Man Under the Mistletoe Page 6

  He held up a hand to stop her. “Everyone’s entitled to their opinion.” A sly smile quirked one corner of his mouth and that delectable dimple appeared to torment her. “I can only say that Walter is equally unflattering where you are concerned.”

  She grinned. “Fair enough.” Once again she’d opened her big mouth and put her foot in it, but Michael Worth was too much of a gentleman to make an issue out of it.

  “I’m also interested in seeing your files on the parade. Please have them sent up to my office.”

  He rose to his feet, and she did the same, feeling dwarfed by his height and his sheer physical presence in the confined space.

  With a quiet smile, she held out her hand across the desk. “Thank you, Mr. Worth, for this wonderful opportunity. You won’t be disappointed.”

  He took her hand and she suddenly felt shy and very small as his warm fingers closed around hers.

  “I’m sure I won’t be, Miss Cates. In matters of business I’m seldom wrong. I only hope your ideas are as creative as your turn of phrase.” Michael inclined his head toward her in a brief, jerky acknowledgment and gave her a searching look.

  He was still holding her hand. She slowly dropped her gaze to their clasped hands, then back up to his face again. As if in sudden realization, he let go of her fingers, his manner brisk and businesslike once more.

  “I’ll let you get back to...whatever it is you were doing on the floor.” Mocking amusement glimmered in the back of his eyes.

  He started for the door and she darted around the desk to open it for him. As he walked past, his eyes briefly held hers; then she closed the door behind him. She sagged against the frosted glass and let out a huge breath.

  Once again the memory flashed through her mind—the feel of him, hard and warm beneath his suit, the way her hand had molded to the contours of his chest. Just thinking about it made her knees shake.

  Enough.

  She’d always had a pretty philosophical approach to life and relationships. One day you turned a corner, met someone and something clicked. That didn’t mean it had to work out.

  After all, her previous relationships hadn’t. Granted, there were only two involvements she could call serious—one in college and one just after she joined Worth’s. Both guys were nice, but there had been no magic. She hadn’t felt whatever that feeling was that meant this was the man she wanted to spend her life with.

  Both relationships had dissolved by mutual consent and they’d gone their separate ways with no broken hearts. And right now she wasn’t looking. She didn’t believe in going out and hunting for love. That was desperation and she wasn’t desperate. She was happy with her life.

  If something was meant to be, then it would happen. But this time fate had really let her down. She couldn’t feel this way about Michael. The CEO of Worth’s was absolutely out of her league.

  Fate might dish out the choices, but it was up to her to make the best of them, and she prided herself on being too smart to make such a basic mistake.

  Then she remembered the reason for his visit and gave a little hop of glee, bebopping along to her desk, snapping her fingers and humming tunelessly. Finally she could let her imagination take flight! Fate had handed her this, too, and never in her wildest dreams had she expected an opportunity like this. And at Worth’s, of all places!

  Now she finally had a real challenge. She wanted to prove herself. She wanted to dazzle him.

  But impressing Michael Worth meant more than pandering to her libido. She didn’t want to end her life doing display windows. This could be the perfect stepping stone into the in-house marketing and advertising department where she could find real scope for her creativity. And after Worth’s, who knew? The sky was the limit.

  * * *

  MICHAEL PUNCHED the elevator button marked Up and shoved his hands in his trouser pockets, disturbed and distracted.

  Why did she fascinate him so much? She was young and pretty, but he knew many beautiful women. He wasn’t interested in getting involved with any of them, and they were far more suitable. For one thing, none of them was his employee.

  But the last thing he wanted or needed right now was a relationship with anyone. There was just too much to be done. And as for sex, that was easy enough to get without risking commitment, or disappointing anybody’s expectations. And even so, those times were very few and far between.

  But somehow he found Sabrina impossible to put out of his mind. Perhaps it was her attitude. She was carefree and so different.

