Billionaire Boss (3 page)

Laughing, she shook her head. “Thanks for the offer, but the only child I have is an eleven-year-old sister named Carrie.”

And a mother who's weak from a successful dose of chemo,
she added to herself.

“I like children.” His expression was scrupulously washed of all emotion.

“Did you come from a large family, then?” The question, she thought, was perfectly appropriate and not out of line.

He surprised her when he laughed. “I was the only child, raised—if you could call it that—entirely by my mother.”

“My parents divorced, too,” she mentioned, gaze trailing to the jagged purple horizon iced with snow.

“My parents weren't divorced. That would have been too honest.” Giving her a penetrating stare, he added, “My father was a successful financier. He was absent from our lives, always away, having too much fun without us.”

“I'm sorry,” she offered, her hand stroking Sterling's salt-and-pepper mane as if to comfort. “But at least your mother was there for you.”

He gave her an amused, jaded look. “You know that old joke about the couple going into the restaurant—the husband sees another woman there and gives her a big French kiss?”

She shook her head.

He continued. “Well, when the couple sit down, the wife asks him who the woman is and
he tells her it's his mistress. The wife is furious and she wants a divorce, but then the husband explains that if she divorces him, gone is the winter cabin in Aspen and the house in St. Thomas, no more shopping sprees in Boca, and so on.”

Smirking, he turned Noir around to face her. “So the joke ends that the wife shuts up about getting a divorce, and then when they see a couple next to them in the restaurant and the man is kissing a woman they know is not his wife, the woman asks who the woman is, and the husband says it's the man's mistress.”

A long pause ensued for effect.

At last he gave the punch line. Slowly he said, “So then the wife comments, ‘Well,
our
mistress is prettier.'”

Kirsten rode silently on, not sure if she wanted to laugh or cry. The joke was awful, but it certainly told of a woman more interested in her shopping sprees in Boca than her son.

“So you see,” he said, turning Noir around and continuing the rocky trail heavenward, “sometimes divorce is much more honest.”

They rode for a long time, each in their own thoughts.

Wanting to break the silence, she finally said,
“Hey, do you want to see where I saw the grizzly by Blue Rock Creek?”

He turned and nodded.

They took the fork in the trail that led to the creek.

Once there, she dismounted and haltered Sterling. Seth did the same.

“I think it's downstream from here. Do you still want to see? It might be a bit of a hike.” She looked up at him.

Without her heels on, she suddenly realized how tall he was. He towered over her. Intimidated enough by his brooding dark looks and penetrating stare, she had no need for a reminder that he was physically much stronger than she was.

“No problem for me, but it's rocky—that okay with you?”

She laughed. “Hey, this is my childhood haunt. I could do it blindfolded.”

“Then show me.”

She took a second look at him to be sure it was what he wanted, then she wandered along the creek edge until weeds choked her path and she was forced to walk in the creek.

He followed, his cowboy boots sloshing along behind her.

“It's not far, I don't think.” She chewed on
her lower lip. “It's been a while, though.” She walked another few steps. Beyond was the clearing of soapberries that had once hidden the mother grizzly bear and her two cubs.

“There it is. I was standing over there—” She turned to the other bank and her leather-soled cowboy boot slid on a mossy stone. She went flying.

A steely arm went around her waist, catching her.

She looked up, wanting only to give Seth a gratifying glance before stepping out of his arms, but he wouldn't let go. She stood there staring up at him. There was nothing around them but silence. Even the crickets, it seemed, were holding their breath.

“Is our mistress going to be prettier?” he asked, looking down at her, cynicism like a poison in his voice.

She locked gazes with him, devastated yet strangely thrilled at the same time. His arm was like a prison, and his eyes pinned her to the ground. His words stung and promised at the same time. He implied marriage and commitment, all the while assuring her of deception and heartache.

Her pulse beat a staccato in her throat, her lips grew dry and she licked them—just as she had
done when doused with table sugar. The water rushing at their feet now became deafening.

“There won't be any mistresses in my marriage. I promise you.” Her voice was thick with emotion.

He arched one jet-black eyebrow. “What's to stop them?” His own words grew husky. “This?” he whispered right before he crushed her to him and captured her lips with his.

The kiss was molten lava. Almost more than she could bear. It had been months since she'd been kissed by a man with so much yearning, months since she'd allowed herself the sexual pleasure of one deep earthy kiss.

