Man Under the Mistletoe Page 8

  The cold derision in his voice brought a flush to her cheeks and a sharp pain to her chest, but like it or not, she was involved.

  “However...perhaps...” She faltered, not wanting to meet the expression in his eyes. “There are better and worse ways of broaching certain things.”

  “In other words, I acted like a jerk.”

  “I didn’t say that,” she put in quickly, meeting his cold challenge and feeling as if she were walking on quicksand. Getting caught between father and son was the last thing she wanted, but she was being dragged in, willy-nilly. “And I’m not trying to tell you how to deal with your son. I was just trying to help, but...it’s none of my business,” she finished lamely, wishing with all her heart that she hadn’t been put in this miserable position.

  He fixed her with a long unreadable look. When he finally spoke, his tone was formal, dismissive. “I’m sorry you had to be bothered with all this.”

  He went to follow his son, but some mad urge impelled her to reach out and stop him with a hand on his arm. A warm tingling spread from her fingertips and settled in her abdomen.

  “I know how difficult this must be for you, but I think you’re on the right track.”

  He looked down at her hand and then gently, but firmly, removed it. “I don’t need your pity.”

  His eyes glinted dark blue steel as they held hers; then he walked out, leaving her aching from that absolute rejection, and more unnerved than she could ever remember being.

  Even after she closed the door, she couldn’t erase the last glimpse of Michael’s face. Under all that anger and hardness lay a depth of pain and loneliness that would go on haunting her, even in her dreams.

  * * *

  FOR THE NEXT TWO WEEKS she didn’t see much of Michael, except from a distance. He was everywhere, overseeing the renovations.

  They’d stripped the columns of the tacky mirrors that some bright spark in the sixties had probably thought were really groovy, cleaned the grime of decades from the molded plaster and regilded the Corinthian capitals, as they had been back in the twenties. At the same time all the battered parquet floors were being ripped up and replaced by beautiful verdigris Italian marble.

  Michael kept a close eye on the work in progress, but when she did see him striding down the aisles, that dark head never turned in her direction. Although she carried the memory of that night at her house like a weight in her heart, the chances were that he’d already forgotten her role in that exchange with his son. After all, she meant nothing to him, had no part in his life.

  But now, as she stood beside him in Worth’s suburban warehouse, which housed the parade floats, once again she was hit with that sledgehammer awareness.

  The familiar sounds of sawing and banging, and the calls of the workmen filled her ears. The smell of glue and freshly cut wood met her nostrils. Sunlight came pouring in, illuminating brilliantly colored floats.

  Yet she was much more aware of Michael keeping pace beside her as they walked down the aisle between the floats. The heat of his body, that tangible energy emanating from him. There was no getting away from the effect he had on her.

  He paused and looked curiously at a bright yellow crescent made of cut foam.

  “The Cow Jumps Over the Moon,” she rushed to explain. If she kept her eyes on her floats, on anything but him, maybe she could cut through the sensual haze that seemed to envelop her in his presence.

  Remember, kiddo, she told herself, he’s your boss, and showing him the parade floats under construction was part of her job. She wasn’t here to indulge in reckless fantasies.

  “And there’s the cow.” Looking up from the yellow-painted moon, she pointed above their heads to a life-size Guernsey that hung suspended from the ceiling. “This year we’re doing nursery rhymes and fairy tales. And over there—” she pointed to the wooden frame of a small house, where a workman was draping the roof with cardboard painted to resemble red tiles “—The Farmer in the Dell.”

  From the corner of her eye she watched Michael walk around the half-finished structure. In his pale gray suit, snowy white shirt and perfect grooming he looked conspicuously out of place in this blue-collar environment. Out of place and very sexy. Surely there was some law against looking so wonderful.

  “It looks good, doesn’t it?” He ran a keen, critical glance over the hillbilly shack, and a surprised smile broke out on his face, a carefree curve of his mouth that made the dimple crease his cheek.

