Blackwolf's Redemption

He swung toward her. “I’m going to do exactly what I have to do,” he said coldly.

“But—”

“There’s an address book in the top right-hand drawer. On the first page, you’ll see phone numbers for my pilot—”

“Your what?”

“My pilot.”

“You have a pilot? And a plane?”

He almost laughed. For once, the tables were turned. He was surprising her.

“The two usually go together, yes. So, call him. His name is Tony. Tell him to be ready to leave in an hour. Then find the number for a woman named Hilda.”

“Listen, pal, you want to call some woman, do it your—”

“My San Francisco housekeeper,” he said, and wondered why watching her bristle with resentment should have pleased him. “Tell her I’m flying in today.”

“Your San Francisco housekeeper?”

“Yeah. I have a place there.”

“In San Francisco,” she said, a little weakly.

That pleased him, too.

He eyed her with dispassion. “As for what you’re wearing…it will have to do until we get to the West Coast.”

“Until we…” Sienna stood up. “I am not going with you.”

“You want this job or not?”

“That’s not the point.”

Jesse lifted his eyebrows. “What is?”

What? she thought. What, indeed? How about the point was that she had no idea what was going on here? Jesse Blackwolf, he of the painted face and eagle-talon amulet, was turning into someone else. When she looked him up on Google, the ranch, the canyon, the sacred stone, there’d been nothing about—

“Answer the question. If wanting the job isn’t the point, what is?”

Sienna swallowed hard. “Being your secretary is one thing. Going with you to San Francisco is—”

“—is part of the job,” he said, finishing her protest with cold authority.

“You can get someone in San Francisco. Hire a temp.”

She was right, he could. He’d done it before. In fact, it was what he always did on his trips to the coast. He sure as hell had never taken Mrs. Marx or any of her predecessors with him. Why would he? He had a house on Russian Hill; he’d converted one room to an office, and, really, it was all he needed. On those few occasions he’d required someone to take dictation or type a letter, he called an office temps firm.

But why go through that when he already had a secretary right here? That was the only reason for taking Sienna with him.

Of course it was. And he told her so.

“Make up your mind,” he said. “Do you want this job or do you intend to quit on your first day?”

“I’m not quitting. It’s just that—that—”

She stared at him. He was right; she knew that. She’d agreed to take the position. Why was she trying so hard to avoid going with him?

Was it because she knew her secretarial skills were lacking?

Or was it because things were moving too fast? Because the ground was shifting under her feet so quickly that there were times she honestly felt dizzy?

Or was it simpler than that?

Was it because, despite how she’d been sniping at Jesse, she had only to look at him and her heartbeat quickened? She couldn’t stop remembering the feel of his arms, the taste of his mouth, the exquisite pleasure of his touch.

She could not feel that way about a man who didn’t exist! Or a man who didn’t exist when she existed! Oh, God, she had to figure this out, figure out what would happen next—

Sienna shot to her feet. “I’m not going with you,” she said, rushing the words together. “You don’t really need me there.”

“Don’t tell me what I need and don’t need,” he said in a low, dangerous voice.

She cried out as he scooped her into his arms, threaded a hand through her hair, brought her face to his and captured her mouth.

He kissed her hard and deep, and maybe she could have dealt with that but then his kiss changed. He kissed her slowly, with tenderness, with longing, and just as she felt as if her bones might melt, he clasped her shoulders and put her from him.

“Make those calls,” he said.

And then he was gone.

CHAPTER TEN

WHO was Jesse Blackwolf, anyway?

First he kissed her until she couldn’t think.

Then he walked away.

He rode horses, drove a truck, painted his face with a warrior’s stripes, wore an eagle amulet—and lived in a magnificent house in the middle of a gorgeous wilderness, owned a private plane and, so he said, a home in one of the world’s most sophisticated cities.

Complex didn’t come close to describing him. Surprising might be a better word, and maybe the most surprising thing was that he thought he could take her in his arms and kiss her to silence or, at least, to acquiescence.