Billionaire Boss (5 page)

JJ
James and the Outlaws played a lively two-step, children chased each other through the elated crowd, parents ate spareribs and there wasn't a cloud in the deep azure sky.

“It's the best danged Mystery BBQ Sizzle we've ever held,” Hazel declared, the cattle baroness with her usual noblesse oblige drinking a beer in a bottle like her own cowhands behind the bandstand.

“And it's the last one I'll ever put together,” Kirsten announced, her emotions still raw from the night before.

Hazel took a long, hard look at her leaning against the tent pole. “Something wrong, missy?”

Kirsten shut her eyes, exhausted. “Hazel, believe me, the last thing I want to do is look like an ingrate. As usual, you've done too much for me. I mean, you even helped with Mom's medical bills, but…” She sighed. “I don't know. I think I'm in over my head with this crowd. I don't understand any of them.”

“All you've got to understand is your boss, Seth Morgan.”

“I know. I know,” she affirmed. “And yet he's the one who's the most confusing.”

“Is he giving you mixed signals? Now, why would he do that, do you think?” Hazel suddenly came to life like a bear who'd found honey. She all but rubbed her hands together in glee.

Kirsten almost laughed. “Nope. Trust me. The signals are all too clear.”

“Well, what kind of signals are they?” the old gal demanded.

A terrible thought suddenly occurred to Kirsten. “Hazel, this job—I mean—you didn't plan on this being some kind of matchmaking scheme, did you?”

“Certainly not! What kind of friend do you
think I am, cowgirl? You said you needed a better job, and I figured Mr. Morgan's offer ain't hay, so I threw you to it.”

Hazel did an excellent job of looking affronted. In fact, Kirsten almost believed her.

“It doesn't matter, Hazel. I'm not accusing you of anything. Nothing's going to happen between me and my boss in any case, because I can guarantee it won't. But with that issue aside, the job is still difficult.”

“How so?” Hazel took another beer from the cooler, looking suddenly a bit deflated.

“It's just—well, it's just that when Dad left, I knew I wanted more out of life than what my mom had. She settled for something less than love for the lifestyle and security, and she ended up with nothing. I'm not doing that. No matter what. It's all or nothing for me.”

“Good girl,” Hazel confirmed.

“But this Wall Street crowd.” She shrugged. “I'm out of my element. I don't understand any of them. It's so easy for them to go from bed to bed. Nothing means anything to them, not even love. I guess when you have so much to fall back on, you don't need life to mean anything—but not me. I just don't work that way.”

“Sounds like this is turning into more than a
job to me,” the cattle baroness prompted, her Prussian-blue eyes suddenly aglitter.

“No. It's just a job. I guarantee you.” She studied the older woman. “But I do want to know one thing, Hazel. Why did you sell to him? I mean, of all the people in the world who'd love a piece of your ranch—why him? What made him so worthy?”

The cattle baroness took a long sip of her beer. She seemed to contemplate her words good and hard.

“You know me, Kirsten. The best way I can explain it is I've never been able to see a person go a-wanting. I couldn't let him go a-wanting, either.”

Kirsten gasped in disbelief. “Wanting? The man wants for nothing. Nothing.”

“It wasn't the land he wanted. Hell, he could have gotten a ranch anywhere. And I didn't have to sell to him. You know that. I've sent bigger wolves than him back to the city with their tails between their legs after they ask to buy me out.”

“Then why?” Kirsten asked, nothing making sense now.

Hazel met her gaze. With a wisdom that was beyond even her seventy-plus years, she said, “Sometimes a person can go a-wanting most when he has everything. Sometimes city folk are
the loneliest people on earth, but it's not from having no company—too much company there, if you ask me. That's why I'll never leave Mystery.”

Kirsten wondered if she understood. “Are you telling me it's something bigger than the land Seth wanted?”

“Maybe. What do you think?”

She wasn't sure.

