Can't Buy Me Love (2 page)

She needed this job. She needed this success. For goodness’ sake, after three years of working for Cole she needed a promotion.

Meg closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

“She…” She looked up into Cole’s intense blue eyes, and her heart jumped. His face, set like ice, belied no emotion. He stood so very close to her.

His nearness pulled the air from her lungs. She wanted to step back, but couldn’t. A contagious heat radiated through his shirt toward her. Even with his tie pulled loose he appeared stunningly sexy.

“They couldn’t reach him.” Meg braced herself for the onslaught. She had witnessed other VP’s get their asses handed to them when they messed up a deal much smaller than the acquisition of TBC. “She said that perhaps we’d speak tomorrow.”

Meg averted her eyes so as not to stare at Cole. Of course she was physically attracted to him. Every woman on the planet was physically attracted to Cole.

Cole’s face clouded like a thunderhead rolling across the sky. His right eyebrow pulled upward was a harbinger of his extreme displeasure. “Did you say
perhaps
?”

Meg nodded.

“I don’t do perhaps,” Cole growled.

 Tingles shot through her limbs and her body tightened. She was hyperalert, aware of Cole’s presence, his disappointment. Her nerve endings tuned in to his every move.

“How did this happen?” His ice blue eyes bit into her. “How, Meg, could you let this happen?”

Anger lurched upward from her belly and pushed aside her fear.
Her? How could she let this happen?
Meg turned to Cole, her eyebrows knit tight. She handled this deal exactly as he had trained her. Each step guided by how she had observed him operate over the last three years. Skillful and precise. She had learned from the best. She had learned from Cole.

“I did everything, I—”

“It wasn’t enough,” Cole cut in roughly. He stepped forward.

Her breath shortened as Cole crowded her against the glass wall.

“Somebody else got to Morton. Some other company is going to close this deal. Metro Media? Maybe they found out.”

They were nose to nose, and Meg’s heart fluttered fast. A tremor shot upward through her knees and thighs and clutched the base of her spine, where her backside skimmed the glass. His scent filled her, and her mind grew fuzzy. He was so close, so present. His intensity rushed through her as if she’d caught a sizzling electrical cord in her hand. She closed her eyes and exhaled. She grounded herself.

“No one knows about this deal. Stan…Mr. Morton…he’d sell only to you. Not Metro Media.”

 As much as she was irritated by his quick assessment that somehow she had failed, she fought a fierce desire to lay her hands on his broad chest, tip her face upward, and—

“Where is he?” Cole’s breath tickled her face.

She blinked and forced her mind to focus. Cole Jackson was not the kind of man you lost focus around. He collected women in the same way she collected new shoes: often, and always keeping an eye out for the next beautiful pair.

“Costa Rica,” Meg said. “This week Stan’s in Costa Rica.”

Cole sighed, as if in that one breath he released a week’s worth of air. He looked past her to the ocean. “Call Thompson,” he said. “Tell him to get the jet ready. We leave in an hour.”

Anxiousness grabbed her insides.

“
We?
”

She hadn’t spent much time with Cole in nearly six months and wasn’t sure after these moments together that she wanted to spend much more.

“It’s
you
that Stan Morton wants. Not me. Not Comnet.” Cole tilted his chin, his voice low and full of gravel. “I’ve thrown every executive I have at him and he’s never even blinked, before you.”

Meg’s heart pitter-pattered against her ribs. To step away would intimate fear, or worse yet, weakness. She wouldn’t be banished again, not when she was this close to success.

“So yes,
we
leave for Costa Rica, in one hour. Because you, my little Meggy, will make sure that Stan Morton agrees to this deal.”

Chapter Two

“Is there anything you’d like, Mr. Jackson?”

“I’m fine, thanks.” Cole looked to the right, past the blond bombshell of a flight attendant, and watched Meg establish her command post at a table across the private jet’s aisle. Laptop, highlighters, Black Berry, and action lists. Meg always had action lists.

“But please check on Miss Parson.”

The flight attendant cocked her head to the side as if surprised by Cole’s request. What? He wasn’t heartless—consumed with business, yes, but heartless, no.

Meg sorted through her paperwork. Her attention to detail was pathological and over the last six months, he’d not missed her henpecking over dotted i’s and the correct placement of commas in deal memos. He was a man of action—a CEO. Details were for attorneys and accountants. 

