The CEO's Accidental Bride (4 page)

She slipped out of the dripping rain jacket, revealing a clingy, black-and-burgundy, knee-length dress. It had capped sleeves, a scooped neck and a pencil-straight skirt that flowed down to her shapely legs, which were clad in black stockings. Damp as they were, her high heels accentuated slim ankles and gorgeous calves.

Though they'd spoken briefly at the office this morning, she'd been wearing her coat at the time. He'd had no idea what was hidden beneath. Just as well he hadn't had
that
image inside his brain all day long.

“Thank you,” she acknowledged, handing him the coat.

“I'm…uh…” He pointed in the general direction of the hallway and the kitchen, making his escape before she noticed he was ogling her body with his mouth hanging open.

In the kitchen, he found that his housekeeper had left a note informing him there was salad and a chicken dish in the fridge. She'd also left a bottle of Cabernet on the breakfast bar. Zach automatically reached for the corkscrew, breathing through the dueling emotions of frustration and arousal.

Sure, Kaitlin was an attractive woman. He knew that. He'd known that from the minute he met her. But there were attractive women everywhere. He didn't have to fixate on her.

He popped the cork.

No. No reason at all for him to fixate on her.

In fact, maybe he should get himself a date. A date would distract him. He'd been working too hard lately, that was all. A date with another, equally attractive woman would nip this fascination with Kaitlin in the bud.

He reached for the crystal glasses hanging from the rack below the cabinet.

Dylan had offered to introduce him to his newest helicopter pilot. He'd said she was attractive and athletic. She was a Yankees fan, but he could probably live with that. And she had a master's degree in art history. Who didn't like art history?

Before Zach realized what he'd done, he'd filled two glasses with wine.

“Oh, hell.”

Then again, he supposed the woman deserved a drink. If she signed the papers, they'd toast the accomplishment. If she refused to sign, maybe the wine would loosen her up, and he could take another stab at convincing her.

He shrugged out of his suit jacket, moving farther down the
hallway to the master bedroom. There, he hung the jacket in his closet, shed his tie and glanced in the mirror above his dresser.

He definitely needed a shave. And his white shirt was wrinkled from being worn all day.

He glanced once at the jacket and considered putting it back on. But common sense prevailed. Instead, he unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. If this was a date, he'd shave and redress. But it wasn't a date. And his looks would be the last thing on Kaitlin's mind.

More comfortable, he returned to the kitchen and retrieved the wineglasses. He moved down the hallway to the living room. Inside the doorway, he paused.

Kaitlin seemed to have made herself at home. She'd kicked off her strappy shoes and curled her legs beneath her, knees bent and pressed together, stocking-clad feet pushing up against the arm of his sofa. Her hair was drying to a wild, glossy halo that framed her smooth skin. And her face was a study in concentration, red lips pursed, green eyes slightly squinted as she read her way through the pages.

She looked good in his living room, somehow settled and at home.

Funny, he'd seen her dressed up, dressed down, dancing with laughter and crackling with anger. But he'd never caught her unaware. And somehow he had the feeling this was the real woman, halfway between Vegas glitter and Saturday casual, her energy turned inward, mind working. He sensed a calm intelligence in her that he hadn't noticed before.

He must have moved, because she finally noticed him.

“Wine?” he offered, raising one of the glasses, walking forward, pretending he hadn't been staring.

“You're right,” she told him, letting the papers drop into her lap, stretching an arm across the back of the sofa in an obviously unintended, sensual gesture.

“Never thought I'd hear you say that.” But there was no bite to his words. He'd meant to mock her, but it came off as a gentle joke.

She flipped the document back to the first page and set it in front of her on the coffee table. “I'll sign it.”

“Really?” Too late, he realized he sounded surprised. To cover, he handed her the glass of wine.

She accepted the glass and shrugged. “It's exactly what you said it was.”

“How about that,” he couldn't help but tease.

“Shocked the heck out of me,” she returned, doing a double take, seeming to note he'd shed the jacket and tie.

He sat down on the other end of the couch. “Then, cheers.” He lifted his glass.

She allowed a small smile, which made her prettier than ever. She leaned toward him, holding out her glass to clink it against his. The motion gave him a glimpse of her cleavage, and he was forced to drag his gaze away from her soft breasts.

They each took a sip.

Then her smile grew, and an impish dimple appeared in her right cheek. “Tough day at the office, dear?” She mimicked what was obviously a wifely voice of concern.