Her hesitation and uncertainty must have shown on her face, because Hazel said, “He's only your boss, cowgirl. You don't have to answer the question, just work for him. In fact, I'm wondering—just a little, mind you—why you want to know all these things?”

A sly smile tipped the corner of the cattle baroness's pretty mouth. “Unless, of course, you want to figure him out—but then there go all your guarantees, right out the barn door with the pony.”

“Hazel, you're wicked, you know that? Just plain wicked.” Kirsten nudged her. “But then, you haven't gone up against Seth Morgan either, and I don't see your schemes working there.”

“Never underestimate age and treachery, my dear.” The famous blue eyes winked at her. “I make eight seconds every time.”

Kirsten laughed at the woman's bull-riding metaphor.

The only thing she could think to say next was, “Gee, I'm way overdue for a drink.”

Grabbing a cold beer, she left Hazel to her machinations and surveyed the crowd once more to see if anyone needed anything. The band was on break, but the crowd seemed to have enough ribs and cold drinks not to notice.

“Kirsten.”

She turned around, surprised to find James standing there. He was staring at her, a hungry look in his brown eyes she knew all too well.

“Band on a break?” she asked, hiding her surprise beneath a pleasant tone of voice. “You guys really sound good, by the way.”

“I didn't look you up, girl, to get your opinion of the band. I want to know how the hell you are.” He crossed his arms over his chest.

She smiled, another ploy to cover her nervousness around him. “Fine. Just fine. And how are you?”

“Wondering why we aren't married by now,” he answered sourly.

Inwardly she groaned. When she'd hired the band to play for the barbecue she'd hoped they wouldn't have to go there. “I thought we'd settled this—”

“You aren't dating anyone else here in Mystery. So why not me?”

“How do you know I'm not—”

He interrupted her again. “I know. I'm from this town, remember? My friends keep me informed.”

Exasperated, she said, “Well, your friends might be wrong. Thought of that?”

He grabbed her hand and tried to pull her to him. “C'mon, little lady. You just think you're better than everyone else here 'cause you went to fancy schools and all, but deep down you know I'm good enough. Maybe even too good.”

She closed her eyes, desperate to keep her temper. “James, we discussed this. We're just not right for each other—”

“Is this not right?” He bent to kiss her.

She pulled away.

He tried again.

“No. I said no,” she protested, trying to wrench her arm free.

Suddenly he was pulled from her and thrust aside like so much trash.

“The lady said no,” Seth growled, his sea-colored eyes as frosted as his expression.

“And who the hell are you?” James shouted, his temper flaring.

“I own this place, that's who I am. And you happen to be manhandling my employee.”

Suddenly James's eyes narrowed. He looked Seth up and down, assessing him. Then he turned to Kirsten and spat out, “Ah, I get it now. You refused me 'cause you knew there were greener fields out there, didn't you? And everyone in town knows your kind just like 'em green with money. That's right, green with money, not like our fields that just have good old honest Montana grass.”

He bent and picked up his straw cowboy hat that had fallen off when Seth shoved him aside.

He gave her one long poisonous look and said, “So long, Kirsten. When he divorces you, or better, never marries you in the first place, give me a call sometime. If I'm not busy, I'll see if I can fit in an extra bronc ride or two for you.”

He stomped away, glaring at Seth.

Seth didn't give him another look. Instead, his gaze was fixed on Kirsten.

She opened her mouth to protest, to refute, to say anything that would prove what James had said wasn't true. But every denial seemed so pointless.

She covered her face with her shaking hand. After a moment she resumed her usual cool de
meanor and said, “I'm sorry you had to hear that. James and I dated for a while. I guess he's still sore it didn't work out. I had hoped hiring him for the barbecue wouldn't turn into a scene, but I guess I misjudged him.”

Seth said nothing. His hard, cynical expression said it all.

