The Value of Vulnerability (4 page)

“Swanky,” she
said. “What time is it now?”

“Coming up on eight.”

“Hells. So late. I’m dead.”

“Despite all evidence to the contrary.”
Strong fingers wrapped around her wrist, fingertips pressed lightly on the blue vein beneath the thin skin as if measuring her elevated pulse. He stepped closer to her, bodies mere millimetres apart as he cradled her hand to his broad chest.

Tingling sparks ran
through her arm at his touch, upping her libido and imagination. In her heels, she was only a slightly shorter than his—what? Six-three?—frame, and she had a mental image of what they could accomplish without the benefit of a bed.

Deeply inhaling his spicy scent, she slowly released her breath. “You’re too much.”

“What are you thinking?” he demanded softly.

“We’re just flirting, right?”

“For the moment.”

“That sounded threatening,” she chuckled
, not entirely kidding. “I was thinking about sex.”

“That
is obvious. I was enquiring for the details you’re so obviously contemplating,” he smiled faintly, his eyes flickering.

She didn’t satisfy his curiosity.

“Come,” he said at last. Still holding her hand, he pushed open the swing door rather than using the revolving door as a posted sign politely requested. “I’ll provide you cab service.”

“May we flirt in the car?” she asked
as they exited the office tower.
At least,
the look he tossed her said, and she shook her head firmly. “No more than that. I’d rather remember how I got to verbally fence with Ford Howard than make out with him in his limo.”

The laugh he emitted was just this side of nonplussed
—probably shocked that any female didn’t want to jump his bones immediately—and he stopped at the bottom of the steps, turning to her as she hovered on the last one, slightly above him.

H
e regarded her curiously, head tilted back. Probably wasn’t often a woman was taller than he.

“I’m having a great day
.” She grinned. “You?”

He apparently enjoyed his vantage point as
he scanned her. She really wished she wasn’t wearing the coat so he could see what he had obviously liked looking at earlier.

“What does
my day have to do with anything?” he asked.

“Aren’t there days where you feel stronger and
, well, less vulnerable?”

“
There is little daily variation in my sense of self,” he said curtly.

Yoikes! Touchy.
While the response itself fitted the man, she hadn’t expected that tone from such an obviously self-possessed person.

And then, more gently:
“But for the sake of argument, let’s say I have those days. What of it?”

“Well, I’m having one. And you strike me as the sort who is
so
confident that he can let me get away with it.”

Snowflakes dusted them as he held her gaze, the amber eyes fat
homless and utterly unreadable.

Passing traffic splashed and squelched through the mush on the streets.
A horn blared. Sirens sounded a few blocks away, and the streetlamps cast harsh light. Erin barely noticed any of it.

Reaching out,
Ford grasped the fluttering tail of her scarf and rearranged it to drape over her head, protecting her hair from the falling snow. His movements were studied. Sexy. Thoughtful. All-points-south of brain went
Ah . . .!
as she looked down at him.

“I think,” he said at last, “that
what others allow or don’t allow you does not temper your behaviour often.”

“Now
that’s
a compliment! Thank you.”

“So you
are suggesting . . . what, exactly?”

“Well, you’ve been hitting on me
from the get-go—thanks.” She grinned as he had the gall to mock an
I have no idea what you mean
look. “But since you think I actually
would
consider having sex with a man I met thirty minutes ago without so much as having a drink bought for me and because I can’t ditch this party and I’m not a one-night type of girl in any case and we won’t have another opportunity to fence, I thought it’d be fun to do our damnedest to one-up each other.”

He blinked
at this litany. “One-up how?”

“Just talk. Flirt. You try to talk me out of the party, and I . . . resist.”

A slight sigh. And then, purring, “Wouldn’t it be easier to simply go to a hotel?”

“See
? That was really good, Ford!” She sucked in her cheeks, impressed by how tempting that suggestion was. He had the most persuasive tone. “Exactly what I mean. Okay, you’re game.” Grasping his hand, she tugged him towards the limo.

With another of those nonplussed laughs,
he shooed her through the door the chauffeur held open. “What’s the address, Erin?”

Information relayed to the driver, he slid in beside her. Admiring and a little overwhelmed by the simple opulence of the limousine
’s interior, she shook snowflakes from her scarf and tresses, hoping the rare effort she had put into doing her hair was not entirely ruined.

This is what you’re thinking? Not: You just got into a strange car
to do some verbal sparring with a strange out-of-your-league man you’ve already tagged as dangerous?

Nope. Thinking about the hair. Totally.

Ford turned towards her, his arm stretching along the back of the leather seat, his fingertips brushing her neck. “All right, Erin Russell. Flirt.”

She shivered at the electric caress, slicing a glance to the
in-place privacy screen. She wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad thing. “Sorry, is that a title or an order?”

“I meant it as an imperative,” he admitted, “but the title fits.
And it was your idea.”

“I know. Fun, right?”

“Hm,” was the doubtful intonation.

The car
moved away from the curb.

“You seem quite undisturbed by the fact that I’m your new boss
,” he said.

“Technically, in the land of harassment, that should concern you more than me. But you’re
not really my new boss. You’re CEO of BHG, who has just bought up a minor interest of which I am a minor interest. Granted, I suppose you could fire my ass in a heartbeat.”

