Chance Encounters Read online

  “In fact, I can think of a number of interesting positions I might like to offer you.”

  My stomach turned over. Twice. This is finished. No way am I getting hooked into a job where sex is the ace in the hole. Of course, what else would Mitch Carson think, given my behavior a few minutes earlier in the cab?

  Stupid woman. Maybe I made one mistake tonight. Doesn’t mean I make two.

  I stood.

  My fingers clenched and unclenched into fists at my hips. Glancing from Mitch Carson to Grant Harper and back again, I weighed my options. I’d already screwed up in the damn cab. Going forward would be screwing up further.

  No matter how much I hated to, I knew it was time to step away.

  Pushing my hand toward Grant, I said, “It was nice to meet you, Mr. Harper. Thank you for the opportunity.” Finally, he stood and shook my hand. “I fear, however, this is not the job for me.”

  He didn’t immediately let go. His gaze held mine. “Are you sure, Grace? The chemistry here appears to be quite potent.”

  Without a beat, I replied, “The chemistry, Grant, is all wrong. I’m very sorry.”

  I didn’t look Mitch Carson in the face, but echoed something incoherent his way, offering him a brief thank-you for the chance but not my hand.

  He didn’t respond. I only noticed that he stood, hands perched on his hips, as I walked away. My heels clicked on the parquet floor as I left, as they had when I arrived.

  * * * *

  Phoenix was hot as hell and it was only April. When I stepped off the plane at Sky Harbor the next day, I chuckled, listening to the pilot explain that the temp had gone down to ninety-eight degrees Fahrenheit.

  At least it was a dry heat.

  The plane ride home provided me with about four hours of uninterrupted think time. For that, I was grateful. By the time I had retrieved my car, I’d nearly forgiven myself for my act of stupidity in the cab.

  Nearly.

  I still had to face the old job tomorrow. Needless to say, I wasn’t looking forward to it.

  The one thing that was extremely difficult to erase from my mind, however, was the intense blueness of Mitch Carson’s eyes, the depth of the orgasm he had given me in that cab, and the sweet and sensuous kiss that had followed.

  It was a brainless act, of course, but an encounter I’d be hard-pressed to forget.

  * * * *

  The next evening, after a miserable day at work, I lingered downtown for a while before heading out to my home in the burbs. My friend Kate and I shared a happy hour margarita each and a plate of appetizers, then lamented about our lack of sex lives.

  And yeah, I confessed to her about giving in to my taxi temptation. She gasped and then gave me a high-five.

  Kate was like that.

  I didn’t share anything more than that. Not that I was having a difficult time getting the taste of Mitch Carson off my tongue, or the fact that I ached between my legs to have him touch me there again.

  And more.

  Dusk was falling as I turned into the entrance to my subdivision. Another two blocks and I pulled in front of my adobe casita. Glancing toward the house, I noticed a shadow…no, a man…leaning against a thick wood porch post.

  My heart crashed against my chest.

  “No.”

  With shaking fingers, I pulled the keys from the ignition and tucked them into my fist. I slowly left the car, rounded it at the front, and strolled toward the house. Finally, I looked up into Mitch’s face, hopefully hiding my panic.

  My tummy, however, was all aflutter.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked. “I made it clear I can’t work for you.”

  He didn’t bat an eye. “I’m not here about the job.”

  “I can’t think of any other reason why you’d be here.”

  “Really?”

  Suddenly, my throat parched. “No.”

  He pushed off the post and broadened his stance. I steered past him and went to the door. My hand was still shaking, so I didn’t attempt to put the key in the lock yet.

  “Perhaps I could provide a clue.”

  Standing way too close behind me, the heat of his breath tickled the fine hairs on the back of my neck. My hair was up because of the heat. Mitch touched the back of my neck and made a sensuous, lazy trail down my backbone. I shivered, my blood running cold even though his fingertip branded hot through my thin cotton blouse.

  “I don’t need clues.” The statement was a lot raspier than I wanted.

