Jenny wanted to be annoyed by his arrogance, except she knew that he was right. His fingers slid down her arm to her wrist, his slow smile confirming that he’d registered the skip and race of her pulse. She could find all kinds of words to deny the attraction between them, but she couldn’t deny her physical response to him.
“Tell me that you don’t want me to kiss you,” he said, his lips hovering mere inches above hers.
Right now, with his body so close to hers she could feel his heat and hear his heart pound, she wanted his kiss more than she wanted to take her next breath. And that was precisely why she couldn’t let it happen. Wanting anything from a man like Richard Warren could only lead to heartache. So she opened her mouth to voice the denial—even if it was a lie.
Before she could speak a single word, he kissed her.
At the first touch of his lips, desire swept over her in an unexpected and overpowering wave. Recognizing the futility of struggling against it, she let herself flow with it—the deep, almost desperate need.
His arm banded around her waist, holding her tight against him so she couldn’t pull away. Heat seared her body everywhere it touched his. Her breasts, her hips, her thighs. Too much heat. It was impossible to even think of pulling away when she was melting against him.
She laid her palms on his chest, felt the quick, steady beat of his heart. Her own was pumping to the same rhythm, her blood pulsing heavily in her veins. Her hands slid over the hard contour of muscle to link behind his neck, holding on, as any protests she might have uttered turned into desires and her subconscious denials became needs.
His hand stroked up her back, the bold touch shooting arrows of pleasure through her. Then he cupped her neck to tilt her head back, his fingers sifting through her hair.
Again, he surprised her. Instead of deepening the kiss, the pressure of his mouth gentled. His lips moved away from hers to trail soft kisses along the line of her jaw. He nibbled gently on her ear, cruised slowly down her throat. Featherlight caresses that whispered over her skin.
He was no longer taking but giving, and Jenny couldn’t refuse what he was offering. She didn’t know how to fight against such tender passion. She didn’t want to. She trembled against him, her body quivering with desire.
“Richard.”
When she spoke his name, it was a sigh, a plea.
His mouth moved back to hers. Slowly, patiently, he took her deeper. It was like a dream—soft and warm and misty, with just the hint of danger hovering around the edges.
His tongue slid between her parted lips, skimmed over hers. She welcomed him, felt rather than heard the soft whimper deep in her own throat.
She tried to tell herself that she didn’t want this. She knew she shouldn’t want this. But reason and logic had abandoned her, and she only wanted him.
Richard had intended to make a point—to force Jenny to acknowledge the attraction between them. He hadn’t expected that he’d end up wanting so much more. He eased his mouth from hers with unexpected reluctance and drew in a desperate lungful of air and willed his mind to clear, his thoughts to focus. Then he made the mistake of looking at her again.
Her lips were still swollen from his kiss, her eyes still cloudy with desire, her body still soft and warm against his. He felt an almost overwhelming urge to kiss her again, to take everything she didn’t seem to realize she was offering.
It was the obvious vulnerability and the almost imperceptible hint of fear in her eyes that held his passion in check. He didn’t know what she was afraid of, but he knew she was smart to be afraid. Whatever was happening between them was too much too fast—they both needed to take a step back.
“It seems as though you were right about my interest,” he murmured. “And wrong about your own.”
She opened her mouth, probably to argue the point, then closed it again. They both knew it was absurd to protest when she was still in his arms.
“It doesn’t change anything,” she said. “I’m not going to sleep with you.”
He wondered if she was aware of the tremor in her own voice, or how incredibly arousing it was to know he’d been the one to shake her cool poise. So arousing that he was tempted to interpret her words as another challenge and set upon changing her mind. But he’d been as shaken as she by the kiss they’d shared, and he decided it might be wise to accept the boundaries she was setting—at least for now.
“All right,” he agreed. “No sleeping together on the first date.”
She narrowed her eyes. “This isn’t a date.”
“Does that mean we can sleep together?”
“No.” Her response was firm, but he saw the smile tugging at the corner of her lips in response to his teasing.
It had been his intent to lessen the tension, but the hint of a smile had drawn his attention back to her mouth, tempting him to kiss her again.
He tore his gaze away. “Okay, then. What’s next on the agenda?”
She hesitated, as if she didn’t trust the easy compliance his question suggested. “How about the theater?”
“That sounds great,” he said.
A theater would at least be filled with people and the action on the stage might keep his attention focused—and away from the temptation of his tour guide.
The theater had seemed like a good idea when she’d first decided upon it. Jenny had been certain that a few more hours of inactivity after the lengthy tea ceremony would be more than enough to drive Richard to abandon her company completely. Of course, that was before the kiss.
