Loe raamatut: «About Last Night...»

Chapter One

It had been the best, and worst, sex of her life. As Lindy Brinks sat up in bed, she wondered how she could have done it.

Wait.

She knew how. If she hadn’t learned that poignant lesson the first time, the man still sleeping beside her had made the second and third lovemaking experiences even more satisfying and more invigorating. His chiseled body had been hard and muscular under her fingers, smooth to her touch, and darn if she hadn’t been swept away all night long.

No, the real question wasn’t what she’d done or how she’d done it, but rather why. For in making love with Shane Jacobsen, Lindy had just made the worst mistake of her twenty-eight-year-old life.

Shane Jacobsen was infuriating. Mind-blowing. Condescending. Phenomenal. A womanizer. Her boss.

And she’d made love to him with her brown eyes wide open, her five-foot-seven body more than willing. Oh yes, definitely more than willing.

As Lindy looked around Shane’s bedroom, she knew she had no one to blame but herself. No one had forced down her throat the strawberry daiquiris she’d drunk last night during Shane’s twenty-fifth birthday celebration-slash-pool party. After Shane handed her the first red slushy concoction, Lindy had made the subsequent trips to the bar herself. She really had no excuse for her wanton behavior.

Grimacing, Lindy climbed out of bed, careful not to wake him. She tripped over something soft, and as she caught herself against the bed, she saw Shane’s comforter beneath her feet. That had been tossed aside early in the evening. Lindy cringed as she stepped over it. Shane Jacobsen was a playboy to the nth degree, so why had she let herself join his long line of female conquests? Being Shane’s personal assistant, she knew every single detail of what he was all about.

Fool! Fool! Fool!

Mentally cursing herself, Lindy slipped into her undergarments and touched her hair. The back of her head felt like a rat’s nest and she tugged, desperately trying to use her fingers to straighten the blond strands snarled by the pleasures of the night before. The morning-after movement sent a sharp, searing pain between her eyes, reminding Lindy again exactly how much alcohol and how little sleep she’d had. Fixing her hair without a brush was hopeless.

A small groan escaped Shane, and distracted by the sound, Lindy took a moment to study the man sleeping on the rumpled sheets. For three years now she’d worked for him, watching women practically throw themselves at him, including the buxom redhead who had been nibbling on his ear when Lindy had arrived at last night’s party. And despite herself and her desire to do otherwise, she couldn’t blame all those women for falling for Shane. There was no denying that he was beautiful.

His straight, naturally surfer-blond hair fell forward into his face, and Lindy resisted the urge to sweep it back from his high cheekbones and chiseled nose. No, last night she’d already had her hands in those strands way too much. She’d committed enough mistakes for one evening, and she certainly didn’t need to start over now that the sun was up.

But wasn’t that one of life’s little ironies? She hadn’t planned on staying at his party, especially after she’d realized that Shane, who never drank, had had several of the daiquiris himself.

Lindy remembered cringing, knowing that Shane had been on some pretty impressive painkillers after wrenching his knee during a basketball game the Wednesday night before. No wonder he’d been having such a good time at his party. The label, the one he’d obviously ignored, had said not to mix the medicine with alcohol.

But that was typical Shane. A typical male, he thought he was invincible. And being his personal assistant, aka keeper, she’d stayed, especially after he’d detached himself from the redhead, come over to her side and shouted, “Everyone, this is Lindy, the love of my life. Lindy, everyone.”

It had been like something from a classic John Hughes teenage-angst movie. “Hey, Lindy,” various faceless people had shouted, and then Shane had pressed a frozen strawberry daiquiri into her hand.

“Come on, Lindy. Let’s have fun,” he’d said, and then he’d swept her along, never quite allowing her to leave his side. So when he’d turned to her later that night, telling her that he needed a birthday kiss, she’d given him just one.

But then his seeking lips had demanded another, and then another.

And Lindy, freed by the alcohol she usually avoided like the plague, had let him lead her right down the path of temptation and eternal destruction. And kissing him—no, she didn’t need to think about how wonderful that had been or how good his lips had felt.

She watched Shane nestle deeper into the fluffy down pillow. Thankfully his eyes were closed. Like all his siblings and cousins, Shane had inherited the Jacobsen blue eyes—light blue with an outer darker rim. The promise of wickedness and pleasures evident in his gorgeous eyes had been her absolute undoing last night.

