The Cutting Edge (8 page)

Was
Brett jealous? The possibility made her almost dizzy with hope. He had no reason to be, but wouldn't jealousy signal that he cared more deeply for her than she'd thought?

Tessa was good enough at her job, and disciplined enough, that she managed to be productive even though she kept one eye on Perry's door, waiting for Brett to reappear. She was jittery and excited, and she smiled a little in amusement at herself, because none of her friends here would ever believe that Tessa Conway could be nervous over a man. The difference was that Brett wasn't just
a
man, he was
the
man, and that was quite a lot of difference. Not even Andrew had ever made her feel the way she felt with Brett, and at the time Tessa had thought herself sincerely in love with Andrew. She was learning that there were many different degrees of love, and that the deep, hungry need she felt for Brett far surpassed anything she'd even imagined.

At last Brett came out of Perry's office, but he passed her without even glancing in her direction. Tessa felt a pang of unreasonable hurt; after all, she'd been the one who'd said that she would feel uncomfortable with office gossip, so Brett was only following her wishes in not making their relationship obvious. But she found that she still wanted something from him: a look, a smile, anything to reassure her that he didn't feel as cold as he looked.

Whatever he'd wanted from Perry, evidently Perry hadn't found it to be a pleasant visit. Through the open door of Perry's office, Tessa could see him pacing back and forth, alternately wringing his hands or shoving his fingers through his thinning hair. She'd heard that
Brett often had that effect on the executives and department heads who had to deal with him. There were two sides to his personality, and she felt a little disoriented because she couldn't quite reconcile the coldly scathing executive who tore strips of hide off anyone who crossed him with the man of burning sensuality who kissed her with such sweet fire.

How could she find herself so helplessly in love with a man she didn't really know? He was a puzzle to her, his personality an intricate maze that she longed to solve, because she felt that her reward for finding the secrets of his personality would be a fiery love that would last a lifetime.

By noon, the fact that Brett Rutland had had a private meeting with Perry was all over the office. “What's going on?” Billie asked eagerly over lunch. “Is Perry in trouble?”

“Not that I know of,” Tessa said, startled at the thought.

“Then why did Rutland have a private meeting with him?”

“Now, you know you're always telling me not to get too friendly with people,” Tessa said innocently. “What was I supposed to do, go up to the man and say, ‘Mr. Rutland, honey, what are you doing in here?'”

“No one would be surprised,” Billie grumbled. “And the hell of it is, he'd probably say, ‘Miss Conway, honey, why don't I take you out to dinner tonight and tell you all about it?'”

Yes, he might say exactly that, Tessa thought, and smiled. She had to be a blue-ribbon fool, but she longed for the hours to pass so she could see him again, even
knowing that he wasn't in the best of moods and that he was hard to handle even when he was feeling good. But she wanted to see him; she wanted to rest her head on his hard chest and soak up his nearness, like a flower soaking up the sun. She'd known him less than a week, but he'd embedded himself so deeply in her thoughts that it was difficult for her to remember how it had been before, when there had been no tall man with tawny hair and navy eyes who overshadowed every other man she'd ever known, who had taken over her dreams in daylight and dark. Was there a moment in her life now when she was actually unconscious of him? She couldn't think of one. Even when she was asleep, he was in her mind, so that she went to sleep thinking of him and woke to a continuation of the same thought, as if he had been there all along.

“You've gone moony-eyed again,” Billie said, watching her. “Whoever he is, he must be something else.”

Tessa caught her breath. “He is.”

“It's Brett Rutland, isn't it? The way you smiled a moment ago, when we were talking about him…I can't describe it.”

There was no use in denying it, since Tessa felt that she couldn't control her expression right then, and in any case she wasn't inclined to deny the way she felt about him. She wasn't ashamed of loving him; she felt glorified by it, as if she were more alive now than she'd ever been before in her life. “Yes,” she admitted quietly.

Billie was concentrating fiercely. “Did you meet him for the first time this week, in the elevator?”

“Yes. We had dinner that night…and last night.”

