Man Under the Mistletoe Page 5

  “Sabrina, I was deliriously happy with my darling Amy. We had over fifty years together. Can you blame me if I want to see you that happy, too?”

  With a sigh, she took his wrinkled hand in hers. Gazing down at the long slender fingers, a mist of sudden tears obscured her vision.

  Charlie gave her hand a squeeze. “Why the tears, you kid with the face?” He teased her gently, his eyes twinkling with a smile again.

  She laughed at the funny endearment reserved especially for her and wiped at her cheeks. “It must have been so easy for Amy to fall in love with you. You probably swept her off her feet with your smile.”

  Even now, in his seventies, he was very handsome, and carried his tall, portly frame with an upright bearing enhanced by a trim white mustache.

  “As a matter of fact, I did, but is that any reason to cry?”

  She laughed at his dry tone. “I’m lucky to have you as a friend, Charlie.” She lifted his hand to her lips and kissed it.

  “It’s not right.” His gentle voice became serious and his gray eyes earnest. “You should be concentrating on getting yourself a young man.”

  “How does one go about getting a man?” she teased. “Should I grease up the old shotgun?” At Charlie’s grimace, she went on. “Good men are hard to find. And I don’t have time to go out hunting.”

  He refused to see the joke. “Maybe you’d have better luck if you spent less time with an old guy like me.”

  But she just smiled and leaned across the table to kiss the tip of his nose. “If I could find someone half as handsome and gallant as you are, Charlie, I’d snap him up in a minute.”

  Without bidding, Michael Worth’s blue eyes came to mind. Yeah, and pigs can fly.

  3

  SABRINA GROANED and sank down onto the carpet beside her desk. Careful not to disturb the long string of float illustrations laid out along the floor, she slowly straightened her cramped legs in front of her and lowered her aching back to the carpet. Hunching over the designs all day was murder on the muscles.

  With her arms flung above her head, she stretched with all her might. The full skirt of the blue cotton dress billowed around her as she drew her knees up to lengthen her spine, then swayed them back and forth in time to the song on the radio. It was a quiet afternoon. As long as the door was closed, nobody would complain. Besides, the music helped her to think.

  She started singing along with Rod Stewart. The door swung open and she stopped with a gasp. “Mr. Worth!”

  Frozen to the spot, she found herself noticing every tiny detail with crazy, almost detached, precision. How blue his eyes looked as they stared down at her in shock, their brilliance accentuated by the jewel-colored paisley tie, such a dramatic contrast to the sober charcoal pin-striped suit.

  Stunned by the sudden surge of heat rushing to his loins, Michael sucked in his breath, trying to suppress the carnal response of his body. Sabrina lay on the carpet, arms flung wide, her knees drawn up and the full skirt of her dress fallen back to reveal long, slender thighs.

  “Yes, I did knock.” For once his expression was very easy for Sabrina to read. He was appalled.

  His dry voice betrayed nothing, but she saw his eyes sliding down the length of her legs in thorough appraisal, taking in every inch of exposed thigh.

  The scorching flush started at her toes and raced up to her face as Sabrina scrambled to her feet among the scattered papers, wishing the floor would just open up and swallow her. Who could blame him now if he had serious doubts about her professionalism?

  When Rod Stewart’s suggestive growl filled the silence, she practically tripped over her feet, darting over to switch off the radio.

  “There’s no need to turn your music off on my account.” Exuding strength and vitality, Michael Worth took up all the space in her tiny little room with his overpowering presence.

  “That’s all right. I was just, um—you’re probably wondering what I was doing down there,” she finished in a desperate rush.

  “Organizing your files?” She heard the tinge of mockery in his low voice, saw it in his eyes.

  All she could do was stare up at him, prey once again to that dangerous sexual fascination. Any normal man would show some kind of response to her flagrant exposure. She might not be a raving beauty, but she wasn’t exactly repulsive, either. Yet after that thorough appraisal, he betrayed not the slightest hint of reaction. Clearly, she left him cold.

