Conflicting Hearts (15 page)

Suddenly, I remember that I haven’t answered Ian’s question.
I quickly look around to make sure no one is watching and then I reopen the
page.

My humor is raw this morning. I type in the comment line.
“As your cook or your housekeeper?”

He must be staring at his page, because he comes back within
a few seconds and answers. “I prefer lover, but if you want to cook and clean,
go for it.”

“Oh, brother,” I mumble. He’s something else. I’m so happy
that he’s being sweet to me and hasn’t run the other way in spite of my awful
confession.

I hear Mr. Stewart’s voice coming up behind me, and my heart
leaps in my throat. Quickly, I get out and greet the boss. “Good morning.” As
usual, he grunts, walks by, and goes into his office. Reality has returned, and
so has the long work week.

Chapter 14

Hump Day Visitor

Hump day rolls around, and I haven’t heard from Ian. I try
to attribute it to his crazy job, rather than to the fears I entertain like old
friends in my wounded heart. I miss him and can’t help but wonder if he’s
pondering my confession and what to do with me.

Frankly, I wouldn’t blame him if he started to have second
thoughts. Nor would I be surprised if he hasn’t been on the Internet entering
search terms trying to figure out what’s wrong with me. If he lands on the BDSM
pages and discovers there’s a term for my tendencies, I’m probably never going
to hear from him again. I try not to worry, but with my brain, it’s difficult.

If that wasn’t enough of my problems, at two o’clock all
hell breaks loose. Mr. Stewart announces that one of the attorneys from the
firm that represents our company will be coming within the hour to peruse some
files in regards to a nasty litigation we’ve been dragged into. A disgruntled
client is suing, and one of the attorneys on the defense team needs to review
some of the background files on the case.

“Book the conference room and make sure it’s cleared out for
the rest of the day,” he barks. He shoves a list in my face with file numbers.
“Pull these files and have them ready for the attorney. I expect you to be
available to help in any other requests that come up for information.”

“Yes, Mr. Stewart,” I reply congenially, cursing him inside
like I always do. The man is an ungrateful sod.

I book the conference room, and then start my trek to the file
area to look for the matters on the list. As usual, most of them are missing.
They are probably sitting on a desk somewhere in another office and now I’ll be
off on a scavenger hunt trying to find them.

When three o’clock rolls around, I get a call from Melanie
at the reception desk that our legal guest has arrived. I smile, wishing it was
really Ian, but alas his firm doesn’t represent the company.

I round the corner to the reception and see a tall, slender,
blonde woman in a gray skirt and jacket. She’s strikingly elegant, even if she
is a lawyer. Melanie gives me a nod: she’s the one.

“Ma’am, I’m Mr. Stewart’s assistant.” I smile at her,
feeling terribly insecure. She whips out a business card and shoves it at me,
displaying her manicured French nails. I take it in my hand and read the name.

Susan J. Richards, Attorney at Law.

The blood drains from my face. Slowly, I lift my eyes and
look at her.
Damn! Is this Ian’s ex-wife?
I have no idea if she kept her
married name after the divorce, but for some reason, standing here near this
woman, something tells me I’m not wrong in my conclusion. What are the odds of
meeting Susan Richards? My inward preconceived ideas are confirmed—she’s a
freaking knockout. I hate her already.

“Well, are you going to let me stand here all day?” Her
haughty and demeaning tone slaps me in the face as she eyes me with disrespect.
I’m the scum at the bottom of her world, and the woman is putting me in my
place. Oh, I see where this is going. I chew on my lower lip for a second so I
don’t blurt out some rude comment.

“No, of course, not, Ms. Richards,” I reply. I make sure to
enunciate the
Ms.
in her face.
Bitch.
“If you’ll follow me, I’ll
show you to the conference room we have set up.”

I turn around and lead the way. My jaw is clenched, my eyes
are wide with contempt, and I’m spitting angry. She wants to intimidate me, and
I want to wrestle her to the floor. Well, actually, I’ll like to turn around
and tell her that I’ve been doing her ex and see how she reacts.
Uh, ma’am,
I’d just like to tell you that I’ve been screwing an Ian Richards—any relation?
I grin over what I know and she doesn’t.