Lindy turned away and started searching for the rest of her clothes. Embarrassment stole over her as she discovered various pieces, including her jeans, in the living room.

Finally dressed, she stood in the doorway to Shane’s bedroom and allowed herself one last look. The white sheet had slipped to his waist, revealing the well-muscled chest she had palmed with wild abandon. Lindy resisted the urge to go and cover his nakedness with the sheet. Best she never get that close to him again.

She slipped on her flats and walked stealthily to the pool-house door. Moving out was something his grandfather had been hounding him about of late. But why should Shane move when he commandeered, rent-free, the entire two-thousand-square-foot pool house that sat on his father’s estate?

Besides, it wasn’t as if Shane ever saw his world-famous parents. This month they were somewhere in Australia doing charity work and evangelical revivals. With a ministry second only to the Billy Graham dynasty, Blake and Sara Jacobsen were usually quite embarrassed about their wayward, playboy son.

That was when they remembered him at all, which was why their son had thrown the impromptu party. Lindy sighed as she reached for the door handle. She couldn’t blame her mistake on Blake and Sara Jacobsen’s forgetfulness. Even if Shane had been raised mainly by nannies, and he stayed close to home just to be a thorn in his parents’ sides, sleeping with him was no one’s fault but her own.

As Lindy turned the doorknob, she took one last look at the living area. Shane’s shorts lay near the coffee table and empty beer bottles were everywhere. Had Shane had beer, too? Even though he had the reputation of a playboy, in her three years of working for him, Lindy had never seen him liquored up like last night. She shook her head to clear it, wincing as the pain hit her forehead again.

The writing was on the wall. Fool, she cursed herself again as she pulled the door shut behind her. Time to find another job.

SHANE JACOBSEN STRETCHED, and then let his head fall back onto the soft down pillow. Darn, did his head hurt.

He blinked. The bright sunlight that was filtering in the blinds hurt his eyes worse than the chlorine in the pool. Tossing his arm over his forehead, he shaded his face from the harsh whiteness illuminating his room. Just what time was it anyway? Eight? No one should be up this early on a Saturday morning.

Or was it Sunday? He moved his arm and faced reality as he realized that, much to his surprise, he really didn’t know. His last vague memory was of burrowing his face into something soft, probably his pillow. He sat up, his head pounding from the movement as he tried to remember. Friday he’d turned twenty-five, and the entire event was one long blur.

He felt so over the hill.

He stumbled to the ensuite bathroom, his feet tripping over the cowboy boots he’d left on the floor. He stared at them for a moment. Why were those still there? Why hadn’t Cleo come in to clean yet?

Oh, yeah. Now he remembered. Cleo was off for the weekend because it was Easter. That was probably the excuse his father would use when he finally remembered to call. Despite himself, Shane wanted to laugh again at the bitter irony of it all. Good Friday and Friday, April 13, Shane’s birthday and that of his father, had been on the same day.

When Shane had realized he’d been forgotten—again—he’d decided to throw himself one hell of a party. Or at least he thought he had. Odd, that the memory of the evening was totally black and blank.

Shane frowned as he finished his business and brushed his teeth. There was something about minty-fresh breath that made him feel at least a little better. Then, and only then, did he dare face himself.

Well, Shane old buddy, he said to his reflection in the mirror, welcome to your late twenties. You look like hell.

He did too. His blond hair was well tousled, as if he hadn’t gotten a lot of sleep last night. Stubble covered his jaw, and the Jacobsen-blue-colored eyes that the grandchildren all shared were bloodshot. And was that a red spot on his neck? He rubbed it and shrugged when it didn’t disappear.

He could do with a tall glass of ice water.

The clear icy liquid, though, did little to clear his throbbing head or make his blank memory come back. He winced, suddenly unable to erase the feeling that something, although he didn’t know what, had happened to him besides drinking while taking medication. Like many people, he’d ignored the warning labels. After all, weren’t the labels really only there so people didn’t sue the drug companies? You know, sort of like expiration dates that were never quite right?

Maybe one really did feel older when one turned twenty-five. Shane blinked and stared at the red display of the clock in the built-in microwave. Three-twenty-nine. It was after three in the afternoon?

He ran a hand against the stubble that had started to itch. He never slept this late. Man, okay, he’d learned his lesson. He’d follow the labels from now on.

