Straddling the Line. Sarah M. Anderson

his facts hard and fast. But he was a biker, too—so he could appreciate things that were rougher, tougher and just a little bit dirty.

      Her face—and other parts—flushed hot. So much for not blushing.

      His eyes widened, the blue getting bluer as he noticed her unprofessional redness. The corner of his mouth crooked up again as he leaned a few inches toward her. A small movement, to be sure—but she felt the heat arc between them. Desire kicked the temperature up several notches.

      Wow. One slightly unprofessional thought, and she was on the verge of melting in the middle of a pitch. This wasn’t like her. She prided herself on keeping business and pleasure separate. Some people thought they could buy her with the right donations, but Josey never even allowed that kind of quid pro quo to enter the conversation.

      With everything she had, Josey pushed on. She had a job to do. Pleasure came later—if it came at all. She needed to get the school ready more than she needed what would no doubt be a short-lived fling. She didn’t have time for flings, especially with a white man.

      She handed Ben the three-color brochure she’d designed herself. “The Pine Ridge Charter School is designed to give our Lakota children a solid foundation, not only for their education, but for their lives. Studies have shown that graduating from high school raises a person’s total lifetime earnings over a million dollars more than a dropout. All it takes is a fraction of that cost up-front.”

      He flipped her brochure over. She could see him processing the photos she’d taken of the happy kids crowded around her mother for a story at a family gathering, and the architectural drawings for the six-room schoolhouse that was only half built out on the flat grassland of the rez. “Your children?” His eyes cut down to her bare left hand.

      “I am a registered member of the Pine Ridge tribe of the Lakota Sioux.” She hated having to add the “registered” part, but there it was. The red in her hair made people look at her like she was just a wannabe. She had her grandfather to thank for her hair, but that was the only part of him that showed up. “My mother will be the principal and chief educator at the new school. She has a doctorate in education and has spent a lifetime teaching our children how important a good education is to them—and to the tribe.”

      “Which explains why you sound like you graduated from high school.”

      Now it was her turn to glare. “My MBA is from Columbia. Yours?”

      “Berkley.” He flipped the brochure onto his desk. “How much?”

      “We aren’t begging for money.” Mostly because she knew she wouldn’t get it, but it was also a point of pride. The Lakota didn’t beg. They asked nicely. “We’re offering a unique sponsorship opportunity for businesses around the state. In return for supplies, we will provide free publicity in several forms. Our website will have a detailed list of contributors on our site, as well as links and feedback to your own internet presence.” She leaned forward and tapped her finger on the web address at the bottom of the brochure. When she looked up at Ben again, his eyes were fastened on her face—not her cleavage. But the intensity of his gaze made her feel like he was looking down her dress.

      Slowly, she sat back in her seat. His eyes never budged, but the inherent danger that had lurked in them since word one was almost gone. Nothing but desire was left. “Everything donated to the school will be labeled with the sponsors’ information, helping your business build brand-loyal customers while equipping them with the tools they need to be able to afford your products—”

      “You’re going to put ads in the school?”

      No, Ben Bolton was nobody’s idiot. “I prefer not to think of them as ads—sponsorship. More along the lines of a pizza parlor sponsoring a T-ball team.”

      His shoulders moved, a small motion that might have been a sign of laughter. “So, ads.”

      “For your business,” she added, undeterred. “Crazy Horse Choppers has been around for forty years, and given how you built this state-of-the-art production facility a few years ago, I have every reason to believe you’ll be around for another forty.”

      He tilted his head in her direction, a sign of respect from a man who commanded it. So she wasn’t completely unprepared—a comforting thought. His appreciation was short-lived. “I’m only going to ask this one more time. What do you want?”

      “The Pine Ridge Charter School is designed to provide children with not only a world-class education—” he began to ping the pen on the desktop again “—but job training. To that end, we are asking for the equipment necessary to launch an in-depth vocational technology program.”

      A smile—a real one, the kind of smile that made a woman melt in her business dress—graced his face. Whoa. All kinds of hot. “Finally. The point. You want me to give you shop tools for free.”

      The way he said it hit her funny. A note of panic started growing again in her belly. “In so many words, yes.”

      He picked up the brochure again. He looked like he was really weighing her proposal, but then he said, “No.” He set the brochure carefully to one side and put both hands on the desk, palms-down. For all the world, he looked like he was about to vault the darn thing. “Look. You’re obviously intelligent and obviously beautiful. But this business operates on razor-thin margins. I’m not about to give away a bunch of tools for nothing.”

      A small, girly part of her went all gooey. He thought she was beautiful. Obviously beautiful. “Not even for the free advertising?” Her voice came out pinched. She couldn’t manage to keep the defeat out of it.

      His shoulders flexed. “Not even for the free advertising.”

      He was staring at her again, waiting to see if she’d challenge him. She swallowed and bit her lower lip. The barest glimmer of desire crossed his face.

      “Isn’t there … anything I can do to change your mind?” The moment the words left her mouth, she wished she could take them back. She didn’t make offers like that, ever. So why the heck had she just said that?

      Not that it worked. She thought she saw his pupils dilate, but it was hard to be sure because his eyes narrowed to angry slits. “Does that work?”

      No, she wanted to tell him, because she’d never made the offer before. Yes, he was hot. He was also arrogant, domineering and quite possibly heartless—a real Scrooge in leather. All reasons her mouth should have stayed firmly closed. It didn’t matter whether or not Ben Bolton was good in bed. Or on his desk. Or even on one of his choppers, for that matter. It didn’t matter if she wanted to find out—or it shouldn’t matter. But with one mistaken sentence, suddenly it did.

      And he wouldn’t even say yes to that.

      The rejection stung her pride, and she wanted to tell him to go to hell, but she never got the chance. At that moment, a huge crash reverberated up through the floor of his office, loud enough that every piece of metal in the joint shook with enough force that she had to grab on to her chair to keep from falling off it.

      Ben slumped forward, weariness on his face. He held up one hand and did a silent countdown—three, two, one—before his phone buzzed.

      “What?” He didn’t sound surprised.

      The voice on the other end was loud enough that even Josey winced. Ben had to hold the receiver a half a foot away from his head.

      “I’m busy” was all he said, slamming the phone down. “Miss White Plume …” He paused, as if he was waiting for her to reciprocate his “Ben” with her “Josey.” When she didn’t, he went on with an apologetic shrug. “I’d recommend coming over here,” he said, motioning to his side of the desk. Another huge crash shook the floor. “Right now.”

      Closer to him—mere seconds after that rejection? The next crash seemed closer—like a herd of buffalo were stampeding up the stairs. Josey was in no mood to be trampled. She gathered her things and scurried over to Ben’s side