Meg mindlessly toyed with the gold necklace around her neck as she typed on her computer. Her long legs were bent, crossed at her ankles, and capped by an indecent pair of high heels with tiny straps around her ankles.

What if only high heels and nothing else?

Caught fast by the image in his head, Cole’s stomach tightened with the vision of a nearly naked Meg. Tendrils of want slid up the backs of his legs and grasped him in a vice—to which he had no escape. He sighed and surrendered to the heat. His fingertips slid along his scalp as if prodding his brain to release the very vision he’d created.

These pictures created by his mind the uncontrollable attraction, the interruption of his business demeanor—these were the fundamental problems that Cole had with Meg. Women did not confound Cole. He worked with women. He slept with women. He did not surrender to nor
need
any one woman.

 “I’m downloading the latest analyst report now.”

“Forget it,” Cole growled. His frustration spiked.

“Forget it?” She swiveled her chair from her computer screen and grabbed at her necklace. Her brow furrowed and a look of inquisitive shock crossed her face. “This report has the most recent financials for TBC. It—”

 With one fluid move, Cole closed the distance between them. He placed a hand on each armrest of Meg’s seat and leaned forward. Meg’s eyes grew wide. She dropped her necklace and drew back closer to her plush leather seat—as if she could escape him.

The sweet scent of mint wafted off her breath. The energy coming off her wasn’t just nerves. She took a deep breath as if to calm herself. His eyes traced over her breasts to test his own mettle. He imagined the curves in his hands instead of under her shirt. But he could take it—the pressure to grab her. He could hold himself aloof and apart. He didn’t need Meg. He didn’t need anyone.

A faint blush bloomed on her chest just above her top button. The tiniest flush. He could trace the pink with his fingertip, over the tiny gold pedant, up her neck, under her chin that jutted and angled when she was displeased. He’d trace her jaw line and then the hollow of her cheeks. And those lips, full and wet; mustn’t forget those lips. Oh yes, he could design his own action list for Miss Meg.

“You mismanaged this deal,” Cole said, his voice thick from the closeness of her, the heat of her, the scent of her. He felt Meg’s quick breath as the warmth of each exhalation caressed his cheek. She was vulnerable. She was ill at ease.

“Excuse me?” Shock registered in Meg’s eyes, but beside it anger.

“Just call it like it is, Meggy. You mismanaged the deal.”

“I…I did no such thing,” Meg’s eyebrows pulled together and her forehead wrinkled. “There is absolutely no indication that Stan doesn’t want to make this deal—”

“He won’t take my call—”

“You’re the one going off half-cocked and flying halfway across a continent because you can’t get a seventy-year-old man on the phone.”

“And you aren’t worried?”

“No.”

He could hear the lie in her voice. His gaze traveled over her.

“I find it insulting that after three years’ training you assume Stan not taking your call is a result of my failure.” Her voice held ice but when she looked at him her eyes flashed fire. “Don’t you think it’s time to trust my judgment?”

Cole set his lips in a firm line. “Not my strong suite.”

“I suppose not,” Meg said.

“Trust is earned.”

Meg raised her perfectly arched eyebrow. “What more could I possibly do?”

A valid question, but he wasn’t standing in his own private jet on his way to Costa Rica to close the biggest deal of his career by tossing out trust like purple beads at a Mardi Gras parade. Trusting too easily nearly destroyed him once. It wouldn’t happen again. To trust was to feel. To be open. To be vulnerable. All things that cost more than Cole could afford.

 The plane bounced over a pocket of air. Meg’s highlighters and papers scattered across the floor. Cole lurched forward, his lips mere inches from Meg’s.

He grasped the armrests and desire clawed at his belly. He stepped away from Meg. Let her have her torturous action lists. Cole had much more urgent matters on his mind.

*

Meg knelt on the floor, grasping for the yellow highlighter. She looked up toward Cole’s retreating backside. As unsettling as he was, the man had a great ass.

“Let me help you, sweetie.” The blond flight attendant handed Meg her green highlighter, which had rolled down the aisle toward the galley.

“I don’t know how you do it.” The blonde’s gaze trailed after Meg’s and landed on Cole’s backside.