We arrive at the conference room, and I inform her of the
state of affairs. “Mr. Stewart has arranged for you to work here. I’ve already
pulled some of the relevant files.” I try not to let her presence intimidate
me, but it’s not easy. “You’ll find them there on the corner.” I point to the
stack.

“Fine. Are there others?” she asks, flipping her brief case
down on the conference table top with an attitude.

“Yes, but I’ve not been able to locate them as of yet.”

“Well, locate them,” she snidely replies, looking at me in
the eye. “I don’t wish to return again. It’s my preference to finish this up
this afternoon.”

“Of course, Ms. Richards, I’ll do my best.” I can think of
so many words I’d like to tell her. What a freaking attitude! The woman is
horrible. If this is how she treated Ian, then I’m glad she walked out. I’m
really pissed now.

I turn to leave the room, and she calls after me.

“I’d like a cup of coffee, if you please. Light cream, no
sugar.”

My steps halt, I scrunch my lips together, and spin around
to glare at her. She’s already got her face in one of the files, flipping
through the sheets of paper. I really don’t want to wait on this witch. She’s
expecting that I will with a snap of her fingers. Go fetch. If I don’t, Mr.
Stewart will probably give me the riot act for not taking care of her needs.

“Sure thing,” I say, gritting my teeth, and walking out the
door. I fantasize coming back into the conference room, tripping, and spilling
the hot cup of coffee on her dainty little lap.
Control yourself, Hayward.
I
try, but it’s not easy.

After doing her bidding, I stroll back to my desk. It’s now
three thirty, and I can’t help but think of Ian this time of the day. I’m half
tempted to pick up my telephone and call him. My cell phone is sitting on my
desk top, and I stare at it contemplating what to do next. Apparently, he’s
sensing vibes from my end, because suddenly my phone starts to vibrate across
my desk. It’s him. Swiftly, I grab it and run over to the employee lounge.

“Hello?”

“Hi, sweets.”

“Hi, Ian.” My voice is melting at the sound of his and a
smile spreads across my face. “How are you?”

“Just had a minute and you popped into my mind. Thought I’d
call.”

“I’m glad you did, frankly. I have something strange to ask
you,” I say, lowering my voice.

“Strange?”

“Uh-hum.” I glance around the corner, looking at the snob
sitting in the conference room going over the files. “Although, you’ll probably
think I’m loony.”

“So ask me, and I’ll let you know if you’re loony,” he
chuckles.

“Okay, here it comes. Did your ex-wife keep your last name
when you divorced?”

Ian is silent. I’m surprised he’s not responding right away
to my question. Finally, he reluctantly answers. “Uh, yeah, she did. Why do you
ask?”

“Oh, because one of the lawyers from the firm that
represents our company arrived at the reception, and I had the pleasure of
greeting her.”
Pleasure my ass.
It takes me a few seconds to continue.
“She handed me her card with the name of Susan J. Richards on it.”

“Shit, you’re kidding me!” He definitely is mortified by the
sound of the “shit” comment.

“Uh, shit I’m not.” Ian is quiet. “So what does the J stand
for?” I might as well pry.

“Jolene,” he answers. His voice is strained.

“Well, what a small world, isn’t it?” I glare over at her
with my evil eye.

“Rachel, I’m sorry about this. I knew her firm represented
Kennedy Advertising, but I had no idea that the two of you would ever cross
paths because of it.”

“I don’t like her.” There I’ve said it. “She’s
condescending.”

“That’s Susan.” Ian sighs.

“If she treated you that way, then I really don’t like her.”
I’m feeling angry just thinking that she did. He’s not answering, and I’m
gathering he doesn’t want to either.

 “You haven’t said anything to her about us, have you?”

There’s a definite panic to his voice. I narrow my eyes,
wondering why he’d care about her knowing about us. I’m a bit peeved at his
question.

“God, no, Ian. Not to say the thought didn’t cross my mind,
but I wouldn’t do that to you.”

“Thanks, Rachel.”

“Why? Does it matter?”

“I…I’m just not too keen on Susan knowing my private
affairs, that’s all.”

This conversation is now bothering me big time. Why don’t I believe
what he’s telling me? I can feel it in my gut that Ian’s still attached to her
in some way. If he didn’t care what she thought about his actions, it shouldn’t
bother him.

