Suspicions: A Twist Of Fate / Tears Of Pride

He cocked an eyebrow and leaned against the doorjamb, still watching her intently. He was a tall man, and even in his casual clothes Erin could tell that he was well-proportioned and lean. Strong, broad shoulders supported the expensive weave of his open sport coat. As he stood somewhat insolently, his supple legs strained against the light weight of his tan corduroy slacks. His hair was thick, burnished auburn, laced with traces of gold that gleamed in the warm light of the room. His face was tanned and angular to the point of being harsh, and his gray eyes held hers in a severe gaze that spoke of power and hinted at arrogance. For a moment neither spoke, and Erin felt the spark of electricity in the air.

“May I help you?” Erin inquired in her most coolly professional voice. She guessed at the identity of the intruder and tried to present a calm and efficient demeanor to her new superior. It wasn’t an easy task, considering the fact that she was sitting cross-legged in a semicircle of legal documents. She rose as gracefully as possible, without letting her eyes waver from the calculating face of the man who just last night had fired Mitch.

“You’re Miss O’Toole?” he continued his inquiry, not answering her question, and only breaking the power of his gaze by a glance at the carved nameplate on her desk.

“That’s correct,” she agreed, for some reason unable to smile. “I assume you’re…Mr. Webster?”

“Kane,” he suggested. His silvery eyes drove more deeply into hers and she could feel that he was watching her response, almost anticipating her reaction. “You were expecting me?”

“No, of course not.”

“Then…you were waiting for Mitchell Cameron?”

“I told you before, no.”

“Then what exactly are you doing here?”

She paused for a moment. It had to be evident that she was busy with legal work, didn’t it? Perhaps it was the way that he asked the question that made her feel a need for caution. “I was working.”

“I can see that,” he scoffed, and for a minute a smile threatened to creep over his face. “But I guess my question should be more specific. Why are you working—” his eyes scanned the office “—seemingly alone, on a Saturday?”

“I am alone!” Was he relieved? “And the reason that I’m here is that there has been a tremendous increase in my workload with the conversion to Consolidated,” she replied, but he didn’t seem to be listening. To her consternation he came into the room and casually hooked one leg over the desk corner, as if to remind her that he owned the place—literally.

She felt a need to back away from him—to put a little space between his body and hers, but she ignored the temptation. Intuitively she knew that she couldn’t show him the least sign of vulnerability or weakness. The harshness in his attitude and his tight-lipped questions made her stiffen and become increasingly wary.

“I see,” he mused as if he really didn’t. He tented his hands under his chin in a thoughtful and, in Erin’s opinion, overly dramatic pose. “Then you’re saying that you’re overworked?”

“No…”

“No?” He smiled broadly, but the grin didn’t light the cold depths of his eyes. “Then you must be inefficient,” he suggested.

“I beg your pardon!” Erin blurted, the color draining from her face. What was he doing to her with all of these insane questions and inaccurate accusations?

“Well, it has to be one or the other, doesn’t it?”

“Of course not!” she rifled back at him, and suddenly felt as if she had just swallowed a well-placed morsel of bait. He was toying with her for some reason, and it frightened her. To hide her nervousness she began stacking the legal volumes back on the shelf and tidying the scattered papers. She started to arrange her desk in brisk, sure movements, all the while aware that his eyes touched her face, her hands, her neck, her breasts….

She pulled her attention back to him. “I explained that I had a little extra work to finish up. For some reason, that apparently irritates you. I had no intention of offending you so….”

“You haven’t offended me.” His voice was softer.

“Then what is it with you? I’m just trying to do a decent job, for your bank, I might add, and you march in here unannounced and start an interrogation!”

“Have I been interrogating you?” he asked gently, and reached for her wrist.

“You still are!” she retorted as his hand captured hers. His fingers were a warm, soothing manacle and her pulse began to heat with his touch. Her eyes flew to her wrist, to his eyes, to his fingers and back to his eyes. Then, as abruptly as he had reached for her, he let the hand drop. The intimate gesture had startled Erin, but the release was a disappointment. Unconsciously she drew away from him. He was too commanding, too powerful, and her response to him was too violent.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized, and his dark brows drew together. “I didn’t mean to make our first meeting an inquisition. I didn’t expect to find anyone here today.”

“Neither did I,” she breathed. “And that’s precisely why I came in—to work without interruption—from the telephone or…anything else.” Her breathing was still uneven; the man made her nervous. She tried to control herself and avoid overreacting.

“Do you come in after hours often, Miss O’Toole?” Another question!

“Only when I feel it’s necessary!” she responded cuttingly, and then feeling immediately contrite, added, “Please call me Erin. Everyone else does.”

“Fair enough. I like to keep things on a personal level.”

Erin’s black eyebrows shot skyward with his last remark, but she decided it would be wiser not to comment. She had only to remember his grip on her wrist and the storm of emotions that had seized her with his touch. She didn’t understand why she was overreacting to him, but she knew that it would be best to put distance between them.

He rose to leave, and Erin felt the air slowly escape from her lungs. She needed time to collect herself, to be alone. However, before reaching the door he paused.

“What was your relationship with Mitchell Cameron?” he asked.

Erin swallowed hard and met the chill in Kane’s eyes. “He was my boss,” she replied curtly.

“That’s all?” Kane’s angular face was tense, his jawline firm.

Erin narrowed her eyes. “No…that isn’t all!” she said defiantly, watching his gray eyes grow a shade more calculating.

“Somehow I didn’t think so.”

“Mitchell Cameron is my friend. That fact won’t change, even if you did fire him!”

“So you know about that,” he thought aloud. “Did Cameron tell you?”

“That’s right.”

“Did he explain why?”

“I thought maybe you could answer that one.” Now she goaded him.

Kane slammed the door closed, reversed his stride and came back to Erin’s desk. He planted his hands firmly on the polished surface and pushed his face to within inches of hers.

“What exactly did he tell you, and when?”

“I don’t really know if it’s any of your business,” she shot back at him. Why was he so angry with her? She didn’t understand it, but she felt her temper rise with his.

As quickly as a cat springing, he reached out for her and pulled her face near to his. “Anything about this bank is my business!”

“But Mitch doesn’t have anything to do with the bank anymore, does he?” she asked rhetorically. “You took care of that!”

She felt his closeness, the warmth of his hand against her chin, the light pulse in the tip of his fingers, the heat and magnetism that seemed to radiate from him.

“Why don’t you tell me about ‘your friend,’ Mitch,” he coaxed, and suddenly the fingers that had been rough became gentle. His thumb persuaded her to relax as it moved sensually along the line of her chin and jaw, stopping just short of her throat.

“There’s nothing to tell,” she whispered, trying to think coherently and disregard the intimate persuasion of his hand.

His eyes, flooded with passion, cooled. “Just how good friends are you?”