he was just to let it all go because his body had reacted to the wrong woman.
And Erica Prentice was definitely off-limits to him.
Not only was she the illegitimate daughter of his long-time employerâ¦there was also the fact that any âfraternizationâ with members of the Jarrod family could see him lose the job he valued so much.
Hadnât ever been an issue for him before this. Melissa Jarrod was a sweetheart, but sheâd never interested him.But he had the distinct feeling that Erica Prentice was going to be a different matter altogether.
As she crossed the glossy floor, his gaze took in everything about her. Shoulder-length light brown hair, soft and touchable. Smooth, pale skin, amber eyes and a mouth that had a tendency to quirk to one side as if she were trying to decide whether to smile or not. She was short, but curvy, the kind of woman that made a man want to sweep her up and pull her in close. Not that he had any intention of doing anything like that.
Her eyes met his and Christian told himself to take care of business and get back to the jet waiting for him at the airport. Safer all around if he concluded this trip as quickly as possible.
âSorry Iâm late,â she said as she joined him.
âNo problem.â Of course the fact that he wanted to take her hand again just for an excuse to touch her might be looked on as a problem. Shaking his head to dislodge that thought, he said, âLook, I saw a café just down the street. Why donât we go have some lunch and get this situation taken care of?â
âFine.â She headed for the glass doors and walked outside when they swished open automatically. She stopped on the sidewalk and pushed her hair out of her eyes when a cold San Francisco wind tossed it into the air. Looking up at him, she asked, âTell me this much first. Are you about to make me happy? Or is this going to screw up my world?â
Christian looked down into eyes shining with trepidation. âTo tell the truth, maybe a little of both.â
Two
âY ou must be crazy,â Erica said fifteen minutes later.
The outdoor Italian café sat at the corner of a busy intersection in downtown San Francisco. Only a few of the dozen small round tables covered in bloodred tablecloths were occupied by people stopping for an early lunch. Inside the restaurant there were less hardy souls, diners not wanting to deal with the capricious wind. Fabrizioâs was one of Ericaâs favorite places, but now she was sure this visit was going to forever take the shine off the restaurant for her.
Staring across the table at the man who watched her through steady eyes, she repeated what sheâd said only moments before. âYouâre wrong. This is crazy. I am not Donald Jarrodâs illegitimate heir.â
Their waiter came up to the table just as she finished speaking and Erica felt heat rush up her neck and fill her cheeks. She only hoped the man hadnât heard her. That would be perfect. She was known here. People would talk. Speculate.
They would anyway, she realized. The Jarrod family, much like the Prentice family, was big news. Even if this wasnât trueâwhich, she assured herself silently, it wasnâtâword would get out and soon Erica would be the subject of tabloid gossip and whispered innuendos from those she knew.
She could just imagine the reactions from her father and stepmother, Angela. Walter Prentice loathed scandal. Heâd raised his children to believe that family business was private and that getting oneâs name in the paper was not something to be desired. Now, Erica thought, ancient dirty laundry would be spread out for the world to read about and enjoy and she and her family would be the punch line to mean-spirited jokes told at cocktail parties.
Oh, God, this just couldnât be happening.
âIced tea for the lady,â the waiter was saying as he divested his tray of drinks, âand