Falling For Her Boss (13 page)

As they ate, and with Noah's encouragement, Francie talked about her family, relaying childhood anecdotes that again increased Noah's sense of emptiness.  Francie had this wealth of caring, no matter where she was, to draw on.  And she didn't take it for granted as so many did.  Craig for one.  With his dive into debt and his drinking, his former partner could have lost his family as well as all his money.  Noah had never had the chance to take a family for granted or appreciate it.

Later, as Noah opened the door to the rooming house, he was torn between the longing to take Francie in his arms and the knowledge that any pleasure they received from each other would be short-lived.  This night was just an interlude until they returned to the problems of the rink, until Francie made a decision.

Half expecting Brent McIntosh to be standing in the hallway waiting, Noah was surprised when Francie said, "Brent's not back yet.  His car wasn't in the parking lot."

Jealousy pricked Noah until he asked, "You wanted to see him?"

"I wanted to say good-bye so we could get an early start in the morning."

Noah felt a distinct relief, though he wondered if Francie was fooling herself where McIntosh was concerned.  The man had hurt her, but that didn't mean she didn't still care.  That didn't mean that those feelings couldn't be revived.

They hung their jackets on the coat rack inside the door and ascended the steps.  When they reached Francie's room, Noah dropped her duffel bag on the floor at her door.  He wanted his hands free.  He wanted her hands free.  The reason wasn't altogether conscious.

She tilted her head and, with a smile that was more serious than light, said simply, "Thank you."

"I didn't do anything."

"You listened.  I can't tell you how important that is.  My family's terrific, but they have a tendency to want to give advice and solve my problems for me.  If I'm not careful, they'll run my life."

He held her by the shoulders, his thumbs gently rubbing back and forth.  He meant to give her a light kiss and leave.  He meant to keep desire controlled.  He meant to walk away unscathed.

But then Francie touched him.  She reached up and caressed his jaw.  The amber lights in her brown eyes danced and beckoned until controlled feelings and good intentions scattered like sand in the wind.  Kissing Francie became more important than breathing.

He pulled her close and saw only welcome before he closed his eyes.  She was soft and yielding in his arms.  Her lips opened immediately, and he knew she wanted this as much as he did.

Desire rushed through his blood, urging him to plunge, to take, to conquer.  But Francie deserved more than the flare of passion that came and went like the tail of a tornado.

He ran his tongue along her lower lip and she softly moaned.  He explored her back with open hands, wanting to know more of her.  She pressed her breasts against his chest.  He could feel the pebble hardness of her nipples and knew she was as aroused as he was.  He thought about tonguing the nipple, taking it between his lips...

Her tongue touched his and he groaned.  He cupped her bottom, bringing her full against him.  How long had it been since he wanted a woman this desperately, since he cared if he left or stayed, since the need outweighed caution?  Francie was beauty, balm, a veritable banquet of sensuality.

Francie laced her fingers in his hair, met each of his thrusts, and delved into his mouth with amazing abandon.  She was shaking all over from wanting and needing and the freedom of letting herself feel both.  No man had ever made her feel this way—precious...desired...equal.  Never Brent.  He'd been older, more experienced, more mature than she.  But she'd grown up, and suddenly she knew she hadn't loved Brent.  She couldn't have.  Because now with Noah she knew a deep passion that seemed to have no end. 

With Noah, she wanted to be the giver, not just the receiver.  She wanted to be active, not passive.  She wanted him to touch her, to hold her, to love her with an intensity that could destroy her.  And she should be afraid.  But she wasn't.  She was ready.

Noah held her tighter, plunged deeper, pushed her back against the door.  She could unlock it.  They could go inside.  If she could just hold the thought long enough to...

She heard something.  She ignored it.  She heard the sound again.  It didn't come from her or Noah.  A cough, that's what it was.  And then a louder cough—

At the same time Noah released her, she heard Brent's voice.  "Francie, I want to talk to you before you leave."

She opened her eyes, recognizing the fires still burning in Noah's green gaze.  When he realized Brent had interrupted, the glint of passion changed to anger.  But she watched as he quelled it, as he separated from her, as he looked normal and controlled as if nothing had happened.  How did he do that?

