Temptation In The Boardroom: Tempted by Her Billionaire Boss / Beware of the Boss / Promoted to Wife?

He took the last sip of the whiskey, put the glass down and went looking for his PA. Francesca might have taken on her assignment with confidence, but she was a babe in the woods when it came to dealing with men like Kaminski.

He wound his way through the throngs of people on the dance floor. It was hot and sweaty and hard to negotiate. He had just about given up on finding Francesca in the ballroom and was about to search out Juliana when he saw her on the corner of the dance floor with Kaminski.

Kaminski’s hand was wrapped around her incredible body, perilously close to her bottom. Francesca had a smile on her face, but it was a hunted, close-to-the-edge smile that made a switch flick in his head. What had he been thinking?

Five long strides took him to the couple. “May I cut in?”

Kaminski gave him an annoyed look. Harrison stared back at him. Luckily Aristov’s second in command wasn’t a combative personality like his boss and handed Francesca over. “I’ll come find you afterward,” he told her with a lingering look.

No, you won’t, Harrison thought. Francesca nodded to the other man with another of those smiles he knew to be plastic and stepped closer to Harrison. She stood on tiptoe. “I don’t need this drink,” she whispered in his ear.

The husky whisper went up his spine, then straight back down. He took the glass from her fingers, deposited it on a table and took her in his arms. She flowed easily into him without that awkwardness some women possessed, wrapping one hand around his shoulder and lacing the fingers of the other through his. “Thank God,” she murmured. “I think he was about to try and kiss me again.”

“He tried to kiss you?”

Her hand fluttered from his shoulder in a delicate wave. “My fault. On our tour of Leonid’s art collection, I had to lay it on a bit thick to keep him occupied.”

He frowned. “What do you mean a bit thick?”

“Oh, I just flirted with him...nothing too much, you know. It was just at one point, he said he had to go meet Leonid and I was afraid you wouldn’t be finished talking so I poured it on a bit and well—maybe he sort of got the wrong idea.”

Hell. “I’m sorry,” he breathed. “That was my fault. I never should have sent you after him. He’s clearly—” he used Leonid’s word “—besotted with you.”

Her cheeks went pink. “I think that’s a bit of a strong word.”

“I don’t.” He tended to agree with Leonid that Frankie had been the dangerous one in that equation. She looked stunning. He’d had to pick his jaw up off the ground when he’d seen her in that dress, not because he hadn’t seen a voluptuous woman in a low cut dress before, but because on Francesca it looked like innocence and temptation personified. An irresistible combination that had had his hands itching to touch her all night.

When he had earlier on the red carpet, his palm to her beautiful back, it had been an addiction he could easily fall prey to.

He studied the high color in her cheeks, her lush, beautiful features, the spirited curve of her mouth... It wasn’t just her great legs Kaminski had gone wild for. It was the whole vibrant package that made you want to be the one to capture it.

A highly inappropriate wish on his part. Which was not happening.

Her floral, feminine scent drifted into his nostrils. What was it? Orange blossoms? It infiltrated him. Attacked his common sense. It was one thing keeping his brain detached when she was ten feet away from him sitting in her office chair. Another thing entirely when she was in his arms, her ample curves tracing the length of him. She was relaxed now, lacking the tension she’d displayed earlier, her body melding perfectly with his as they moved.

She looked up at him, gray eyes tangling with his in a long, tension-filled moment where he forgot his mask entirely. The jolt of awareness in her smoky eyes marked it a huge mistake.

“Did you at least get to talk to Leonid?” Her hasty words desperately broke the spell.

He nodded. “Because of you, Leonid and I figured each other out.”

“What was his issue?”

“Sentimentality. Siberius was his father’s company. He’s finding it hard to part with it.”

“At least he’s putting it in good hands...”

Guilt scored his insides. “An acquisition is an acquisition,” he said roughly. “There’s a lot I can’t control.”

“He will sign, though?”

“Yes. We need to show him a plan on how we’ll assimilate Siberius into the company when he’s in New York next week. But that shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Good, then.” Her chin lifted with satisfaction. “I’m glad I could help.”

