Mr. Personality (9 page)
Authors: Carol Rose
“
Ruth
told you all this?” Max demanded, interrupting her.
“—in a privileged situation. You’re owe it to him to be the bigger man and over look his—“
“I thought my money and my privileges weren’t supposed to earn me any different treatment from anyone else!” Max swiftly interjected as he stood glaring at her.
“I’m not talking about your money and success,” she snapped. “You have other privileges that most people don’t. True, you didn’t have any say so about being born so damned intelligent and articulate, but those things are gifts that come with responsibilities. You owe it to your brother—“
“Why don’t you keep your opinions to yourself,” Max recommended, his face growing darker. “You’re here in a strictly clerical capacity—“
“That’s how you stay so lonely,” Nicole retorted, unimpressed by his obvious attempt to demean her. “Everyone’s lower than you. No one really matters. No wonder your brother resents you—“
“That’s enough!” Max thundered, wondering what in the hell he’d done to deserve this termagant. “I’m not interested in your opinions. Just type!”
“Fine,” she said with a smirk. “But one of the dangers of being powerful and wealthy is that people aren’t honest with you about how you treat them. They smile to your face when inside, they hate you. And then one day you find yourself old and alone, being taken advantage of by servants because you have no one who really cares about you!”
The woman was too damned cocky, too comfortable. Max stood looking at her as she sat in front of the computer, staring back undaunted. In the beginning, he’d been thrilled to find a typist with enough ego strength to handle his moods, particularly one who’s mind intrigued him. Now all he wanted was to shut the woman up. How had this conversation gotten so personal?
In the past two weeks, he’d somehow reconnected to the living, breathing part of himself. He was working again! And he had an assistant who didn’t smell of garlic or sicken him with fawning comments. But now he was beginning to wonder if things hadn’t gone too far in the other direction.
He couldn’t deny the truth of what she said about him. The accuracy of some of her observations halted him in his tracks and made him want to draw closer…. It was unacceptable, the emotions she was churning up in him.
Scary as hell, funny at moments and too damned attractive. He didn’t have time for this.
Turned away from the computer to face him, Nicole sat there making pithy declarations and judgments about his personal life. He didn’t need this, no matter how hot the woman was or how on target were some of her comments.
Despite her seeing some things with a jabbing accuracy, she didn’t know the whole situation…couldn’t understand the colossal size of it. More certainly than he knew what to do with.
Max wanted to shake his head to clear the clouded wisps in his brain. He didn’t need a smug, overly-perceptive typist digging into his relationships. He sure as hell didn’t need the old feelings that talking about Pete always brought.
“You should call your brother,” Nicole told him, the very matter-of-fact tone in her voice making his skin crawl.
It took very little to re-awaken his regret and bitter self-recrimination. He knew he’d caused the rift with his brother—beyond any doubt. But he couldn’t go back, couldn’t easily smooth over something so completely inexcusable. How could he have let himself get so close to—
There was no use thinking of it. His gut churned now and he hated Nicole for throwing his worst moment in his face. Hated her almost as much as he wanted her.
What an idiot he’d been just those few years back. He’d hurt his brother irreparably.
“I’ll bet,” Nicole said, ignoring his silence, “if you called your brother and just talked to him—“
Max disconnected from her words, his mind playing visuals of his most idiotic moments. How could he have been so blind to what was really going on with him?
“—I’m sure you guys could work this out,” Nicole finished.
Max stood staring at her, his eyes feeling hot and gritty. He didn’t need this. Just when he was getting back on track with his work, he especially didn’t need this.
But there she sat, this woman with her bossy, opinionated comments, getting way too personal, poking and prodding at matters he desperately needed to ignore.
“I mean, he’s your brother,” she went on, apparently oblivious to the thunder rising in Max. “You should—“
“You’re suddenly very interested in my welfare,” Max said silkily. She had to be taught a lesson. Boundaries had to be enforced. He couldn’t allow her to continue trying to muddle around in his emotions and thought processes. Her and her media-acquired psychobabble.