Maybe he’s embarrassed. That’s it. He’s ashamed of me,
because I’m not a gorgeous, intelligent woman. I’m the plain Jane
administrative assistant making an hourly wage. He’s lowered his standards, and
he doesn’t want Susan to know. I’m really getting grouchy now.

“Well, I better go.” I don’t want to talk about it anymore.

“Hey, you.” He stops me from hanging up.

“What.”

“You’re not mad at me or anything are you?”

“I’m not quite sure how to articulate what I’m feeling right
now, frankly.”

“How about dinner at my place tonight?”

“Huh?”

“I’d like to cook you dinner tonight.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah, I think after being exposed to the ex-wife, I need to
give you some extra comfort.”

“Think so, huh?”

“I know so. Pick you up at your place at six o’clock?”

“You’re really going to show me your Portland digs?”

“Sure, why not? It’s about time.”

I can’t resist the thought of snooping around his other
residence. First order of business is to find lingering pictures of his
ex-wife.

“I’m in,” I answer with a big smile on my face.

“Great. See you tonight.”

“Bye, Ian.”

Our call ends, and I walk back to my desk. I look up at her
in the conference room, and she’s waving at me to come in and wait on her.
Oh,
brother, why don’t you just finger snap?

“Yes?”

“Did you find those other files?”

“No, but I’m working on it.” I don’t give her the chance to say
anything in return. My back is turned, and I leave her disgruntled face behind
me.
Wouldn’t you like to know who I’m having dinner with tonight?
It’s
rare, but I’m feeling a tad smug.

Chapter 15

The Window with a View

Like with other surreal moments, I reach over and pinch my
wrist to make sure I’m not dreaming. Yes, he has a small place, somewhat the
size of mine, but what a view! I’m blown away by the modern décor and the all
of windows that look over the city lights. It’s really nice. The fact that he
has money is quite obvious.

“You’re into views,” I say, walking over and gawking.

“Yeah, I guess you could say that.”

Ian comes up behind me as I stand and look out his living room
window. I feel his warm arms wrap around my waist. He pulls me back into him,
and I’m putty. Tenderly, he leans over and kisses me on the cheek.

“Glad you’re here, sweets.”

I’m not surprised to feel his growing adoration in his
pants, but with this no-sex gig between us, it could mean trouble.

“That’s a dangerous position,” I whisper.

“I know,” he says, turning me around. “Sorry. It’s hard to
control myself when I’m around you.”

“I’m glad, Ian. I was frightened that I would disgust you
after this past weekend, now that you know about my childhood. I still feel bad
I was such an emotional wreck.” I search his eyes looking for a hint of
aversion, but all I see is acceptance.

“Never,” he says, lowering his lips and kissing me.

Why does he always taste so damn good? As soon as his tongue
enters my mouth, I’m wishing for more. He has such an effect upon me, and
immediately my mind ends up in bed with him. His body is rock hard, toned, and
smooth to the touch—except for his six o’clock stubble that is now poking me in
my chin. It’s becoming uncomfortable, so I pull away.

“Stubble, babe,” I tease. “You’re prickly.”

“Oh, sorry about that.” He rubs his face with the palm of
his hand. “Yeah, about this time of the day, I’m getting the old shadow.”

“You say that word too much,” I complain.

“What word?”

“Sorry.”

“Oh, yeah, well, bad habit.”

I wonder if that was because Susan was always right, and Ian
constantly apologized.

“So, you don’t like my whiskers?” he teases, trying to rub
his chin on my neck to give me a stubble burn.

“Stop it, you rascal!” I laugh and push him away. “I only
like whiskers on my cat.”

Ian relents. “I’ll try and remember to work on that stubble
business,” he says, “but I make no apologies for my morning face, babe. They
grow overnight, and I’m not getting up to shave at three a.m.”

He’s right, they do grow overnight. His face is a dark mass
of spiked facial hair in the morning. “Then I won’t apologize for my morning
breath,” I tease.

“Deal.”

His hand tenderly strokes the side of my face, and he gives
me his adoring look. “I’ll be right back. Need to change before I start
dinner.”

“Okay.”
Good, I want to snoop around
, I secretly muse
.

