She scrubbed her skin until it glowed, hoping to wash away the feeling of his hands on her. She'd never reacted to another man that way. Even when she thought she was madly in love with Michael she never wanted him with the same feverish longing.
The faint memory tugged at the fringes of her mind. Chandler cringed at the innocence of the girl she'd been, of her foolish dreams of love and romance, and the cruelty of her awakening.
The floodgates burst open, and a swirling array of images flowed before her. Being introduced to Michael Worthington at one of her father's business dinners. Overwhelmed by deep blue eyes and golden hair; by her father's booming acknowledgment that he was a rising star in the company; and by his charming, witty demeanor. He'd escorted her home with Alexander Santell's blessing. With a brief kiss, he asked her if she'd see him again. She agreed.
As their courtship continued, she was wined and dined by a handsome man who flashed dazzling smiles and whispered words of love. Suddenly, the pieces of her life fell into place. She'd graduate from college and take her position in her father's company. She'd marry Michael and have a family.
And through every step her father would be there, with his silver hair and sharp green eyes, watching and guiding her in the right path as he had done since she was a little girl.
On the night Michael proposed he presented her with a diamond ring on bended knee. She felt like a princess from a fairy tale, so when his kisses became more insistent she gave herself up to the moment. He led her into the bedroom, and she ignored the tiny seed of warning that flashed to life, chalking it up to nervousness.
Afterward, he held her in his arms while she cried, telling her it would get better because her virginity made it difficult. When he left he promised they would tell her father the news of their engagement in the morning.
Chandler stepped out of the shower and wrapped herself in a towel. As she sat on the edge of the lacy Victorian comforter, the years faded away as the memory of her ultimate betrayal played in slow motion before her closed eyes.
She saw herself arriving at her father's office, filled with excitement. Breezing past his secretary's empty desk to the partially closed door. Stopping short as she heard Michael's voice say her name. Listening in horror to the conversation enfolding, trapped in a nightmare of her own making.
"It's all taken care of," Michael said. He threw a bunch of documents on the desk. "Chandler was ecstatic. I did my part old man, now it's time you sign the papers."
Alexander Santell chuckled. "Not so fast, dear boy. The agreement was the delivery of the contracts after the wedding ceremony. I didn't hear a set date."
"I'll convince her to speed up the normal process. She's eager to marry me, and I see no need to wait more than a couple of weeks."
"I knew you'd be perfect for her the moment I laid eyes on you, and my daughter's reaction proved me right." A booming laugh rang out. The sound echoed and bounced off the paneled walls of his office. "Three months ago I thought the Walterson contract would be impossible to close. The most prestigious investor in the city almost ran for the door when he heard my daughter wasn't settled down. Can you believe such outdated crap? He actually told me he only felt secure investing in a firm that showed values and stability, which he translated as family."
Chandler huddled at the door. Her stomach lurched as Alexander Santell's words drifted up to her ears. "That's the first man I've dealt with who didn't care about my profits. He was concerned that if I dropped dead Chandler would inherit control and not have a husband." Alexander snorted. "As if my daughter needed one."
"Then why me?" Michael asked smugly. "If you'd been certain she didn't need a husband you would've convinced Walterson she could handle the company. Instead you offered me a full partnership the moment I put a ring on her finger."
"Walterson was impossible to convince. That's when I decided to introduce you to my daughter." Alexander lit a cigar and puffed furiously. "Chandler's a good girl but she's started to stray. All those crazy psychology courses and projects. Books can't help you in a business deal when you have to go in for the kill." Silver brows lowered into a frown. "Ever since her momma died when she was young, I promised myself I'd give her something that would last forever. And I've succeeded. My daughter was born to run this company and keep the family name alive, even though she may be a bit soft-hearted. I haven't broken my back all these years just so she could get some notion in her head about finding herself."
"I assume Walterson approved of Chandler's decision?"
"The man lit up like a Christmas tree when I let him know she was safely engaged. He agreed to sign the contracts after the wedding."
Michael sighed. "Chandler's a bit of a romantic. She wouldn't have agreed to this marriage if she didn't think I was in love with her."
