The Value of Vulnerability (6 page)

“Lost somewhere
,” she answered the glove question.

Turning her hand to kiss the palm, he raised his eyes to hers, glowing with sin and temptation. She doubted that many women turned down the promise of those eyes.

“I’d better go,” she whispered. Her fingertips stroked his cheek ever so slightly.

His mouth
opened on her skin as he held her gaze, his tongue pressing against her palm. She gave him a decent reaction, she estimated, feeling her lids droop and her knees buckle a little.

“That is
so
unfair,” she groaned softly.

“See how it could have been?” he purred.
“You ruined it.”

“Yeah.”
She swallowed. “Good thing I did. I think.”

Releasing her with a thoughtful smile, he cupped her face briefly. “Don’t drink too much.”

What odd advice, given that she was not going to see him again, and her alcohol consumption tonight would not affect him. She stepped away. “Thanks again for the ride.”

“Thanks for the lift,” he retorted, which made her laugh
and her cheeks flush.

Oh, she wanted to stay with him! She would regret walking away for the rest of her life.

Well, maybe just the rest of the night, when she got home to her cold bed. But the chill temperature was just a metaphor, and temporarily eradicating the metaphorical with this man would only increase its power in the aftermath.

But some imp had her turning to face him again, albeit from a safe distance.

“Ford? Do you still want to know what I saw? Sex-wise?”

He straightened
from his lazy pose against the doorframe, eyes alert. “Yes.”

“Up against
a wall.”

And getting the last word in, she walked into the restaurant where the Xcess party was in full swing in a private room.

*

Ford took a moment before getting back into the limo, absorbing what she had said, recreating it in his own mind.
Having that veritable Amazon pressed up against a wall, kissing her senseless, running his hands over that lush body, sinking into her . . . He ran the back of his hand over his mouth, the lift she had given him becoming a full-fledged erection.

Eradicating the mental image
and the physical response with an effort and the help of the winter breeze, he slid back inside the car and closed the door.

Deep breath. Shoulder shrug. Settle. Calm.

He pressed the button to open the tinted glass partition.

“Sir?”

“Just drive. Stay in the neighbourhood.”

The partition whirred shut
again.

Relaxing into the seat, Ford propped an elbow on the padded door panel, rubbing his hand over his mouth, smothering the smile that quirked his lips.

Cocky wench.

While he had experienced
occasional rejection, he was certain he had never been turned down quite like that before. Obviously, Erin Russell required greater effort on his part.

Not bored now, are you?

She might be interesting enough to keep around for a few days.

Ford took out his phone, entering a speed dial. When the party picked up, he said: “Run a background check on Erin Russell of Xcess Technologies. I need it tonight.”

The noise level was high, evidencing a generous intake of pre-dinner cocktails, and wait staff were already clearing salad plates as Erin entered the party, the large round tables scattered around the room organised roughly by department.

Hells
. Missed cocktails
and
the healthy-food portion of the evening.

But that didn’t stop her from ordering a martini from a
passing waiter, asking for extra olives for ‘health reasons.’ Indicating where her coworkers and their various spouses were waving at her, pointing at the chair reserved for her: “That’s my table. Thanks.”

The waiter assured with a grin
and a complimentary—not lascivious—scan of her body that he would easily find her again.

Now
that’s
flirting!
Ford could use some lessons in sincerity.

“You look fantastic!” Cathy
said as Erin bent to give her a one-arm hug.

“Thanks, Cath. You, too.
Merry Christmas!”

“
Merry Christmas! I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in a dress.” She turned to her husband, seated on her right. “Have you, Joe? Does she ever wear one to work?”

“Nope. First time for me, too. Looks all right,” he conceded with a smile.

“Oh, come on!” Erin scoffed, setting her purse next to her place setting and giving a smiling wave of greeting to the other occupants of the table as she plunked herself into her chair. “I
always
wear a dress to the Christmas party!”

“Don’t remember that.
No date?” Cathy asked.

“No date. Maybe I’ll meet someone in the bar when the party’s over,”
she said, mildly annoyed but mostly amused by the earnest sympathy coming so soon on the heels of Ford’s premeditated variety.

“Don’t ever pick up someone after drinking at a Christmas party
. Always a disaster.”

“Isn’t that how we met, honey?” Joe asked
, and tossed a wink at Erin.

“Ass,”
Erin retorted as Cathy laughed.

The waiter delivered her martini just then
, and a salad, too. Smiling her thanks at him, she picked up her fork. With a quick survey of the room, the other tables, she stabbed a cucumber slice. “What have I missed?”

“The execs are extraordinarily quiet,” Cathy said. “But drinking heavily.”

Erin didn’t really have regrets for the men and women who had so mismanaged the company. But she had promised her silence to Ford regarding the buyout, and nothing could entice her to break a confidence once made. Besides, decisions for Xcess staffing were likely complete, and breaking her word even for her friends would only serve to spoil the weekend for them, with no hope of controlling the winds that would blow through Xcess Monday morning. They were better off not knowing, and it was that thought that overran the temptation to gossip.

Whether she survived Monday’s general house cleaning or not was moot. Rumours had sent her job hunting, and she had two offers, which—considering the still-sluggish economy—was a freaking miracle. All she had to do was pick up the phone and accept one.

