Luring A Lady
Page 19
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While she blinked in surprise, he swore, scowled then dragged her into the street seconds before the light turned.
"Maybe I'm not happy with you," he went on, muttering to himself. "Maybe I think you're a nuisance, and a snob, and—"
"I am not a snob."
He said something vaguely familiar in his native language. Sydney's chin set when she recalled the translation. "It is not bull. You're the snob if you think I am just because I come from a different background."
He stopped, eyeing her with a mixture of distrust and interest. "Fine then, you won't mind eating in here." He yanked her into a noisy bar and grill. She found herself plopped down in a narrow booth with him, hip to hip.
There were scents of meat cooking, onions frying, spilled beer, all overlaid with grease. Her mouth watered. "I said I wasn't hungry."
"And I say you're a snob, and a liar."
The color that stung her cheeks pleased him, but it didn't last long enough. She leaned forward. "And would you like to know what I think of you?"
Again he lifted a hand to touch her cheek. It was irresistible. "Yes, I would."
She was saved from finding a description in her suddenly murky brain by the waitress.
"Two steaks, medium rare, and two of what you've got on tap."
"I don't like men to order for me," Sydney said tightly.
"Then you can order for me next time and we'll be even." Making himself comfortable, he tossed his arm over the back of the booth and stretched out his legs. "Why don't you take off your jacket, Hayward? You're hot."
"Stop telling me what I am. And stop that, too."
"What?"
"Playing with my hair."
He grinned. "I was playing with your neck. I like your neck." To prove it, he skimmed a finger down it again
She clamped her teeth on the delicious shudder that followed it down her spine. "I wish you'd move over."
"Okay." He shifted closer. "Better?"
Calm, she told herself. She would be calm. After a cleansing breath, she turned her head. "If you don't…" And his lips brushed over hers, stopping the words and the thought behind them.
"I want you to kiss me back."
She started to shake her head, but couldn't manage it.
"I want to watch you when you do," he murmured. "I want to know what's there."
"There's nothing there."
But his mouth closed over hers and proved her a liar. She fell into the kiss, one hand lost in his hair, the other clamped on his shoulder.
She felt everything. Everything. And it all moved too fast. Her mind seemed to dim until she could barely hear the clatter and bustle of the bar. But she felt his mouth angle over hers, his teeth nip, his tongue seduce.
Whatever she was doing to him, he was doing to her.
He knew it. He saw it in the way her eyes glazed before they closed, felt it in the hot, ready passion of her lips. It was supposed to soothe his ego, prove a point. But it did neither.
It only left him aching.
"Sorry to break this up." The waitress slapped two frosted mugs on the table. "Steak's on its way."
Sydney jerked her head back. His arms were still around her, though his grip had loosened. And she, she was plastered against him. Her body molded to his as they sat in a booth in a public place. Shame and fury battled for supremacy as she yanked herself away.
"That was a despicable thing to do."
He shrugged and picked up his beer. "I didn't do it alone." Over the foam, his eyes sharpened. "Not this time, or last time."
"Last time, you…"
"What?"
Sydney lifted her mug and sipped gingerly. "I don't want to discuss it."
He wanted to argue, even started to, but there was a sheen of hurt in her eyes that baffled him. He didn't mind making her angry. Hell, he enjoyed it. But he didn't know what he'd done to make her hurt. He waited until the waitress had set the steaks in front of them.
"You've had a rough day," he said so kindly Sydney gasped. "I don't mean to make it worse."
"It's…" She struggled with a response. "It's been a rough day all around. Let's just put it behind us."
"Done." Smiling, he handed her a knife and fork. "Eat your dinner. We'll have a truce."
"Good." She discovered she had an appetite after all.
Chapter 5
Sydney didn't know how Mildred Wolburg's accident had leaked to the press, but by Tuesday afternoon her office was flooded with calls from reporters. A few of the more enterprising staked out the lobby of the Hayward Building and cornered her when she left for the day.
By Wednesday rumors were flying around the offices that Hayward was facing a multimillion-dollar suit, and Sydney had several unhappy board members on her hands. The consensus was that by assuming responsibility for Mrs. Wolburg's medical expenses, Sydney had admitted Hayward's neglect and had set the company up for a large public settlement.
It was bad press, and bad business.
Knowing no route but the direct one, Sydney prepared a statement for the press and agreed to an emergency board meeting. By Friday, she thought as she walked into the hospital, she would know if she would remain in charge of Hayward or whether her position would be whittled down to figurehead.
Carrying a stack of paperbacks in one hand and a potted plant in the other, Sydney paused outside of Mrs. Wolburg's room. Because it was Sydney's third visit since the accident, she knew the widow wasn't likely to be alone. Invariably, friends and family streamed in and out during visiting hours. This time she saw Mikhail, Keely and two of Mrs. Wolburg's children.
Mikhail spotted her as Sydney was debating whether to slip out again and leave the books and plant she'd brought at the nurse's station.
"You have more company, Mrs. Wolburg."
"Sydney." The widow's eyes brightened behind her thick lenses. "More books."
"Your grandson told me you liked to read." Feeling awkward, she set the books on the table beside the bed and took Mrs. Wolburg's outstretched hand.
"My Harry used to say I'd rather read than eat." The thin, bony fingers squeezed Sydney's. "That's a beautiful plant."
"I noticed you have several in your apartment." She smiled, feeling slightly more relaxed as the conversation in the room picked up again to flow around them. "And the last time I was here the room looked like a florist's shop." She glanced around at the banks of cut flowers in vases, pots, baskets, even in a ceramic shoe. "So I settled on an African violet."
