Falling For Her Boss Read online

  When he saw Francie bent over the desk, her concentration focused on a catalog in front of her, he paused. Her skin was perfect, her complexion a healthy pink that looked as soft as satin. And when she smiled, the tiny dimple in her left cheek created the inclination in him to stroke it. The fringe of her lashes was as dark as her hair. She looked as if she wore no makeup except a hint of lipstick. Was that possible? It had been a long time since he'd seen natural beauty this close up.

  "Good morning," he said.

  Startled, she looked up and said curtly, "Good morning."

  She was going to be all business. He could be too--that's why he was here. "Before I examine the books, I'd like to take a look around. Is there anything I should know before I do?"

  Her manner was matter-of-fact, perfunctory. "The rink's in good condition. It was remodeled about ten years ago. When I took over, the carpet was threadbare so I replaced it. I also had to have some of the seats in the foyer re-upholstered."

  He wanted to keep her talking. "How much have you expended on interior modifications this past year?" That information was in his file, but he wanted to hear it from her.

  She named an approximate figure, then added, "But that includes a strobe light, two new pool tables. I'd like to add a ping pong table, but...we'll see what happens."

  He wished she'd smile at him as she had last night. He usually didn't pay attention to what was happening inside the rinks. As long as everything ran without a hitch and the numbers were good, he left the rest to his managers. He stepped in only when a problem arose, and that was usually a major monetary outlay--like a new air-conditioning or sound system.

  Francie had plenty of space if she wanted to add table games. "Do you have a lot of kids who come to socialize rather than skate?"

  She gave him a guarded look. "Mostly teenagers. But if they hang around long enough, eventually they try the rink." She stood. "I'll unlock the doors to the music room and pro shop. They have a different key than the main locks." She stood and came out from behind the desk.

  Noah knew he was staring. She wore sneakers. But her curvy long legs were encased in nylon tights. Her violet sweater topped a matching short full skirt that landed a few inches down her thighs. A surge of heat urged him to shed his suit coat. He tugged his tie down a few centimeters instead. "How many classes do you have today?"

  "Four children's classes--two beginners, an intermediate and an advanced. So I'll be out of the office all morning. Craig had my passwords for the computer. Do you?"

  He could smell her perfume. It was an old-fashioned scent. Roses, maybe? "Yes."

  "I might want to upload new programs to make this easier for me. Do you have any objections?"

  She swung around, her short skirt rippling across her thighs. "Would objecting do any good?" She must have seen his determined look because she added, "Mr. Gordon, you have your reasons for being here and I'll cooperate with you because I have no choice. But don't expect me to be happy about it."

  Noah kept silent, knowing he couldn't ask for more than that under the circumstances. Part of him wished the circumstances were different, part of him wished...what? That he and Francie could relate on an intimate basis? Hardly. He could already tell from her family and her commitment to the rink that she wasn't a one-night-stand kind of woman. And with his lifestyle, he couldn't give more than that. So...

  Noah closed the door on his thoughts and checked out the rink. He found all of it in well-kept condition, which didn't surprise him. Francie took obvious pride in everything about the rink. He was concerned about the storeroom. Whoever had remodeled the rink had passed over that area, probably to cut costs. Noah wondered about the wiring in the small room and whether or not it had been checked recently.

  Stopping in the snack bar, Noah found a slow cooker switched on. When he lifted the lid, the spicy-sweet smell of barbecued hamburger teased him. Had Francie made it this morning? No one else had been around. He knew managing took many shapes and forms, but cooking for the snack bar fell way beyond the line of duty. Then again, Francie didn't act as if she managed the rink merely out of duty.

  Several four, five and six-year-olds laughed and chattered in the reception area as Noah ended his tour. Francie sat in the midst of them, lacing her skates. Her eyes sparkled, her smile was playful, her hands moved agilely as she laughed and spoke to the children. She looked like a teenager and he wondered just how old she was.

  Noah stopped where she was sitting. "How many in the class?"

