The Cutting Edge (2 page)

“I'll get a towel from my washroom,” he said easily. “That'll be all, thanks.”

The secretary left, closing the door behind her, and Tessa was alone in the big office with a man she'd never seen before. “Sit here,” he instructed, easing her into the huge leather chair behind the desk that stretched out like a football field. He turned away to fetch a towel from his private washroom, and Tessa promptly got to her feet, propelled by both curiosity and an instinctive wariness of a man so used to giving commands and having them obeyed. She walked to the wide windows and looked out at the almost endless vista of Los Angeles. She heard him when he came back into the office, but she didn't look around.

“I told you to sit down,” he said abruptly to her back.

“Yes, you did,” Tessa agreed in a mild voice.

After a moment, he walked over to the bar, and she heard the clink of ice cubes as he got them out. “I'd feel better if you sat down; that was quite a crack you took.”

“I promise I won't faint.” She could hear him approaching…no, the thick carpet muffled his footsteps. She
sensed
his movements, as if her skin had become acutely sensitive to him; she actually felt the warmth
of his body as he came closer. Turning, she faced him for the first time.

While he'd been holding her so closely against his side, she'd noticed several things about him. The first was that he was very tall, probably six-four, and very strong. She was of medium height, but her build was delicate and graceful, and she'd had the feeling that he could have lifted her with one hand. The heat and power of his hard-muscled body had been almost overpowering. She'd also noticed his clean male scent, and felt the lean strength of his hands.

Now he stood before her, looking at her with narrowed, intent eyes, and Tessa looked back.

A curiously light-headed feeling began to creep over her, and she wondered for a moment if she might have a slight concussion; then she realized that she was holding her breath. She let it out in a soft sigh, still staring up at the hard, distinctly unhandsome, but remarkably sensual and arresting face. He had the most beautiful eyes she'd ever seen on anyone: navy blue eyes, fringed by thick dark lashes, a blue as pure and deep as she could ever imagine. His hair was tawny brown, with strands of gold running through it, and verging on shagginess. He looked hard and sensual and perhaps a little cruel, and Tessa couldn't look away from him.

His chin was a little too prominent, his jaw a little too long, his cheekbones a little too high and raw and hard; his nose could almost be called beaky. His features were so roughly hewn that he might even have been called homely if it hadn't been for the dark blue beauty of his eyes and the sensually chiseled perfection of his mouth. That mouth was positively wicked,
and she stopped breathing again when she looked at it. His mouth was just the right size, neither too wide nor too small, and his lips were mobile and clear cut, with a small curl to them that could be either cynicism or amusement. It was the mouth of a man of wide and varied experience, a man who knew how to kiss, how to savor the taste of a woman's skin. Tessa found herself suddenly shaken by the compulsion to rise on her tiptoes and find out for herself just how well he could kiss.

Very gently, he put one finger under her chin and tilted her face to the light so he could examine her cheek. “You'll have a bruise,” he told her, “but I don't think your eye will turn black.”

“I hope not!”

Cautiously he placed the makeshift ice pack against her cheek, and Tessa reached up to hold it in place. Her hand touched his, and she noticed that his fingers were slightly rough, not the hands of a man who never did anything more strenuous than sign his name. He didn't drop his hand, but kept it under hers, and he looked down at her with such calm, self-confident awareness in his eyes that Tessa automatically wanted to put a safer distance between them. She was used to charming men so easily that it wasn't even a conscious effort, but it was a lighthearted charm, and she always danced away before emotions could become intense. She couldn't have said how she knew it, but every bone in her body, every fiber of her flesh, every instinct of her very female personality, recognized him as being more than she could handle. He wasn't a man of easy charm; he overwhelmed women with the intensity of his maleness. He wouldn't let the butterfly flit away after
dancing tantalizingly before him; he would reach out and capture her, and hold her for as long as her beauty intrigued him. Tessa knew that she had to go, then, in order to protect her own best interests. But she didn't want to go, she thought wistfully. She wanted to stay near him… .

