Nothing Personal (7 page)

They were deep into it when she heard the single knock at the half-open door, and saw Alec stepping inside. He pulled his wallet from the back pocket of today’s slacks—black, hugging his . . . physique very nicely indeed, and worn with a silvery-gray shirt that did wonders for his hair and skin.

Oh,
yeah, he was doing something with his wallet too. He pulled out a twenty, waved it in the air. “Any changes?”

“
Mmm . . . no,” she admitted, his mock-concern teasing a smile from her.

He p
ut the bill back into its slot within the slim strip of black leather and shoved the whole thing into his back pocket again. “Too bad I didn’t set the terms better, but I’d say the next lunch is on you.”

“It’s on the company credit card either way,” she pointed out. “All goes into the same
category in the general ledger too. Which limits the scope of your victory considerably.”

“
But I have the satisfaction of winning. Which is never to be underestimated.” He smiled down at her. “Got your energy bar today?”

She reached into her desk drawer, waved the
pale blue-wrapped packet triumphantly.

“Not enough. Got to eat it too,” he reminded her.

“Gotcha, boss.” She sketched a salute.

He
laughed again, then looked at Brandon. “Got a couple minutes later on? I had a flash on a visual in the shower this morning that I think is going to knock some socks off at the show next month.”

Desiree had a flash on a visual of the shower that threatened to knock her socks off right now. She was suddenly very aware that she wasn’t wearing any. Socks, that is. That only a pair of very tiny underwear lay between . . . her
. . . and Alec’s hand, should it choose to make its way under her skirt, up her thigh.

Which it wouldn’t.

“Sure,” Brandon said. “Soon as I’m done here.”

Alec nodded again, rapped a farewell on the office door with a knuckle, and was gone.

“That was cozy,” Brandon remarked.

“What?” Desiree wiped the foolish smile off her face. “Just a joke.”

“Having lunch with me isn’t appropriate, but having lunch with him is?”

“Because you
weren’t
appropriate,” she pointed out. “I told you.”

“And he is.”

“What did he say just now that was inappropriate? That he wouldn’t have said to you?”

Brandon
snorted. “That’s his technique. Dude’s had more tail than a peacock. And that’s how he gets it. All casual and fun, just like that.”

“Which is
a
totally
inappropriate thing to say,” she replied sharply. “Let’s get back to this. Make sure you’re all set up by the time of that show, so you
can
knock some socks off.”

But, she let herself remember once Brandon had left, dinner
had
been good. If it had been inappropriate, that had just been her traitorous imagination, getting away from her. Nothing Alec had done. Nothing at all.

He’d called a cab before he’d even ridden down the elevator with her, and it had been waiting by the time they’d left the lobby. Which had been awfully nice
, and the place he’d taken her had been even nicer.

North Beach. More white tablecloths, more waiters. She’d have been impressed by how well the headwaiter had seemed to know
Alec, how attentive he’d been, if she hadn’t seen the bill slip from Alec’s fingers into the other man’s palm.

Well, maybe she’d still been impressed.
Because it was just so
. . .
so
nice.
To lean against the worn brick wall in the soft light at the back of the little restaurant, to look into those eyes, so thickly fringed with black. To see the flash of teeth as he laughed, and to think about what Claudine had said. About his mouth, and about what he could do with it.

And she could have sworn that he wa
s thinking about the same thing when those deep blue eyes had looked into her own. Even though he’d been nothing but a gentleman.

“
You sure?” he asked when the white-mustachioed waiter made his second appearance. “Just soup? Not even a salad? Maybe chicken?”

“When I’m really tired,”
she found herself confessing, “knives and forks are too hard. Even salad’s too hard. All that chewing.”

“All ri
ght, then. Just Tuscan Beef Soup
for the lady,” he told the waiter. “But bring her some extra bread. And,” she heard him say quietly to the elderly man, “if you could have them fill that soup bowl up a little higher, that’d be great. And bring it out right away?”

She’d spooned up every bit of the rich broth, the chunks of beef and vegetables, had dipped a second and then a third piece of bread in olive oil. Alec had w
atched it all without comment, while dispatching his own dinner with an alacrity that confirmed to Desiree that he really hadn’t had dinner yet tonight.

