hadn’t always been like this. Years ago, when Shelley had hung around the Allman house with his little sister Jodie, and the two of them had spied on him and teased him and made his life miserable, he certainly hadn’t thought of her as sexy. In fact, if he thought of her at all, it had been with extreme annoyance—as in, “What a brat!”
But that was then.
Now she was another sort of irritant. And he couldn’t let that get in the way of what had to be accomplished here. He hadn’t asked for this assignment, but now that it had been thrust on him, he was damn well going to come out of it with a trophy in his hand. Allman Industries had to win this competition and it was up to him to make sure that happened. This whole setup, where he was supposed to switch places with Shelley, was going to work against him having the control he needed. And he was going to have to do something about that.
The strategy meeting had been frustrating. He’d assumed that after a little bit of moderating for window-dressing, she would gracefully sit back and let him take over. After all, that was where he belonged, where he usually was—in charge. It was the natural order of things and everyone knew it.
Everyone but Shelley, who seemed to be on another trajectory entirely. She’d held onto the floor, stubborn as a squirrel with the last fall acorn. She had plans and she laid them out, talking fast, assigning workshops for the next morning, giving out instruction sheets. He’d hardly gotten a word in edgewise.
And just when he’d had enough and he’d stood up to take over the reins by force if he had to, she’d given him a triumphant look and adjourned for dinner. Then they had all trooped down to the restaurant to meet the other Allman Industries employees for a totally choice meal. All twenty-one of them. Made you wonder who was home minding the store.
But that was okay. This competition was important, more important than the others here knew. It wasn’t just his competitive nature that was at stake here. A major supply contract hinged on the outcome. That was the way they had built the business, scraping and fighting for every advantage. He’d promised his father he would deliver a win and that was what he was going to do. After all, if he was going to prove to them all that he was the natural pick to take over the company, he had to show that he could be just as ruthless as his father ever was.
The others were rising from the table, preparing to go back to their rooms and get some sleep before attending the workshops in the morning. Rafe rose, too, nodding to Jim but brushing aside a melting look from Tina, the raven-haired, statuesque director of personnel who had been giving him the come-on for weeks now, and he headed straight for Shelley.
She looked up, surprised, when he took her arm and leaned close.
“We need to talk,” he said softly near her ear.
Her lovely mouth tilted at the corners. “Talk is cheap,” she quipped, gathering her things and looking toward the exit. “Send me an e-mail.”
His fingers ringed her upper arm. He wasn’t about to let her bolt, despite the way her flesh felt under his hand.
“You want all communications in writing, so you can hold my words as evidence against me?” he responded in kind. “Just a bit too transparent, Shelley. I’m not going to fall for that one.”
“Too smart for me, huh?” She gave a significant glance at his hand on her arm. “Or, if brains don’t work for you, you’re ready to move on to manhandling. Is that it?”
He didn’t let go. “Intimidation can come in many forms,” he noted dryly. “Some of them just your size.”
“Are you accusing me of using my feminine wiles to intimidate you?” she said, looking more amused than anything else.
He opened his mouth to say something that would get him into a lot of trouble, but luckily, he thought better of it in time.
“Shelley, I just want to talk to you. Don’t make a federal case out of it.”
“Okay.” She made a face that made it obvious she was surrendering to the inevitable. “Come on up to my room. I’ll give you fifteen minutes.”
Rafe drew in a deep breath, looking down at her. Okay, here was the crux of his dilemma. Every part of him yearned toward an evening alone in her room. He could already see the soft light, feel the romantic music coming in over the sound system, taste the way her mouth would yield under his….
No way. Couldn’t be done. How about the bar?
The music there would be throbbing with sensual urgency, the atmosphere provocative, the sense of impending possibilities tantalizing, her mouth would be just as tempting—and alcohol would be involved.
No. Too dangerous.
“Let’s walk down to the canal,” he said quickly, deciding a public walkway filled with tourists would pose the least risk. “Soak up some of the ambience.”
A slight frown appeared, but she nodded. “Fine. Let’s go.”
The evening air was unusually warm. The crowd was thick and in a rollicking mood. Lights from the boutiques and clubs bounced off the water and laughter formed a foundation for the music that filled the night. The scene was celebration.
But Rafe felt edgy. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket to keep from reaching out to help guide Shelley as she walked along beside him. Glancing sideways he saw that she came up above his shoulder. The perfect fit for him. He could already feel how it would be to put an arm around her slender form and curl her up against him.
He swore softly, fed up with the way his mind kept trending.
“You rang?” she said quizzically, glancing upwards in a way that emphasized the almond shape of her big brown eyes, her dark lashes leaving long shadows on her cheeks.
He swallowed hard and looked to the heavens for help. “Sorry,” he said shortly. “I just had a thought.”
“Quite an unusual experience for you I guess,” she said archly. “Do you swear every time you get one of those?”
He stared at her, fighting off the impulse to grab her and either shake her or kiss her. “You know what?” he said instead. “You’re as big a brat now as you were when we were kids.”
She glared at him. “Why not? You’re as big a bully.”
The crowd surged around them and someone bumped against Shelley, sending her reeling into his arms.
“Sorry,” said a disembodied voice but Rafe’s first instinct to go after the perpetrator evaporated as he looked down into her face and felt the fragility of her body against the strength of his.
Time stood still. He couldn’t breathe. The background faded into a swirling mist and all he could see were her huge eyes.
Then things went back to normal and they pulled apart, avoiding each other sternly, walking quickly toward the river. Rafe turned into a viewing bump-out and she settled alongside him as he leaned his elbows on the railing and stared into the inky waters below.
It was too late to pretend he didn’t react to her like a bug on a hot skillet. Everything she did, every time she moved, everything she said, triggered a response in him of one kind or another. If he couldn’t conquer it, at least he had to learn to hide it.