  “So you know what I want?”

  Turning, I peered deep into his eyes. “I have a pretty good idea, Mitch. And guess what? It’s a bad one. There will not be an encore performance.”

  His gaze played over my face as he studied me. “I seem to recall telling you that I usually get what I want, Grace. And I don’t fuck around. Literally.”

  “What are you saying, Mitch.”

  “I’m saying just what I said.”

  “Quit talking in circles, okay?” What did he want? My brain and my pattering heart were growing confused.

  “I want you. Blunt enough?”

  All right. That was to the point. But this was ridiculous.

  “Want me? I told you. Not into one night stands. What you got the other night was a fluke.”

  “I think we just got started the other night.”

  “It was a mistake.”

  “Perhaps. Perhaps not.”

  He fingered an escaped tendril of my hair, winding it in his fingers. I wanted to both jerk it out of his hand and let him pull me closer. Does hair really own a sense of touch? Because it felt like his fingers were sending sparks up their shaft and into my addled brain.

  “I’m not into one night stands, either,” he said. “I don’t fuck around. Remember?”

  I laughed. “Oh, so you’re here for a relationship, huh? That’s funny.”

  “That’s right. Or, at least a stab at one.”

  Get out of town. No. This conversation was more insane than our sexual liaison in the cab.

  “Mitch, you don’t know enough about me to know if you want me. And whether you believe it or not, I don’t get my kink on from random hook-ups like the other night. I’m embarrassed enough. We’re not going there again.”

  “You already said that…and I already said that’s not why I’m here.”

  Why do men always skirt everything? When you want them to dally, they get straight to the point. When you want a direct response, they walk all around it.

  Or was this all in my own rattled perspective?

  I went back to the door and successfully maneuvered the lock. “Look,” I said, turning the knob. “It’s been a long day, and I’m tired. I’m really not into trying to figure out why you are here. I’m going inside. I think you should head, well, wherever you’re heading.”

  I crossed the threshold about the time I heard him say, “I can’t get you out of my head, Grace.”

  “Give it another day. You’ll recover,” I whipped back, not looking at him.

  “No, Grace. It’s more than that. I want a chance to be part of your life. Can we just talk without…?”

  I whirled. “You don’t even know me! You know nothing about who I am, or what I like, or if we have one goddamned thing in common. How can you say you want a chance to be part of my life? The only thing you know about me is that sometimes I ditch the panties and I can come real fast under pressure.” Tears stung my eyeballs.

  Dammit!

  Mitch stepped forward and grasped both of my elbows in his large palms. “Grace, I do know you. I’ve read everything about you I can get my hands on, including memorizing your résumé. You’re all over the Internet. At first, it was about the job. In fact, it was about the job until the moment I locked eyes with you in that cab. At that point, something changed. It wasn’t about the job anymore, and yes, it damn confused me.”

  “You Googled me?”

  He nodded. “Yeah. Facebook, LinkedIn, Myspace…you got ’em all, Grace. Employers d
o that all the time. You know that. I wanted you for this job—I can’t afford to hire mistakes—and I needed to find out as much about you up front. In fact, that’s how I knew it was you coming out of the hotel toward the cab. Grace, I purposely got in that cab with you.”

  “You what?”

  “I wanted to observe you in a stress situation, see how you would react.”

  “Damn you.”

  “I’m sorry. My intentions were all about the job. I didn’t have it in mind for things to happen as they did. The rest was pure coincidence.”

  “So did I pass the test?”

  “It wasn’t a test.”

  “Sure it was. You were checking me out while I was at a disadvantage. Too bad I didn't have the same opportunity. Because I don’t know one thing about you except that you are CEO of Carson Enterprises. This is finished. Good night, Mitch.”

  “Grace, please. I’m not ready to drop this yet.”

  Well, I am.

  I pretended I didn’t hear the pleading cadence of his voice, but of course, I did. Yeah, pleading. Men.