  She turned her face up to him. "Twenty to twenty-five on a good day."

  Another group of children spilled through the door. Noah smiled to try to coax one from her. "It looks like a good day."

  One of the children sitting by Francie pulled on Noah's pants leg. "Mister, can you help me tie this?"

  Francie's fingers moved faster on her laces. "Joey, I'll do it as soon as..."

  Noah crouched down. "Sure. I bet pretty soon you'll be able to do this yourself."

  The little boy with curly red hair and freckles grinned. "Francie says I hafta practice tying like I practice skating."

  Noah made sure the skates were laced properly before he tied the laces in a double bow and tucked them into the boot of the boy's skate. "She's right. You have to practice anything you want to be good at."

  The child forgot about the skates and pointed to Noah's tie. "Why are you dressed up? Aren't you gonna skate?"

  Noah glanced at Francie. She looked as if she was waiting for the answer, too. "These are my working clothes."

  The boy's eyes widened. "You work here?"

  "For a little while."

  "And you're not gonna skate?"

  Noah chuckled. "Not today. Maybe another time." He stood and capped the little boy's shoulder. "You have fun."

  Noah glanced a last time at Francie. Her gaze met his and his heart beat erratically--until she ducked her head to listen to the child beside her.

  Telling himself he was forgetting his purpose for being here, Noah went to the office to settle in for the morning. He'd like to watch Francie, just to see what kind of instructor she was, of course, but he didn't want to make her nervous. He shrugged. Why would she be nervous? She was used to hundreds of people watching her...thousands. But so far, what he'd seen of Francie was very unassuming. He wondered if she'd liked being a star.

  Noah sat at the computer and began with the most recent numbers. As he adjusted to the chair he had to smile at the a tall jar of lollipops that sat on the credenza. A squatty round dish on the other end held caramels. Apparently Francie had a sweet tooth. At least six pictures of her family stood in between the candy jars.

  Such a big family, and a noisy one. While he'd been having dinner with them, catching bits and pieces of conversations, he realized the connection between all of them--a connection he'd never had. He'd thought he'd stopped mulling it over long ago--the life his mother had led, the years when he'd had to grow up too fast. But being with Francie and her family had brought back the wrenching emptiness he'd always filled with achievements and goals. The last few years, especially this past few months, seeing what had happened to Craig, Noah realized business achievements weren't lasting, weren't what could fill the emptiness. What could? At a loss for an answer, Noah turned to the computer once more.

  Awhile later, he checked his watch. He'd been at it for almost two hours. Raising his arms above his head, he stretched, then stood.

  The low drone of skates on the floor had diminished. He saw Francie standing on the inside ridge of the rink with a little girl. Their voices drew him closer.

  The child looked to be about seven. She was holding on to the railing around the edge of the rink.

  He heard Francie say, "Take my hand and we'll skate around once. Real slow."

  The child's voice was plaintive. "But what if I fall? What if I--?"

  Francie took the child's hands and faced her squarely. "Honey, if you want to learn to skate, you have to let go of the rail. You missed out on mo
st of the session because you wouldn't let go."

  The little girl dropped her eyes to the floor. "I'm afraid."

  Francie's voice was soft. "Of what?"

  "Falling."

  "Are you afraid you'll get hurt?"

  The little girl shook her head.

  "What are you afraid of?" Francie asked gently.

  "That everyone will laugh."

  "Everyone else is gone now."

  The child looked up at Noah. "Except him."

  Francie cast him a concerned look. She didn't have to say anything. "Do you want me to leave?" Noah asked.

  The seven-year-old thought about it and decided, "No, it's okay."

  Francie began gliding slowly backward, pulling the child with her. "Bend your knees a little, but keep your back straight. That's it. You're doing great."

  She let go of her hands and the little girl rolled to a stop.

  Francie explained, "If you want to keep rolling, you'll have to pick up your feet. First one foot, then the other. Do you want to try it?"

