Shattered by the CEO / The Boss's Demand: Shattered by the CEO / The Boss's Demand

When they reached the cashier he extended his arm past her, offering his company ID, which acted as both identification and debit card. “Put both meals on my account.”

“You don’t have to buy my lunch,” Tara protested.

“I’m buying. Deal with it.”

The cashier swiped his card without arguing.

Rand followed Tara to an empty table and sat beside her—close beside her. A prickle of uneasiness crept up her neck. “What are you doing?”

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it? For everyone to see us together? Did it wound your pride when I dumped you, Tara?”

She searched his hard face for a remnant of the charmer she’d fallen for but found none. Back then she’d heard him described as gorgeous yet soulless, but she hadn’t believed it for one minute. She’d seen his love for Nadia and Mitch and felt his passion for her in bed.

Had he changed that much? Probably not. The Rand she remembered hadn’t been under as much stress as he was now. He’d recently lost his father, moved clear across the country and taken over KCL. Anyone would be cranky under those circumstances. She’d cut him a little slack.

“No one knew about our affair then, Rand, and no one has to know now.”

“People knew. My father knew. And I’m sure human resources will spread the news that you and I both listed the same home address.”

Another oversight. She hadn’t thought about HR. “Your father had ways of finding out all kinds of information.”

“He had spies.”

“Oh, please. You didn’t used to be so melodramatic. Everett was a nice guy. People talked to him and he listened. Everyone except his competitors loved him.”

“They loved him because he bought their affection,” he said bitterly.

“That’s not true. They loved him because he cared. KCL is a perfect example. Headquarters has trained chefs to prepare four-star-restaurant-quality foods at below cost prices, onsite child care, a medical center and a gym with personal trainers and dieticians on staff. And most of the company’s employees could never afford to take a cruise on any of KCL’s ships if it weren’t for Everett’s policy of deeply discounting employee rates.”

She unrolled her cloth napkin and placed her silverware beside her plate even though the idea of eating repulsed her at the moment. Rand’s proximity kept her nerves and her stomach tied in knots.

“Your father’s ideology of a strong connection between work, family life and vacation time results in tight friendships with co-workers and a supportive community atmosphere. People like working here. They liked working for him.”

With pity in his eyes, Rand shook his head. “He had you completely fooled. My father never did anything out of the goodness of his heart. There was always an ulterior motive and a price tag attached.

“FYI, Tara, it’s cheaper to provide all the goods and services you mentioned, thereby keeping morale high and turnover and absenteeism low, than it is to repeatedly train new employees or waste money hiring temps who don’t know the job.”

What he said made a sick kind of sense. “You’ve become very cynical.”

“Not cynical. Realistic. I was CEO of Wayfarer Cruise Lines for five years. I know what I’m talking about because I implemented the same programs myself and reaped the same rewards. Trust me, it’s all about the bottom line.” He picked up his knife and cut into his thick, juicy, medium-rare steak. “I knew my father. Better than you apparently.”

If she believed Rand’s account that Everett always had an eye toward benefiting himself, then she would have to seriously consider what Rand had said that morning when he’d caught her fleeing Everett’s suite. Rand had claimed Everett was using her as a pawn in a game against his oldest son.

But she couldn’t swallow that harsh tale because it would mean she’d completely misjudged the man she’d worked for, a man she’d admired and respected. A man she’d almost slept with. Never mind that Everett’s proposition had totally shocked her. She was convinced he’d offered his protection and financial assistance because he genuinely cared for her and needed a full-time hostess. And he’d promised to pay for her mother to have the best oncologists available because he didn’t want Tara to worry.

Right?

But a small part of her wanted to believe Rand, because it made Tara’s inability to become Everett’s mistress a smidgeon easier to swallow.

“This is your room.”

Rand followed Tara into a decent-sized square room and set the two suitcases he’d brought in beside the queen-size bed. Not bad. More homey than a hotel, but nothing like his luxurious high-rise condo or the palatial Kincaid Manor. The double window was a plus.