And when they’d
finished, he’d insisted, together with Giuseppe—of course the waiter’s name was Giuseppe, because this wasn’t romantic enough, the white tablecloth and the single red rose and the candle and the worn brick against her shoulder—he’d insisted that she order cannoli for dessert.

“Just one,”
he coaxed. “If you don’t want it, you don’t have to eat a single bite. But I think you need to taste whipped cream tonight.”

“
Don’t you think she needs some whipped cream?” he demanded of the waiter, who smiled back at him
,
sensing, Desiree thought through a satisfied haze of red wine, succulent beef
,
and way too much potent testosterone, a truly magnificent tip.

“Definitely, the
signorina
needs whipped cream,” Giuseppe agreed. “And we have the best.”

She wasn’t sure how you had better whipped cream than anyone else, but when the dessert arrived, she had to concede that this was the best.

Amaretto,
one still-sane corner of her practical brain suggested, but that sensible voice was drowned out, oh so rapidly, by the sensation on her tongue, the silky smoothness of cream, the almond sweetness of the liqueur, the delicate drift of pastry and the deep dark pleasure of chocolate. And Alec, watching her as she allowed the rich concoction to drift between her lips, over her tongue, down her throat. Watching her, enjoying the sight of her enjoying herself, as if it were his tongue. His throat.

By the time he’d slapped a hand against the door of the cab that had again been waiting when they’d stepped out of the restaurant’s front door,
leaped back onto the sidewalk and raised that same hand in farewell, she’d been so lost in fatigue, wine, and lust that she could only sit back against the scarred leather and thank heaven that she hadn’t actually kissed him. Or begged him.

And thinking about it now wasn’t doing her one single bit of good. She focused again on the job description she’d roughed out with Brandon for their new marketing communications person. She needed to get that posted, get the trade shows, anyway, off her plate and turned over to somebody else pronto. Once she got this done, she promised herself, she
would
eat that energy bar. Lunch break.

She felt a flash of irritation that Brandon hadn’t been willing to take
more of it on himself. She was going to have to be careful that he didn’t take advantage of her. He had a good reputation—the trio’s past three ventures had certainly succeeded spectacularly enough to send any sales and marketing professional’s career skyrocketing—but now she wondered how much of that had been due to his brilliance, and how much to the Alec Kincaid magic.

Her cell chirped
, and she turned from the screen to which she’d added not a word, glanced at the display. Claudine.

“Hey, you.” She leaned back in her chair to stretch a little.
“You still around?”

“SFO. Waiting to board. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Tell you what?” She sat up straight again. Was Claudine upset that Desiree hadn’t notified her of the job change? She hadn’t seemed to mind yesterday.

“That you and Alec had a thing going on.”

Desiree’s mouth opened, stuttered over a protest as Claudine went on. “I’d have backed off if I’d known. I’m a little hurt, tell you the truth, that you don’t trust me more than that. He’s Prime cut, no doubt about it. But you’re a friend.”

“Wait
. I mean, thanks.” And there Desiree was, right back in the Confusion Zone. “But we don’t. Have anything going on, I mean. Nothing personal. Just business.”

“Uh-
huh.”
The skepticism came right through the airwaves. “Which would certainly explain him turning me down.”

“He did?” Desiree felt a surge of relief at getting the right answer to a question she hadn’t dared
ask, even of herself. “Well, I can imagine that doesn’t happen to you very often,” she hastened to add, “but it’s nothing to do with me.” She didn’t say that she was sorry, because she wasn’t.

“Only possible explanation,” Claudine insisted. “
Because I know it’s not me. I’ve still got it. And he isn’t exactly famous for turning women down. Turning them
over,
you bet. He knows it all, and he does it, too, six ways from Sunday. I could walk into any Women in Tech conference you’d care to name, ask who knows where his birthmark is, and count the show of hands. And then ask who’d like to see it again, and honey, that number would be exactly the same.”

“All right, he’s hot stuff,” Desiree conceded. “
And apparently more than a little slutty, I will just point out here. But everybody’s entitled to an off night.” Although he hadn’t seemed like he’d been having an off night. Not while he’d been watching her eat whipped cream, he hadn’t. A surge of pure lust at the memory had her doing some involuntary Kegels under her desk, and she actually shivered.

“And another thing.
” Claudine continued as if Desiree hadn’t spoken. “Who did we talk about all evening? Not yours truly, beautiful and fascinating as I am.”

