Working Overtime

Michael went on, going over the fine points of the project and detailing the problems they were having with the Coastal Commission, which oversaw environmental concerns, but she was already familiar with most of what he was telling her, and her mind was wandering again. She knew from experience that this work would take a few months, at least.

Months, working side by side with this man. How often would their hands touch? How often would his gaze catch hers and kindle that shivery feeling? She didn’t want to think about it.

But there was no way she could get out of this, short of quitting her job. She was the only one who had the background to research the old Spanish land grants. He couldn’t do this without her. But somehow she was going to have to find a way to keep their actual physical contact to a minimum.

“We’re set to include two golf courses,” he was saying. “A convention center and a main hotel, along with two subsidiary hotels, one more of a spa and the other a sort of bed-and-breakfast. Then there will be a tract of condominiums, and a small, upscale shopping area, including four restaurants.”

Deciding that she’d better get with the program, she made an appropriate comment. “Wow. How large is the projected property?”

“About eight hundred acres. Mostly along a canyon that opens onto a wide beach.”

She frowned. That sounded familiar. “Where exactly is it?”

“North of Gaviota, south of Vandenberg Air Force Base.”

She nodded. That was a beautiful area of Southern California and she was looking forward to working there. She had an elderly uncle who still lived in the area. She’d visited his rickety beach house often as a child, walking down to the ocean on hot summer days. It was going to be fun being back there. But she was going to have to be wary.

A friend of hers had a saying she was always repeating, “If you don’t want to get burned, stay away from the fire.” Words of wisdom. She was going to keep them in mind.

Michael checked his watch and stifled a groan. They’d only been sitting here for a little over a quarter of an hour. It felt like much longer. The obnoxious minutes were dragging their scruffy little feet. This was like some type of unbearable medieval torture.

He glanced over at Chareen. She was staring down into her drink and he took the opportunity to take a good look at her.

He took in her silky curtain of hair, the soft curve of her cheek, her elegant chin line, and then his gaze trailed down into the opening of her blouse, where the upper swell of her breasts was barely visible. Reaction surged through him and he had to look away quickly, grabbing his coffee cup and draining it in one long swallow. It was as though someone had picked up one of his teenage dreams, looked inside and pulled out everything he liked in a woman, then mixed it all together and presented him with Chareen Wolf. There wasn’t a flaw on her. She was the sort of female who made grown men think about chucking it all and heading to the South Seas in a sailboat with only her on board.

His mind slipped back to a picture of Grace, his ex-wife. She’d been just as pretty, but every time he thought of her now, all he saw was the haunting look of disappointment in her eyes. It had been four years since he’d seen her, but the memory of that look still had the power to make him bleed.

So he’d spent the last few years looking for love in all the wrong places—on purpose. No commitments, no promises, no more disappointed looks. Casual relationships were all he could handle. He’d thought he was beyond being easily aroused any longer. That is, until he’d heard Chareen Wolf’s voice in the library.

But that wasn’t what he’d come to California for and he couldn’t let himself get sidetracked. The TriTerraCorp CEO had taken him to lunch before he’d left Florida and made it very clear that there was a vice presidency riding on this job in California. That would be great. After all, wasn’t that what he had been working toward for the last few years?

Business, Not Pleasure. That was going to be his motto on this project. He’d promised himself as much, and he knew he had the self-discipline to keep that promise. But working side by side with Chareen Wolf was not going to make it any easier.

But wait a minute. Here was a thought. Why did they have to work together side by side? After all, he was the executive officer here. He set strategy, others implemented his orders. He could set it up in any way he chose, and a good way was beginning to form in his mind right now.

He glanced at Chareen. “You know,” he told her casually, “I understand that you are used to working without too much direct supervision. Your department head told me you are the best TriTerraCorp has got at this sort of thing.”

She gazed at him brightly. “Well, I think I’m pretty good at my job,” she admitted.

He smiled at her. “So I hear. And I’m sure you’d prefer to work without me breathing down your neck all the time. So how about this?” He leaned forward, giving her a direct look that seemed to startle her. “Why don’t you set up your own schedule and make your reports to me through Leonard Trask, your supervisor. That way, you’ll have complete autonomy, unless I find any problem with your work. Though I hardly expect to do that.”

She sat up a bit straighter and seemed excited. “That’s a great idea,” she told him. “So, in other words, I’ll reserve time at city hall to delve into the archives and go over the deeds, then set up my own interviews with sources, write up a report and hand it to Leonard, who will pass it on to you.”

“Exactly.” He was pleased to see she was as quick as he’d heard she was. But just a little surprised that she seemed as eager for this hands-off approach as he was. When you came right down to it, he wasn’t used to women finding excuses to avoid his company. But that was neither here nor there. “You’ll still be available for any follow-ups we might need, of course.”

“I love it,” she said, smiling from ear to ear, her eyes shining. “Mr. Greco, you’re going to spoil me.”

“Believe me, Ms. Wolf, you’re doing me a favor.”

Great. She was going for it. He stretched back in his chair and risked a smile. He was a genius.

“That,” he told himself silently, “is why they pay you the big bucks, Greco. You are the man with the plan.”

Chapter Two

Chareen shed her clothes with a sigh of relief and stepped into the shower as though it were a waterfall on a tropical mountainside. The water felt so good running through her hair and down over her skin, and it had been such a long day.

She’d picked up her two little ones, Ricky and Ronnie, at the day-care center and had driven them directly to their favorite fast-food restaurant for hamburgers. She’d then spent an hour trying to ward off constantly impending disaster as they charged through the room with the plastic balls and sailed down the long tube slide and climbed anything with a handhold. There was a lot of noise involved—and an apology to the man who was hit in the head with one of the plastic balls when her two wild ones had a ball war. And then there was the little girl who started crying because Ronnie made a face at her. But finally she’d been able to convince the boys to get back in the car and she’d dragged them back here to Casa del Mar, the old Victorian house where they were staying.