The kiss she should never have allowed to happen. But now that it had, there was no way to pretend it away, and no denying her response to him. And as she sat beside him in the dark, every nerve ending in her body was painfully attuned to his nearness.
She tried to remain immobile, her gaze focused on the stage. She didn’t remember the seats seeming so close. Or maybe it was that Richard was so tall. But every time he shifted in his seat, which he did frequently, his shoulder brushed hers or his thigh pressed against hers. The disproportionate response of her own body to these casual touches reminded her that it had been a long time since she’d had sex.
Not that she intended to sleep with Richard Warren. Certainly not after spending only one day with him. No way. She was definitely through with single-minded men and dead-end relationships.
The thought faded away as his knee bumped against her leg again.
She’d often thought it was more of a curse than a blessing that she enjoyed sex. Her relationship with Brad had lacked a lot of things, but she had no complaints about the physical aspects of it. Maybe that was why she’d waited so long to end a relationship she’d recognized was at an impasse months earlier. Or maybe it was because she’d really wanted him to be the one.
She’d made excuses for his frequent disappearances and hasty departures. He was an investigative reporter and traveling was part of his job. She’d known that when they’d first started dating and could hardly expect him to change his career for her.
She had hoped he would want to make some changes, though. To talk to her before making his travel plans rather than calling from a plane that was already in the air.
But Brad had become accustomed to flying solo long before she’d ever moved in with him, and she’d been too afraid to sound like a nagging wife to make an issue of it. She’d gratefully accepted the part of his life he was willing to share with her because she’d believed it was preferable to being alone.
Two and a half years later, she’d realized that she was alone even when she was sleeping beside him. She’d finally accepted that he would always want the next big headline more than he wanted her.
Always being second best hurt more than she wanted to admit—even more so because he wasn’t the first man in her life to put his career ahead of her. With James it had been his research; Kevin his music. Richard, for all his current attentiveness, wouldn’t be any different. He was looking for a temporary diversion, and she had no intention of being one.
Or maybe she was looking at the situation from the wrong perspective. Maybe spending time with him was the most effective way to prove he was the same as the other men she’d dated. That would certainly kill any attraction she felt.
His thigh brushed against hers again and her hormones exploded like a Fourth of July fireworks display. She definitely needed to get past this physical pull, learn more about him, find his faults. Because if she ever gave in to the traitorous desire pumping through her veins, she would end up with her heart broken all over again.
Richard wasn’t answering his phone.
Helen Hanson paced the confines of her office, gnawing on her bottom lip as the long-distance ring sounded again before finally connecting to his voice mail.
She hung up without leaving a message. She’d left three already.
She pushed away from her desk and stared out at the array of lights blinking below her. It was four o’clock in the afternoon in Tokyo and she’d been trying to reach him for hours. Where could he be?
He’d given her a cell phone number so that she could keep in touch, but that wasn’t happening.
She knew he wasn’t in a meeting. He’d called yesterday to tell her the start of negotiations had been delayed. One of TAKA’s key executives had been called out of town because of a death in the family.
She knew only too well how the loss of a loved one could send a person’s entire world into turmoil. Six months after burying her husband, she still felt as though she was swirling in a vortex of confusion.
She’d loved George dearly, but if by some miracle he could be standing before her now, she’d cheerfully throttle him for making such a mess of the company that should have been a legacy for his children. Instead it had been—to varying degrees—a curse.
Of course, if the company had been the financial success he’d led them all to believe, none of his sons would be where they were right now.
Jack had put his legal career and his own ambitions on hold to help out at Hanson. In the process, he’d been reacquainted and fallen in love with Samantha Edwards, whom he’d first met years ago when they were in business school together. Helen smiled, thinking that she deserved at least a little bit of credit for that match, as she’d been the one to suggest Samantha to Jack as a viable candidate to lead the Internet division.
Andrew, a typical rich playboy before his father’s death, had reluctantly returned to Chicago to assume some responsibility at Hanson Media Group. In doing so, he’d come face-to-face with a former one-night stand who was pregnant with his child. Now he and Delia McCray were happily married and looking forward to parenthood together.
Evan’s journey had, perhaps, been the most difficult. Cut out of his father’s will, he’d almost turned away from the family business completely. Fortunately, Helen had managed to convince him to stay—at least for a while—and he’d reunited with Meredith Waters. Although the former high school sweethearts were still working out some of the kinks in their new relationship, Helen knew they were committed to one another.
Yes, she thought with satisfaction, George’s sons all had reason to be grateful rather than angry with their father.
But what about me? She couldn’t help but wonder.
What had George left her except controlling interest in an almost bankrupt company and the resentment of his children who were now working for her?
She hated knowing that the boys thought of her as nothing more than a trophy wife. She resented that George had let them believe it, and she was disappointed with herself for letting him make her into one.