  She nodded as a shudder went through her in response to that intoxicating smile. God, this was going to be so hard.

  “Takes you back,” she murmured in a desperate effort to make conversation and take her mind off her own reaction.

  He looked perplexed. “To what?”

  “Childhood, of course,” she said with a stilted laugh.

  “Maybe yours. Not my childhood.” He gave a slight shake of his head and turned away toward the float.

  The quiet matter-of-fact words left her wondering. What kind of a mother had Sybil been? Had he been a child at all? Compassion welled up in her. From all that she’d seen and heard, Sybil Worth had been a coldhearted autocrat. Her adored Colin had been the only one who seemed to have the power to thaw her.

  “What have we got here?” Michael’s husky voice brought her back to earth and she found him looking up at a towering castle, complete with turrets and colorful pennants.

  “Ah! This is my piàgece de résistance.”

  She stepped over to a man wielding a paintbrush, putting in highlights and shadows in various shades of gray. “Hi, Harry. How’s it going?”

  “Just fine.” He added a few more artful brush strokes and suddenly a block of granite materialized on the canvas. “Looks pretty good now, doesn’t it?”

  “It sure does.” She turned to Michael with a conspiratorial smile. “This is the original Cinderella float from the forties.” It gave her a rush of pleasure and excitement to see how well it was taking shape. She walked around it, running a critical eye over the old float. “Isn’t it great? I dug it out of the back of the warehouse last spring. A lot of the canvas had rotted and the wooden frame needed a bit of repair, but that was all. It’s going to be fabulous. Just wait till you see it with the prince and Cinderella! Brocade and velvet and spangles...”

  “It looks great. Everything looks great.”

  Something in his voice brought her gaze back to him. He was watching her with a warm admiration that made her feel intensely self-conscious.

  She smiled shyly. “Thank you. It’s a lot of fun, and so rewarding. I love to watch the faces, kids and adults alike, when the parade goes by.” She probably sounded like a sentimental idiot, but she couldn’t help herself.

  He shot her a swift curious look, then focused on the large, bright red brick wall on his right that, at closer inspection, proved to be made of painted foam.

  “Humpty Dumpty.” She supplied the explanation with her gaze fixed on the wall, intensely conscious of Michael close beside her.

  She heard him sigh and turned to see him looking down at her, his brow furrowed in a troubled frown, a dark, unreadable expression filling his eyes.

  “Sabrina, about that unpleasant scene at your house...”

  She turned away, wishing he hadn’t brought it up. She couldn’t think about her meddling without feeling embarrassed. It wasn’t her place to say anything about the problems between him and Colin, much less give him advice about child rearing.

  “I see you’re still angry with me about it.”

  She spun around in surprise. “Angry with you? Of course not!” His searching expression was hard to meet, and her gaze dropped until she was examining the toes of her cream pumps. “I’m the one who should be apologizing. For sticking my nose in.”

  “It’s a very nice nose.” At his quiet, intimate tone she looked up to see a rueful smile. “It’s not hard to see why Colin would go to you instead of me.”

  There was no mistaking the warm intimacy in his voice a momen
t before, and her heart was still doing flip-flops in her chest. “He thought he’d get a sympathetic ear, but I’m afraid all he got from me was an earful.”

  “Poor Colin.” But his smile was full of warm admiration.

  “Poor Michael.” The words tumbled out before she could stop them.

  “Why do you say that?” The smile faded and he was watching her closely.

  Once again she had talked herself into a corner. “I...I know Colin’s behavior must be hard to cope with.”

  “Don’t feel too sorry for me.” His mouth twisted in self-contempt. “I made my bed, and now I have to lie in it.”

  Once again, he didn’t want her pity. But he had aroused her curiosity even more. Then he turned to her and smiled, and suddenly she was forcibly reminded of all those unsettling feelings always simmering beneath the surface, and why that curiosity was a dangerous thing to indulge.

  A slow-burning fire was spreading through her from deep inside, a nameless emotion she couldn’t identify. And with it a slight chill descended on her.