Something inside him responded warmly to the banter. “You know—” he paused for effect “—the usual.”

“Is this weird?” she asked, eyes narrowing.

“Yes.”

“Because it feels weird. I mean, on a scale of one to, well, weird, it's weird.”

“Did that make sense inside your head?”

She took another drink, waving a dismissive hand. “I'm sure you got the gist of it.”

“I did. And I agree. It's weird.”

“We're married.” She said the words in a tone of wonder.

“Yes, we are.” Zach took a healthy swig from his own glass. He'd never been married. And even if he had, he couldn't help but doubt anything could prepare a man for this particular situation.

She paused, and then her voice went soft. “I'm not trying to ruin your life, you know.”

He didn't like it that she seemed so vulnerable. It was better
when she was acting tough and feisty. Then, it was easier to view her as a combatant. And he was beginning to admit fighting with Kaitlin was much safer than joking with her.

He struggled to put a hard note back in his voice. “I guess it was the blackmail scheme that had me confused.”

Her green eyes were clear, open and honest. “I'm not looking to gain anything.”

He made a show of skeptically raising his brows.

“I'm looking to set things right,” she assured him.

He tried to sound doubtful. “Is that how this is playing out inside your head?”

“Once I've earned my way back into the good graces of my profession, you'll be home free. I want a career, Zach, not your company.”

He had to admit, he believed her. He understood she was trying to make her own life better. Her methods weren't the most noble from where he was standing. But he did accept the fact that he was collateral damage.

She leaned forward and flipped to the signature page of the document. “Do you have a pen?”

“Sure.” He rose and crossed to the small rosewood desk that held a telephone and a reading lamp.

“I'm meeting Lindsay for dinner,” Kaitlin explained from behind him. “I don't want to be too late.”

“I have a date,” he lied, extracting a pen from the small desk drawer. He'd call Dylan and get the number of the pretty helicopter pilot just as soon as Kaitlin left.

“You're
cheating
on me?”

Her outburst surprised him, but when he turned, he saw the laughter lurking in her jade-green eyes.

“Yes,” he answered easily, not about to rise to the bait. “I've been cheating on you since the wedding.”

“Men,” she huffed in pretend disgust, folding her arms across her chest, accenting her breasts.

Focusing beyond her lovely figure, he shrugged an apology on behalf of his gender as he crossed the room. “What can I say?”

She accepted the pen, bending her head to sign the papers. “Well,
I've
been faithful.”

He waited for the punch line.

It didn't come.

“Seriously?” he asked.

She finished her signature with a flourish, declining to answer.

But he couldn't let it go. “You haven't had sex with anybody since Vegas?”

“What do you mean
since
Vegas.” She sat up straight, handing the pen back in his direction. “Who do you think I had sex with in Vegas?”

He accepted it, feeling a twinge of remorse. “I didn't mean it that—”

“The only person I was with in Vegas was you and we didn't—” The amusement suddenly fled her eyes, replaced by uncertainty. “We, uh, didn't, did we?”

Okay,
this
was interesting. “You don't remember?” He might not have total recall of the entire night's events. But he knew they hadn't made love.

Then the vulnerability was back, and she slowly shook her head. “I barely remember the wedding.”

He was tempted to string her along, but quickly changed his mind. The cursed vulnerability again. It made him want to protect her, not mess with her mind.

“We didn't,” he assured her.

She tilted her head to one side. “Are you sure? Do
you
remember every minute?”

Their gazes locked for a couple of heartbeats.

“I'd remember that.”

“So, you can't say for sure…”

“Has this been bothering you?” he asked.

“No.”

“Because it sounds like—”

Suddenly, she snagged her bag and hooked it over her shoulder, coming to her feet. “It's not bothering me. If we did it, we did it.”

“We
didn't.
” Not that he hadn't wanted to. Not that he wouldn't love to. Not that he wasn't still—

Damn it.
He had to stop going there.

“Because I'm not pregnant or anything,” she said, slipping into her sexy shoes and straightening her clingy dress. The action pulled it tighter against her lithe body, and it was more than he could do not to let his gaze take a tour.

He summoned his strength. “Kaitlin. I think we need to leave Vegas back in Vegas.”

“We tried.”

That was true.

“But it didn't work,” she pointed out.

“Blame Elvis,” he drawled, fixing his gaze firmly on her face and telling himself to leave it right there.

Her smile grew. “You're funnier than you let on, you know?”

He gritted his teeth against her softening expression, those lips, those eyes, that tousled hair. It would be so easy to pull her into his arms and kiss her.

