The CEO's Scandalous Affair / Seduced by the Wealthy Playboy: The CEO's Scandalous Affair

He cleared his throat and tried really hard to scowl. “Anna,” he said sternly.

“Yes?”

His head pounded with the morning’s news followed by the surprise attack on his hormones. But that was no reason to take his anger and physical response out on this young woman whose only real crime was bad timing. Or good timing, depending on your perspective.

“Don’t quit your day job to be a singer.”

Her smile transformed her whole face, taking what had been plain, passably pretty features to something more stunning. “Not to worry, Mr. Garrison.”

But he was worried. Not only had he missed her incredible body, he’d never even noticed her milky smooth skin, or the way the tip of her tongue slipped between her teeth when she smiled, or how nicely her eyes tilted up at the sides. He’d never noticed this lovely woman right under his nose.

So of course he worried. Worried that he was going blind. Or maybe he was just so deep into the family business that he’d failed to see the gorgeous woman who sat outside his office all day long.

He turned to leave, closing the door to give her privacy to dress, and congratulating himself on the return of control and focus. And perspective.

So she was pretty. So she had a body that could bring him to his knees. It didn’t matter. What had just happened was nothing more than a close encounter that she would regret and he would forget. She was an excellent assistant and he had an empire to run, a will to contest, a brand to build. He needed his legendary control and focus more than ever.

But, damn, it would be hard to forget those legs.

Anna crossed the Oriental rug that welcomed visitors to the CEO’s suite and stabbed the digital air conditioner control until it read a chilly sixty-seven degrees.

But even that wouldn’t reduce the burn of embarrassment that singed her from the roots of her hair to the tips of her toes. If it even was embarrassment. It was a burn, anyway. As hot and uncomfortable as Parker Garrison’s eyes when he’d given her a visual lick from those same roots to those same toes.

A familiar wicked, gooey sensation stirred low in her belly. Really low. Really wicked. Really familiar. And really dumb to think about her boss that way.

“Stupid,” she chided as she turned on her computer and picked up the phone receiver to listen to voice mail messages. How could she have been so careless? Just for five extra minutes under the ultimate hydro-jet massage from heaven?

God, if he knew how many times she’d treated herself to that shower, she’d be updating her résumé. And she’d worked in human resources long enough to know that the last place she wanted to be was on the job market. No one hired anyone without a check of the Internet—and she knew exactly what would pop up when someone typed “Anna Cross” into a search engine.

Accused of corporate spying…

No, Anna shouldn’t do anything that would force her to look for another job. So, she’d better hope her boss didn’t think borrowing the shower was grounds for dismissal.

She squeezed her eyes shut as she listened to the voice mail system announce that Parker Garrison had seventeen messages.

Seventeen? What the heck was going on?

By the time she jotted down message number five, she knew. At least she knew that something really bad had gone down at the morning meeting. The various Garrison siblings and a couple of lawyers didn’t provide details in their voice mails, but their tone, along with a few clues about “what the will said,” didn’t sound good.

Parker’s door had remained firmly shut since she’d done her level best to exit his office with some measure of dignity, knowing he watched her, knowing he’d seen everything she’d been careful to hide. Ever since she’d arrived at Garrison, Inc. four years ago, Anna had done whatever was necessary to stay off the radar, and do an outstanding job as an administrative assistant.

In fact, she’d done such an outstanding job in human resources that she’d been handed the promotion of her dreams when the slot for Parker Garrison’s administrative assistant had become available three months ago. Maybe, considering her history, she should have turned it down.

But she couldn’t resist the upgrade in status, pay and benefits. Plus, she’d been tucked away on a lower floor for almost four years. Surely, after all this time, her past would remain, well, in the past.

Still, it had become habit to keep a low profile.

Until ten minutes ago when her profile had been anything but low. It had been…damn near naked.

She closed her eyes again as another heat wave threatened, trying to ignore it as she noted each caller. No, that definitely wasn’t embarrassment. Nor was it a feminine response to the warmth of Parker’s very obviously high opinion of how she looked sans suit. The heat wave that warred with the air conditioner was raw terror.