  She should be glad. She didn’t want him to feel any other way but, damn it, her vanity was wounded. But this was absolutely the worst time to dwell on her offended pride.

  “No, I organized my files yesterday. I knew you’d make your way over here sooner or later.”

  “Oh? How did you know that?” His expression hardened with a hint of suspicion.

  “Well, you’ve checked out all the other departments.” How stupid did he think she was? He’d been working his way methodically through the store. Then again, from what he’d seen so far, she couldn’t blame him if he thought she was clueless.

  “I see.” The words were clipped and businesslike, a touch dismissive, his lean, impassive face even more grave than usual as he glanced down at the papers on the floor. “If I’ve caught you at a bad time I can come back.”

  But she knew that was mere politeness. His time was too valuable to waste on small talk, or on coming back at the convenience of a lowly employee.

  “No, no. Just give me a second and I’ll clear those papers out of your way.”

  Eyes glittering between thick lashes, his gaze dropped slowly to her feet. She followed the look until she saw her own stocking-clad toes and quickly sidled behind the desk. It just went from bad to worse.

  Groping under the desk with one outstretched foot, she laughed weakly and began a desperate search. “Those shoes were here a minute ago.”

  So much for making a good impression. Where on earth were those shoes?

  “Perhaps I can be of assistance.”

  Before she knew what he meant, he stepped in and shut the door behind him with a quiet click. Adroitly picking his way through the papers on the floor, he dropped the fat folder he was carrying onto the crowded desktop, then came around to her, an ironic expression on his face.

  “Please, allow me.” He gestured toward her chair with a smile and she flopped down in bewilderment. And then he was down on his knees in front of her, bending to retrieve her shoes.

  “Oh, no!” Now she saw what he intended. “Really, I can manage!”

  But he just gave her a solemn smile and held out one black patent pump. With as much aplomb as she could muster in her embarrassed state, she slipped in her foot. But at the accidental brush of his fingers on her ankle, an electric current went zinging up her leg, a river of tingling heat that spread through her with shocking, erotic effect.

  Stunned, Sabrina could only stare down at his head bent over her knees as he reached for her other shoe. She should jump up and tell him to stop. She should tell him she could manage. She shouldn’t just sit here, transfixed, staring at his thick, silky hair, desperately fighting the urge to reach forward, slide her fingers through the strands, pull him closer and kiss his lips off. Her cheeks burned as she desperately tried to wipe all kinds of forbidden fantasies from her mind. He was dangerously perceptive.

  Then he rocked back on his heels to look up at her. Still so impassive, so grave, but the subtle light flaring in the back of his eyes hinted that he wasn’t impassive at all. The man was virtually impossible to read, and maybe she was just being fanciful, imagining he could be affected anywhere near as acutely as her.

  “How’s that?”

  “That’s just fine, thank you.” She tried so hard to be nonchalant, but her voice came out in an undignified gasp.

  Breathless at his closeness, she couldn’t tear her eyes away from his face, from the firm, straight lips, from the lock of dark hair that persisted in falling onto his brow, slightly furrowed now, giving his gaze that intent directness that wreaked suc
h havoc on her composure. Her cheeks burned even hotter. Her fascination with him must be written all over her face.

  “Now perhaps we can get down to business.”

  The words jolted her out of the fantasy. There was nothing of Prince Charming in his actions. He had just wanted to cut through her dithering and save his precious time.

  As he began to rise, she jumped to her feet. “I’ll just clear...”

  Her head hit the underside of his jaw with a hollow crunch. She heard his teeth snap together and a yelp of pain.

  “...the chair,” she finished with a wince, reaching up to massage the aching spot on her scalp.

  Only inches away, he stood over her with one hand clasped over his chin, his face distorted with pain, a thunderous look darkening his eyes. “Miss Cates.” The words had an odd inflection as if he were holding his breath, probably trying hard to control the urge to strangle her.

  “Yes, Mr. Worth,” she answered in a small voice, her eyes wide as she stared up at him.

