Controlled Response
Page 5

Lucas's head snapped around so hard he winced at the crack in his neck. "What?"
"Geez, man, don't give yourself whiplash. You are hurting, if the mention of Victorian underwear will get you worked up. I know a girl . . ."
"Shut up, Ben. What do you mean, Jon?"
Ben O'Callahan, the green-eyed, dark-haired legal advisor for K&A who had a passion for fast, expensive cars and extreme bed-sport, grinned, but closed his mouth.
Jon moved one hand in a thoughtful stroke along the satin surface of the table, as if recalling something entirely different and far more sensual. "I put a hand on the small of her back when I opened the door for her. She's tall, but somehow delicate, too. I did it on instinct. Expected her to take a bite out of me, but she just thanked me. You know we notice women. The details. She was wearing a corset beneath her clothing."
"Devil is in the details." Ben flashed a look across the table that matched the comment.
"What does she look like?" Lucas asked in what he hoped was a casual voice, even as he battled back a baffled desire to take Jon's hand off for thinking it was okay to touch her.
"You're about to find out." Matthew Lord Kensington, K&A's CEO, entered the conference room. The expression on his aristocratic yet rugged features—the combination of an Italian mother of noble lineage and oil-rich Texan father—was that of an alpha wolf initiating a hunting party. "Alice said she just arrived in the lobby."
"Warning, guys," Jon said. "Now that I've got you all worked up thinking about her underwear, it's only fair to tell you she's all business. Don't mix it up with her. She's extremely good at this, and could pull the rug right from beneath us."
Matt slanted a calculated glance at Lucas. "Sounds like we need your A-game."
Great. Fucking great. He saw the concern in Matt's eyes that matched Jon's. Matt was his best friend as well as his boss. No one had pressed Lucas about his attitude, but they'd all noticed. It was time to shrug it off. Worry it like a terrier on his own time. Because there was no way it was the same girl. He wasn't entirely skeptical of kismet, but the idea of a stranger he'd met entirely by chance, halfway across the country—in the middle of a fucking forest, for Chrissakes—waltzing into this business meeting, was more than fate.
It smacked of burning-bush, freaking miracles.
He heard Alice, Matt's admin, greeting their visitor. When the woman responded, his reaction bounced through his chest and slammed right down into the base of his testicles as if she'd kicked him in the balls. It was her. He knew it, even though she'd only said about six sentences to him that day.
He arranged his legal pad, pen, and PDA at his chair^ though he usually put everything away, anything that he might toy with and give away his thoughts. He didn't take notes because he'd remember, if it was important. Yeah. He could see himself reporting on the smell of her perfume, the way the blond cascade of her hair glimmered when the sunshine hit it.
"Man, seriously." Jon laid a hand on his shoulder, bringing his unusual wave of serenity with it. Guy should have been a damn guru instead of an executive suit. "You okay?"
Because it was Jon, Lucas relented. He didn't compromise business for personal pride. "I think I know this girl. If I stumble, watch my back, okay?"
"Always do," Jon said. "Though you've never asked me to do it when a woman was involved. I'm going to have to give her a closer look."
"Just keep your hands to yourself this time," Lucas said dryly. "I'll handle any door opening."
Jon Forte was laughing at something as she stepped into the room. When Cassandra had reviewed the data and photos for the K&A team on her computer, she'd knocked a lukewarm coffee off the desk. It had doused the cat, whose ire was compounded when she jumped up and trod on the poor creature's tail. It had taken her a half-hour to get Nate back to sleep from the commotion.
Lucas Adler, CFO of Kensington & Associates, college roommate of Matthew Lord Kensington. At first, she'd try to convince herself she was wrong. In that news clipping he'd had much longer hair, fine golden strands just above his shoulders, but streaked with lighter shades from exposure to the sun. Sitting in a board room, he'd looked relaxed as he gave an interview about being part of what had been dubbed over the past years as Kensington's wunderkind. Five young men who'd turned K&A into a global and domestic manufacturing empire out of the unlikely New Orleans base of operations, though they'd moved to this satellite office in Baton Rouge in the aftermath of Katrina. Lucas was key to identifying and pursuing acquisitions of seemingly unprofitable plants, which then had a spotless track record of becoming success stories in the team's hands. When she'd searched for other data about him, her hope she was mistaken dropped like an elevator car with a broken cable.
Lucas Adler was also an amateur cyclist, who'd placed high enough in several marathons to be mentioned in a handful of news stories. He stated he challenged himself to break his own records, always asking more of himself. Conquering the unconquerable. The quote tied into his approach to his career, but it sent a thrill of inappropriate excitement through her vitals.