Both offers had come in that morning. They, combined with an ecstatic email of thanks from a client and her immediate boss’s compliments on a job well done, had birthed the empowered feeling that led her to challenge a man like Ford.

Ford Howard!
Still, it was a little too unreal. Surreal. Downright weird.

What did she know of Ford Howard? What did
anyone
know of Ford Howard? Wealthy. Check. Ridiculously—no, painfully—handsome. Check. A notorious womaniser and captain of industry. Check.

Not that helpful. Very uninformative information.
She mentally sifted through vaguely remembered articles about him. One quote she remembered clearly from
The Daily
:
At his worst, Ford Howard is good eye candy.

Not that important. Didn’t hurt, of course, but said nothing about the
man
.

Those articles she’d read all
carried the general sense an unknowable man. No one had evidence of the cutthroat practices they alluded to. They only suspecting his controlling and unseen hand on events not always limited to business ventures. The pictures showed a face that was bland, cool-bordering-on-cold, and enigmatic with a side of predator.

Those reporting on him
respected him. Maybe reducing him to mere eye candy helped them forget that at his worst, he was actually a scary kind of guy. She hadn’t seen that, exactly. Not more than a sense of it. But it was hard to imagine that composed individual ever losing his temper, ever shouting, or openly sneering or belittling. Condescending, sure. He exuded the air of one who tolerated all people—barely. Mostly, though, he came across as professional, quiet, and serious. Bored, too.

He was dangerous, though. Just like those reporting on him, Erin knew it without
having proof of it. Something feral lived beneath that veneer of civilisation. Something capable of anything. Even without drawing too fine a point on it, there was no mistaking Ford Howard for anything other than a predator. And no mistaking that he liked it. Used it.

Seriously, though, who knew
what Ford Howard thought of others in the world at large?

Idiots,
would be her best guess.

She chuckled aloud, attracting the attention of her companions.

“Martini,” she excused, raising her glass.

One day in the distant future she would tell her grandchildren about how she had once ridden in a limo with one of the richest, most successful men in Canada. And in those distant years, when she was in her dotage, and Ford in his
, would he think of her, shrouded in remote memory?

From the sublime to the ridiculous
, she silently chided. They had not even kissed.

The fingertips of her left hand grazed over the sensitive palm of her right, remembering the press of his mouth, the moisture of his tongue. Almost cat-like, a little raspy. How would it feel against hers, against her skin? Against her—

Okay, calm down. Too public a place to imagine details.

Why
hadn’t
she kissed him? That would have made a better story. She wouldn’t put those details in the delicate ears of her beloved grandchildren, but she would live on such a memory. A kiss would have led to more kisses, to his hands on her body, to outrageous lovemaking.

Not
lovemaking. Sex. Ford would not have a romantic view of the act. For that matter, she had all but given up on romance too, since walking into Anthony’s apartment that day a year ago.

Ford Howard’s short-term affairs were legendary. Absolutely, that was not what she wanted. Casual sex and brief flings had never been for her, and she was not going to start now.

Oh
, every molecule of her body yelled,
couldn’t we make an exception this once?

“Erin!”

She looked at Cathy in surprise. “What?”

“You are completely gapped! Where is your head?”

In the back of a limo.
“Sorry, just thinking about work.”

“Really?”

“Okay, not really.” She blew out a noisy breath. “Just thinking how lucky you are.”

“Ohhh-kaaay,” Cathy drawled. “Why?”

She lifted her shoulders. “Your marriage. Not exactly that. Just . . . He talks about you all the time.
How
he talks about you. I’d like to find someone like that.”

“Like my Joe?” Cathy snorted, but grinned, glancing at her husband who was involved in an animated conversation with others at the table. “He’s
a good-looking sod, but not all he cracks himself up to be.”

Erin laughed gaily, hearing the love behind the mockery. “Well, at least someone
. . . I don’t even know what that ‘Someone’ would be like. I just—Argh.”

Cathy patted her arm. “He’s out there, sweetie. You’re awfully young. Be patient.”

“Said like one whose patience has been satisfied.”

“Maybe you should try dating instead of working all the time,” was the amused retort. “That’s where you meet people, Erin! By going outside.”

Now, why did
that
sound familiar?

A
ll of the great things that had made this day great were work related. Even this party. Even meeting Ford.

And i
t was going to be tough telling stories to future grandkids when she hadn’t even started the
have kids
part. And her preferred way of that, she imagined, was through the tried-and-true method of finding a stand-by-his-woman man and having sex with him. Repeatedly.

She
downed the end of the martini and changed the subject.

“You’ve been busy at work, eh? You haven’t made the last couple of outings for after-work drinks.”
She traded her empty glass for red wine, and almost missed Cathy’s puzzled frown. “Oh, you
are
busy if you’ve forgotten standing us up! Anyway, Joe and I only had our work to complain about, and your stories are so much better.”

A tap on her shoulder had her turning to
see a pretty and petite brunette standing next to her chair. “Steph! Thanks again for the curling iron.”

“You look great
. I think I’ll take the credit.” Stephanie crouched down, took a fast look around, and whispered conspiratorially: “Do you know what that big meeting was about?”