The Elliotts: Bedrooms Not Boardrooms!

Asking for the report still felt dirty, though.

Her father turned back to the proof, dismissing her without words—an all too familiar experience. Aubrey headed for her office. There were days she hated her job. This was one of them. She reached the threshold of her office and stopped in surprise. An exquisite floral arrangement in a crystal vase sat on her desk.

Roses and Asiatic lilies in the palest pink filled her office with a heavenly scent. Who would send her flowers? Other than the obligatory bouquet her father sent on her birthday, which had been months ago, she never received flowers. She hurried forward and inhaled deeply before extracting the card buried in the lush greenery. Aubrey slid a fingernail beneath the envelope’s sealed flap and extracted the card.

“The color of the flowers reminded me of your dress and their fragrance reminded me of you. Thanks again for your help with the painting. L.”

Liam. Her dress for the gala had been beaded pink silk. He remembered. Aubrey pressed a hand over her racing heart. She glanced at the bold handwriting and then scooted behind her desk and dug in her purse for the business card she had yet to throw away. The bold script was identical. He’d written this note himself rather than anonymously phone it in to a florist. Why that mattered she didn’t know.

Don’t turn this into something romantic, Aubrey. It isn’t and can’t be.

Now what? Should she e-mail Liam and thank him for the flowers? She didn’t dare do that from here where all incoming and outgoing e-mail was saved on a huge server, but she could from her personal computer at home. Maybe she should send a polite but distant thank-you note via U.S. Postal Service. Or should she call? Again, not from here and not the wisest choice since hearing Liam’s voice weakened her knees and her resolve to resist him.

Until she could make up her mind, Aubrey tucked both cards in her purse and tried to keep the telling smile off her face.

Liam Elliott had no business sending her flowers.

And she had absolutely no business being tickled pink to receive them.

Why torture yourself? Do what she said. Throw the thong out and get some sleep.

But Liam didn’t pitch Aubrey’s lingerie into the trash. He lay in bed staring at the black satin in his hand.

He’d gone to bed early to try to catch up on some of the shut-eye he’d been missing, but so far all he’d done was toss and turn and fight the hunger thickening his blood and tightening his skin. Her scent clung to the lingerie. He pitched it onto the nightstand and then turned out the light and rolled over. The sheet clung to his overheated skin. He kicked it off, but it didn’t help. Resting one hand beneath his head, he hunkered down for another night of staring at the ceiling.

What was it about Aubrey Holt that made her so damned hard to forget? Her violet eyes? Her slender figure? Her summer-roses scent? Or the way she’d driven him wild in bed? If he could understand her allure, then he’d be steps closer to eradicating her from his thoughts.

And what was it about him that always drew him to the wrong women? In college it had been his freshman academic advisor. He hadn’t known she was married until after they’d been sleeping together for a month. He’d ended the affair immediately, a little older, a little wiser and a lot more wary. His junior year he’d become involved with a woman on the rebound. He’d lost his heart when she’d returned to the jerk who’d dumped her.

For some reason attached women sought him out. His sister, Bridget, claimed it was because he was a good listener. But, hell, problem solving was what he did best. He listened to both sides, weighed the evidence and then worked out a solution. Working out the solution was his favorite part—like solving a riddle. But he’d learned the hard way to find out a woman’s marital status before asking her out.

Aubrey’s single.

Don’t go there, man.

The phone rang, jarring him, but he welcomed the interruption. He glanced at the bedside clock. Eleven. Probably Cade calling. He picked up. “Hello.”

Silence greeted him. “Hello,” he repeated.

“Liam.”

The breathless voice sent his pulse rate soaring. Not Cade. “Aubrey.”

“I’m sorry to call so late. Did I wake you?”

“No.”

“Thank you for the flowers. They’re beautiful.” The words came out in a rush, as if she’d been practicing them for a while.

“You’re welcome. They reminded me of you.”

“You shouldn’t say things like that.”

“Probably not.” No probably about it. And Aubrey shouldn’t have been the first thing he thought of when he spotted the arrangement in the florist’s window during his morning run. But she’d been in his head all week. Why would this morning be any different? He’d dashed to the florist at lunch to place the order when he should have stayed at EPH and eaten in the company cafeteria with Cade.

