Exposing the Executive's Secrets. Emilie Rose
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when he’d left town because he hadn’t wanted anyone telling him who Andrea had chosen to replace him. Any one of his buddies would have been eager to fill his shoes. “Your friends bought men, too?”
“Yes. Tell me about your company,” she said after the waitress served the salads and departed.
“Seascape recruited me during college. Rod Forrester, the owner and an established yacht designer, wanted someone who could buy him out when he was ready to retire. I signed on as an intern, and he taught me the practical side of the business the University of New Orleans couldn’t. Rod retired last year.”
Andrea’s foot bumped his ankle beneath the tiny table. A spark of need ignited and spiraled up Clay’s thigh. “Excuse me. Seascape is doing well?”
“Very. Rod was more open-minded than Dad. I never would have won the awards for innovative design working at Dean Yachts.” Bitterness crept into his tone.
For several seconds Andrea’s caramel-colored gaze studied him. “Your father’s not as close-minded as he used to be.”
“I like the changes I’ve seen. Who should I credit for prying him loose from the tar gluing his feet in the past?”
She shrugged. “Me. I told him we either moved forward or we’d be left behind. It helped when business increased along with our marketing expenditures and in doing so validated my push for change.”
His opinion of Andrea climbed another notch—something he couldn’t afford. She’d managed to change his father’s stubborn mind, something Clay hadn’t been able to do. Clay and his father had battled over Clay’s “newfangled” ideas and every suggestion for improvement Clay had made had been dismissed.
The band launched into an up-tempo song and other couples took the floor. Clay did his best to ignore them. He couldn’t ignore the subtle sway of Andrea’s body as she moved her shoulders to the music. Her gaze drifted toward the dancers several times as she finished her salad.
He felt like a heel. He might resent being forced to participate in the auction, but Andrea had paid big bucks for these dates, and he had no right to cheat her. She deserved to get something for her money. Dancing with her would be tough, but he could handle it. He squared his shoulders and stood.
“Shall we?”
Andrea’s head tipped back and her hair cascaded over her shoulders. Eyes wide, she dampened her parted lips. Heat unfurled in Clay’s belly, and he regretted his invitation, but it was too late to retract it. Andrea’s fingers curled around his. Awareness traveled up his arm like a mild electric current.
He led her toward the small parquet square and then he turned, rested one hand on her waist and laced the fingers of his other hand through hers. She stepped into his arms, and damn, she fit as if she’d never left.
Her palm burned against his and the heat of her skin permeated the fabric of her dress. He’d forgotten how good she felt in his arms. And he didn’t want to remember now. He searched his mind for a diversion. “Tell me about the delivery tomorrow.”
“The caterers will arrive to set up at eleven. A champagne luncheon will be served at noon. The party lasts as long as it lasts. At that point the customer calls the shots. Sometimes they board the boat and leave immediately. Sometimes they hang around hours or days while they familiarize themselves with how everything works. Wear a suit tomorrow.”
“I remember.” He twirled her under his arm. She stepped back into his embrace without missing a beat. Just like old times. Her scent filled his lungs. A strand of her hair snagged on his evening beard. He jerked his head back.
Focus. On. Work. “I haven’t had a chance to look at the schedule yet. Who’s the client?”
A smile glimmered in her eyes and danced on her lips. “Toby Haynes.”
Clay frowned. “The race car driver?”
“Yes. This is his third Dean yacht.”
The news that NASCAR’s most notorious playboy would be onsite tomorrow distracted Clay from the brush of Andrea’s thighs against his, but not enough to stem his reaction to holding her close and knowing only a couple of inches and a few thin pieces of fabric separated him from Andrea’s bare skin. He blamed his reaction on abstinence.
He’d broken up with Rena five months ago after she’d thrown a tantrum when he’d given her a sapphire necklace instead of an engagement ring for Christmas. He hadn’t misled her because he’d told her up front that he wasn’t looking for marriage, but the nasty breakup had left a bitter taste in his mouth. He hadn’t dated since. A waiting list of design requests kept his evenings busy. Work was a demanding, but reliable mistress.
Clay glanced at the table. The food—and his excuse for escape—hadn’t arrived. “Repeat customers are good.”
Andrea’s tender smile unsettled him. “Yes and Toby’s always fun. He’s very hands-on through every stage of production, and since each yacht takes almost a year to complete we see a lot of him. The staff looks forward to his visits.”
Had he been hands-on with Andrea? Did she look forward to his visits? An ember in Clay’s gut smoldered. Don’t go there, man. You gave up your claim eight years ago. But he couldn’t deny the flicker of jealousy and that pissed him off.
He twirled her again, but Clay wasn’t concentrating on his footwork. This time he stepped forward when he should have gone backward. He collided with Andrea. He banded his arms around her to steady her and her soft curves molded against him. His lungs and heart stalled. Every cell in his body snapped to attention. It would be so easy to temporarily forget the demons that had driven him away.
Andrea gasped. Her golden gaze locked with his. Her breath swept his chin. The music played on, but Clay couldn’t break free of the magnetic pull to resume the dance. Holding Andrea in his arms felt like coming home.
His lips found hers without him consciously making the decision to kiss her. Sensation sparkled through his veins like a shaken magnum of champagne and his fingers tightened on her waist. His tongue swept over her bottom lip and into the warmth of her mouth. She tasted familiar. How could he remember her flavor after all this time?
She melted into him, meeting him halfway, testing and tangling, stroking. His tongue. His back. His memory. She matched him kiss for passionate kiss, and damn, she tasted good. Silky, sweet and hot, with a hint of champagne. A groan rumbled from his chest as hunger overpowered him.
Her palms splayed on his back under his jacket. The rasp of her nails hit him like a match to dry kindling, inflaming him. He cupped her hips, pulling her even closer. A roar filled his ears. His pulse? The wind?
Applause.
Clay jerked back. The couples around them clapped as the band finished a song, but several diners aimed their indulgent smiles in Clay and Andrea’s direction.
Dammit. Dammit. Dammit. Coming home was a mistake. He couldn’t erase the past, and he sure as hell didn’t want to revisit it.
He’d never survive ripping his heart out a second time.
Oh God, I’m not over him.
Yes, you are. Andrea silently argued with the voice in her head. Her hormones remembered. That’s all.
She was over Clayton Dean.
Totally.
She stepped back, mentally and physically separating herself from the man and the memories swamping her. At the same time she filed away the information that her libido had only been hibernating. Good to know since she’d feared that switch had been permanently flipped into the off position.
Battling light-headedness and a racing pulse, she took a shaky breath and fought the urge to cover her hot cheeks. Instead, she hid her clenched fists in the full skirt of her dress. “Our dinner is waiting.”
Clay’s closed expression revealed nothing. He gestured for her to precede him to the table.