Can't Buy Me Love (3 page)

She willed herself to move and yet she remained still; her fear, her embarrassment gave way to a clutching heat between her legs, a wetness so intense that her breath stalled in her chest while her heart hammered faster.

*

Be careful what you wish for.

Fire crackled through Cole as he witnessed the very flesh, the very image he had too often created in his mind.

He could step forward. Close the door behind him. Put his mouth full on hers and peel away the pretty pink bra with lace trim. Take the tight bud of her nipple that pressed against the blush-colored lace and suck until her head fell back and a moan escaped her lips. Gently kiss up the inside of her thigh and pull down her panties. Cole took a step forward. He could reach out and grab her. Wrap his fingers in that long hair just like he wanted, just like he often thought of doing.

He stepped into the room and closed the door behind him.

“Cole?” Meg whispered, her eyes wide.

He hardened with his name on her lips—desire clutched as he kept her gaze locked with his. A tremor raced up his spine with the near nakedness of this woman he wanted.

“Mr. Jackson, your cell phone is going berserk out here.”

The voice from the cabin broke the spell, like a pine needle against a soap bubble. Meg held up the navy skirt and covered her bare body. These feelings were only desire, nothing more. Cole turned and opened the door, took one final look over his shoulder at Meg, and left.

Meg’s heart hammered in her chest. She bit her bottom lip, and embarrassment rushed through her. Heartbreak and career suicide were the result of office affairs—not that she and Cole would ever—could ever… Besides, this snafu wasn’t her fault. The man should have knocked or at the very least announced himself. Meg slipped on her linen skirt.

If anyone should feel awkward, it was Cole. Meg zippered up her skirt. She pulled a camisole over her head and then slipped on her suit jacket. She turned and faced the mirror. She’d worked too long and too hard to let something as mundane as Cole Jackson seeing her nearly naked derail her career.
She
was a professional.

Chapter Three

“This isn’t the Four Seasons,” Meg said.

“No, it’s not.”

“You always stay at the Four Seasons. Here, Hong Kong, London, Milan. There is no other hotel in which you’ll stay.”

“This isn’t a hotel,” Cole said.

“Okay. Accommodations. In the three years I’ve worked for you, the only acceptable accommodations no matter where you traveled, are one of your homes or the Four Seasons.”

“I decided to mix it up a little.”

“Mix it up?” Meg stared incredulously at Cole.

She pulled major strings to get the presidential suite at the Four Seasons—the suite was already promised to a rock star for his holiday. She called the concierge, Rule, and reminded him of the annual amount not only Comnet but Cole spent at the Four Seasons each year. It was a my-dick-is-bigger-than-yours showdown in the form of dollars spent per year.

“I told Rule it was my decision and not your fault,” Cole said. “He promised me that their other client would be thrilled.”

“
You
called Rule?”

“I did.”

“Yourself?”

“Yes.”

 Meg pursed her lips. All her lists, her yellow lines, her order from chaos—all of it was gone. With one, perhaps two calls, Cole tossed aside any semblance of organization that Meg had imposed—by sheer force of will—on his ever-changing schedule. What other tricks might he pull before this godforsaken evening ended?

“Because?”

“Because of that.” Cole nodded toward a house sitting further up the beach. She could just make out the angled roof and white lights through the bamboo and palm fronds.

“A beach house?”

“Not just
any
beach house.” Cole’s gaze landed on Meg. “Stan Morton’s beach house.”

Through the darkness Meg saw little but the sharp edges of Cole’s cheekbones.

“I thought you would have known that, Meggy. Is your game slipping?”

Slipping? Slipping!

The muscles in Meg’s shoulders tightened. This was the second time in eight hours that Cole had accused her of not doing her job. Once, before he saw her naked, and once after—at least he was consistent.

“I’m not slipping,” Meg replied tersely. “But you seem to be full of surprises.” When they traveled for business, Cole didn’t handle accommodations, she did. She did the groundwork. She ordered his meals. She hired staff. She—The door opened and before them stood a man with silver hair and pearlescent teeth, in stark contrast to his caramel skin.

“Mr. Jackson, Miss Parson, how lovely to have you with us. I am Manuel, your attendant during your stay at Casa del Mar.”