“Well … I should go. I just called to … well, thank you.”

He didn’t want to let her go. He reached for the thong, brushing his fingers over the satin. “What are you doing?”

“What?”

“What are you doing? Right now.”

He heard a rush of air, as if she’d exhaled into the receiver. “Getting ready for bed.”

“I beat you to it.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m in bed.”

“Oh. Oh my God. Are you alone? Did I inter—”

“Aubrey, you didn’t interrupt anything. I’m alone. You?”

“Am I alone? Of course … I mean, yes, I am.”

A smile tugged his lips. “What are you wearing?”

“Liam. You shouldn’t.” Her scandalized voice trailed off.

He’d crossed the line. He wouldn’t be surprised if she slammed the receiver down.

“A white satin nightgown.”

The image instantly filled his head. He bit back a groan. “Short or long?”

“Long.” Another pause stretched between them. “What are you wearing?”

His heart thumped harder. “It’s just me and your thong.” What had possessed him to reveal that?

“You’re wearing my thong!”

He rocketed up in bed, his body hot with embarrassment. “Hell no. I’m holding it. In my hand.”

Her chuckle, low and sexy as hell, marched down his spine. “You had me worried for a minute.”

“That I was a cross-dresser?”

“Yes. Are you?”

Was she yanking his chain? “God, no.”

“Good. Not that it matters, since we’re not seeing each other.”

“No, we’re not.”

“I should go.”

He scrambled for a way to detain her and recalled a comment she’d made at lunch before she knew his identity. “Did you want to run screaming from the building today?”

“You mean work? Yes. I’m having a lot of those days lately.”

Was she lying in bed or seated on the edge? He wanted to ask, but didn’t. “Same here.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Ditto.” For once Liam wished he had someone to confide in. In the past he’d talked his problems through with his grandfather or Cade, but both were off-limits this time. His grandfather’s plan was the cause of Liam’s stress, and Cade worked for EPH and was, therefore, part of the trouble. Liam felt like a bone in the middle of a pack of starving dogs. Everybody wanted something from him, something he couldn’t deliver. The staff. The advertisers.

He opened his mouth and then shut it again. Aubrey worked for the competition. Not a safe sounding board.

“Any chance your week will improve?” she asked.

“Doubtful. I’ll be working through lunch all week.”

“Maybe next week will be better.”

It wouldn’t unless his grandfather cancelled this damned contest. “Hope so. And I hope yours is, too. Good night, Aubrey. I’m glad you called.”

“Me, too. Good night, Liam. I won’t say, ‘See you around’ because I won’t.”

“No. Guess not.” And for some reason, that disappointed him.

A rainy day had its advantages.

The inclement weather forced Liam to relocate his usual morning run to the executives’ section of EPH’s private gym—the one place he could be certain to find his grandfather before the workday began. Since Liam needed to talk to Patrick, he could handle the two chores simultaneously, efficiently. Privately.

Judging by the sweat ringing the neck and underarms of his grandfather’s T-shirt, Patrick must have been on the treadmill for a while. It was only 5:30, but his grandfather had started early. As usual, the TV in front of the machines streamed CNN.

Liam hoped he was as sharp as Patrick mentally and physically when he hit seventy-seven. Then again, maybe his grandfather was slipping. This retirement selection process wasn’t a smart move.

Liam stepped onto the treadmill beside Patrick’s as he’d done dozens of times before. The room, thankfully, was empty except for the two of them. “Morning, Patrick.”

“Liam.” Patrick didn’t slow his stride.

Liam worked up to his optimum speed. Once his muscles loosened and he’d reached a comfortable pace he decided to broach the subject that had been keeping him up at night.

The other subject. No way would he discuss with his grandfather his nonrelationship with Aubrey Holt.

“Your contest is tearing EPH apart. You have to end it.”

“Not time yet.”

“Yesterday’s meeting was a combat zone.”

“EPH will be stronger once we’re done,” Patrick said with conviction. Or was it just stubborn pride?

Liam made a conscious effort to unfurl his fists. “Not if the team disbands. We’re fighting ourselves instead of the enemy, Patrick. It’s only a matter of time before our advertisers pick up on the infighting.”

Patrick turned a hard eye on Liam. “The enemy. Holt.”

