The Boss's Proposal, page 6
Ignoring him, Max pushed the button for the top floor. The elevator doors rolled shut. He did reach out then to touch her hair, letting the silky strands slip against his fingers.
Max jerked her head around toward him, but too quickly so that her cheek brushed his fingers. He let them linger there a moment before dropping his hand.
“Didn’t you learn anything the other day?”
Dylan smiled. “Not nearly enough,” he said. “Want to try again?”
His touch still shimmered on her skin. And for a fraction of a second, before sanity took over, her first thought was “yes.”
“So why the o-dark-thirty start time?” Dylan asked as the doors opened onto the BRS lobby.
Max strode out of the elevator car and into the short passage that led from the lobby to the main office floor. “You’d be surprised how much work you can get done at this hour. There are fewer distractions. And don’t start with any of your games,” she warned as he turned to block her way. “I’ve got work to do. Some lunatic got it in his head to completely change all of our floor plans and they’ve got to be re-rendered before the next design review.”
Mischief flickered in his eyes as he raised his hands in the air and leaned in toward her, so close that she could feel the warmth of his breath against her cheek. For an instant, her knees turned to water.
“I guess I won’t play any games, then,” he murmured into her ear.
It would take so little. All she had to do was turn toward him. And she was tempted, God knew she was tempted. It would put to rest the curiosity that had nagged at her for days. It would answer all the questions she had. But it wouldn’t be smart. And it wouldn’t be safe, she’d learned that before.
Max gave herself a mental shake and brushed past Dylan. “Excuse me, I’ve got work to do,” she said, pleased that her voice remained steady. Even if she’d had to work to keep it that way.
She’d seen little of him since that day at the medical center, staying at her computer most of the time, working on renderings. Not that she was avoiding him, of course, she was simply focusing on getting the job done. Except she hadn’t been doing that very well, either. That breathless moment when he’d lowered his mouth toward hers kept replaying itself over and over again in her head. And she couldn’t help but wonder what might’ve happened if she hadn’t turned her head.
Always before, Max had been able to see a kiss coming a mile away and decide whether she wanted to let it happen or stop it in its tracks, or even control the situation so that the opportunity never arose. With Dylan, she’d been so preoccupied with the argument that she’d found herself caught completely by surprise and unable to stop the kiss until the very last.
And the worst part was that she knew deep down she hadn’t wanted to stop it at all.
She glanced over in his direction to find him standing at the door of his office, watching her. Something skittered around in her stomach. She was going to have to be very, very careful with Dylan Reynolds, Max decided as she opened the door of her office. Very careful indeed.
Max had to give Paul Fischer credit, when it came to getting input for the hospital addition, he was nothing if not democratic. The hospital building commit tee included everybody from the chairman of the board on down to orderlies. Nearly two dozen people crowded into the hospital’s biggest conference room to talk with Dylan and Max about what they wanted from the new wing. They jostled together on the extra chairs that had been crammed in around the table. The temperature in the room kept rising.
Or maybe it just felt that way because the only open chair that had been left for Max was next to Dylan. She had to give him credit, he knew how to impress potential clients. His silver and cobalt-blue tie fell just on the über-hip side of flashy. She would have bet money that the suit was Armani. Before him on the table sat a paper-thin, brushed aluminum laptop. He looked stylish, modern, talented and fiercely competent. And he had them all mesmerized.
If she didn’t watch out, Max thought, he’d have her mesmerized, too. She set down her pen, trying to concentrate on what Fischer was saying. Something to drink, she thought, would help. As she picked up her water bottle, the cuff of her jacket caught her Montblanc and sent it spinning off the edge of the table.
Max ducked down for it quickly and found herself face-to-face with Dylan, their fingers tangled around her pen.
“I didn’t realize you wanted to hold hands,” he murmured, amusement lingering in his eyes as he held out the Montblanc.
Max snatched it away.
He grinned and straightened. Then, with that effortless polish she couldn’t help but admire, he switched gears and looked at the committee members. “We’ve talked about what you need to make your jobs easier, but I’d like to get the bigger picture. What kind of impression do you want this building to give? What do you want people to think when they drive up to the medical center?”
“That they’ll get the most up-to-date care available,” Walt Ardsmuir, chief of surgery, responded promptly. “The main building has history but we need to bring it into the twenty-first century.”
Dylan glanced at Max with a raised brow that had her resisting the urge to grind her teeth.
“So you’d like a more modern effect on the out side?”
“It’ll set the tone,” Fischer agreed. “It’ll be the first thing people see when they come in. Make sure it doesn’t fight with the look of the main building, though.”
“I have in mind something that will bring the two together,” Dylan assured him. “Inside, we can go with something a little more modern and open, as well. If we push the rooms on the first two floors to the outside, we can create an open concourse down the middle, for example. It will give a sense of light and space.”
“Sounds very impressive,” said Fisher.
“The heating bills will probably be impressive, too,” the head of facilities grumbled.