Still clutching the glass of water, he wandered into the living room. He frowned. Odd. Why were his shorts there? He glanced down at the boxers he’d pulled on when he’d gotten up. No surprise there. He always slept naked. But his shorts?

Maybe he’d gone swimming. Vaguely he remembered that others had, enjoying the pool that his parents always opened early and kept perfectly heated until the St. Louis weather warmed fully, usually by the end of May. But taking a swim didn’t sound right. So exactly what had he done? Had he been with someone? He remembered a redhead trying at one point to nibble on him, but no, he knew without a doubt he hadn’t gotten together with her in any way.

But something was missing and he wished he could remember what it was. He sat down on the couch and surveyed the room. Cleo was going to have a fit when she saw the mess. He pushed aside someone’s half-empty bottle of beer so that he could put his feet up.

“Quite a mess you have here.”

Shane inwardly groaned as his paternal grandfather stepped through the front entryway. Despite his grandfather’s appearance of a thinner version of Santa Claus, Shane knew this visit would be far from jolly. “Feel free to come on in.”

“Seeing that the door was open, I already did. Celebrated a quarter of a century with a bang, didn’t you?” Grandpa Joe said. Shane knew what his grandfather saw: beer bottles and empty daiquiri glasses everywhere. Plates of partially eaten food littered end tables. The living room was a mess.

Grandpa Joe rubbed his snow-white beard thoughtfully before he said, “I take it your father forgot to call. He always was terrible about dates, including his own birthday. Some secretary must have dropped the ball on this one.”

Shane avoided the truth. “Marci and Dan suggested the party. Why not? I turned twenty-five. My car insurance drops now.”

Grandpa Joe’s Jacobsen-blue eyes blinked once as he let Shane’s statements slide. “Of course you should celebrate. You’ve reached a milestone. Which is why I’m here. I have a business proposition for you.”

The dull ache between Shane’s eyebrows intensified. He rubbed the spot. Not again. He knew his grandfather meant well, but didn’t everyone realize that no meant no? “Grandpa Joe, don’t bother. You know the answer is no. I’m not coming to work for Jacobsen.”

Grandpa Joe took a few steps toward the couch; then, seeing an additional mess, decided against sitting down. “Shane, it’s past time for you to take your destiny. I have the perfect position for you.”

“I’ve told you before—I don’t want a position. I have no desire to work for Jacobsen Enterprises. Ever.”

Grandpa Joe made the rare gesture of tossing his hands. “You are so frustrating! You won’t even listen. What is it with you? You weren’t diagnosed as oppositional defiant as a child. Why is it that every time someone suggests something, you dig in like a stubborn old Missouri mule? Is it the only way you can get the attention your parents always forgot to give you as you grew up? Hell, you’d stay in a burning building if someone from the family tried to pull you out. We are not your enemy, Shane.”

Shane clasped his hands together to remain calm. His parents and his family were not the issue, and if they were, he didn’t want to think about it or how many times either his parents or his grandparents had told him they were disappointed in him for not following the path they’d laid out. “I try to keep business and family separate.”

“That’s impossible. We have a family business. You are family. You are needed in the business. You have a business degree and you are darn good. One of the finest I’ve seen. Doesn’t that matter?”

“Look, this isn’t a good time. I’ve got to clean up this mess and call Lindy and…” Shane’s voice drifted off as he realized Grandpa Joe was staring at him. “What?”

“Is that a hickey on your neck?”

Shane rubbed at the spot he’d seen in the mirror earlier. It was a hickey? He hadn’t had one of those since ninth grade. And if he had a hickey, who had he been with?

“Shane, look, I know your father made some mistakes with you. He and your mother either spoiled you rotten or put you out of their minds and let overindulgent nannies raise you while they went out and saved the world. Perhaps I was wrong to not have stepped in earlier and done something about it when you were younger. But you’re twenty-five now. You need to accept your responsibilities to this family instead of languishing like some pathetic playboy with no purpose. If you won’t think of yourself, at least think of Lindy.”

Shane bristled. “Leave Lindy out of this.”

“No, I won’t. The girl has raw business talent. She’s wasted working for you. What do you do that requires a PA? Does she add legitimacy or something to your endeavors?”

“I do real work. My foundation.”