“You did more than help. You were a superstar tonight. I owe you my sincere thanks.”

She blinked. “Well, that’s...good. You’re welcome.” She chewed on the side of her mouth in that anxious habit she had when something was bothering her. “I wanted to say on the plane...I mean—I’m normally a very efficient, together person, Harrison, but since I’ve started working with you, I haven’t been myself. I’ve been...off. I know that and I’m not sure why.”

He knew why and he wasn’t going there. “Because you’re still intimidated by me.”

“Maybe.” She nodded. “There’s a bit of that...”

And a whole lot of something else. He reached his limit. “I think we should go,” he announced abruptly. “Before Kaminski comes around for round two.”

She nodded, her eyes on his as she stepped out of his arms. She looked as conflicted as he felt.

They said good-night to Leonid and Juliana. Leonid promised to have Tatiana call with his schedule for the following week. Viktor Kaminski looked dismayed they were leaving. Francesca stood on tiptoe and pressed a kiss to both of the Russian’s cheeks. He said something to her. Francesca frowned, thought about it for a minute, then replied. Kaminski let her go.

“That was awful,” she muttered, climbing into the back of the Rolls-Royce ahead of him. “He wants to take me on a tour of the Met next week when they’re in town.”

He peeled his gaze off her amazing rear end and got in beside her. “Tell him you’re busy. You will be.”

She laid her head back against the leather seat. “I will. I just feel bad about leading him on.”

“He’s a big boy, he’ll get over it.” Just like he was going to get over his intense awareness of her at the moment.

She was silent, her gray eyes contemplative. He gave the driver instructions, slid the partition closed and the car moved softly off into the night. Frankie turned and stared out at the tall, dark shadows of London as they rolled by, interspersed with bright lights. He directed his gaze the other way. She was as direct and honest as most women were deceptive and ambitious. He’d never realized what a highly attractive quality that was in a woman, when so many in his social circle made game-playing a trait acquired at birth.

Silence fell in the car. He kept his gaze trained on the skyline of London rather than on Francesca’s beautiful profile cast in the light of the street lamps. The whiskey he’d consumed, the satisfaction coursing through his veins at the night’s success, the attraction he’d been fighting for a week were all too potent a combination to address.

The longer he was silent, the more the tension seemed to rise in the car. Francesca stared out her window, fidgeted with her clutch strap, anything but address it. Finally he felt the heat of her gaze on him. “Harrison?”

He turned to look at her.

“Have I done something wrong?”

He frowned. “No. Why?”

Her gaze fell away from his. “I—I don’t know. I feel like I’ve done everything right tonight and something still feels wrong.”

The shadows carved the enticing hollow between her breasts in the low-cut dress. The pout in her amazing mouth had lust snagging at his throat. “There’s no issue,” he assured her roughly. “I told you, you were perfect tonight.”

“Then why have you been ignoring me since we walked off the dance floor? Did I say something wrong to Leonid or Juliana?”

“No.” He wanted to leave it at that, sanity told him to leave it at that, but the vulnerable look she wore tore at his insides. He exhaled deeply. “I’m keeping my distance.”

That gray stare widened. Her hands fluttered uselessly to her lap. The uncivilized part of him knew he never should have looked at her.

“This attraction between you and me...” He shook his head. “It can’t happen. We both know that.”

She nodded. But her gaze stayed glued to his as if she knew the train was running off the track, but was willing to risk full and complete disaster.

“Francesca...” The word was a final, husky plea for her to put some distance between them. She didn’t. She moved toward him at the same time he brought her closer with a palm to the bare skin of her back. It felt even sexier than he remembered.

His fingers curved around her delicate jaw, and for the first time in as long as he could remember, he did something for the pure pleasure of it. He kissed the woman he’d been wanting to touch since the night he’d found her sitting in Tessa’s chair.

Her lush mouth was every bit as sweet as it had promised it would be. Bare of the lipstick so many women slathered on, her lips were soft, full and edible. He took them in a slow, sensual tasting designed to entice. A soft sigh left her lips as she moved into the kiss, her hands fluttering to his shoulders. The dominant male in him liked her acquiescence. He tugged at her luscious lower lip, sucked it inside of his mouth and savored it. She tasted of innocence and sensuality all at the same time.

