Paula Roe – Temptation In The Boardroom: Tempted by Her Billionaire Boss / Beware of the Boss / Promoted to Wife? (страница 3)

Biting out a low curse, he tossed his cell phone on the desk and cupped the back of her head with one of his big hands, his fingers pressing into her scalp to feel for a bump. When he located the growing mass that was causing the deep throb in her head, a furrow ruffled his brow. “What exactly were you doing down there?”

“Shoes,” Frankie muttered absently as the world began to right itself. She sucked in a couple of deep breaths and examined him closer. Along with those deadly dark eyes, he had a perfect aquiline nose that framed a firm, wide mouth. Apparently the devil came in extremely good-looking versions that also smelled amazing.

He held up three fingers. “How many?”

“Three.”

“What day is it?”

“Tuesday, the sixth of August.”

He let his fingers slide from her head. His black gaze, however, remained pinned on her face. “Unless this is Goldilocks and the Three Bears redone to feature a brunette, you are sitting in the wrong chair.”

Her heart sped up in her chest at his low, silky tone, as curiosity radiated from the inky darkness of his somewhat mesmerizing gaze. “What if this is actually the right chair?” she offered in an attempt to defuse the tension.

His mouth curved. “Now I know that would have to be a tale, because this chair belongs to my assistant, Tessa, and you,” he murmured, his sweeping stare taking in all of her, including a rather comprehensive study of her legs, “are not her.”

Frankie swallowed hard and followed his gaze. In the commotion, her conservative skirt had ridden up her thighs, baring the lacy black pull-ups that were her one nod toward femininity in her proper office attire. Oh, God. She tugged the summer-weight wool back to her knees, so much heat rushing to her face she might as well have been on fire. With difficulty, she moved her gaze back up to his and saw...disappointment?

“Tessa,” she murmured, searching vainly for a way to rescue the situation, “went into premature labor and had her baby last night. Co—” Her words died in her throat as a flash of silver glinted across the room. She blinked, thinking her swimming head had manufactured it, but when she looked again, the sight of two armed guards bearing down on them, guns drawn, made her mouth drop open.

“Put your hands in the air.”

The guards roared the words at them, their attention fixed on Harrison. Frankie stuck her hands in the air, her heart slamming so violently against her chest she thought she might pass out. Her gaze sat frozen on the glare of the lights reflected off the silver barrels.

She tore her panicked gaze away finally, flicking it to Harrison, whose face had a bemused look on it. Instead of following the guard’s orders, he put his palms on his thighs and moved to straighten.

“I said put your hands in the air,” the guard bellowed, waving his gun at Harrison. “Now.”

Her boss put his suit-clad arms in the air in a slow, exaggerated movement. He might have acquiesced, but every muscle in his big body was tensed to revolt, his black gaze glittering. They sensed it, their eyes remaining trained on him. “Hands behind your back.”

The CEO’s mouth parted. “I think—”

“Hands behind your back.”

Her boss put his hands behind his back, a dark thundercloud stealing over his face. The guard closest to him holstered his gun, turned the CEO around with a careful appreciation of his powerful frame and snapped handcuffs around his wrists.

Oh, my God. Frankie’s frozen brain registered the guards now as Grant Industries security guards. But what were they doing arresting Harrison Grant?

The guard with his gun still drawn crooked a finger at Frankie. “Over here.”

The logical part of her brain told her she didn’t want anything to do with a man with a gun. Even one in uniform. Maybe these men were posing as Grant security guards. Maybe they wanted to rob them...

“Move,” the guard growled at her. Frankie’s behind left the chair in a hurry. She wasn’t sure how she did it because her legs were mush, but she wobbled over to where the guard stood, shaking so hard her teeth chattered. His partner pushed Harrison down in the chair she’d vacated.

“What happened?” the guard beside Frankie asked.

She gave him an uncomprehending look. ‘Wh-what do you mean? You just came tearing in here...”

“You hit the panic button.”

Panic button. What panic button? She vaguely remembered something in her training about an emergency button she could press if anything ever happened, but she’d laughed it off at the time, thinking it would be more useful for handling Coburn’s discarded girlfriends than an actual situation. Hers had been on the wall beside her desk.

Her gaze slid to the wall beside Tessa’s desk. No button.