Beneath all the light and laughter, Tessa had a strong streak of common sense, and it surfaced now. “Thank you for the ice,” she murmured as she stepped away from him. “I'd better get back to my job before I'm fired for being late. Thanks again—”

“Stay,” he commanded softly, and it was definitely a command, despite the evenness of his tone. “I'll call your department head and cover for you.”

“That won't be necessary. I'm really all right, so I can go back to work.”

“If you insist.” His lids dropped lazily over his deep-sea eyes. “I'd like to talk to you, though, so I'll take you out to dinner tonight. Will seven-thirty suit you?”

“Whoa!” she said, startled. “I don't even know you!”

“That's easily remedied.” He held out his hard, sun-browned hand. “I'm Brett Rutland, from Carter-Marshall.”

Tessa's eyes widened fractionally. She'd heard the name so many times during the past week, and so many people seemed to be a bit cautious of him that she'd begun actually to believe all the things she'd heard about him. Just the rumor that he might descend on Carter Engineering had made a lot of people nervous. He must have arrived that morning. But he was still holding out his hand, and slowly Tessa put her hand out to clasp his. His fingers wrapped gently around hers,
as if he were very aware of the difference between his strength and hers.

“Tessa Conway,” she said as a self-introduction. “I work in the bookkeeping department.”

He didn't release her hand. “Well, Tessa Conway, now you know who I am and I know who you are. Dinner?”

She eyed him warily for a moment; then her natural sense of humor began to surface. Was this man the ogre everyone had been telling horror tales about? He was no one's tame pussycat, that was for certain, but he didn't look as if he ate raw meat for breakfast, either. Teasing lights began to dance in her green eyes. “I'm not certain I'd be safe with someone known as the
Ax-Man
,” she pointed out cheekily.

He threw back his head and laughed, a good, deep sound, and a warmth began to grow inside her. “Ax-Man? That's better than what I'd thought! But you won't have anything to worry about, Tessa Conway. I won't chop you up into little pieces.”

No, but he was a man who could put a woman's emotions through the meat grinder. Just standing there in the office with him, Tessa could feel her heart beating a little faster, and the way her blood was humming through her veins made her feel warm all over. Temptation was weakening her because she really wanted to go with him, but she knew that the smartest thing to do would be to run, not walk, to the nearest cover.

“If we went out together, the grapevine would short-out from the overload of gossip. I really don't—”

“I don't give a damn about gossip, and neither do you.” His fingers tightened over hers. “Seven-thirty?”

She looked up at him again, and that was a tactical error. With a low, musical laugh, she cast caution to the winds. “Make it six-thirty. I'm the original sleepyhead; if I don't get my eight hours, I'm incapable of functioning. During the week, I don't even stay out as late as Cinderella did, and we all know she was a party-pooper.”

Brett veiled his eyes with his lashes, not letting her see the predatory gleam in them. He'd be glad to make certain she was home in bed at an early hour; letting her sleep was something else entirely. “I'll be there. Write down your address for me.” He planned to read her file, and he could get her address from there, but she didn't need to know that.

Tessa held the cold compress in place with her left hand while she scribbled her address on a scrap of paper, along with her telephone number. Then she looked at him again, and shook her head a little. “I must be out of my mind,” she murmured to herself, and walked quickly out of the office before he could somehow entice her to stay even longer.

Brett sat down at his desk and toyed idly with the scrap of paper that contained her address. That was just how he wanted her: out of her mind, totally senseless with the pleasure he intended to give her. He'd had a number of affairs, enough that the prospect of another woman in his bed should produce only a feeling of mild anticipation, but the way he felt could never be described as mild. Whatever it was about Tessa Conway, he wanted her. He couldn't really remember a woman he'd wanted whom he hadn't eventually gotten, and usually within a fairly short length of time. There was
no reason for things to be any different with Tessa. He thought of the way she walked, her slender hips moving in a way that made sweat pop out on his forehead. It might take a while for him to tire of her.