  He found her delightful and intriguing, and it was beginning to worry him. Ever since meeting her his behavior had been alarming. Maybe Sybil’s death had affected him far more than he had acknowledged to himself.

  It was hard to mourn a woman who had never loved him, and actively discouraged him from loving her. And he couldn’t be a hypocrite and pretend guilt or remorse for that. But he wasn’t so stupid as to think that he could come out unscathed. He had a mountain of emotional baggage to deal with.

  God knows, his mother had left him a hell of a legacy: Worth’s, a tottering dinosaur on the verge of collapse. And, what he found hardest to forgive, a son who treated him like an unwelcome stranger.

  Maybe this attraction was some kind of bizarre repercussion. Perhaps his guilt over not feeling real grief had left him vulnerable and ripe to be charmed by a unique personality like Sabrina.

  But it was more than just charm. When was the last time he’d felt this lonely? He had always been alone—he was used to it—but she made him feel more keenly conscious of it than ever.

  The ping of the elevator brought him back to earth abruptly. He stepped in and punched the button for the top floor. He had to get a grip on reality. It was completely taboo to feel this way about a female employee.

  * * *

  THREE DAYS LATER, at precisely 8:58 p.m., the elevator swept Sabrina silently up to the top floor, while she lectured herself on keeping calm. After all, if he didn’t like the designs she carried in her briefcase, that was okay—she had a million more ideas. But that didn’t stop her from meticulously checking her reflection in the mirrored walls and plucking tiny bits of fluff off her hot pink silk suit.

  It wasn’t just his opinion of her work that concerned her. As much as she hated to acknowledge it, she tingled with heady excitement at the thought of seeing Michael again, in spite of all those mental lectures that she was being foolish and asking for trouble.

  Stepping off the elevator, her feet sank into the plush carpet as she passed the empty reception desk. It was odd seeing it all deserted, but when she’d called Michael about the display proposals, he’d told her to come up at nine. She usually finished at five but, according to Anya, Michael practically lived in his office.

  Sabrina clasped the briefcase handle a little more tightly. Staying late was no inconvenience if it meant the opportunity to pitch her ideas directly to the CEO.

  When she walked into the outer office, she noticed Michael’s door standing slightly ajar. Through it she could hear a high, rapid voice that she recognized immediately. Colin. The words were indistinct, but there was no mistaking his fury.

  Feeling awkward, she moved to step back into the reception area just as he burst out of his father’s office. He paused and looked at her for a moment, his young face sullen and pale with rage, then brushed past her.

  She turned to see Michael standing in his office doorway, anger burning in his face, but as he watched his son push through the outer doors his eyes filled with a bleak expression that gave her an unexpected jolt of pain. They held the unutterable frustration and worry of a loving parent at his wits’ end. It was the first sign of vulnerability she’d seen him betray. The first time she’d seen him in less than total control.

  Then he turned and saw her, and instantly the hard mask was back in place, so completely, she could almost believe she’d imagined that pain. But she hadn’t. A sudden longing surged through her; she wanted to put her arms around him, to hold him close a
nd comfort him.

  “Sabrina, I’m sorry to have kept you waiting. Won’t you please come in?”

  He was using her first name. The sound of it on his lips gave her an unreasonable thrill. He stood aside to let her walk into the office and, as she passed, his warm, masculine scent enveloped her in a momentary embrace.

  She paused uncertainly in the middle of the room. It was lit only by the soft glow of the green-shaded banker’s lamp on his desk and another lamp on the oak credenza against one wall. Behind the desk the nighttime city skyline lay, a million tiny jewels of light.

  “Won’t you please take a seat.” Cool and formal, his tone held no trace of the turmoil she’d seen in his expression a moment before.

  She sank down into the Queen Anne chair in front of his desk, her legs faintly trembling, her heart racing. It seemed she’d better get used to this feeling whenever Michael was near.

  “So what do you have for me?”