He waited, nibbling and tugging on her lip until her response demanded more. She angled her mouth, sought deeper contact and he gave it to her with a rush of satisfaction, slanting his mouth across hers in a kiss that didn’t tease, but delivered. He didn’t stop until he’d explored every inch of her mouth, drew her out of her inexperienced hesitation until their mouths were sliding hotly against one another.

His body temperature spiked. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so...lost.

Her innocence should have stopped him. Instead it obliterated his common sense. The palm he held to the small of her back pressed harder, invited her to come closer. She came willingly, her fingers curving around his bicep this time. His hand slipped to the nape of her neck, holding her still as he rocked his parted mouth over hers to request entry. Her lips parted. She tasted of fruit and wild roses. He thought for a moment that might just be her, but it was the champagne he was tasting, sweet and inebriating as it combined with the whiskey in his mouth.

He slid his tongue into her warmth to savor her more. Her response was tentative at first, then bolder, meeting the long, lazy stroke of his. When she’d mastered that, he probed deeper, tangling his tongue with hers in the most intimate of kisses. Her quick intake of breath hardened every muscle in his body.

He could take more. So much more... He wanted his fantasy.

That brought him tumbling back to reality. He pulled his mouth from hers and set her away from him with hands that weren’t quite steady. His breathing sounded fractured, rough in the silent confines of the car.

The dazed look on Francesca’s face turned to horror. “That was my fault,” he growled. “Not yours.”

She shook her head, her fingers moving to her lips. “I—ah—I was just as much a part of that as you were.”

Maybe true, but he was the one in authority here. He had no business indulging himself. Being reckless at the most important crossroads of his life. With an employee at that. What the hell was wrong with him?

He ran a hand through his hair. His brain worked quickly to defuse the situation. “It’s been quite a night for both of us,” he said slowly. “I think we can agree that was a mistake. A brief lapse of sanity.”

Francesca’s head bobbed up and down. “Absolutely. It was...” Her voice trailed off, a frown furrowing her brow. “Inappropriate. In every aspect. It will never happen again.”

“Good.” He rested his gaze on her face. “Tonight you proved what a valuable asset you are to me, Francesca. You went above and beyond the call of duty. I’m going to need that from you and more over the next few months...It’s not going to be easy and sometimes I’m going to be a son of a bitch. But I guarantee if you stick with me you will learn more in six months than you would in six years working for someone else.”

A determined light flickered in her gray eyes. “I can be brilliant for you, Harrison, I promise.”

“I know that. We make a good team.” So no more of that.

She bit her lip and nodded. The car traversed the final couple of side streets to the hotel and slid to a halt in front of the Chatsfield. He got out, helped Francesca from the car and ignored the electricity still buzzing between them. It was easy for him to cut off his emotions, what little he had. Francesca, on the other hand, was obviously still processing what had happened as they rode the lift to their suite. He could read it in the myriad of emotions flickering in her gray eyes.

He said good-night to her at the door to her bedroom. She echoed his words, walked through it and closed the thick slab of wood with a soft click. He paused for a moment when he didn’t hear her footsteps walking away on the marble. Instinctively he knew she was on the other side of the door, back pressed to the frame. Thinking.

“Forget the kiss, Francesca,” he said. “It was nothing.”

“It’s already forgotten.”

Her muffled response from directly behind the door made his mouth curve. Better to put that one to bed entirely. He’d almost capped a hugely successful evening with a mistake that would have cost him dearly. Cost him his focus. And he couldn’t allow that. The end was in sight. Time to focus on the master plan.

CHAPTER SEVEN

FRANKIE SPENT THE weekend replanting the flower boxes on her terrace with miniature roses, having brunch with her roommate, Josephine, and generally attempting to restore some sanity to her brain after having kissed her boss. She almost would have believed the party at Leonid Aristov’s house had been a bizarre and unreal dream that could never have actually happened, except she knew for a fact it had happened when at 10:00 a.m. on Monday morning two dozen full-size white roses landed on her desk with a card from Viktor Kaminski.

