The Bridal Suite

He was smiling so hard it looked as if his ears might start glowing, and why wouldn’t he? Anderson was looking at him as if he were St. George standing over the dead body of the dragon when, in reality, the guy looked as if a strong breeze might blow him over.

One corner of Griffin’s mouth turned down. This was the Anderson babe’s sort of man, all right. A guy she could lead around by the nose. Somebody who’d never want her to dance for him on a deserted stretch of sand, while the moon looked down and the drums pulsed out a beat that matched the fire in his blood...

“Griffin? Griffin, are you all right?”

Griffin pulled back from the edge of the precipice and looked across at Cynthia. “Yes,” he said calmly. “Yes, I’m perfectly fine.”

And he was.

It was just curiosity that had him wondering what could be keeping Dana Anderson’s attention so tightly focused on the man she was with.

“You aren’t eating, Dana. Is something wrong with your fish?”

Dana sighed. Arthur was looking at her with concern. Well, no wonder. She’d called and asked him to meet her for lunch, and now she was sitting here like a piece of wood, saying nothing, doing nothing, just watching her own grim reflection in the lenses of his horn-rimmed glasses.

“No,” she said, forcing a smile to her lips. “No, the fish is fine, Arthur. Just fine.”

It was fine. She assumed so, anyway, because the truth was that she hadn’t eaten enough of it to know. It was just that Portofino served fish complete with head and tail. The tail didn’t bother her but the head was another story. The finny creature lay draped across her plate on a bed of something that looked suspiciously like kelp, its thin mouth turned down, its glassy eye turned up and fixed on the cherubim painted on the gilded ceiling.

Dana repressed a shudder. She’d never been good with food that looked as if it might get up and walk off her plate—or swim off, as the case might be. Besides, if this morning’s runin with McKenna had dimmed her appetite, the atmosphere in Portofino had finished it off completely.

She’d had no idea the place dealt in such overblown decor. If she had, she’d never have suggested it.

No wonder poor Arthur kept looking at her that way, with a little smile on his lips and his gaze expectant and misty behind his horn-rims. Her phone call, her choice of words, even her choice of restaurants, must have convinced him that romance was in the air.

Dana cleared her throat, lay her knife and fork across her plate, and folded her hands in her lap.

“Arthur,” she said gently, “I’m afraid I may have misled you.”

“I knew it,” he said, “you really don’t like the fish! Where is our waiter? I’ll ask him to bring you something else.”

Dana sat forward and put her hand on his. “The fish isn’t the problem.”

Arthur’s brows lifted. “It isn’t?”

“The problem’s...” She frowned. McKenna, was what she’d thought. But what she’d almost said was, me. Me, you, us, Arthur. We’re just not right for each other.

But it wasn’t true. They were right for each other, it was only that she was in an insane mood today. Just look at how she’d treated that poor custodian. She owed him an apology, and she’d give it to him first thing this afternoon, but right now, she was going to let Arthur help her get back on an even track.

He could do it, if anyone could.

“The problem,” she said, clearing her throat, “is Griffin McKenna.”

Arthur blinked. Just for a moment, it made him bear an uncanny resemblance to her glassy-eyed fish.

“Your employer? My dear Dana, I don’t understand. What has he to do with our lunch?”

“Nothing, Arthur. He has to do with me. With my job, with my self-respect, with my responsibilities at Data Bytes.” She drew back her hand and sat upright “You cannot imagine how much I despise that man.”

Arthur sighed. “My dear Dana—”

“Do you think you could stop saying that?”

“Saying what, my dear?”

Dana forced a smile to her lips. “Nothing. I’m sorry. I just—I’ve had a bad morning, that’s all. My nerves are shot. That’s why I called you. I need your advice.”

“You need...” Arthur’s smile dimmed just a little, then brightened again. “I’m at your disposal, of course.”

“There’s a problem at work, with my boss and the code we’ve been working on. I tried to tell McKenna about it, but he wouldn’t listen.”

“That’s surprising, Dana. Griffin McKenna is a brilliant strategist. According to the Journal...”

“The Journal doesn’t bother mentioning that he’s a pompous ass! I hate working for him.” Dana paused. “So, I’m asking for your opinion.”

Arthur’s bow tie rode up and down his Adam’s apple. “I’m flattered, my dear.”

“Should I start looking for another job?”

“Well, if you ask me—”

“Or should I ride it out? McKenna won’t stay at Data Bytes forever, but Dave Forrester probably will.”