The only thing she’d ever wanted out of this job, this city and this life was anonymity and peace. No attention—from men or media. No connection—with her boss or his associates. No trouble—ever. And what had just happened in that bathroom spelled attention, connection and trouble in capital red letters.

She recorded the rest of the messages on a call sheet that she delivered to him hourly, only slightly reassured by the fact that whatever was going wrong in Parker’s world, it would divert his attention from her.

Her intercom buzzed.

“Yes, Mr. Garrison?”

“I need you.”

Her gut clenched. “I’ll be right there, Mr. Garrison.”

“I think, Anna—” his voice in the receiver was just soft enough to make her tighten her grasp and push the phone closer to her ear “—you could probably call me Parker now.”

Now that I’ve seen you in your underwear. Her heart wobbled. “Absolutely, Mr.…Parker.”

He was still chuckling when she hung up.

“Come on, Anna,” she whispered to herself, gathering her planner and pen. Parker didn’t strike her as the kind of man to torture and tease a woman, or one who would assume that just because he’d seen her in the almost altogether that he could have his way with her.

She stood, surprised at how shaky that thought made her legs. Have his way with her.

A stupid, archaic phrase that sent even stupider, more archaic pulses down her body. So they’d had an awkward moment.

She rolled her eyes at the understatement. A really awkward moment. And so what if she’d seen a lusty side of a man she found attractive? Okay, gorgeous. All right, hot as sin.

She was still a top-notch administrative assistant who knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that office affairs were for fools who liked to job hop. And he was a very important, busy man who had an electronic black book with the name and private cell phone number of every available model, debutante and businesswoman in Miami-Dade County.

She was still an employee, and he was still the boss. Period. End of fantasy.

She tapped on his door, opening it as she did. She’d always done that, but this morning, the intrusion felt more intimate. He stood at the window, the cordless phone held to his ear, his attention on the postcard view of Biscayne Bay. Through a floor-to-ceiling window, sunlight glinted off blue-violet waves, polka-dotted with pleasure craft and cruise ships, fringed by emerald palm trees and the pastel high-rises of Miami Beach on the horizon.

But the real view was inside and, as always, Anna stole an eyeful.

Parker had removed his jacket, revealing the tailored cut of a snow-white zillion-thread-count designer shirt pulled just taut enough to hint at the toned, developed muscles underneath. The shirt was tucked neatly into dark trousers, custom-made to fit like a dream over one drool-inducing backside.

The man was a god.

He turned from the window and she averted her eyes before getting caught worshipping at the altar of his backside.

“Can the legal crap, Brandon,” he said into the phone, sliding one of his hands through closely cropped, thick black hair. “I don’t care what the DNA test results will say. Can we or can we not contest this will?”

DNA? Contest the will? Anna frowned, but Parker just nodded to one of the guest chairs in front of his desk, issuing an unspoken invitation for her to sit. As always, he seemed utterly calm, the aura of authority that shimmered around him neatly in place. But there was something different in that clipped voice, and in the tense way he held his broad shoulders. His control was tied on with a tenuous thread today.

“Fine, you do that,” he said, leaning his head to one side to work out a crick. “In the meantime, it’s business as usual. My business.” He glanced at Anna, who made a show of flipping her planner to the next clean page so she didn’t stare. Even though she’d become quite adept at avoiding detection.

“Oh, damn it all, I completely forgot.” His tone changed with the admission, and she instantly sat up, prepared to help him remember what he forgot. That was, after all, her job. Not ogling his perfectly shaped butt, impossibly wide shoulders or Adonis-like chest. Parker-gazing was just a side benefit.

“I can’t go,” he said to Brandon, sliding into the high-backed desk chair and reaching for his little black digital device and pressing a few buttons. “But, with the bomb you just dropped at this morning’s reading, I think I need to be there more than ever.”

He paused and Anna tried to psych out what he was talking about.

“But I’m way too swamped to consider going that far away,” he added, “unless I charter a jet.”

Of course. London.

“I have a ton of work to do this weekend,” he continued, “and it’s impossible to get anything done on a commercial flight.”

