A MAN CALLED BLUE (19 page)

"I was thinking about us."

"Should I be insulted?"

He reached for her hand and put it palm down on his thigh. Massaging it idly, he ran his fingers through the grooves made by her splayed ones. "No," he said, not inclined to say more.

Simone pulled her hand from under his and for a time stared out the window. She turned back. "Blue."

"Uh-huh."

Silence. He gave her a sideways glance.

"There is no us and there never will be."

"So you said."
But I say otherwise.

"I meant it." Her voice held a trace of desperation.

"So you said," he repeated.

There was another long silence, another stretch of English countryside covered. "You're going to make this difficult, aren't you?" she asked.

He couldn't help but smile. With her brow furrowed, her expression was as sober as a Hyde Park preacher. He reached for her hand, kissed it, and again rested it on his thigh. He nodded. "Looks that way. Like you said, I'm a certifiable untrainable. Besides, I have one more night to make you my sex slave, and I intend to put my best foot forward—along with a few other anatomical parts."

She shook her head slowly. "What am I going to do with you?" The question seemed more directed at herself than him.

"Are you open to suggestions?" He squeezed her hand.

She didn't answer, merely shook her head again, smiled, and leaned to kiss him on the cheek. Her breath whispering along his neck slowed his breathing. He tried to remember a woman, any woman, anytime, anywhere, who had the effect on him Simone did. He came up empty.

Blue swerved into the exit lane and left the M4. No matter how many times he drove in England, he never got used to driving on what Americans, to British disdain, insisted on calling the wrong side of the road. It made him more cautious than usual, slower, and that irritated him, because he had no time to spare.

* * *

The next morning, shortly after five, Simone carefully slipped out from under Blue's arm—very carefully. She didn't want to wake him. She needed to clear her head, get her wits—and willpower—into full operation. It was Monday, and she'd made a promise to herself. What happened between her and Blue was
not
to effect her work. Sex and business didn't mix. A smart woman knew that.

I guess I'm not a very smart woman,
Simone thought, desperate to put what happened between her and Blue into a file labeled S for sex, instead of L.

She stood by the bed, immobile, unable to step away from the man sprawled so carelessly across it.

She looked down at him. His straight shiny hair was a dark shadow against the chalk white pillow. Last night her fingers tangled in that hair, combed it back from his face when he rested over her, muscles taut, heart pounding, his breath hard and uneven from climax. She wanted to touch him again. She wanted him to touch her.

A sigh came, impassioned and amorous. Last night...

Her eyelids drifted closed, and she shivered as memories of their lovemaking surged up and through her, fanning from her core to heat and tantalize. His hands cupping her breasts as she straddled his hard thighs. His mouth, hot and moist, pulling her nipple deep. His tongue, sweeping, caressing—each probing taste more intimate than the last—

This was pointless!
She closed her eyes.

Working to ignore the hum of her body, the quake in her knees, she forcibly shuttered her mind. Swallowing painfully, she didn't open her eyes until she'd turned her back on him, then, straight with resolution, she walked through the door to her room. Closing it firmly behind her, she leaned on it the barest moment before going directly to her bathroom.

When she stepped out of the shower, she half-expected to find Blue waiting for her, smiling at her, teasing her for leaving him. He wasn't there, and she wasn't sure if it was relief or disappointment tightening in her chest.

Cursing her own weakness, she set about getting dressed, her movements awkward and faulty. Twice she buttoned her blouse wrong. Twice she picked out the wrong colored shoes.

Later, dressed and fortified by a cup of Marie's strong coffee, she was more in control. She could and would ignore Thomas Bludell, she vowed, not even glancing at the door that separated them.

Then she heard his shower running.

After that his phone ring.

Later, a soft thud and a muffled curse.

Still later, she heard his door open and close, his steps hurrying down the hall.

She sat heavily in the overstuffed chair near the fireplace, sipped her coffee, and wryly complimented herself on her acute hearing. She smiled grimly at her untrustworthy emotions, emotions she'd rallied and pep-talked to ignore the man, that were instead, wounded by
him
ignoring her. She shook her head. Go figure.

Damn it! He said he was going to make things difficult. He could at least keep his promise.

Her thoughts were nonsense and she knew it. Feeling dismal, she contemplated her remaining time in London—the endless PR functions listed on her agenda, the work to be done on Hallam Porcelain. Breathing deep for resolve, she got up and walked to her desk. She'd best get on with it. Surely thoughts of Blue could be wrestled aside long enough for her to get some work done.

Chapter 11

At four-fifteen, Simone was immersed in Hallam's sales projections—and a report prepared by Blue. When he'd found the time to do it, she couldn't imagine. Comprehensive in scope, all the numbers pointed to growth and increased market share—and an exciting opportunity for Anjana.

She stretched and rolled her head back. She'd had a long tedious lunch with a British ad agency intent on wooing Anjana into their "select group of corporate friends," followed by a tour of Chillum Printing, a company purchased by Josephine a year before Simone took over as president. She forced her waning attention back to the Hallam numbers, the endless numbers; assets, liabilities, depreciation, amortization...

