Temptation In The Boardroom: Tempted by Her Billionaire Boss / Beware of the Boss / Promoted to Wife?. Paula RoeЧитать онлайн книгу.
to tell him he was a fool. But the employer in him took his attraction to his feisty PA off the table.
He tilted the last sip of his drink toward the light and considered its amber depths. Francesca had a unique ability to read people—to draw them to her with her frank, open—charm and somehow he’d known Juliana would be no different. She had saved the day. Been his secret weapon. But he would be equally well advised to caution himself against falling under the spell of Francesca’s seductive charm. It would be all too easy.
He took the last sip of the whiskey, put the glass down and went looking for his PA. Francesca might have taken on her assignment with confidence, but she was a babe in the woods when it came to dealing with men like Kaminski.
He wound his way through the throngs of people on the dance floor. It was hot and sweaty and hard to negotiate. He had just about given up on finding Francesca in the ballroom and was about to search out Juliana when he saw her on the corner of the dance floor with Kaminski.
Kaminski’s hand was wrapped around her incredible body, perilously close to her bottom. Francesca had a smile on her face, but it was a hunted, close-to-the-edge smile that made a switch flick in his head. What had he been thinking?
Five long strides took him to the couple. “May I cut in?”
Kaminski gave him an annoyed look. Harrison stared back at him. Luckily Aristov’s second in command wasn’t a combative personality like his boss and handed Francesca over. “I’ll come find you afterward,” he told her with a lingering look.
No, you won’t, Harrison thought. Francesca nodded to the other man with another of those smiles he knew to be plastic and stepped closer to Harrison. She stood on tiptoe. “I don’t need this drink,” she whispered in his ear.
The husky whisper went up his spine, then straight back down. He took the glass from her fingers, deposited it on a table and took her in his arms. She flowed easily into him without that awkwardness some women possessed, wrapping one hand around his shoulder and lacing the fingers of the other through his. “Thank God,” she murmured. “I think he was about to try and kiss me again.”
“He tried to kiss you?”
Her hand fluttered from his shoulder in a delicate wave. “My fault. On our tour of Leonid’s art collection, I had to lay it on a bit thick to keep him occupied.”
He frowned. “What do you mean a bit thick?”
“Oh, I just flirted with him...nothing too much, you know. It was just at one point, he said he had to go meet Leonid and I was afraid you wouldn’t be finished talking so I poured it on a bit and well—maybe he sort of got the wrong idea.”
Hell. “I’m sorry,” he breathed. “That was my fault. I never should have sent you after him. He’s clearly—” he used Leonid’s word “—besotted with you.”
Her cheeks went pink. “I think that’s a bit of a strong word.”
“I don’t.” He tended to agree with Leonid that Frankie had been the dangerous one in that equation. She looked stunning. He’d had to pick his jaw up off the ground when he’d seen her in that dress, not because he hadn’t seen a voluptuous woman in a low cut dress before, but because on Francesca it looked like innocence and temptation personified. An irresistible combination that had had his hands itching to touch her all night.
When he had earlier on the red carpet, his palm to her beautiful back, it had been an addiction he could easily fall prey to.
He studied the high color in her cheeks, her lush, beautiful features, the spirited curve of her mouth... It wasn’t just her great legs Kaminski had gone wild for. It was the whole vibrant package that made you want to be the one to capture it.
A highly inappropriate wish on his part. Which was not happening.
Her floral, feminine scent drifted into his nostrils. What was it? Orange blossoms? It infiltrated him. Attacked his common sense. It was one thing keeping his brain detached when she was ten feet away from him sitting in her office chair. Another thing entirely when she was in his arms, her ample curves tracing the length of him. She was relaxed now, lacking the tension she’d displayed earlier, her body melding perfectly with his as they moved.
She looked up at him, gray eyes tangling with his in a long, tension-filled moment where he forgot his mask entirely. The jolt of awareness in her smoky eyes marked it a huge mistake.
“Did you at least get to talk to Leonid?” Her hasty words desperately broke the spell.
He nodded. “Because of you, Leonid and I figured each other out.”
“What was his issue?”
“Sentimentality. Siberius was his father’s company. He’s finding it hard to part with it.”
“At least he’s putting it in good hands...”
Guilt scored his insides. “An acquisition is an acquisition,” he said roughly. “There’s a lot I can’t control.”
“He will sign, though?”
“Yes. We need to show him a plan on how we’ll assimilate Siberius into the company when he’s in New York next week. But that shouldn’t be a problem.”
“Good, then.” Her chin lifted with satisfaction. “I’m glad I could help.”
“You did more than help. You were a superstar tonight. I owe you my sincere thanks.”
She blinked. “Well, that’s...good. You’re welcome.” She chewed on the side of her mouth in that anxious habit she had when something was bothering her. “I wanted to say on the plane...I mean—I’m normally a very efficient, together person, Harrison, but since I’ve started working with you, I haven’t been myself. I’ve been...off. I know that and I’m not sure why.”
He knew why and he wasn’t going there. “Because you’re still intimidated by me.”
“Maybe.” She nodded. “There’s a bit of that...”
And a whole lot of something else. He reached his limit. “I think we should go,” he announced abruptly. “Before Kaminski comes around for round two.”
She nodded, her eyes on his as she stepped out of his arms. She looked as conflicted as he felt.
They said good-night to Leonid and Juliana. Leonid promised to have Tatiana call with his schedule for the following week. Viktor Kaminski looked dismayed they were leaving. Francesca stood on tiptoe and pressed a kiss to both of the Russian’s cheeks. He said something to her. Francesca frowned, thought about it for a minute, then replied. Kaminski let her go.
“That was awful,” she muttered, climbing into the back of the Rolls-Royce ahead of him. “He wants to take me on a tour of the Met next week when they’re in town.”
He peeled his gaze off her amazing rear end and got in beside her. “Tell him you’re busy. You will be.”
She laid her head back against the leather seat. “I will. I just feel bad about leading him on.”
“He’s a big boy, he’ll get over it.” Just like he was going to get over his intense awareness of her at the moment.
She was silent, her gray eyes contemplative. He gave the driver instructions, slid the partition closed and the car moved softly off into the night. Frankie turned and stared out at the tall, dark shadows of London as they rolled by, interspersed with bright lights. He directed his gaze the other way. She was as direct and honest as most women were deceptive and ambitious. He’d never realized what a highly attractive quality that was in a woman, when so many in his social circle made game-playing a trait acquired at birth.
Silence fell in the car. He kept his gaze trained on the skyline of London rather than on Francesca’s beautiful profile cast in the light of the street lamps. The whiskey he’d consumed, the satisfaction coursing through his veins at the