She opened her mouth to him, selfishly taking what he had to offer. He didn't disappoint. His scent filled her. Whereas she'd thought he'd smell of Bond Street cologne and plastic, instead her nostrils filled with man heat and leather. It was delicious.

He pulled her farther into the hard wall of his body, his kiss deepening with his tongue. She released a nearly silent moan, her hands curling against his chest as he penetrated her mouth with lover's strokes. Her legs weakened; her head grew light. Only her yearning remained sharp and hungry, driving her mindlessly toward ultimate satisfaction.

His palm rubbed the inward curve of her waist, then made its way up her torso. She didn't want sanity to intervene, but she knew if he cupped her breast she would be well on her way to sleeping with her boss. And that was unforgivable madness.

Cold logic forced her return to earth.

As if drugged, she pulled back from him, and with a kitten's fury she spat out, “Look, I've heard about you. I know all about your conquests, all the beautiful girls. Hazel told me you're the talk of Wall Street.” Her passion rose. “But I don't want to be another conquest, okay? I don't need the trouble. What I want—what I need is this job. I must have this job, and I won't be able to keep it if you and I—well—if you and I—”

Her frustration, sexual and otherwise, choked her. “Well, we won't do it, okay? We just will not!” she cried before she ran down the creek to her horse and galloped all the way back to the stable.

 

“Hazel, you're setting me up,” Seth growled that evening in Hazel McCallum's nineteenth-century parlor. Ebby, Hazel's housekeeper, seemed to sense where the conversation was going and brought over the whiskey decanter.

“You calling me a sneaky varmint? Seth, you told me you needed a personal assistant, and I recommended one. Now look at you! Sitting there accusing me of rustlin',” she said.

Hazel, with her blue jeans and cowboy boots that were the perfect foil for her silver hair with its elegant chignon, nodded to Ebby to pour two stiff whiskeys.

Seth waved his away.

Hazel took hers, unable to hide the twinkle in her famous Prussian-blue eyes. She commented, “I always like a snort before dinner. Gets my blood up, don't you think? Oh, but yours is already up, I guess….” She lifted the glass to her lips.

He resentfully took his whiskey.

“I really don't think Miss Meadows is the type of woman I was looking for to fill the position,” he said in clipped tones.

“Why?” Hazel retorted good-naturedly. “Because she's beautiful and smart? She's fluent in five languages, too. I believe you're only fluent in one, if my sources are correct.”

Giving her his notorious icy stare, he said, “Yes, but I'm fluent in the only language that counts—money. So that makes me fluent in every language.”

“Kirsten Meadows doesn't speak that lan
guage. Just you remember that, Seth.” Hazel turned serious.

His mouth turned into a hard line. “I've never met a woman who didn't speak it. Besides, that's not what our dear Miss Meadows was saying on the phone about her ship coming in.”

The aging cattle baroness studied him. “She's not like those other women. You mark my words—she's something you've never dealt with before, son, and God save you if you forget that.”

He said nothing. The line of his mouth grew harder.

Hazel laughed and refilled his glass.

“Now, on to more pleasant talk,” she continued. “I meant to tell you that you're hosting next week's Mystery BBQ Sizzle. We have it once a year in the summer, and I usually host it here at the ranch, but it's time the townsfolk got to know the carpetbagger in their midst.”

“Don't tell me, tell Kirsten. I may have to be in New York—”

“I don't give a damn where you might have to be. When I sold you that prized parcel of my land, I told you it came with a commitment to the town—and that means being here.” She winked. “Why don't you invite your fancy New
York friends? They might get a kick out of seeing you play ranch hand.”

He finally laughed. “Hazel, you're in the wrong element here in this little town of Mystery. I swear you're diabolical enough to work on Wall Street.”

The cattle baroness smiled at his flash of white, even teeth. “Why, this ol' cowgirl couldn't handle them city slickers, and you know it.”

“No, they couldn't handle you,” he said wryly.

“We'll give them the chance to find out a week from Friday.”

He took another long sip of whiskey. And rolled his eyes.

“Hazel! I just had to get here and tell you! I got the—” Kirsten screeched to a halt in the parlor, Ebby at her heels.

“Oh, gosh, I'm sorry, Hazel. You have company,” she muttered, her gaze going to Seth.

“Nonsense. He's family now just like you are, Kirsten. He bought that land of mine and that makes him a native son.”

Hazel got to her feet—she was slower than she used to be, but more spritely than most her age. “Now that you're here, we're just about to
have some vittles. Come take a place at the table.”

Ebby disappeared to add the third place setting.

