Wrong Brother, Right Man Page 5

  The reprieve lasted all of five minutes, a blessing because she hadn’t read one single email. Her brain was still stuck on Val and what sort of sexual favors he might perform under the fictional circumstances that she’d invented.

  The man she’d been objectifying reappeared, draped in suit pieces that did little to hide that he’d shed his button-down shirt, revealing a soft white undershirt that fit him like a second skin. She swallowed and peeled her eyes from the abs she could just see through the thin white material. “I’d hoped you’d be wearing the suit.”

  “Which color?” he asked and held out both arms, where the clerk had pulled on one sleeve jacket the color of charcoal and another in a blue so dark that it would match his eyes perfectly.

  Either one would look amazing on him.

  “Both,” she said automatically. “And another one in a dark gray. Also don’t forget that you need to think about formal wear.”

  Val’s face screwed up. “I generally try to not think about formal wear. I have a suit I wear to fundraisers. Can’t I use that?”

  “Uh, no, you cannot.” Dear God. “The CEO of LeBlanc Jewelers wears black tie to formal events. And arrives in a limo.”

  His eyebrows lifted. “To where?”

  Obviously he was testing her professional capacity, both her ability to remain so without losing her temper and her skill set. “I don’t know. That’s your job to figure out. Everything is about business, all the time, even things that masquerade as social.”

  Xavier had taken her to a couple of events, a random society thing where he’d wanted to be seen and maybe an industry dinner. She hadn’t really paid a lot of attention to the reason for the events, only that she couldn’t wait to leave. But Val had absolutely no need to know that.

  Val made another face. “So three suits is enough?”

  “How many days are there in a week?” Not rocket science. She took a deep breath and smiled, hoping it looked less like a grimace than it felt like. “You need at least seven. Maybe more. It’s your wallet.”

  “You realize I could feed a small country for what this is going to cost.”

  “You realize that you can feed a lot bigger country if you get your inheritance.” Neither of them blinked. “I’m here, as instructed, to provide advice. Take it.”

  He grumbled about it but, in the end, became the reluctant owner of seven suits that the clerk informed him would be ready in a week, which frankly seemed like a pretty quick turnaround to Sabrina. That gave them plenty of time to work on the rest of the strategy before Val would be fully launched as the CEO.

  Since they were almost done, thank God, she wandered over to the counter while Val finished up in the dressing room. The final bill did end up crossing the line into staggering, but Val handed over his credit card like a good boy and managed to do it without turning green.

  Once they exited the shop, Val didn’t immediately head for his SUV. “I need something to wash the taste of capitalism from my mouth.”

  Oh, no. She did not like the look on his face. “We have a lot of work to do, Val.”

  Not only that: she needed to vanish inside her job, where things made sense. Nothing with Val made her comfortable and, while she’d objectively agreed that chucking her plan had been the right decision, that didn’t make it any easier to be winging it. She had to find her feet here. More importantly, she had to find the upper hand. Val unsettled her, to the point of being so unhinged she couldn’t think. That stopped now.

  “I can’t go to LeBlanc like this, where the sole order of business is to sell colorless rocks that do nothing other than sit on fingers and ears. Besides, the other execs have day to day operations under control. LeBlanc can do without me for another thirty minutes.” He scouted around until he spied something over her shoulder that made his face brighten. “Perfect. Come on.”

  Five

  Sabrina whirled on one stiletto heel to follow the direction of Val’s line of sight.

  “There’s nothing there but Grant Park,” she said, her tone firmly in the realm of Stop wasting my time.

  “Exactly.” Before she could figure a way to protest, he linked fingers with her hand and tugged, forcing her to follow him across the street once the light changed. Spending a small fortune on suits that he’d wear for six months and then donate to a shelter topped his list of time-wasters, but taking a stroll near the waterfront—that was more his cup of tea.

  Besides, Sabrina would just slip into Snow Queen mode if they returned to LeBlanc, and that would be a shame. He had her off-balance enough to make it interesting, and he deserved something for sacrificing his morning to the gods of fashion. In lieu of what he really wanted from Sabrina, he’d take an hour doing something—anything—that wasn’t work related.

  He needed a partner, not a by-the-book professional who couldn’t relax.

  They couldn’t be an effective team if she wasn’t comfortable around him. And she wasn’t. Diving straight into a new and improved 947-step plan for turning him into a carbon copy of Xavier wouldn’t help. Snow cones might.

  Sabrina figured out pretty fast that they were holding hands and jerked hers free. “Val—”

  “If the words no or work come out of your mouth, I will be forced to find a way to stop you from talking,” he advised her silkily. “If you’re feeling lucky, roll the dice. Otherwise, humor me.”

  She clamped her lips together, a minor miracle, though a part of him was disappointed she didn’t take the gamble. Sabrina had brains to spare. She knew exactly how he’d shut her up and had opted not to push him into kissing her. Too bad. Now he had to come up with a different way to cross that line. Ever since that moment at the office, when he’d pulled her to her feet and she’d been almost close enough to taste, that’s all he’d thought about—how to get her into a repeat situation, where pulling her into his arms would take scarcely any effort at all.