"Bingo!" Blue breezed into the room, strode behind her desk, and pulled her from her chair. He kissed her soundly, apparently intending the kiss to be short and celebratory. Still holding her by her shoulders, he pulled back a moment before kissing her again. "God, you taste good." He nuzzled her throat. Obviously, he wasn't about to let go.

Regaining a shred of composure, she held him off, but her head reeled from his sudden entrance, the touch of his lips.

"What do you mean, 'bingo'?" Still gripping his forearms, she pulled her hands away and half-leaned, half-sat on her desk. If Blue noticed her withdrawal, he didn't let on. He walked around the desk and started to pace.

"I mean I'm damned close to the truth about Hallam and his bargain of the century sale. First, did you know that Sir Michael Twickers—"

"Twickem," she corrected.

He nodded. "Twickem is in debt to Hallam—major debt—and it's personal. That's why it doesn't show on the financials, and probably why he touted for Hallam when you had lunch with him. As for the elusive Richard Cranway, he quit the company two days before we arrived in London. Went on a trip to Spain and resigned from there—by telephone."

"Odd, but not conclusive." Simone pursed her lips and rubbed her temple.

"Maybe not, but it's damned strange Gus-baby chose not to mention it."

"It's possible Hallam hasn't accepted Cranway's resignation, and expects to woo him back."

"Possible? Yes, but I doubt it." He strode back to where she stood."Cranway's due back in London day after tomorrow. I'll check it out."

He was too close now, studying her with a concentration so intense it prickled her skin.
Oh, God, how she wanted him to hold her.

"How was your day, Tiger?" he asked softly.

She stepped away from him. "Don't call me that." Her words were clipped, sterner than intended.

Seeming unperturbed by her sharp tone, he raised his hands. "Whatever you say, Miss Doucet." He barely accented the last two words, then looked at her desk. "Looks like you're busy here. I'll leave you to it." He turned and smiled at her. "Oh, and I won't be around tonight—until later, that is. I'm having dinner with a friend. Unless you need me for anything," he added, arching a brow.

She choked back disappointment and managed a nod. This was right. Exactly what she wanted. "I won't need you for anything. I, uh, have an engagement myself. I'll see you tomorrow."

He smiled again. A smile she found intensely annoying. "Tomorrow," he confirmed casually, then without a backward glance left the room.

She wanted to throw something at him.

* * *

Blue came home sometime after one in the morning.

With her newly heightened sense of hearing, Simone had no trouble identifying the soft closing of his door. She turned her back to their shared wall and pulled the covers over her head. Sleep. She would go to sleep. This night was no different than the hundreds before, merely because she wasn't in Blue's arms. Nothing had changed. One weekend didn't alter the course of a life—not a Doucet woman's life.

She did not sleep.

At two-thirty, she heard a light rapping. She sat up and stared through the dark toward the door separating her from Blue. The rapping came again, and she slid quickly to the edge of the bed and put her feet on the deep, rich carpet.

She should feign sleep, she told herself, but instead moved through the silent room without hesitation, toward the door, toward Blue. His hand was poised to rap yet again when she opened the door. She was fidgety and breathless—and wanting.

The dim light of Blue's room cast him in hazy silhouette; he loomed over her, his face obscure. When she stepped back, he stepped forward and leaned against the doorjamb, bringing with him the scent of man and cognac. He wore suit pants and a pale yellow cotton shirt. His shirt, undone, hung outside his slacks, exposing a swirl of shadowy chest hair. She stared at it before lifting her gaze to his.

They stood in absolute silence.

"You know why I knocked. You could have pretended to be asleep," he said, reminding her of their conversation at Hallwynd.

"Yes, I could have," she agreed. Knowing as the words crossed her lips, it would have been impossible.

While they considered her non-answer, neither spoke. Then Blue stepped forward and took her face in his hands. "So, is our game-playing over?" he asked. Waiting.

She nodded and slipped her hands under his shirt to rest them on his waist, her desire to touch him overwhelming. His flesh was firm under her restless hands. Her breath crackled in her ears when she swallowed hard before speaking. "This scares me, Blue," she told him, her voice wobbly and uncertain.

"Not possible. Nothing scares a tiger," he murmured in a low husky voice, bending his head to brush his mouth over hers.

Her eyelids fluttered closed, and she wrapped her arms around him, savoring his male warmth, his taut seductive body. The air stilled, caught by a deep quiet, mysterious and fateful. Locked to him, she touched her mouth to his chest.

Her senses absorbed him.

His hard sex straining against her belly.

His shudder, a rippling of cool muscle under her hands.

His skin heating under her breasts.

His touch, gentle on her hair, then her lower back as he pulled her close, sighing deeply as he did so.

And his heart, beating strong and sure against the cheek she now pressed to it.

She felt all of him, with all of her—a melting, one into the other, a fusion. And she knew.

This was love.

She loved Thomas Bludell. What he felt for her she didn't know, but for now, loving
him
was enough. Embedded in her joy was deep regret for what this love might cost her. Josephine. She pushed the thought aside. The effort made her tremble.

"I'll go if you want," Blue said, his voice low. "I don't want to—but I will."

She lifted her head and looked at him, his serious, earnest expression unexpectedly lightening her own mood. "Actually I was considering asking you for overtime."

He gazed down at her. "Unpaid, I presume."