A sort of corporate bed-and-breakfast, the three-floor structure had been renovated to provide rooms for contract workers and other temporary visitors to TriTerraCorp. When she’d told Leonard, her supervisor, about having to find a place to stay while her house was being repaired, he’d suggested she stay there for the duration. Currently half empty, the house had plenty of room for her and her two boys.

“Just keep those kids quiet,” Leonard had warned her. “Some of the old-timers who stay at Casa del Mar are real cranky when it comes to the sound of kids.”

Keeping Ricky and Ronnie quiet would require depriving them of the power of speech, and even then they would surely pound on drums to get their message out. But she did her best, hurrying them in through the lobby area and up the stairs to the room on the second floor where they were staying. She bathed them, read them a story and put them to bed. At last, she had a few minutes to unwind.

And to think about what had happened at work. She’d been putting off thinking about it, because there were just too many ramifications to deal with all at once. Michael Greco had rocked her world, whether he knew it or not. She only hoped he didn’t know it.

And it wasn’t just that he looked so much like Danny. At least, she thought he did. She wished she’d brought a picture along when they’d moved in here so that she could get it out and take a look and see if this was all in her imagination. Funny how blurry his image was to her now. There had been a time when she’d been so in love with that face, she thought she’d die if she couldn’t be with him.

Well, she hadn’t been with him for a very long time now, and she was still very much alive—though it had been touch-and-go for a while there. Everyone had always warned her that Danny would disappear from her life. No one had expected it to happen quite the way it had, though, in a fiery car accident that took his life. And no one had known she would have two little red-headed boys to remind her of the love she’d had for too short a time.

She’d had three years to get over it, and she’d done a pretty good job. Her life was full of her kids, and her job, in that order. There was no room for anything or anyone else. Especially not a man who stirred up painful memories—and her long-dormant sensual imagination.

Slipping out of the shower, she dried herself with one of the big, fluffy towels that Hannah Schubert, the house manager, had stocked in the bathroom, then stepped into the bottoms of her Mickey Mouse shorty pajamas and pulled on the top. She twisted her hair into a clip at the back, slipped her feet into fluffy pink bedroom slippers and made a face as she caught sight of herself in the mirror. This was not a picture she would want anyone she knew to ever see.

Stopping to peek in on her sleeping babies, she paused and smiled, her heart full as she looked at them. Those adorable little angelic faces. Who could guess that all they were doing was storing up the energy to drive everyone crazy again as soon as possible?

She grinned and turned to go downstairs. Her stomach was grumbling. She’d been too busy to eat at the fast-food restaurant and a peanut butter sandwich would hit the spot right now.

She moved through the hallway with the confidence born of the knowledge that she was the only one home. Besides herself and her little family, four other people were living in the house right now. Hannah was the house mother and all-around coordinator of most of what went on here. And then there were two contract workers from Seattle who were busy improving the accounting software used by Financial, and an engineer from the Dallas office who was consulting on a sports stadium project. Hannah had gathered them all together to go out to the arena to see an all-star roster of country singers entertain, part of the rodeo that was in town. Chareen had been tempted, but she’d turned down the opportunity for a little fun. It was much more important to her to spend what time she could with her children.

She padded into the kitchen and looked around the room, enjoying the contrast to her own little tiny kitchen at home. The stove was a huge gleaming monstrosity, the refrigerator had three doors, side by side, the sink had all the latest attachments, and beautiful copper-bottomed pans hung over the center island. Think of the gourmet dinners she could concoct in this place. Sighing happily, she switched on the radio and reached into the bread box. A cha-cha came on the air and she began to sing along with it, adding a few dance steps with her pink-slippered feet at the same time.

Now where did Hannah keep the peanut butter?

Michael paused on the wooden steps and looked up at the beautiful old house. He was feeling better already. He needed sleep and he needed it soon. This looked like a place where he might be able to get it.

He knocked on the big wooden door with the beveled glass windowpanes, but there was no answer. In the distance, he could hear a radio playing, and the sound of someone singing. Trying the knob, he found it turned easily in his hand, and he went on into the entryway.

The place looked just as good inside as out. Polished hardwood floors gleamed in the lamplight. Persian carpets, neoclassic furniture, reproductions of works by Constable and Turner, and plenty of flower arrangements all combined to lend the place an air of quiet dignity and peaceful serenity. And most of all, after the wild scene at the hotel where rodeo rowdies caroused through the corridors all night long, there was the wonderful silence that lurked in the hallways.

Sighing happily, he set his leather suitcase and canvas suit carrier on the floor of the entryway and started toward where the radio was playing. He’d been told to ask for a Hannah Schubert, who managed the place. In just minutes, he was sure his head would be on a cool, crisp pillow. He could hardly wait.

Pushing open the swinging door to the kitchen, his gaze encountered a woman in baby doll pajamas and fluffy pink slippers, hair only half caught in a band at the back of her head. She was just taking a huge bite out of a peanut butter sandwich and catching sight of him at the same time.

“You’re not Hannah Schubert, are you?” he asked wryly, knowing the answer before the words were out of his mouth. For some reason, finding Chareen here didn’t really surprise him. After all, he’d been thinking about her all afternoon.

But Chareen seemed surprised. She gasped, breathed the wrong way and began to choke on the peanut butter. He was at her side in two quick strides, pulling her into the curl of one arm while he pounded on her back with the flat of his free hand. Funny. For such a slim thing, she felt solid and deliciously rounded against his arm. He wanted to keep her there for a while, but she was already fighting to get free of him and he let her go reluctantly.