“Me?”
That
was news. “He talked about me?”

“Where did I meet you?” The mimicry was clear. “How long have we known each other? And if you’d like to quiz me on my knowledge of how you’ve spent the past few weeks, your brilliant organiza
tional skills, go right ahead, because I’m all clued in. Boring as hell, baby, and you know I love you.”

“Oh.” Desiree couldn’t think of what else to say.

“But, Rae.” Claudine’s voice was serious now. “Here’s a word of warning from a veteran of the trenches. He’s a pro at this, and you’re not. I’m not saying he’s a bad guy. But I don’t think the words ‘I love you’ have ever crossed those luscious lips, not unless he was talking to his mother. He’s a good time, but he’s not a good bet, not as a long-term prospect.”

“He’s not a prospect at all.” Desiree was clear on that, whatever her body was telling her. “Even if I weren’t working with him, he’s not my type.”

“Honey, that man is everybody’s type.”

“Not mine
, he’s not. I don’t want a player. I sure as heck don’t want to be played.”

“You just hold that thought
. Whoops. The Premium Star Alliance is boarding, and you know I’m premium.”

“And a star.
” Desiree smiled, feeling extremely charitable and loving towards her friend. For some reason. At this particular moment. “Go. Talk soon.”

She pressed the
End
button, looked across at the framed reproduction of Monet’s
Water Lilies
that hung opposite her desk.

“Why,” she asked the delicate purple flowers, “does every
body think I have a thing for Alec Kincaid? And why on
earth
would they imagine that he could have a thing for me?”

But the flowers just continued
to float serenely on their placid pond, and said not a word.

And
by the way. Exactly where
was
Alec’s birthmark?

“So that’s next year’s holidays decided on,” Desiree said briskly. “Next item: closing the office over Christmas and New Year’s.”

They
were
having a staff meeting. Which Joe hadn’t been one bit excited about, especially when he’d seen that horror of horrors, an agenda.

“What’s this?” he’d demanded of Desiree, comi
ng into Alec’s office, where the two of them were working out software training plans, and waving the piece of paper. “I’ll tell you what it is. Thin end of the wedge.”

She
looked at him, kept her voice level. “As I see it, you have three choices. One. I could send around an email asking all of you what you want to do about everything on that list. Everyone could “reply all,” and we could go around and around and around about it for a day, until Alec made a decision. Two. Alec could make a decision all by himself. Or Three. We could all sit down together, spend fifteen minutes, you could voice your opinion, and Alec could make a decision
with
your input. Which would you prefer?”

He scowled at her a moment more, then smiled reluctantly, the stony expression softening. “All right. You got me there. Why do you have to be so damn reasonable?”

She laughed. This was
her
thin end of the wedge, and she was going to exploit it. “I don’t know. Why do
you
have to be so damn stubborn?”

And that
had made things a little easier, though he’d grumbled again when she’d stuck her head into his office to remind him of the meeting.

“
One sec. I’m in the middle of something,” he said.

She stood
where she was for thirty seconds more, then stepped further into his office, the first time she’d entered his space since she’d had the furnishings set up. “Everyone else is ready,” she told him. “Let’s go, code boy.”

“
Witch,” he muttered. But he smiled when he said it, logged off, and followed her.

“Thursday’s Christmas Eve,” she said now. “
Two holidays, Thursday and Friday, same thing over New Year’s. Do we close the office at five on Wednesday, the 23rd? Or a few hours early? Since we haven’t had time to organize any kind of holiday party. And give people a chance to get wherever they’re going, too.”

“Good idea,” Alec said. “What do you guys think?
Two? Noon?”

“Yeah,” Joe agreed. “Noon. Why not. Announce it now. Nice little present.”

“All right. Let’s do it at noon. You agree?” Alec belatedly asked Brandon.

“Sure,” he shrugged. “Since I on
ly have one person on my ‘staff’ so far, not that big a deal.”

“All right.” Alec looked at Desiree
again. “Noon.”

“OK,” she said, making a note. “
I’ll send that around. Last thing. Reminder that anytime anyone steps away from their desk, they need to log off. I’ve noticed that hasn’t always been happening, and that’s a security breach, and a bad habit. I’ll share with the two of you that we had multiple login attempts on Alec’s account recently, and that’s worrisome.”