Anna slipped a creamy-white card embossed with silver letters from the “pending” section of his calendar. Her fingers glided over the imprint of the International Hotel and Restaurant Association seal, over the gilded script inviting him to the annual ball at Guildhall in London. She’d been meaning to get a response from him so she could RSVP.

He chuckled softly, fiddling with the buttons on the PDA as he tucked the phone into one of those impressive shoulders.

“Yes. A date,” he said casually to Brandon, and shot a lazy wink at Anna, which sent an involuntary stutter to her heart. “I suppose I’d need to get one of those, too.”

Which of the lucky ladies would win that lottery?

Maxine, whose daddy owned half of Palm Beach? Or the nine-foot glamazon who’d been on the cover of Vogue twice? He’d been seeing a lot of her in the past few weeks. Maybe he’d go for that spunky redhead who owned the PR agency that had done some work for Garrison, Inc. last month. Sparks were certainly crackling in the conference room when that one came in for a meeting.

“As a matter of fact, I might have the perfect person.” His gaze landed right on her, intense, relentless and unwavering. Exactly the way it had been when he’d devoured her with it in the bathroom.

A low, slow flame curled up her belly and started a familiar bonfire. One she’d become very good at dousing with four simple words that have saved legions of love-struck secretaries: He’s your boss, dummy.

Suddenly, he stood, turned to the window and copped the voice he used to end a conversation instantly. “Keep me posted, Brandon. And I’ll let you know what I decide.”

For a moment, he didn’t move, but stared at the cloudless blue sky, his back rising and falling with steady, slow breaths.

Then he turned and trained his midnight gaze on her. “As you can tell, Anna, I didn’t get good news this morning.”

She set the call sheet on his desk. “That must explain the seventeen voice-mail messages.”

He scanned the list, and swore so softly she almost didn’t hear it. “Brandon’s right.”

“About?”

“I have to be at the IH & RA ball in London. It’s more important than ever that I maintain…” He paused, assessing her as though he was wondering just how much to tell her. “Leadership.”

“Your leadership is never in doubt.”

He tilted his head, acknowledging the compliment with shuttered lids that said he believed the opposite. At least, at the moment. Then he yanked out his chair and sat, leaning forward the way he always did when he made a decision that he would not second-guess. Not that he’d ever second-guessed anything, ever, in his life.

“Please arrange for the charter jet company to have a Gulfstream V ready to leave tomorrow, very early, from Kendall-Tamiami Executive Airport. That will put me in London Friday evening, with plenty of time to make the function on Saturday and return on Sunday morning. I’ll be back in the office on Monday. I’ll need the Berkeley Suite at the Ritz-Carlton London. Don’t let them tell you it’s not available—”

“I’ll use your name.”

“Yes, and I’ll need a limo to and from the event, which is—”

“At Guildhall.”

“Right. And I have a driver in London I prefer—”

“Mr. Sanderson with the London Car Company.”

He laughed softly. “Yes.”

She scribbled the onslaught of instructions. “You’ll want some files for the plane,” she said.

“Of course.”

“The financials on the Grand are up for review next week,” she reminded him, still writing. “And you’ll need the latest investment results, and the agenda for the exec committee meeting next—”

“Get me everything we have on the Garrison Grand-Bahamas.”

She did look up at that, it threw her so completely. “The hotel in Nassau?”

“Everything,” he repeated.

“Of course.” She scratched another note, swallowing the question of why? A good admin didn’t ask. “And you’ll probably need to review your speech for the business council so I’ll include the notes, and you have an appointment with a marketing firm regarding new collateral materials late next week, so no doubt you’ll want a complete…” A strange tingling sensation suddenly froze her pen in hand. Slowly, she looked up from her pad to find him staring at her. “You do still want to meet with that firm on Thursday afternoon, right?”

Staring? No. Bottomless brown bedroom eyes practically swallowed her whole.

“What’s the matter?” she asked, striking a neutral chord in her voice despite the way her limbs turned heavy.

“Make it easy on me, Anna, and come to London.”

Oh. Oh. “Make what easy?”

“The work. You know so much about my work and you’re so incredible…incredibly organized. I can only rationalize this much time away from the office if I’m productive. And with you, I’m productive.”