“Do what?”

“Work with that fine piece of man every day.” The flight attendant leaned forward as if to share a secret. “If I worked with a man like Cole Jackson every day, I’d be too distracted wondering how to get him in my skirt to ever get any work accomplished.” She waggled her brows.

Familiar with the reaction all women had to Cole, Meg pushed a smile to her face.

“Let me get you something to drink. Bourbon? Wine—”

“Diet Coke,” Meg said.

She resettled before her laptop, which was unjarred by the turbulence. Once she placed her papers in the appropriate order a sense of calm descended over Meg. Organization. Careful classification. Priorities. These were the elements within her life that allowed her to function. To survive. To thrive.

Carefully crafted structure provided consistency. Last-minute trips jarred her. Of course she was always prepared to travel, but there were so many variables to control when Cole chose to leave without notice. After Cole had ordered the plane readied, she secured lodging at the Four Seasons in Costa Rica. Cole stayed only at the Four Seasons.

 “Here you go, honey,” the flight attendant held out a crystal glass brimming with soda.

“Thank you.”

Meg tilted the glass to her lips. Ahhh, a moment alone. No Cole to corral. No Stan to call. No concierge to cajole. Just a moment to rest her head and sip her soda.

The plane bucked over another air pocket and the glass slipped from Meg’s hands, landing squarely in her lap.

Damn!

Meg held up her hands and stared down at the pool of Diet Coke forming on her skirt. Brown soda streaked her white silk shirt, but on the table her lists were safe. Her BlackBerry? Fine. No, the only casualties seemed to be her white shirt, her skirt, and her left shoe.

The flight attendant hurried forward and handed Meg a towel. Meg sopped up the majority of the lake in her lap.

“I need to change,” she said.

Meg walked toward the back of the BBJ 737, one of a handful of custom-made Boeings in the world. She entered the bedroom suite, where all the bags were stowed. Mahogany wood with gold inlay covered all the surfaces, and each seat and the couch was covered with a rich, cream-colored leather trimmed in black. A mass of pillows and a down comforter in a deep red print covered the giant bed. The expense of this room was made all the more evident because it was located on a plane now thirty thousand feet above the ground.

Meg opened the closet door and unzipped her hanging bag. She was completely on edge. After six months of working down the hall from Cole on the TBC deal, instead of by his side as his assistant she’d lost her immunity to Cole’s sexuality. An immunity that she had carefully crafted over the last three years. Meg pulled out her blue linen suit, which she packed specifically for warmer locations. This suit didn’t wear as well but was cooler. She unbuttoned the top button of her soda-stained shirt.

When Cole stared at that button earlier she had imagined him reaching out and snatching it open. Would his touch be gentle or rough?

Get rid of the thought.

Sleeping with Cole would end in disaster. Complete and utter failure. Cole maintained a steady diet of super models and Hollywood actresses. Although he’d had quite a dry spell… Was it nearly eight months since the Russian oil heiress?

Meg folded the soppy white shirt into a square and zippered it into a plastic bag she carried for her dirty clothes. She wasn’t about to undermine her credibility within the company or within the entire media industry by becoming one of Cole’s disposable dalliances.

No, Cole was for professional use only. Besides, as a potential suitor, Cole Jackson failed to meet any of the compatibility requirements on her list.

Of course she had a list.

Meg twisted the zipper of her skirt around to the front and slipped the hook from the eye. A mate was the most important decision Meg would ever make in her life. How could she possibly wander through life not knowing exactly what she wanted—
needed
—in a spouse?

With a gentle tug, Meg pulled down the zipper and slid the pencil skirt over her hips. She reached for her navy blue suit skirt—

“Meg, this won’t do.”

The sound of the door opening and then Cole’s voice assaulted Meg’s ears. She froze. Adrenaline coursed through her and yet in this moment she did not move—could not move.

Cole stood just inside the door, report in hand, and stared at her nearly naked body.

Meg felt his gaze as if the tips of his fingers moved across her body—skin on skin—leaving trails of heat where they touched. Up her legs, her inner thighs—her stomach—her breasts—pausing to stroke each nipple until fully erect, unrepentant in their arousal. The back of her neck and her mouth until finally his pupils wide like big black spots finished devouring her nakedness and Cole’s eyes locked with hers.