Kristin Hardy - Nothing But The Best

“So you’re our man in Milan,” said Cilla.

“Cilla’s the couture buyer for Danforth’s and does some of the bridge-line buying for Forth’s,” her father put in. “We’ll have to get her involved with the European branches. Maybe you two can find some time to hunker down over that while we’re here.”

“We’ll be sure to do that,” Rand said blandly, wondering just what Papa Danforth would say about the kind of hunkering they’d been doing already.

Cilla kept a poker face. Of course, it didn’t do to think about poker at this point. Or getting her naked and having his hands on all that warm skin, or the way her body shuddered when he—

“So you’re the dot-com whiz.” Ruxton eyed him speculatively.

If “whiz” defined a man who’d made the better part of three million in an IPO and pissed three quarters of it away in a venture capital firm, maybe. Instead of raking in the bucks from the bonanza of IPOs launched by the legions of bright young things he’d funded, Rand had watched his investments die or go into hibernation, waiting for the market to return before considering an IPO. Until they went public, he couldn’t get his money back. Maybe one day, but it wouldn’t be any time soon.

Rand smiled briefly. “It was a wild ride while it lasted.”

Cilla tilted her head at him. “Would you do it again?”

He considered her question, well aware that his audience was far bigger than just her. “The experience didn’t make me afraid of taking chances—I think your biggest returns always come from thinking outside the box, and risk is always part of that. I learned a lot about moderation and hedging my bets, though. I’m probably better at gauging a situation than I was,” he added.

A response suitable for a job interview, Rand thought in satisfaction, which, in a way, this was. He’d spent the four months since he’d come on board at Danforth getting the Milan venture rolling. No one knew him, aside from looking at the reports on his project. Never hurt to impress the board, he figured.

Granted, the Danforth job didn’t represent the degree of challenge he was accustomed to, and the company was sure as hell a lot more conservative. Then again, by the time they’d come calling, he’d been unemployed for a year, waiting for the right opportunity to arise. A year, at his level, you could justify; more than that made you look like a problem candidate to future employers. So even though he hadn’t needed the money he’d said yes, reasoning that the European expansion was marginally interesting to him. Besides, any job that entailed being in stores that dressed beautiful women couldn’t be all bad.

“So you’re comfortable being back in the bricks-and-mortar world?” Fox watched him closely.

“If I weren’t, I wouldn’t be here,” Rand said with perfect truth. He wasn’t one of those idealists who thought everything about the world was going to go Internet, he was just a businessman who’d recognized potential when he saw it.

The cocktail hour wore on and he shook hands and made appropriately incisive or off-the-cuff remarks, depending on how he judged the situation. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Cilla head out of the room. He circulated long enough to be discreet, then followed.

The foyer was lit with the warm light of sunset reflecting in through the wall of windows. Cilla stood near them, Mt. San Jacinto providing her backdrop.

“Danni? As in Danforth?”

“It was the best I could come up with.” She turned and looked at him apologetically. “It’s like Paris Hilton, people recognize the name, and I didn’t want to be recognized.”

“We swapped numbers this morning.” And it left him feeling shut out.

“I would have said something once I knew you better,” she told him. “It’s just hard. There are the stores and there’s all this money and I just wanted this morning to be about us…” She trailed off. “Does that make sense?”

Slowly, he nodded. He might not like it, but he could understand it. “So it never occurred to you that the guy you met in the hotel bar could be here for the Danforth meeting?”

“Did it occur to you in my case?” she countered.

He shrugged. “I knew Danforth had a daughter, but I thought you stayed out of management,” he told her.

“And I thought I knew all of our people who were going to be here. Sergio Venetti is running the Milan store. I’ve met him.”

“I don’t run the stores. I’m business development. All I do is set things up, buy the property, get construction started. Then I turn it over to someone else.”

“That explains a lot,” she said, nodding.

“Anyway, I was a late addition here,” he admitted. “Command performance from the boss.”

“Well, when God calls…”

“Exactly.” He studied her, feeling a little surge of frustration at the fact that she was now off-limits. She wore one of the prim and pretty suits that had been the spring runway rage. Somehow seeing her ladylike and demure clothes just gave him more of an urge to get them off her and uncover the uninhibited lover he’d discovered the night before. “Is this going to be a problem, us working together?” It was definitely going to be for him, unless he got a grip on his imagination.

“Gee, I think it might be, considering the fact that we work in different departments, on separate continents.” Her voice was dry. She grinned at him. “Relax, it’ll be fine. This time next week, you’ll be back in Milan.”

“London,” he corrected.

“Wherever. I think we’re both smart enough to keep a handle on it. No harm, no foul.”

That was overstating the case. It had certainly done harm to him—to his peace of mind, anyway. And yet, as much as he knew how narrowly they’d avoided trouble, he was glad they hadn’t figured out what was going on until after the fact, because the fact had been pretty damned memorable.

Cilla put out her hand. “We cool?”

“We cool.” He shook with her, letting go as quickly as he could. Before he really registered the feel of her skin.

Cilla blew out a breath. “Oh-kay. I’m going to hit the ladies’ room. That way we won’t walk back in together.”

“Worried about your father suspecting something?”

“I’m not, no,” she said frankly. “But it might be best for you if we keep our distance.”

He knew she was a creature of warmth, of humor, of appetites. Now, here was something he hadn’t expected—her concern.

Color stained her cheeks at his pleased stare. “What?”

Rand couldn’t prevent the smile. “Taking care of me?”

“Oh, well, just…paying back the good deed.”

He itched to brush his lips over hers. Off-limits, he reminded himself. “You’ve got a nice soft side, Priscilla,” he murmured.

“Only my grandmother ever called me that,” she muttered uncomfortably.

“You’ve got a nice soft side,” he repeated. “I’m glad I could be your Samaritan.”

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