His by Christmas Page 2

  Pulling a carry-on bag behind her, she limped up the flower-and shrub-lined path to Mr. Hart’s private villa at the resort. Her leg was as good as it would ever be, but long stretches of sitting still made it ache. In spite of the discomfort, she was grateful the doctors had saved it after the accident. She’d come a long way from wishing she’d died, too.

  In front of the impressive double-door entry, she stopped and took several deep, cleansing breaths, counting each one to slow down her racing pulse and heart rate. It took more effort than usual, but she didn’t usually go to work in a villa with a three-hundred-sixty-degree view of the ocean. The crystal clear varying shades of turquoise water defied words. It was one of those sights one simply had to see. The stunning beauty almost made her forget about the discomfort in her leg.

  She inhaled one last deep breath, counted, slowly released it, then knocked on the door. While there was no expectation of a speedy response since her boss was an invalid, the wait dragged on long enough that she debated going for help. But finally it opened and the man standing there, propped up on crutches, looked the picture of masculinity, in spite of the white, no-nonsense cast on his lower left leg. For the second time since his private plane had landed, she found herself without words. He was very sexy and that was more than a little distracting.

  She’d heard about him, none of it flattering, but had only actually seen him from a distance at work. He was very good-looking with his light brown hair and deeply intense blue eyes. The white cotton shirt he wore framed his shoulders and probably made them look broader. Only a hands-on examination would confirm, but the odds of that happening were lower than zero.

  “Good. You’re finally here.” He backed up awkwardly and negotiated a turn. “Would you mind getting the door...um—”

  She realized he was hesitating because he either couldn’t remember or didn’t know her name. “Justine Walker. And I don’t mind at all, Mr. Hart.”

  “Cal.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “My name is Cal. Short for Calhoun, and it will save time if you use it.”

  “Of course.”

  She shut the door and limped after him into a spacious living area. The plush white sofas had throw pillows in tropical ocean shades, and a light-colored wood floor seemed to stretch on forever to the sand and sea beyond, merging inside and outside. Overhead was a high-pitched wooden ceiling and several fans with blades that resembled palm fronds circulated the refreshing breeze coming through the open French doors. Beneath her low-heeled pumps was the thickest, cushiest area rug she’d ever felt.

  “Something wrong?”

  Justine dragged her gaze from the floor and looked up at her boss. She might as well be honest. “I think I’m on luxury overload.”

  “Oh?” He looked amused.

  “I’ve never been on a private plane before or anyplace like this.” She glanced around, not bothering to pretend she wasn’t in awe. “And a villa with that ocean view—the sand and palm trees. It’s amazing.”

  With a sigh he lowered himself to the sofa that looked big enough to hold an extended family reunion and elevated his injured leg. “Feel free to look around. Your room is over there.” He lifted one of his crutches and used it to point to a recessed doorway on the other side of the enormous area. “The valet has instructions to bring the rest of your luggage, and he’ll use the patio door so you won’t see him.”

  The Human Resources director at Hart Energy had explained the accommodations—the fact that this villa was over five thousand square feet and contained two very large, very private suites. Mr. Hart’s injury limited his mobility and he preferred his assistant nearby to facilitate the work environment.

  The subtext was that she didn’t need to worry about any hanky-panky. After meeting him that was oddly disappointing. But the compensation for this assignment was so generous, she would have slept on a lounge chair under a tree if he wanted. Before she could check out her room, there was a knock at the door.

  “That should be room service,” Cal said. “Would you mind letting them in?”

  “Of course.” She walked to the door and felt Cal watching her. When she was tired, like she was now, the limp was more pronounced, but she tried very hard to minimize it. Because she didn’t want to show any weakness in front of this man.

  She opened the door to several hotel employees who waited with wheeled carts containing covered dishes. Stepping back, she let them move past her and set everything up on the coffee table, where it was easily accessible to Cal. He signed for it and the servers discreetly left.

  “Can I get a plate for you?” she asked.

  “Yes. Thank you.”

  She lifted silver domes from the serving dishes and saw there were multiple entrées to choose from, as well as potatoes, rice, pasta, green salad and fruit. And a sampling of chocolate desserts made her mouth water.

  She filled a plate and brought it to him, then arranged eating utensils where he could reach them. “You ordered a lot of food.”

  “I didn’t know what you like and thought you might be hungry.”

  “I am.” How considerate was that? He worked hard and expected his employees to match his pace, but no one had ever said he didn’t treat the people around him well. Still, she’d pictured a heartless beast, and this unexpected thoughtfulness was a nice surprise. After fixing herself a plate, she sat on the plush chair to his right. “How did you break your leg?”

  “Skydiving.” He met her gaze. “What happened to yours?”

  “You noticed the limp.” She’d heard about his attention to detail and the demand for it from anyone he worked with. So he wouldn’t miss much. Still, she hadn’t anticipated his blunt question. She should have. There was no reason not to tell him, but he didn’t need to know she’d lost more than her runway-model strut. “Car accident.”

