As a child, whenever something seemed impossible, he’d encouraged her. “Everything you do that’s difficult is a chance for you to grow, to learn exactly what you’re capable of. To increase your confidence. When you’ve done it, you can say ‘I did it’ and remember that next time. And know you can do whatever you want.”

He’d been right. Confidence was never something she’d lacked as she’d grown up.

If she ever needed it, it was now.

* * *

For years after she’d left home, she’d dreamt about Travis nearly every night, but over the years, the dreams had faded in intensity and lessened in frequency. Now they’d come back with a vengeance, making her restless and twitchy all night in her bed, interrupting her sleep. Facing him in the morning, her body tingled with awareness and heat warmed her cheeks remembering those dreams. But she was not going to let him know how disturbed she was by him being there.

“What are you going to do today?” she inquired.

“I’ll need to meet with Communications.” He lifted his coffee cup. “They’ll want to do a press release and also send some kind of communication out to staff. Parker must have left some work outstanding. I’ll see what I can take care of.”

Today he wore a casual golf shirt, an olive green color that emphasized the deep golden tan of his skin. Living in California apparently suited him. He looked like he spent a lot of time at the beach.

“I’ll come with you. To the office.”

He gave her a level look. “You have a funeral to arrange.”

“Mom can make the arrangements without me.”

“I thought we discussed this already. She needs your help, Samara.”

“I don’t know anything about arranging funerals. I won’t be much help.”

“Let me rephrase that. She needs your support.”

He was right, dammit. She blew out a breath. “Okay, fine. I can come to the office after. Wait for me.”

His brows drew down. “Excuse me?”

“Wait for me,” she said again. Had he not heard her? “We won’t be long. I’ll go to the office with you.”

“Uh...why?”

“I’m his daughter,” she said. Duh.

“Samara, you’re a regional manager. You wouldn’t have a clue about your father’s work.”

Indignation and hurt stabbed inside her. She drew herself up. “I beg your pardon? I already told you my father was teaching me about all parts of the business. Plus, I have a degree in Operations and Supply Chain Management.” She paused. “Which you do not.”

His eyes narrowed. “What the hell is that supposed to mean? Are you questioning my ability to run this company?”

“You don’t run the company,” she retorted. “My father runs– I mean, ran the company.”

His jaw tensed, and his eyes flashed blue sparks. “Your father and I were partners.”

“But he was the CEO.”

“We were partners,” he repeated. “Yes, we each had our own day-to-day responsibilities, and different titles, but we were still partners in the business.”

“I thought when he transferred you to L.A. you were demoted.”

His eyes widened, and then he laughed. He actually laughed. “Demoted. That’s a good one.”

She fumed, eyeing him across the breakfast table. “What’s so funny? If that’s not the case, then tell me why you did move to L.A.” She lifted her chin, challenging him. She thought she knew the reason, but what was he going to say?

He stared at her, brows drawn down, jaw tight. “We needed someone in L.A. to manage the wholesale and retail operations.”

She’d gotten to him with that question; she could tell. The way he pressed his lips together, the way his jaw tightened...it must be guilt about what he’d done.

Inside, she was the one quivering with guilt. She was being a bitch. But it was better to attack him than to let on how hurt she still was by what had happened. “Really. Somehow I thought it was more than that.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he managed to say. He slammed his coffee cup down and stood, balling up the napkin that had been on his lap. Then he laid both hands flat on the table and leaned down to put his face right in front of hers. “That company is just as much mine as it is your father’s,” he growled. “He might have taken me on when I had a lot less to invest than he did, but we grew the company together. We were business partners, and that never changed.”

Wow, he was furious. He was so intense, eyes flashing, mouth hard, she wanted to shrink back into her seat a little. Strangely, it was...exciting. Holy Godfrey. Her nipples tingled, and every hair on her arms stood up. Defiantly, she stayed in place, holding his heated gaze.