Angelica flushed but her gaze didn’t waver. “You’ve been eavesdropping as well as trespassing.”
The man shrugged lazily. “Your door was open. If you meant your remarks to be private—”
“No matter what you’re selling, I’m not interested.”
“A.H.,” Emily begged, “please-”
“Do I look like a salesman, Miss Gordon?”
Angelica looked at him. No, she thought, he did not. He looked—he looked like a pirate in twentieth-century clothing, like a Viking who’d stepped into the wrong time and place.
“How can you not be interested in what I’m selling if you don’t know what it is?”
“I thought you said you weren’t…” Angelica puffed out her breath. “Look, I’ll give you one more chance. Are you going to leave on your own, or—”
“Or?” His voice was soft, but somehow there was a world of menace in the single word.
“A.H.,” Emily said, “listen to me!”
“Yes, A.H.” The man laughed, his teeth very white against his tanned skin. “She’s right, you know. You really should listen to her.”
He leaned away from the door frame and started slowly toward Angelica. His lazy posture had been deceptive, she thought wildly; he moved with the easy grace and purpose of a jungle cat, and there was a sudden hard look in his eyes that made her want to take a hurried step back.
But she didn’t.
“Emily,” she said in what she hoped was a firm tone, “call security. Tell them—”
” Who’re you kidding, Miss Gordon?” He stopped in the center of the room, his eyes narrowing as they met hers. “You don’t have security. You probably don’t even have somebody to come in and sweep the floors.”
“The police, then.” Angelica forced her eyes to stay locked with his. “Emily, dammit, what are you waiting for? If this—this person thinks he can muscle his way in here—”
“Are you sure your phone is working, Miss Gordon?” His voice was bemused, almost gentle. “Perhaps you should try to get a dial tone before you make any more threats.”
“Did you do something to the phone lines?” Angelica swung toward her secretary. “Emily, why are you standing there? Didn’t you hear me? Go call the—”
“For heaven’s sake,” Emily hissed, her round face drained of all color, “I’ve been trying and trying to tell you, A.H.! This man isn’t a salesman. He—”
“Emily! What’s wrong with you? I don’t care who he is. I want you to—”
“He’s—he’s Landon!”
Silence seemed to descend on the little room. Angelica stared at her secretary.
“He’s what?” she whispered.
Emily threw her hands in the air. “He’s the man you’ve been waiting for!”
Slowly, Angelica turned and looked at the stranger. The smile was on his lips again, this time not just arrogant but smug.
“Have you been waiting for me, sugar?” he purred. “How sweet.”
Crimson slashes appeared on Angelica’s high cheekbones.
“You’re from Landon?” she said in disbelief.
Emily scurried past the man and out the door, closing it softly behind her.
“No,” he said, “I’m not.”
He moved forward again, until he was standing beside Angelica. She had to tilt her head to look at him.
I could have worn heels after all, she thought foolishly, and the patches of crimson rimming her cheeks deepened.
“But—but Emily said—”
Cade laughed and strolled past her to her desk, heaped with what were obviously unpaid—hell, unopened—bills.
“I’m not from Landon,” he said, quite pleasantly, “I am Landon. Cade Landon, to be precise, of the Landon sharks—or was it hyenas?”
Oh, the look on her face was wonderful. Wonderful! He might as well have said he was the devil incarnate.
Miss A.H. Gordon knew exactly what would happen next, and so did he. In just a little while, this priggish female in the funny tweed suit would be out on her ass.
But he wasn’t ready to drop that news on her quite yet, Cade thought, trailing a finger over the stack of unanswered letters that overflowed her correspondence tray. There was too much pleasure in drawing things out. It was the least he owed her, considering the way his day—thanks to her—had gone so far.
A traffic jam had kept him from reaching the airport in Denver in time to make his flight, and he’d had to charter a private plane. He’d already had the office fax Dallas word of his impending visit; now, he’d tried to phone and tell them of his change of plans but he’d found the number busy, then out of service.
“That’s impossible,” he’d told the operator. “It’s a business number. It can’t be out of service.”
“Actually, sir,” the disembodied female voice had said, “the number’s been disconnected.”
