Page 31 of Fierce

“His name isn’t Charles, actually,” I told Karen as I picked up my bag and locked the apartment door behind us. “That’s his driver.”

“His driver? So he’s, what, old and rich?”

“He’s—never mind. You’ll see.”

Of course, I should have told her who he was. But I hadn’t. Anyway, it would probably only be for today.

Then why are you going?

Never mind.I hurried down the last of the four flights with Karen following behind.

I was prepared for the black Mercedes double-parked outside, and for the man in the black suit holding the passenger door for us. At least I’d thought I was. Hemi had told me he’d be sending a car for me. And I’d get used to the idea that I was being chauffeured. Sometime. Maybe.

What I wasn’t prepared for was Hemi.

“Holy shit,” Karen breathed beside me. Because as it turned out, she wasn’t prepared for Hemi either.

It’s just a T-shirt, I told myself desperately. It’s hot. Which was way too true.

He was leaning against the back fender of the gleaming expanse of sleek black German automobile, the dark sunglasses he wore against the glare of midday making his expression impossible to read. His powerful arms were crossed over his chest, the ridges of muscle on his forearms standing out in stark relief against his bronzed skin, with a good six inches of swirling deep-blue tattoo showing beneath the sleeve of his chocolate-brown T-shirt.

All in all…it was a whole, whole lot of “all in all.”

He straightened as we approached, came forward, put a hand on each of my shoulders, and bent to kiss my cheek. It was nothing but casual, and it wasn’t one bit casual. I felt the touch of his hands, his lips, like they were branding me, because he was. I knew it, and I could tell that he did, too.

I trembled, and knew he felt it, but he just stepped back, took off the sunglasses, and said, “Got a good day for it, eh.”

“Yes,” I managed to say. “Karen, this is Hemi.” I looked at him, willed him not to take it any further, not to give her his last name. The minute he said “Te Mana,” she’d make the connection, and somehow, I didn’t want that to happen. I didn’t want her to know that he was…not even my boss. My CEO. But still, I knew I wanted her to meet him as…him. As a man. The same way I wanted to see him.

Well, a man with a gorgeous Mercedes and a driver. And the best tattoo I’d ever seen in my life. And let’s just not discuss his body. Or his face. Or how he moved, and how he looked at me. But other than that.

“So…not…old and nerdy!”Karen hissed in my ear as Hemi stepped back.

I realized that Charles was still patiently holding the car door, but I’d hesitated a moment too long, and Karen was climbing in. Charles snagged her backpack from her in a deft motion and set it on the front seat, and that left me, inevitably, moving over into the middle seat. My usual spot anyway. Perils of the petite.

“We could have her sit in front,” Hemi murmured in my ear as he slid in beside me. “Give us a bit of privacy, eh.”

“Or we could have you do it,” I said.

Was I cool, or what? Well, no, I wasn’t, but I was doing an awfully good job of pretending, for somebody whose side was pressed up against way too much hard male flesh. “Not starting out too well, are you?” I managed to say.

“Dunno.” When I sneaked another peek at him, he had that hint of a smile around his eyes. “Waiting for you to tell me. I’ll hear soon enough, I’m thinking.”

Karen was nudging me again from the other side. “You could have told me.” It was a whisper, but I was sure Hemi had heard. “Is this the guy you went out with on Sunday? I thought you weren’t going to see him again!”

“OK.” I signaled with two hands. “Time out.” I looked at Hemi. “This is the ‘time out’ sign,” I informed him. “In football.”

The crinkle was still there around his eyes. “Thank you,” he said solemnly.

“This is ridiculous,” I said. “I can’t hiss at everybody all the way to the Botanical Gardens. And, yes,” I told Karen, “this is who I went out with Sunday night.”

“When you came home at nine,” she had to point out. “And said it was—what was that? Oh, yeah. A disaster. And were crying.”

“I was not crying.”

“Sure you weren’t. It’s a really small apartment,” she told Hemi. “The bathtub’s in the kitchen. She was totally crying in there.”

“Yeh,” he said, serious now. “I’m sure she was. But your sister has a forgiving nature, eh.”

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