  He glared at her for a moment. “Just sit down.” He backed away, never taking his eyes from hers. “It’s safer that way.”

  To her horror, she erupted in a burst of laughter. It had to be nerves—either that or she was losing her wits. Michael raised a questioning eyebrow that instantly sobered her.

  “Do you realize how ludicrous we must look,” she explained, “clutching our sore spots and eyeing each other as if we were about to explode?”

  “Unfortunately I do.”

  The wry comment was a sharp reminder that he’d come to her office on business. What was she doing, wasting his time with this foolishness?

  “Won’t you please sit down.” With stiff formality, she slowly took her seat and folded her hands on the desk.

  Michael lowered his tall, lean body into the battered oak chair opposite.

  She cleared her throat. “Well...what can I do to you—I mean, for you?”

  “I think you’ve done everything to me you possibly could.” A brief, derisive smile curved his mouth.

  “Not quite everything.” Involuntarily her gaze traveled the length of his body; then she saw that he had caught her looking.

  Her face flamed in disgust. She might as well take out a full-page ad in the Toronto Star. Sabrina Cates makes a big fat fool of herself over Michael Worth!

  But there was only irony in his expression. “Thanks for the warning.”

  She had to get a grip on herself. This man didn’t miss a thing. And all she could offer was a halfhearted explanation. “These things just keep happening.”

  “Like what kind of things?”

  Now there really was amusement in his soft, husky voice and it didn’t slow down her accelerating heartbeat one little bit.

  “Oh, you don’t want to know. And I’m too embarrassed to say.” She laughed awkwardly, trying to relieve the tension building up inside.

  He flipped open the bulging folder in front of him on the desk and quickly scanned the contents. “You mean, like the time Mr. Rumpy and Miss Flowerpot got into a fistfight during their show in the children’s department?”

  She gaped at him in surprise, glanced at the folder and began to laugh. He raised a quizzical eyebrow.

  “I’m sorry.” She shook her head. “It’s just that those names sound so funny coming from you.”

  His only answer was to raise the eyebrow even higher.

  Fighting to subdue her amusement, she caught her bottom lip between her teeth in the effort to stop it from quivering. But the irrepressible grin spread as she went on, “Apparently, Mr. Rumpy was cheating on Miss Flowerpot and she found out just before the show began. How could I possibly have known when I hired them that she’d slug him right in the middle of ‘On the Good Ship Lollipop’?”

  He didn’t seem to share her humor; then again, not many people at Worth’s did.

  “Sounds like Mr. Rumpy got what he deserved,” he said dryly.

  “He certainly did. And the kids thought it was the best show they’d seen in a long time, the bloodthirsty little devils.” She smiled.

  “The parents weren’t happy. We got quite a few outraged letters, I believe.”

  Sabrina shook her head. “Isn’t it funny how sometimes when people become parents they completely lose their sense of humor.”

  After a long considering look, he answered gravely, “Maybe they don’t have much of a sense of humor to begin with.”

  “In that case they might as well be dead.”

  His gaze ran over her, unsmiling. “You can’t always laugh your way through life.”

  “You can’t take it that seriously, either.”

  “Some things have to be taken seriously. If I went around laughing all day, my board of directors would have me committed.”

  “Yes, I’m afraid they would.” Somehow this conversation had got away from her. She had the feeling they weren’t discussing those other parents anymore.

  “Don’t you ever take anything seriously?”

  His question took her aback, but she replied quickly, “Of course I do. I’m very serious about my job.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.” Before he started breaking down and asking her to rescue him, he’d better get back to the business that had brought him here. The trouble was that, whenever she was around, business seemed to flee from his mind.

  “Although I know Walter Stevenson thinks I’m a menace.”

  A small grim smile curved his mouth. “True, but you must admit some of your ideas have backfired spectacularly.”

  She nodded with regret. “I don’t think he’s ever forgiven me for that boa constrictor.”

  “You can rest assured of that. He made quite a point of that incident.” Michael tapped a finger on the sheaf of papers in front of him.