She wasn't quite steady on her feet, so when Noah let her go, her hand went to the doorknob to steady her wobbling knees.

Noah looked from Brent to Francie.  All emotion left his face and she wanted to yell, No, don't hide from it.  Don't hide from me.  But of course, she couldn't.  Any more than she could guess what he was thinking.

Where earlier his tone had been warm and gentle, drawing her closer, it now turned polite and sharp, driving her away.  "Is eight too early to leave?"

"Eight is fine."

He was about to turn away, about to leave.  She couldn't let him.  Not after that kiss.  Not after he'd turned her life and emotions upside down.  "Noah?"

He stopped, but his jaw was set, his features guarded.

"Thank you for coming."

"I told you no thanks are necessary."

He seemed angry.  He couldn't think that kiss had been merely a thank you!  But she could see that's exactly what he thought.  With Brent standing there, there was nothing more she could say.

"At eight then," she said quietly.

Noah nodded and walked down the hall.  Her gaze lingered on his back and she knew the closeness she'd felt to him all evening was gone.  She didn't know if she could get it back.  She doubted Noah would let her.

****

When Noah came to pick her up the next morning, he was wearing a polite but friendly smile along with his dark green sweater and khaki slacks.  Francie blew out a breath of frustration.  They were back to square one, wherever that was.  Their moments of understanding and bonding had been swept under the proverbial rug.

He carried her suitcase; she lugged her duffel bag.  But when he opened the car door for her to get in, she didn't.  Clearing the air was more important.  Trouble was, she didn't know how to start.  Didn't that kiss knock your socks off? didn't seem quite appropriate.

Noah opened the back door and put her suitcase on the back seat beside his travel bag.   Then he waited for her to get in.  She didn't budge.  "That wasn't a thank-you kiss last night."

Sparks flickered in his green eyes, the only sign of emotion.  "No?"

"No."  When he didn't comment further, she asked, "Well?"

"Well, what?  Certainly not 'well, what happens next?'  We know that.  Nothing.  I'm sorry I got carried away.  I should have stopped--"

"I was there, too, remember?"

"Oh, I remember."

The heat stinging her cheeks fought against the cold morning air.  It was something like the battle going on inside her.  Would the heat of passion or the cold of reason rule?  "I felt something, Noah."

He grimaced.  "So did I."

More than her cheeks got hot, because she remembered him hard against her.  She remembered being thrilled, excited...  Exasperated, she said, "You're not even trying to--"

"What?  To understand?  I think I understand better than you do.  You're confused.  Your life is in the process of change.  I was a port in the storm.  Fine.  Now, both our lives go on."

He stood there so calmly, so stolidly, so rationally, she wanted to beat on his chest, run her hands through his hair, kiss him in a way that would shake him up forever.  But what good would it do?

There was an element of truth in what he'd said, though there was much more.  She'd like to explore the more.  Apparently Noah didn't want any part of it.  He was a "bottom line" person.  And the bottom line was that they were headed in different directions.  Funny thing was, she didn't think they could be friends without being more.

She slid into the car.  Noah closed the door.

****

When Francie told Noah she'd rather go straight to the rink rather than home, he raised his brows.

"I don't feel like answering a list of questions," she mumbled.  "I'll call from the rink and tell them I'm back."

Noah didn't comment, just as he hadn't commented on much during the seemingly endless five-hour drive.

It was after one in the afternoon when Noah pulled into the rink's parking lot.  Francie recognized the black Seville immediately.  It belonged to the real estate agent.  Glancing around the parking lot, she saw the agent standing with two men in the far corner.  She sent Noah an inquiring look.

"They're the same men who looked at the rink Wednesday," he explained.

"Did you know they were coming today?"

"Tom mentioned they might stop again.  Everything in real estate is iffy right now, so I didn't expect them."

"Well, they're here.  Let's go see what they want."  She thought she heard Noah call her name, but she was out of the car.  He'd had five hours to talk to her.  Now that she was back, she wanted to get her life settled.  Meeting prospective buyers for the rink was one way to do it.