  The child nodded.

  Noah was amazed at how her confidence grew as Francie talked, guided, and held one hand.

  A loud group of older children came through the door and made a beeline for the skate rental window. Noah watched Francie stoop and say something to the little girl she was teaching. They glided around the remainder of the oval and skated onto the carpeted area. The little girl waved at Francie and said, "Next week I can skate with the other kids."

  Francie smiled. "Yes, you can."

  Her smile started a low heat in the pit of Noah's stomach. Damn! Francie Picccard might be as beautiful as a symphony, but that didn't change his reasons for this visit. Yet he couldn't keep himself from approaching her. "You were good with her."

  Francie shrugged. "During the session, she wouldn't do anything the other kids did. Sometimes individual attention works wonders." She glanced at the kids lacing up. "But now I'm running late. I want to mop before they roll onto the floor."

  "Can't you get someone else to do it?"

  "Everyone has their own jobs to do." Francie skated toward the storage closet, then turned around and came back. "Are you going to be here all day?"

  "Yes. Is that a problem?"

  "No. It's just that...I'd like to talk to you when I get a few minutes free. This session's over at twelve-thirty. Can we talk then?"

  "Sure."

  Francie nodded and skated away, leaving him wondering what she wanted to talk about. He had the feeling that whatever it was, it could only complicate his life.

  ****

  Francie mopped the rink as someone did after every session to keep the dust at bay. Then she went to find Noah, her palms slightly damp. In her mind she saw him crouched down, tying a child's roller skates. Somehow, that didn't fit his bottom-line image. His caring attitude had given her hope. Was she being foolish? Hadn't Brent shown her how single-minded a man could be? He'd let nothing stand in his way--not even her. Was Noah as ambitious?

  He was waiting for her in her office. He looked up when she entered, stood, and came around to the front of the desk. Francie would have preferred he stay behind the desk. Whenever he got too close, she couldn't think straight. The intensity of his green eyes, his thick dark hair, his large, muscled body stirred up elements she'd rather keep at rest. All morning she'd wondered what he'd look like in casual clothes, jeans particularly. She told herself that if she imagined him that way, he wouldn't seem so impressive, so formidable. But the idea of his legs encased in denim, the snap at his slim waist...

  Noah broke into her musings. "Would you like to get something to eat at the snack bar?"

  "I'd rather talk here."

  He motioned to the other chair and she sat. So did he.

  She folded her hands in her lap and took a deep breath. "Mr. Gordon..."

  "Noah."

  With his half-smile, it was easier to talk to "Noah" than "Mr. Gordon." "All right. Noah, I don't think you realize what this rink has become. It's not just a business any more."

  "How so?"

  "Did you look at our schedule for the coming week?"

  "No."

  Thankful for the opportunity to do something, she went to her desk and pulled out a pink flier from the bottom drawer. She handed it to him.

  When he leaned forward to take it, she could smell the scent of his cologne, see the red highlights in his brown hair. She stood before him as he studied it. There was a small scar on the right side of his strong jaw. Were the tiny lines around his eyes from laughter or something more serious? He'd opened the top button of his shirt. His throat was tan against the white cotton.

  He looked up, his gaze meeting hers. His eyes darkened to the green of an emerald forest. Suddenly, she was too close to him; he was too close to her.

  She backed up and sat down again, her legs feeling like she'd skated a long program.

  He laid the flier on the desk. "What's that supposed to show me?"

  "I don't just give lessons. We don't just promote skating sessions. We have a teen night now and we're finally getting a good turnout. We have seniors night. They love the fifties music and the chance to do something besides walking. And family skates are starting to be almost too well attended. A few months ago we began birthday celebrations on Tuesday nights, and more and more private organizations are booking time. We've become a community center. Everyone can have a good time here. Everyone has a place to go."

  "I understand the rink is becoming popular but..."