  “What is that...enormous folder you have there?”

  “It’s your employee record. Walter personally compiled it with exhaustive thoroughness.”

  She sank her head to her hands. “Oh, no.” Then she looked up. “It’s...rather large, isn’t it?”

  He riffled through the densely written pages. “It certainly is...and damned heavy to carry around.”

  Obviously, Walter hadn’t missed anything. Did he keep track of her visits to the bathroom, too? Mind you, she’d managed to make things ten times worse in the brief period since meeting Michael. She had no defense.

  Then suddenly he slapped the folder closed, picked it up and dumped it in the wastebasket, where it landed with a satisfying thunk.

  Sabrina could only gape in shock.

  “However, accidents aside, I value creative enthusiasm and you seem to have it in abundance. It’s exactly what this store needs to survive.”

  “Thank you.” She was still stunned. What was Walter going to say?

  “You’re welcome.” He had to wrench his gaze away, trying to ignore the way the blue fabric of her dress clung and stretched across her small, rounded breasts. “I believe the grapevine around here is remarkably efficient. You probably know by now there’ll be extensive changes happening in the near future.” Back on familiar ground he felt more in control.

  What was the matter with him? Had he lost his wits? He’d been his own master for too long to fall prey to this kind of immature, schoolboy behavior. But that was just it—he wasn’t being himself. He’d gone through a lot in the past month, true, but that was no excuse.

  “I had heard something of the sort,” she murmured, but she was distracted by his movement as he leaned back in the chair and his jacket fell open. For a moment she allowed her gaze to dwell on his broad, firm chest, lovingly molded by the snowy white shirt.

  “I want to refocus the company image, starting by renovating the physical appearance of the store.” He pinned her with a direct blue gaze. “Now you’re probably wondering what all this has to do with you....”

  No, she was wondering what it would it be like to feel his firm, sensuous lips on hers. Would they be hard and demanding, or soft and persuasive? Cool like a
sip of sparkling wine, or warm and ardent. She was obsessed, that was it. Obsessed by this man, and it was completely silly.

  “I believe you’ve had some...difficulty getting your ideas across.”

  Taking a deep breath, she tried to rein in her galloping heartbeat. “They’ve been flatly turned down, actually.”

  “I spoke to Jonathan Kent. He had a lot of nice things to say about you.”

  “He did?” She met his speculative look and felt her pulse quicken again. Sitting up a little straighter, she made a determined effort to pull herself together. She must be nuts, finding a conversation like this sexy.

  “Jonathan showed me some of the proposals he’d had to veto because they were too radical for Worth’s. He thought they were brilliantly creative, and I agree. He says your talents are wasted in such a conservative environment. I agree with that, too. But we’re selfish enough to want to keep you here.”

  For the first time in her life she was actually speechless. “Thank you,” she managed to say at last.

  There was something so heartfelt about her reaction, it took him aback a little, and at the same time gave him an absurd sense of pleasure. It was foolhardy to feel this way about what was, after all, just a good business decision. But then, his feelings had nothing to do with the businessman in him.

  The last time he’d felt like this he’d been eighteen years old. My God, was this his midlife crisis already? Was he dwindling into some pathetic old character, grasping after his lost youth in this vibrant, alive young woman? Stick to business, Michael, before you make a mess of things.

  He took a deep breath and sat a little more upright in the chair, trying to focus on the matter at hand. “I need some ideas. The store needs a breath of fresh air, a whole new approach to display that will help build an image we can associate with the new Worth’s. From now on, I want you to bring your ideas directly to me.”

  Resting his long, tapered fingers on the battered oak surface of her desk, he leaned slightly toward her. With a small quiver, she remembered the latent strength of those warm fingers.

  “You mean I don’t have to run the gamut of old Stonewall Stevenson and the bedpan brigade—” She stopped abruptly, realizing what she’d said and who she’d said it to. But she looked up to find only an ironic glitter in his narrowed eyes. “I beg your pardon. I...”