  “What are we doing?” she asked as they entered the park at the top of a concrete loop that edged a wide swath of green.

  “You suck at the quiet game.” The snow-cone cart sat off the left fork and had no customers in line, a plus. “I’m buying you a snow cone as my way of saying thanks for taking me shopping. I genuinely appreciate your advice, and this is how I intend to show it. What flavor floats your boat?”

  She eyed the white cart, taking in the giant palm tree painted across the front. “I don’t even know how to answer that.”

  The noise of disgust that emanated from Val’s throat really couldn’t be helped.

  “That’s a crime. We’ll mix, then. Two please,” he told the smiling guy behind the glass and handed him a folded twenty, with a nod indicating that he could keep the change. Working a small business like a snow-cone kiosk came with meager financial rewards, and Val liked to spread the wealth where he could. “Come on. You pour your own syrup over here.”

  She peered over his shoulder as Val stuck the mound of shaved ice under a spigot and pushed the handle to dispense the thick, bright red liquid in loopy swirls across the width of the cup. His true skill was displayed in how he didn’t spill a drop, despite Sabrina’s firm press against his arm. He bet she didn’t realize that was happening, or she’d jerk away like a scalded cat.

  So he let the syrup drain through the ice and enjoyed the warmth of a woman against him.

  “How do you know all of this?” she demanded.

  “I’m assuming you’re looking for a different answer than because I’ve eaten snow cones before?” he asked blithely and handed her the cup. “That’s half tiger’s blood and half blue raspberry. My money is on you liking both equally, but if you skew one way, it’s going to be toward the blue raspberry.”

  Mouth slightly open, she stared at the concoction he’d shoved into her hand. “This is something you eat?”

  “Geez, woman. This is not a complex math problem that requires a slide
rule and NASA scientists to unravel. It’s a snow cone.” Her expression was so dubious that he did a double take. “You’ve really never had a snow cone before?”

  “Not once. It looks...sticky.”

  Val checked his eye roll. What did she do on dates anyway? Something boring like the opera, no doubt, or, worse, wine tastings in a highbrow, exclusive restaurant, where it cost ten dollars to sneeze. “It is sticky. So don’t spill it on that beautiful white skirt. Here’s your spoon, Coach. Dig in.”

  Instead of concentrating on his own half watermelon–half black cherry like he should, he watched her take a tiny bite from the blue side and didn’t bother to hide a smile when she flinched.

  “It’s cold,” she explained unnecessarily. A woman in the midst of brain freeze was not hard to recognize.

  “But good,” he threw in and managed to stop himself from offering to warm her up. This dance had to be taken slowly. “You like it. Admit it.”

  She shrugged. “I haven’t made up my mind yet.”

  “Take a bigger bite.”

  “That’s your philosophy for everything, I’m assuming?” she shot back with raised brows. “Jump in with both feet, and let the splash fall where it may?”

  “As it happens, you’re not far off.” What a great segue into the conversation he’d rather be having.

  “Is that why you’re avoiding LeBlanc? So you can make a big splash later?”

  How had she seen through the snow cones so effortlessly? She was shrewd, no doubt, but they were having fun, and there was nothing wrong with that.

  “Who said I was avoiding the office?” he returned easily. “This is a thank-you. Like I said. You’ve never had snow cones before, and voilà! You’ve got one in your hand. Valentino LeBlanc, at your service.”

  “I’m not really a snow-cone kind of girl.”

  “You don’t say.” Curious now, he eyed her. “What kind of girl are you, then?”

  “This is not a date. We’re not feeling each other out to see whether or not we’re going to end up in bed together later. I’m humoring you as asked, but only because you mustered up the courage to buy the suits.”

  Well, now. Guess that answered his question about what she did on dates—she spent the evening letting her companion audition for the part of her lover. Now Val had an insatiable desire to know what landed a guy the role. Sure, he’d started out interested in her solely because Xavier had had her first, and that was still a really important box to check, but the woman had begun to intrigue him along the way. The heat between them couldn’t be denied, yet she continued to pretend she could. It was fascinating. And way too much of a challenge to ignore.

  “You might not have ever had a snow cone before, but you’re definitely that kind of girl.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Why does everything sound slightly dirty the way you say it?”

  “Does it?” He tucked his tongue in his cheek and pounced on that extremely provocative statement. “I don’t know. I’ve never been told that before. Are you sure it’s not you who has the dirty mind? You’re obviously thinking about sex. You are the one who brought up the very excellent point that our time could also be spent figuring out whether or not we’re going to end up in bed together later. The answer is yes, by the way.”

  Her long, low laugh had a touch of silk in it, surprising him with its richness. And the fact that he’d gotten her to laugh.

  “I don’t sleep with my clients,” she informed him without a shred of emotion on her face, which only whetted his appetite to get her good and hot.

  “See, that’s my point. You drip icicles when you walk.” No reason not to call a Snow Queen a Snow Queen. And if he did this right, he could get her to loosen up and lose the frosty routine. “Something made entirely of ice is right up your alley.”

  “Too sweet.”

