The Makeover Takeover Page 8

  Rafe’s forehead prickled with sweat. “And that is…?’

  “Your picture, silly.” She clicked the heart open. She peered inside, heaving a bosom-swelling sigh. “Although I have to admit, I almost didn’t recognize you for a moment with that mustache.”

  “That—what!”

  Forgetting caution, Rafe grabbed the locket and turned it so that he could see in it for himself. His own eyes stared grimly back at him above a thin dark mustache.

  “You look so debonair,” Nancy purred, giving him a quick peck on the chin.

  Rafe gritted his teeth. He looked like a villain from a melodrama, damn it! Not only had Lauren used his driver’s license picture—which made him look like a criminal to begin with—but she’d inked in a black mustache beneath his nose.

  Nancy hugged his arm again, giving an excited little wiggle. “And the inscription…”

  He shut his eyes. God, no! Not an inscrip—

  “Yours forever, Rafey. Is it true, Rafey darling? Are you really mine forever?”

  Like hell he was!

  He cautiously opened one eye. Nancy was staring soulfully into his face, waiting for him to answer. He knew he had to tell her something, but his tongue felt thick—as if he were about to choke on it. Maybe she’d injured it during her opening-attack kiss.

  He swallowed, trying to ease the dryness in his throat. “I, ah—”

  “Rafe! Honey!” another feminine voice trilled.

  The hair rose on the back of Rafe’s neck. No, Lauren wouldn’t…

  He looked over Nancy’s shoulder at the redhead posing in the doorway. She had on a black leather skirt, high heels and a gold sweater. A black leather coat was slung across her shoulders. A gold heart locket—studded with diamonds—hung between her breasts.

  Apparently, Lauren would.

  “Hello, Amy,” he said, his voice sounding a trifle hollow.

  She flung back her head and her long hair rippled down her back. Ignoring the woman still clinging to his arm, Amy shook a playful finger at him. At least it wasn't her middle finger, he noted. Not yet anyway.

  “You wicked, naughty boy,” she drawled in a Southern accent thicker than syrup congealing on a plate. She sauntered across the carpet like a leopard stalking its prey.

  “You’re so sly.” She drew the last word out a good three seconds—just long enough to step in front of Nancy, and with an adroit shift of her hip, bump the other woman aside.

  “Hey!” Nancy protested, staggering backward.

  Amy continued to ignore her. Moving closer to Rafe, she ran her finger up and down his tie—a finger, he couldn’t help but notice, tipped with a lethally long red nail.

  She looked up at him from beneath heavy lids. “Let me thank you, sugar, for the gift of your heart,” she breathed, and tugged on his tie, trying to pull his mouth down for a kiss.

  Rafe instinctively resisted the leash, but she might have succeeded anyway if Nancy hadn’t suddenly shrieked, “What!” and pushed her way back between them.

  Planting herself in front of Amy, Nancy lifted up her own necklace, dangling it in front of the smaller woman's face. “Yours forever—-?”

  “Rafey,” Amy hissed, her eyes slitting like a cat’s.

  Both women turned to glare at Rafe.

  He cleared his throat, and triedjo loosen his tie. “Yeah, well, it seems there’s been a slight misunderstanding.”

  “You’d better believe it, buster,” Amy interrupted, her accent suddenly Yankee-crisp.

  And from that point on the women did all the talking— in shrill, accusing voices. When Maureen arrived two minutes later, she didn’t even bother with a greeting, just joined the others in haranguing him, barely missing a beat.

  Eventually, Maureen took off her locket, flung it at him, then headed to the door. Amy ground hers into the carpet with her stiletto heels. Nancy tearfully took her locket off and laid it on his desk.

  “Moustier—Moustier!” she kept repeating in between heaving sobs. “I’ll never—ever—forgive you.” She turned away, then whirled around again and snatched the necklace up. “But maybe I should keep this—as a memento of our time together.”

  And she followed the other two out, slamming the door behind her.

  In the outer office, Lauren sat behind her desk as the women all went past. First Maureen, with her long dark hair streaming behind her. Then Amy raced through like a redheaded brush fire. And finally Nancy drooped by, clutching her locket in her hand.