Nicole looked at him, frowning suddenly. “I don’t think anyone should be as alone as you are.”
“That’s very…sweet of you. Would
you
like to rescue me from my isolation?” He moved over to where she sat at the computer desk in front of the window. She couldn’t be allowed to think herself in any way significant to him. Too much power brought out ugliness in a woman. Just look at how Alexa had used her limited power, in the short weeks she’d had any.
“Well,” Nicole said, seeming to temporize, “I don’t know about
rescuing
anyone, but….”
Max stood next to her now, reaching down to lay his hand on her shoulder. “Do you sense a deep chasm in my soul, Nicole?”
Apparently recognizing his sarcasm, she lifted her chin and stared him in the face challengingly as her shoulders stiffened beneath his touch.
“Yes, I do,” she said, “now that you mention it.”
Under his hands, her shirt was silky, the muscle and bone of her shoulder firm and feminine. He registered the defiance in her face, the sudden clouding of sexual awareness in her face.
She was a beautiful woman, rounded and firm, soft and erotically built. Even her scent seemed to signal availability. And he had to get her to back off, had to get rid of the emotional distractions she kept adding. He had to stop liking her, dammit.
The book had to be turned in on time.
He knelt suddenly beside her chair, his gaze fastened to hers, his body roused at the thought of her mouth beneath his.
“You’ve been looking into my soul, Nicole Cavanaugh?”
Meeting his gaze, she seemed to hesitate, seemed as conscious of the pull between them as was he.
“Yes.” The single words came out whisper soft.
“What do you see in my soul?” Max whispered. “Do you see this?” Leaning forward, his hand compelling her to meet him halfway, he covered her mouth with his.
CHAPTER FIVE
For such a hard man, he had the softest lips. Where she would have expected him to demand a response from her, he just coasted over her mouth, his breath mingling with hers, his tongue touching and withdrawing.
Oh my.
Attractive, intelligent and now this. Pressed closely against his chest, her head tilted back, she shivered with pleasure. Even kneeling in front of her chair, he was
big
and a fabulous kisser, his mouth both heated and pliable, making her want to whimper with desire.
Lips sliding over hers, he lingered, tasting her, the seduction of his mouth drawing her forward, melting her inside her skin. Nicole felt her pulse slow and grow heavy, felt a steadily rising need that left her skin flushed.
Such amazing sensations…. She could lose herself in this, let herself float away, fall into the heat, the throbbing, urging….
Just then as if her emergency back-up brain kicked in, she felt her orientation right, the tilted world straightening up. She knew why he was kissing her, the bastard. He just wanted to shut her up, to keep her from saying anything more about the subject of him and his brother.
A subject too sore to touch?
Fighting the urge to stiffen, to jerk away from his embrace and slap the hell out of him, she made herself ease away from him, forcing her unwilling body to behave and listen to her brain. Bowed into him, her body sagged against his, held against him by the strength of his arm, Nicole straightened back slowly in her chair. So what if he was a good kisser? The asshole had just played her.
Plastering what she hoped was a convincing smile on her face, she blinked her eyes open and looked at him. Still close to her, his face merely inches away, she noted the impossible dark chocolate of his eyes.
Idiot!
she berated herself silently.
He’s just trying to manipulate you.
The emotionally wary could pack powerful weapons to defend their hearts.
He didn’t look particularly manipulative at this moment, his face somber, his eyes so dark, she couldn’t see where iris ended and pupil began.
Nicole fastened her smile more firmly in place and turned to lay down the notebook she’d been holding in her hands. Cool and steady was the way to play this. Without a doubt, the man was looking for a reaction. If she had to freeze hell over with her cheerful impression of granite, she wouldn’t let him see how he’d moved her. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of thinking he could shut her up and sizzle the soles of her feet with a simple kiss.
Not that his kiss was all that simple.
