Smoke and Mirrors (17 page)

He still didn't turn around. "Your job is to man the reception desk. Your job is to be available to guests who need you. Your job is
not
to continually throw yourself into situations you are not equipped to handle."

Her throat tightened. "Are you talking to me as employer to employee? Or man to woman?"

The challenge slipped free before she could consider the consequences.

He stiffened. "What do you think?"

"What I think doesn't matter."

He threw back his
whiskey,
let the tumbler drop from his fingers. It thudded against the rug, didn't shatter.

Cass wanted to lay her hands against his stiff back, let her fingers ease the tension from his muscles. Only a few days had passed since she'd held him in her arms—since he'd held
her
in
his
arms. But it seemed like a lifetime.

She took a step toward him—

He pivoted toward her. "Do you get off on it, fearless?" he demanded, his voice hard and punishing.

She stilled, one hand holding her buttonless jacket together, the other pressed to her heart.

"Is that how you get your kicks now?" he went on, ruthlessly, "by playing superwoman? By playing damsel in distress, forcing someone to come rescue you?"

Temper sparked and sputtered. "No one forced you to
rescue
me."

"I'm going to pretend you didn't say that, too."

Cass bit back a startled gasp. When he looked at her like that, all concerned and protective and angry, she found herself struggling to think like a cop, longing to be just a woman falling in love. "Derek—"

"Don't Derek me!" He started toward her, his long legs destroying the space between them. When be reached her, he wrapped his hands around her upper arms and pulled her to him.

Her head snapped back. "Derek, stop it!"

"My, my, my," he drawled. "What a long way we've come, and in such a short time, too." He pulled her closer. "It seems like just yesterday you were standing in this very office, your head thrown back in a dare, smiling that seductive smile of yours, toying with me. Then you resisted saying my name. Now you can't stop repeating it. Have I grown on you that much, doll?"

A wicked thrill whirred through her. Warning. Anticipation.

"You…" She swallowed and tried again. "You give yourself far too much credit."

He looked down to where she held her mined jacked clenched in her hand. "I don't want credit."

"What
do
you want?" she challenged. "My undying gratitude?"

His eyes glittered. "Not even close."

Her hand fell away. The crimson fabric parted, revealing her black lacy bra lapping neatly at her swelling breasts. They tingled beneath the flimsy fabric, even more beneath his languorous gaze.

"So beautiful," he murmured. One of his hands slid over her shoulder and down toward her breast. With his index finger, he gently skimmed her bra strap, teasing as much as taunting, threatening as much as promising.

Then the fury returned to his face. "Damn it, Cass," he swore, ripping himself free of her. He strode to the sidebar, poured another whiskey,
downed
it in one gulp. "I'm beginning to think you have some kind of twisted death wish."

Cass sucked in a sharp breath. Not the first time she'd been accused of such, but every time before, the accusation had come from someone who claimed to love her. Her mother and father. Her brothers. Gray.

"Don't be ridiculous," she snapped.

He scowled. "All I've done since we met is
pull
you out of one scrape or another."

"Nobody appointed you my guardian angel," she pointed out snidely. She didn't need him looking out for her, damn it. Didn't want it.

"You don't get it, do you?" His eyes took on a fevered glow. Funny. The angrier he became, the more dangerous he looked,
the
more she longed to feel his arms close around her.

"You think Chet and his buddies were just playing? They were high as a kite that night, Cass. If I hadn't shown up, they would've turned you into their personal play toy. Then there was the park. How many nights did you think you could stand in the freezing cold, without even a damn jacket, and not catch your death? If I hadn't gotten tired of watching—" He swore softly. "And what about tonight? You think those bastards were just shooting the breeze with you? If Ruth hadn't paged me—"

The ferocity of his words, his voice, his eyes, held her riveted. This was no mere employer-employee lecture, nor a simple exchange between a man and a woman. It was—

She didn't want to attach a name to what it was.

But deep inside, she knew.

God help her, she'd always known.

"Good God, Cass, one of these times I might not be able to get to you in time, then what?"

No way to answer the anger in that question, not with words. So she did the only thing she could, the only thing she wanted to. She walked straight up to him,
raised
up on tiptoes and pressed her lips to his.

And that was all it took. His arms closed around her with stunning force, pinned her to his body. His mouth slanted over hers, hungrily, almost desperately, demanding all she had to give.

The urgent kiss raced on. And on. Nothing gentle about it, nothing tame,
nothing
civilized. A wild mating of their mouths, a bold prophecy of what lay ahead. Cass vaguely remembered the sensation from before, but nothing prepared her for the homecoming she found in Derek's possession.

And that's what it was. Possession.

That should have stopped her cold. It didn't.

Derek tore his mouth from hers and glowered down at her. "Don't you learn? You keep playing with fire, darling Cassandra, and one of these days you're going to get burned."

She flicked her braid over her shoulder. "Maybe I like fire," she managed, her body and soul already consumed by it.

"I don't want to burn you, Cass."

"I'm not sure you'll have a choice."

His eyes, full of passion mere moments before, narrowed into cold slits of cobalt. He held her gaze a moment longer before striding across the room and jabbing the button to slide open the door.

"You should leave," he commanded, stepping back as she neared him. "Before I do something we'll both regret."

Regret.
The prophecy of his words killed the rest of her passion. He was right. She had to go.

It took effort, but she pulled herself together and strode across that beautiful, damnable rug, walked out the door.

The panel slid shut behind her.