“Yes, your foundation. The one redeeming feature you have. Your foundation is quite generous and you run it well. But that and multiplying your trust fund are not real work.” Grandpa Joe paused. “And Lindy is wasted simply stuffing envelopes and getting rid of your exes. Maybe I should steal her away from you.”

“Don’t you dare go near Lindy. Besides, taking her won’t get what you want. I won’t come work for you.”

Grandpa Joe shook his head. “You know I love you, grandson, but it’s not all about you. You’ve become an empty man, Shane. You skate by because you won’t risk. You choose not to face your demons. I can only hope you wake up and realize that fact before it’s too late to see what’s in front of you. All good things are worth risk. That being said, I’ll see you at Easter dinner. Your grandmother would love it if you brought Lindy. I’ll see both of you tomorrow.” And with that Grandpa Joe stepped over some empty beer bottles and left.

Shane took a long drink of water. He hated being out of control, and Grandpa Joe’s visit had left him reeling. Shane wasn’t afraid of risk. He just had his reasons for not working at the family company, that was all. Besides, he’d carved out a good life for himself. His stubbornness had nothing to do with growing up with minister parents who were always promoting Christianity, saving lost souls and leaving their son in the capable hands of nannies. He’d turned out fine. He just didn’t fit the mold his family created for him.

Enough was enough, Lindy would always tell him. Good old Lindy. She was always there for him, and like always, Shane knew he’d get over this latest dramatic family setback and letdown.

Shane just wished he could remember what had happened. Throwing pity parties wasn’t his style. Not only that, but he never drank much, maybe one drink now and then. Last night had been an exception.

He pushed a wayward strand of hair out of his face. Hopefully he hadn’t done anything that would tarnish the family name further or he’d be sure to hear about that.

Maybe Lindy would know what he’d done, and who besides Marci and Dan had been at the party. Good old Lindy. She was worth more than he paid her. Sure, he knew what everyone whispered. Just as his grandfather had said earlier, everyone agreed. Everyone said he really didn’t need a personal assistant; after all, all he truly did was day-trade and run the Shane Jacobsen Foundation that donated to child-abuse agencies. But Lindy was indispensable, as she’d proved over and over again. And right now he needed her. That thought cheered him up. She’d never let him down before, and he knew she wouldn’t now. All he had to do was ask and she’d make it her job to find out what happened at his party.

Thankfully the cordless phone was still in its place on the end table. Shane picked it up and pushed a button, the only one besides the pizza place that got any use from the phone’s speed dial feature.

“Hello!”

“Lindy! It’s me! Can you—” he began.

“I’m sorry, but I’m not available to take your call right now. Please—”

Shane fumed through the rest of her voice mail’s message. Odd. Where was Lindy? Why wasn’t she answering her cell phone? Even in the dead of night she always answered her cell phone. He tried to remember her pager number as the voice mail beeped the record prompt at him.

“Lindy? Damn it, if you’re there call me. I need to ask you about last night. Do you have any clue what happened to me? Except for this pounding headache, I don’t remember a darn thing.”

AT SIX-THIRTY LINDY TOSSED aside the St. Louis Post-Dispatch. The Sunday employment section, available early Saturday afternoon, had held slim pickings. The few jobs that had looked the slightest bit interesting all had a salary far below what Shane paid her. Unless she wanted to take a major pay cut, for a while she was stuck with him.

She glanced at her cell phone. The words announced three missed calls and two new voice-mail messages. “Persistent, isn’t he?” She picked up the phone and checked the caller ID display. The first number with multiple calling times was, as she’d thought, Shane’s. The second read J. Jacobsen. She frowned. Curious, Lindy dialed her voice mail.

“Lindy, it’s Shane. Where are you? I’ve been calling you all day. I’m starting to get really worried. Call me.”

Lindy hit seven-seven, erasing his newest message before his warm baritone washed over her and melted her resolve. As soon as the right job came along, she had to leave him.

The next message was from Shane’s grandfather. “Lindy? This is Joe Jacobsen. Would it be possible for you to come to my office Monday at nine? I have a few matters I’d like to discuss with you professionally, and Easter dinner is not the time or place. You do know you’re invited? Shane did tell you, right? See you tomorrow and then on Monday.”