She hadn’t minded so much when he was alive. She’d loved George and being his wife had given her life both purpose and pleasure. His death had taken those away—along with her illusions.
Sometimes she wondered why she was even still here, trying so desperately to hold together the business that he’d let fall apart. But she knew it was what she needed to do—it was the only way she could prove to herself that the last ten years of her life had served any purpose. That was why she was so desperate for this merger to work.
She picked up the phone to try Richard again, then hung it up without dialing. While she had every confidence that he could handle the negotiations, she felt anxious being so far removed from the action. Maybe she should go to Tokyo herself. If nothing else, a change of scenery might help her put everything into perspective.
Richard should have guessed Jenny would pick a sushi restaurant for dinner when his mouth was watering for a thick juicy steak.
When in Rome, he reminded himself. Except that in Rome he’d be more likely looking at a bowl of noodles with a chunky marinara sauce than cold fish wrapped in seaweed, and he loved pasta.
Not that he disliked sushi so much as he disliked the idea of sushi. His ex-wife had, on several occasions, tried to entice Richard to try it. It had never appealed to him. Then again, Marilyn had indulged in a lot of things he never had—and while he could accept her liking of unusual foods, he couldn’t overlook her infidelity.
Jenny stopped in front of an illuminated window display that showcased the restaurant’s menu. Richard stared at the assortment of plastic food searching for anything that looked the least bit appealing. Each dish had a label—in Japanese, of course—and a number.
“What do you think?” she asked.
“I think I’d like meat—preferably cooked.”
She smiled. “Have you ever tried sushi?”
He shook his head. “The thought of eating anything raw, other than vegetables, does not appeal to me.”
“Today is a day for experiencing new things,” she reminded him. “The tea ceremony, Noh theater.”
“That seems like enough new experiences for awhile.”
“And just when I thought you had an adventurous side.”
“Do I really have to eat sushi to prove I’m not a straight-laced conservative?”
“You don’t have to prove anything to me,” she told him.
Of course, he ordered the sushi. Rather, he told Jenny what he wanted and let her order for him.
Tekka-maki, she explained, was cold, vinegary rice wrapped with tuna in a sheet of toasted seaweed. The description was innocuous if not exactly appealing.
She ordered something called kappa-maki and, when their meals were delivered, she demonstrated the proper way to pick up the roll with the chopsticks and dip it into the sauce.
He followed her example and was both surprised and relieved to find the maki-zushi was quite enjoyable—pleasantly tangy with the slightest hint of salt and not at all fishy.
Richard lifted his glass of beer. “Thank you,” he said. “For a day filled with new experiences.”
Jenny raised her own drink. “Kampai.” Cheers.
It was there again—something in the tilt of her chin, the slight curve of her lips that nagged at him. “Do you have a sister?”
She frowned at the question as she shook her head. “Just a brother.”
“Cousins?”
“A few. Why?”
“Because I still can’t shake the feeling that you remind me of someone.”
“I thought that was just a line,” she admitted.
“If I needed one, I could do better than that.”
“Yes, I imagine you could,” she responded in a tone that challenged the obsequiousness of her words.
She picked up another maki-zushi and dipped it.
“Do you have any family in Chicago?” he pressed.
“Not that I know of.” She popped the roll into her mouth.
He studied her as he sipped his beer, wondering why she intrigued him so much. It wasn’t just the physical attraction or the nagging familiarity, although those were certainly factors. Her intelligence and passion were definite pluses but not the whole answer, either. It was, he finally realized, the whole package that had caught and held his attention. And it was the whole woman he wanted.
He frowned at the thought and reminded himself he wasn’t looking for a woman or any kind of personal complications right now.
“You’re not eating,” Jenny said. “Is your dinner okay?”
He shoved the discomfiting thoughts aside and picked up another piece of fish. “It’s fine. I guess my mind wandered.”
“Are you thinking about the merger?”
He should have been thinking about the merger. Instead, he’d been contemplating a union of an entirely different sort. “Something like that.”
“You must be frustrated with the delay.”
“A little,” he admitted. “Although Helen is even more so. Patience isn’t one of her virtues.”
“Helen?” she prompted.
“Helen Hanson.”
Jenny thought it interesting that he was on a first name basis with his boss. Not that their relationship—business or personal—was any of her concern. Still, she couldn’t help prying just a little. “She must think very highly of you to have entrusted you to work out the details of the merger.”
“She’s a savvy businessperson,” he said. Then he smiled. “She’s also a good friend.”
“I didn’t ask,” she said.
“But you were wondering.”
She shrugged. “I saw her picture in the paper and on the news—when her husband was buried. Although she was wearing big sunglasses that obscured half of her face, it was still obvious that she’s a beautiful woman. Beautiful and young.”