* * *

"Look, sir, there she is."

Derek swung toward the far monitor in time to see a pale Cass emerge from the restroom. She'd either donned a new jacket or repaired the one she'd worn earlier. With her hair still trapped in its trademark French braid, she looked tidy as a pin, spooked as a wild horse. She glanced around the foyer, found a smile, strolled toward the desk.

The transformation amazed Derek. Had he not witnessed it, he would never have believed she could be so chameleonlike. She was an operator, all right. Smooth as silk, strong as steel.

The front desk camera picked her up, but as Derek tracked her progress, the previous screen snagged his attention. A man emerged from the restroom. The bellman. He, too, tracked Cass's progress back to the reception area.

Fury lit through Derek. He'd heard the occasional rumor about hotel affairs, even a mention or two about Cass and John Dickens. But he'd never substantiated the claims, particularly not after she'd come apart in his arms.

The middle monitor granted an unencumbered view of Cass absently destroying one of the red roses he'd personally ordered for the front desk. For her.

Unfinished business smoldered between them. That one reality hit him blindside, and the inevitability of what lay ahead had him slamming his fist against the chief of security's desk.

"Problems, Mr. Mansfield?"

Derek gave him a curt smile,
then
stalked from the room.

Thirty minutes later he sat behind his mammoth desk, hands linked behind his head, watching John Dickens slowly enter his domain. The bellman walked haltingly, a lowly slave entering the lion's den. Dickens's palpable fear went a long way toward assuring Derek that Cass would never be attracted to such a weak man.

She was a strong woman. She needed a strong man.

"Mr. Mansfield." Dickens stopped a good five feet from the desk. "I was told you wanted to see me."

Eat him alive, more like it. "Do you like working here?"

"Yes, sir. Very much, sir."

"Do you value your job?"

Dickens's shoulders straightened. "Yes, sir. Stirling Manor has been good to me, sir."

Derek observed the man's every action, every response,
every
breath. "Do you believe in the sanctity of marriage?"

Dickens's eyes narrowed in confusion. "Of course."

Derek surged to his feet and leaned across the desk, splaying his palms against the rough wood surface. "Then stay the hell away from Cassandra LeBlanc, or you will not only find yourself without a job, but without a wife."

Something hot and volatile flicked through Dickens's eyes. Then it vanished. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Then hell you don't," Derek growled. He tried to hold his anger in check, knew exposing it would reveal a vulnerability. "I saw you two tonight, how upset she was, the gleam in your eyes." He paused, dragging out the moment. "So help me God, you hurt one hair on her head, you're a dead man."

John Dickens squared his shoulders and advanced on his boss. "What's between me and Cass is my business and her business. I fail to see where it's hotel business."

"It's not hotel business. It's
my
business. And because I employ you both, I can make it hotel business if I choose. Cassandra LeBlanc is off-limits to you and every other member of this staff."

Dickens looked ready to chew nails. "She's my friend, damn it."

"She can be your
friend,"
Derek ground out, "but rest assured.
Friendship
is not what I want from her. Do I make myself clear?"

Censure glittered in the other man's eyes. "
Crystal
."

* * *

Cass ventured down the semidarkened hall to the elevator room. Cloyd had retired for the night. Even the casino party had quieted
down,
most of the financiers having staggered to bed by the time the grandfather clock chimed the witching hour.

Technically, she was off duty and
free
to go home. Gray had done so a while before, but only after securing her word she would leave soon herself. He'd been tense, almost angry. She'd accused him of holding out on her, but he'd insisted there was nothing she needed to know.

She didn't quite believe him.

Time was running out. The chief was impatient, tensions around the manor at the boiling point. Gray and Derek were both watching her like hawks.

She couldn't go on like this, torn between woman and cop. It wasn't healthy, wasn't sane, sure as hell wasn't productive. One of them had to win, but not until she had proof. Either of Derek's innocence or his guilt.

Once in the elevator, she pressed the button for the penthouse. Derek had come downstairs hours before and vanished through the front doors, no doubt returning to the exquisite mansion north of the city. Cass couldn't blame him for preferring to spend his nights there, and she welcomed the opportunity to toss his office one more time.

As always, the watching, knowing eyes of his ancestors tracked her progress down the hall. And as always, she ordered herself to ignore them. They were dead—they could do her no harm. The only man who could harm her had vacated the building.

She made quick work of the lock on his door. The alarm sounded immediately, but because she'd studied him carefully when they entered together, she had no trouble silencing it.

Darkness filled the spacious office, but Cass could envision his tall form silhouetted against the window. He wasn't there, only the lingering smell of sandalwood and smoke. The potency gave her pause, sent her heart strumming through her chest. Never had a man unnerved her so. Not even Randy.

And that unnerved her even more.

Being in Derek's domain without him seemed a violation of some ridiculous trust she knew didn't exist. Nevertheless, uneasy, she went to work. His desk. His filing cabinets. The sidebar. The leather sofa. Under the thick Aubusson rug. She didn't know what she was looking for, a stash, notes, a plan, just knew she would know when she found it.

"You're a bold woman, Cassandra LeBlanc."

Cass jerked up to a crouch. Adrenaline surged. Her heart hammered. "De-rek."

A slow smile revealed his white teeth. "I love the way you say my name like that, all hot and breathy. My, my, we really have come a long way."

He stood in the shadows across the room, tall and still, watching her. A wicked light gleamed in his eyes, a panther
who'd
just cornered his prey.