Lindy erased that message, reached for her day planner and penciled in 9:00 a.m. Joe Jacobsen. She wasn’t sure what Shane’s grandfather wanted with her on Monday, but in the three years she’d been working for Shane she’d learned to jump when Grandpa Joe said jump. Founder of Jacobsen Enterprises, one of the largest companies in St. Louis, Joe Jacobsen was a self-made man along the lines of Andrew Carnegie. Even though Joe was as kindhearted as a teddy bear, in business and in life he always got what he wanted. As for Easter dinner, she could safely pass on that.

A knock sounded at her door, distracting her from the pressing problem of Shane’s faulty memory and the fact that eventually she’d have to call him back. Her pizza had finally arrived. Lindy rose to her feet, glad that she’d taken a shower after her roommate Tina had left. There had been a lecture—all about Shane’s shortcomings—that Lindy hadn’t needed. She rubbed her head one more time. Her headache had almost totally disappeared, and now with food she’d hopefully finally feel better and find a solution to her current problem.

Besides, after all, she wasn’t sure if she was happy, sad or just plain outright furious. Shane Jacobsen had no idea what had happened to him. The best lovemaking of her life and he didn’t remember it. Of course, she’d spent the whole drive home worried about what to say to him. That problem was solved—he didn’t remember anything.

But darn him! He wasn’t supposed to have blacked out! To be unmemorable, to have been forgotten…She grabbed her checkbook, headed for the door, and pulled it open. Unfortunately, the pizza deliveryman didn’t stand on the threshold.

“Shane!”

“There you are!” Shane rushed in and, before Lindy could move, he enveloped her in a gigantic bear hug. His damp hair fell into his face and an immediate warmth from his body traveled to hers. Her knees wobbled and Shane steadied her before leaning back so that he could see her face. “Lindy, you’ve had me worried sick. I’ve been calling you for hours. Why haven’t you been answering? You are okay, aren’t you?”

Lindy blinked, trying to find focus. Ah, to be in his strong arms again—her traitorous body awakened once more. Her breasts thrust forward as if seeking him, and heat began to pool.

No! Lindy yanked her mind back into full control and drew back a step, away from Shane. Immediate welcome coolness descended as she detached herself from Shane’s embrace. Her knees wobbled as she turned her back to him. Control. She needed control. She concentrated on making her step steady as she walked toward the couch. Thankfully he didn’t seem to notice.

“Why didn’t you call me back?”

“I was taking a nap.” Lindy sat down, her legs more secure against the solid green cushions. Then she made the mistake of looking up at him.

Despite looking vexed, to her Shane had never seemed more beautiful. His jeans molded to his athletic legs, and his polo shirt revealed those wonderful arms that had just again held her tight to his chest. And those blue eyes that had held such promise last night right now revealed endless concern and care that was just for her.

How long had she waited for him look at her this way? As if he felt something for her?

Again she wanted to drown in him, to feel him against her, to let the illusions wash over her. She could still almost feel the way his fingers had stroked her skin and…

“Lindy, you never nap.”

She blinked, fantasy thankfully shattered with his words. “There’s always a first time. That is okay, isn’t it? I was tired so I turned off the phone and took a nap.”

Shane’s full lips turned downward and Lindy fought off a sudden urge and desire to kiss away his frown. “I’m being a cad,” Shane announced. “Are you sick? Can I get you anything? A pillow? Aspirin? What can I do to help?”

Lindy sighed. How could she get riled up at him? He’d been so worried about her not calling him back that he’d shown up on her doorstep. At moments like this Shane was at his best. Shane was not all his playboy image portrayed. After working with Shane for three years, Lindy knew a Shane few others did. She’d seen him when he’d made a dying child’s wish come true; she’d seen him care about situations others had washed their hands of. She’d seen him sit by his friend Dan’s hospital bed during Dan’s illness. And here he was, showing up because he’d been worried about her. How could she even think of leaving him?

Her mind wrestled with her heart as a desperate resolve filled her. She fisted her hands together. For her own long-term sanity and future she had to try. She could not let herself be sucked into the easy charm that was—and always would be—Shane Jacobsen. She was his personal assistant. That’s all she’d ever be, and it was a cruel illusion to pretend otherwise, to dream he might one day fall in love with her.

Deliberately she made her voice cold. “Thanks for being worried about me. But besides that, why are you here? Is there something you needed?”

“Water would be good,” Shane said, totally misinterpreting her chilly undertone. He gave her a smile that could have kept the winter frost from harming the spring tulips. Part of her burned, and she struggled for self-control.