A staff? This house she’d yet to see came with a staff. A staff that she’d yet to screen. Comnet security checked every person that came into contact with Cole. She whipped out her BlackBerry from her suit jacket and began to type.

Cole leaned toward her. “Isn’t that a bit rude?”

Rude
? As if etiquette was in the primary position on her new action list. Meg waved her BlackBerry up toward the light filtering out of the front door to the steps where they stood.

“Miss Parson, you’ll find—”

“I can’t get a signal. Where on this earth, aside from Tibet, is there still no signal? First your office and now Costa Rica?”

“Our beach is rather remote. The owners of this house and most the homes on the beach choose not to use wireless communication. This is a place that most high-functioning individuals, such as yourself, come to unwind.”

His words made sense, but at this moment, in the middle of nowhere, the final piece of what was an entirely horrible day fell into place.

Meg’s mind grasped for a solution. “A satellite phone! There’s one on the plane.”

“There is indeed,” Cole said. “I’ll have Thompson bring it by tomorrow. Early.”

“And tonight?” Meg leaned toward Cole. “Not to be rude—”

“I think you’re well past that,” Cole said.

Meg angled her chin. “But security is of primary import—”

“Number one on your list?”

“It would seem my list is now obsolete.”

“Your new list,” Cole said.

“My new list? Yes. Security is primary. Would you like me to tell you what is secondary at this moment?” She smiled sweetly, but her voice dripped saccharine-laced sarcasm. She rarely bit back. But tonight Cole had pushed and pushed, and finally she’d had quite enough of him and his changes and his second-guessing of her abilities.

“My, but the fangs come out after dark,” Cole said. “Take us in, Manuel.”

Cole followed Manuel over the threshold, however Meg stood still, not wanting to enter but realizing there was nowhere else to go. The driver would do whatever Cole told him. The pilots where long gone either to their hotel or out carousing. And she? Well, she stood as frozen to the top step as she’d been in the executive suite of the plane.

“When you stand still I notice,” Cole said.

Heat flooded Meg’s cheeks. Thank goodness the light from inside was dim and the outdoors was nearly pitch black.

“Come in, Meg.” Cole looked up toward the ceiling, as if finally acquiescing to her sense of duty, her need for order, her desire for security. “They’ve been screened. Every last one of them.”

“Who screened them?”

“The head of Comnet’s security team. Fallon Mckenzie. I remember your tricks. Even with you gone for nearly six months.”

Not only did Cole know she screened everyone, but he knew how and whom to contact. This day was full of surprises.

“I still have Fallon’s email,” Cole said. “Received it on the plane.”

“Fine,” Meg said, and finally entered the house. “But I’m going to need a copy of the security profile sent to me once I get the satellite phone.”

*

“It’s even more magnificent in the daytime,” Manuel said. He waved his hand toward the ocean beyond the living room.

 Except for a partition of etched glass, the room was entirely open. Ten-foot-tall glass sliders, all pulled open, gave the illusion that nothing separated the outdoor deck, the infinity pool, and the ocean beyond from the main living area of the house. Set high on the beach, the entire house felt as if it floated above the sand.

Paradise? Definitely.

A warm breeze filtered in, and although there was no chill in the air in the center of the sunken living room was a white adobe circular fireplace. The fire danced above turquoise stones. A dark leather sofa and chairs in a blue-green print dotted the room. To the left was the dining room and beyond that, she guessed, the kitchen.

“May I show you to your rooms?” Manuel asked. He walked toward the wing to the right. Cole and Meg followed.

Although in Los Angeles it was midnight and she’d just now be getting to bed, the ups and downs of this day wore through her. The grit of fatigue scraped under her eyelids. Meg wanted a hot bath and a cool bed, but she realized she had hours of work to accomplish before she slept.

“Miss Parson, your room.”

Meg sighed. The king-sized bed with a fluffy white duvet was a brilliant invitation to sleep. The room was primarily white with Tiffany blue accents. The sliders were open, and the surf pounded the shoreline. Three silver vases with white roses decorated the room. One on her dresser, one on her bed stand, and one at the table in the sitting area.

“You have a private bath. And there is a soaking tub on your deck.”

