He was quiet all the way back to the office, keeping the radio between them. But all the while she was thinking, and wondering if he’d done it on purpose, to show her how vulnerable she was to him. Maybe it was revenge for calling him a womanizer. To show her that even she was wide open to his practiced technique. By the time they got into the underground garage, she felt sick all over, certain that he’d been trying to humiliate her.
She reached for the door handle the minute he parked the car, but his big warm hand caught hers, staying it.
“Not yet,” he said quietly. His eyes searched hers in the tense silence between them. Something in her eyes made him feel guilty. “I’ve hurt you.”
“I called you a womanizer,” she reminded him, dropping her eyes to his chest. “Was that…why? To teach me a lesson?”
“No, it wasn’t. And I got the lesson, honey,” he said shortly, then sighed heavily. “I’m used to jaded, experienced women who take everything a man does for granted. I’ve never had any experience with shy, fascinated virgins who make it all seem new and exciting.” He managed a wry smile at her blush. “Just for the record, Miss Marist, have you ever kissed a man with your mouth open?”
She went beet red and averted her face. “That’s none of your business!”
“In other words, you haven’t,” he mused, chuckling gently. “All right, chicken, run for it.”
“I don’t need teaching!” she threw at him as she wrestled the car door open.
“Oh, but you do,” he replied softly, his hand preventing her from jumping out. “You don’t know what I’d give to be your teacher,” he added with narrowed, glittery eyes. “But that would be disastrous for both of us. I’m too jaded and you’re too pure. The best I could offer you would be a few hours in my bed, and I wouldn’t insult you with that kind of proposition. You need a good, steady man to cherish you and give you children.” He shrugged heavily, staring at the glowing tip of his cigarette, and for a few seconds he let down his guard. “That would require a kind of trust I can’t give a woman. I don’t want to be vulnerable, Dan.”
“Nobody’s asking you to be!” she said angrily, so embarrassed that she could hardly sit still.
He caught her eyes. “Are you vulnerable?” he asked quietly. “Was my father right? Don’t you have a flaming, king-size crush on me?”
“No!” she cried.
There was a world of experience in his slow, knowing gaze. “Then why didn’t you fight me?” he asked in a tone as smooth as warm honey.
She darted out of the car and into the building so fast that she could barely breathe when she reached the office. The first thing she planned to do was type out her resignation. But when she opened the door, Eugene Ritter was sitting impatiently in the waiting room, looking like a thundercloud.
“What have you done with my son?” he demanded belligerently.
Danetta stopped short, her hair disheveled, her mouth red from the hard pressure of Cabe’s thumb, out of breath and almost shaking from what he’d said to her in the car.
“On second thought,” Eugene murmured thoughtfully as he studied her, “what has my son been doing to you?”
Cabe came in the door behind her, looking smug and so damned arrogant that she could have thrown the typewriter at him.
“Hello, Dad,” Cabe said absently. “Need something?”
Eugene stared at his son, looking for traces of lipstick probably, Cabe thought amusedly. The older man’s face fell. “Not really,” he said. “I wanted to know if you’re coming to our anniversary party tomorrow night. Nicky’s expecting you.”
Nicky? Danetta had heard that name once or twice. Was it a man’s name or a woman’s? Probably a woman’s, she thought miserably.
“I’m busy tomorrow night,” Cabe said shortly. “I’m taking Karol to the ballet,” he added, with a long, silent stare at Danetta’s averted face.
“So that painted woman is more important to you than I am,” Eugene said angrily. “And what about Cynthia? Is she going to suffer for the rest of your life because I had the audacity to marry again?”
Cabe turned on the older man, his eyes dangerous. “She’ll never be my mother, and Nicky will never be part of my family! Damn you, I loved my mother! You couldn’t even get her in the ground before you had Cynthia in front of a justice of the peace!”
“That’s a lie and you know it,” Eugene said in a surprisingly calm tone. “Cynthia did work for me while your mother was alive, but it wasn’t until after her death that we fell in love. Nicky was a delightful surprise, not an accident, and I won’t apologize for him. My God, boy, he isn’t taking anything away from you! He doesn’t even inherit anything except a share of my total estate. Cynthia and I agreed on that from the start! She’s got money of her own to settle on him, in case you’ve forgotten.”
“I’ve forgotten nothing,” Cabe told his father in a tone like shattering ice.
Eugene started to speak and then just shrugged, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “It wouldn’t kill you to spend one night with us, all the same. It hurts Nicky that you ignore him.”
“I owe him nothing!”
The older man grimaced and turned away.
Cabe slammed his fist down on Danetta’s desk, startling her. She’d put away her coat and was just sitting down to work. “All right,” he said angrily. “Damn it, I’ll come for the night.”
“That’s my boy,” Eugene said with an infrequent tenderness. He looked past Cabe at Danetta, who was trying to be invisible. “Why don’t you leave the brassy blonde at home and bring that one with you?” he mused. “She keeps an iguana. Nicky would love her.”
Danetta actually gasped. “How did you know about Norman?” she asked.
Eugene grinned. “Ask Jenny.” His eyes went back to Cabe. “Your secretary here looked pretty flustered when she walked in. I thought maybe you’d—”
“We just came from Harry Deal’s oil field,” Cabe said with uncommon venom. “She and Harry got into it.”
“I hope she won. He’s hell on the nerves,” Eugene said with a disappointed sigh. “Well, I’ll see you tomorrow night,” he muttered. “Brassy blonde, God knows how many men—”
“Get out!” Cabe said shortly.
Eugene knew when to quit. He waved at Danetta and walked out without another word.
Danetta was fumbling with the computer, trying to turn it on. Considering how well she did it normally, it was rather disturbing to look like a rank amateur. It had been an upsetting morning.
She smelled cigarette smoke. Cabe came closer with a cigarette in his fingers and stood over her, his pale eyes watchful, his dark, wavy hair falling rakishly onto his broad forehead. He had one hand in his pocket and his chiseled lips were pursed as he looked at her openly and with pure male appreciation.
“I don’t have a crush on you,” she said, trying to appear calm.
He lifted the cigarette to his mouth and took a long draw from it. “I’m thirteen years older than you,” he said quietly. “From a practical standpoint, you don’t even have a yardstick to measure me against. Your life is a blank slate.” He blew out wispy smoke. “No, I’m the last complication you need in your life, kid,” he said shortly. “So no more close encounters.