Those same old tears stung her eyes, but she would be damned if she'd let him see her cry again. She was not out for any man's money, but there was no way to convince Seth Morgan of that when every woman he'd probably ever known knew the worth of his bank account and never bothered to assess the worth of his character.

But that was beside the point now. She and Seth Morgan would never have a romance. They were doomed from the beginning because it was love she wanted, and if she had to look long and hard to find it, if she had to marry a man who mowed grass for a living, she'd do it. Good old Montana grass was fine by her as long as it came with a kind, honest man who loved her.

“Your ship came to say that I'm leaving for New York tonight. I've had a crisis at work that can't wait. The guests can stay here until my return, but I'll need you to get out some faxes before the plane takes off.”

His words contained nothing but dry, accusatory indifference.

She withered inside. Just looking at him made her ache. He thought she was something she wasn't, and he had every right to in his situation, and there was nothing she could say to convince him otherwise.

“I'll be right there, Mr. Morgan,” she whispered, her voice hoarse from withheld tears.

“Viola has the stack of papers. See that it's done.”

“Yes,” she choked out as she watched him turn and leave, her heart shattering.

 

The party was over—a great success if the attendee count was correct.

Staring out across the fields next to the house where the barbecue had been held, Kirsten sipped on a chardonnay, feeling very much like Nikki at that moment.

Gone was the wide-eyed wonder of her kiss with Seth in the stream. To Seth, she was now right up there on the list of models and actresses and women who prowled the Wall Street scene just to catch themselves a millionaire.

She could tell by the expression in his eyes that she'd now been reduced to gold-digger status.

And no matter how hard she thought, there seemed no way to change that image.

But worse than that was the fact that he was now doubly dangerous to her heart. If before he was dabbling with her, discovering what she was really like, there had at least existed the possibility he might find something that he could respect.

A relationship with him was doomed. She would never be anything more than Nikki was to him, and despite her jealousy of the model, Kirsten didn't want the same relationship with Seth that Nikki had. No, she wanted her own, on her own terms. She was not like Nikki, who when things didn't work out with one man would just hop in a different man's bed. Kirsten was almost certain Nikki had spent last night with Rick.

Now that the barbecue festivities were over, she couldn't wait for the houseguests to leave, but she didn't set the schedule—Seth did. And he was making no effort to have his New York buddies return home.

Reminding herself over and over again, she told herself she had to have this job. If she feared there was even the remotest possibility that she might fall in love with Seth, she knew she would
have to leave. It would prove a disaster to everyone. Just everyone.

But mostly it would prove a disaster to her. Because she knew in her heart that if she ever fell for Seth, she would fall hard, and there wouldn't be a place on this green earth that she could go that would exorcise him from her heart. And then, like her own mother, without even knowing love she would be finished with it. Forever.

She glanced down at the empty wineglass. Feeling downright morose, she watched Nikki and Rick romp in the pool, cooling off after the hours in the sun at the barbecue. Their laughter chilled her, and the only thing she could think of that might help the hole in her soul was another glass of wine and a long, bitter soak in the bath very far away from anything relating to Seth Morgan.

K
irsten was surprised by Seth's quick return. He was back in twenty-four hours. She was even more surprised by his foul mood. However, he wasn't any worse for the wear, because of his private jet.

“I want all of the letters cc'd to Mary, and I want the originals for my files,” he dictated, his imperious self sitting at the large oak desk in the living room.

He reminded her of a gruff old bear, one that had a thorn in his paw. Kirsten wrote carefully, making sure she got everything he told her.

“And I want—” he growled.

She squelched a giggle.

He drilled her with his stare. “Is there something funny, Miss Meadows?”

She adamantly shook her head. “Nothing. Nothing at all, sir.”

But it was a fib. She found even their conversation ridiculous. They spoke like two strangers when they were not strangers at all.

The more irritated he looked, the more she wanted to laugh.

“Please share the joke with everyone, Miss Meadows.”

Her self-control melted. He'd sounded like her junior high school geography teacher.

