Can't Get Enough (23 page)

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Giving up on the intricate wood grain of the table's surface, she tuned
back into the conversation Jack and Hank were having. Something about
advances in electric drill technology. She studied Jack as he talked.
She had to hand it to him, he'd been fantastic today. Patient,
intelligent, funny. With Hank and his executives, that was. With her,
he'd been cool, brisk, businesslike. Exactly what the doctor ordered,
of course. Except she couldn't help feeling a bit piqued when she saw
him being funny and charming with everyone but her. All she got was dry
business chat and polite observations about the weather. Not that it
had made any difference to her body's reaction to him, of course, but
it added a nice fillip to her humiliation when he didn't spare her so
much as a glance while she was turning to goo at the very sight of him.

A sudden stiffening in Jack's posture alerted her that something was up and she tuned back into the conversation again.

"…was wondering how you found the elephant populations inKenyawhen you
were on safari? Last time I was over there they were very positive
about herd numbers." She froze. Jack was staring blank-faced at
Hillcrest. As well he might, given that she'd failed to fill him in on
her cover story for his absence from last week's meeting. Probably
because she'd forgotten it herself. Fortunately, Hank Hillcrest hadn't.
Lucky her.

A frown wrinkled Hillcrest's formidable forehead as he waited for
Jack's response. She felt sweat break out on her own brow. She should
say something. Something witty and clever that would save the day. But
her mind was a complete blank. And any second now she knew that Jack
was going to open his mouth and deny any knowledge ofAfricaor safaris
and she was going to look like the world's biggest liar. The silence
stretched. Jack's eyes flickered across to her, and she tried to signal
him with her eyes. Unfortunately, she hadn't quite mastered the art of
eyebrow semaphore. He probably thought she was having a facial spasm.

Then he turned back to Hillcrest and smiled. A big, confident, broad
smile. "I think they're pretty happy with the herd populations at the
moment," he said carefully. His eyes flickered across to her and she
nodded encouragingly to show him he was on the right track.

"Claire was telling me that you like to stay with the local tribes
rather than in the tourist facilities…?" She closed her eyes for a
brief moment. She'd been under pressure last week, and the most
enormous crock of rubbish had come pouring out her mouth. God only knew
what gem Hillcrest was going to remember next.

When she opened her eyes again Jack was giving her a very pointed look.

"Claire told you that, did she?"

She smiled weakly. Jack settled back into his chair, slipping easily
into raconteur mode as he began regaling Hillcrest with tales from his
African adventures. Such as the time he drank fresh cow's blood with
the Masai tribe he was staying with. And how he'd gone on a hunting
party looking for a rogue lion that had been attacking the tribe's
herds.

She sat on the edge of her seat throughout, barely believing that he
was pulling this off, torn between admiration and disgust at what a
good liar he was. And terribly, terribly aware that she now owed him.
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Big-time.

Finally the meeting was over. Now that he and Jack had the whole
African continent in common, Hillcrest was filled with bonhomie and he
escorted them all the way down to the foyer. A last round of handshakes
and back pats for the men, a restrained handshake for her, and then she
and Jack were angling across the lot toward his car.

There was silence between them for a beat as they settled into Jack's
low-slung Porsche. She held her breath, waiting. Then Jack turned to
her.

"Safari? That was the best excuse you could come up with for me not
being at a meeting?" She winced apologetically. "I'm sorry. I'm a
terrible liar."

"What was wrong with simple sickness? A nice, normal bout of food poisoning?"

"He was in a bad mood. I kind of got carried away," she admitted.

"Boy, are you lucky I watched
Tarzan
so much as a kid." And suddenly they were both laughing. All the
tension of the meeting poured out of them as they howled for a good
five minutes. The car resounded with their wheezy breathing as they
both tried to regain control, but she only had to make eye contact with
him and she was off again, and the sight of her crumpled face seemed to
have the same effect on him.

Finally they managed to calm down.