  “Ah.”

  She took a bite of fish and nearly groaned out loud, it was so good. They ate in silence for several moments, long enough that the need to fill it became necessary. “So, skydiving. You’re one of those sanity-challenged, adrenaline junkie thrill seekers who jump out of perfectly good airplanes on purpose.”

  “Yes.”

  Thank goodness she wasn’t drinking anything when he smiled, because it rocked her like a 9.5 earthquake. He was a handsome man even with a serious expression on his face. But the smile made a girl want to raise her hand and shout, Over here. Fortunately she didn’t choke, spit or utter a sound to embarrass herself, but it took several moments to gain solid mental footing again.

  “Apparently the parachute opened,” she observed. “Or the damage would have been much worse.”

  “I landed wrong.” He shrugged. “It was a clean break and the doctor assured me it will heal quickly.”

  “Good. Are you in pain now?”

  “It’s been several days, so not much.”

  Justine knew a thing or two about pain, but didn’t push him. Everyone handled it in their own way, and she was curious about something else. This assignment was supposed to last for a month so it begged the question, “Did you have any other activities planned besides skydiving?”

  “Scuba diving. Parasailing. Rock climbing. For starters,” he said.

  “Bummer. So why not just cancel the vacay? You’ve obviously changed your plans and are going to work. Wouldn’t it be easier to go home and schedule more time here when you’re healed?”

  Something that looked a lot like stubborn determination hardened his eyes and tightened his jaw. “The view is a lot better here.”

  “I can’t argue with that.” She looked through the patio doors to the luxurious, private, crystal clear pool, the pristine white sand and the ocean that stretched as far as the eye could see. “It’s something special. But so is the scenery at home. The lake and mountains take my breath away.”

 
He stared at her for several moments, then seemed to realize he was doing it. “So, you’re part of the advance team from Dallas setting up the new office in Blackwater Lake.”

  “Yes.”

  She’d found the charming, rapidly growing town a good place to open her business. She’d been saving and moved to Montana with the idea of working there until she had enough start-up money. It never occurred to her that an opportunity like this would come along to speed up her timetable. Now that she thought about it, the offer had escalated because Cal Hart had a reputation for being difficult and demanding, and no one else who was clerically qualified had wanted it. So far he had not lived up to his advance billing.

  Justine finished eating and set her plate on the table. “That was delicious. Thanks.”

  “Is there anything else I can get you?” he asked.

  “No.” She toyed with the cloth napkin still in her lap. “It was nice of you to think of this. Honestly, I wasn’t expecting it.”

  “What were you expecting?” He didn’t sound defensive, just curious.

  “Everyone said you’re a difficult boss who works twelve-to fourteen-hour days and requires your employees to do the same.”

  “You’ve been talking to Shanna.”

  “She’s a friend. And having a lovely cruise, by the way.” At his quizzical look she added, “Ships have internet. She emails. There was even one warning me not to take this job with you.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes.”

  “So why did you?” he asked.

  “Do you have any idea what you’re paying me?”

  “A lot, apparently.” He shrugged. “I can afford it.”

  She had no doubt about that. The question was, could she? He had her for a month. It hadn’t occurred to her that four weeks in paradise with a man who wasn’t a bastard and looked like a movie star could be a very long time.

  Chapter Two

  “So do you want the good news first? Or the bad?” Justine asked.

  It was late afternoon on their first full day of working together, and Cal was stretched out on the corner group with his broken leg propped on a pillow. He glanced up from his laptop, focusing on his new assistant, who was sitting at the desk. Her red hair was parted on the side and pulled back into a messy side bun. She was wearing black, square-framed glasses that made her look smart and sexy, a one-two punch that had his gut tightening, not for the first time.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “What was the question?”

  “I’ve got good news and bad. Are you a get-the-bad-over-with-first kind of guy? Or a put-it-off-as-long-as-possible sort of person?”

  “There’s something to be said for both. So...surprise me.” He’d been surprised by many things since she arrived yesterday. What was one more?

  “I just received a preliminary environmental report on the wind farm property in upstate New York, and so far there’s no negative impact on the animals, fish or ecosystem in the area affected by the project.”

  “Just a guess, but I’d say that’s the good news.”

  “It is.”

  “And the bad?”

  “The people aren’t as open-minded as the wildlife. They’re circulating a petition to squash the project.” She slipped off her glasses. “The land is flat and the turbines are tall, visible for miles.”

  “They have to be tall. The higher they are, the more wind is harnessed.” Even he heard the frustration in his voice.

  “Protests are in the beginning stages. There may be some things you can do to sway public opinion and get everyone on board with this. Or at least the majority.” She shrugged. “Can’t please all the people all the time.”

  What could I do to please her?

  Cal couldn’t believe he’d just thought that. He was uncomfortable and it had nothing to do with his broken leg. Working with Justine was disconcerting. She was smart, efficient and seemed to know what he needed before he did. It had gone really well if you didn’t count the part where he wanted to turn the lie about his active sex life into the truth. With her.