Tara crossed the room and hung the garment bag she’d carried in from his Porsche in the closet. “This is the biggest bedroom. You can redecorate with more masculine colors if you want. With only Mom and me here, I’m afraid everything is pretty feminine.”

He wouldn’t be here long enough for the Monet decor to bother him. He hoped that once Tara realized she wasn’t going to snag him she’d give up on her absurd scheme and let him get his own place. “Your father wasn’t around?”

“He disappeared when I was seven.”

Surprised, he looked at her. “You never told me that.”

She stared at the beige carpet. “I, um, guess I didn’t want to bore you. And you really never asked about my family.”

An intentional oversight. Their relationship had been action-packed and tightly focused on their strong sexual attraction. He’d always been careful about revealing anything that Tara might inadvertently share with his father, and that meant avoiding personal topics. “Your parents were divorced?”

He wished his had been. And then maybe his father wouldn’t have driven his mother to drink and suicide. Her death had been ruled an accident. But Rand knew better. He knew, and he should have found a way to prevent it.

“It’s hard to divorce a man who’s not here.”

“He’s dead?”

She shrugged and turned away to fluff a pillow. “I don’t know. When I say he disappeared, I mean he literally disappeared. He left for work one morning and never came back. No one ever found his body or his car, and we never heard from him again. Mom and I moved into this house with my grandparents. It’s where my mother lived when she met my father.”

Sympathy slipped under his skin. He hardened himself to the unwanted emotion. Was Tara telling the truth or yanking his chain? He didn’t know what to believe anymore. He’d believed her when she said she loved him. But then she’d turned to Everett days later, proving to Rand that his judgment concerning Tara was faulty.

He shook off the sting of betrayal.

“We stayed because Mom wanted him to be able to find us.”

He stared in disbelief. “She thought he’d come back after twenty-odd years?”

She shrugged. “If he’d been injured or had amnesia or something, he might.”

“Do you believe that?”

Her gaze broke away. She smoothed a hand over the bedspread. “I don’t know. But Mom asked me to keep the house just in case, so I will.”

He couldn’t argue with illogical logic. “Bathroom?”

“Through there.” She pointed to a door.

“Internet hookup?”

“Anywhere in the house. I installed a wireless network when I moved in. My mother was—wasn’t well. I needed to be able to work wherever she needed me.” The strong emotional undercurrents in her voice warned him to change the topic or get embroiled in an emotional tar pit he’d rather avoid.

Five years ago he’d been enthralled by Tara, now he felt entrapped. Last time he’d wined and dined her and swept her off her feet. This time he wasn’t going to waste the effort. “Your room?”

“Across the hall.”

“Show me.”

She pivoted and crossed the caramel-colored carpet. Rand followed a few steps behind. His gaze dropped to her butt. She’d lost weight since they were together. He’d enjoyed her generous curves before, but this leaner version had its own appeal. Not that it mattered how attractively she baited her trap. He wasn’t biting her hook.

A maple queen-size four-poster bed took up most of the space. His blood heated and need clenched like a fist in his groin. He didn’t want to want her, dammit. But, to borrow a cliché, he’d made his bed and he’d have to lie in it. With Tara.

Consider it a job.

He’d had worse jobs than pleasuring an attractive woman. His father had made sure of that by making Rand work his way up from the bottom of the cruise line ranks. Not so for Mitch or Nadia. His siblings had never had to work in the bowels of a KCL ship or spend months sleeping in a windowless cabin.

Looking uneasy, Tara hugged herself and faced him.

Might as well get started.

He grasped her upper arms, hauled her close and slammed his mouth over hers. The initial contact with her warm, silky lips hit him like a runaway barge, rocking him off balance. And then the familiar taste, scent and softness of her flooded him with heat, desire and memories. He ruthlessly suppressed all three and focused on the mechanics of the embrace.

He sliced his tongue through her lips, taking, pillaging, trying to force a response and get the task done as quickly as possible.

Tara stood woodenly in his arms for several seconds while his tongue twined with the slickness of hers, then she shuddered and shoved against his chest. He let her go and she backed away, covering her lips with two fingers.

What exactly did she want from him? She’d said sex. For a year. He’d give her exactly what she demanded. Nothing more. Nothing less. If she didn’t like it, that was her problem.