But for the first time in his life, he ignored the powerful urge.

“Thanks for signing the papers,” he offered gruffly.

“Thanks for giving me a job.”

The specter of her previous designs appeared inside his head. He didn't know what he'd do if she insisted on resurrecting them.

Now might not be the time. Then again, now might be the perfect time. They seemed to have come to a truce. Maybe he should take advantage of it.

“You know that building has been in my family for five generations,” he declared.

“That doesn't mean it can't look good.”

“There are a lot of different ways to make it look good.” Classic ways. Functional ways. They were a transportation company, for goodness' sake, not an art museum.

He wished he could interest her in using the Hugo Rosche plans as a jumping-off point. Hugo had taken over after he'd
canceled Hutton Quinn. Zach had paid a penalty to get out of the contract. But Hugo had left on good terms with a reference and several prospective clients set up by Zach. Hugo's plans made the most of the existing layout, and they'd only take about six months to implement.

“And I'm going to find the best one,” she breezily promised. Her bravado frightened him.

“It's my heritage you're playing with, you know.”

Her expression faltered for a split second, something close to pain flitting through her eyes. But she recovered instantly, and the confidence returned. “Then, you're a very lucky man, Zach Harper. Because I'm going to make your heritage a whole lot better.”

T
he following week, Kaitlin and Lindsay made their way into the bright pool of sunshine on the roof of the Harper Transportation building. The cement was solid beneath Kaitlin's feet, and the building seemed to fit seamlessly into its surroundings. Modern high-rises towered over on two sides, while across Liberty, they studied a row of dignified—if chipped—lion statues, and looked farther to the river.

The roof was square, blocked on one side by the service level and staircase. It was bordered by a three-foot-high concrete wall. Years of rain had stained it, but the mottled color evoked a certain nobility. Kaitlin couldn't help wonder what it would be like to work under the same roof as five generations of your ancestors.

Her mother had died when she was born. Her father was “unknown,” not even a name on a birth certificate. And if nineteen-year-old Yvette Saville had had relatives somewhere nobody ever found them. All Kaitlin had of her own heritage was a single, frayed and blurry photo of her mother, and the
address of the rooming house where Yvette had been living prior to Kaitlin's birth.

While her anger and frustration toward Zach had diminished as the days went by, she couldn't seem to fight off the spurt of jealousy that bubbled up when she thought about his heritage. He'd had such a safe and privileged upbringing. While she was on the outside looking in, he'd been wrapped in the loving embrace of his wealthy family, wanting for nothing, experiencing the finest life had to offer.

“Explain to me again why we couldn't go straight to Rundall's for lunch?” called Lindsay. She'd fallen behind in her higher heels and straight skirt.

“See that?” Kaitlin turned to walk backward, banishing her negative thoughts as she swept her arm, pointing toward the deep blue Hudson River. “If I can get a permit to add three stories, the view will be amazing.”

A steady hum of traffic rose up to meet them, while barges slipped by against the tree-dotted New Jersey shoreline.

“Will that be expensive?” asked Lindsay, as she picked her way across the rough surface, steadying herself against a mechanical box, then an air-conditioning unit.

“Wildly,” said Kaitlin, picturing the expanse of glass and the marble floors.

Lindsay flashed a wide grin as she came abreast of Kaitlin near the edge of the roof. “That's my girl. Not that Harper will ever notice. The man has more money than God.”

“It would seem,” Kaitlin agreed, thinking back to the fine art and antiques that decorated his huge penthouse apartment.

“I've been checking,” said Lindsay in a conspiratorial tone, swiping back her stray blond hairs in the freshening breeze. “Did you know it started with the pirates?”

“What started with pirates?” Kaitlin peered over the edge to the busy street below. She wished she had a scaffolding so she could see exactly how the view would look if they went up three stories.

“The Harper family wealth,” Lindsay said. “Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum. Pirates.”

Kaitlin stretched up on her toes, shading her eyes against the brilliant sun. “I'm sure that's just a rumor.”

New York City was full of colorful stories of countless founding families. Most of them were concocted by the families themselves to add social cachet and impress their friends. The Harpers could just as easily have been former potato farmers who arrived in the city from Idaho in 1910. Perhaps they'd sold something as mundane as farmland and crops to buy their first boat and start Harper Transportation.

“Of course it's a rumor,” Lindsay pointed out. “It happened three hundred years ago. It's not like they have videotape.”

