Too Tough To Tame. Annette Broadrick

by one of the banks of elevators.

      “Ms. MacLeod?” he said with a charming smile. He held out his hand, “I’m Craig Bonner. I’m employed by DCA Industries, Dominic Chakaris’s company. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’ve been impressed with your work for some time.” She took his hand and shook it, noticing his firm grip. So Chakaris owned the building. That was the logo she’d seen outside. Why wasn’t she surprised?

      Craig motioned for her to step into one of the elevators. Kelly had no reason to dislike Mr. Bonner just because he worked for Chakaris and she smiled as she thanked him.

      Once the door closed, he pushed one of the buttons before he stepped back to stand beside her.

      She looked around. The elevator was spacious and well lit. She wondered if there was a private club in the building. The reclusive Mr. Chakaris would probably prefer a bit of privacy when he dined out, which she would prefer as well. The last thing she needed was to find a comment in tomorrow’s gossip columns about having been seen with him.

      The doors slid open and her escort ushered her into a large marble foyer. On its walls were three paintings that deserved to be in a museum. In addition, there were several marble busts displayed on Greek columns artistically placed around the area. An ornate flower arrangement in the center of a gleaming table decorated one end of the room. A receptionist sat behind a massive desk at the other end.

      Quite an impressive office, she thought. No doubt built with money he’d made cheating rightful owners out of their businesses. Before she could speak she heard a quiet click in the wall opposite the elevator. She turned, and saw tall double doors opening.

      “Ms. MacLeod, I’m glad you could meet with me.” The man she had spent several weeks painting walked through the doors. He wasn’t smiling. She didn’t think she’d ever seen that particular phenomenon now that she thought about it.

      She would admit, if only to herself, that if this man were anyone other than the man behind the loss of her family, she would have been drawn to him.

      He advanced toward her and held out his hand. “Dominic Chakaris.”

      She reluctantly accepted the hand he offered. As soon as his fingers touched hers she knew she’d made a mistake. The physical contact made her aware of him in a very unsettling way.

      She pulled her hand from his. The polite response was to thank him for inviting her but she could not look him in the eye and lie. Instead, she nodded and said, “Mr. Chakaris.”

      Chakaris glanced around and saw his assistant. “Thanks, Craig,” he said as though surprised to find the man still there.

      “I’m glad to be of service,” Craig replied. He sounded amused, as though at some private joke. Was she missing something here?

      Chakaris made a slight—and she was certain mocking—bow toward her and said, “We’ll be eating in my private dining room. I thought you might be more comfortable here than in a public restaurant.”

      As much as she hadn’t wanted to be seen with the man, she found the idea of having a private meal with him far from comfortable. She fought not to sound ungracious when she replied. “Whatever’s convenient for you.”

      He motioned toward the open door and she stepped briskly forward, not wishing to have him touch her again.

      His corner office overlooked Manhattan and she had to admit the view was spectacular. Two walls were mostly glass. Fine-grained wood covered the other two walls. The same type of wood had been used for his desk. Her artist’s eye couldn’t help but admire the craftsmanship.

      While she took in the size and luxury of the room, Dominic walked over to another door and motioned her to enter.

      The dining area was smaller than his office but equally well furnished. A table set for two awaited them. Expensive china, crystal water goblets and sterling silverware gleamed in the light.

      “I’ve ordered our meal ahead of time. I hope you’ll approve of my choice.” He pulled out one of the chairs for her and once she was seated, sat across from her. “Would you care for wine with lunch?” he asked.

      She shook her head. “I prefer iced tea, if it’s available.”

      “Certainly.” He must have pushed some hidden button because a tall, slender man opened a nearby door.

      “Yes, sir?”

      “You may serve us now, Dimitrios. We’ll have iced tea.”

      The man nodded and left the room, leaving them alone once again. Kelly had been in many social situations in her life, but she couldn’t remember one where she’d felt so awkward.

      Dominic picked up his water glass and held it out to her. “I’d like to make a toast. May this be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

      Kelly had reached for her glass—not so much to join him in his toast, but because her mouth was so dry—when he spoke. Thank goodness she hadn’t taken a sip. Otherwise, his audacity would have caused her to spray water over everything.

      She lifted an eyebrow and said, “A friendship, Mr. Chakaris? I hardly think so. I’m afraid I don’t know your reason for insisting on having this meeting. I’ve instructed the gallery to remove your portrait, which was the only thing I could think of to explain it.”

      He paused with the glass halfway to his mouth. “I’m hoping you can satisfy my curiosity as to why I became a subject for your artistic endeavors.” He sipped from the glass, his gaze steady.

      “Consider it an aberration. I’d lost my mother and was dealing with a lot of emotional stuff. Call it therapy if you will.”

      Chakaris looked startled by her explanation. Before he could comment, Dimitrios entered carrying a tray of food. After setting their plates and tea in front of each of them, he asked, “Will there be anything else, sir?”

      Chakaris scanned the table quickly before saying, “I believe we have everything. Thank you.”

      Except an appetite, Kelly thought ruefully. She’d had some misguided notion that she would be able to answer his questions in a calm, unemotional manner. Instead, her stomach felt tied in knots and she could feel one of her tension headaches coming on.

      After a moment she picked up her fork and took careful bites of her food, which tasted like ambrosia, melting in her mouth. Before she knew it, she had finished her lunch.

      She’d been relieved that he’d chosen not to continue their discussion while they ate. Once they were drinking their coffee, Chakaris said, “Shall we go into my office? I’m intrigued to learn why you chose me to—er—help you deal with your grief.” He rose and politely pulled her chair out.

      Kelly walked into the office and stood in the middle of the room, cupping her elbows in her hands. Instead of walking to his desk, Dominic strode to the other side of the room where there was a grouping of leather chairs and a sofa.

      He motioned to one of the chairs. “Please have a seat, Ms. MacLeod. I’d like to know why you painted that damned portrait.”

      Kelly dropped her arms and with a slight lift of her chin walked over to the chair and sat down. Only then did he take the other chair.

      “What if I told you my reasons are private. Would you respect that?” she asked quietly.

      He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he looked at her as though working out a puzzle. Finally, he replied softly. “You apparently felt no similar need to protect my privacy.”

      He had a good point, she silently admitted. She wondered what to tell him. Stalling for time, Kelly said, “You should be flattered. After all, some women find you very attractive.”

      He waved the remark away as though swatting a fly. “Don’t patronize me, Ms. MacLeod.”

      Kelly was reminded of her response to Hal. Perhaps there was some truth in her adversary’s challenge.

      Before