“True. And—”

“But, if I quit, what kind of references would I get?”

“An excellent ques—”

“On the other hand, what can I accomplish by staying on? Forrester’s just going to keep screwing up and McKenna’s going to keep treating me as if I’m a troublemaker.”

“I see. If you think—”

“He’ll fire me anyway, when the new code blows up tomorrow. But if I quit before then, he’ll think he forced me out.” Dana’s eyes narrowed. “I refuse to give him that satisfaction.”

“Well,” Arthur said quickly, “if you really want my opinion—”

“I might not need references. I know lots of people in this business. I could find a job, a better job, then tell McKenna what he can do with this one!”

“True. But—”

“But that would be giving in. And I won’t do that. I’ll never do that!” Dana seized Arthur’s hand. “Oh, I’m so glad I asked your advice! Thank you for helping me come to a logical decision.”

Arthur blinked. “Ah...you’re very welcome.”

“You’re wonderful, you know. You’re so clear-headed.”

A pink glow suffused Arthur’s cheeks. His fingers tightened on hers, and he leaned forward until his bow tie lay nestled among the daisies and tea roses that separated them from each other.

“Thank you, my dear.”

“Thank you.”

Beaming with delight, Arthur lifted her hand to his lips.

“Monsieur.” The waiter favored them with the hint of a smile. “Would you and mademoiselle care for some café and dessert? Some sorbet, perhaps, or an excellent tarte...”

“Nothing, thank you,” Dana said. She smiled at Arthur as she rose to her feet. “I feel rejuvenated, thanks to you, Arthur. And I’m really eager to get back to work.”

Cynthia was talking, something about a luncheon she’d attended with his mother. Griffin was trying to pay attention, but how could he, after that incredible display? The Bow Tie had kissed Anderson’s band, and she’d given him a thousand-watt smile in return.

Anderson rose to her feet. So did the Bow Tie. And they headed straight in his direction.

Griffin’s jaw tightened. He tossed his napkin on the table and shoved back his chair.

“Griffin?” Cynthia said.

Anderson was holding the guy’s arm as they came down the aisle, looking at him as if he were the only man alive.

“Griffin?” Cynthia asked, “are we leaving already?”

Griffin stepped away from the table, folded his arms and waited. The estimable Ms. Anderson was still chattering away, smiling brightly, her head tilted toward the Bow Tie.

Griffin felt a tightness in his belly. She had never looked at him like that. Not that he’d want her to, but still, it was infuriating. She’d given him the kind of look you gave tapioca pudding when you had it shoved in front of you. How come she was gazing at Bow Tie and damn near glowing?

“...Don’t know what I’d do without you,” she was saying. “You’re so good for me.”

They were going to walk right into him. Griffin almost smiled as he anticipated her shock. But at the last second, Bow Tie pulled his adoring gaze from Anderson’s face, looked up, and saw Griffin standing, immobile, directly in their path.

To say he blanched was to be kind. The guy turned as white as paper.

“Mr. McKenna!”

Anderson nodded. “That’s right,” she said. “That’s all you hear around the office. Mr. McKenna this and Mr. McKenna that, spoken in such hushed tones that, frankly, sometimes I just want to—”

“Now, now,” Griffin said coolly. His lips curved into a tight smile as she skidded to a dead stop not more than six inches off his chest. “Be careful what you say, Ms. Anderson. We’re in a public place, after all.”

Dana’s heart slammed into her throat. “You,” she croaked as she looked into the scowling face towering above her.

“Indeed, Ms. Anderson. What a small world.”

Dana’s thoughts were whirling. McKenna? And a woman who looked as if she’d just stepped out of the fashion pages? But that was impossible. She’d chosen this restaurant with such care! McKenna wasn’t supposed to be here.

And why didn’t he step back? Why didn’t Arthur step back? Then, at least, she’d have room to breathe. She wouldn’t have to stand so close to McKenna’s hard body that she had to tilt her head at a neck-breaking angle just so she could look him in the eye.

“Introduce us,” Arthur hissed in her ear.

“Did you enjoy your meal, Ms. Anderson?”

“Dana,” Arthur whispered, “please. Intro—”

“What are you doing here?” Dana said.

Griffin’s scowl deepened. “Having lunch, Ms. Anderson. And you?”

