Isabel Sharpe - All I Want...

“Not from her family.”

He sighed. Possible. But Seth was only a stepbrother, and he and Aimee had never been close. In addition, he had no time for nurturing a spoiled twenty-one-year-old kid. That was his father’s job and his stepmother’s—if they’d ever care to do it.

“You could be right. But if I haul out the mop and bucket every time she makes a mess, how is she going to learn to clean it up herself?”

Except this time there were others who didn’t deserve to be soiled. Like Krista, in spite of what Aimee saw as justifiable provocation. And the Wellington stores. And him.

“Also a good point.” Sheila clucked sympathetically and withdrew. One of the things he liked so much about her. She said her piece and shut up. A lot of women could learn from her example. Like Aimee. And Krista.

He briefly replayed the punch of attraction he felt when their eyes met at Thai Banquet, after he’d knocked over his water like a complete ass. But what man could hear an attractive woman admit to needing sex and remain unmoved? Smart, passionate and sexually open, with an invitation in her eyes that still haunted him—Krista had definitely made an impression, about as far from the one he’d expected as she could get.

Which was why he’d hightailed it out of the restaurant before he did something stupider than spilling his water, like stopping to chat her up. Once she found out he was Seth Wellington, the invitation would be to his own hanging.

So. He glanced at his watch. He had a meeting in half an hour with his hostile, old-fashioned board and George, the head buyer, brilliant at what he did but about as far out of the closet as they came, which meant an hour and a half of exhausting damage control and diplomacy for Seth, similar to what he’d gone through when he’d fired the company’s stodgy advertising agency and brought in a fresh, young batch of talent.

On top of that, Aimee in her infinite generosity, had handed him a situation more potentially damaging than any of Krista’s posts ever had been, one for which no immediate solution came to mind.

So. Start with the facts.

One: Giuseppi “Juice” Viegro was at this moment pursuing Ms. Krista Marlow up to the Pine Tree Inn, two states away, where Seth Wellington had been idiotic enough to mention to Aimee she was planning a visit.

Two: The only person who could call off Juice was Aimee, who apparently had no intention of doing so.

Three: Aimee’s tantrums lasted approximately two days to a week, after which time she could generally be coaxed back into her usual cheerful borderline sanity.

Four: He did not have two days to a week.

Five: The police might be able to stop Juice, but not without risking unpleasant publicity, and he had no favors to call in with any law enforcement in Maine.

Six: He was screwed.

Less than three weeks to the grand opening, featuring commercials starring Aimee’s lovely brunette head, and she was trying her hardest to cause him a premature heart attack.

Possible solution: Leave it alone, hope for the best and assume the worst wouldn’t happen.

But…there was the image of Juice’s huge build threatening Krista Marlow’s tiny body, which brought on a surprising rush of outrage and protectiveness.

No way. He glanced at his watch and eyed the threatening sky to the west. Snow predicted for the evening, the first big storm of the season, sixty percent chance, too much to risk.

But…there were those vibrant blue eyes meeting his at Thai Banquet, the shock of his own powerful attraction reflected in equal measure. And the fun he’d had today when he threw off the CEO mantle and let himself play the casual charmer, free of the mold he’d been encased in for far too long.

Ridiculous. He had too little time as it was to prepare for the upcoming meeting, let alone keep on top of running the rest of the company.

But…he had nothing scheduled after the meeting, and it being Friday, he had some leeway with his schedule this weekend.

Come on, what was he thinking? He’d get hold of Juice’s family and convince someone to let Seth have access to the gentle giant’s cell phone number.

Twenty minutes later, after having his every turn blocked, he admitted it wouldn’t be that easy. He’d done what he could.

But…Krista Marlow was alone in a hotel room in a lodge somewhere in the wilds of Maine, desperately in need of sex, harboring a fantasy of having it anonymously within minutes of meeting a stranger she was attracted to.

Someone please stop him thinking what he was thinking.

He could stay here and pretend none of it was happening, leave Aimee to clean up her own mess, as he felt she should.

Or…

He could go after Juice…and maybe Krista…himself.

“HOW ABOUT THAT DRINK?”

Lucy nearly dropped the file she was about to put away. “Oh. Josh. Hi.”

She made herself look nonchalantly into his dark eyes and told her heart to calm the hell down. New toy. Shiny toy. Not better than what she had at home, just different.

“Did you forget?”

She made herself laugh, mind racing. Forget the possibility of going out with him? Uh, no. But she couldn’t do this. Could she? Was she going to do this? Krista would say she had to.

“No, I didn’t forget.”

He sat on the edge of her desk and tipped his head, watching her. His eyes were so, so dark. “And…do you want to go?”

Yes. God, yes. With a sudden force that shocked the hell out of her, she wanted to.

“My boyfriend. Link. I don’t think he’d…” She gestured stupidly back and forth between herself and Josh.

“This isn’t about Link.”

She flashed him a warning glance and he put up both hands in surrender. He had nice hands, narrower than Link’s and with longer fingers. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m a nice guy. I’m not out to make you do anything you don’t want to. And I’m not trying to bust anything up, especially if he makes you happy.”

Her head started spinning. She took her time tucking the holiday party file back in its place in her desk drawer, wishing he hadn’t phrased it quite that way. Especially if he makes you happy. “Thank you.”

“But unless I’m wrong here, and you can feel free to tell me if I am…”

His silence made her look up again. Her stomach-flipping reaction to his obvious concern made her wish she hadn’t. “Yes?”

“You don’t strike me as happy.”

She bent her head, closed the drawer. “Things are…tough right now.”

Oh, good one, Lucy. Open the door and invite a man you’re madly attracted to right into your vulnerability and confusion. Call her the queen of earnestly blundering into stupid situations. Too much honesty was not a good thing. Especially around someone she had no real relationship with.

“I’m a good listener.” He smiled. Even his teeth were perfect. He looked like a movie star, like a rougher, more masculine version of Orlando Bloom but with that same slender, dark-curled, dreamy perfection. “And I’m good at meaningless chatter if you don’t feel like talking about anything intense.”

“Why do you want to go out with me?”

He gave a little shake of his head as if he couldn’t believe she’d ask such a question. “Because I like you. I don’t get to talk to you much at work. You’re always so serious and I have a feeling there’s a lot more to you than this. A lot more.”

Whoa. His voice had dropped to a husky, seductive murmur on the last three words. She could barely breathe from the excitement of a man so intrigued by her. This was getting very, very dangerous.

Link. She loved Link. This guy was cotton-candy fluff and Link was the salt of her earth.

“Link and I are—”

“This has nothing to do with you and Link. I’m after friendship.” He looked pained for a second, then slid off her desk and crossed to the empty couch where people sat waiting to see her boss, Alexis. “Okay, maybe that’s bullshit. Maybe I just want it to be true because it would be easier. But if friendship is all you have to offer me, I’ll take it, Lucy.”