  Seeing Lauren glance at it, the blonde said simply, “It’s Moustier,” and, giving Lauren’s desk a wide berth, glided out the door.

  Lauren fought the urge to join the exodus. She sat stalwartly at her desk, waiting for Rafe to appear. His door remained closed. She strained to listen, but couldn’t hear a thing from his office. And the longer the silence stretched, the more her doubts seemed to grow.

  This had seemed like such a brilliant plan three days ago. A fit revenge for Rafe’s unwelcome interference in her life. But now she wasn’t so sure. Listening to the melee in his office, she’d felt as if she’d thrown him to the wolves.

  Actually, she’d begun having serious second thoughts about the wisdom of her scheme this morning. She would have called the she-wolves off—that is, the women back— to cancel the surprise meeting she’d arranged, if Rafe hadn’t gotten so curt with her, arousing her ire all over again.

  You haven’t done anything wrong, she reminded herself stoutly, wiping her damp palms on her skirt. He wanted you to shop for him. You did exactly what he said. It was simply a fortuitous circumstance that his request—and her desire to pay him back for sticking his nose into her business once again—should coincide so conveniently.

  Still, it might not be a bad idea to make herself scarce for while, she thought as silence—ominous silence—practically reeked from his office.

  Yes, absence right now seemed to be the better part of valor—or however that old saying went, she decided, as she slipped her purse out of her desk drawer. In other words, this would be a good time for a coffee break. Or a visit to the bathroom. Or perhaps she should take the rest of the day off. Yes, that was what she should do. She should go on home. Very quickly.

  She tiptoed to the coatrack to remove her coat. She draped it over her arm, and headed for the hallway. She’d made it halfway there when Rafe’s door suddenly opened from behind her.

  “Going somewhere?” he asked silkily.

  Uh-oh. Too late.

  Lauren froze, then slowly turned around. Rafe was standing in his office doorway, one hand gripping the jamb as if he was holding himself back. His dark hair was rumpled. His eyes were filled with such simmering menace that her gaze quickly dropped to his tie. The dark, discreetly striped silk was all twisted up. She wondered if one of the women had yanked on it or something.

  She decided not to ask.

  He moved, and she flinched. As he began stalking slowly across the carpet, she backed toward her desk at the same pace, trying to behave nonchalantly. She’d read once never to show fear when faced with a dangerous animal. She kept her expression blank.

  Still, she breathed a sigh of relief when her desk was between them. She sat down.

  “What were you thinking?” he demanded, standing in front of it.

  “Thinking?” she repeated, as if she’d never heard the word before.

  Rafe’s expression indicated he doubted she ever had. “Yeah, thinking.” He leaned toward her, planting his hands on her desk. “What’s the idea, buying expensive necklaces like that? Moustier’s yet—whatever that is,” he added in disgust.

  Prudently, she leaned back, out of arm’s reach. “You said money was no object.”

  “I didn’t mean it literally. And did you have to buy them all the same thing?”

  She widened her eyes. “I was merely trying to follow your orders as efficiently as possible.”

  “You were, were you?” He eyed her, fulminating. “And did I tell you to put in my picture? And draw that
damn mustache?”

  “No,” she conceded. “I thought of those myself. I know the women are your good friends.” She met his gaze limpidly. “I didn’t want the gifts to seem impersonal.”

  “They sure as hell didn’t—not with that damn inscription you put in. Yours forever, Rafey.”

  He bit out a four-letter word.

  Lauren stiffened, then jumped to her feet. “Don’t you swear at me!” she told him. “This is all your fault!”

  His eyes almost started from his head. “My fault!”

  “Yes! You started it—by telling all the men around here to stay away from me!”

  “I—oh. That.” He straightened, a disconcerted expression on his lean face.

  “Yes, that,” Lauren mimicked him, her anger kindling higher at his chagrined look.

  She marched around her desk to confront him eye-to-eye. Or in this case, eye-to-chin. “How could you do something like that?” she demanded.