He reached for his tie, loosened it then started on his shirt buttons.

Her wide gaze fastened on his chest. “Wh-what are you doing?”

“I’m going to do you. Isn’t that why I’m here?”

She bit her lip. “Maybe we should wait.”

He paused in the act of yanking his shirttail free. “Until after dinner?”

“Until we’ve…become reacquainted.”

Her nipples tented her dress in little peaks, her breaths came quick and shallow, and the pulse in her neck fluttered wildly. Desire pinked her cheeks.

“You want me—whether or not you’re willing to admit it.” And as much as he hated it, he wanted her. Physically.

It’s a trap. Keep the hell away from her.

Not an option.

He closed the distance between them. “You made this deal, Tara, and I’m ready to deliver my end of it.”

“I-if I wanted sex with a stranger, I’d drive to the beach and find one.”

The idea of Tara with some other guy irked him. She was twenty-nine. Of course she’d had other lovers.

Including his father. He shoved down the disgust and dragged his fingertips down the smooth skin of her arm. He relished her shiver.

“But we’re not strangers, are we?”

She jerked away. “I’ll start dinner.”

She tried to step around him. He blocked her path. “So you’re calling the shots. I perform on command. Like a trained dog. Or a gigolo.”

She gulped and briefly closed her eyes. “I had hoped the desire would be mutual. Like it was before.”

“Before you slept with my father?”

She frowned. “I told you I didn’t sleep with Everett.”

“You forget, Tara, I know what you look like after you’ve been screwed. Your mussed hair, smudged makeup and the hickey you had on your neck that night, told the tale.”

She sighed and shook her head. “Believe what you will.”

The vulnerability in her expression nearly sucked him in. She lifted a trembling hand to brush back a loosened strand of hair. “We used to be good together, Rand. Don’t you want that again?”

Did he want to be a gullible fool again? Hell no.

Given her betrayal and the Kincaid men’s history with women, cutting her loose had been his only option. “I don’t repeat my mistakes.”

She flinched. “I never considered us a mistake.”

He had to keep her happy or risk having her walk out before the end of the required year. He didn’t know what game Tara was playing. She hadn’t asked for romance when she’d brokered this bargain, but apparently she required a measure of pandering before they hit the sheets.

Fine. If she wanted seduction she’d get it. But that was all she’d get. She wouldn’t get his heart this time.

Three

The hair on the back of Tara’s neck rose. She didn’t have to turn to know Rand stood behind her. Close behind her.

She’d been so engrossed in her reading she hadn’t heard him return from Tuesday morning’s round of interviews. He must have slipped in through the back door of his office.

He planted a big hand on either side of her blotter, trapping her against the desk between charcoal-colored suit-clad arms. Even with the back of her chair separating their bodies she could feel the heat radiating from him and smell his delicious scent.

She swallowed to ease the sudden dryness of her mouth. “Can I do something for you?”

“No.”

“Then why are you breathing down my neck?”

“I’m reading over your shoulder.” His breath stirred her hair and something inside her fluttered to life like a butterfly wiggling to get free of its cocoon.

“I’ll send you the link to the company newspaper archives, and then you can read at your computer between interviews. Better yet, you can wait for my notes—the ones you asked me to make.” She pushed her chair back, forcing him to move or have his wing-tipped toes run over.

“But reading over your shoulder is more fun.” Rand stepped aside, leaned against the corner of her U-shaped workstation and smiled.

That familiar slow, seductive smile made her stomach flip. She studied the fit form beneath his tailored suit, his crisp white shirt and his neatly knotted black-and-gray striped silk tie. There was a difference in his body language today, one she couldn’t decipher. It made her uneasy.

He was up to something. She could see the cool assessment in his eyes and behind that false smile. She’d sensed that same calculation in his kiss last night—a kiss that had been all technique and no emotion. If there had been even a trace of genuine passion in his embrace, she would have made love with him. She needed to be held that badly.

God, she was pitiful.

But the thought of having Rand “do her,” as he’d said, repulsed her. She wanted him to make love with her because he desired her. Not because he had to perform.

