The CEO's Accidental Bride / Paper Marriage Proposition: The CEO's Accidental Bride / Paper Marriage Proposition. Barbara DunlopЧитать онлайн книгу.
“The pumpkin soup to start?” he asked her, voice low and completely casual in her ear.
She opened her mouth, but she couldn’t seem to form any words. She could barely sit still. Her toes curled and her fingers gripped tightly around the leather menu.
“Maybe the arugula salad?” he continued.
How could he do that? How could he sit there and behave as if everything was normal, when she was practically jumping out of her skin?
“I’m going with the yellowfin tuna,” Susan chirped.
Ray and Susan both looked to Kaitlin with questions on their faces.
Zach’s hand slipped higher, and she very nearly moaned.
“Kaitlin?” he prompted.
She knew she should slap his hand away. She should call him right here, right now, on his unacceptable behavior. It would serve him right.
He’d be embarrassed in front of Ray Lambert. But then so would she. She’d be mortified if Ray—if anyone—knew what Zach was doing under the tablecloth.
“Arugula,” she blurted out.
“The risotto is delicious,” Susan offered helpfully.
Kaitlin tried to smile her thanks. But she wasn’t sure if it quite came off, since she was gritting her teeth against Zach’s sensual onslaught.
She balanced the heavy menu against the tabletop, holding it with one hand. Then she dropped the other to her lap, covering Zach’s. “Stop,” she hissed under her breath. “Please.” The word came out on a desperate squeak.
His hand stilled. But then he turned it, meeting hers, and his thumb began a slow caress of her palm.
A new wave of desire flowed through her.
She could pull away anytime she wanted. But she didn’t want to pull away. Lord help her, she wanted to savor the sensation, feel the raw energy pulse through her body. And when his hand turned back, and the caress resumed on her thigh, she didn’t complain.
“The salmon,” he said decisively, closing his menu and setting it aside.
Susan pulled her menu against her chest, speaking over the top. “The dill sauce is to die for.”
Ray gave his wife’s shoulder a quick, friendly caress. “It’s beyond me why she doesn’t weigh three hundred pounds.”
“I have a great metabolism,” Susan said, adding a self-deprecating laugh. “I don’t do nearly enough exercise to deserve all those desserts.”
Zach turned to Kaitlin, his fingertips still working magic as he spoke. “And what do you want?”
The double entendre boomed around them both.
Her gaze was drawn to the depths of his eyes, knowing there was no disguising her naked longing. “Risotto,” she managed to say.
“And for dessert?” He pressed more firmly against her inner thigh, his palm sliding boldly against her sensitized skin.
“I’ll decide later.”
He gave a slow, satisfied smile, and a gleam of attraction turned his gray eyes to silver.
Just as she was tumbling completely and hopelessly under his spell, Lindsay’s words came back to haunt her. Do you think there’s a slim possibility it was a distraction?
Oh, no.
He was doing it, again.
And she was falling for it, willingly, and all over again.
Humiliation was like ice water to her hormones. She steeled her wayward desire, letting anger replace her lust.
“No dessert,” she told him sternly, dropping her hand to her thigh and firmly removing his.
“Crème brûlée,” said Susan. “Definitely crème brûlée for me.”
Zach’s gaze slid to Kaitlin for a split second. But then he obviously decided to give up. Distraction was not going to work for him this time. His behavior was reprehensible, and her lapse in judgment was thoroughly unprofessional. What would it take for her to learn?
Thankfully, Susan launched into a story about a recent business trip to Greece.
Kaitlin forced herself to listen, responding with what she hoped were friendly and intelligent answers to Ray’s and Susan’s questions, then asking about their trip to London and their new ski chalet in Banff, as appetizers, dinner and then dessert were served.
Zach didn’t touch her again, luckily for him. Because by the time the crème brûlée was finished, the check arrived, and Ray and Susan said their good-nights, Kaitlin’s mood had migrated to full-on rage.
As the waiter cleared the last of the dishes, smoothing the white linen tablecloth, Lindsay and Dylan appeared.
Lindsay plunked herself next to Zach, the briefcase between them, while Dylan sat much more reluctantly across from Kaitlin.
“They stole your briefcase,” Lindsay said without preamble. “They stole your briefcase.”
Kaitlin had presumed that was what happened. She immediately turned an accusing glare on Zach. There was no need to voice the question, so she waited silently for his explanation.
“It was in my trunk,” he pointed out in his own defense. “My trunk.”
Lindsay opened her mouth, but Dylan jumped in before she could speak. His blue eyes glittered at Zach. “Seems there are some finer points of the law you may not have taken into account here.”
“They’re my drawings,” Zach stated.
The waiter reappeared, and conversation ceased. “May I offer anyone some coffee?”
“A shot of cognac in mine,” said Lindsay.
“All around,” Zach added gruffly, making a circle motion with his index finger.
Kaitlin wasn’t inclined to argue.
“They are my drawings.” Her words to Zach were stern as the man walked away.
“I paid you to make them,” he countered.
“You both paid her to make them,” Lindsay pointed out in an imperious tone.
“I wouldn’t argue with her,” Dylan muttered darkly.
Lindsay shot him a warning look.
He didn’t seem the least bit intimidated by her professorial demeanor as he stared levelly back. “I had a math teacher like you once.”
“Didn’t seem to do you any good,” she retorted.
“You stole my briefcase!” Kaitlin felt compelled to bring everyone back to the main point. “Was this entire dinner a ruse?”
She shook her head to clear it. “Of course it was a ruse. You’re despicable, Zach. If I hadn’t told Lindsay you’d invited me here. And if she didn’t have a very suspicious nature—”
“A correctly suspicious nature,” Lindsay pointed out to both men.
“—you’d have gotten away with it.”
“I was planning to put it back,” Dylan defended.
“I need to see the designs,” said Zach, not a trace of apology in his tone. “My company, your company, pretend all you like, but I’m the guy signing the check. And I’m the guy left picking up the pieces once your game is over.”
“That game happens to be my life.” She wasn’t playing around here. If she didn’t fix her career, she didn’t have a job. If she didn’t have a job, there was nobody to pay rent, nobody to buy food.
He