Double Daddy Trouble

That storm was still raging in her heart.

“And you did,” I said with a casual smile. “We’re professionals, and we’re meeting. We just have some tension to take care of before we get to business.”

“B-bruin, I don’t…” she paused, swallowed, and started again with her composure trying to make a comeback. “I came here because I want you to sign this sale, Bruin. All I’m here to do is to buy this boat from you, for my brother,” she emphasized, putting force in the last three words.

I frowned. There was no way she didn’t know about the tension between Jeff and me over her. He probably didn’t even have to say anything. She would have just known. They knew each other well.

“Is it really?” I asked, and her eyes widened at being challenged. I took a step forward, and this time, she didn’t move, rooted in place. “You could have come up with any reason to avoid coming here in person. A simple lie would have done the job. Instead, you show up here with a dress that makes me want to do unspeakable things to you and step into my bedroom,” I said, my voice getting lower and huskier with every step I took toward her.

I was looming over her again, looking deep into those green eyes that were like a forest I wanted to get lost in forever. But they were so defiant and willful, yet so full of desire. She was holding herself back as much as she was holding me back.

“I came here,” she said slowly, her own voice low, “because I’m doing everything I can to make this work. For Jeff, and for me.”

“Forget Jeff,” I said, the impatience starting to show in my tone. “What does he have to do with any of this? You’re a grown woman, Jill,” I said, looking her up and down. “And I can see in your eyes that you’re a grown woman who knows what she wants.”

“What I want is what’s best for the company,” she said, and even I could tell by her tone she didn’t believe that.

“Is that what’s best for you?” I asked, and she opened her mouth to argue, but no words came to her. She clenched her jaw, glaring daggers up at me as I loomed over her, so close that I could feel the heat radiating off her.

One of my massive hands slipped around one of her small ones, giving it a gentle squeeze that she didn’t resist at first. “Forget Jeff,” I whispered in a husky tone. “Forget the company. Think about what you want. I saw the look in your eyes a minute ago. I felt the way you groaned into me. We both want this. I want you.”

Those words sent a shiver up her back that I could feel at her fingertips, but she drew her hand away, nearly shaking.

“I’ve made my offer, Bruin,” she said, fighting hard to maintain her professional tone. I couldn’t help but smile. The way she was trying to keep carrying herself, you’d think we’d been having a chaste, businesslike meeting from the very start. “If you’re interested at all in selling this yacht, then we can talk. Until you decide on that, though, I think you’re wasting our time here.”

Her face was beet-red, but she let the words come out with force before she turned on her heel and strode out of the room.

I was nothing short of stunned. That was a kind of fire I’d never known Jillian was capable of. It took me a moment to realize what was even happening. I gave my head a shake and started to walk after her.

“Jillian,” I started, and for an instant, I almost went after her.

But I held my place a

nd let her go, watching her slam the door shut and listening to the sound of her hurried footsteps down the hall and around the corner while I stood in my place. Bruin Kincaid did not run after women.

I let my shoulders relax, and I glared out the door with new resolution.

No, I wasn’t going to chase her down the hall like a love-struck puppy. But I was going to have her.

When I wanted to have something, I made it happen. Always.

Twelve

Jillian

What the hell was that?

I stormed out of the little bedroom, my heart pounding so hard it made me breathless. I had tears burning in my eyes, my whole body like one giant flickering flame. I was afraid to look back as I flung the door shut behind me and tore away down the hallway toward the stairs. I just knew somehow that if I looked back I would see one of two things: either he would be just behind me, following me out to stop me and pull me back, or he wouldn’t.

And honestly, I hated either one of those scenarios. If he came after me, it would be trouble. I had been able to pull away and resist him this once, but if he kissed me again, I wasn’t so sure I’d be strong enough to step back again.

And if he wasn’t behind me, well, then I was potentially storming out on a deal. I was leaving behind the man of my hottest fantasies. I had no idea how to feel about any of this. On the one hand, who the hell did he think he was, just grabbing me and kissing me like some romance-novel Casanova? We weren’t dating. We weren’t sleeping together. Hell, the whole time we’d known each other he had treated me like some bratty little fangirl. His best friend’s baby sister. Totally off-limits. I was never on the menu, even when I really wanted to be.

Right there was the other confusing issue: I had wanted him to kiss me. Well, part of me did. The logical, businesslike side of me was enraged, deeply offended and embarrassed by the whole thing. But that hopeless romantic inside me longed to turn on my heel and rush back to the stateroom, throw open the door, and collapse in Bruin’s powerful arms. Oh yeah. That side of me had no qualms about the whole unprofessional angle. Especially when I considered the fact that I hadn’t been even really intimate with anyone since, oh, my sophomore year of college, when I lost my virginity to a guy I’d been dating for a few months.

We broke up shortly after, and I was so hurt by the whole thing that I dumped all my energy and time into working hard and getting good grades. That messy, painful breakup was part of what catapulted me into the high-pressure, high-rewards career I had now. After he dumped me and promptly started dating one of our mutual friends, I needed some way to fill my time. So I landed two separate internships, one at an accounting firm, and one working as an assistant to my brother’s secretary. He was taking over from Dad and needed a friendly face around to make the transition smoother.

It was a lot of work, but between my excellent grades, volunteer hours, and the two prestigious internships, by the time I graduated college I had one hell of a resume. Which was why I was able to so easily wiggle my way into the male-dominated field of yacht brokerage.