Liam’s neck prickled. “He’s not our only competition.”

“Your grandmother showed me the picture in the paper. Unfortunate error, the hostess seating you beside Holt’s daughter.”

If Patrick found out that error had cost Liam fifty bucks, his grandfather would hit the ceiling. For Patrick Elliott appearances were everything and consorting with the enemy never looked good. Liam said nothing. Instead he increased his pace and directed his attention to CNN.

Minutes later Patrick turned off his machine and Liam did the same even though he hadn’t yet reached his usual distance. “Patrick, I don’t know if the family relationships will survive this contest. We’re cutting each other’s hearts out. Reconsider. Please.”

“I’ve set a course. I’ll see it through.” Patrick wiped the sweat from his face with a white towel bearing the EPH monogram.

“No matter what the costs?”

“No matter what the costs.”

“You’re making a mistake.”

“I don’t think so, son, and I’m willing to wager the company on that.”

“Good, because that’s what you’ve done. I hope you don’t live to regret it.” Hoping to ease his frustration, Liam climbed back on the treadmill and set himself a mind-numbing pace.

“Your lunch is here.”

Liam looked up from the spreadsheet. He hadn’t ordered anything. Ann, his administrative assistant, must have. “Thanks, Ann. Put it there. I’ll get to it as soon as I finish this.”

She set a bag on the corner of his desk. The Ernie’s Pub logo on the receipt caught Liam’s attention, slamming his train of thought against a wall. Nobody at EPH knew about his penchant for Ernie’s—an intentional omission. “Could you close the door on your way out?”

Her eyebrows rose. He never closed the door unless he had a private meeting. “Certainly.”

As soon as the latch clicked he shoved his paperwork aside and reached for the bag and the receipt stapled to the outside. “Bookmaker’s Special,” he read. His favorite sandwich and he knew damned well no one in this building knew that.

His heart stuttered as he tore open the folded-down top and pulled out the ordinary Styrofoam container inside. The note taped to the top of the box wasn’t in any way, shape or form ordinary. He ripped it off.

“Sorry you have to work through lunch. Enjoy. A.”

Aubrey had sent him lunch.

He didn’t know what to make of the gesture, but he sure as hell knew he shouldn’t be smiling. He tried to wipe the grin off his face, but it returned. In the midst of the tension at work his and Aubrey’s secret game was pure pleasure. Forbidden pleasure. He reached for the phone with one hand and his wallet with the other, planning to dig out her number, call her and thank her. But he set the phone back in the cradle and shoved his wallet back into his pocket.

He couldn’t call her from here. He’d call her tonight.

Tonight when it would be just the two of them.

Five

Aubrey’s phone rang, startling her into dropping her book into the bathtub. “Blast.”

She snatched up the juicy and now soggy romance, pitched it onto the vanity, grabbed a towel and dashed for the phone extension in her bedroom. She was out of breath by the time she reached it. She glanced at the clock as she grabbed the receiver. Eleven. “Hello.”

“You don’t sound as if you were sleeping.”

“Liam.” Her knees buckled. She sank down onto the mattress, not caring if she dampened the linens. “No. I wasn’t asleep.”

“Are you alone?”

“Of c—Yes.”

“You sound out of breath. Did I interrupt something?”

The wicked lilt in his voice made her heart blip erratically. What was he implying? “I was reading a book.”

“And the book made you breathless? Must be a good one. Which book?”

As if she’d tell him that she read romances because in the stories a woman could be happy with one man forever, and love at first sight lasted for eternity—unlike her mother, who’d fallen instantly in love and married four times since divorcing Aubrey’s father. The husband who’d made a pass at Aubrey had lasted less than two years, but by then Aubrey’s relationship with her mother had been irrevocably changed. “I’m not reading anything you’d be interested in.”

“How do you know?”

She sighed. “It’s a romance, Liam.”

“Ahh. A hot one?” The husky tone of his voice gave her goose bumps. No telling what he thought she’d been doing to make herself pant while reading the steamy book.

“I—I was in the tub. I had to run for the phone.” Her skin flushed at the boldness of her confession.

A low groan carried through the phone line. “You fight dirty.”

