Crazy About The Boss. Teresa SouthwickЧитать онлайн книгу.
think of me as a scientist—experimenting until I get it right.”
“Don’t even go there with me. You wouldn’t know chemistry if a science experiment blew up in your face. And it does on an annoyingly regular basis.”
“And you know this how?”
“Two words. Angelica Tedesco.”
“Ah. A lovely girl.” He rested his elbows on the table and smiled his big-bad-wolf smile.
“Girl being the operative word.” She shook her head. “I had to pick up the pieces when she came to the office in tears.”
“While it lasted, the relationship was mutually satisfying.”
“It never lasts, Jack. Why is that?” She folded her arms on the table.
He lifted one broad shoulder dismissively. “I’m not looking for anything permanent. Don’t I get points for sending roses and breaking it off before someone gets hurt?”
“You’re a hit-and-run player. How do you know there’s no such thing as love at first sight?”
A dark eyebrow arched. “Maddie, I had no idea you were such a romantic.”
She ignored the way his words pricked her. “You may not get hurt, but how do you know others don’t?”
Maddie hurt for all the Angelica Tedescos in his life. And roses wouldn’t mend a broken heart. She knew for a fact only time would do that. Time and a promise not to make the same mistake. Jack had mistake written all over him.
She met his gaze. “It occurs to me that you’re a lot like your father.”
“You’re wrong.” His voice was sharp enough to cut glass.
“Am I? What was it you said to him tonight? Buried in work and playing with women? You described yourself, Jack.”
His gaze jumped to hers as the muscle in his jaw flexed. “Aren’t you just full of questions and observations.”
“It’s part of my job and what you expect from me,” she shot back. “And here’s an observation for you. In spite of that, he seems like a charming man.”
He scowled. “Believe me, he’s not the nice man you think, Maddie.”
She waited and hoped he’d say more, but he’d shut down tighter than an airport in a blizzard. If he expected them not to talk about what happened tonight, he’d brought the wrong woman to London.
“Jack, we all have flaws. Yours is a reckless streak that makes you very good at what you do.”
“Your point?”
She stopped and waited until he looked at her. “Your father is no doubt imperfect, but he loves you.”
The dark look got darker still and his blue eyes glittered with something dangerous. “And you got that from an observation?”
“No. I got it when he told you it’s been a long time.”
“I’m not following,” he said, shaking his head.
“That meant he’s missed you.”
“Oh, really?” He leaned forward.
“Yes, really. And when he said you’ve done well, that meant he’s proud of you.”
“I had no idea you were gifted in reading between the lines.”
“It’s easy to read between the lines when one isn’t emotionally involved,” she told him. She set her fork down on her empty plate.
“And you think I am?”
“Oh, please.” She rolled her eyes. “He’s your father. You love him and he loves you.”
“And you know this—how?”
“When you abruptly announced it was time to go, he tried to get you to change your mind.”
“Translation?”
“I love you. I’ve missed you. I’m not ready for you to leave so soon.”
He laughed, but the sound was bitter and harsh and completely humorless. “Not that I buy into such a lunatic theory,” he said, “but how do you know this?”
“My father.” She pushed her plate aside. “He used to tell me I looked like a college football quarterback and I found that fairly offensive as I prided myself on being feminine.”
“And doing a fine job.”
There was that gleam in his eyes again as he let his gaze boldly roam over her. Along with the compliment, it produced a warm glow in the wasteland of her heart. She wished she could blame the feeling on the wine, but that simply explained the buzz. This sensation was so much more. It was all that attention zeroed in on her. It was exciting. It was scary. It was a stepping-stone to heartbreak.
“I complained to my mother and she explained it was approval. That he was actually saying that I’m trim and fit.”
“I couldn’t agree more.” Jack’s gaze lowered for a fraction of a second.
His attention was more than scary. It made her want to run but she wouldn’t because she’d be humiliated and Jack would win. She forced herself not to look away. “That’s when I started translating male speak,” she explained.
“Fascinating.”
“I’m convinced your father was trying to reach out—”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” He stood abruptly. “Did you leave room for pie? I had it made specially. Let’s have it in the sitting area.” He took one of the pieces on a dessert plate and walked over to the sofa.
And just like that the conversation was over. “All right.”
She took the other piece of pie and followed him. The suite, ironically enough, was decorated in the color of money. Thick jade carpet cushioned her bare feet and furniture covered in varying shades of green was arranged in a conversation area on one wall. Maddie sat on the sofa at a right angle to him and concentrated on eating her dessert.
“This is really delicious. Almost as good as my sister Susie’s. The whipped cream is to die for,” she said, closing her eyes. Memories of a past holiday flitted through her mind and she started to laugh.
“What?” Jack set his untouched pie on the table, then rested his arm on the end of the sofa.
“I was just remembering the time my mother caught us squirting the whipped cream straight from the can into our mouths.”
“A hanging offense if I ever heard one.” This teasing man was more like the New York Jack.
Relaxing, she set her plate with half the pie uneaten beside his, then curled up on the love seat. “It’s funny now, but my mother was not amused.” She rested her chin in her palm as she looked at him. “Do you remember what your favorite Christmas present was?”
He grinned. “A bike. Top of the line. I’d been lusting after it for months. Cut a picture out of a catalogue and hung it in my room. What about you?”
“A doll house. With furniture.” She sighed. “It was—”
“What?”
“You’ll think it’s silly.”
“No, I won’t,” he vowed. “Give me a chance to screw up before you make me guilty.”
“You’ve got a point,” she agreed. “Okay. It was that tweener time—”
“Excuse me?”
“That time between when you believe in Santa Claus and when you suspect the truth. I wanted to believe, but I’d heard the ugly rumors.”
“Gossip does spread.”
“I