Apparently he didn’t intend to take no for an answer. Allow me to take a treasure to see the treasures of the Met, the card said. Friday night? Viktor.

She winced at the corny line. She’d told Viktor her schedule was impossible this week. She was just going to have to stick to that. And she really was too busy. The stack of work she had on her desk was monumental. She was going to have no life for the next six months.

The sweet smell of the dove-white blooms filled her nose. A wave of longing settled over her. She would die to receive roses from a man she really liked. Instead, they were from Viktor and she’d kissed her boss.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Just when she’d proven she was a valuable asset, she’d gone and done that. She had to wonder if her mind was off if she was doing things like this.

She stared grumpily at her favorite flower. The fact that Harrison Grant, her stern, sometimes scary, stunningly attractive boss was attracted to her, was irrelevant. As he’d said, the kiss meant nothing. Except, it had been the most sensational experience of her life. It was one thing to feel chemistry with another person every time you were in the same room together. Another thing entirely to feast on it.

Her email pinged. The report she needed from marketing had come in. Josh was coming up to discuss it with her. Good. She could definitely use the distraction.

By the time Harrison strolled into the office late afternoon looking every inch the automotive magnate he was in a light gray suit and a white shirt that showed off the color he’d acquired sailing with a business acquaintance on the weekend, she’d made a significant stab at the outline of the Aristov plan.

He shot a pointed look at the flowers. “Don’t tell me...Viktor.”

She nodded.

He shook his head. “Best to give him the permanent brush-off this time.”

“I know. I really wish I didn’t have to do it in person.”

His mouth quirked. “Oh, come now, Francesca. The art of a good brush-off is an excellent skill to have as a young woman in New York City.”

She put her pencil down. “I can’t imagine you’ve ever been on the receiving end of one. I wouldn’t think it’s very nice.”

“The point isn’t to be nice. That’s what gets you kissed in elevators.”

She was considering a clever response when he grabbed the card from the flowers and scanned it. She held out her hand. “Give that back.”

He waved it at her. “It’s in Russian. What did he say?”

Heat filled her cheeks. “It’s a private note.”

His ebony gaze sat on her face. “My principled Francesca,” he murmured sardonically. “I would expect no less from you. Do you want me to talk to him?”

“Absolutely not. I’ll handle it.”

“Fine.” He nodded toward his office. “I need to make a couple of calls then we can start on the plan for Leonid.”

“I’m almost done the outline.” She glanced at her watch. “It’s almost five. Should I order dinner in?”

He flexed his shoulders and frowned. “I’ve been inside all day. It’s gorgeous out there. Why don’t we do the work on my terrace and my housekeeper will make us dinner?”

She wasn’t at all sure putting them on anything but a business footing was a wise move at this tenuous stage, but she wasn’t about to stir the waters of what seemed like an inordinately sunny Harrison day either.

“Sounds good,” she agreed. “It’ll be much nicer to get out of the office.”

He finished up his calls, they collected their work and drove to his penthouse on Central Park West in Harrison’s elegant Jaguar. His penthouse was located on the top level of the coveted Central Park West address that everyone who was anyone seemed to be bickering over, but few were lucky enough to obtain. It was beautifully decorated, of course, customized by Harrison’s architect during construction so that an entire grand staircase had been moved to one end to create a wide-open floor-to-ceiling-window-lit main level that accommodated his art collection.

Done in sleek, bold colors, with blue and slate dominating, the penthouse reminded her of his office. Sterile and unobjectionable. She slipped her shoes off and wandered over to survey the art. It was not a collection on the scale of Leonid’s—maybe twelve pieces in total, but priceless no doubt from Harrison’s four-million-dollar Chagall purchase. She walked from one to the next, remembering Viktor’s sermon about what to look out for. When she reached a Chagall done in the same vibrant blues as the one Harrison had bought in London, she stopped and took it in. They could be from the same collection.

“It’ll have company now...” She jumped when Harrison spoke from behind her. He moved with a catlike grace that made him virtually undetectable.