Kirsten still shook her head apologetically. “No, forgive me. I should have called….”

“Since when do I answer my phone?” Hazel harrumphed. “If you got words to say to me, you say 'em to my face just like in the good ol' days, or you keep 'em to yourself. So now you two pokes come to dinner before your plate gets cold.” Hazel left the parlor for the dining room.

Kirsten was alone with Seth.

She looked up at her boss, her emotions still stinging from their encounter in the creek just hours before.

Awkwardly she said, “How do you do, Mr. Morgan.”

“Miss Meadows,” he acknowledged curtly.

She swore there was a twinkle in his cold eyes. Her cheeks heated.

“I hope you don't mind my barging in like this. I truly didn't realize you were here.”

He gave a wry twist to his lips, the lips she still found wickedly evocative and handsome. “Not at all. But if we're going to work together, and now dine together, I'd like you to call me Seth.”

“Certainly. And you may call me Kirsten.”

He nodded.

Even she could see how stiff they were with each other. The kiss that afternoon had seemed to freeze both of them.

“Drink?” Ebby interrupted, offering Kirsten a whiskey and ice.

Grateful to have something to focus on other than the memory of their kiss, she took the proffered glass and sipped it.

“She's waiting,” Ebby announced, a knowing smile on her lips.

Seth rolled his eyes again. “Oh, I know, one thing we don't do is keep the queen waiting.”

Both Ebby and Kirsten stared at him.

Then they both burst out laughing.

Ebby finally interjected with, “You know, Mr. Morgan, you're a quick study, and you seem to be getting things a lot faster than most. I think you might fit here in Mystery after all.”

H
azel's dinners were famous for their overindulgence, and the current night was no exception. Kirsten was half-tipsy and full to the gills when she and Seth said good-night to the cattle baroness. Having gotten a ride to Hazel's ranch from her mother, Kirsten reluctantly accepted Seth's offer for a ride back to his place.

The mountainous road was no match for her emotions as she sat next to Seth in his Jeep. Playing elk slalom, he navigated the vehicle with skill and precision through the dark rural night.

“You drive like a native,” she commented.

He chuckled. “I'm no native. I grew up in East Hampton in New York.”

“Well, something's clicking with you and Mystery. The tourists are terrified of the roads at night.”

“My parents had a ski lodge in Big Sky, Montana. I decided early on that I like the nature of the mountains more than the skiing. Camping made me learn to drive the winding roads.”

“That explains it.”

He looked sideways at her, studying her.

“You know,” he interjected into the quiet automobile, “Hazel told me that next week I have to host the Mystery BBQ Sizzle. I hope you know what has to be done, because I don't have a clue how to go about something like that.”

It was her turn to chuckle. “Hazel's so tricky. She loves handing that over to the greenhorns. It's like a test.”

“Well, I expect you as my personal assistant to make sure I pass the test.”

She nodded. “I know what has to be done. No problem. Consider it a finished deal.”

“I'll want to invite some New Yorkers.”

“Certainly.”

“I'll leave the list for you in the morning. You can find all their numbers in my files.”

“Of course.”

“I'll want the plane sent for Nikki.”

Her heart went thump. She knew who Nikki Butler was. The tabloids loved to photograph the willowy model with her billionaire boyfriends.

Kirsten denied any pangs of jealousy.

The kiss she and Seth had experienced that afternoon was at best an inconvenience, at worst a threat to the job she dearly needed. The emotions that roiled inside her upon hearing this could only be disappointment—disappointment to find out her boss was so shallow as to date an airhead model with an IQ less than her daily calorie intake.

“I'll make sure she has everything she wants.”

Including you, Kirsten thought with more bitterness than even she had expected.

“See that she comes in on Thursday so we have some time alone before the big event.”

Woodenly Kirsten responded, “I'll take care of it.”

“If you have any questions as to her preferences, Mary can help you with them. She knows everything about Ms. Butler.”

She nodded, wondering if her face looked as green in the dashboard light as she felt.

“Do you feel all right, Kirsten?”

Her head snapped around to face him. “I feel great. Why wouldn't I? Why would you ask?”

He paused. “Well, we've been parked at the ranch for almost a minute now. You seem preoccupied.”

Kirsten felt as if she was waking from a nightmare.

Suddenly she looked out of the Jeep window and realized they had indeed stopped at the front of Seth's house. She couldn't remember coming to a halt at all.

“No, no. I'm fine. Just a little tired from the long day,” she blathered, getting out of the jeep.