She'd been bullshitting herself on the team review. She'd recognized him in the first photo. The first heartbeat. She needed to put it behind her, once and for all. There was no reason that day should have lingered with her the way it had. She'd put it down to excessive sexual deprivation, even when she found her mind drifting to an analysis of his face, his every expression, the flickers of emotion in his eyes during their brief meet.
The Berkshires had been one of those crazy things. They were both adults, about to be thrown together for several days, the primary players in the start-up plans that would combine the resources of Josh Johnson's industrial hoist system operation with Kensington's. That should be her focus. Not the overwhelming disbelief that fate had delivered this guy right back into her lap. Okay, not the best visual if she wanted to concentrate on business.
Lucas Adler. A name to go with the hands, the mouth she couldn't forget. At the time, she'd thought it smart not to allow herself to touch him. Ever since, she'd felt like a kid deprived of candy. She couldn't listen to Foreigner at all without getting achy with need.
So he was great fantasy fodder. She could handle it. Even though his voice still stroked her nerves, running through her head fifty times a day. The way he'd realized she was getting short of breath and immediately moved to help. A man with that kind of hard-on was supposed to be oblivious to a woman's respiratory needs. Then the crowning moment—the way he'd anticipated her bolting. He hadn't stopped her from leaving, but he'd made sure she knew she hadn't gotten away with anything. Damn if that hadn't really tugged at her interest, keeping it piqued.
It was just the perversity of a woman's heart, she knew. She preferred to control all the elements of her environment, particularly men. Yet a man who could overwhelm her, take control of the situation, bring her pleasure and compel her submission, not only terrified her but made her want him so much she couldn't imagine ever wanting anything more. Ridiculous. A dangerous inclination she would never indulge.
Pushing all that away, she stepped into the K&A board room, dominated by one wall of windows and a conference table shaped like a lotus pool. Potted Japanese maples with their delicate red lace leaves were arranged in several places. There were Asian prints on the wall, along with several Samurai blades rumored to be there so that those on the receiving end of Matt Kensington's displeasure could opt for ritual suicide. While the surroundings might intimidate most, they steadied her, reminded her of the job she was here to do. This was her environment, her playing field. She'd given up about a decade of sleep to make it so, and was forever grateful for the chance Steve Pickard had given her, taking the talents of a college intern and throwing her into lion dens like this one. Until she'd built a foundation for her own self-confidence, he'd assured her, over and over, that she had the gift of diplomacy and mediation. As well as an exceptional business acumen that allowed her to grasp the full range of financial, manufacturing, legal and management dynamics that made her an effective problem solver.
She reminded herself she'd had articles written about her as well, one claiming she had almost psychic insight in knowing when to mend fences and when to disembowel.
Another noted she was so unflappable she could walk the floor of Congress buck naked, not a hair out of place, to deliver an address on world economics.
She could do this.
When Matt courteously gestured her in ahead of him, she schooled her face into a polite mask.
As riveting as Lucas had been that day, he was more impressive now, dressed for success in a custom-tailored gray suit. The white dress shirt and silver tie emphasized his silver-gray eyes and the gold of his hair. He'd have made any woman's tongue tangle. When he met her gaze across the table, the shock of the contact detonated through her, leaving more than her tongue at loose ends.
It had just been sex. Not even actual sex. Just a sexual encounter. She was repeating herself. Not a good sign.
"I understand you and Jon have already met." Matt was making the introductions as Jon came around the table, followed by Lucas. She could see the athlete in the way he moved.
If she put her hands on his chest, she'd feel that hard body beneath the thin shirt. The heat of his mouth had been between her legs, his long-fingered hands bracketing her rib cage, as close and lovingly as the corset she wore now.
She shook Jon's hand, said the appropriate things, and then there was no avoiding it.
Lucas extended his hand. Smoothly, without hesitation or hurry, she put her hand into his.
A tremor. He definitely felt a tremor. Her color was up. Not enough for anyone to notice, but he did. Under a trim blue suit jacket, she wore one of those thin silky blouses.
Beneath it he could see the faint outline of the corset she was wearing. This one was strapless, a faint floral pattern in a sheen of silver leaf that added to the embellishment of the shirt. The blouse's neckline showed a modest dent of cleavage, likely because of the lift of the corset. He suspected it might also give him a glimpse of lace and flesh, if he was a cad and strained.