  I closed and locked the door. Behind it, I leaned into the wood, my back flat against it, my chest heaving. After a moment, I turned and looked through the peephole. He was still there, had taken up residence on my porch wicker settee, it seemed, with his laptop open on his knees.

  “Shit.”

  * * * *

  Even though I was tired from all the hoopla of the past couple of days, I stayed up way too late. Googling no less. That’s right, I believe in turnabout being fair play. I’m not sure why I’d not thought of it before now. Of course, I had checked out the website for Carson Enterprises and searched to find out anything I could get my hands on about the company. I had not, however, dug into the life of its owner.

  Never occurred to me to do so.

  Mitch Carson, it appeared, was quite the philanthropist. He successfully managed Carson Enterprises, but his passion, it seemed, was books. In fact, he had formed a green company that worked to keep books out of landfills and put them in the hands of people who have limited access. He had projects located on the Navajo reservation in northern Arizona, one in South Africa and another in the West Virginia Appalachia.

  Not a bad cause, I deduced. And since my current employer was with a non-profit educational organization, I could totally relate.

  I perused through the usual social networking sites and found his Twitter account, which always focused on the books issue. Seemed to me that Mitch Carson was as heavily involved in the cause organization as much as he was in the for-profit company.

  I liked that. To say the least, I was intrigued.

  Still didn’t give him cause to set me up like that in the cab.

  Yawning, I reached to close the laptop when an email alert flashed in the bottom right hand corner of the screen.

  An email, no less, from Mitch Carson.

  The subject line intrigued me even more than his philanthropic efforts.

  It read: Position applying for: Boyfriend.

  I opened the email. The body simply said: Résumé attached.

  I opened that, too, and skimmed. He’d provided every detail, including numbers of past relationships and the band award he won in eighth grade.

  The grin that crossed my face was out of control. I couldn’t help it. Who was this man? Really?

  It didn’t matter. What I’d seen and read already had my interest piqued. Truth be told, I liked everything I read.

  Did he deserve a chance?

  Did I?

  After all, he’d come all the way out to Phoenix just to hang out on my porch.

  I glanced that way. Was he still there?

  “Hells bells. I’m giving in,” I whispered while padding to the door in my very un-sexy cotton pajamas. I flipped on the light and opened the door. Yep. There he was, feet up on a table, head back, laptop still open.

  “Are you piggy-backing on my wireless?”

  Unfolding himself from his position, he stood. “It appears that I am.”

  I stared at the specimen that was Mitch Carson. Tall, sandy-haired, those damn blue eyes. “I got your email.”

  “And?”

  “You go to some lengths, Carson.”

  “I told you, I go after what I want.”

  “And you want me?”

  “I want a chance to get to know you. I think we have a helluva lot in common. I like you, Grace Wisdom. A lot.”

  Exhaling, I felt the tension ease out of my shoulders. “I don’t want to work for you.”

  Shaking his head, he stepped forward and grasped my hands. “Grace, I need to say something. I’m not a scumbag. I was totally attracted to you in that cab, and I apologize for going a bit crazy there. That wasn’t good.”

  “I let you,” I whispered.

  “I know. Let’s just say we were both acting out of character.”

  I found myself leaning in to him. “All right.”

  “And one more thing about the interview. I purposely pushed the sexual innuendo because I wanted to see if you would take the bait. I prayed you wouldn’t…didn’t think that you were the kind of woman to sidle up to your potential boss sexually to get ahead. I wanted like hell for you to walk out that door, Grace, because I knew right then and there that hiring you for an employee was a bad idea.”

  “So, in a sense, that was the test.”

  “I want to see how you would react to the temptation, given the situation.”

  “I passed.”

  “Well, yes. Are you mad?”

  Glancing off, I realized that I wasn’t. “No.”

  “Because I wanted you for myself, Grace. Not for the company.”

  In the next instant, his arms closed around me, and I could feel the steady beat of his heart against my cheek. I have to say that the sensation of being held by him pretty much erased everything else that had happened up to that point.