  Somehow she had crossed the line into completely new territory. This was no longer just a physical attraction she could tease herself with. Her feelings were becoming much too intense for comfort.

  * * *

  FOR THE NEXT FEW WEEKS, however, she had a welcome respite while Michael went back to the London store. The days crawled by and then he returned, and all those feelings she had thought doused by the passage of time were back full force.

  As he’d promised, he’d brought Perry St. John-Smythe, the Director of Promotions from London, back with him to see the renovations in progress and to meet with her and Jonathan.

  The meeting had been very successful, in spite of her distraction. She’d come to the gloomy realization that as long as Michael was around, it was something she’d have to learn to cope with. But even as he sat behind his desk listening silently to the proceedings, he’d been a more compelling presence than either of the two men flaning her. And they were both pretty high-powered individuals—not exactly chopped liver. But with Michael around...

  She hurried toward the door to catch up with Jonathan when Perry’s voice stopped her.

  “So, Sabrina, would it be too pushy of me to ask you to show me around this lovely city of yours?”

  She turned to see his smiling hazel eyes on her, as they had been incessantly since she met him for the first time that morning. Her gaze instinctively flew to Michael sitting behind his desk, watching impassively, giving no clue what he thought of Perry’s obvious interest.

  With his upper-crust name, and his responsible position, she’d expected some sort of toffee-nosed, bowler-topped stereotype of an Englishman. But the blond, good-looking Perry had proved to be in his early thirties and dressed with fashionable dash, without in any way sacrificing his masculinity.

  Michael still gave no response. What did she expect? A display of possessiveness?

  “Sure, I’d love to,” she said quickly, wrenching her gaze away to focus on Perry.

  She cared far too much about what Michael might think and feel. She sternly reminded herself that it didn’t matter. She had to stop thinking about Michael, period. Perhaps showing Perry around would offer a distraction.

  “That’s super.” He grinned and turned to Michael. “Knowing what a decent chap you are, I know you’ll give Sabrina the rest of the day off so we can start now.”

  “Oh...I...um...I don’t think so,” she interjected, feeling very embarrassed.

  “Go ahead.” Michael cut her off acerbically. He turned to Perry. “I think we could spare Sabrina for a few hours.”

  She bridled a little at the high-handed way they were arranging her time. Obviously she was expected to go along with it.

  “Thanks a bundle.” She didn’t try very hard to suppress the hint of sarcasm in her voice. Perry didn’t seem to notice, but she saw Michael’s raised eyebrow.

  Perhaps this was just what she needed. For the past few weeks she’d been trapped in this miserable self-imposed prison of her own emotions, her mind always revolving around Michael. She needed to forget about him, at least for a few hours, and refused to acknowledge the thought that, with the two men being close friends, she might learn more about him from Perry.

  “Great.” Perry came over and cupped her elbow. “But let’s not hang around here, in case he changes his mind.”

  A quick glance at Michael found him watching her once more, with that unrevealing stare.

  “Well, then, let’s go.” She tried to contain the sudden rise of irritation. What did she expect him to say? You can’t go out with her because she’s mine?

  As she turned to go, she heard Perry murmur behind her back. “Thanks, old boy, I owe you one. Don’t wait up for me.”

  Her mouth curled with a grim smile. Whatever Perry might have in mind, the only good time she intended to show him was a tour of the city sights.

  * * *

  THE NEXT MORNING, Sabrina bolted off the elevator at the executive suite, ten minutes late for her 9:00 a.m. meeting. How could she have forgotten to set her alarm?

  But it had been nearly one when she fell into bed, exhausted from showing Perry the town. Given his enthusiastic interest, she’d been rather glad about her previously arranged dinner date with Anya. She’d sensed the disappointment under Perry’s polite charm, but over dinner he and Anya had quickly taken to each other. By the time she called it a night, they were heading off together to enjoy the nightlife on Queen Street.