“It’s under the desk on the left,” the guard said.

Under the desk? Her gaze slid to the big mahogany desk where her new boss sat handcuffed. A sick feeling enveloped her. She must have hit the button by mistake when Harrison walked in and startled her.

Oh, good lord.

The guard pointed at Harrison. “Pete said you were up here working alone. He had his hands on you when we arrived.”

Frankie’s stomach rolled. The guards were new. They’d changed to a different company last week. “He,” she clarified weakly, “is Harrison Grant, the CEO of this company. I hit the panic button by mistake.”

The guards assumed identical gray complexions. Harrison Grant’s expression moved from one of disbelief to an even darker countenance Frankie chose to avoid.

The guard beside her turned and surveyed the tall, elegant male in the chair dubiously. “You’re supposed to be abroad.”

Harrison’s dark-as-night eyes glittered back at him. “I parked underground and took the back elevators.”

“You don’t look like your picture.”

Frankie wanted to scream not to poke the beast. The glimmer in the CEO’s eyes turned deadly. “I can assure you that she,” he said, nodding his head at Frankie, “whoever she is, is telling the truth. Being the workaholic I am, I’ve acquired glasses since my last headshot.”

“You got some ID?”

Her boss dipped his chin. “Front pocket.”

The guard closest to Harrison retrieved his wallet from his jacket with a ginger movement that made Frankie hysterically wonder what he thought he’d do. Bite him? The man had his hands manacled behind his back. The guard flipped the wallet open, scanned it and went even grayer. Bile climbed the back of Frankie’s throat.

“Apologies for the confusion.” The guard slid the wallet back into Harrison’s pocket. “The situation you two were in, the bottle of wine, we read it wrong.”

Frankie’s gaze flew to the bottle of Pinot Grigio on the desk. Oh, heavens. The way Harrison had been leaning over her... They couldn’t possibly have thought this had been an assignation gone wrong...could they?

The grim look on her boss’s face suggested that’s exactly what they’d thought. He directed a laser-like stare at the guard. “You have exactly five seconds to get these cuffs off me.”

The guard retrieved his key and had Harrison stand and turn around while he removed the cuffs. “We work on rotation,” he said apologetically as he slid them off. “We’re new in this building. So sorry we didn’t recognize you, Mr. Grant.”

Her boss extended his arms and flexed his wrists to get the circulation going. “Well, now that we’ve established we’re all new, except me,” he drawled, planting his gaze on Frankie, “and we’ve also determined this was not a romantic encounter with a bad ending for the sake of the gossip mill, perhaps you can tell me who you are, Goldilocks not being a suitable answer.”

She bit down hard on her lip. “Francesca Masseria. Your brother’s PA. Actually...yours now.”

“Is that so?” Frankie watched her career hang in the balance of that dark, unfathomable gaze. It occurred to her she’d be lucky to get shipped back to Coburn.

The CEO turned his attention to the guards. “I suggest you start taking some regular walks around the building to learn who people are.”

The guards nodded in unison. “Absolutely, sir.”

Harrison waved a hand at them. “Go.”

Frankie stood quaking in the center of the suddenly silent foyer as the silver-uniformed security detail disappeared toward the elevators. Her boss stood, legs planted wide in front of her, a distinct smoky gray aura surrounding his muscular frame.

She liked him better in handcuffs.

Harrison’s mouth curled in a mocking smile. “Despite what you may have heard otherwise, Ms. Masseria, I am not a monster.”

The rebuke stung her into silence. “I’m to assume,” he drawled, “that you are filling in as Tessa’s replacement until we can find someone else?”

“Actually Coburn has asked me to work with you until Tessa comes back.”

His gaze narrowed on her speculatively. “Coburn thinks the sun rises and sets with your appearance in the office every morning, Ms. Masseria. How could we possibly expect him to get along without you for six months?”

Warmth stung her cheeks at the unexpected compliment. “I’m sure he’ll manage,” she demurred. “Nobody’s irreplaceable.”

“Tessa is.”

She flinched. He considered her for a moment, his unnervingly precise gaze seeming to take a visual X-ray of her for further examination. “I need some sleep,” he concluded. “Take your dinner and the wine, go home, get some rest and we’ll talk about this in the morning.”