  “I could make love to you all night long, Grace, if you’d let me,” he breathed into my hair.

  “Don’t tempt me,” I whispered back.

  Don’t worry, it only seems kinky the first time. ~Author Unknown

  Tom, Dick, and Harry

  I’ll admit, I was slightly drunk, tequila my liquor of choice. And true to its claim, tequila does make my clothes fall off—I just didn’t think when they fell off that three sets of hungry eyes would be staring back at my naked body.

  But there they were: three sets. One blue, one brown and one green.

  What is that they say about variety being the spice of life?

  I was about to sample variety, it looked like, in spades.

  Or rather, in triplicate.

  Their names? I couldn’t tell you for certain, I simply called them Tom, Dick and Harry.

  Tom was the blue-eyed one. He caught my eye early on in the evening, his snow-white Stetson perched over one of those sky-blue orbs as he tipped his head my way. I’d just jumped down from the bar from where I’d been dancing, the heels of my brand new, Chocolate Comanche cowgirl boots clicking on the floor as I’d landed in front of him. He peered deep into my sweaty cleavage, then pulled his twinkling gaze up to meet my eyes. Without a word, I knew as I settled myself again behind the bar, that that cowboy would be in my tight jean skirt before the night was over.

  Dick sauntered up to the bar about an hour later and took up residence not too far from Tom, and directly opposite the place where I had to bend over to scoop ice. As I tended the bar, I’d occasionally have to head back to that place and refill my ice bucket, which I normally left on my workspace. Dick had a definite advantage, sitting in that spot, because when I leaned over to get the ice, he’d get a full Monty view of my breasts. And if he’d lift his green-eyed gaze a bit over my shoulder, he’d get a rearview gander of my ass in the mirror behind the bar. My ass, I was certain, that was hanging out from under my skimpy denim skirt—the one Tom was going to dive into later, remember?

  Although, Dick showed promise. That was apparent when he’d pus
hed away from the bar and made his way to the end to give me a gentlemanly hand up when it was my turn to dance again. The bulge in his Wranglers was damned near pulsating. I accepted his help up to the bar—although I easily hopped up there every night of the week, except Sunday, with no help at all—and I peered down at him while he looked up my skirt. His bulge protruded mightily in anticipation. That’s when I named him Dick.

  And that’s when I wondered if Tom wouldn’t mind sharing.

  I danced my dance then got busy serving up drinks behind the bar again, but not after I’d put back another shot of tequila with salt and lime.

  Then came Harry.

  Several shots of tequila now behind me and one too many shimmies up and down the bar, my pinky toes were tender in my boots, and I was feeling tired. The rowdy crowd was finally thinning, and I was feeling pretty good about my acquisition of tips for the night. The rent was due, and of course, I was behind. As usual.

  It was nearing four in the morning, and Harry was just getting started, however. His black Resistol was just the thing to give him that bad boy edge. The tight Wranglers and his Tony Lama croc boots (Cognac Vintage Hornback Caiman, to be exact—I know my boots) made him damned near irresistible. After a round of gyrating in front of him with another of the girls to the song “But country girls do it better” I dropped to my knees in front of him because he’d been waving a twenty at me for about five minutes.

  I leaned closer, so close I could smell his aftershave and see the five o’clock shadow of stubble on his beard. I wanted to lick the thick mustache across his upper lip and wondered how it would feel raked across my pussy.

  Ah, Harry. How do you feel about sharing me with Tom and Dick?

  He stuffed the twenty into my shirt, feeling up my left tit while he was there. Scooting closer to the edge, I hopped off the bar and then cried out, “last call!” I was dead tired, and yes, a little tipsy, and ready for bed. My own bed, alone, I had decided. It was fun thinking about doing each of them, but I had my pinkies to think about, so unfortunately, tonight would not be the night to experiment with a ménage a foursome…

  I busied myself for a few minutes, along with the other girls, mixing up last drinks and pulling down a few drafts.