“Are you looking for a story?”
“Just making conversation.”
“Then I’ll tell you that she’s an incredible person who’s managing to hold a troubled company together while still mourning her husband’s death.”
“Why do you think she’s doing it?” Jenny couldn’t help but ask. “Why would she care about saving Hanson Media when it’s obvious none of her stepsons appreciates her efforts?”
“Only Helen could answer that for certain,” he told her.
She shook her head. “They don’t know how lucky they are that their father’s wife wants to be involved in their lives. There are women who don’t want the responsibility of their own children, never mind someone else’s.” Women like her own mother, who had abandoned her at birth and disappeared from her life completely.
“That’s an interesting way of looking at it.”
Jenny shrugged to hide the fact that she was uneasy with his sudden scrutiny, concerned that her impulsive comment had revealed too much.
“It’s an interesting situation.” She sipped her drink. “A business crisis with elements of drama and intrigue.”
“Are you a reporter or a novelist?”
“I’m just innately curious.”
“So am I,” he said. “And I’ve noticed how adeptly you maneuver every conversation away from questions about you to more impersonal topics.”
“That’s because my life isn’t very interesting.”
“You left New York City for a job in Tokyo. I find that very interesting.”
“My family’s here,” she said simply. “My parents, my brother and his wife and their four-year-old daughter.”
“No boyfriend?”
She realized she’d been so intent on sidestepping one uncomfortable topic she hadn’t seen he was maneuvering her toward another.
“I’ll assume there’s no boyfriend,” he continued, “because I don’t think you would have kissed me the way you did if there was.”
Jenny was quiet for a moment. “I think we need to clear the air about that,” she said at last.
“Are you saying there is a boyfriend?”
“I’m saying that I didn’t mean to give you the wrong impression. I’m attracted to you.” She smiled wryly. “Obviously. But I don’t do casual relationships. I can’t seem to separate the physical from the emotional, and things inevitably get messy.”
“I try to avoid messy if at all possible.”
She nodded, understanding that it was a warning as much as a confession and was grateful for his honesty.
“But it’s not always possible,” he told her.
“We’ll keep things simple.”
He seemed to consider her suggestion for a moment before nodding. “Simple,” he agreed. He reached across the table to touch the back of her hand. “Does that mean I can’t kiss you good-night?”
She pulled her hand away. “It means no more kissing at all.”
“That’s a pretty strict position to take.”
“It’s smart.” And necessary. Because she knew that if he kissed her again, all her resolutions about keeping it simple would dissolve like matcha—powdered tea—in boiling water.
“All right—no kissing. Simple. Smart. Are there any other rules I should know about?”
He was teasing her, trying to lessen the tension.
She smiled to hide the fact that she was just the slightest bit disappointed that he’d given in to her demands so readily.
“That should be good for now,” she said lightly. “And I should be getting home.”
“Do you have a curfew?”
“No, but I have a roommate who worries when she doesn’t know where I am.” And although Samara knew she was spending the day with Richard, Jenny was afraid that knowledge would only cause her friend to have more questions.
“I’ll take you home,” he told her.
“You don’t know where I live.”
He shrugged. “I figure this is a good way to find out.”
“Your hotel’s closer than my apartment,” she pointed out as they left the restaurant. “There’s no reason for you to see me home.”
“I want to be sure you make it there safely.”
“Tokyo is an extremely safe city.”
“This is my rule,” he said. “If we spend the day together, even if it’s not a date, I see you home.”
“It’s really not necessary.” She felt silly standing on the sidewalk arguing about it, so she began to walk. “And this is a confusing city to navigate if you’re unfamiliar with it. You could get lost trying to find your way back.”
“I’ll manage.”
She didn’t try to dissuade him any more, and they walked in silence for several blocks until they reached her apartment building.
“This is it,” she said, stopping on the sidewalk.
“Now I’ll rest easier knowing my tour guide made it home safely.”
She smiled reluctantly. “You still want me to be your tour guide?”
“Absolutely,” he answered without hesitation.
“Then I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Any hints about what we’ll be doing?”
“I’ll think about it,” she said. “Unless there was anything in particular you wanted to see.”
He shook his head. “You’re in charge.”
She tilted her head back to look at him. “I have to admit, I did expect you would have found an excuse to part ways with me long before now.”
“You’re surprised by my perseverance?”
“Yes,” she admitted.
“Good.” He tapped his finger lightly against her chin. “I like knowing that I can surprise you.”
She took a step back. “Good night.”
“Good night, Jenny.”
As she walked inside the building, grateful they’d established an understanding of the rules, Richard watched her, already thinking about breaking them.