The Hill. Carol Ericson
her shoulder at the closed door. “They’re not my people. I haven’t been at the company that long.”
“You don’t trust them.” This introduced a new twist to the plot. “Who’s been running BGE since your father’s death? I’m assuming you’re still...getting up to speed.”
She jumped from the chair and it spun out behind her and hit the wall. “I am still getting up to speed, but I’m a fast learner and I’ll get there.”
“Wow.” He raised one eyebrow and settled his boots back on the desk. “You need to chill. If you act this defensive around all the muckety-mucks at BGE, they’re going to seriously doubt your abilities even more than they apparently do now.”
“Damn.” She turned and hit the wall with her palm. “It’s just that everywhere I turn, I have people questioning me. It’s Dad’s fault. He never groomed me to take over the company.”
“Did he groom someone else? Another relative?”
She puffed out a breath and swung the chair back in place. “Not really. He acted like he was going to live forever, even after the bypass. My cousin Niles has an interest in the company, and my half brother works there. He’s a numbers guy. To answer your previous question before I went ballistic on you, Richard Taylor has been running the show since Dad’s death. He and...his son have been my constant companions lately.”
He rubbed his knuckles against the stubble of his beard. This looked to be an easy job—expectant relatives or coworkers got their noses out of joint when the old man handed over the reins of his company to his inexperienced daughter, and they decided to use a few threats and scare tactics to get her to decline the responsibility and return to her partying ways.
Gripping the back of the chair, she leaned forward, her silky ponytail falling over her shoulder. She parted her luscious lips and the scent of her expensive perfume washed over him.
This could be an easy job, or it could be very, very hard.
“You think you can help me?”
“That’s what you’re paying me for.” He picked up the check and dropped it into his desk drawer. “First things first. I want to have a look at your place, check out the security there. When’s a good time for you?”
“Right now, but you saw my building. It’s like Fort Knox.”
He shoved out of his chair and hunched over his desk. “Are you going to let me do my job, Ms. Breck, or are you going to try to run the show?”
“London. Call me London. After all, we shared a beer and a dance and...other stuff.”
It’s the other stuff that had him worried. “You didn’t answer my question, London.”
“I have enough shows to run, Judd. You can have this one.”
“You didn’t drive over here, did you?”
She snorted. “I didn’t want to draw the attention of the paparazzi. So I snuck out and took a taxi.”
“Are you okay riding on the back of a bike?”
Her gaze dropped to his boots. “A motorcycle?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ve spent my share of time on the back of motorcycles.”
I’ll bet you have.
“I’ll take you back to your place and have a look around, check out your security and make some notes.”
“Sounds good to me.”
He locked up the office behind them and followed her downstairs to the street, her high heels clicking on the steps. When they got to his Harley, he unlocked the helmet from the side. “You can wear this. If I get pulled over for not wearing a helmet, I can always have my brother Sean fix the ticket for me.”
“Ah, nice to have connections.”
“Just kidding.” He placed the helmet over her head and buckled the strap beneath her chin. “My brother wouldn’t fix a ticket for me or anyone else. Take this, too.” He swung his jacket over her shoulders. The wind would blow right through that low-cut sweater.
She shoved her arms through the sleeves and zipped up the jacket.
He straddled the bike and tilted it to the side. “Hop on. I have a backrest, but you might want to hold on while we’re going uphill so you don’t shift back and forth.”
Placing one hand on his shoulder, she climbed onto his Harley. Her knees touched his thighs and she put her hands on either side of his waist while sitting upright. That erect posture wouldn’t last long once they started going up and down the hills of the city.
He revved the engine and took off from the curb. When the bike jerked forward, her hands clutched his shirt.
As they idled at a red light, she yelled in his ear. “Do you remember where my place is?”
He nodded once. How could he forget? She lived in one of the most exclusive buildings in the city, in an area where the old robber barons used to have their mansions before the earthquake and fire destroyed most of them.
He climbed a hill with a picture-perfect view of the Transamerica building, and London tightened her grip around his waist as she slid back on the seat. As they rolled down the next hill, her body slammed against his.
“Sorry!” The wind snatched her word and carried it away.
As it should. He didn’t need an apology for the pressure of her soft body against his back, her arms wrapped securely around him, the scent of her perfume drugging him. Even her legs tightened against his hips.
He’d have to find another hill to descend.
All too soon he pulled up to the curb in front of her building. He cranked his head over his shoulder. “I’ll let you off here and park between those two cars.”
He steadied the bike as she clambered off, and then he backed into the space.
She was still fussing with the strap on the helmet when he joined her on the sidewalk.
“Let me. It’s a little tricky.” He flicked open the catch with his thumb and pulled the helmet from her head.
She tossed her mane of silver hair, which had escaped from her ponytail, back from her flushed face. “Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride. That was always my favorite.”
“Was it?” A strand of hair clung to the gloss on her mouth and he brushed it aside, the tip of his finger skimming across the smooth skin of her cheek.
Her chest rose and fell as her tongue swept along her bottom lip. Her half-closed lashes fluttered.
If he ever saw an invitation to a kiss, this ranked right up there with the best of them. Did she taste expensive, too? Like Cristal champagne and succulent strawberries?
The cold, hard cash—or at least the cold, hard check she’d written to him that was waiting in his desk drawer—had him pivoting away from her charms. Planting one boot on the step to her building, he smacked the heavy door to the lobby with the palm of his hand. “This is the first line of defense?”
She blinked. “Uh-huh.”
He tried the door handle and the solid door didn’t budge.
“There’s a code.” She pointed to the silver keypad to the right of the door, which he’d seen her use last night to gain entry.
“Wait.” He held up his hand and started randomly punching buttons on another keypad on the other side of the door.
After several tries, a voice came over the speaker. “Yeah?”
Judd leaned forward. “Forgot my code.”
The door clicked and Judd shook his head at London. “Fail.”
As they stepped into