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Authors: Eileen Rendahl
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of Harrison St. John’s study. Her feet simply would not obey her mental commands to move.
The stranger’s voice continued, “And are you prepared to run the place yourself, Harrison? You haven’t even visited headquarters in over a year. Do you really think you’re plugged in enough to what goes on there day by day to keep it running?”
“Is that some kind of threat, David?” Harrison’s asked. His tone was carefully nonchalant, but even through the doors Kelly could hear the menace beneath the civility.
“Of course not,” Harrison’s companion snapped. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“One thing I refuse to ever be again is ridiculous. Now take the contract, David, and get out.”
“I won’t. I’ll never sign it, Harrison.”
“Fine. Then I’ll get my company back the hard way. But rest assured, David, I will get my company back. I won’t give you the chance to kill anything else important to me.”
“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, Harrison. You don’t make sense. You could at least tell me why you’re doing this. After all these years, couldn’t you at least tell me why?”
The next words that came out of Harrison’s mouth were filled with such malice, Kelly’s blood ran cold. “The fact that you can ask me that question, David, makes me realize again exactly what kind of a man you are. Now get the hell out of my house!”
With those words, the double doors into the office suite burst open and a man came stumbling through them. Harrison stood behind him. Kendra was at Harrison’s shoulder. Kelly, frozen in place in front of them, had no time to clear out of the stranger’s way. He barreled into her, sending her skittering flat on her fanny across the marble floor. The man windmilled his arms and caught himself just before he would have overbalanced and toppled onto Kelly. Instead, he just loomed over her.
Kelly looked up into a face of such astonishingly perfect proportions and boyish good looks that Robert Redford in his heyday would have wept with en vy. Blonde hair, a little over-long, was brushed casually back from his handsome square-jawed face.
“Well, well, well, what have we here,” he said, extending his hand down to her. Kelly took his hand, expecting to be helped to her feet. Instead, he only turned her hand over and inspect ed it mildly. He ran his thumb along a streak of plaster on her palm still making no effort to help her. “You must be the artist. I heard all about your arrival in town.” Kelly tried to draw her hand back from him, but he clung to it tenaciously.
“That’s right. I’m the artist. Formerly known as Kelly Donovan.”
“Cute. Very cute,” he said, never taking his eyes from hers.
He grinned down at Kelly with a smile so infectious and so inviting, she almost forgot that he had just knocked her ass over teakettle on a hard marble floor. It was the kind of smile that could make a young woman forsake her father to climb down a ladder into a waiting lover’s arms. It was the kind of smile that Spencer Tracy used to give to Katherine Hepburn. It was, Kelly noted, the kind of smile that made women weak in the knees.
“My name’s David Clark. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Kelly Donovan.”
“I’d say the pleasure was all mine, but my present position would probably make that an obvious untruth,” Kelly shot back from her uncomfortable position.
The grin broadened. Kelly wondered how many women did simply swoon at his feet at the sight of his perfectly white and even teeth.
“So sorry,” he said. “Let me help you up.”
David had Kelly halfway up off the floor when a hard, broad hand grasped his shoulder. Harrison stood behind him, looking so much like a Roman god in a fury that Kelly half expected him to raise his hand and call down a brace of thunderbolts. Instead he said, “Get your hands off her.” He pushed the other, smaller man backwards.
Clark whirled. Unfortunately, he didn’t let go of Kelly’s hand to
The stranger’s voice continued, “And are you prepared to run the place yourself, Harrison? You haven’t even visited headquarters in over a year. Do you really think you’re plugged in enough to what goes on there day by day to keep it running?”
“Is that some kind of threat, David?” Harrison’s asked. His tone was carefully nonchalant, but even through the doors Kelly could hear the menace beneath the civility.
“Of course not,” Harrison’s companion snapped. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“One thing I refuse to ever be again is ridiculous. Now take the contract, David, and get out.”
“I won’t. I’ll never sign it, Harrison.”
“Fine. Then I’ll get my company back the hard way. But rest assured, David, I will get my company back. I won’t give you the chance to kill anything else important to me.”
“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, Harrison. You don’t make sense. You could at least tell me why you’re doing this. After all these years, couldn’t you at least tell me why?”
The next words that came out of Harrison’s mouth were filled with such malice, Kelly’s blood ran cold. “The fact that you can ask me that question, David, makes me realize again exactly what kind of a man you are. Now get the hell out of my house!”
With those words, the double doors into the office suite burst open and a man came stumbling through them. Harrison stood behind him. Kendra was at Harrison’s shoulder. Kelly, frozen in place in front of them, had no time to clear out of the stranger’s way. He barreled into her, sending her skittering flat on her fanny across the marble floor. The man windmilled his arms and caught himself just before he would have overbalanced and toppled onto Kelly. Instead, he just loomed over her.
Kelly looked up into a face of such astonishingly perfect proportions and boyish good looks that Robert Redford in his heyday would have wept with en vy. Blonde hair, a little over-long, was brushed casually back from his handsome square-jawed face.
“Well, well, well, what have we here,” he said, extending his hand down to her. Kelly took his hand, expecting to be helped to her feet. Instead, he only turned her hand over and inspect ed it mildly. He ran his thumb along a streak of plaster on her palm still making no effort to help her. “You must be the artist. I heard all about your arrival in town.” Kelly tried to draw her hand back from him, but he clung to it tenaciously.
“That’s right. I’m the artist. Formerly known as Kelly Donovan.”
“Cute. Very cute,” he said, never taking his eyes from hers.
He grinned down at Kelly with a smile so infectious and so inviting, she almost forgot that he had just knocked her ass over teakettle on a hard marble floor. It was the kind of smile that could make a young woman forsake her father to climb down a ladder into a waiting lover’s arms. It was the kind of smile that Spencer Tracy used to give to Katherine Hepburn. It was, Kelly noted, the kind of smile that made women weak in the knees.
“My name’s David Clark. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Kelly Donovan.”
“I’d say the pleasure was all mine, but my present position would probably make that an obvious untruth,” Kelly shot back from her uncomfortable position.
The grin broadened. Kelly wondered how many women did simply swoon at his feet at the sight of his perfectly white and even teeth.
“So sorry,” he said. “Let me help you up.”
David had Kelly halfway up off the floor when a hard, broad hand grasped his shoulder. Harrison stood behind him, looking so much like a Roman god in a fury that Kelly half expected him to raise his hand and call down a brace of thunderbolts. Instead he said, “Get your hands off her.” He pushed the other, smaller man backwards.
Clark whirled. Unfortunately, he didn’t let go of Kelly’s hand to
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