“Not with the right design. We’ll use energy-efficient materials, maybe even look into geothermal heating.”
“BRS is accredited for green design,” Max put in. “We’ll deliver a green-certified structure that will minimize your operating costs. We can save you money.”
“On operation, maybe. We need to know how you can save us money on the construction,” said the CFO, Leighton Barnes. “Our last major building project ran way over budget and schedule. We have to get this project put out for bids by the end of the year so we can get permits and materials and be ready to start building as soon as it warms up enough to break ground.”
“Then start with a firm that knows how to work around the weather,” Dylan said. “BRS has been designing buildings in the northeast for thirty-two years. You’ll get a team that can work with your schedule and meet your deadlines.”
Down at the end of the table, one of the nurses shifted impatiently. “Excuse me?” She put up her hand. “Susan Harding, oncology. You know, we’ve been talking for at least half an hour here, and I’ve hardly heard the word ‘patient’ come up once.” She wore a smock covered with little explosions of fire works that matched her short red hair. And her personality, Max thought. “I know cost is important, but it doesn’t matter if we get the cheapest or the most modern-looking building in the world if it doesn’t let us take care of the patients, does it?” She looked around the table. “I mean, isn’t that why we’re here?”
Ardsmuir cleared his throat. “Well, obviously we want a design that addresses our needs—”
“Our needs? What about the patients’ needs?” Harding cut in.
“We’re going to have state-of-the-art treatment rooms.”
“That’s good, but if we’re serious about this center of excellence thing, we’ve got to go the extra distance. There are facilities that provide all kinds of extra care options—massage therapists, counselors, support groups,” she said, ticking them off on her fingers. “Emotional well-being increases patient survival rate, all the studies support that. If we want Portland General to be a center of excellence, support programs have to be a part of it.”
Max put her pen down. “What about something like a meditation garden?”
“Absolutely. I mean, I know not everyone is going to be well enough to go out there but even if they could just look, that would be something. Maybe family members or staffers could help them go out.”
“Family support is important, isn’t it?” Max asked. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Dylan straighten.
“It makes a huge difference, especially when patients are really ill. And the family members go the distance. Some of them spend practically every waking hour here, for days at a time. I don’t know how they do it, quite frankly. I mean, all we’ve got is a twelve-by-twelve waiting area and I swear the chairs are out of a torture chamber. We need some thing better for these people.”
Bingo, Max thought. “What would you say to having a few rooms where family could stay in urgent-care situations?”
Harding’s eyes lit up. “That’s exactly the kind of thing I mean. It’s a whole new level of patient care.”
“I thought I saw something about that in one of the earlier proposals, now that you mention it,” Fischer said. “How hard would that be to do?”
“And how expensive?” The CFO’s voice was dry.
“It’s a matter of trade-offs,” Max replied, warming to her topic. “You set your priorities and our job is to make it happen.”
“Very good.” Fisher glanced at his watch. “I see we’re just about out of time. I think we’ve gone through all of our concerns. Are there any questions that either of you have for us?”
“Well, I—” Max began.
“No questions,” Dylan cut in, rolling back his chair as Fischer adjourned the meeting. “But someone’s sure as hell got some explaining to do,” he added under his breath.
“I don’t know what you’re so upset about,” Max said, hurrying through the lobby after Dylan.
“You’ve got to be kidding.” He stalked out of the medical center’s front doors, those long strides of his eating up ground. Outside, the day was gorgeous, sunny and clear—in direct contrast to Dylan’s thunderous expression.
“You’re the one who was talking about designing for the client. One of the clients had concerns that we could address. I thought it made sense to throw out some ideas, particularly ones they had already seen and liked.”
He rounded on her so abruptly that she almost collided with him. “Don’t you ever go against my direction in a client meeting again, do you understand me?” He stared at her a moment, expression tight with anger, then turned and strode away, leaving Max to chase after him.
“It’s not like we were in the actual proposal presentation. I didn’t contradict anything you said and I never promised anything.”
“Your family suites are not happening.” He bit off the words one at a time. “I already told you, we don’t have room.”
“And I told you they were on the preliminary proposal that got us onto the short list,” Max retorted, weaving through the parking lot in his wake. “Clearly, Fischer saw it or he wouldn’t have remembered today. Anyway, I told them it was a matter of trade-offs and prioritizing.”
“Trade-offs?” Dylan gave a bark of laughter. “Trade-offs are our problem, not theirs. As far as the client is concerned, our job is to give them what they want, period. They don’t care how. The minute you show them an idea they like, it’s in their head for good, and if our proposal doesn’t have it, you can bet they’ll go looking for one that does. And you ought to know that.” He gave her a scathing look. “You had no business bringing that concept up in front of the client.”
“So I’m supposed to sit there and keep my mouth shut even when I know there’s a way to address their problems?” Max demanded. “And what, we’re supposed to cross our fingers that no one else comes up with it? This was supposed to be about brainstorming, Dylan. We need to know how they respond to the idea. We need to know what they want.”