“Well, good night, then.”

Like an idiot, she kept on blathering. “I'll take care of everything. Don't worry. In two days every preparation will be made.”

“Good night, Miss Meadows.”

She paused, suddenly hating the formality when before there had been none.

“Good night, Mr. Morgan.”

 

The Mystery BBQ Sizzle was the event of the summer. Tourists and locals alike attended. It was a tradition of Hazel McCallum's that went back decades. Hazel always said you could find out more about a person at a barbecue than you could at a five-star hotel.

Kirsten, watching supermodel Nikki Butler sunning her long svelte self at the ranch's pool, had the sickening feeling Hazel was right. She was going to get a load of Nikki Butler's character that weekend whether she wanted to or not.

“Could you stock the pool fridge with more mineral water?” Nikki asked Viola the housekeeper in a sweet voice.

Viola smiled as she walked past Kirsten.

“Can I get you anything?” the older woman asked, as always, eternally gracious.

“Don't add me to your woes. I'm strictly self-serve around here,” Kirsten offered with a smile of her own.

“It's only going to get worse when the rest of the guests arrive. He's got another model and two brokers coming tomorrow,” Viola added.

Kirsten almost shuddered. “There'll be a run on Scotch and rice cakes in town.”

Laughing, Viola went toward the kitchen.

Kirsten was about to leave also when she saw Seth enter the pool area from the stables. He didn't see her; he seemed to have eyes only for Nikki.

Stepping behind a rough-hewn pillar, Kirsten watched, a sickening feeling in her stomach. She didn't want to get involved with Seth Morgan,
but she feared her rational mind was telling her one thing, and her heart and hormones another.

Seeing him interact with another woman was not something she enjoyed, but she couldn't look away. Her curiosity took over.

They were discussing something. Neither seemed particularly demonstrative toward each other, but Kirsten wondered if she herself was putting a spin on that.

Seth seemed to settle an issue, and Nikki, appearing as self-involved as Kirsten expected, simply sat back in her lounge chair and resumed tanning.

Not wanting him to see her, Kirsten darted behind the cabana and walked toward the house. She went to the desk in the large kitchen and absentmindedly went through her list for the barbecue.

“Miss Meadows—”

Kirsten was startled. Seth stood right behind her, studying her with that wintergreen gaze.

“Yes?” she answered coolly.

“Nikki needs to call her agent—would you bring her her cell phone? She said it's on the bed.”

She nodded.

He almost seemed to want to smirk. But he added nothing else before he walked away.

Fuming, Kirsten went up the rough-hewn staircase.

Besides her room and Seth's suite, there were three guest rooms at the back of the house. Hoping and praying she wouldn't have to go looking for the cell phone on Seth's bed, she went to the back of the hall.

All three guest bedrooms were unoccupied.

Nikki must be staying with Seth, Kirsten thought.

Strangely disheartened, she went toward Seth's closed door.

They'd shared only a kiss and a few pleasant moments. There was nothing between them, and his girlfriend had every right to stay wherever she wanted while in his home.

Nikki Butler was his girlfriend. His
girlfriend,
she repeated to herself silently.

She was going to have to remember that while Nikki was here—and most especially once the model left. Seth Morgan was dangerous. He played the field and cared nothing of the women he left in his wake.

After what had happened to her mother, Kirsten was doubly appalled that she'd had even a fleeting thought of a relationship with the handsome lout. Her own experience with men had been wary, at best. She'd made her own bad
choices. One in particular, James, was even still hanging around Mystery, nagging her for more dates even though they'd broken it off after James had lost his temper one night. She had no patience for that kind of man, and so far she'd met few that weren't like her father—narcissistic.

So she and her new boss had had one kiss, Kirsten told herself. It meant nothing. It was an error in judgment by both of them, and that was all. The fire in her mouth when he'd deepened the kiss was all that seemed to affect her brain lately, but what she'd have to concentrate on was how cold her feet had been with the stream rushing around her boots. The coldness was what she needed to concentrate on now. Just the coldness.

She opened the waxed knotty-pine door to his bedroom.

Her expression froze.

The perfect specimen of a naked man's backside stood between her and the bed.

“Oh, I'm sorry!” she gasped, the blood draining from her face.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Seth snapped, holding his swim trunks—which obviously he hadn't had time to put on yet—in front of himself when he turned to face her.