“You've been out with him twice, and you think
you're in love with him? The Ax-Man? Tessa, there can't be two people any more mismatched than you and Brett Rutland! You're the life of any party, and he…well, picture it yourself. He walks into a room, and it's instant silence.”

That was the public Brett; Billie would never comprehend the potent charm he could exert in private, the intense concentration he turned on a woman that demanded the same degree of attention in return. But Tessa had known his kisses, felt the heat of him straining against her, and she would never be able to think of him as the cold, ruthless troubleshooter who reported only to Joshua Carter.

“Will you keep this to yourself?” she asked Billie. “He said that he doesn't mind who knows, but I don't like the thought of everyone gossiping about us.”

“Sure,” Billie agreed readily, and reached over to pat her hand. “You didn't pick an easy one to fall for, did you?”

“Of course not.” Tessa's soft mouth curved wryly. “The easy ones were all too…easy.”

Billie felt that she'd been watching out for Tessa ever since the younger woman had moved to Los Angeles, but never before had she felt that Tessa was heading for deep trouble. Even when she'd just begun to adjust to the differences between Tennessee and California, Tessa had always approached everything with high spirits and good humor. But Brett Rutland could break Tessa's bright spirit with his cool ruthlessness if Tessa cared too much and he cared too little. Billie's eyes were troubled as she looked at her friend. “If you need me, all you have to do is pick up the telephone and
call me,” she offered. “I can always offer you a drink, an extra bed and a shoulder to cry on, singly or in any combination.”

“Thanks. I know that you're there for me if I need you.” Tessa smiled warmly at her friend. “But don't be so glum! I've always landed on my feet before, haven't I?”

“You haven't been in love before,” Billie retorted. “Believe me, love can be hell.”

Yes, it could be, and Tessa had already been singed by its fires, but the small flames Andrew had generated were nothing compared to the inferno Brett lit just by walking into the room. Faintly confused, because she'd never before doubted that she'd loved Andrew, she was now beginning to wonder if she'd ever been more than fond of him. There was simply no comparison between the way she'd felt then and the way she felt now about Brett. With Brett, she felt an irresistible compulsion to walk into his arms and never leave them, to simply press herself against him and cling until her flesh had melded with his, until they were no longer two separate beings but a part of each other, eternally linked in flesh and heart and mind. When she wasn't with Brett, she felt…lonely, and she'd never been lonely before in her life. She'd been alone many times, and enjoyed her solitude as much as she enjoyed the company of friends, but now she felt oddly incomplete.

When Brett came to her apartment that night, Tessa had only to look at him to know that he was angry. His anger wasn't violent, but it was all the more potent for his control. Her spine felt chilled as she looked up into his narrowed eyes. “If you don't want to break off
with Wallace, all you have to do is say so. I don't like being lied to.”

“I haven't lied to you,” she replied steadily. “Sammy is a friend, nothing more. We work on the same floor; I'm forever running into him. I can't hide under my desk to keep from seeing him.”

There was something primitive in his expression as he looked down at her, and he touched her delicate jaw with hard, lean fingers, a light touch that nevertheless shocked her with its possessiveness. “Don't ever lie to me,” he rasped; then he bent down and kissed her.

It seemed as if it had been forever since she'd tasted him, felt his mouth move hungrily on hers, and she raised her hands to his shoulders to cling to him. Shaking slightly, reveling in the delight that crashed through her in response to his lightest touch, she kissed him with all the sweet fire she could give him. Finally, he raised his head, his eyes searing, and a faint film of perspiration had broken out on his forehead.

The tension between them increased as the night grew older. Though she loved seafood, Tessa could do little more than pick at her lobster, because every nerve ending in her body was picking up the signals of his sensual arousal, and a hot, answering need coiled achingly inside her. He made her feel so female that it was as if she'd never before had any concept of her own femininity. With him, she was a primitive, and the intensity of her emotions frightened her, but at the same time she was lured by their power. The time for running away was past; perhaps it had been too late for her from the first moment she'd looked up into the blue beauty of his eyes.

