"In your dreams," Lucas said dryly.
Jon came next. Kissing her hand, he gave her a pleased, gentle smile. "When you feel comfortable about it, Miss Moira, I'd like to know how the device and the chair worked for you. I know it's no comparison to Lucas's devil-blessed mouth, but I like to improve my work."
"Sure," she said faintly. He squeezed her hand. Ben had drawn close, giving her a friendly, concerned look. They were grouped around her, Lucas at her back. Amusingly, she felt adopted, in a very nonsibling way.
Being the oldest sibling in her own family, she knew what it was to offer reassurance and protection to others, guidance, shelter. Just like the remarkable idea of Lucas's feelings for her after such a short time, this had an intuitive feel to it, a relationship meant to be, waiting out there in the collective consciousness until they were brought into the same room, under these unusual circumstances.
"You all seem . . . very comfortable with this." She groped for something to say.
Ben took her hands then, pulling her to him. He gave her a hug, too, though his hands wandered over her with regret, until Lucas made a warning growl in his throat that did remind her of wolves. Ben lifted his head, his eyes twinkling. "You need to know we don't make a habit of ravishing our female associates. You're a special case. As Lucas told you, Savannah has been the only other one. I'll let you draw your own conclusions from that."
Then he stepped back and she saw Matt Kensington sitting on the arm of the couch, watching them all. When he rose, holding out a hand, Lucas's hand touched her back, a reassurance as she moved forward, putting her hand with only a slight hesitation into Matt's.
"With the exception of my own wife, I've never met a more clever businesswoman. If Steve Pickard didn't have my utmost respect, I'd steal you from him. Plus, I can tell you have an integrity that can't be bought."
"No, sir. Mr. Kensington."
He nodded, squeezed her fingers as well. The hawklike dark eyes studied her, his sensuous mouth in a thoughtful line. She'd tried not to notice those things too closely, given that he was married, but now she noticed it all, including his commanding grip, telling her what kind of animal she was dealing with. She saw it, too, in the way his gaze flickered when she addressed him formally.
As it dawned on her, she looked around her, saw that same brand of sexual dominance stamped on every one of them, even the gentle Jon, and comprehended another element that gave them their understanding of one another. It was a heady combination, one that made her more cognizant of how she'd been drawn into the fantasy so easily. But that underscored it had to be a fantasy, a few stolen moments. If she was wise, she'd start shoring up her defenses.
"I feel like the cheerleader who gets protected by the whole football team," she ventured.
"Not sure whether to feel offended or just amused."
She couldn't deny the gratification she felt at Matt's smile, though. "We are unapologetically male, Cassandra. I look forward to seeing you bust Lucas's balls regularly. He needs it. Arrogance is an unfortunate trait."
"Really?" She arched a brow. "It's so fortunate, then, that the rest of you don't goad him by example."
A feminine chuckle showed Savannah in the doorway. "Truer words," she said lightly.
It was like a family gathering, one that made the low-level yearning simmering in her gut expand to a more painful size. This sense of belonging wasn't for her. She couldn't keep it.
"I need to go," she said abruptly. When she noted her briefcase was next to Matt, he beat her to it, but simply handed it to her. Though his smile had given her a rewarding sense of pleasure, his quiet and shrewd expression now was something she avoided. She cleared her throat, drew herself up, and swept a glance over all of them, lingering on none. She didn't turn to face Lucas yet, still a weighted presence behind her.
"I . . . this has been a profound experience, for certain, but obviously my work is done here. The remaining paperwork can be tied up via fax and e-mail. Thank you, Mr.
Kensington. Mr. Johnson will be very pleased."
She nodded blindly to the men, moving through them, hoping none would shift to stop her, somehow wishing they would. A corset was no protection against these kind of forces. In fact, it was a damn liability.
When she reached Savannah, the woman's expression, like her husband's, held a knowledge that terrified Cass.
"I know just how you feel," Matt's wife murmured, with a poignant smile. "Run. He'll catch you for certain, but make him work for it. Let him prove what a wonderful man he is, so you'll never doubt it."
"It's not him I doubt," Cass said without thinking. Then shaking her head, she fled, as she heard Savannah give her the blessing of a head start.
"Lucas, I need to ask you something . . ."