The work. Of course. Why else would he want her to go to London? And why else would she even consider it?

“You can have comp vacation days to make up for the lost weekend,” he added, as though she were actually worried about that. He had no way of knowing that her hesitation had nothing to do with losing a weekend, and everything to do with losing her mind. Proximity to the object of her steamiest nightly fantasies could drive her crazy.

“That’s no problem,” she said slowly. “I don’t mind working the weekend.”

“Then you’ll go.” He smiled, a genuine grin that he saved for when he won a small victory in business. Something he did about a million times a day. “Perfect. You’ll need something very formal. That ball at Guildhall is over the top.”

“The ball?” He couldn’t be serious. “You want me to go to the ball?”

He laughed lightly. “That’s the idea, Cinderella. Why would I dig up a date when you’ll already be there?”

Like he’d have to dig far. “Because…” She couldn’t think of a reason. Except that one.

He’s your boss, dummy.

Unless what he’d seen in the bathroom made him think of her differently.

“Mr. Garrison, uh, Parker,” she said, standing just so she could gain the minor advantage of height for once. “I’m sorry about this morning. I—”

He pointed toward the bathroom door. “That?” He waved away her concern as if it were no more than a flea. “Totally forgotten, I assure you.” Tapping the call sheet, he added, “Better get that charter booked and get all the files in order, and I’ll get to these seventeen calls.”

Done. Decision made. No arguing or second-guessing or trying to explain that she couldn’t, wouldn’t, shouldn’t go to London with him. Because she could, and she would.

Leaving his office, Anna found Sheila McKay in the act of depositing more handwritten messages.

“These came to the front desk while you were in with Mr. Garrison,” the receptionist said. “The phones absolutely haven’t stopped since that meeting ended.”

“I just gave him seventeen others,” Anna said with a sigh. “Looks like it’s going to be a busy day.”

Sheila wrinkled a picture-perfect nose, which fit her picture-perfect face and body. Anna hadn’t been surprised to learn the stunning woman was a former Playmate who’d probably filled her bunny suit very nicely. She’d always been very friendly with Anna, especially since Anna had received the promotion to work for the CEO. But Anna remained distant with all her coworkers.

Friends wanted to know your past.

“So,” Sheila said, sliding a well-toned hip on the corner of Anna’s desk. “What went down in Garrison land? Did the old man drop a bomb from the grave or something?”

The words DNA test and contest the will rang in Anna’s ears.

“I wouldn’t know,” she said coolly. Even if she did, she wouldn’t tell the receptionist.

“There’s buzz, you know,” Sheila whispered, undaunted. “Mario in the mail room told me La Grande Madame left the conference room muttering obscenities, and is rumored to have had a bottle open before the limo door closed.”

No wonder Mario had been in the mailroom since the day John Garrison had started the company. Gossips didn’t get promoted. Anna flipped through the messages, deciding the best way to deflect the conversation.

“I’m really in the weeds, Sheila, trying to get Mr. Garrison ready for a trip to London.”

Sheila levered off the desk with a sigh of resignation. “London, huh? Ah, the lucky lifestyles of the rich and famous. Must be nice.” With a wave, she disappeared around the corner and left Anna with her mountain of messages.

Was it nice? She was about to find out. She knew she should be honored, excited and delighted for the opportunity to spend a weekend working in London.

But she had so much to hide, starting with the fact that she had a killer crush on her boss. But, honestly, that was the least of her secrets. And, if she wasn’t careful, Parker Garrison could find out something far worse than the fact that he was the object of a few daydreams.

And that would be a nightmare.

Two

“We’ve reached our cruising altitude, Mr. Garrison. Would you care for the usual?” The lone flight attendant on the G5 that the Garrison family routinely rented for business travel smiled benevolently at him. Her prematurely gray hair was, as always, pulled back into an elegant bun, her simple dark suit unmarred by even a fleck of lint.

“Thank you, Christine, I would. Anna?”

Across the small expanse that separated the two widest leather recliners on the plane, Anna had already lined a granite-topped table with a sea of manila folders and papers, and she had a laptop open and fired up for work.