She also had a desk at which she could accomplish all her work but no Internet.

“Once I show Mr. Jackson his room, I will close your sliders for you.”

Meg set her laptop on the desk and then padded down the hall behind Manuel and Cole. She needed to know where Cole was in case…in case of what? In case Comnet sent her a homing pigeon? They couldn’t reach her and they couldn’t reach Cole. He never stayed anywhere without Internet access. Cole being accessible was too important to Comnet.

“Mr. Jackson, this shall be your room.” Manuel opened the double doors.

Cole knew how to live. As always, the place Cole would sleep tonight looked as if a king might rest his royal head on that pillow: a giant expanse of a bed, plush rugs, flat-screen TV—although, who needed taped entertainment when the metronomic hit and recoil of the surf was mere steps away from your bed. Cole might as well be sleeping on a raft in the Pacific. The sound of the surf was magnified in this room.

“We will pull shut the window wall while you shower,” Manuel said. “You will find your bathroom and closet to your right.” Manuel handed Cole what looked like a remote control. “Please press seven should you need me. This controls all the electronics in the house: music, film, computer.” Manuel glanced first at Meg and then leaned toward Cole. “And I will tell you, as you are the man in charge, this button”—Manuel pointed to the blue button at the bottom of the remote—“starts the wireless connection.”

“You said no wireless!” Meg jumped forward to snatch the remote, but Cole intercepted her and took the remote from Manuel.

“No, señorita, I said most people who come here wish to remain without the Internet. But I see you may be a…different case.”

“‘Different’?” Cole raised his eyebrows and looked at Meg. “You, Manuel, are a very diplomatic man.”

“My job,” Manuel said, and nodded. “Miss Parson, unless you object, I will now pull closed your sliders.”

Once Manuel backed from the room, Meg faced Cole. She had hours’ worth of work between her and the luxurious bed in her room—none of which could be accomplished without the Internet. She held out her hand, willing Cole to give her the remote that would solve all her problems and prevent her from walking back to the private airport seven miles away, scaling the fence, and breaking into the Comnet jet just to get the satellite phone.

“You need sleep,” Cole said.

“Sleep? Comnet has an Asian division, too. I have two reports to respond to before my head hits the pillow. So give me the remote.”

“Meggy, do you think Stan wants to see his favorite Comnet employee tomorrow with bags under her eyes?”

“We don’t have a meeting with Stan yet.”

“Ah, but we do.”

“We do?” How was Cole pulling all this off? Perhaps she should steal his BlackBerry instead of the remote and try to determine who was helping him accomplish these tasks.

“I have his itinerary. He walks the beach each morning around nine for exercise.”

“His itinerary? How did you get Stan Mor—”

“Some secrets shouldn’t be shared,” Cole said. He looked away from the remote and gazed into her eyes.

Heat crept through her body. The right side of Cole’s mouth twitched up and he lifted his right eyebrow. “Or should they?”

Cole took two steps forward as if to settle the remote in her hand. His eyebrow cocked upward and the hint of a wicked smile danced along the left side of his lips. He was playing with her—toying with her. Air rushed from Meg’s lungs the closer Cole got.

 “I…I need—”

Cole’s voice grew deep. “I know what you need.”

Cole reached out and touched a strand of her brown hair and tucked it behind her ear. A tremor shot up her spine with his touch—the remote meant nothing. Cole leaned forward and his lips were so close. Meg forced herself to swallow, forced herself to breath. If only she could force her damn pulse to slow to a reasonable speed.

“You…you do?”

What did Cole Jackson think she needed? At this moment,
she
wasn’t even sure what she needed. Part of her needed him to reach out and grab her, to bend her back over the king-sized bed they stood beside and take her while the surf pounded beyond. And part of her needed to snatch the remote and flee to her room.

“Yes.” Cole leaned forward, his lips now an inch from her ear. “
You
need to get some sleep.”

*

Sleep? After today, she wanted sleep. She needed sleep. But just because she was tired and just because Cole dictated that she get some sleep did not mean she could make it happen.

Meg kicked her foot out from under the duvet. There was a very obvious reason she could never be with Cole: He was her boss. Life with her mother taught Meg never to become involved with men you worked with.