“Forgive me, I've just got a case of the giggles, I guess.” She hiccuped, holding her mouth tight against any further laughter.

He assessed her, his expression dour. “When you're through with this, that will be all for the night.”

She stood. “I'll get it done right now.”

“Fine.” He dismissed her and watched her go, those icy eyes hooded and inscrutable.

She went into the utility room where the office machines were hooked up. Within ten minutes she had written the memos and faxed them. When she returned to the great room in order to
go upstairs for bed, she saw Seth through the large windows. He had already mounted Noir and was going down the road at a lope.

He was taking an evening ride—without her.

She swallowed her annoyance and resentment.

Her feelings were entirely irrational, she told herself again and again. Her status in the household meant she held fewer rights than Viola, and she certainly didn't see the housekeeper pining to go for an evening ride with the boss.

Depressed, she went to her room, bathed and slipped on her comfortable old flannel robe. Thinking she might borrow a book from the great room, she walked downstairs, made herself a cup of hot tea in the kitchen and went to find a book to take upstairs.

Nothing interested her. The books were all dry-as-dust tomes on the bond market.

Disappointed, she sat down on the couch, sipped her tea while it was still hot and made a pledge to go into town the next day and buy some novels and magazines.

Chilled, she sat closer to the fire still burning in the large fieldstone fireplace. Curling her bare feet beneath her on the couch, she made a mental note not to get too comfortable.

She didn't want to stay too long. Seth would be returning any minute from his ride, and she
didn't want him to catch her cozying up by the fire.
His fire.

But the tea warmed her, and soon her thoughts drifted. Unable to summon the energy to crawl back up to her bedroom, she closed her eyes for a few seconds, just enough to regain her momentum.

Before she knew it, she was fast asleep.

 

Dust laden and worn-out, Seth walked from the stable to the house in only the moonlight. Jim had been waiting for him and had taken care of Noir.

It'd been a long ride, and both man and beast needed a rest.

The galloping had been good for Seth. He'd needed the burst of energy. It was better than anger, more satisfying, more healthy. In truth, it gave him equilibrium.

When he'd tiredly dismounted, he'd realized that Hazel might be manipulating the situation, but her manipulations were just that. If he so chose, he would forgo the ranch and find a place elsewhere. He didn't need to be the cattle baroness's puppet.

But his frustration was caused by more than just Hazel. Kirsten frustrated him. He was nothing more than a means to an end for her.
Granted, she'd made that clear from the beginning. Her mother was ill and needed care. But it infuriated him to know she viewed him no differently than had the rest of the bank-account gold diggers who'd been after him in the past. He wondered if he would ever find a woman who could see the man behind the money machine.

But her less-than-sterling motives didn't take away the fact that he had a wicked attraction to her.

Perhaps he was drawn to her merely because she was good at hiding her true motives. If he hadn't overheard her on the phone talking to her mother about their ship coming in, and if he hadn't heard that old boyfriend of hers confess to what a climber she was, he suspected he'd have fallen for her, fallen hard. She seemed to be everything a man could want in a woman—she was smart, graceful, feminine. She had a come-hither look he'd first seen in the jet, and it was so well rehearsed that she seemed completely unconscious of how it had been manufactured to drive a man crazy. And more important, when they were alone and not under the guise of “work,” he felt somehow that she saw him.
Him.
The man, not the bank account.

He pushed open the heavy pine front door to
the house, his cowboy boots softly clicking on the flagstone.

Before him, in the great room, she lay on the couch asleep, as enticing as a fairy-tale princess.

Her blond hair formed a halo around her face, the wheat color glistening with gold highlights from the fireplace flames and the rich background color of the burgundy sofa.

She lay slouched back against the pillows, her frayed, raggedy pink flannel robe parted slightly, playing a sweet game of peekaboo with the lush, generous curves of her breasts.