“Huh. Some cocky code warrior thinking it’d be funny to hack the boss, probably,” Joe said. “Can’t have thought they’d really get in.”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe they heard that he always uses some variant of his parents’ address in there,” Brandon said. “You still got that lazy habit?” he asked Alec.

“Not anymore,” Alec said. “Rae already set me straight. Nobody’s going to get in that way.”

“Anyway,” Desiree went on, “I’d appreciate if you’d remind your staff, and keep an eye out. I’ve been doing it, but it’ll have more force if it comes from you too.”

“It happens automatically after a few minutes,” Brandon pointed out. “And it’s a pain in the a— a pain in the neck to do it
every single time you get up to talk to somebody.”

“How long do yo
u think it takes to slip a flash drive into a machine and press a couple keys?” she asked. “A few seconds to copy a file, or even more scarily, a few seconds to install a keylogger, and bingo, you’ve got code.”

“We’ve got systems built in to check for that,” Joe reminded her.

“And now we’re going to have even more,” she said. “As you know, we already allow no computers except the ones belonging to the four of us to leave the building. And starting today, there’ll be a check at the security desk downstairs as well. Bags, backpacks, and turning out pockets, every time, to check for laptops, flash drives, any device that could store code. And that includes all of us. Nothing but a laptop for any of you, and you’ll have to open up for inspection.”

“What?” Joe stared at her.
“Every time we leave the building?”

“
Yes,” she said. “Word’s leaked out about what we’re doing here, and there’s a lot of buzz. Which is good, but you don’t leave the Hope Diamond lying around. You install levels of security, and that’s what we’ve done. Think of it as data hygiene. Good habits, like washing your hands after you use the men’s room, which I also hope everyone’s been doing, or I’d better start using a Kleenex every time I open a door.”

Joe’s bark of laug
hter broke the moment of startled silence. “I think you’d better use the Kleenex,” he said. “Some of those guys are Neanderthals. But your point’s taken.”

“Good. Thanks. Because this is another one that has to come from the top,
and requires your support. Alec, I’m calling you out right now on that first point, because you’re the worst offender.”

“Hmm?”
He’d been looking at her intently enough. But not listening?

“Log off when you leave your computer. Please
.” She did her best to stay patient. After all, none of this was news to him, and he was probably thinking about code again. He’d been staying as late as she had, lately, though there hadn’t been any repeats of their cozy dinner in the ten days since. But it sure was nice knowing that she wasn’t on the floor alone. He sometimes came in to chat with her for a few minutes, too, when they were the only ones left. Perching that thigh on the desk, flashing that smile, the darkness outside her windows, the dimly lit office glimpsed through her half-open door all enhancing the feeling that they were the only two people in the world. And if that felt even nicer, well, that was her secret.

“Oh.
OK,” he said. And she had to be content with that.

“So what are you doing over Christmas?” he asked that evening. When he was, yes, perched on the corner of her desk, swinging that leg, in gray slacks this time. And the usual dress shirt, white against the darkness beneath, open at the collar to show a brief triangle of skin.

She
tried to sit back casually, to keep herself from leaning towards him. And was rewarded by a sudden vision of her hands unfastening the next button on that white shirt, exposing another few inches of smooth brown, her fingertips lightly brushing the chest she’d imagined touching so many times. Of standing between those strong thighs while she did it. Of her hands dropping to rest on them, how firm they would feel under her palms. Because she would have to hold on, once he pulled her in close to kiss her.

S
he shifted a little in the leather chair, saw him watch her do it. And realized, in another flash of insight, that she hadn’t worn pants to work since they’d finished moving in. Because she longed with every traitorous cell of her being to stand between those thighs while he slipped his hands under the fine wool of her skirt, stroked slowly up the backs of her bare legs until she was pressed against him, until he held a cheek in each big palm, until he was pulling her tight against his body, rubbing her against him in exactly the place, in exactly the way she needed him to.

“What?” she asked. What had they been talking about? She realized
that his eyes had dropped to her breasts, and was suddenly aware, to her horror, that not only had she worn her sheerest, laciest underwear today, but she’d worn the matching bra as well, the one in the nude color that made her look . . . well, nude. And that she’d watched herself in the cheval mirror that stood in one corner of her bedroom as she’d put them on, as she’d lingered over every languorous movement, just so she could imagine him watching too. Just like he was watching her now.