If it weren’t for the fire sometimes making the gold flecks glimmer among the green in his hazel eyes, she’d wonder if he found the prospect of making love with her as abhorrent as she had the idea of intimacy with his father.

If only she hadn’t…

Live your life without regrets, Tara. Promise me.

She stiffened her spine. “If you need something to do, Rand, then go write my recommendation letter.”

“It’s written.”

“I’d like a copy.”

He eased upright and leisurely strolled into his office as if they didn’t have a packed schedule for the day. She’d never known Rand to leisurely do anything…except explore her body. Heat prickled beneath her skin at the rush of memories and desire.

She narrowed her gaze on his broad shoulders and shifted in her chair to relieve the tension seeping through her.

Getting rid of him had been far too easy. His behavior confused her. Five years ago she’d loved Rand’s focus and intensity. When he’d been at work he’d been all business, but when they were together and away from the office he’d been equally single-minded in his attention to her and his dedication to having fun.

Today he was muddying the waters, and she didn’t know what to make of it.

She checked his appointment book. He had ten minutes before his next interview. With Nadia out of the office for twelve months fulfilling her part of Everett’s will, Rand and Mitch had to hire her replacement soon. None of the pre-screened candidates human resources had sent up yesterday had seemed a good fit.

Tara turned back to her monitor and tried to concentrate on the words without much luck. Rand had asked her to list any pertinent happenings at KCL during their absence. She’d thought the company newsletters would be a good place to start. Instead, what she’d found—or rather what she hadn’t found—disturbed her.

Rand returned, once more blocking her escape from her desk. “What’s the problem?”

“Our departures from KCL are never mentioned in the first year’s worth of company newsletters after we left. That’s unusual. When someone leaves there’s always a brief note stating years of service, company awards and such—unless the employee was fired. I don’t like the idea of my co-workers believing I was fired. You shouldn’t, either. It will make it difficult to gain their trust.”

“My father was never one to offer excuses, explanations or apologies.” Rand bent over her desk and scrawled his signature on a piece of KCL letterhead. He slid it across the glossy surface.

Tara took it, but didn’t read past the header. “This is postdated.”

“You think I’d hand you the ammunition to waltz out of here prematurely? If you quit early, we lose everything.”

Which went back to their main problem. He didn’t trust her. Had he ever? Tara sat back in her seat with a sigh. “I gave you my word I wouldn’t leave, and I signed an employment contract. Don’t you trust anyone, Rand? Anyone at all?”

“I know when to protect my own interests. Or in this case, Mitch’s and Nadia’s.” He hitched a hip on her desk, invading her space with a long, lean knife-creased trouser-encased thigh. “Arrange a cocktail party for the executives of each of the brands by the end of the week. Plan to attend as my date.”

“Is that wise? Us dating openly, I mean.”

“I need a hostess, and you’re the one who insisted on exclusivity.”

So she had. And she’d occasionally provided the same service for Everett. Was that why her former boss had believed she’d be open to a more intimate relationship? “At Kincaid Manor?”

“Anywhere but there.”

“Your father always—”

“I’m not my father. I don’t need to flaunt my wealth or have a woman half my age on my arm to make me feel like a man. And I won’t be taken in by a pretty face or a good lay. You’ll do well to remember that.”

She gasped at his rude comment. Was he trying to rattle her? If so, it was working. “Are you deliberately being obnoxious so I’ll release you from your part of our agreement?”

He reached out and traced her jaw. Her pulse stumbled erratically beneath the slow drag of his fingertip.

“Why would I do that, Tara, when as you said, the sex between us was always good?”

Her mouth dried and her palms moistened. Arousal streamed through her. But suspicion dammed her response. She scooted her chair out of his reach. What was he trying to pull? First he’d flat-out refused to be her lover and then he’d accepted reluctantly. And now he was trying to seduce her?

His about-face didn’t ring true, then she realized why. There wasn’t any passion in his eyes despite his comment on their sex life. Rand was cold and distant—the way he’d been the day he’d climbed from her bed and broken her heart, and the day he’d caught her leaving his father’s bedroom.