"Oh, man," he breathed, rubbing his face. "My face hurts." Still
giggling a little, she fumbled in her handbag to find a tissue, and
dabbed at her wet cheeks.

"That was almost better than sex," she said without thinking, and Jack shot her a look. Why did she say that? To
him,
of all people? She gave herself a mental kick. He probably thought she was obsessed with sex. It was too humiliating.

"I mean—I mean, you know, kind of a release," she found herself blathering. Great. Sooo much better.

She risked a glance across at him and he was watching her broodingly, all trace of laughter gone from his face.

"Last week—" he began, but she rushed to cut him off.

"Is best forgotten, don't you think?"

He was still watching her. Steeling herself, she pretended a calm she
didn't feel and met his gaze square on, even managing a little
questioning quirk of the eyebrow. She couldn't read his expression, but
she got lost in his eyes. They were so blue, the exact, amazing blue of
the sky on a perfect summer's day. When he was like this, laughing and
open, she forgot all the reasons why she shouldn't like him. She
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remembered the intimacy of the elevator, and the feel of his arms tight
around her as he cried out his pain. And what it was like to have his
skin against hers…

Desire blossomed in her belly. She wanted to kiss him again. She didn't
care about the flowers, or the regret that had been plaguing her for
days. Suddenly she wanted to throw the rule book out the window and
wing it.

His eyes dropped down from hers. Was he looking at her lips? Did he
want to kiss her as much as she was aching to kiss him? He had to make
the first move this time. She'd put herself on the line and been
rejected by him too many times before. She held her breath, hoping,
waiting.

"You've got some stuff on your cheek," he finally said, gesturing
vaguely toward her face. She blinked, trying to shake off the fog of
lust she'd sunk into. "What?"

"On your cheek. Some, you know—stuff. From your nose. From when we were
laughing." She groped in her handbag and found her compact. Flipping it
open hastily, she stared at the reflected image of herself, complete
with something that was definitely not tears. She wiped it off with a
trembling hand, and blew her nose for good measure.

Great.

Another round to Jack Brook.

AWEEK LATER, Jack leaned back in his chair and tried to restrain the
impulse to look at his watch. He was tired. His eyes were gritty, his
patience was wearing thin, and he was seriously considering punching
Morgan Beck in the face. That, or dragging Claire off her prim little
ass and having his way with her, damn the consequences.

He'd been stuck in this meeting with Beck and Claire for four hours now
as they discussed a last-minute advertising problem with the magazine.
It was a common enough occurrence to have advertisers drop out just
prior to the cut-off date, but usually the client didn't get involved.
Hank Hillcrest was a law unto himself, however. He'd heard about the
advertiser's change of heart, and waded in, and now they had offended
advertisers on all sides.

And every time they got close to hammering out a solution, Hillcrest
came up with another objection. Jack was beginning to think the first
edition of
Welcome Home
would never even get out of the starting gate.

It wasn't so much the frustration and annoyance of dealing with crusty
old Hank that was getting to him. Sure, that was irritating, but it
didn't crank up his stress levels anywhere near as much as the fact
that he was fast developing an obsession with Claire.

It had been a long week since their visit to Hillcrest headquarters. A
week of working together, of cozy chats and working lunches and
brainstorming as they cobbled together the last few magazine
departments before putting the first edition to bed. A week of staring
into Claire's wide brown eyes, of laughing at her quick one-liners, of
breathing in her spicy-sweet perfume.