He stood stock-still for a long moment and just stared at the picture, unsure whether he should reprimand her or go to her and slip his hand deep inside the part in the robe.

Slowly he walked up to her.

She didn't move. Her breathing was deep and even, her face an angel's in repose.

The whole thing was a setup. It was so obvious. Fall asleep in the ranch's great room, and then when the seduction was through, make a great gesture of dismay at how he'd taken advantage of her.

As he bent down to the sleeping beauty, he wondered what she wanted out of it.

Kirsten would want more than just a little jewelry, he had no doubts about that. And maybe
that was what made her so powerful. Unlike any other woman he'd ever known who was happy with just an account at Tiffany's, Kirsten wanted more. She wanted his soul.

 

Kirsten sensed the feather-soft caress on her cheek well before she felt it. In her dream state, nothing seemed real; everything was accepted. Even a touch could morph into some crazy plot that made sense only to the dreamer.

The stroke came again on her cheek.

Fluttering open her sleepy eyes, she looked and found Seth, his face so close a kiss was only a breath away.

It seemed as natural as rain to let him kiss her then. He knelt by the couch like a prince. The fire licked golden light across both of them, urging them on, drumming the rally call to their primal instincts.

She wasn't dreaming. He was truly there, kissing her, taking her chin in his hand, his other hand slipping familiarly between the part in her flannel robe and squeezing her breast.

Neon signs should have flashed by then, telling her she was getting in over her head.

But the warnings never came.

Perhaps she was lonelier than she admitted even to herself, perhaps she was truly falling in
love with him. She didn't know. All she did know was that she'd woken from a beautiful dream only to find the dream had substance. Her deepest, darkest fantasy was coming true and leading to a nightmare. And she had no power to fight it. No power at all.

He slipped out of his shirt and cowboy boots.

She lay on the couch watching him with heavy, need-filled eyes. When he unzipped himself out of his jeans, her breath caught. He was more than she'd bargained for, and yet her thighs quivered with the harsh emptiness between them.

No words were spoken. The understanding of the moment was upon them.

He tugged on her frayed flannel belt and pulled the robe aside, revealing all of her. By instinct, her hands went to her chest, but he pushed them aside, taking in every detail like a man who'd been starved.

His mouth caught her large hardened nipple. The sensation made her delirious with want. His hand roughly cupped her other breast, and he moved to that nipple, unable to get enough of her.

Her hands swept down his chest. The cool night air made his nipples hard and flat, but as he lay atop her, his back warmed by the fire, his
body was a delicious study of temperatures. Cold and hot—just like his eyes, just like his expression.

He kissed her, his teeth nipping at her tongue, his own tongue licking fire down to her soul. His hand stroked her face, then her vulnerable throat, his thumb sweeping the hollows with dark, sensual sweeps.

His passion, however, was nothing less than white-hot. He groaned his readiness, his hips grinding instinctively into hers. She drummed the rock-hard muscles of his waist, driving him on to the end they both knew was coming. Cradling his head in her hands, she proved her own hunger by allowing him to sink between her thighs.

Before she could take in another deep kiss, before she could breathe in his scent of horses and leather, he dived deep inside her, filling her to gasping.

With any other man she might have protested the swiftness, the totality of his possession. But there was nothing to protest when her willingness to surrender transcended his plundering.

He moved against her, slowly at first, his face mirroring all the sensations that she drank in. But soon his hunger got the best of him. His demanding nature won. He pulled on her lower
lip with his teeth, his tongue thrusting in and out of her mouth much like his manhood, tempting, promising, fulfilling.

Her desire built until she was at the precipice, his every movement painful in her need to hold back.

But then the dam broke. Grabbing the arm of the couch, he slammed himself inside her as if he wanted to crawl in there himself. He groaned her name against her hair, his hips grinding possessively into hers.

She tumbled into his honeyed oblivion. Taking all he had to give, she held him to her, her last coherent thought the terrible possibility that it had all been a dream. And would be no more.