Flirting With the Boss

“Hi. Come on in,” he said, opening the door wider for her to precede him into the house.

“Any news on Mr. Caine?”

He shut the door and met her gaze. “I just got off the phone with the sheriff and he had nothing new to report. There have been no Bentley Caine sightings.”

She let out the breath she’d been holding. “Okay. So what do we do?”

“Have you had breakfast?”

“I didn’t have time—”

“Follow me,” he said.

“But shouldn’t we get to work looking for your grandfather?”

“We will. But I can get more searching out of you if you’re fed. It won’t take long.”

“I’m fine. I never eat—” She stopped when it sank in that he was ignoring her and she was talking to his retreating back. A nice one it was, too—broad shoulders, narrowing to a trim waist and a fine example of why women go gaga over a man’s rear end.

She looked around as she went after him. Surprisingly, the inside of her dream house wasn’t flashy, but homey and comfortable. And big, big, big. The family room, with its high-volume ceiling, featured a large area rug over the wood floor where a beige semicircular corner group sat in front of an imposing floor-to-fourteen-foot-ceiling river rock fireplace. The dining area was filled with an oak ball-and-claw-foot table, ten chairs and a matching buffet grandly holding a space against the wall.

The kitchen was large, really large. An island in the center had beige and black-flecked granite tops that coordinated with the rest of the counters. The refrigerator had a false front that matched the cupboard doors. A combined oven and microwave, with a gas cooktop beside it, were tucked seamlessly into the expanse.

“I’ve only seen the house from the outside,” she said. “The inside is pretty incredible, too.”

He glanced around. “I suppose.”

“How could you leave it?”

One of his eyebrows lifted questioningly. “I believe you know why.”

“I know what you told me, but I still don’t understand why. Families fight. They work it out.”

“Some don’t.”

“My family struggled with a budget for as long as I can remember. You were born to this and walked away. I just don’t get it.”

He took a mug from the cupboard and poured coffee into it, then handed it to her. “Milk or sugar?”

“Black’s fine. Are you going to answer my question?”

“Why did I walk away?” He leaned against the counter and folded his arms over his broad, muscular chest. “Some things are more important than four walls, no matter how much square footage and luxury those walls encompass.”

“Such as?”

“Loyalty and integrity.”

Interesting choice of words. She remembered a younger, still cynical, and every bit as sexy version of this man who’d befriended a geeky, hostile teenage girl. Now, high-profile magazines often showed his chiseled features in photos with beautiful, powerful female executives on his arm. Which one was the real Max Caine?

“Loyalty?” she said, then sipped her coffee. “Your grandfather kept tabs on you. He told me when you got your master’s degree. He shared news of the successes of your consulting business. And he told me he contacted you to try and mend fences.”

She found that callous and unfeeling, at odds with the young man who’d given the time of day to a nerdy fourteen-year-old. And if he did, in fact, have the emotions of an ice cube, why was he back now? Was he telling the truth when he’d said he would only be there long enough to see his grandfather, then catch the first plane out?

“When someone takes a shot at you, it’s not especially bright to give them another opportunity,” he said.

A shot at him? What was he talking about? That implied he felt wronged. But— No. She wasn’t going to do this. She refused to waste any more energy on Max. Since he’d turned up in her office yesterday, she’d spent way too much time analyzing his motivations. And that made her cranky, curious and cautious in equal parts.

“Okay. Obviously we’re going to have to agree to disagree. The sooner we start looking for your grandfather, the better,” she said. “If you insist on feeding me breakfast first, let’s get it over with.”

“What would you like?” he asked, his voice dropping to give the words the improper tone of double entendre.

Her heart skipped and she was annoyed at her involuntary response to him. “Are you going to call the butler to whip something up?” she said, struggling to keep her own voice from slipping into breathlessness.

She wasn’t used to this give-and-take between the sexes. Until last night’s dinner with Max, it had been a very long time since she’d been alone with a good-looking man. Her focus on school to the exclusion of almost everything else might have been too narrow. All those college classes hadn’t prepared her for social situations. But she suspected a plethora of social awareness still wouldn’t have prepared her to deal with Max Caine.

“Actually,” he said. “I’m pretty good at whipping up a few things.”

She’d just bet he was. Flirtation. Seduction. Surrender. “Toast would be fine,” she said. “And quick.”

“I’ll throw in some scrambled eggs. It won’t take long, then we can get down to business.”

As Max quickly and efficiently rustled up the appropriate ingredients and cooking utensils, Ashley watched him work. The island between them gave her the illusion of a safe personal space.

Until seeing Max again, she’d thought time and maturity had put into perspective the magnified disillusionment of a fourteen-year-old girl. She was a grown woman who still felt the pull of his magnetism all the way to her toes. It was impossible for her to ignore the way his muscles rippled beneath the snug, soft fabric of his T-shirt. Her stomach contracted at the sight of his sleeves tightening around his biceps with every movement of the spatula.

She blew out a discreet breath when he finished and set a plate of eggs and toast on the island in front of her. Holding out his hand, he indicated she should sit on one of the bar stools there.

He refilled the mug he’d been using and joined her, resting his forearms on the counter. “Obviously Bentley’s important to you. Enough for you to give up your day off.”

She scooped up a forkful of fluffy egg and slid it into her mouth. After chewing for several moments she said, “Like I said, he’s always been there for me. He’s been like a father.”

“The father you never had?”

She didn’t remember telling him that. “Why would you assume? Are you filling in the blanks again?”

“Something like that.”

“It’s even more than that,” she said, not confirming or denying the truth of his words. “Mr. Caine has done a lot for me. How can I abandon him when he might need help?”

He studied her for several moments, then nodded. “Okay. I guess we have to agree that we’ll never fully understand each other’s motivation. And move on.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

He grabbed a piece of paper she hadn’t noticed on the counter. “Speaking of plans, I’ve been thinking about the best way to go about this search. Someone needs to be here in case he shows up. Chip is going to—”

“Chip?”

“The butler,” he said, the corners of his mouth turning up. He obviously realized that the name was completely at odds with the profession of gentleman’s gentleman. “He’s going to man the phone. Call hospitals and other places I’ve instructed him to contact. You and I will do the mobile portion of the search.” He put the paper flat on the countertop and turned it so she could see it. “I’ve done a spreadsheet of places to look for him and the most efficient way to accomplish the task. I need you to look it over, think about any place I might have neglected to put down.”