Kaitlin cracked a smile at her friend's faux outrage. “Are you suggesting I've inherited tainted money?”

“I'm suggesting the man you're blackmailing was descended from thieves and murderers.”

“Does that scare you?” Zach didn't scare Kaitlin anymore.

Well, not much. She was still intimidated by his angry glare. And she was definitely unsettled by the sexual awareness that bloomed to life whenever he strode by. It was becoming a regular part of her workday: email, coffee, drafting, Zach. Then boom, buzz, all she could think about was kissing him.

“Hell, no,” Lindsay assured her. “I'm just sayin' you should watch out for his sword.”

Kaitlin waggled her finger at Lindsay in admonishment. “That's a terrible joke.”

Lindsay peered closer. “Are you blushing?”

“No,” Kaitlin answered with a shake of her head, switching her attention to the steel gray barge plodding up the river.

“I didn't mean it the way it sounded.”

“Sure you did.”

Lindsay leaned forward to get a better view of Kaitlin's face. “You
are
blushing. What did I miss?”

“Nothing. I've barely seen him in three days.”

Okay, so she'd seen him from afar, more than a few times. And he looked good from that distance—no frowns, no scowls. Her reaction to him was becoming almost comically predictable.
Her pulse rate would jump. Her skin would heat up. And she'd lose her train of thought.

“Are you falling for him?” asked Lindsay.

Kaitlin started to speak, but then stopped, unwilling to lie to Lindsay. “I'm admiring his features from afar,” she admitted. “Along with half of the city.”

Zach was an undeniably attractive man. So she found him good-looking? Big deal. So she occasionally found him charming? Another big deal.

He had breeding and education, and plenty of practice at dating and small talk. If she forgot about the fact that he'd tried to ruin her life, she could almost pretend he was a decent guy.

“He does make a hot pirate,” Lindsay concurred with a saucy grin.

“Hot” definitely described the way he'd looked that night at his penthouse, his tie off, sleeves rolled up, a day's growth of beard shadowing his chin. He'd looked every inch the rakish pirate of his ancestors. And it had been more than sexy.

Lindsay was watching her closely. “Promise me you'll keep your head in the game.”

Kaitlin tucked her loose hair firmly behind her ears, taking a quick check of her diamond stud earring. “My head is completely in the game,” she assured Lindsay.

There wouldn't be a repeat of Vegas. Kaitlin had slipped up that night. She'd let down her guard, and Zach had turned on her within the week.

Apparently satisfied, Lindsay eased forward to peer over the edge. Taxis, buses and delivery trucks cruised past. Three city workers in hard hats set barriers up around an open manhole, while a police cruiser, lights flashing blue and red, pulled halfway up on the wide sidewalk.

“So, have you started unpacking yet?” asked Lindsay.

“Nope.” Kaitlin watched two uniformed cops stride into a deli. She was more than happy to leave the topic of Zach behind. “I'm going to take advantage of having everything out of the way. Clean the carpets and paint the walls.”

“Nesting?” asked Lindsay.

“Yes, I am.” When she gave herself time to think about staying put in New York City, Kaitlin felt a surge of relief lighten her shoulders. She'd curled up in her window seat yesterday evening with a cup of cocoa, simply staring for an hour at the bustle of the neighborhood.

“You deserve a great place to call home,” said Lindsay, warmth and caring evident in her tone.

Kaitlin smiled her agreement. “I may even buy that new rocker.” She'd been admiring a big, overstuffed gliding rocker in the window of a local furniture store for a few months now. Something about it said home.

“You?” Lindsay teased. “A frivolous expenditure?”

Kaitlin nodded with conviction. With no means of support other than her part-time job, she'd been forced to be frugal during her college years. The habit was hard to break. But she was gainfully employed now, and she had good prospects. And she was determined to make herself a real home.

“First the rocker,” she explained to Lindsay. “And then the Prestige espresso machine.”

“I love hearing you talk like that.” Lindsay laughed.

“It feels pretty good,” Kaitlin admitted, then her voice caught on her age-old sensation of loneliness. “I
can
make it a real home.”

Lindsay linked her arm and nudged up against her. “You've already made it a real home.”

It didn't feel like a real home to Kaitlin. Then again, how would she know? Over her childhood years, most of her placements had been in group facilities instead of with families. The workers were mostly kind, but they came and went in shifts, and they often moved on to other jobs, replaced by new people, who were also nice, but also employees, not a family.