  As he walked past her to take his seat, just the sound of his husky voice in the quiet room sent a painful shiver over her sensitized skin. She opened her briefcase, ruthlessly willing herself to ignore the tremors still shuddering through her. She had to get control of herself. That feeling was strictly off-limits.

  Pulling out the small folder of sketches, she slid it across the desk to him, forcing herself to meet his look with an equally dispassionate gaze. As he reached for the portfolio, his eyes stayed on her while he opened the folder and began pulling out her drawings. She thought her face would crack from the strain of maintaining a neutral expression.

  Finally he looked down and slowly began leafing through the sketches. A tiny sigh escaped her lips. One more hurdle passed.

  This feeling wasn’t something she could take lightly anymore. There had been nothing sexual about that surge of compassion she had felt for him, but it was more frightening than all her wayward fantasies put together. Michael affected her in a way that was out of her control.

  Even now she couldn’t stop watching his face, her gaze tracing over the strong jawline, the high cheekbones, straight dark brows drawn together in concentration as he carefully perused each sketch. That stray lock of hair had flopped onto his brow again, she noticed, and felt a disturbing wave of tenderness.

  Suddenly he looked up and caught her watching him. For a moment his eyes narrowed; then his expression cleared and he gave her a small smile. “Good work.”

  The quiet words of praise gave her an inordinate rush of pride, out of all proportion to the cause. “You mean you like them?”

  Looking at her perched anxiously on the chair, he was suddenly acutely aware that they were all alone, aware of the slow, throbbing heat coursing through him because she was close enough that he could smell her delicate floral scent.

  He nodded. She roused his curiosity, but there was something else underneath all that, a nameless longing he didn’t want to examine too closely.

  “You really liked them?”

  He couldn’t prevent a smile at her exuberance as he drank in the play of soft lamplight on her smooth, silken hair. She was so vibrant, so fresh and alive. She lit up the staid world that was Worth’s—his staid world.

  Sabrina watched in fascination as one dark brow raised a fraction. The firm line of his mouth quirked in one corner and the dimple fluttered as he looked into her eyes; then that slow hint of gentle irony crept into his soft voice. “I really liked them.”

  “Oh...” was all she could manage. But her pleasure was tinged with fear. It might be impossible for her to work with this man at all. How could she cope with these feelings and hope to conceal them?

  All at once she realized that she was leaning forward in the chair, betraying her expectant anxiety. She slowly leaned back and tried to look assured and casual, but her eyes were still caught in his clear, direct and lightly mocking gaze.

  “I’ll have Anya set up a meeting with you, Jonathan and myself. We have a lot to discuss. In fact the timing couldn’t be better. Perry St. John-Smythe, Director of Promotions in London, will be coming over soon. We’ll schedule it for then.” As he spoke, he flipped open the leather-bound calendar on his desk and penciled something in.

  Things happened with Michael around, and they happened fast. Even in a few short weeks he’d made substantial changes to the store. And now this. His decisiveness took her breath away.

  “Perhaps you could leave your sketches with me so I can look them over at my leisure.” The sound of his voice was like warm velvet against her flesh, sending a molten surge of heat through her. And when he looked up, it seemed her heart stopped beating for a moment.

  “No problem.” She tried to sound light and airy, but her low, throaty voice betrayed her.

  His eyes were glittering and intense. The silence lengthened around them. They were all alone up here. Just her and Michael. And something hummed in the air between them. Awareness. And it wasn’t just her. He felt it, too. She knew it.

  As if he were reaching out and actually touching her, she became aware of the slow, throbbing heat coursing through her. Mind, body, emotion, helplessly caught up in something over which she had no control.

  His eyes searched her face and all at once she felt painfully exposed. She must be an open book—all the emotions he inspired laid bare for him to see.

  Unable to hold his gaze a second longer, she lunged for her briefcase and moved it onto her lap, clasping the handles tightly. But still he watched her, and her mouth went dry.