“We already know what they want—”
“Or you think you do.”
“I know I do.” He stopped at his car and swung around to face her, furious with her for breaking ranks, furious with the situation and most of all furious with himself because despite the issues at hand, all he could do was look at her mouth and want her.
She took a step toward him. “I’ve been working on this proposal for four months. Maybe I know something, too.”
“In case you’ve forgotten, I’m the one who sets direction for this team.”
“Team?” Her eyes flashed. “A team of one maybe. If you didn’t want any input, why didn’t you just ask Hal for a couple of drafting slaves? That’s all you’re interested in, having everything your way.”
“Everything my way? You’re the one who always wants to orchestrate everything. You just won’t give up trying to manipulate what I think, what happens on the project, what happens between us, will you?”
“You’re the one who won’t take no for an answer,” she said hotly, stabbing a forefinger into his chest to punctuate the words. “You’re the one who’s always coming on. You’re the one who’s always telling me I want something to happen between us when it should be perfectly obvious that I’m not interested.”
“Yeah? Let me show you what’s obvious.” And goaded beyond his limit, he dragged her into his arms and clamped his mouth over hers.
Hot and furious, fierce and urgent. Dylan knew it wasn’t smart but he just purely didn’t give a damn. Not this time. He made no attempt at seduction, just gave in to the frustration and desire that had been riding him almost from the first moment he’d seen her. Her computer bag thudded to the pavement. He heard the surprised catch of her breath. He just took, satisfying himself and somehow knowing he would take her with him.
Her mouth felt as lush as he’d imagined, her taste as addictive. Licking that dip in her lower lip, he savored it, drawing it in to his mouth, tightening his teeth until he heard her faint groan.
And her arms came up around him.
He’d known the passion was there, but that was like knowing the amount of charge needed to demo a building versus feeling the explosion shake the ground as the walls tumbled down. Her mouth was greedy against his. Her fingers twined through his hair. She twisted that luscious body against him, matching him demand for demand as she did every minute of the day. It was part of her, that need to challenge, that drive to plunge heedlessly into every experience. It was the part of her that intoxicated him every bit as much as it infuriated. And just as the clash of two storms gave rise to the fury of a tornado, so their desire whirled together into a furious passion.
Max thought she’d experienced all the kinds of desire a woman could, but she’d never encountered anything like this. It stunned her, it dazzled her, making a mockery of any other arousal she’d ever felt. There was no measured embrace, no time to think. It swamped her, it overwhelmed her so that she was swept along by her own response, as though her body belonged to the moment. As though her body belonged to him.
His hands ranged over her, fusing the two of them together so that she could feel the hard muscle and sinew of that lean body against her. When he drew her head back and feasted on her throat, the warmth of his lips against her skin made her gasp. Desire drummed in her veins. Control was just a memory. It was exhilarating, delicious, delightful, divine. And she wanted more—that clever mouth everywhere on her, his bare skin against hers, those nimble fingers taking her to the edge.
But beyond the edge lay the abyss.
Max tensed, feeling a sudden surge of adrenaline that had nothing to do with arousal. What in God’s name was she doing?
In instinctive defense, she brought her hands down to his chest, wanting to put some kind of barrier between them, any kind of barrier. And waited for the whirlwind to stop. When she could, she turned away, sucking in deep breath after deep breath and taking one step, then another. Because surely if she got some distance from him, even a small amount, her head would clear. Surely then this demand that raged through her would abate, this ache of desire would ease.
When she circled back, she found Dylan watching her. For an instant, she felt her body yearning toward his again.
Ignoring it, she leaned down to pick up her computer bag. “We need to get back to the office.”
“We need to do lots of things.” He gazed at her, eyes dark with intensity. “Just say where and when.”
“How about not here and not now? Not ever,” she corrected herself. “We are not doing this.”
“We already are.”
“No.”
“Is this where you start talking about work and professionalism again?” he asked. “That’s what you do when you get nervous.”
“I’m not nervous.”
“Sure you are. I’m not sure why. One of these days you’ll have to tell me. But the next thing you’re going to do is tell me to back off.” He shook his head. “You know, you can pretend all you want that this didn’t affect you—”
“Of course it affected me,” she snapped, “but it doesn’t matter. I keep my personal life out of the office. I don’t do colleagues.” She circled around to the passenger door.
“We’re not colleagues.” He followed her. “I’m on a one-time consulting gig. I don’t live here and in three weeks, I’ll be gone. There’s no reason we shouldn’t take this wherever we feel like taking it.”
“Sorry to bruise your ego, but I don’t feel like taking it anywhere. I’m not interested.”
“No?” He moved swiftly to pin her between the car and his body, one hand against the roof on either side of her. He leaned in just a bit, pressing his body lightly against hers, staying there until against her will she began to tremble.
Until she began to want.
“I’m sorry to hear you’re not interested. You’ll let me know when you change your mind, won’t you?”
He opened her door and turned to walk back to the driver’s side, leaving her shaking with what she desperately wanted to think was anger.
