Caroselli's Baby Chase. Michelle Celmer

      “Rob?” his dad said.

      Rob jerked to attention. “Yeah, sorry.”

      “It seems we’ve covered everything.”

      Already?

      “Why don’t you take Caroline on a tour of the building while the rest of us have a short discussion. I’ll call you when we’re ready.”

      They had covered everything, and he hadn’t heard a word of it. Now they would make the final decision, and they were going to do it without him. He’d been clear from day one that he considered her presence there a waste of time and money, and he had never once swayed from that opinion. Still it was a slap in the face to be excluded, not just for him, but for the entire marketing staff that he represented.

      Or maybe, getting her alone for a few minutes wasn’t such a bad idea. And meeting her wasn’t “dumb luck” after all. Maybe a little time alone would give him the opportunity to make her see reason. See that she didn’t belong here. Then she would no longer be his problem.

      With a smile—a genuine one this time—he rose from his seat and said, “If you’ll follow me, Ms. Taylor.”

      She stood, spine straight, shoulders back, flashing the others a confident smile, as if she already knew she had it in the bag. “I look forward to your decision.”

      Rob held the door for her, then followed her out, closing it firmly behind him. He turned to her and said in a low voice, “I think we need to talk.”

      Her eyes shooting daggers, her voice dripping with venom, she said, “Oh, you think so…Ron?”

      He gestured down the hall. “My office is this way.”

      They walked there in silence, but he could feel her anger reverberating against the walls like an operatic vibrato.

      His secretary’s chair was unoccupied as they walked past, and when they were in his office he shut the door. He turned to face her and thought, Here we go. “I can see that you’re upset.”

      “Upset,” she said, her voice rising an octave. “Not only did you lie about your name, but did you have to skulk away in the middle of the night?”

      If that’s all she was mad about, he considered himself lucky. “First off, I did not lie to you about my name. I said it was Rob. you called me Ron and I saw no point in correcting you.”

      “I can’t believe you didn’t make the connection. Carrie Taylor, Caroline Taylor? You didn’t at least suspect we might be one in the same person?”

      “It was loud in the bar. I didn’t even hear your last name. And we never discussed what we do for a living, so how was I supposed to guess who you were? I’ve met a lot of people named Carrie. You don’t have a monopoly on the name.”

      “And as for skulking off in the middle of the night?”

      “It was not the middle of the night. It was early morning and I didn’t want to wake you. You were so drunk I’m not sure I could have if I tried. And I did not skulk. I got dressed and left, end of story.”

      “First off, I wasn’t that drunk. And didn’t it occur to you to at least leave a note?”

      “Why would I? We agreed it would never be more than one night. It was over.”

      She rolled her eyes. “You know nothing about women do you? You could have said goodbye, told me that you had a good time.”

      “I assumed, in our case, actions spoke louder than words.”

      She didn’t seem to have a snarky reply for that one. She couldn’t deny it had been damned good for her, too.

      “What I don’t understand is why we’re in here,” Rob told her, “when you should be in the conference room telling them you can’t work here.”

      Her brows rose. “Why would I do that?”

      “Well, first, despite what my family believes, your services are not required or desired by anyone on my staff. And considering the circumstances, I don’t think your presence here would be appropriate.”

      “What circumstances are those?”

      Was she kidding? “The ones we’ve been discussing since we stepped in here. It’s unlikely either of us could be objective in light of what happened the other night.”

      “I don’t know about you, but now that I know what a macho jerk you are, it isn’t going to be an issue for me. In fact, I think I’m going to enjoy it.”

      He had been accused of being inattentive, arrogant and at times insufferable, but macho jerk was a new one. “Are you sure about that?”

      “Absolutely.”

      “You can remain completely objective?”

      “Yep.”

      Rob was not the type of man to behave rashly. He never made a move before he’d had time to completely think through a situation, weigh the pros and cons. So maybe it was pride that propelled him forward, or the satisfaction of proving her wrong, or just compromised judgment that motivated him to take her by the arms, pull her to him and crush his mouth down on hers.

      Carrie made an indignant sound and pushed at his chest. She resisted for all of three seconds, then her fingers curled into the lapels of his jacket and her lips parted beneath his.

      Having made his point, he should have let go. Instead he wrapped his arms around her, pulled her closer. It had been just like this on New Year’s, his brain shutting down the second he kissed her, his body reacting on pure instinct, a carnal need to overpower and dominate. One that he’d never felt with a woman before her. Because despite her claim, he was not a macho jerk. Of all his cousins and uncles, he was probably the least chauvinistic man in the family. Her gender had no bearing whatsoever on his professional opinion.

      Carrie slid her hands up his chest, tunneled them through his hair, taking two fistfuls and jerking his head back so she could kiss—ow—make that bite his neck. Growling, he backed her against his office door, cringing as her head hit the surface with a thunk, cushioned only by the ugly bun in her hair, but it only seemed to fuel her desire.

      “I want you right here, against this door,” she said, her eyes locking on his as she slid her hand between their bodies, gripping his erection through his slacks.

      Sucking in a breath, he grabbed the hem of her skirt and shoved his hand underneath, sliding it up her leg, and—damn—she was wearing a garter. He had just reached the top of her bare inner thigh, his fingers brushing the crotch of her panties, when his cell phone started to ring.

      Damn it. Talk about lousy timing.

      Carrie grumbled unhappily as he pulled his hand from under her skirt and backed away from the hand that had been busy unzipping his fly. “Yeah,” he answered.

      “We’re ready for you,” his father said.

      “Be right there.” He hung up without saying goodbye, so his dad wouldn’t hear his labored breathing, and told Carrie, “They’re ready for you.”

      She nodded, her cheeks rosy, pupils dilated. “I just need a minute to catch my breath.”

      He shoved his phone back in his pocket and zipped his pants. “Now do you see what I mean?”

      “That you have pitiful lack of self-control?” Carrie said, straightening her jacket and smoothing the wrinkles from a skirt six inches too long for her height. “I definitely noticed that.”

      “I didn’t see you trying to stop me.”

      She looked up at him, her lipstick kissed away, a stubborn tilt to her chin. “You enjoy being right, don’t you?”

      “Not always.” Not this time. They had chemistry, but that was about it. With fifteen