A laugh bubbled up her throat. He had no idea how unlike herself she’d behaved since meeting him—or at least the self she’d been since joining her father’s company. It was all Liam’s fault. He made her feel sexy and naughty, and he made her want to break rules for once in her life and say to hell with pleasing her father.

“Should I let you get back to your book?”

“It’ll have to dry before I can finish it.”

“Why?”

She cringed. “Because I dropped it in the tub when the phone rang.”

“Give me the title. I’ll replace it.”

“You don’t have to do that. I’m the klutz, not you.”

“I’ve seen you dance. You’re no klutz. Aubrey.” he said, his voice lowering into a commanding tone that sent shivers up her spine “.give me the title.”

She reluctantly relayed the information. “But you don’t have to replace it. It will be fine once the pages dry out. And I can’t keep receiving gifts from you at work.”

“You’re going to get me in trouble,” he voiced her thoughts before she could.

“How am I going to get you into trouble? All I sent was a sandwich. You sent the most amazing bouquet. All the admins are talking.” Aubrey absently blotted the droplets on her shoulders with her towel.

“The atmosphere at EPH is … tense, but your lunch surprise had me smiling all afternoon. The staff probably wonders what I’m up to. Thanks for sending the sandwich.”

“You’re welcome. I hope the rest of your week improves.”

“Yours, too. Anything I can do to help?”

She gulped. Yes, spill your guts about EPH’s problems and then give me permission to share the information with my father. “I think I have it under control.”

Silence stretched between them. Aubrey didn’t want to hang up, but she couldn’t think of a thing to say to keep him on the line. Why did this man have the power to make her tongue-tied?

“You know where I live. How about you even the score?”

Her fingers contracted on the damp towel. “I’m around the corner on Fifth, only a couple of blocks up from you.”

“That close?”

“Yes.”

“We could meet—”

“No, Liam, we can’t.” But she wanted to. She really, really wanted to.

“Right. I should say good night and hang up, but I know if I do I’ll just lie here and think about you. Tell me how to stop thinking about that afternoon, Aubrey.”

Her breath jammed in her throat. “I can’t. Because I’m having the same problem. Do you think it’s just the taboo thing? Wanting what we can’t have?”

She wouldn’t know. She always dated men her father would approve of.

“Maybe. Probably. I don’t know. You said I got you out of the tub. You must be cold.”

Cold? No, her skin burned. It was a wonder the remaining droplets on her skin didn’t sizzle like butter in a hot pan. “I’ll get back in when we’re finished.”

“Why wait? Do you have a portable extension?”

She bit her lip. “You want to talk to me while I’m in the tub? Is this going to turn into an obscene phone call?”

His seductive laugh warmed her even more. “Do you want it to?”

Aubrey pressed a hand to the booming in her chest. “I’m not sure. I’ve never had one.”

“Good to know.”

“Have you? Had an obscene call, I mean?”

“No. But it might be interesting.”

She twisted the corner of the towel in her fingers. “Maybe. If it wasn’t icky and if the person making it wasn’t a psycho or a thirteen-year-old boy.”

“Good night, Aubrey. You’ll be hearing from me soon.” And then he disconnected.

She slowly replaced the receiver. What did he mean, she’d hear from him? The book? Or would he call again? She was ashamed to admit she hoped he’d call. She loved listening to Liam’s voice. And she really enjoyed knowing he was having as much trouble forgetting their lovemaking as she was.

Not lovemaking. Sex. And no matter how much she wanted more, a steamy memory was all it could ever be. Her father would never forgive her for sleeping with a rival, and as long as she worked for Holt Enterprises and lived in a family-owned apartment, she had to follow her father’s rules.

Twenty-nine and still following Daddy’s rules. There was something pitifully not right about that.

“What a bitch of a day,” Liam muttered as he poured himself a glass of wine and took a healthy sip.

Leaning against the kitchen counter, he rolled the rich pinot noir around in his mouth, savoring the cherry bouquet and smooth finish. He finished half a glass before the calming effect of the heavy red wine kicked in, soothing his jagged nerves.

This afternoon he’d fielded a flurry of calls from advertisers wanting to know if there were problems within EPH and demanding assurances Liam couldn’t give them. What had tipped them off to the internal strife? Patrick had all but levied a gag order on the company employees, but there had to be a leak somewhere. Having the advertisers get fidgety could cause EPH’s advertising revenues to drop. He’d have to speak to the sales managers and remind them to keep EPH’s internal dissention to themselves.