Lindsay gave her a squeeze, obviously recognizing that Kaitlin was getting emotional. “You ready for lunch?”

“Sure thing.” There was no point in dwelling on the past. She was staying in New York City, and that was a great thing. The rocker would make a difference, she was sure of it. Maybe she'd
get a cat, a calico or a black-and-white gerbil. A pet would make things that much more homey.

With one last look around, she followed Lindsay inside. They locked the rooftop door and took the aging elevator back to the third floor and Kaitlin's small office.

“There you are.” Zach's greeting from inside the office sounded vaguely like an accusation.

“What are you doing here?” Kaitlin's guard immediately went up. She suspiciously scanned the room, the deck, the bookshelf, her computer, checking to see if anything had been disturbed. She'd put a password on her laptop, and she was keeping the preliminary renovation drawings under lock and key.

She'd made Zach promise to give her carte blanche on the project. But she still feared, given half a chance, he would try to micromanage it. She wasn't planning on giving him half a chance.

“I have something to show you,” he announced from where he stood behind her tilted drafting table.

She saw that he'd rolled out a set of blue line drawings. She moved forward to get a better view. “Those aren't mine.”

“They're something Hugo Rosche put together,” he responded.

Kaitlin slipped between the desk and drafting table, while Lindsay waited in the doorway of the cramped office. Kaitlin stopped shoulder-to-shoulder with Zach, and he moved closer up against the wall.

“What's different than how it is now?” she asked, moving through the pages, noting that a few walls had been relocated. The lobby had been slightly expanded, and new windows were sketched in on the first floor.

“We'd also repaint, recarpet and get a decorator,” said Zach.

She glanced up at him, searching his expression. “Is this a joke?”

He frowned at her.

“Because, I mean, if it's a joke, ha-ha.” She dropped the pages back into place.

He looked affronted. “It's not a joke.”

She gestured to the sheets of paper. “You're not seriously suggesting I use these.”

“We don't need to make massive changes in order to improve the building,” he insisted.

“I'm not a decorator, Zach. I'm an architect.”

“Being an architect doesn't mean you need to tear down walls for the sake of tearing down walls.”

She turned and propped her butt against the side of the desk, folding her arms over her chest and facing him head on. “Did you seriously think I'd fall for this?” Because if he had, he was delusional.

He lifted his chin. “I thought you'd at least consider it.”

“I just considered it. I don't like it.”

“Thank you so much for keeping such an open mind.”

“Thank you so much for bringing me a fait accompli.”

“I paid good money for these plans.” He snagged the bottom of the sheets and began to roll them up. His voice rose, the offense clear in his tone. “And I paid good money for your original plans. And now I'm paying a third time for the same work.”

Lindsay shifted forward, stepping fully into the room. “Would you prefer to fire Kaitlin and meet us in court?”

Zach's steel gaze shot her way.

He glared at her briefly, then returned his attention to Kaitlin. “I thought you could use them as a starting point.”

Kaitlin shrugged. “Okay,” she said easily.

His hands stilled. He drew back, eyes narrowing in suspicion. Then he paused and asked, “You will?”

She shrugged again. “Since they're virtually identical to the existing building, I've already used them as a starting point.”

Lindsay coughed a surprised laugh.

Zach came back to life, snapping an elastic band around the paper roll, while Kaitlin hopped out of his way.

 

“It's my backup plan,” Zach said to Dylan. It was Sunday afternoon, and the two men maneuvered their way through the crowded rotunda at Citi Field toward a Mets game. If there was
one thing he'd learned from both his father and from Dylan's dad, it was that your contingencies had to have contingencies. Plans failed all the time. An intelligent man was prepared for failure.

Dylan counted on his fingers. “Plan A was to buy her off. Plan B was getting her to agree to the Hugo Rosche drawings. Low percentage on that one working, by the way.” He skirted a trash can. “And now Plan C is to find her a new job?”

Zach didn't disagree on the Rosche drawings. It had been a long shot that she'd agree to use them. But finding her a new job could easily work. It was a well thought out strategy.

“She said it herself,” he explained. “Her long-term goal is to get a good job. She wants her career back on track. And I don't blame her. Thing is, it doesn't have to be my building. It could be any building.”

“She wants to stay in New York City,” Dylan confirmed.

“New York City is a very big place. There are plenty of buildings to renovate.”

“So, you invited her to the game, because…?”

That was another element of Zach's plan. “Because she was wearing a Mets T-shirt that day at her apartment. It turns out, she's a fan.”