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What had started out as a sort of reluctant attraction had fast become
a raging fascination. She was such an enigma, with her high-necked
blouses and her sexy, toned thighs. Not that he got to see anything of
the latter, of course. But he could remember them. Oh, how he
remembered them…. He'd tried sticking to his game plan of remaining
distant and professional. But he couldn't work with someone every day
and not warm to her. Or come to like her. Even admire her. He lifted
his attention from the doodles he'd been scrawling across his notepad,
his eyes narrowing as he studied Claire. She was discussing something
earnestly with Morgan and she leaned forward slightly in her chair, her
hands gesticulating fluidly. There was a slight flush on her
cheekbones, and a determined glint in her eye. And the way she was
sitting made her skirt ride up, just a little. Not enough for his
liking, but enough that he was going to embarrass himself if he had to
stand in a hurry. It made him angry and desperate in equal measures
that apparently he had no control over himself where she was concerned.
He didn't want to want her. Hell, he didn't even want to like her. Life
had been far, far easier before he'd been stuck in the elevator with
her and seen beneath her defenses. If only he hadn't kissed her and
touched her. Perhaps then it wouldn't be so bad. Because now he knew,
and, knowing, he wanted more. He knew he shouldn't, that it was the
worst idea in the world—but it didn't stop him wanting.

She glanced up, and caught him staring. For a moment their eyes locked,
and he realized that she knew exactly what he was thinking. Well, not
exactly, because she probably would have run screaming from the
building. But she had some idea that he was thinking about her, and
him, with as little clothing between them as possible.

She blushed and looked away. And then looked back at him, as if seeking
confirmation of what she'd just seen. There was a question in her eyes,
and he was so frustrated and angry and aroused that he didn't bother
trying to hide his desire. He was sick of it. He'd had a week of pure
torture, sitting opposite her, playing nice, keeping his distance.

They both started as Morgan suddenly stood.

"I've got to call my wife, tell her I'll be late home," he said,
heading for the door. Then they were alone in the big executive
boardroom. Jack's gaze swung to Claire. She was making notes on her
files, apparently engrossed in work. He stared at her, willing her to
look up, but she kept her head down.

He returned his attention to his notepad. Probably just as well. Every
other time he'd given in to his lust for Claire he'd just wound up in
trouble.

CLAIRE STAREDat the incoherent jumble of words she'd written. What was
wrong with her? It had taken a single week of Jack's company to reduce
her to a gibbering wreck. She couldn't concentrate, her analytical
skills were a joke, and only by sheer dint of will alone had she
managed to sound remotely coherent for the past four hours. If Morgan
had any idea of the thoughts that were chasing themselves around her
head, she'd be pursuing that career in pornography sooner rather than
later. Given the direction and tone of her thoughts, it was probably
just as well. Because she could not stop
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thinking about sex. More specifically, sex with Jack. She thought about
him at home. While she was out running. During gym workouts. And now.

Oh, boy, was she thinking about him right now. About how he'd looked in
the shower—before she'd turned the cold water on. About the hard plane
of his belly. And the firmness of his muscled, male butt. And the way
he—

She gave herself a mental slap. This was ridiculous. She had to stop
doing this to herself. Especially at work. At home she'd virtually
given up on trying to stop thoughts of Jack creeping into her mind. But
at work, it was just wrong to be sitting opposite Morgan and have
nothing in her head except visions of herself tearing Jack's clothes
off.

Except, of course, Morgan wasn't sitting opposite her. He'd just gone to phone his wife. Which meant she was alone with Jack.

She flickered a look across at him. He was making notes. Of course he
was, because he was a professional. While she was sitting here
marinating in lust, he was applying his mind to the matter at hand.
Damn him.

She'd hoped she'd learned her lesson after that moment in the car. But
where Jack was concerned, it appeared she was a glutton for punishment.
She simply could not stop herself wanting him. For a beat she wished
she were like Katherine, who seemed to be able to throw herself at a
short-term fling, take her passion where she found it and move on
unscathed. But she wasn't. She was Claire Marsden . And, if the past
few weeks had taught her anything, they'd taught her that she
definitely wasn't Jack's type.

She stood abruptly. Jack lifted his head, and she found herself staring into his mesmerizing blue eyes.

"Coffee," she blurted, which was a miracle, really, because the only words in her mind were "Take me."

"I'll get it," he said, standing in one powerful movement. She tore her eyes away from his thighs.

"It's fine, I'll do it," she insisted, moving toward the coffee station
at the far end of the room. Out of the corner of her eye she could see
he was walking down his side of the table. They met at the coffee
machine.