He wasn’t at all someone she wanted to be intimate with.

Not like this.

She didn’t doubt he could make her ache for him even with this emotionless seduction. He’d always been a skilled lover. But perfect technique wasn’t what she wanted. She wanted the unbridled passion they’d shared in the past, and it looked like she’d have to fight for it.

He glanced at his watch and stood. “We’re going out to dinner tonight. Wear something sexy and low-cut if you want to get me in the mood.”

He pivoted on his heel and stalked into his office.

Aghast, Tara stared after him. And then anger blasted through her. He’d just thrown down the gauntlet.

If she wanted to get him in the mood?

Oh, she’d get him in the mood all right. In fact, she wasn’t going to be happy until she’d shattered Rand Kincaid’s icy control and won back the man who’d given her the happiest days of her life.

Tara knew the minute her eyes met Rand’s that her decision to fight dirty was the right one.

Tiny bubbles of excitement effervesced in her veins as she descended the stairs to where Rand waited by the front door. She could feel the heat from his unblinking appraisal warming her skin and her core. She forced her fingers from the newel post and indicated her dress with what she hoped looked more like a casual flip than a nervous flail. “Look familiar?”

“You expect me to remember your clothing?”

Oh, he remembered all right. His tight voice, flaring nostrils and the color slashed across his cheekbones gave it away. Those telltale signs made the hour she’d spent taking in the cocktail dress two sizes worth every second. Thank God for her grandmother’s sewing lessons and her ancient sewing machine because Tara hadn’t had the time, money or necessity to shop for evening wear since Rand had dumped her.

“I wore this dress the night we first made love,” she told him anyway.

His lips flattened and his shoulders stiffened, but he remained silent.

“I fixed the tear. You know, from when you ripped the dress off of me in your foyer.” His gaze dropped to her bodice as if seeking the mend, and hunger hardened his face. Her nipples tightened in response. Did he remember she hadn’t worn a bra that night? Could he tell she wasn’t now?

“Are you ready to go?” he asked tightly.

For the first time in years she felt alive and eager instead of numb. When he looked at her that way—as if he wanted to strip her and take her where she stood—she believed her plan to make him fall in love with her could actually work.

“Oh, I’m ready.” She added a quick, mischievous smile to the words even though her stomach had twisted into a corkscrew of nerves. “Are you?”

She didn’t mean for dinner. The desire burning in those hazel eyes told her the ashes of Rand’s desire were far from cold.

And she had every intention of fanning the flames.

Even at the risk of getting burned.

He’d underestimated his opponent.

And that was exactly how he had to classify Tara from now on, Rand decided as he followed her out of the humid Miami air and into the cool, darkened house. She wanted something from him, and as with any business deal, he’d concede some points but not all. That way everyone left the bartering table satisfied.

Grace in victory wasn’t a concept he’d learned from his father. Everett Kincaid had relished crushing and humiliating his adversaries. Rand preferred to allow his competitors to walk away beaten but not broken. Defeated, but not destroyed. In the tight-knit, almost incestuous cruise industry no one knew when they’d have to work for or with a previous foe again. Burning bridges wasn’t smart business.

Time to seal this deal.

Moonlight shone through the living room windows, glinting off Tara’s loose curls like moonbeams on rippling water split by a ship’s bow. Before she could turn on the lamp he intercepted her hand and carried it to his chest. Her breath caught audibly.

She’d been leading him around by his libido for most of the evening, starting with a dress that brought back memories hot enough to cauterize his veins, followed by brushing up against him on the restaurant’s dance floor until he was so hard he could barely walk back to their table.

She was good, very good, at luring a man into her trap.

It was time to regain control of the situation. He relaxed his clenched jaw and slowly reeled her in. His heart pounded out a hard-driving rock tempo beneath her palm. Snaking an arm around her waist, he brought her body flush against his. Hot, urgent desire pulsed through him.

Sex. Physical hunger. That’s all this is.

And he could control that.

“Ran—”

He smothered her words with his mouth, stole them from her tongue with his. He didn’t want to talk. Didn’t want to be distracted from the job ahead.