The Legacy of Buchanan's Crossing Read Free

the secretary sitting across from him. As sleek and fashionable as everything else about the place, she could moonlight as a runway model. He’d turned down the coffee she’d offered because he still suffered from the damn headache and he didn’t trust his stomach, having failed to actually buy the stuff he’d gone to HandiMart for in the first place.
    Keeping anything straight after being run over by the truckload of strange his big mouth had gotten him into there was a small miracle. But some things stood out more than others. Like the way Cayden’s scent, rain-soaked wind blowing across a green field, had eased the pounding in his head while she’d been on her knees across from him, cleaning up the mess he wasn’t quite sure how he’d made. Then he’d looked up, right down the low V of her tight little jacket.
    He licked dry lips. When he’d forced his gaze up, he’d caught the provocative flare of gold in her hazel eyes. Since the mop of curls on her head was scattered equal parts black and an impossible shade of flaming red, and her complexion was so fair, he wondered which one, if either, was her natural color. Not that he’d ever find out. Not that he wanted to, right?
    There was no good reason to think about her at all. Especially not remembering her on the sidewalk while he was on the way to his truck. She’d raced by—on roller blades!—toting a beat-up backpack and carrying a lacy black umbrella. What really stuck in his head, though, was the last glimpse of a short leather skirt hugging a well-rounded ass above strong pale thighs.
    The door to his highness Dean Cumberland’s office opened, disturbing Clint from his ruminations. The angle prevented him from getting a look at the source of a mumbled apology with words like “sorry” and “important.” Yeah, right . He couldn’t wait for the day he didn’t have to put up with this kind of bullshit. The entire set up of the reception area was designed to be intimidating and uncomfortable, to put someone like him in his place. The same with the thirty minutes he’d been cooling his heels and cramping his ass out here.
    A glance at the mighty king of developers had him scrambling to his feet.
    “Please, come in.” The tone was cultured and smooth, private school-educated, possibly in Europe.
    Cumberland couldn’t have stood more than five foot six in his Italian loafers. With his orange curly hair, slightly flushed face splashed with freckles, and toothy smile, Dean Cumberland looked more like a circus clown than the formidable CEO Clint had spent hours last night researching. Which probably explained why he hadn’t been able to find a photo of the guy.
    “Have a seat.” Cumberland gestured to an overstuffed leather chair that probably cost as much as half a year’s payments on Clint’s truck. He didn’t sit on it so much as sink into it. The chair was every bit as comfortable as the one in the outer office had been uncomfortable. As opposed to the reception area’s warm and stifling air, this office was pleasantly cool, the colors soothing, the scene through the large window to the right of a gorgeous mahogany desk tranquil. He sighed. Oh yeah, this was more like it.
    “You can’t know how much I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.” Cumberland beamed enthusiasm and sincerity. “Didn’t my secretary offer you any coffee?” He sat behind the desk and pressed a button on an impressive-looking communications array. “Say, sweets, could you bring—”
    “No thank you, Mr. Cumberland. She did offer. I’m afraid I turned her down.”
    Cumberland flashed him an indulgent grin and continued as if he hadn’t heard, “—us a carafe of your wonderful coffee and some of those butter cookies? Thanks.” He released the button and rolled his chair back. “You simply must taste the coffee, Clint. May I call you Clint? I’d like to dispense with the formalities. You and I will be doing great things together.”
    Clint wasn’t aware