  Redheads weren’t even his type, but that didn’t seem to make a difference. Maybe it was her eyes—brown with flecks of gold and green. They were different. Exotic. Mesmerizing and calm at the same time.

  Beside him on the coffee table, papers were scattered around along with file folders and his cell phone. A half-empty coffee mug was right in the middle of the chaos, like a circus ringmaster. Her desk, on the other hand, was tidy to the point of making his teeth hurt. And it was time to get his head back in the game. There was a lot to accomplish, and one of her responsibilities was to clean up after him. Normally he wasn’t quite this disorganized, but his mobility was limited with the cast on his leg. Work was why she was here in the first place.

  “I’ll talk to public relations about the protests and strategies to win over the people,” he said. “Right now, I need you to pull together some alternative energy research. Statistics on the output of wind turbines at different heights. And reports on solar. There’s a parcel of land I’m looking at in Nevada, and that’s the place to go for sun.”

  Instead of going along with the directive, his assistant closed her laptop and calmly met his gaze. “I’m happy to take care of that for you in the morning.”

  Did he hear her right? Maybe the hard landing from his skydiving misadventure had broken more than his leg. “I’d like you to start compiling it now.”

  “If I hadn’t already put in a full day—”

  “We stopped for lunch.”

  “Yes, and it was incredibly delicious.” Her look was sympathetic. “But I’m officially off the clock now.”

  Cal needed to get up and move. The urge to prowl was strong in him, but the plaster on his leg made it problematic, along with reducing the power of the pace as a means to show he was the boss and in charge. That was pompous, but having only one good leg threw him off his game.

  He grabbed the crutches and hauled himself to a standing position, then hobbled over to the desk and rested his hip on the corner, letting it take his weight. This wasn’t as effective as looming, but he could still stare her down.

  “The fact is,” he said evenly, “I’m always on the clock. There are pros and cons to being the president of a successful company and that’s one of the downsides.”

  “So, you’re saying that by extension your assistant needs to always be available?”

  “Exactly. I knew you were smart.” And not just another pretty face. But he kept that part to himself.

  “Let me ask you this.” She folded her hands and rested them on the unnaturally tidy desktop as she met his gaze. “Is it a matter of life and death for you to have that information this evening?”

  “Hart Energy didn’t get to be number one by not being prepared.”

  “That’s not what I asked. It was a yes-or-no question.”

  Cal was hoping she hadn’t noticed his evasive answer. Buying time, he studied her and couldn’t detect a single sign that she was unnerved. Not a flicker of an eyelash, twitch of her mouth or jump in her pulse. This reaction was as unusual as the shade of her eyes shifting from brown, to gold, to green.

  It was a yes-or-no question, but that was irrelevant since he ran the show. “It should be enough that I want what I want when I want it.”

  “First of all, that statement comes very close to temper tantrum territory.” The corners of her mouth curved up.

  The movement distracted him, drawing his attention to the delicate sensuality of her lips. It was several moments before he realized that she’d called him on his crap.

  With an effort he pulled his thoughts together and kept his voice even when he asked, “And second of all?”

  “Hmm?” She blinked.

  Maybe he wasn’t the only one distracted. �
�You said ‘first of all.’ That implies there’s a second thing that you wanted to say.”

  “Right.” She nodded. “If the reason you’re asking me to work late comes under the heading of life and death, I’m happy to be flexible and accommodate the situation. Otherwise it’s overtime and not part of my contract for this assignment.”

  “You have a special contract?”

  “Yes. One that has very specific limitations on overtime. It was Shanna’s suggestion after she advised me not to take the job. I could show you the agreement if you’d like.”

  Another yes-or-no thing that he was going to sidestep. “So, it’s not enough that there’s more work to do?”

  “There always is,” she said serenely.

  “I guess it’s pointless to say that since you work for me you’re finished when I am?”

  “You’re certainly free to continue working, but I’m off the clock. In the morning I will be at my desk and ready to give my all for Hart Energy. But to be at my best, I need to recharge my batteries.”

  Cal had a feeling she was laughing at him, and that tweaked him back into temper tantrum territory. Or maybe it was her calm, unruffled demeanor that made him want to ruffle her. Either way, something had him determined to get in the last word and maintain control.

  “I would appreciate it if you would stay and complete the tasks that I’ve requested.”

  She stood and met his gaze, drawing in a deep breath and holding it for several moments. “I’m happy to work on it bright and early tomorrow morning. If that’s not acceptable to you, feel free to fire me.”

  This was not a good time to find out the problem with temper tantrum territory was that it bordered on cutting-off-your-nose-to-spite-your-face land.

  “Don’t think I—”

  She held up her hand. “Before finishing that sentence, you should know that no one else who is qualified for the position as your assistant is willing to come here and work one-on-one with you.”