  He raked his hand through his hair, rumpling it even more. “I was trying to help you…”

  “Help me? Help me how? By scaring off every man who might possibly want to know me?” She started to turn away, but he grasped her shoulders, holding her in place.

  Bending his knees a little, he tried to meet her gaze. “C’mon, Lauren. You don’t want to go out with those guys.”

  “That’s for me to decide. If I ever get the chance,” she added bitterly. “I can’t believe you’d do something so mean.”

  Why had he? Lauren wondered. What did he care if she was trying to make herself happy? Her bottom lip quivered—she bit down hard to hold it steady, to hide the sign of weakness. She had to stay strong; not let him get to her. Make her doubt herself.

  She tried to pull away, but his hold on her tightened. “I wasn’t trying to be mean,” he insisted.

  His gaze roamed restlessly over her features, then settled on her lips with peculiar intensity. “I just didn’t want anyone to hurt you. I wanted to keep you safe. I wanted everything to go back to normal. I—” His voice thickened. “Oh, hell, I just want you.”

  And his mouth dropped down on hers.

  Chapter Nine

  Rafe hadn’t intended to kiss her. It was an impulsive move—spurred by the tension of their disagreement, of watching her bite on her rosy lip. She’d gotten him all worked up until, as he’d told her, he just couldn’t take any more.

  But as soon as his mouth closed over hers, Rafe knew that kissing Lauren was one of the smartest things he’d ever done in his life.

  The lips quivering beneath his were unbelievably soft. She tasted unbelievably sweet. He wrapped his arms around her slim waist, pulling her closer, then closer still, reveling in the feel of her slender body pressed against his.

  He groaned, deep in his throat, as the amazing thought—this is Lauren!—kept echoing in his mind.

  It felt so natural, and yet so strange, to hold her like this. He knew the feel of her—he’d put his arm across her shoulders, placed his hand behind her back hundreds of times. But he’d never felt her breasts crushed against his chest. Realized how small her waist was between his hands.

  He lifted his head to look down at her. Her eyes were shut. Her dark lashes lay against her pink cheeks. Her mouth was swollen, moist and half-parted, inviting more kisses. She stirred drowsily, moving against him, and desire burned hotter.

  Sliding a hand through her silky hair, he cupped her head, holding her still as he brought his mouth back to hers. He kissed the corners then nibbled gently on her lower lip. He traced the subtle curve with his tongue, then angled his head to kiss her more deeply, easing her lips apart.

  He explored her mouth, wanting to discover all her tender secrets, to eat her up. He teased her shy tongue, coaxing her to play, and for a second, she resisted. Then, with a small moan, she melted against him. Her slim arms stole up around his neck to cling tightly as she tentatively returned the intimate caress. He could feel those four small buttons pressing into his chest, and the buttons of her nipples as well.

  Rafe’s body grew harder in response. He stifled a groan. He’d kissed dozens of women in his life, but none had ever felt so right—so perfect in his arms.

  Because this was Lauren…

  Oh, mercy—Rafe was kissing her! The thought kept ricocheting through Lauren’s mind as he leisurely—thoroughly—explored her mouth. She felt dizzy, weightless. Her breathing was ragged and shallow. He tasted so good. The arms around her were so strong. His hold was firm, almost rough, but still she wanted to be closer.

  He lifted his mouth from hers, and her head lolled, falling against his shoulder. She could feel his lips roving across her cheeks, following the line of her jaw to her neck. She moaned as he kissed her gently just beneath her ear. Her eyes stayed shut.

  She didn’t want to see—she only wanted to feel, to savor the feeling building inside her. The yearning ache tightening like a spring low in her belly as his mouth returned to hers. He was so hot—radiating a heat that burned right through his shirt, right through her suit. Right through her skin. And yet she shivered as his large hand stroked down her back in a slow, lulling caress over her red suit.

