Million Dollar Valentine. Rita Estrada Clay

you’re so controlled. So…” she began.

      “Rigid?” His husky voice sounded as dry as dust.

      This wasn’t the time to lie. After all, she didn’t know him well enough to lie, yet. For something like that, you had to have a history and want to save someone’s feelings. “So you know.”

      “If I didn’t know before, I’ve got that feeling now.”

      “From me?” she asked.

      He held open the office glass door. Marilyn wasn’t at her desk. “Especially from you.” He took her arm and led her firmly past his office into the conference room.

      “I’m so sorry if I…” Crystal stopped. The walnut conference table had a thick, white tablecloth draped over one end. The table was set formally, right down to crystal water glasses. “Oh, my,” she breathed.

      She had expected cafeteria food on a tray or from a metal basket lined with paper. Or maybe sandwiches in clear, plastic sleeves. But this…well, this was far more than she’d imagined. The privacy, good linens, formal setting—all, made it so very special.

      Plain white containers covered in shiny metal sat in front of the place settings. Crystal lifted a cover and sniffed. Then lifted another cover and sniffed again before looking over her shoulder at the man who watched her so intently. It smelled heavenly. “Thai?”

      “Vietnamese.”

      Her eyes lit up. “Um, spicy.”

      “Yes.” He grinned. “I figured it fit you.” His slow grin was catching, to say nothing about sexy as all-get-out.

      She gave a short curtsy, proud of herself for not letting her stiletto heels tip her over. “Thank you.”

      Blake pulled out a side chair and offered her the seat. Feeling like the princess in a fairy tale, Crystal took it. Blake sat at the end of the table and reached for his napkin. Crystal followed suit, a little slower than Blake. She was so conscious of his every move—until the tantalizing scent of well-prepared food wafted her way again and reminded her stomach just how hungry she was.

      Without hesitating any longer, she helped herself to sampling the containers on the table. “Is this from one of the mall restaurants?” she asked, taking a double helping of the freshly steamed vegetables.

      “No, it’s from a restaurant downtown.” Blake helped himself from a far container, then passed it to her. “Have you eaten Vietnamese before?”

      “Yes, and I love it.” Crystal took a bite and rolled her eyes, drawing another smile from Blake. Good. Getting a good reaction from him was more satisfying than a full stomach.

      They talked about foods and restaurant experiences they treasured. Crystal watched his mouth move, his changing expressions flow across his face and enjoyed his smile and twinkling blue eyes as he relaxed. Even if he was a little uptight, the man was far more fascinating than anything he could state about food. Not that she didn’t like the topic.

      “This is my second favorite topic of conversation,” she announced, then watched his eyes light up again.

      “Can I ask?”

      “No.” Her smile softened the negative reply. Why would he want to talk about massage therapy right now?

      Blake reached for a small thermal coffee pot and poured them both some. She indulged him in it. She hadn’t said no, and certainly hadn’t mentioned in their conversations that she only drank green tea. Besides, a couple of sips of coffee wouldn’t hurt.

      “Do you always wear suits?” she asked, noting his sophisticated blue suit.

      “Most of the time. Especially when I’m at work.”

      “Why not more casual?”

      “You have something against suits?” Those thick brows rose in challenge.

      But she wasn’t stopping now. “They’re very formal. Don’t you find they put the average mall customer off?”

      “I don’t run into the average mall customer very often, Crystal,” he reminded her in a voice that said he was teaching someone the rudiments about his job. “I deal with executives across the country who need space for stores, or specialty-shop owners who can afford long leases. I check them out financially and make the best deal for the mall corporation, whom I represent.”

      “Then who takes care of any complaints from customers or security?”

      “My secretary handles customers, along with a part-time young man who acts as an assistant. And Jet, a retired policeman is head of security and the guards.”

      “Oh.” It wasn’t anything like she imagined. Somehow, she’d thought of him as working on a slightly smaller scale. “So you work with the major department stores as well as the small stores like Entrée?”

      “Right.”

      He was one man against the many. “You must get tired of the pressure by the end of the day.”

      “Especially physically.” He smiled, dodging her question. “I get tired of standing on my feet on concrete when I’m negotiating space. Then sooner or later, I get a backache from the tension.”

      “I don’t doubt it.”

      “In fact,” he said, stretching out his legs and heaving a sigh. “That’s what I’ve been doing for the past three days.”

      “And are the people you’re dealing with going to rent space?”

      “Don’t know yet. I’ve got another two or three weeks, maybe months to negotiate with them. They’re a major department store that the Chamber of Commerce wants to see build in the city. So do I, but not for the same reasons.”

      She didn’t think about what she was about to do. She just did it. Crystal pushed her chair back and reached between them, wrapping her palm around his ankle and pulled it up to her lap.

      “What are you doing?” he asked, startled.

      “I won’t hurt you. Just relax,” she commanded. “I’m rubbing your foot. It’s what I do for a living, remember?”

      She untied his wing tip’s shoelaces and slipped off his shoe, ignoring his tugging against her. “Wing tips? I thought they went out with my grandfather.”

      He pulled his foot away again, but she resisted. “Crystal…” he began.

      He called her Crystal. That made her feel so much better. The formality was finally over, and all it had taken was exposing his foot. Patting the sole, she reassured him. “Can’t you take a gift? I usually charge people to do this—and they line up for the opportunity.”

      Blake hesitated only seconds more before resigning himself to her touch. She began rubbing the bottom pads of his well-clad toes, one by one.

      “I’m not sure this is done on a first date.” Blake eventually sighed, leaning back and completely giving in to her touch.

      “Really?” She rotated the ball of his foot, then his ankle. “Are you saying this is a real first date?”

      “Mmm. What did you think? That I ask all store managers to lunch?”

      “No, I thought you were doing this because of my aunt,” she said. All her concentration was on his foot. He had a good, strong foot with a high arch. An excellent sign of a healthy body. She made a fist and rubbed the arch to heel, then back again.

      Blake groaned in delight. The deep, rough sound was erotic, sending chills down her spine. He cleared his throat. “This isn’t very romantic, Crystal.”

      She rubbed her knuckles along the side of his foot. “Really? What do you think is romantic? Sex?”

      He looked startled, his blue eyes widening. “Are you always so blunt?”

      She