Eight
She had a problem, though. While a life-changing orgasm could make her merely short of breath, her own emotions could apparently make her hyperventilate. Why did this have to happen now? She'd avoided this type of thing for so long, blown off any attempts to get below the surface. Work, making money, taking care of the kids, that was what came first.
Matt was on the top floor, of course, so she hit several buttons in the elevator and then got off on the fifteenth, fleeing to the stairwell. She went down a couple flights before she sank down on a middle step and fought for air. After spending twenty-four hours with this group, any other idiot would have removed the damn thing. Changed into a sports bra that allowed an Olympic runner freedom to drink in gallons of oxygen. It was a good lesson—the weapon that gave you an advantage in a world of mildly aggressive dogs could be turned against you in the company of a pack of sleek, sexy predators.
Her mind was a mess. She'd be hard put to outthink Nate, her five-year-old brother, let alone someone as sharp as Lucas. But she would try. He had a high opinion of her bravery, so if she went the coward's way, maybe she'd give him the slip. She waited, heading down to the lobby after about ten minutes, figuring he would think he'd missed her. He knew where her office was, of course, but that was her turf. He'd have lost the strategic and tactical advantage. Maybe now was the time to take that week of vacation she'd been thinking about. Take the kids somewhere camping.
Maybe the remote mountain ranges of Tibet.
She had to be wearing his shirt, feeling its heat and scent against her flesh, every movement of the fabric like his touch. She thought seriously about stripping it off, leaving it lying on the stairs and stomping through the lobby in just the corset and skirt.
But it was a fall day outside and she wasn't foolish enough to risk the cold, since she'd also left her coat behind. She'd get another.
When she got to the lobby level, she slipped off the heels and stepped out the stairwell door onto the slick tile floor. Her legs were still shaking, down to her quivering ankles.
She wasn't going to risk making more of a fool of herself than she already had, but Lucas had been right. She hadn't felt decimated in their eyes. Only in her own.
Of course, there he was, like a promise. Sitting cross-legged on the floor in his cotton T-shirt, untucked over his slacks so she couldn't help thinking about running her hands up his flat stomach beneath it. He'd shrugged the suit coat over it.
The stairwell door closed behind her as he lifted his gaze. "Why didn't you just come up the stairs to find me?" she asked.
"I figured it's like the women's restroom. That sanctuary rule you all have." When she raised a puzzled brow, he clarified. "If a lady goes somewhere by herself, you give her a few minutes. Particularly if she seems to need it. Then, there were all those stairs." He gave a mock shudder. "Exercise. I might get sweaty."
Back in the glade, his body had looked like it was oiled under the touch of the sun. She shoved the distracting image away. "Wasn't I in the restroom yesterday?"
"Sometimes a woman doesn't need sanctuary. Not that kind."
"Oh." She narrowed her eyes. "And you're a good judge of that, are you? You're insufferably irritating."
"Not arrogant?"
"Arrogant men like being told they're arrogant. Romance novels have made them think that's a good thing."
A trace of humor went through the serious gray eyes. "I owe you lunch."
"You don't owe me the meal. I pay, because you won."
"No, I didn't." Rising, he brushed off his slacks. "Because I hurt and upset you."
"So let me out of it, then."
"No. You don't need that."
"Of course I don't." She closed her eyes. When she opened them, he'd taken a step forward. Maybe two, for he was directly before her now. When he looked down at her bare feet, her painted red toenails, her hand tightened on the straps of her heels. "Your floors are terrible. I'm surprised you don't have lawsuits."
"They're pretty, though. Ben makes threatening lawsuits go away. I think he has connections to the Irish mob. Either that or he takes plaintiffs out and drinks them to death."
She stared at him. "You completely overturn my world, transform a business meeting into a ... I don't even know what to call it. A chessboard to accomplish getting up my skirt, and now charm and humor are supposed to work."
He looked toward the ceiling, pondering. "Fairly good summation. At least everything except it being all about getting up your skirt. Though that was a pretty good side benefit."
When she made a sound between a snarl and a sob, he caught her arms. Unfortunately for her, fortunately for him, he hadn't forgotten the strength of her right hook. He pulled her against him, holding her there as she struggled. "Let go."
"Cassie, listen. Stop it and listen, will you?" When he gave her a little shake, she wished she still had on her heels so she could have punctured his foot. But when she looked up in his face, she didn't see anything that suggested he was making light of the situation. Far from it.