Ian takes off down the hall to his bedroom, and I hear him
close the door. I quickly turn around and start taking in more than the view.
It’s time to find out who this guy really is in his Portland home. I’m thinking
it’s a bit different than the weekend-beach Ian I’ve come to know.

As usual, the house is in order the way he likes it. Nothing
is out of place. I’m thinking that it’s really weird, finding a man who is
actually neat and clean. I suppose if we ever marry, I’ll never have to worry
about dirty clothes strewn around or towels on the bathroom floor. I can handle
that.

The atmosphere of the room is quite different than his
earth-tone décor at the beach house. The walls are off-white, with a tint of
gray. A large corner black leather couch takes up most of the living area, with
black ebony end tables. The floors are light hardwood, and an area rug with a
gray, white, and black modern design covers the center of the room. It’s
stunning, and I wonder if he decorated it himself.

A wall entertainment center sits on the other side, with a
big screen TV, and bookcases on either end. I’m curious as to what he reads, so
I walk over and check it out. All of the books are hardback, rather than paper,
and the shelves are filled with titles from famous authors who write intriguing
mysteries or spy thrillers.
Very interesting
, I muse.

To my disappointment, I don’t see any pictures anywhere. No
family, no ex-wife, no nothing. It’s sort of sterile in an odd way and void of
emotional attachment. I find that very puzzling.

“Want a drink?”

Ian has returned, dressed in jeans and a tee shirt. I want
to attack, but I control myself.

“Coke?”

“Uh, probably not,” he says, scratching his head. “Didn’t
think to buy any. I usually don’t stock soft drinks at home. How about a beer?”

“Uh, no beer. Ice water would be fine.”

“You sure?”

“Yep.” Of course, he’s got a huge, stainless steel refrigerator
with an icemaker and water in the door. I quickly glance at his kitchen.
Everything is in its place.
Neat freak
.

He hands me the water.

“So, what’s for dinner?” I ask, feeling my stomach growl.

“How about I order a pizza?”

“Pizza? You’ve got to be kidding me?” I protest. “Where’s my
candlelight dinner, with steak and a baked potato?” He’s conned me into coming
over for delivered bread and cheese? A sheepish look spreads across his face.

“I guess I wasn’t totally honest about making you dinner,”
he says, scrunching his nose. “There’s not much in the fridge, and I didn’t
have time to shop.”

“Well, Ian Richards, I’m surprised you’ve actually duped me
into thinking you’d cook dinner.”

“Forgive me?”

“I suppose.”

“Good, I already called and ordered a pizza while in my
bedroom.”

“You sneak,” I say, looking at him wide-eyed. “Then why did
you invite me here?”

“To console you for today, I guess.”

“Yeah, that wasn’t my most pleasant experience, meeting your
ex-wife. Like I said, I didn’t like her.”

Ian doesn’t say anything. He goes to the refrigerator, grabs
a beer, and then pops the top. He takes a big swig as if he’s looking for
fortitude. Now I wish I had more than water.

When he’s finished, he stares at me with his dreamy eyes. I
wonder what he’s thinking, and when the smoldering look starts to creep in, I
know. Sex. I’m in his territory right now, and I bet he has duct tape somewhere
stashed in one of his kitchen drawers. I wish he’d tie me up.

“Come here,” he says.

He’s looking very playful. His free hand grabs me around my
waist, and he pulls me into him. Here comes the beer breath, but I don’t care.

“Hope you like pepperoni,” he says, taking his tongue and
licking my bottom lip.

What is he doing to me?
“You smell like beer,” I
complain.

“First the stubble, now the beer. Deal with it,” he says,
kissing me and shoving his tongue in my mouth.

When he’s done devouring me, I look at him with a sly grin.
“Pizza, Ian, pizza.”

He gives me a wicked laugh, and I can’t help but wonder what
has gotten into him.

“All right, I’ll behave.” He walks toward the living room
and invites me along. “Come and sit with me for a while. Food should be here
soon.”

He flops on the couch, drapes an arm along the top, and puts
one foot on the coffee table. It’s definitely not safe to be near him, so I
take the other end of the couch with my ice water in hand.

“I’m sorry, Rachel, if Susan treated you with any
disrespect. She can get a bit snooty when she’s in her element at work.”