  “Told you, you’re not eating it right.” Fully engaged with this game, he set his cup on a nearby park bench and stole hers, taking up her spoon to scoop up a big mound of red ice. “Let me show you. Open up.”

  Dubiously, she eyed the spoon. “I’m not three years old. I can eat on my own.”

  “Yet you aren’t. Open,” he instructed and nearly had a heart attack when she obeyed. Quickly he pressed the advantage, moving in to get good and close as he levered the spoon into her mouth, letting the ice melt across her tongue before fully transferring the cold treat.

  Her gaze toyed with his as he withdrew the spoon, dancing with something he liked a whole hell of a lot. Part pleasure, part intrigue.

  “That’s the red side?” she murmured. “It’s...different.”

  “Tiger’s blood,” he informed her. “No real tigers were harmed in the making of it.”

  That made her laugh again, and he couldn’t for the life of him figure out how he’d slid into this spot with her, where she was letting him feed her shaved ice on the heels of talking about sex.

  “I like it.” She opened her mouth again, prompting him to scramble for another spoonful even as his body caught the faint scent of something womanly and exotic from her cleavage.

  His pulse quickened. “As advertised.”

  The second spoonful went down easier than the first, and she watched him the entire time as he pulled the spoon from her lips. She didn’t let up, sucking every last drop from the plastic, her mouth conforming to the shape with shocking ease, which of course elicited images that were more appropriate for the two of them tangled up in his bedsheets.

  “What flavor do you have?” she asked huskily.

  “Uh...” He had completely lost track of his snow cone and, frankly, did not care to retrieve it. “I don’t know. Black cherry. And something else.”

  She blinked up at him guilelessly, and he fell into her hazel eyes, letting them wash through him as his body woke up in a hurry, hungrily sniffing around for more advantages to press because he wanted to kiss her. Badly. She’d taste like the best combination of sweetness and a cold-and hot-tongued woman.

  “How am I doing?” she asked.

  Awesome. So much better than he’d have expected. Or hoped. Sabrina had layers he couldn’t wait to unveil—and not just because she’d been Xavier’s first. “You’re a snow-cone natural. Not that I had any doubt.”

  “So we’re at a place where we can be honest with each other?”

  So honest. Especially if the next words out of her mouth had something to do with how much she wanted him to kiss her. Because that was coming. The wild spark between them only got hotter the longer they danced around each other. This was definitely one of those times when it made so much more sense to jump in with both feet. “Of course.”

  “Good,” she murmured. “Then, I need you to tell me what scares you so much about taking that corner office at LeBlanc. I can’t effectively coach you if you’re not being honest with me.”

  He blinked. And blinked again. “Scared? I’m not scared. What are you talking about?”

  “I thought you were just being stubborn and difficult, but snow cones put this problem in a much different perspective for me.” She reached out and covered his hand with hers, effectively retrieving her cup at the same time as she pulled it from his suddenly nerveless fingers. “Anyone who uses snow cones as a distraction has some deeper issues that need to be addressed. Tell me what they are so I can help you.”

  Reluctant admiration spiked through him, and the only thing he could do with her semiaccurate statement was laugh. “Can’t just take it as a thank-you, can you?”

  “No. Because that’s not what this is.” She shrugged delicately. “Maybe it’s a combo deal, avoidance dressed up as a seduction scene. I have a feeling you use your charm to distract women on a regular basis.”

  “Now, hold on.”

  This would be a good time for that snow cone to make an appearance, strictly to cool his suddenly hot throat, courtesy of the temper
he’d had to clamp down on lest he unleash a few choice words. Accusing him of seducing women to avoid unpleasantness in life rankled. He seduced women to attain pleasantness in life. Didn’t everyone?

  “That’s not judgment, Val,” she said quietly. “We all use something to avoid unpleasantness. The method is not the issue. You want us to be a team? Tell me how to help you. What’s got you spooked about being LeBlanc’s CEO?”

  She had him all figured out, did she? Except she didn’t. She had no clue how much Val hated LeBlanc for any number of reasons, not the least of which had to do with the fact that he shared a last name with the corporation. This inheritance test stank to high heaven of his father’s manipulative nature, and Val was not okay with it.

  “I’m not my father, all right?” he burst out and flinched. Too late to take that back, but then he wasn’t the dark-secrets type. Might as well confess the whole kit and caboodle on the off chance that she might actually be able to use his demons to keep this train moving. “Xavier got the corporate gene, and I’ve spent the years I’ve worked at LBC thanking my lucky stars for that too. They’re both soulless money-making machines, and I will not become that strictly to get my inheritance.”

  “That’s completely understandable,” she said, confusion marring her arresting face. “Why would acting as the CEO for the next six months turn you into your father?”

  “Because that’s what this task is designed to do,” he informed her grimly. “My old man didn’t have an altruistic bone in his body. You can rest assured that he chose this switcheroo to punish me for what he perceives as the sin of following in my mother’s footsteps. If he can do that and get me to be more like him at the same time? Bonus points.”

  Of course, that meant the old man was punishing Xavier for something too, and Val hadn’t quite worked out what. Probably because it wasn’t a punishment for Xavier—their father had thought he walked on water, which meant his brother would thrive no matter. Val was the one in trouble.