But he wasn’t going to see how much he got to her.
“Well,” she said brightly. “That was fun. Did you want me to get on with this chapter, or would you like to spend a cozy hour discussing your family problems some more?”
Max shifted back, getting slowly to his feet. His face completely shuttered, he drawled, “The chapter, I think.”
Turning to face the computer, she made herself say cheerfully, “Okay.”
Refusing to allow her peripheral vision to report that he still stood there watching her, she shifted the notes she’d been transcribing and began to type. With a smile so forced, her cheeks ached, she concentrated on the keyboard and the screen in front of her.
Finally, he turned and left the room. Nicole let out a sigh that hurt exiting her lungs. What the heck had just happened? Had she been without a boyfriend so long her hormones were setting up a mutiny? How could she have enjoyed that kiss so much? The man was a jerk, a self-centered, egotistical, socially-impaired brute. For heaven’s sake, he picked on defenseless women who were just trying to find a job!
Just because he’d been kicked in the teeth somewhere along the line didn’t give him license to wage a silent war on the entire human race.
Nicole sagged back in her chair, her hands pulling off the keyboard. But, damn, he could kiss. From first seeing Max, she’d recognized his physical appeal. He was flat-out a good-looking man. Tall and well-built with a head of short, dark hair and eyes that could be velvety or hard as coal, he had all the attributes that equaled up to sexual attraction.
Even his biting intelligence stirred her.
But she’d found out soon enough how misleading his looks were. The man was socially deficient.
Putting a hand up to her suddenly-aching head, Nicole tried her best to shrug off the power of that kiss. It meant nothing. Nothing. It had been good, sure. Darned good. But she wasn’t going to lose sight of her goal here. And she sure as heck, couldn’t give in to the jerk’s manipulation.
Nothing could be worse for her…or for him.
For a moment, she thought about the loneliness she could sometimes see in his eyes. Tough and cold on the outside, was he capable of more?
Maybe he’d been soured by the lack of family, she thought with a slight tinge of compassion. Maybe he owed it to himself and his brother to take a look at where he was heading in life. Whatever, the man had
issues.
She had to remember the fact.
Had he even talked to his brother about the problems between them, she wondered.
* * *
“Cynthia,” Max said, when his editor answered her phone.
“Max! How’s it going? Ruth says your new assistant is a peach.”
Flashing back to the taste of Nicole’s kiss, his words came out more sharp than he intended. “She’s a pest.”
“Yes, darling,” Cynthia said, laughing, “but she’s probably good for you. No one should be sucked up to as much as you are.”
“Thank you,” he said, his sarcasm tinged with humor. “I appreciate your support.”
“You know you always have my support,” Cynthia assured him. “So, is the book going well?”
“Yes.” His progress on the manuscript soothed him and left him feeling hopeful that he might actually be able to pull himself out of his funk. “It’s taking shape. Different than I’d originally envisioned it, but still…satisfying.”
“Well, good,” Cynthia said. “A productive writer is a happy writer and a productive, happy writer makes for a happy editor.”
Max grinned into the phone. “Nice to know how important I am to you.”
“You are, darling,” she assured him with half-mocking extravagance. “Terribly important to me—and everyone here at Haskell.”
* * *
“Do you
ever
leave this apartment?” Nicole demanded three days later.
Hearing the exasperation in her voice, Max glanced up from the text he was editing. “What?”
“I asked if you ever go outside?” she said. “You know go out and look up at the blue sky? Notice the trees? Heck, do you ever speak to another human being other than over the phone, other than Ruth and Cynthia?”
“Of course,” he answered, lifting his brows. “I talk to my accountant occasionally and when I’m not working, I walk a lot.”
Max waited, looking at her. Things were going well, the book taking shape beneath his hands. It thrilled him, this process, the unfurling of a story that gripped his waking thoughts and poured life through him. He felt like he could breathe again.
“But you don’t interact with other people,” she pointed out.