“I guess. Although, I’m not surprised. Assistants are scum,
let’s face it.”

“Well, not to me.”

“Yeah, you’re a rare breed, Ian, and a respectful man.”

He shakes his head in embarrassment. “I don’t think that
way. People are people no matter what job they perform.”

“She’s quite attractive.” I’m curious whether I can get a
reaction out of him. He takes another swig of beer, and then makes an odd
facial expression.

“Outside perhaps. She’s average on the inside.”

“Do you think I’m beautiful?” I’m comparing myself, I know
it. Susan Richards is ten times more gorgeous than I am. She’s perfection and
grace, dressed in expensive clothes, manicured, primped and primed with the
best hair and top-of-the-line makeup. No doubt, she pays a hundred dollars for
a bottle of perfume.

Ian gazes at me. His arm drops from the back of the couch,
and he scoots toward me at the other end. “Yes, I think you’re beautiful,
Rachel.”

I know that’s what he sees on the outside, but inwardly, I’m
ugly and tainted. The two don’t mix, and it’s that part that I can’t accept.

I lower my eyes from him. “I’m glad that you think I’m
beautiful. I wish I felt the same way about myself.”

“I do too,” he says with clear remorse in his voice.

He’s going to get tired of my low self-esteem. It’s not exactly
a very attractive quality to showcase to the male race. Thankfully, there is a
knock at the door.

“Must be the delivery.”

Ian answers it, and sure enough the pizza has arrived. He
pulls out his wallet, pays the tab, and comes back with a large pizza that
smells mouthwateringly good.

“Time for my dinner.”

“Smells great.”

“Let’s eat and then make out on the couch.” He gives me a
wink.

“Make out? What are we, teenagers?” I look at him
dumbfounded over his silly statement.

“I need some dessert after dinner,” he boasts, opening the
pizza box and handing me a plate.

He’s really in his element, being home with me here. It’s
nice to see this side of him—makes me adore him even more.

“Okay, if you shave your stubble, get rid of your beer
breath, and promise not to go to second base.”

“Well, forget it then.” He sneers at me. His eyes twinkle
mischievously.

As we chew our pizza, I doubt he’ll forget anything. I can
see in his eyes that he’s going to tease the hell out of me tonight. He’s dead
serious about a necking session on the couch. It’s obvious I’m feeling like a
giggling juvenile over the thought.

It doesn’t take long after we finish eating, before we end
up there. We both smell like pizza sauce and pepperoni. Of course, he’s laced
with the smell of beer on top of it, but as his lips start nibbling on mine, I
don’t care. He’s such a sweet kisser. After drawing the air out of my lungs, he
lets me take a breath.

“You going to make it to first base, law man?” I have to
tease him, because he’s being far too good. “Second base, still off-limits,” I
remind him. “That is if you want it to be off-limits.”

“Don’t tempt me. It’s off-limits,” he drawls, “but this
isn’t.” His warm hands slip underneath my blouse, and I feel him unhook my bra.
Wow, he’s being aggressive tonight. As soon as my boobs slip out, he’s got both
hands on them, having a good feel.

“God, isn’t this torturing you?” I heave, ready to burst
into a nymphomaniac at any moment. It sure is torturing me.

“What do you think?” he says, grabbing my hand and placing
it on his hard erection in his pants.

I flinch feeling him. “Ian, what’s got into you?” I pull my
hand away, feeling embarrassed over touching him. I’m not very good in that
department, and he should know that by now.

“Nothing has gotten into me,” he says. His voice is sexy and
low. “I want you to know how sincere I am about you, Rachel. You mean a lot to
me.”

“I do?” It’s obvious by now I’m totally drugged over his
smooth talking and caressing hands.

“You’re a wonderful woman that I deeply admire.”

“Oh, I’m glad” I moan. I close my eyes as he comes for my
mouth again and fills it with his tongue. I’m thinking he’s on a mission to
make me forget about Susan or maybe not. Perhaps he wants to make me feel
better about all that he’s learned about my past and my childish breakdown in
front of him.

Whatever the reason, it’s working. He makes me feel safe and
secure, and a part of me really wants to open up my heart and trust him
completely. Maybe one of these days I will.