  Francie forgot she'd wanted to stay calm and composed. She gestured to the flier. "You still don't get it. This is more than a rink." There was only one way she could show him. She sat forward in her chair. "How long are you going to stay in Gettysburg?"

  "I'm not sure. Just until I can set up everything."

  "Stay a few weeks."

  "Francie, I don't have that kind of time."

  "Don't you want to know what you own? Were you planning to sell the rink long-distance?"

  "I was going to put it in the hands of a real estate agent. I can accept a contract no matter where I am."

  "But you won't know who you're selling it to!"

  His expression told her that that hadn't been a prime consideration.

  "Mr. Gordon, the last manager didn't give a hoot about the rink or the public. That's why he couldn't keep it in the black. You can't just sell this place out from under us without understanding why it's finally succeeding."

  "Apparently it's succeeding because Craig hired you to manage it."

  "Did you know I had no prior management experience?"

  He looked surprised. "Then how can you do what you're doing?"

  His gaze was too intense. She'd met many men in her life and not one of them had looked at her like this, as if he was getting to know her by osmosis. It was unnerving.

  "I love this place," she said honestly. "Before I started ice-skating seriously, I spent hours here with my friends and brothers. When I came back to Gettysburg after-- When I came back to Gettysburg, I got a part-time job here. I decided to get my instructor's certificate so I could work more hours. And when Craig fired the existing manager, I went to him with my ideas and he decided to give me a chance."

  Noah dashed his hand through his hair. "And what do you want me to do?"

  "I want you to give me a chance to show you what the rink means to the community. If you stay and watch, maybe you'll see firsthand how business has picked up and that in another year the profits will be worth calculating. It could even help you run your other rinks."

  "You think if I stay awhile, I won't want to sell."

  "Yes."

  His brows arched. "At least you're honest."

  "I try to be."

  He examined her closely. "If I stay, I'm going to use the time to search for prospective buyers. I can't afford not to."

  "I understand that."

  A wry smile turned up his lips. "You're hoping I don't find any."

  "Mr. Go
rdon..."

  "Noah," he reminded.

  "Noah, you know how I feel."

  He gave a quick nod. "Yes, I do, and I respect your forthrightness. But I don't want to give you false hopes. We're on the opposite sides of the fence. If I stay, I might not change my mind."

  "And if you stay, you might."

  He laughed. "It's not often I come up against someone as determined as I am."

  His laugh was rich and deep, vibrating through her. As his gaze combed her face, she shivered. But she didn't back down. "So you'll stay?"

  He was silent, almost too long. Finally, he said, "I'll think about it and give you my answer at the end of the day."

  ***

  Later that afternoon, Francie was attaching the promotional fliers for the week onto the bulletin board in the foyer when she saw Noah talking to her ticket taker, an orange ticket in his hand. Would she get an argument from him about that new program? Hadn't Craig told Noah anything? Or did Noah only care about the money coming in, not the reason for it?

  A tap on her shoulder drew her attention from him. She turned around and saw her sister, a manila envelope in her hand.

  "Mama said you needed this." Gina held out the envelope.

  Francie recognized her writing in one corner and was puzzled. "Thanks for bringing it. But I could have brought it in tomorrow." The envelope she'd left on the dining room table contained Valentine's Day ideas.

  Gina shrugged. "Mama said it was urgent."

  Francie frowned. Gina was the only one in her family who didn't seem pleased to have her back home. Any time Francie tried to make a move toward her, Gina backed off. Their mother probably sensed that tension and was doing everything she could to lessen it. Francie knew made-up errands wouldn't do it. But she wouldn't let the opportunity to try pass by.

  Francie motioned to the rink. "Come in. You haven't had skates on in awhile."

  "No thanks. I have a date tonight and I have to get ready." Gina's hair was as black as Francie's, but straighter. She kept it cut in a pageboy. Her eyes were more amber than brown. She was a beautiful young woman standing on the verge of her future.

  "Are you going to the movies?" Francie asked. Gettysburg was short on entertainment for teens.