“Spend the day with me tomorrow,” he said abruptly, for the first time in his life putting his personal concerns ahead of business. There was a job to be done, but it paled in importance when compared to the urgency he felt to consolidate his relationship with Tessa. When he'd seen Sammy Wallace hovering over her desk that morning, he'd been seized by a cold rage that had made him want to choke the man. He'd never been possessive of a woman before, but women had come to him so easily and so early that he hadn't valued them for anything other than physical pleasure. But Tessa hadn't offered herself to him; she'd enticed him with her teasing smile and laughing eyes, then danced away from his touch. He was a man, and a hunter. He'd have her, and soon.

“Yes,” Tessa agreed, though it hadn't been an invitation as much as a command. Her eyes wandered over his hard, rough face, and a tightness in her chest warned her that she'd forgotten to breathe again.

He swore softly, the words a barely audible rasp. There was a soft, drowning look on her face that made his body tighten in need. “Let's get out of here,” he rasped, surging to his feet and pulling her from her chair. She didn't protest; she was silent as he paid the bill; then she leaned on him a little on their way out to the car.

The night had turned cool, and Tessa lifted her flushed face to the fresh breeze. She felt heated, as if her internal furnace were burning away at top capacity, and she wanted to remove the clothing that was suddenly too restrictive. He unlocked the car door and opened it, then put her inside, and Tessa drew a deep, shuddering breath. How could she control the wild need
inside her? It was burning her up, turning her body into a cauldron of love and wanting. When he got behind the steering wheel, she said, “Brett,” in a dazed voice, and reached out for him.

He jerked as her hands touched his chest. “You're driving me out of control,” he said in a low, savage tone. “I want to push you down on the car seat and take you right now. Damn it, if that's not what you want, too, then don't tease me now, because you're skating on thin ice.”

She was barely in control herself, but she heard the taut warning in his voice, and she moved away from him, clenching her hands in her lap in an effort to resist the need to touch him. Did he really think she was only teasing him? The party girl wasn't laughing now; she loved, and she wanted, and she hurt. Why was love portrayed as the ultimate happiness when it was so painful? Her emotions for him were so powerful and deep that she felt as if the greater part of herself, the essence of her very being, had been taken away from her own control and placed in his hands. Love like that was a sword, and in loving Brett she was balanced precariously on the cutting edge; he wasn't a safe man to love. She risked more than her heart in loving him; she risked her very life, for that was what he meant to her, and if anything happened to him the light would go out of her life, and her laughter would fade away. It was frightening to love anyone like that, but Tessa found that, with Brett, her protective barriers of wit and laughter were useless. He demolished them with his intense masculinity and tapped the deep vein of passion within her. She had always thought herself capable of loving deeply, but until Brett, she hadn't known just how deeply.

He drove a little too fast, and when she glanced at him she saw that his jaw was set, and his sensual mouth was pressed into a grim line. He looked hard and dangerous, not the sort of man a woman should play with. In more primitive times, he would probably have thrown her over his shoulder and carried her off. Tessa glanced at him again, and a shiver ran down her spine, because there was a ruthlessness in his face that frightened her a little.

When they reached her apartment, he silently took the key from her and opened the door, then stepped back for her to enter. Tessa switched on the light and turned to face him, but whatever she'd meant to say was forever lost as he closed the door and locked it. She caught her breath, her eyes lifting to his. His eyelids had drooped sensually, so that only a thin line of navy blue was revealed, but his intent was plain to read. Without a word, he shrugged out of his coat and unknotted his tie, pulling it free from his collar, then tossed the discarded garments over the back of a chair. “Now,” he whispered harshly, his eyes never leaving hers, “come here and touch me.”

Blindly, Tessa walked into his arms.

His mouth was hungry and hurtful, but her mouth clung to his in a trembling ecstasy that asked for all he could give her. Her ribs were crushed by the almost brutal grip of his arms, but she couldn't get close enough to him. She ached at the hateful separation of their flesh. She heard husky little whimpers, but though she didn't recognize them as her own, Brett heard them, and everything male in him responded to those feminine sounds of pleasure. He bent her over his arm, and
his mouth left hers to sear a path down the smooth column of her throat, down even more to the firm jut of her breasts. He fastened his mouth on her flesh, and even through the fabric of her dress she felt his moist heat, and desire so sharp that it was painful sliced through her.