“I don’t mean what are you doing here, Mr. McKenna, I mean...” God! What did she mean? Dana straightened her shoulders. “Excuse me,” she said coldly, “but I’d like to get by.”

“Oh, I’m sure you would.”

“Mr. McKenna. I am on my lunch hour.”

McKenna’s brows rose. “Is that a fact,” he said pleasantly.

Dammit all, why didn’t Arthur step back and give her some room? Dana shoved her elbow into Arthur’s middle and shot him an angry look, but he didn’t notice. How could he, when he was staring at Griffin McKenna with the look of a deer caught in the headlights?

Dana firmed her jaw, stepped back and planted her foot firmly on Arthur’s toes. That made him move, all right, not much but enough so that now she didn’t have to inhale faint whiffs of McKenna’s cologne with every breath she took.

“It is,” she said. “And now, if you’ll excuse us, Mr. McKenna, I’ll see you back at the office.”

Griffin nodded. “Indeed you shall, Miss—oh, sorry—Ms. Anderson.”

How could the man make the correction of her name sound like an insult? Dana’s cheeks burned as she maneuvered past him and headed for the door.

Arthur stepped in front of her when they reached the sidewalk.

“Why didn’t you introduce me, Dana?”

She glared past him, at the restaurant, as if McKenna might materialize at any moment.

“The nerve of him,” she said, “the damned nerve!”

“You should have introduced us. It was a wonderful oppor—”

“Did you see him? Did you see him?”

“Of course, I saw him.”

“Don’t be dense, Arthur. I mean, did you see him? The way he stood there, with that look on his face!”

“What must he be thinking? Common courtesy demands—”

“Courtesy is uncommon, Arthur, haven’t you figured that out yet?” Dana blew a strand of streaky blond hair out of her eyes. “And that woman with him. Miss Perfection.”

“Actually, I thought she was rather attrac—”

“The polite little smile. The perfect hair. The elegant suit. The la-di-da air.”

Arthur frowned in bewilderment. “La-di-da air?”

“So ladylike. So unruffled. So—so unthreatening, to the master’s masculinity!”

“Dana, really, I fail to see what you’re so upset about.”

“That’s just the point, Arthur. You fail to see, but that’s because...because...”

Because what? What was she so upset about? McKenna had been in the same restaurant as she’d been, he’d been having lunch with a beautiful woman. So what?

“If I have to explain it,” she said loftily, “there’s no point. Goodbye, Arthur. Thank you for lunch.”

She swept past him, chin lifted, and started toward the corner. Arthur stared after her for a couple of seconds before hurrying to catch up.

“Dana, my dear, let’s not quarrel.”

“We haven’t quarreled. I just don’t see how you can let yourself be taken in by Griffin McKenna.”

“I haven’t been taken in. I just...” Arthur sighed. “Never mind. Are we still on for dinner this evening?”

“Yes. No. I’m not sure. Why don’t you phone me later?”

“Dinner,” Arthur said more firmly than usual. “All right?”

Dana sighed. “All right,” she said. “I’ll see you at seven.”

Dave Forrester, who had not yet succumbed to his afternoon ration of vodka, was lounging in the doorway to Dana’s office when she returned. He greeted her with an enigmatic look.

“Had a good lunch, did you, Dana?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Forrester grinned. “Boss wants to see you.”

Dana didn’t reply. She turned and walked down the hall to McKenna’s office, telling herself as she did that she was not about to take any more nonsense from the man and telling herself, too, that it was a good thing she’d spoken with Arthur because now she was calm, she was very calm, and nothing Griffin McKenna did or said could get under her skin anymore.

Miss Macy greeted her with a look that mimicked Forrester’s. Were enigmatic looks the order of the day?

“Mr. McKenna is waiting for you, Miss Anderson.”

“It’s Ms.,” Dana said, and stepped into McKenna’s office. He was sitting behind his desk, looking the length of the room at her, like an emperor on his throne. “You wanted to see me, Mr. McKenna?”

“Shut the door please, Ms. Anderson.”

Dana complied, then faced him again. “Mr. McKenna. If this is about our bumping into each other at that restaurant—”

“Where you eat is no concern of mine. You may eat what you wish, where you wish, with whomever you wish.”

“How generous of you, sir,” Dana smiled sweetly. “In that case, what did you want to see me about?”

McKenna smiled, too, like a cat contemplating a cageful of canaries.

“You’re fired.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Fired, Ms. Anderson. As in, clean out your desk, collect your severance pay, and don’t come back.”