“It depends,” she said. “What is the usual?”

“Tomato juice and Tabasco.”

She made a face. “Coffee, please.”

“Come on, Anna,” he urged. “Live dangerously.”

He hoped for a clever quip, an easy smile, but got only a shake of her head.

“Just coffee, thank you.” When the attendant nodded and moved toward the galley, Anna lifted a paper and held it toward him. “I’ve compiled a list of pending open items for your attention, Mr. Garrison.”

He didn’t remind her to call him Parker. Anna Cross was back to business in a big way. It was as though she’d been wearing a sign that said This Is Work, Not Fun ever since she’d arrived at the executive airport and climbed out of her little Saturn wearing her most staid suit selected from a wardrobe that couldn’t be called anything but ultraconservative. Navy jacket, shapeless trousers, flat shoes.

Where was the girl who felt pretty in pink underwear?

Parker took the list, and reminded himself that he was the one who’d suggested she accompany him to work. He’d made that clear. At least, that was how he rationalized what was, at the moment, an impulsive idea brought on by the not-so-semi state of arousal the bathroom encounter had left him in.

He knew why he’d suggested Anna accompany him to London.

But did she? Sure, she was a terrific, grade-A, indispensable administrative assistant. Sure, she was attractive, classy and intelligent enough to make small talk with the high rollers at the hotel gala. And best of all, he trusted her. She had no gold digger’s interest in his money, ready to translate one weekend in Europe into a lifetime of luxury like so many of the women he knew.

But, to be honest, not one of those was the real reason he’d made the unorthodox suggestion. The real reason was simple: he liked what he’d seen in that bathroom. And he wanted to see more. And seeing, he knew as sure as he breathed, wouldn’t be enough.

Under any other circumstances, he’d make his move and he’d make it in about five minutes, launching a romantic, sex-charged weekend with champagne and hot kisses at thirty thousand feet. Seducing a woman was an art and a pleasure he took seriously. And often.

But something indefinable held him back. Something oddly unfamiliar had him waiting for a clear invitation, a straightforward cue from her.

Maybe she’d take off her jacket, playfully taste his spicy tomato juice, unclip her barrette and give her hair a sensual shake. That was what other women would do. They’d throw in a head-tilting giggle; slide their bare, pedicured feet on his lap and let the games begin.

But not Anna.

She pulled a pair of butt-ugly reading glasses out of her purse and slipped them up her pert nose. She tightened the clip that held her hair severely off a face devoid of anything but lip gloss and maybe mascara. Then she took her copy of his agenda, pointed to item number one, cleared her throat and said, “You mentioned the Nassau property. I have the files.”

Not only did she refuse to send a single cue of feminine interest, she doused his low simmer by mentioning the biggest headache in his life.

He took the file and flipped it open.

“Is there something in particular you’re looking for?” she asked.

There sure was. Dirt. Problems. Issues. Anything that could get rid of the half sister who’d just been named his equal partner at Garrison, Inc. “Just want to see how the business is doing.”

“Last quarter’s financials are on the left side, including occupancy rates and banquet revenue,” she told him. “On the right, you’ll see information about new resort programs and key employee files. The manager of the resort, Cassie Sinclair, seems to be running things quite smoothly.”

At the mention of her name, Parker sucked in a slow and disgusted breath. He flipped through the pages, immaculately ordered and filed, frowning at the excellent revenue stream and the strong outlook for the next season based on advance reservations.

“Is something wrong?”

Yes, something was very, very wrong. He wanted the property to be a disaster. Wanted something he could hang on Cassie Sinclair to prove she couldn’t be a Garrison.

“No,” he assured her.

“Oh, I thought I might have misfiled something.”

“Have you ever misfiled anything, Anna?” he asked with a teasing smile.

A soft blush rose in her cheeks. “If you’re asking if I ever make mistakes, I think you, of all people, know that I do.”

Mistakes like lingering in his shower a little too long? He held her gaze, still hoping for a spark of connection, but she looked away—as she always did—just as Christine returned with the drinks, some fruit and freshly baked muffins.