She crossed the lot at almost a jog.  Noah's long legs brought him up beside her as she reached the three men.

Tom Carson turned to Noah, including her in his gaze.  "Mr. Haslow and Mr. Chesterfield are seriously considering the property."

Noah nodded to the two men.

Haslow, a tall slim man with horn-rimmed glasses, said, "Nothing else we've looked at is as feasible."

Chesterfield buttoned the last button on his overcoat and shrugged.  "Of course, we know your price is inflated."

Noah disagreed.  "The price is fair.  This is a tourist town."

Tom intervened.  "We can consider all that when we draw up a contract."

Chesterfield narrowed his eyes.  "There will be no contract at this time.  We still have a few more properties to inspect.  After all, this size of an investment demands much forethought."

Francie's skin began to crawl.  She wasn't getting a good feeling about these two.  They didn't look like the type to run a roller-skating rink.  "Are you thinking about making many changes?"

Their gazes fell on Francie in tandem as if seeing her for the first time.  "Changes?  We'd be razing the building."

"Raising?"

Haslow made a sideways slicing gesture with his hand.  "Demolishing.  Starting from scratch.  We're looking for a property we can develop into a motel complex."

"You can't be serious!  Gettysburg has enough motels for two tourist towns."

"An exaggeration surely, Ms. ..."

"Piccard," Francie filled in, her hands on her hips.

Haslow continued, "Our research and statistics show otherwise.  More and more Americans are taking vacations within the United States.  Driving vacations, sight-seeing vacations to places like Gettysburg.  Just because the economy is at a standstill doesn't mean people stay home.  Types of vacations shift.  And we see historical sites included in that shift."

Francie could easily see these two men were not interested in hearing about the merits of owning a roller-skating rink.  And suddenly something hit her.  Noah had known that.  He had known these clients wanted to tear down the rink.  Betrayal, like a hot, sharp lance, sliced through her.  He hadn't told her.  Why?

The week of indecision, dealing with Brent, Noah's devastating kisses--everything caught up with her.  She wanted to run away, find a safe place, preferably somewhere warm like Tahiti, and forget about the rink, Noah, and the rest of her life.

She took off for the rink, hurt, mad, confused by her inability to choose a man who could be honest with her.  She'd thought Noah was different.  Ha!

Noah watched Francie race across the parking lot like a devil was chasing her and knew he had trouble with a capital T.  Not because she was upset, but because he cared that she was upset with him.  He lived his life without making explanations to anyone.  So why did he feel this deep-seated need to explain to Francie?

Because of last night's kiss?  Because of the kiss the night before she'd left?  Because he was jealous as blazes every time McIntosh looked at her, let alone touched her?

He couldn't explain his disgruntlement last night to himself, let alone to her.  Listening to the CD player on the drive home had been preferable to kissing her again, doing something he'd regret.  Francie didn't have to touch him to get to him.  All she had to do was look at him with those stunning brown eyes, give him one of her smiles...

He swore and when Tom Carson's expression told Noah he'd done it aloud, he just shook his head.  "You gentlemen look as long as you'd like.  If you need me, I'll be inside."  Or better yet, back in Richmond.  He should pack up right now and get the hell away.

Inside the rink, it was quiet.  He heard voices in the pro shop and saw Veronica talking with Charlie.  Francie wasn't in the office or program room or the lounge.  Where the hell could she be?  He was almost ready to check out the ladies' room when he remembered the storeroom off the snack bar.

He opened the door and saw Francie stacking packs of napkins on top of one other.  He crossed to her.  "They're going to topple over."

She kept stacking.

"Francie."

She glared at him.  "We need a supply behind the counter."

When she added one more pack to the two-foot pile, it teetered.  She grabbed for it the same time as Noah.  Their arms brushed; their hands collided.  Intentionally or unintentionally Noah faced her and held her wrists rather than the napkins.

She tried to pull out of his grasp.  "Let me go."

He knew he should, but he wasn't going to.  "I want you to listen to me first."

She pulled back again.  "There's nothing to listen to.  You knew.  You knew, Noah, and you didn't tell me.  How could you do that when I confided in you...when I trusted you?"