“Relax,” he drawled, his mouth tilting with amusement. “I’m not Viktor Kaminski.”

No, he wasn’t. He was far more dangerous. Especially when he smiled like that. It was like watching the sun come out on a rainy day. She shifted her gaze back to the painting to get her pulse under control. A bird and a woman were perched in a magnificently colored bouquet of flowers floating over the waters of what must be Nice, with its palm trees and similarity to the one she’d seen in London. Again, as with the other one, the image did not make complete sense. The bouquet had the tails of a fish instead of stems, and the buildings dotting the Riviera were curved not straight.

“It’s fantastical, almost supernatural,” she murmured. “Things that shouldn’t be together are and it seems perfectly natural. Like he envisioned some sort of alternate universe.”

He nodded, his gaze moving to the painting. “I think he did. The art historians describe his work as figurative and narrative art. Chagall was embraced by many—the surrealists, the cubists, the suprematists—but he rejected them all. He created a new reality for himself—one that was based on both his inner and outer worlds—the story, the dream he wanted to tell. This series in Nice,” he said, waving a hand at the painting, “is always very mystical and inspirational. The colors are incredible.”

She got that completely. “Is he one of your favorites?”

“Likely my favorite.” The amber flecks in his eyes she found so fascinating glimmered in the expertly angled lighting, giving him a softer appearance. “Some of his later works are much more heartbreaking. They speak of the personal tragedies he suffered before he ended up here in New York.”

“I would like to see some of those. I’m sure they’d be amazing.”

“They are very moving.”

She found herself fascinated by this side of him. The emotion in his eyes when he talked about the artist hinted at a depth to him, an ability to feel he kept hidden underneath the layers.

He read her expression. “You’re surprised.” His lips curled. “The beast does feel, Francesca. When he lets himself.”

Like that night in the car...when he’d let go of that formidable control of his and kissed her senseless.

She couldn’t help taking a step on the dangerous side. “Why doesn’t he let himself do that all the time?”

He lifted a shoulder. “A beast doesn’t need to connect. He lives on another level entirely.”

That he did. Her mouth pursed with the desire to speak, but she shut it down. He might tell himself that. But everyone needed to connect, to experience their human ability to feel. Even a beast.

“Shall we get started, then?”

He nodded. “Elisa is making a shrimp-and-lobster paella. Would you like a drink first?”

She shook her head. “Mineral water is fine.” Tonight she was keeping this all about business. Every last single minute of it.

The pentagon-shaped terrace, boasting coveted southern, eastern and western views of New York, including one of Central Park, was an amazing space to work in. Frankie booted up her PC in one of the comfortable seating areas scattered around the space, and took in the view.

“I’ve received input from Marketing and Sales,” she told Harrison when he returned with their drinks.

“Good.” He came over to sit beside her to look at the screen. He was overwhelmingly male and distracting with his long legs splayed out in front of him. It was going to take all her powers of concentration to keep her mind where it should be.

“Did we get operations to mock up an organizational structure?”

“Yes, it’s here.” She flipped to the slide. The drawing illustrated every division of the massive company that was Grant International, including a new parallel subcompany to Taladan for gauges and meters in Siberius. It was mind-numbing to look at, the scale was so vast. Pretty much every piece of a car you didn’t see on the outside was made by Grant International.

Harrison studied the diagram. “That’s fine. Slot an overall positioning slide in at the beginning and I’ll give you some points.”

She added an up-front slide. He started dictating points, then stopped, backtracked and changed some of his wording. It sounded like semantics to her but she kept typing.

“Point three—the Siberius brand will be maintained as is, pending the outcome of the operations group and consumer research studies.”

Frankie started typing. He frowned and waved a hand at her. “Delete that. I want to bury it further down in the plan.”

Bury it? Why would they do that?

She kept her mouth shut. He had a reason for everything he did, much of it unbeknownst to her. They finished the opening slides and started on the marketing plan. Frankie thought the team had done an excellent job of making gauges and meters a sexy topic for the industry audience the campaign would be targeted at, but Harrison ripped out two of her favorite ideas.