Fired? Fired? Dana’s vision blurred. All the logic of the last hour fled in the face of Griffin McKenna’s self-indulgent smile.

“You can’t fire me,” she snapped. “I quit!”

Griffin tilted back his chair and laced his hands behind his head.

“Have it your way, Ms. Anderson. Frankly, I don’t give a damn, just as long as we agree that you are no longer in my employ.”

Maybe it was the way he said it, in that know-it-all, holier-than-thou tone. Maybe it was the insufferable smile, or the way he tilted back that damn chair. All Dana knew was that, suddenly, she’d reached the breaking point.

She stomped across the room, snatched a stack of papers from his desk, and flung them high into the air.

“You,” she said, “are a complete, absolute, unmitigated jerk.”

Griffin looked at Dana. She was breathing as hard as if she’d just finished a five-mile run. Her eyes blazed with green fire, and she looked as if she could happily kill him.

Something in his belly knotted. Slowly, his eyes never leaving hers, he kicked back his chair, rose to his feet and came around the desk.

“And you,” he said, “are a woman in need of a lesson.”

“In what?” Dana said furiously. “In the fact that the world is owned by men like you?”

A dangerous smile curved across Griffin’s mouth. For the second time in her life, and the second time that afternoon, Dana wanted to step back. But she didn’t. To give way would have been a mistake.

Standing her ground turned out to be the bigger mistake. It meant that when Griffin reached for her, he had no trouble pulling her straight into his arms.

“In the fact that women have their uses, Ms. Anderson,” he said, and then he bent his head, laced his fingers into her hair, and kissed her.

CHAPTER THREE

IT WASN’T much of a kiss, as kisses went

No bells. No fireworks. No explosion of colors behind Dana’s closed eyelids.

Not that she’d deliberately shut her eyes. It had been reflex, that was all. And she certainly hadn’t expected bells or fireworks. That was the stuff of women’s novels, those silly books that were all fantasy.

It was only that somehow, when a man like Griffin McKenna kissed you, you thought—you sort of assumed—dammit, you expected...

Expected?

She hadn’t expected. That was just the point. McKenna had hauled her into his arms and sent her straight into shock. And that, plain and simple, was what he’d counted on.

Dana exploded into action, twisting free of McKenna’s grasp, balling her hand into a fist and whamming it into his middle. It was like pounding her knuckles against a rock but it was worth it. Oh, yes, it certainly was, just to see the look of astonishment spread across that too-handsome-for-its-own-good face.

“Hey,” he said, sounding indignant.

Dana’s blood pressure soared.

“Hey? Hey?” She jabbed her forefinger into his chest. It was steely, too, like his middle, so she jabbed again, a lot harder. “Is that all you have to say for yourself, you—you beetle-browed Neanderthal?”

“Now, wait just a—”

“How dare you, McKenna? How dare you kiss me?”

She paused for breath and Griffin opened his mouth, determined to get a word in while he could...and then he shut it again. She was waiting for an answer. She deserved an answer. Unfortunately, he didn’t have one.

Why had he kissed her? It was an excellent question. She’d stood there, glowering at him, drawing a line in the dust, so to speak, women on one side, men on the other. So what? You didn’t kiss a woman because she didn’t like men. You didn’t look at the sexual chip on her shoulder and see it as a dare.

On the other hand, that was damn well what it was. And facing down dares had been the story of his life, starting with the day he’d inherited his father’s fortune along with a note handed over by John McKenna’s embarrassed attorney, a note that had contained a line he’d never forget.

Here’s my fortune, Griffin, his father had written. I worked a lifetime to build it. How long will you take to waste it?

That challenge, even though it had been given by a man who’d never had time for his wife or son, had driven a knife into Griffin’s heart. But he’d risen to it, perhaps beyond it, and built an empire he was proud of, one that might even have impressed his father.

But what kind of dare was there in hauling an unwilling woman into your arms?

None. Absolutely none whatsoever. So, why had he done it?

Griffin frowned. Damned if he could come up with a reason. A lesson, he’d said, but what lesson? Not even he believed in all that old crap he’d spouted about a woman’s place being in the kitchen and in the bedroom.

Okay, so he didn’t like the kind of female who saw men as the enemy. Who eagerly awaited the day they could reproduce by cloning and let the opposite sex kill themselves off, trying to gather a harem.

