“But it cheered you up.”
She sighed, and some of the humor went out of her eyes. “Crystal Spas would have been perfect.”
He reached for her hand. “I know.”
The jet jerked to rolling, and he experienced a strong sense of deja vu. It took him a second to realize it was Kristy, Kristy and Jack on this same airplane. During their emergency landing in Vegas, Jack had held Kristy’s hand to comfort her.
Right now, Sinclair’s hand felt small in Hunter’s, soft and smooth. The kind of hand a man wanted all over his body.
“You want to go see your sister?” he asked.
Sinclair looked startled. “What?”
“She’s in Manchester. It’s on the way.”
“We’d be too late.”
She had a point.
“Maybe not,” he argued. A visit with Kristy might cheer Sinclair up.
“Thanks for the thought.”
Hunter wished he had more to offer than just a thought. But then she smiled her gratitude. Hunter realized that was what mattered.
Business deals would come and go. He’d simply find another way to make Sinclair happy. Even as the thought formed in his mind, he realized it was dangerous. But he ignored the warning flash.
“You don’t need to worry about me,” she told him. “I’m a big girl. And I still have the ball to plan.”
“The ball’s going to be fantastic,” he enthused. “It’ll be the best Valentine’s ball anybody ever put on anywhere.”
“I hate it when people humor me.”
“Then why are you still smiling?”
“Because sometimes you can be very sweet.”
“Hold that thought,” he teased, and he brought her hand to his lips.
“I’m not going to sleep with you.” She retrieved her hand, but the smile grew wider. “But, maybe, if you’re very, very good, I might dance with you at the Valentine’s ball.”
“And maybe if you’re very, very good, I might bring you flowers and candy.”
“Something to look forward to.”
“Isn’t it?”
They both stopped talking, and a soft silence settled around the hum of the engines as they taxied toward the runway.
“It’s just that we’ve worked day and night on this product launch,” she said, half to herself.
“I can imagine,” he responded with a nod.
“All of us,” she added. “The Luscious Lavender products are strong. The sales force is ready. And marketing showed me a fantastic television commercial last week. I really want to make sure I do my part.”
“You are doing your part.” He had no doubt of that. “There’s still the ball.”
She gave a shrug and tucked her hair behind her ears. “The ball’s pretty much ready to go. I know it’ll be fine. But I wanted that something extra, that something special from the PR department.” Then she sighed. “Maybe it’s just ego.”
“Contributing to the team is not ego. Taking all the glory is ego.”
“Wanting recognition is a form of ego,” she countered.
“Wanting recognition for a job well done is human.”
Her voice went soft. “Then I guess I don’t want to be human.”
He watched her for a silent minute, trying to gauge how deep that admission went. For all her bravado, he sensed an underlying insecurity. What Sinclair presented and who she really was were two different things. She was far more sensitive than she showed.
In the privacy and intimacy of the plane, he voiced a question that had been nagging at him for a while. “Why did you sleep with me?”
She startled and retrieved her hand. Then her shell went back into place. “Why did
“Because you were funny and smart and beautiful,” he said. Then he waited.
“And, because I said yes?” she asked.
He didn’t respond to her irreverence. “And because when I held you in my arms, it was where you belonged.”
She stayed silent, and he could almost see the war going on inside her head.
“You going to tell me?” he asked.
“It was Christmas,” she finally began. “And you were fun, and sexy. And Kristy had just married Jack. And life at your amazing mansion is really very surreal.”
She’d buried the truth. He was sure of it.
Kristy had married Jack, and for that brief moment in time, Sinclair had felt abandoned. And there had been Hunter. And she’d clung to him. And that’s what it was. He was glad he knew.
Even though he shouldn’t, he switched seats so he was beside her. He wanted to be the one she clung to.
She stiffened, watching him warily.
“The steward’s only a few feet away,” he assured her. “Nothing can happen.”
His reassurance seemed to work.
She relaxed, and he took her hand once again.
The cabin lights dimmed, the engines wound out, and the plane accelerated along the runway, pushing them back against their seats. Hunter turned his head to watch her profile, rubbed his thumb against her soft palm and inhaled her perfume, as he captured and held a moment in time.
The next morning, for the first time in her life, Sinclair came late to the office.
Amber jumped up from her desk, looking worried. “What happened?”
“I got home really late,” she said as she passed by.
“Roger was down here. He wanted your files on the Valentine’s ball.”
Sinclair crossed the threshold to her office, dropping her briefcase and purse on her credenza, and picked up a stack of mail on the way to her desk. “Why?”
“So
“What?” She stared at Amber. “Why would she do that?”
“Because she’s queen of the freakin’ universe? Is there something I should know, Sinclair? Something pertaining to PR?”
“No.” Sinclair set down the mail. “There’s nothing for you to worry about.” She moved to the door. “Wait here.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“I assume you gave him the files?” Sinclair called over her shoulder.
“I didn’t have a choice.”
No. She didn’t.
When the president asked for the files, you gave up the files. But there was nothing saying you didn’t go get them back again. Roger’s micromanaging was getting out of hand. So was Chantal’s apparent carte blanche in the PR department. Sinclair took a tight breath, pressed the button, and waited as the elevator ascended.
This inserting of Chantal into Sinclair’s projects had to stop. You didn’t add a new voice ten days before the ball. And you sure didn’t empower a neophyte like Chantal on a project of this size and importance.
What was the matter with Roger? Was he trying to sabotage Sinclair’s efforts?
Maybe it was due to her frustration over the failure of the spa plan, but Sinclair was feeling exceedingly protective of the ball. It was her one chance for the PR department to shine, and she was determined to do it or die trying.
The doors slid open on twenty, revealing burgundy carpet, soft lighting and cherrywood paneling. Myra, Roger’s secretary, looked surprised to see her.
“Did you have an appointment?”