  She dashed into the boardroom to find Michael, Jonathan and Perry already seated at the long, gleaming table.

  “I’m sorry I’m late,” she said breathlessly, and closed the heavy door behind her.

  “I’m surprised you managed to make it at all after your...satisfying evening.” There was a slight restraint in Michael’s manner, an edge to his voice that gave her a moment’s pause, but she felt too tired to put much trust in her perceptions.

  She sank into the high-backed old chair next to Jonathan. Perry sat across the table and she noticed that he looked even more tired than she felt. There were dark shadows under his eyes and she was positive he was wearing the same suit and tie as the day before.

  Despite her best intentions, during their time together, she’d found herself asking him about Michael. It had turned out that they had met while attending Oxford, and were close enough friends that he was staying at Michael’s house. All he basically told her was that Michael lived and breathed Worth’s, but she already knew that.

  “Jonathan, perhaps you can start by bringing us up to date...”

  Without further ado, Michael began the meeting. First thing in the morning and he looked as sharp and dynamic as always in his navy suit and crisp white shirt, exuding power and vitality in tangible waves. The formal attire that made other men look stuffy made him look sexy.

  It also made her even more conscious of how hurriedly she had thrown on her white damask suit and rushed to work.

  Throughout the meeting, she kept noticing his eyes on her, filled with a brooding intensity that made her acutely uncomfortable. It was so difficult to concentrate on what the others were saying that she knew she’d have to ask Jonathan for a recap later.

  Finally it was over and they rose to leave. But as she reached the door, Michael’s cool voice stopped her. “Sabrina, would you stay for a moment, please? I’d like a word with you.”

  Perry and Jonathan filed past her and the door closed behind them. Slowly she turned toward Michael, feeling once more that now-familiar electric tingle in her limbs, the awareness of being alone with him that made it so difficult to concentrate on anything else.

  He stood staring out the window, his back to her. She returned to the chair she had just vacated. When he turned, his face was a grim mask. A quiver of alarm shot through her. What could have happened to change Michael into this hard-faced stranger?

  “Did you have a good time last night?”

  She stared at him for a moment, tr
ying to correlate the look on his face with the innocuous question. “It was fun,” she answered slowly.

  “Fun,” he repeated, with a mocking laugh. “Just fun? Perry must be losing his touch.”

  Shock reverberated through her. There was no denying now the latent fury in every harsh syllable. She’d sensed it from the moment she’d walked into the room, but had attributed her unease to tiredness, anxiety and to the overzealous need to be tuned in to him.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  He stepped toward her with an insolent expression as he stood by his chair at the head of the table. “Perry prides himself on his sexual prowess. I think he’d be most insulted that you found him merely fun.”

  His words made her go cold. “What exactly do you mean?”

  “I mean, I would expect you to be more euphoric. Is that why you were late? You hadn’t come back down to earth yet?”

  “I don’t like what you’re implying.”

  “Perhaps you thought I wouldn’t find out. Did you forget Perry was staying with me? He didn’t even make it home to change this morning.”

  “So you assumed he’d been with me!”

  “A natural enough assumption, seeing you’d spent the day together.”

  It was the final painful irony. She’d spent the whole evening unable to stop thinking that she would rather be with him! Perry might be handsome and charming, but now that Michael had entered her heart, no other man would do.

  “I see.” A surge of anger momentarily overwhelmed her pain. “But I still don’t understand why we’re discussing this. What does it have to do with you?”

  His jaw tightened; one hand gripped the top of his chair until the knuckles went white. “I thought I’d made it quite clear.” The icy voice was low and controlled, too controlled. “Even though he’s only here for a short time, he’s still an employee of Worth’s and so are you. Business and personal relationships don’t mix.”

  “Does that mean personal relationships aren’t allowed?”

  “What do you think?”

  She ignored the question with a cold, steely look. “Is this company policy? Does it say in the book of rules somewhere that employees can’t have personal relationships with each other?”