That didn’t mean he belonged to the “knock ‘em in the head, toss ’em over your shoulder, drag ’em off to the cave” crowd, either—and yet, how else could you describe what he’d just done?

“Your silence is eloquent, McKenna.”

Griffin focused on Dana’s face, still flushed with anger.

“I take it to mean that even you are aware that the days are long gone when a man could get away with coming on to a woman as if they were both decked out in animal skins!”

Griffin’s frown deepened. She was right, that was the damnedest part. It was what had kept him from really kissing her, the sudden realization, once he’d had her in his arms, that there was absolutely no rational explanation for what he was doing, that the “Me man, you woman” thing had never held any appeal for him.

By God, much as he hated to admit it, he owed her an apology.

He cleared his throat.

“Miss Anderson—”

“Ms.,” she said, her tone frigid enough to freeze water. “Or are you memory-impaired, as well as hormonally imbalanced?”

A muscle ticked in Griffin’s jaw. “Ms. Anderson,” he said, telling himself to stay calm, “I suppose I—I mean, I guess, maybe—”

He couldn’t say it. Why should he apologize, when she was glowering at him as if he were something that had just crawled out from under a rock?

Because it’s the right thing to do, McKenna, that’s why.

Hell, he thought, and he thrust his hand into his hair, shoving the dark locks back from his forehead, and told himself to try again.

“Listen,” he said. “Listen, Ms. Anderson—”

“No,” Her eyes, those green, green eyes that could be so filled with heat one second and so icy cold the next, fixed on his. “No,” she repeated, punctuating each word with a poke to his sternum. “you listen, Mr. McKenna!”

Griffin caught hold of Dana’s wrist. “Ms. Anderson, if you’d just calm down—”

“Unhand me, Mr. McKenna!”

Unhand me? Griffin stifled a chuckle. It didn’t take a genius to know that laughter would only make her more furious, but hell, unhand me...

“I said...”

“I heard you,” He let go of her wrist, screwed his face into an expression he hoped would communicate apology, and started over. “Ms. Anderson, I’d like to tell you—”

“I’m not the least bit interested in anything you have to say, McKenna—but you might be interested in what I have to tell you,” She smiled, put her hands on her hips, and tilted back her head so that their eyes met. “In fact, I’m certain of it. It’s going to wipe that—that stupid grin right off your face!”

“Ms. Anderson. I can assure you, I am not grinning. I am not even smiling. If you’d just keep quiet for a minute and let me talk—”

Her index finger made another dent in the front of his shirt.

“Your lawyers will have to do the talking, because I, Mr. McKenna, am going to see to it that every woman in New York knows exactly what kind of man you are!”

Griffin’s eyes narrowed. “Stop poking at me.”

“Did you hear what I said? I’m going to sue the pants off you!”

His hand clamped down on hers. “Did you hear what I said, Anderson? I am not a human pincushion!”

“Let go of me!”

“When you calm down, I’ll let go.”

“I am calm. Completely calm. Calm enough to assure you that the Griffin McKenna who—who swashes his way through life is in deep trouble.”

“Swashes?” Griffin couldn’t help it. This time, he did laugh. “What in hell does that mean?”

“Go ahead. Laugh. Laugh all the way to court because you’ll never laugh again, after I get done suing you for sexual harassment.”

“You’re joking.”

“Do I look as if I’m joking?”

Griffin considered. What she looked was furious. Indignant. Righteous...and out and out gorgeous. He could feel her pulse leaping just under the soft skin at her wrist. Her eyes were the color of the Atlantic off Cape Cod, just before a storm. Her cheeks were the tender color of new roses. And, somehow or other, her hair had come undone.

Somehow or other? His body tightened. Why was he being so modest? He knew how her hair had come undone. He had done it, plunging his hands into it when he’d kissed her.

But he hadn’t kissed her. Not really. The thought had been there, even the intention, but before he’d had time to get started, the knowledge of exactly what he was doing had broken through his anger and he’d clamped down on the kiss so that it had been nothing more than a touch of his mouth against hers.

If he’d kissed her, really kissed her, it would have been more than that. He’d have drawn her close against his body, held her so that he could feel the softness of her breasts against his chest. He’d have parted her lips with his, tasted all the heat bottled inside her, savored the silkiness of her mouth—that soft-looking, sweet mouth. He’d have inhaled her scent, whispered her name, accepted her surrender as she wound her arms around his neck....