The clock on the microwave revealed the late hour. Liam had worked through lunch and dinner. Cooking didn’t appeal. Going out appealed even less. But he had to eat because he had plans for later that required him to keep his mind sharp. His pulse quickened in anticipation. At the same time his stomach knotted. His plan was unwise. Foolish.

Fun.

He pulled a frozen casserole from the freezer and shoved it into the microwave. An executives’ catering company supplied him with precooked meals for the nights he was too tired to cook. The service provided all the benefits of having a personal chef without having anyone underfoot in his apartment. And if he had a hot date he had the option of having the chef prepare a gourmet meal and clear out before his company arrived. Not an option he’d used yet.

While his dinner defrosted he settled on a bar stool at his granite kitchen counter, sipped his wine and studied the bottle and the label. Louret Winery, a small outfit in Napa Valley, California, had become one of Liam’s favorite producers since he’d discovered their wines last year. He promised himself a tour of the facility as soon as the dust settled at EPH. As far as he was concerned, that date couldn’t come soon enough.

An hour later he’d eaten, showered the knots from his shoulders. Now he sat beside the phone with his heart thumping a wild beat and a different kind of tension tightening his muscles. Adrenaline flowed through his veins as the clock inched toward midnight. As soon as the hands hit twelve he punched out the number.

“Hello?”

His pulse nearly deafened him to Aubrey’s soft voice. “This is an obscene phone call. Hang up if you’re not interested.”

He heard Aubrey gasp, but she didn’t sever the connection.

“Are you alone?” he asked in as low and sexy a voice as he could manage—not difficult considering his throat had closed up.

“Yes. Are you?”

“Not anymore.” A crazy answer. Of course he was alone, but having Aubrey on the line made him feel less lonely—an emotion Liam had experienced far too frequently since Patrick’s contest made him all too often the unwelcome messenger bearing bad news. “What are you wearing?”

“A smile.”

His brain nearly imploded. He gulped his wine. “Anything else?”

“A nightgown.”

“You’re a tease, Aubrey Holt. What color?”

“Black.”

Liam groaned. “Details, please.”

She hesitated so long Liam feared the game he’d anticipated since last night was over. “Long with spaghetti straps and a lace bodice. There are sheer bits on my—”

“Wait,” he groaned. His control wavering, he took another sip of wine. “Let me savor that much before you send me into overload with more.” He closed his eyes and pictured Aubrey dressed as she’d described, in a puddle of black filmy fabric lying on his cream-colored sheets, waiting for him. And he ached. His body pulsed and throbbed, growing heavy with need. A saner man would take a cold shower or take matters into his own hand. “I’m ready. Where are the sheer bits?”

“Guess.”

Her answer surprised a laugh out of him. “I need a hint. High or low?”

“High.”

“If I were with you, could I see your breasts? Your nipples?”

“Yes.”

Liam fisted his hand in his hair and took an unsteady breath. “You definitely fight dirty.”

“What are you wearing?”

“Boxers. Silk. Blue.” And they’d suddenly become tight. Very, very tight.

“No thong?”

He grinned, opened the nightstand drawer and extracted the garment. He stroked the smooth satin between his fingers. “No. That’s in my hand. It smells like you, but your skin is softer, warmer.”

Her gasp filled his ear. “You’re good at this obscene phone call business.”

“I could get better with practice.”

“Are we going to practice?” Was that a hopeful note in her voice?

Should he continue this insane game, continue to lose sleep and drive himself to the aching edge of need again and again? “I’d like to.”

“Me, too.”

If he didn’t change the subject he was going to lose what was left of his sanity and the call would go from sexy to raunchy. “Was today better than yesterday?”

“You mean at work?” Her sigh carried over the phone lines. “Not really. Sometimes I wonder if I should quit and find a job where I don’t have to work so hard to prove myself.”

The frustration in her voice came across loud and clear. “What happened?”

Seconds ticked past. “My father assigned me a task. I called a staff meeting and explained what I needed. But no one listens to me. They all think I was given my job because of my father and not because I earned it.”