  She swallowed, trying to keep her voice even. “Was there anything else, Mr. Worth?”

  After a small silence he murmured, “No, you may go.” But something in his eyes said Stay.

  No. Either she was mistaken, and projecting her fantasy wishes on him, or he had seen through her flimsy facade and was responding like any red-blooded man to a woman throwing herself at him.

  She rose so abruptly, the chair tipped backward on the carpet. “In that case I’ll say good-night.” She could hear the shameful tremor in her voice.

  Michael slowly got to his feet, his eyes still on her stricken face. Now that small derisive smile returned as she hurriedly righted the chair. She couldn’t look at him any longer. She might as well have come straight out and said, I want you.

  As she turned to go, his voice stopped her. “What are you doing working so late on a Friday night?”

  She turned back to see him still standing behind the desk, his face in shadow, his eyes faintly glittering in the gloom.

  Sabrina shrugged, feeling much too vulnerable to her own wayward emotions. “You asked me to be here.”

  She heard a soft chuckle. “My God, you only work till five.” His lips curved in a smile. “Why didn’t you say so?” he murmured, low and intimate.

  Oh, God, this wasn’t her imagination. “It didn’t really matter. I found plenty to do.”

  “Do you find your work that fulfilling, my loyal Miss Cates?” The gentle mockery in his voice did nothing to quell the little rush of pleasure at being called his Miss Cates.

  “Yes. I enjoy my work,” she said, a trifle too defensively, conscious of him watching her, eyes dark and shadowy in the dim light. The simple and lowering truth was, she’d do just about anything he asked her to.

  “But it’s after nine o’clock on a Friday night. Don’t you date?”

  She blinked, then stared at him in astonishment. “I beg your pardon?” That was the last question she’d expected him to ask.

  “You’re too young to be burying yourself in your work.”

  “I don’t bury myself in my work, and of course I date! Just because I don’t have one tonight doesn’t mean I don’t date.” She was so rattled, she was babbling and overly defensive, but she didn’t want him thinking she was some kind of lonely, pathetic spinster!

  “But what about all the other nights you work late?”

  “How do you know about those?”

  “There’s not much around here I don’t know...now.” He gave her a probing look that made
her feel scrutinized right down to her soul. The heat of awareness, growing stronger every second, singed a path right through her.

  “What about you? Why don’t you have a date tonight?” She had a choice. She could either cower in defense, or go on the attack.

  “I don’t have time to date.”

  “What about your friend?”

  “My friend?” He gave her a puzzled look and she wished she could just drop the whole thing, but she’d come too far now and he was waiting to be enlightened.

  “The woman—I mean, your friend in the limo the other evening.” Somebody really should cut out her tongue! But that pair of legs had haunted her dreams. Who was that woman Michael was close to?

  His expression cleared, and once again there was that hint of derision in his smile. “Oh, you mean Katherine.”

  Yes, Katherine. She realized with a sense of shock that she was intensely jealous of Katherine. And all she was so far was a pair of legs and a name.

  “We’re old friends. She kindly stepped into the breach when I needed an escort. I was meeting a potential new supplier for dinner and he was bringing his wife along.”

  “Oh, I see.” She kept on doing it! Putting her foot in it, or laying her most embarrassing thoughts bare for him to trample on.

  Even through the gloom she could feel his keen eyes probing hers. “Katherine is particularly good in those sorts of situations. She’s done a lot of business entertaining for her father.”

  “Oh...”

  “As for dating, my work consumes me and I like it that way.”

  The low, dispassionate statement had the definite ring of a door clanging shut, but she couldn’t hold back the barbed mimicry. “Aren’t you too young to be burying yourself in your work?”

  “I’ve never been too young,” he said lightly, but his mouth twisted in self-mockery on the words, and suddenly she saw through him, through all the trappings of power, to the deep core of loneliness. That was the essence of him. That was what held him apart.