“Fire your ass?” An eyebrow quivered. “That’s more like it.”

She grinned. “I didn’t mean it that way.”

“Unfortunate.”

“Tell me about yourself, Ford.”

“Isn’t that too direct?” he
asked. “Takes away from two strangers flirting harmlessly. Removes the mystery.” He picked up a strand of her hair, looping it around his finger. “Tell me why you rarely dress up. You look stunning.”

Having such a stunning man apply the same attribute to her was a heady experience, despite
the fact it sounded practised.

“Thank
s. I work all the time, mostly in jeans and tees, with my hair in a ponytail. I don’t have time for much play.”

“Your boyfriend must not like that.”

“Smooth,” she giggled.
Hells, giggling!
She hated gigglers. It wasn’t likely to improve his obvious first impression of a brainless twit. “I don’t have one of those.”

“People make time for relationships.”

“Do
you
?” she asked with arid doubt.

“I wasn’t finished
.” He tugged at the lock of hair, sending shivers through her scalp and down her spine. “Do not interrupt. People make time for relationships
or
sex.” His gaze swept her. “You are an incredibly sensual woman. I would hate to think it was all going to waste.”

“I’ll bet you say that to all the girls,” she
said with full conviction, and mentally filed away that either/or comment. “Perhaps I’m saving myself for true love.”

An eyebrow shot up. “
Surely you are not trying to suggest virginity? Or is that what you meant by not being that sort of girl?”

“I don’t think it’s unusual to decline one-night stands with newly met men. Or have you found that not the case?”

Vague amusement in his eyes mocked her, suggesting she was indeed unusual in holding this archaic idea. “So you
are
saving yourself for a love match of some description?”

“
Actually, just currently practising emotional economy,” she demurred, smiling.

That earned a blank look of surprise. No, not exactly
surprise
. As before, she wasn’t at all sure what that fathomless look meant. His mouth moved in silent echo:
Emotional economy.

“Don’t understand the phrase?” she grinned.

“It’s a curious choice of words,” he said in an oddly flat tone.

But then he blinked and the seducer’s mask was back. She
swallowed a nervous laugh.

“What are you thinking?”
He demanded the answer as if he really didn’t know. Such a man surely had to have the experience to read someone as open as she was.

Erin
countered. “Wondering what’s going on inside
your
head.”

H
e plainly invented an answer. “I am wondering if this girl-next-door guise—”

“I’m certain I
’ve never lived next door to anyone like you,” she interrupted dryly.

“—is real, or if you employ it to tantalise.”

“That’s not what you’re thinking,” she said with light scorn.

“It’s not?”

“You’re thinking—or rather, wondering—if I’m gullible enough to fall for your shtick.”

“Shtick?”

She waved a hand in his direction. “The studied seducer thing.”

He seemed to consider that.

“Don’t deny it,” she chuckled. “I’m not that gullible.”

A dimple ghosted. “I do not think you gullible.”

“Yes, you do. You’ve thought it from the moment you saw me! Dumb blonde with T&A. Right?”

That received an actual smile, teeth and all.
“I think you might be more willing to believe the unbelievable than some.”

“Why?”

“Positive, happy, friendly people tend to be that way.” The descriptors did not sound complimentary.

“
I’m as sceptical as anyone! More so, even.”

“Any evidence to support that?”

“Well . . . I don’t believe that celebrity spokeswomen get their hair colour from a box.”

“Ah,” he said. “Incontrovertible proof.”

They stared at each other in somewhat wary, somewhat amused silence.

“
I think you are a pretty and intelligent woman who is far too clever to fall for anyone’s
shtick
,” he said at last.

“Good.”
Good line.

“
What are you thinking?” he asked again, softly.

“
That you’re kind of pretentious.”
Oh, smart! Challenge the enigmatic and dangerous.

But there was n
o outward reaction. Certainly no anger or pique. “This from the woman who dresses up for rare show? Is it not a conceit?”

“English, please.”

“That was English. And here is more. You accuse me of pretensions, yet you are the one in admitted disguise. Passing yourself off as a humble employee—a minor interest, when in fact, you hold a key position—whose sole concern is her job, and who would much rather be in jeans and ponytail rather than a gilded lily venturing out to party with friends. It is false modesty. Inverted snobbery.”

“It’s not pretence
. Or modesty, false or otherwise. It’s true. My jeans are comfy. Only one of my coworkers is a close friend, so I’m actually going to the party for the sake of corporate politics. It’s amazing how studied you are! I mean, your,” she waved a hand at him. “What’s the word? Demeanor? Do they have classes for that at Upper Canada College?
How to Seduce a Girl and Look Like You Mean It?
”

He looked away. Brushed an imaginary speck from his coat sleeve.
Increased dimple indentation depth. “I did not go to UCC.”

“Hm. Did you hear there’s a new invention called a contraction?”

“That is the basis of your accusation? That I am pretentious for lack of contractions?”

She laughed outright. “You should record yourself. I know I’d listen to your voice all day.”

“That’s a charming and complimentary flirtation, Erin,” he said, amusedly
patronising.

Too bad, because she had meant it.

“I use contractions. And have done so this evening.”