Watching her nipples harden, that was what he was doing. And the yellow silk blouse wouldn’t be concealing
that one bit. More like showing it off. Exposing her. Her insistent body, and her wayward thoughts.

Why hadn’t she
thought
about that when she’d slipped the thing on? Or at least when she’d buttoned it up, her fingers sliding over the fine texture that only silk could provide, and watched herself doing it? Or more correctly, why hadn’t she
not
thought about it? What was she
doing?
Her fantasy life was way out of control, and right now, it was about to go straight over the edge.

“Huh?” he asked, not seeming any cle
arer on the topic than she was herself.

“What did you just ask me?” This was getting ridiculous. What were they,
Abbott and Costello? Who was on first?

Alec tried with a herculean effort of will to drag his mind back from the danger zone. From the place he’d gone as soon as he’d seen her pupils enlarging, that sweet, generous mouth softening and parting, her full lower lip dropping a little, revealing just a flash of pink tongue and small white teeth.

And then his gaze had traveled, out of his control now, tracing an irresistible path
down the honey-colored skin of her throat, along the draped vee of neckline on that silky yellow blouse he’d been looking at all day. To the outline of the perfectly rounded, perfectly pretty breasts beneath. And the telltale points that formed as he watched, just asking for his palm to settle over one of them. Asking for his thumb to flick over it, again and again, while her mouth opened wider, her head went back. While he held her, his other hand tight around the curve of her beautiful ass. While he kissed the vulnerable, slim column of her throat, closed his teeth gently over the place where her neck met her shoulder.

He could almost feel the shudder that would run through her while he did it. Because
he was watching it right now, the shiver she couldn’t suppress. And imagining how it would feel to reach under that slim knit skirt, to touch her through the flimsy silken barrier that was no barrier at all. Until he slipped his hand inside to explore the soft, secret places underneath, to feel the way she would open to him. Open for him.

“What did you just ask me?”
That was her. This was what was actually happening. She wasn’t begging him. She wasn’t asking him for it at all. She was trying to get him back on track.

“Oh.”
He struggled for composure, dropped a forearm, as casually as he could manage it, over his thigh, shifted position a little. Cleared his throat. “I said, what are you doing for Christmas?”

“Oh.” She got busy straightening some papers on the desk that, as far as he could tell, didn’t need straightening. “Going to my grandma’s.”

“This would be the grandmother in Chico? Mrs. Foster?”

“Yes. How about you?”

“Same. Not going to your grandmother’s, that is, but spending the holiday with my family. I’m driving up there Wednesday afternoon with Joe. He doesn’t have family close, so he usually comes home with me for the holidays. You want a ride?” he found himself offering. “Save you the drive? We’ll be coming back Sunday.”

“Oh. No.”
She was back with the papers again. “No, thanks, I’d better drive myself. Besides . . .” and this time a smile curved that luscious mouth, and her dimple peeked out again beside it. She’d eaten all her lipstick off, this late in the day, leaving her full lips exposed, soft and pink and vulnerable and . . . Damn.
Stop thinking about her lips.

“I don’t think Joe would be too excited,” she was saying
, and he dragged his mind back once again. “It might not be too comfortable, four hours with him hating on me from the back seat.”

He laughed. “Hey. It might not be that way.”

“Oh, I think so. Coming between the two of you again, getting in the middle of your beautiful bromance?”

“You never know. He might make
you
sit in the back seat.”

The smile was gone, her posture stiffening
a bit. “Could be. So I’ll drive myself. But thanks.”

“Wait
,” he said in alarm. “It was a joke. Of course you’d sit in the front. Joe’s really a good guy, you know. And anyway, that’d be up to me. You’d sit in the front.”

“
I know it would. I mean, I know I would. Never mind. It’s just that . . .” She stopped, shrugged. “I don’t like to ride in the back. A thing I have.”

“Oh. OK
.” He was still confused. But whatever was wrong, maybe he could tease her out of it. “So you’re driving yourself. In, let me guess. Your silver Corolla.”

“Nope.” But she was laughing
a little, and her shoulders had lost their rigid set.

“You’re right. Way too flashy. Your
white
Corolla.”