Tempting the Billionaire (Love in the Balance 1)

Crickitt couldn’t help smiling.

Sadie dragged her sunglasses over her eyes and stretched out again. “Whatever you do, don’t fall for him,” she advised, her voice going guitar-string tight.

Crickitt started to ask about Aiden again, but Sadie pursed her lips and whistled long and low. “Jeez-a-loo, look at the pecs on that lifeguard.”

Crickitt let the topic drop, and soon her thoughts looped back around to the picnic by the waterfall and how, if she’d have said yes, Shane would have taken her on the trip instead of Peter Murphy. In between meetings and business dinners, she knew they would have shared more than cheesecake for dessert.

And regardless of her job or her convoluted feelings over her boss, Crickitt had a sneaking suspicion Lori LaRouche was right.

Shane would have been worth it.

Chapter 23

Shane pinched the bridge of his nose as Peter Murphy launched into another story about a “smoking hot chick” he’d picked up at a bar. This time he blessedly glossed over the details. Details, after spending a week in the man’s company, Shane decided were mostly fiction.

Peter was a twenty-eight-year-old manager who reminded Shane of a nineteen-year-old frat boy. Worse, Peter assumed his stories impressed Shane when, really, the overblown tales of testosterone did nothing but showcase the manager’s idiocy.

They made it back a day early. As it turned out, Peter, while a blithering moron when he and Shane were one-on-one, was professional and friendly with the business owners, including the man he used to work for. His style was showy, but at least he knew when to rein it in.

They’d left the potential investors with enough information to make their decision. The board would talk to their shareholders at a meeting next month and get back to Shane with their answer then.

When the limo pulled to a stop in front of August Industries, Shane burst from the car like the hostage he’d been for the last eight hours and forty-seven minutes.

He should get on his knees in front of Crickitt and beg her forgiveness for not taking her. Of course he couldn’t share the real reason he hadn’t asked her to go—that his attraction for her was a snapping, snarling beast at the end of its tether. The last test either of them needed was an intimate out-of-town trip.

Still, she would have thrived in that environment. Peter’s clumsy prose and self-focused conceit had nothing on Crickitt’s confidence and pinpoint honesty.

Peter and Shane parted ways on the sidewalk, and Shane paused to glance up at his building. Crickitt was likely up there now, burning the six thirty oil when she should have clocked out at five.

He dialed her desk phone. At the first ring, his heart buoyed to his throat. He hadn’t spoken to her all week, choosing to e-mail instead. Partially because his traveling companion indulged in office gossip the way an alcoholic inhaled vodka tonics. Yes, Peter had plenty to say about his fellow employees. Once Murphy picked up on the casual manner in which Shane talked to Crickitt, the gloves would be off. It wouldn’t take long for rumors to spread about the CEO and his assistant. In Peter’s defense, it was getting harder and harder to believe Shane and Crickitt were “just friends.”

He couldn’t quite believe it himself.

Crickitt’s smooth voice interrupted his thoughts. He started to say hello, then felt his face fall as she continued speaking in low monotone.

Voice mail.

Shane ended the call and frowned at his phone, weighed down by…something. Disappointment, maybe. He would have liked to update her on the meeting and have a good chuckle at Peter’s persistent misuse of the word “literally.” Hearing her throaty laugh would go a long way toward easing the tension in his shoulders.

“You’re back.”

Shane looked up to see Crickitt stepping out of August Industries, the glass doors swishing shut behind her. She strode toward him wearing a Caribbean blue blouse, which highlighted her eyes, and a short skirt over legs that stretched for miles. A smile slid across his face as he took in all of her bronzed skin. She returned it with one of her own, the sheer force socking him in the gut. Seeing her felt like coming home.

He wanted to touch her so badly, he had to stuff his hands in his pockets to keep from doing it.

“We wrapped early,” he said. “How was your week?”

“Smooth sailing. I sent you a detailed e-mail this afternoon.” She gestured with her head. “Are you going up?”

Not now that she was in front of him.

He was sorting through excuses to ask her to dinner or out for a cup of coffee when she spoke.

“I’d better go. I’m meeting a friend in a few minutes.”