  Blindly, she lifted her hand to stroke his face, her fingertips tingling at the raspy feel of his jaw. She threaded her fingers through his hair, combing it back, enjoying the way the soft strands tickled as they slid between her fingers. His shoulders were so broad, his chest so hard and muscular. She’d kissed a few men in her life—none had ever made her feel like this. As if her legs had turned to jelly, and the only thing holding her up was her desperate clasp around his neck and his strong arm locked around her waist.

  His mouth drew on hers. This time his kiss was so deep it stole her breath, her thoughts, until all she was conscious of was him.

  Rafe. Consuming her—burning her up with desire.

  He ran a seeking, insistent hand over her hip and up to her waist. Her breasts rubbed against his chest with each movement of his body, and the subtle friction made her nipples peak sharply. The need for him to touch her there kept building—growing—until, when his thumb finally stroked her nipple, she almost convulsed in urgent relief.

  “No,” she moaned, breaking away.

  She backed away unsteadily, bumping into her desk. She leaned on it, lifting a hand to cover her eyes as they fluttered open. The light hurt them. The sight of Rafe’s face hurt, too.

  He looked like a stranger. Beneath heavy lids his dark gaze was intent, hungry. His skin was flushed, pulled tautly over his strong bones as he reached out for her. “Lauren—”

  “No!” she said again, evading his hands.

  He paused, his brows drawing down in a frown, his mouth tightening. His lips looked swollen and red. Lauren knew hers must be, too. Her lips felt numb as she said, “I don’t want this.”

  The words were ragged, her chest was heaving as if she’d just run a race. She gulped in air, trying to steady her voice as she forced herself to meet his gaze. “This is just a game to you—one that I refuse to play. I won’t be one of your women.”

  He didn’t move. He didn’t need to. He just stood there, the hungry passion in his eyes a more persuasive argument than words could ever be.

  But he wasn’t going to destroy her resolve; she’d come too far to let that happen. So she gathered up her purse and coat and started walking on legs that felt like rubber, heading toward a door that suddenly seemed a hundred miles away.

  Finally she made it. She reached the threshold—wobbled—then regained her balance and walked out the door.

  Rafe watched her disappear. He drew a deep breath, then blew it out again. Her abrupt withdrawal had stunned him—but that wobble made him smile. It told him she’d been just as shaken up as he was… and he was glad. Because with that kiss, everything had clicked into place, became perfectly clear.

  He wanted Lauren. Had probably wanted her for months without realizing it.

  As for Lauren, she’d changed her image, her whole outlook, because she
wanted a man. And now she’d found one.

  Him.

  It was the perfect win-win situation.

  Not that she’d admit that, he knew. At least not right away. Her final remark had made it more than clear that she didn’t want to want him. Lauren was on a quest to find some dream man—dream relationship—that existed only in her dreams. It was her idealistic naivete that made her desire marriage. She was too inexperienced to know that forever wasn’t possible.

  But he was experienced—not that he ran around as much as she obviously thought he did judging by her remark about not becoming one of his “women.” He dated plenty of women—he went to bed with only a few. To those few he was faithful while the affair lasted, and he’d be faithful to Lauren while theirs lasted, too.

  But it wouldn’t last forever. Nothing ever did. Although he’d never felt such a hungry, yearning desire for a woman before, he knew the need would fade. It was bound to. And then—if he handled things very, very carefully—they could simply return to being friends, the way they’d been before this whole thing had started.

  Yeah, it all made perfect sense. All he had to do was assuage her qualms—and her apparent anger with him as well—and they could begin to enjoy this new dimension in their friendship.

  Not that it would be easy—but he’d handled hostile takeovers before. He knew what to do. He’d start by regaining her trust, reminding her of their previous closeness. Good times they’d shared in the past. Then, when she was at ease with him again, he’d move in under her guard.

  And make love to her with a thoroughness she’d never imagined in her wildest dreams.

  Yeah, Lauren would discover that when it came to takeovers, Rafe Mitchell was the master.

  Chapter Ten

  He was doing it again.

  Lauren didn’t need to look up from the cost analysis she’d been studying to know Rafe’s eyes were on her as she sat across his desk from him. She could feel his gaze moving over her body like a lingering caress, leaving a rising tide of warmth in its wake.