"Maybe I'm not happy with you," he went on, muttering to himself. "Maybe I think you're a nuisance, and a snob, and—"
"I am not a snob."
He said something vaguely familiar in his native language. Sydney's chin set when she recalled the translation. "It is not bull. You're the snob if you think I am just because I come from a different background."
He stopped, eyeing her with a mixture of distrust and interest. "Fine then, you won't mind eating in here." He yanked her into a noisy bar and grill. She found herself plopped down in a narrow booth with him, hip to hip.
There were scents of meat cooking, onions frying, spilled beer, all overlaid with grease. Her mouth watered. "I said I wasn't hungry."
"And I say you're a snob, and a liar."
The color that stung her cheeks pleased him, but it didn't last long enough. She leaned forward. "And would you like to know what I think of you?"
Again he lifted a hand to touch her cheek. It was irresistible. "Yes, I would."
She was saved from finding a description in her suddenly murky brain by the waitress.
"Two steaks, medium rare, and two of what you've got on tap."
"I don't like men to order for me," Sydney said tightly.
"Then you can order for me next time and we'll be even." Making himself comfortable, he tossed his arm over the back of the booth and stretched out his legs. "Why don't you take off your jacket, Hayward? You're hot."
"Stop telling me what I am. And stop that, too."
"What?"
"Playing with my hair."
He grinned. "I was playing with your neck. I like your neck." To prove it, he skimmed a finger down it again
She clamped her teeth on the delicious shudder that followed it down her spine. "I wish you'd move over."
"Okay." He shifted closer. "Better?"
Calm, she told herself. She would be calm. After a cleansing breath, she turned her head. "If you don't…" And his lips brushed over hers, stopping the words and the thought behind them.
"I want you to kiss me back."
She started to shake her head, but couldn't manage it.
"I want to watch you when you do," he murmured. "I want to know what's there."
"There's nothing there."
But his mouth closed over hers and proved her a liar. She fell into the kiss, one hand lost in his hair, the other clamped on his shoulder.
She felt everything. Everything. And it all moved too fast. Her mind seemed to dim until she could barely hear the clatter and bustle of the bar. But she felt his mouth angle over hers, his teeth nip, his tongue seduce.
Whatever she was doing to him, he was doing to her.
He knew it. He saw it in the way her eyes glazed before they closed, felt it in the hot, ready passion of her lips. It was supposed to soothe his ego, prove a point. But it did neither.
It only left him aching.
"Sorry to break this up." The waitress slapped two frosted mugs on the table. "Steak's on its way."
Sydney jerked her head back. His arms were still around her, though his grip had loosened. And she, she was plastered against him. Her body molded to his as they sat in a booth in a public place. Shame and fury battled for supremacy as she yanked herself away.
"That was a despicable thing to do."
He shrugged and picked up his beer. "I didn't do it alone." Over the foam, his eyes sharpened. "Not this time, or last time."
"Last time, you…"
"What?"
Sydney lifted her mug and sipped gingerly. "I don't want to discuss it."
He wanted to argue, even started to, but there was a sheen of hurt in her eyes that baffled him. He didn't mind making her angry. Hell, he enjoyed it. But he didn't know what he'd done to make her hurt. He waited until the waitress had set the steaks in front of them.
"You've had a rough day," he said so kindly Sydney gasped. "I don't mean to make it worse."
"It's…" She struggled with a response. "It's been a rough day all around. Let's just put it behind us."
"Done." Smiling, he handed her a knife and fork. "Eat your dinner. We'll have a truce."
"Good." She discovered she had an appetite after all.
Chapter 5
Sydney didn't know how Mildred Wolburg's accident had leaked to the press, but by Tuesday afternoon her office was flooded with calls from reporters. A few of the more enterprising staked out the lobby of the Hayward Building and cornered her when she left for the day.
By Wednesday rumors were flying around the offices that Hayward was facing a multimillion-dollar suit, and Sydney had several unhappy board members on her hands. The consensus was that by assuming responsibility for Mrs. Wolburg's medical expenses, Sydney had admitted Hayward's neglect and had set the company up for a large public settlement.
It was bad press, and bad business.
Knowing no route but the direct one, Sydney prepared a statement for the press and agreed to an emergency board meeting. By Friday, she thought as she walked into the hospital, she would know if she would remain in charge of Hayward or whether her position would be whittled down to figurehead.
Carrying a stack of paperbacks in one hand and a potted plant in the other, Sydney paused outside of Mrs. Wolburg's room. Because it was Sydney's third visit since the accident, she knew the widow wasn't likely to be alone. Invariably, friends and family streamed in and out during visiting hours. This time she saw Mikhail, Keely and two of Mrs. Wolburg's children.
Mikhail spotted her as Sydney was debating whether to slip out again and leave the books and plant she'd brought at the nurse's station.
"You have more company, Mrs. Wolburg."
"Sydney." The widow's eyes brightened behind her thick lenses. "More books."
"Your grandson told me you liked to read." Feeling awkward, she set the books on the table beside the bed and took Mrs. Wolburg's outstretched hand.
"My Harry used to say I'd rather read than eat." The thin, bony fingers squeezed Sydney's. "That's a beautiful plant."
"I noticed you have several in your apartment." She smiled, feeling slightly more relaxed as the conversation in the room picked up again to flow around them. "And the last time I was here the room looked like a florist's shop." She glanced around at the banks of cut flowers in vases, pots, baskets, even in a ceramic shoe. "So I settled on an African violet."