“I'm an idiot,” Tessa told herself over and over as she returned to her office, still holding the ice-filled towel to her bruised cheekbone. She'd actually agreed to go out with a man who occupied a rather high rung of the corporate ladder in her company, and that in itself could give birth to a bumper crop of gossip. Not only that, the man had a horrible reputation; whenever he appeared, people lost their jobs. “Ax-Man” was a singularly appropriate nickname. But all of that aside, he was also the sexiest man she'd ever seen, or imagined. It wasn't his looks particularly, though his eyes were almost stunning in their beauty. It was the way he looked at a woman, as if she were his for the taking, and as if he knew all sorts of delicious ways to do the taking, and would linger over every moment of it. The eyes of a rake…except that there was something cool and controlled in his gaze, too, as if he held a part of himself aloof, totally untouched by the heat of his own passion.

What was a woman supposed to do with a man who would want more of herself than she felt safe in giving? Her heart had never been broken, but it had been battered badly enough that she didn't want to risk her emotions again, especially with a man like Brett Rutland. He'd ignore the barriers of laughter and lighthearted teasing, knocking them aside to get to the woman behind them. Tessa loved flirting and partying; it was a lot of fun, and frequently made people feel better about themselves. But the thought of getting serious with
anyone was a little scary, and she was very much afraid that keeping things cool with Brett Rutland was only a remote possibility.

After two broken engagements, Tessa no longer had so many stars in her eyes. She was optimistic and levelheaded enough not to condemn all men because of two failed relationships, but she was also more cautious now in the way she handled romantic entanglements. She knew danger when she saw it, and that man flashed danger signals like a neon sign. So why was she tossing aside all caution now, agreeing to go out with him when she knew better?

“Because I'm an idiot,” she muttered to herself as she sat down at her desk.

Perry Smitherman, head of the bookkeeping department, came out of his office and approached her small cubicle. His high forehead was knit in a perpetual frown. “Billie Billingsley called to say you'd had a small accident. Is everything all right?”

“Yes, I'm fine.” Tessa removed the cold compress and explored her swollen cheekbone with a light, cautious touch. “How does it look?”

His frown pulled even tighter as he bent down and examined the bruise as thoroughly as he would check the books. “Painful,” he finally pronounced. “Do you need to go home?”

Tessa concealed her startled laughter. “No, I'm able to work,” she assured him demurely. Perry was a fussbudget, but he was kindhearted enough, and she liked him, for all his fussy ways.

“Did you go to the infirmary?”

“No. Mr. Rutland took me up to his office and put this compress on it—”

“Brett Rutland?” Perry asked sharply.

“Yes, he was in the elevator—”

His high, white forehead began to glisten with sweat. “Did he ask you anything about the department? Did he say anything about going over the books?”

Anxiety was evident in his face and his raised voice. Soothingly, Tessa said, “Not a word. He simply got the ice from his bar and wrapped it in the towel.”

“Are you certain? He never does anything without a reason. He can be subtle, when it suits him. I'm sure he's going to go over everything; but he'll ask around first, and try to find out if we're slack or careless in any way.”

“You don't have anything to worry about; the department is in good shape, and you're a very competent manager.”

“You never know,” he said, wringing his hands. “You never know.”

He was determined to think the worst, and with a sigh Tessa gave up the effort of cheering him; he was probably happier looking for a dark lining in a silver cloud anyway. Some people simply had a melancholy outlook, and Perry was one of them.

Billie popped in during the mid-afternoon break to check on Tessa. The other woman was full of curiosity about Brett Rutland, her big brown eyes even rounder than usual as she stared at Tessa and shot questions at her faster than they could be answered. “What did he say? How long did he keep you? Were you scared? My gosh, of all the people who could have been in that elevator! Did he say why he's here?”

Tessa picked out one question and ignored the others. “Why should I have been scared? I didn't know who he was.”

Billie gaped. “You didn't know Brett Rutland?”