Temptation In The Boardroom. Paula Roe

me from freaking out.”

      He wasn’t sure how much she was taking in in her terrified state, but he kept going, working through the back end of the presentation. Forty-five minutes later, they’d finished it and were going through a checklist to make sure they hadn’t missed anything crucial.

      “We haven’t included the most recent market stats,” Frankie announced, shuffling through her papers.

      “They’re on the third slide.”

      “Oh.” She sucked her bottom lip between her teeth and chewed on it. “Do we have that graphic in there, too? The one you asked me to fix and expand?”

      “It’s in there.” He pulled his gaze away from her lush mouth to study her. She didn’t look as green as she had earlier, but now she was acting a bit...vague.

      “Francesca, are you okay?”

      “Perfect.” She forced a smile. “I think that’s it, then, isn’t it? I’ll make a note of any questions Aristov asks, although I don’t expect he’ll have any with this much information put in front of him. Oh—and I’ll bring the backup.”

      The way she said that last part, as if it was a ‘nice to have,’ alarmed him. “Yes,” he said deliberately, “the backup is key. We can’t forget the backup.”

      “No problem.” She rubbed her palm across her forehead. “Can we talk about the shareholder meetings now? I really need to get a handle on them.”

      “If you’re a hundred percent clear on the meeting, yes.”

      “A hunnndred percent, yes.” She nodded and tucked the folder in her briefcase and pulled out her notepad. “So for the shareholder thing...”

      “Meetings,” he corrected. Had she just slurred that word? Or was she being funny?

      “Right. The meetings... They cover the Monday and Tuesday, right? With the Wednesday afternoon kept for additional items that come up?”

      “The Tuesday afternoons are for open items, yes. The meetings are over Tuesday night.”

      She blinked at him. “That’s what I said. Tuesday.”

      “You said Wednesday. It’s Tuesday for the open session. Here.” He pulled the schedule from her unopened folder. “Look at this.”

      She studied it with the glazed-eyed look of someone who wasn’t taking anything in. “Got it.” A sigh escaped her. She put her elbows on the table and rubbed her eyes. “I’m so sorry. My head is very cloudy all of a sudden.”

      A wave of guilt spread through him. “You’re probably exhausted. It’s been a long week.”

      “Yes, but this...” She put her palms to her temples. “I think I might need to lie down.”

      He pulled her hands away from her face. “You’re not feeling well?”

      “I’m fine...it’s just—” Her bleary gaze skipped away from his. “I—I took a pill my sister gave me for the turbulence. It’s making me...”

      “Where is it?”

      “In my purse.”

      He grabbed her bag off the seat, opened it up and plucked the pill bottle off the top. Scanning the label he saw it was a sedative.

      “Have you taken these before?”

      “No. I didn’t think they’d hit me this hard.” She plopped her chin in her palms, elbows braced on the table, and closed her eyes. “Maybe it’ll wear off in a few minutes. Maybe I should have some coffee.”

      “How many did you take?”

      “Just one. But I feel...light-headed.”

      He uttered a low curse. “It’s going to last for hours. You need to lie down.”

      “I’d rather have some coffee.”

      He stripped off his seat belt, rounded the table and undid hers. Her eyes half opened. “The seat-belt sign is—”

      “Shut up.” He slipped his arms underneath her knees and back and lifted her up. She was surprisingly light for a female with her curves, and it should have been an easy carry to the bedroom at the back of the jet, but the plane was dipping and swaying beneath his feet and it was all he could do to keep his balance. Her fingers dug into his biceps with a strength born of fear, her body trembling in his arms.

      He kept her braced against his chest as he negotiated the door handle to the bedroom, shouldered himself in and deposited her on the bed with a lucky move that brought him down hard beside her. The jet dropped, this time a good fifty feet, pulling a low, agonized cry from Francesca. He kept a hand on her, his body half draped over her. The jet leveled out. “Swallow,” he commanded.

      Her throat convulsed as she did. “This is soooo not good.”

      “It’s just turbulence.” He recovered his own breath.

      “Still.” Her eyes popped open, valiantly hanging on to her terror. “Donnn’t leave me.”

      “I can’t at this moment.” He gave the sky a grim look through the tiny, oval windows. It was an inky, endless black canvas crisscrossed by vibrant streaks of jagged gold lightning.

      Francesca pulled him toward her as if he was a pillow. He put a palm to her shoulder to push her back into the bed. A whimper escaped her throat. “Please.”

      He crumbled. Gathered her soft curves to him and held her while the storm raged on outside. She smelled like orange blossoms—like intoxication and innocence all in one. The plane leveled out and stayed that way for minutes. In the warmth of his arms, Francesca stopped trembling. He tried to remember the last time he’d held a woman like this, for comfort, and didn’t have to think long. It would have been seven years ago when Susanna had left.

      The thought did something strange to his head. He glanced out the window as the lightning receded and the space between rumbles of thunder lengthened. Having Francesca wrapped around him like this was inspiring the need to find out whether his dream would come anything close to reality... The thought made him hard so fast, comfort was obliterated on a long, potent surge of lust.

      He stood and dumped her on the bed. Her eyes flickered open. “It’s calming down now.” She curled up in the fetal position and used the pillow as a cushion instead of him. He turned and made for the door as a whole lot more creamy thigh was exposed. Mother of God.

      Back in the main cabin, he buckled himself in and stared out the window at the storm. He’d called this one—he had. It had been a bad idea. A bad idea that was getting worse every minute.

       CHAPTER FOUR

      FRANKIE WOKE WITH the instinctive feeling something was not quite right. Bright light beat an assault against the throb behind her eyes. Her head felt fuzzy...heavy.

      She closed her eyes harder against the overwhelming light. She must have forgotten to close the blinds. And on a morning when she had a blinding headache... Great.

      A low, insistent hum beneath her ear made her frown. Were they renovating the brownstone across the street again? The floor dipped beneath her, riding a stream of air. Floors don’t move unless you live in California. Her eyes sprang open. The light streaming in was coming from tiny oval windows, a world of blue flowing by. She wasn’t in her bedroom; she was in the Grant Industries jet on her way to London. And it was morning.

      Her gaze flew to the watch on her arm—8:00 a.m. Oh, lord.

      Pieces of the night before assembled themselves in her head. That awful thunder and lightning storm... The way the jet had been tossed around like a toy airplane, subjected to God’s fury. That pill of her sister’s she’d