Speechless, all she could do was stare at him,
her gaze taking in the grid of muscle on his belly and the dark trail of hair that pointed like an arrow to…to…

“Again, what the hell are you doing here? Don't you knock?” he asked, his voice laced with anger.

“I'm sorry, but you told me to get Ms. Butler's phone on the bed. I didn't think you were in here.”

A muscle bunched in his jaw. “She's staying in the cabin. Along with everyone else from New York.”

“I'm—I'm sorry,” she stammered. “I just assumed she was staying up here.”

“She's not.”

Why not?
she wanted to cry out, desperate to make sense of this man so she could protect herself.

But there was no asking questions now. He had no clothes on, and his relationship with Nikki was none of her business. None absolutely.

Kirsten needed to concentrate on coldness.

And it was very hard to think about the cold as she stared at a naked Seth Morgan, his high, tight buttocks reflecting back at her from a cheval mirror.

“Miss Meadows, you're excused.” His gaze
raked her. “Unless, of course, you want to come in and lock the door.”

Backing away as if from a bee sting, she shook her head and fumbled for the door. His nudity frightened and aroused her, all at the same time. It brought a rush of emotions she longed to repress. Horrified, she wondered how she would ever keep him from her thoughts when she now had him burned forever in her memory.

She took her escape gladly. She ran from the bedroom, his laughter following her the entire way.

 

“He's being his usual obnoxious self. I mean, he has the nerve to put me in the guest cabin with everyone else, can you believe it?”

Nikki's upset words to her agent over her cell phone registered all too well with Kirsten when she arrived shortly after retrieving Nikki's cell phone from the guest cabin for her. The model was in a difficult mood in spite of languishing by the pool, and Kirsten could almost sympathize with her. That morning she herself wasn't feeling too gracious, either.

“Oh, honey,” Nikki called out to her, her hand on the mouthpiece, “can you see to it that I've got a magnum of champagne in the cabin?
Thanks.” She went back to her cell phone. “That ought to do it.”

“Certainly,” Kirsten said, her insides crawling at the name
honey.
To Nikki everyone was
honey
—Viola, Kirsten, Jim the ranch manager. The only one who wasn't was Seth Morgan.

Kirsten got the champagne from the wine cellar and brought it to the guest cabin that was nestled in the rock just out of view from the house. Setting a couple of crystal flutes on the copper counter, she placed the champagne in the fridge, her thoughts a million miles away from her task.

In many ways Nikki Butler was perfect for Seth. She was gloriously beautiful, so much so that their mistress would be hard-pressed to be prettier. Nikki would also tolerate any of Seth's bad behavior to get her hands on the next bit of loot, and all would be happy.

But for some reason the thought of Nikki and Seth just made Kirsten sad. Certainly Seth Morgan was one of the most cynical, jaded men she had ever met. But there was something inside him, something very human. As numb as he was to intolerable behavior, at least he was cynical about it. It showed some kind of fight in him, some kind of reaction to it all instead of being blithely accepting.

Hazel saw something in him, too, and one day Kirsten wanted to ask her about it. The cattle baroness never ever sold her land. For her to have given Seth an unheard-of amount of family land meant Hazel viewed him as worthwhile.

Kirsten smiled to herself. Ironic though it was, it was hard to see Seth's worth at times, with all the blinding riches around him.

From the window she watched as Seth arrived at the pool. He took a dive off the board, splashing Nikki. His head broke the surface, and he was all wolfish smile and glittering water. Behind him, the mountains ripped upward, their cracked tops frozen with ice.

His wealth could dig a hole in the ground and build a pool, an unnecessary extravagance in the cool Montana summer, but there was nothing the man could do about the mountains. The mountains were there, untouchable and magnificent. The pool and the mountains—style versus substance.

And Kirsten wanted substance, while Nikki wanted style.

Kirsten supposed that was what bothered her. She told herself she wasn't necessarily falling for Seth Morgan. Sure, they'd kissed, and it had been…well, breathtaking. Like the mountains.

But deep down she suspected that Seth Morgan was more than just style.

Yet Nikki would win. It was inevitable.

And then there would be no more hot kisses, no more cold streams rushing through their legs, no more talks on horseback. There would be no more mountains.

Strangely depressed, Kirsten sighed and gathered herself. She wasn't necessarily falling in love with Seth, but at times it sure felt like it.

Like now, when she watched him frolic with his model by the pool. In truth, Kirsten wanted to rip him away from the whole scene, to ease her jealousy.

To ease the heartache she felt whenever she saw things of substance slip away.