Cade had slammed down the phone, his expression grim, willing to bet everything he owned that the number had been disconnected for nonpayment of bills.
Thunderstorms midway between Denver and Dallas had delayed his arrival time again, but the final straw had come when he’d reached the airport and discovered that no one on this end had arranged for the transportation he’d requested in his fax.
By the time he’d made his own arrangements for a rental car and driven through a maze of streets to get to this godforsaken part of the city, his disposition had been decidedly unpleasant. Still, he’d been glad when he saw the Gordon Oil sign, even though it hung outside what looked like a shack.
Cade had come through the door into a cramped anteroom overflowing with file cabinets.
“Landon,” he’d said brusquely. “I’m here to see A.H. Gordon.”
The receptionist had led him to a chair that creaked alarmingly and stabbed a newspaper he didn’t want to read into his hands. Miss Gordon was too busy to see him just yet, she said, and looked as if she’d rather have bitten her tongue off than have said the words. He was to make himself comfortable and wait.
Cade had done that until his rising blood pressure threatened to blow the top of his head off. Then he’d shot to his feet and stalked to the woman’s desk.
“Listen, lady,” he’d said, “you go on in and tell your boss that Cade Landon wants to see her, and pronto.”
The woman’s eyes had gone round like saucers. “You mean, your name is Landon?” she’d squeaked.
“That’s right. And I’m not going to sit out here, cooling my heels, another minute.”
Just then, the intercom had buzzed. The woman had escaped past him, thrown open the door to A.H. Gordon’s office—and it had been all fun and games from there, Cade thought with a little smile.
“What are you smiling at?”
Cade’s brows rose in surprise. He turned around. The Gordon woman was staring at him, her oval face tilted up to his, her expression one of absolute defiance.
“There’s nothing amusing in any of this, Mr. Landon. And I don’t like you handling my things.”
“Your things?” he said. “No, Miss Gordon, you’ve got that wrong. I own this place, not you.”
“You don’t own correspondence addressed to me,” Angelica said, although she had no idea if that were true or not. She folded her arms over her chest. “And if you’re waiting for me to apologize—well, I suppose I’m sorry you overheard the things I said.” Her small, resolute chin rose even higher. “But if you hadn’t eavesdropped, you wouldn’t have heard any of it.”
Well, well, well, Cade thought. This was going to be amusing. The woman was a tiger, he had to give her that much. Her tone was almost as frosty as her eyes.
He frowned. Were her eyes really green? Yes, they were. He wasn’t sure he’d seen a color quite like it before, something between the color of emeralds and the deep green of an Arctic sea.
His gaze flickered over her face. The green went well with her cloud of bright copper hair. She had pulled it back in some sort of ugly arrangement that made her skin look as
if it were too tight for the bones of her face, but curls were escaping in all directions. Wisps of copper danced against her temples and forehead; a feathery trail hung down the long column of her throat and brushed the collar of her tweed jacket.
It was an odd and incongruous combination, the tweed and the coppery strands of hair. They looked soft as silk. Were they? Would they curl around his finger if he put out his hand and…
Cade jammed his hands into his trouser pockets and frowned. What did the woman’s hair have to do with anything? This sharp-tongued bitch had been running Gordon’s into the ground—but what else could anyone have expected? Not only was she a woman in a man’s world, a refugee from an intellectual ivy-covered tower, she was also a child. It had been instantly obvious that she wasn’t middle-aged, as he’d expected her to be, but now, with her standing this close, he could see that she couldn’t even be thirty!
In fact, if he hadn’t known she was a university graduate, he’d have pegged her at eighteen, nineteen at the most. She had an untouched look about her, an unawakened look, and Cade wondered, all at once, how it would feel to be the man who turned the ice in those green eyes to fire, who made that smug, rosebud mouth soften with passion…
Jesus! This was what came of not having had breakfast or lunch, of missing planes and enduring thunderstorms and dealing with car rental clerks who never seemed to have the make or model you really wanted.
Enough, he thought, and he looked straight at A.H. Gordon.
“You’re fired,” he said coldly. “I’ll give you the rest of the day to pack your things and vacate this office. My people will cut you a check. Two months’ severance pay, and—”