"You'll fall in love with her eventually, son. She's a jewel. But for now a business marriage based on shared values and commitments is nothing to bark at. It's as good as any nowadays."
Michael muttered something under his breath which was overshadowed by her father's chuckle. Chandler slowly backed away from the door and turned, stumbling down the hall in a daze. She couldn't remember how she found her way home. She only remembered the feeling of her safe little world ripped to shreds, and the fear of knowing she'd never be the same person again.
Chandler slid beneath the cool sheets and shivered. When Michael knocked on the door that evening she knew what needed to be done. She remembered his cruelty when she'd given him back the ring; his reminder that her father controlled her life and could force her to marry him.
The stark truth of his words took her breath away. Michael was right. Her father's money financed everything. Her job and future was his corporation. She had no other family, no friends, and no one she could depend on. If he ordered her to marry Michael, what could she do?
Chandler remembered her fear and hatred four years ago. The anger and loneliness at being trapped, forced to play out a role because her father controlled her destiny. Then she'd made the hardest decision of her life.
She left.
Chandler flicked out the light and forced back the memories. She'd made a decision to start a new life for herself, one which would never tie her down to another human being like her father. She refused to think of regrets this late in the game. The present seemed enough of a challenge.
Using one of her techniques to clear her mind, she focused on her breath and consciously let go of any thoughts. Soon, each part of her body relaxed and sank deeper into the pillowed mattress. As she drifted toward sleep she was grateful the last image flickering before her eyes was not Michael.
But she dreamed of a dark haired man whose touch set her blood on fire.
Logan sat in front of the fireplace and stared into the crackling flames as he thought about Chandler Santell. The haunting strains of Beethoven filled the air and soothed his nerves. His gaze took in the sparsely decorated room. He wondered why it felt so empty now that he had seen her apartment. He'd always liked his home, feeling it was suitable to his busy lifestyle. The wraparound sofa was a soft, buttery leather, which matched two easy chairs across from it. The contemporary teak furniture complemented the bare wood floors nicely without adding unnecessary clutter. There was a huge entertainment wall, a desk, and a teak and marble coffee table. The hand rubbed Tuscan beige walls were bare of paintings and pictures, offering no distractions to the elegant lines of the furniture.
Maybe the room needed some distractions. Some paintings. More plants. Chandler.
He sipped his cognac and tried to ignore the odd hunger clawing at his gut. When he stepped into Chandler's apartment, he'd been struck by a sense of joyous clutter, almost like the woman herself. He pictured her floating through the rooms, tossing things over the furniture and floor, flipping through random books and magazines without ever worrying about replacing them in their proper location. He wondered if she'd bring the same wild abandon to the bedroom.
Now he knew.
L
ogan groaned and tried to force the erotic image from his mind. She'd gone up in flames in his arms and surrendered completely. He'd met many woman who experienced passion, but he always felt as if they played a game, and he was the prize. His money. His name. His reputation. Never had he felt the sheer honest response of a woman melting beneath him, needing him as much as he needed her.
Until tonight.
A flicker of unease shot through him. He'd been prepared for her to turn in disgust once she heard the circumstances surrounding his famous nickname. Instead, there'd been a light of understanding in those jade green eyes; a gentleness in her demeanor that touched him. Chandler Santell was a woman who walked in the sunlight, yet she willingly reached out for someone in the darkness and invited him into her world.
He wondered how it would feel to live in such a place.
Logan swirled the amber liquid around in his glass and let the lilting strains of music wash over him. Their encounter presented him with more questions than answers. It had taken every shred of his willpower not to pull her back in his arms during her tidy speech, and force her to acknowledge her feelings. He only stopped because of the sheer panic in those green eyes, and his determination to find out what was the cause. Or who.
A flare of jealousy gripped him, but Logan stamped down hard on the strange emotion. His yoga teacher may not have realized it, but she'd started the game the moment she melted so sweetly in his arms.
He intended to finish it.
His instincts told him he needed to move carefully. He suspected Richard Thorne could prove a problem. The man knew something about Chandler, and in order to play the game properly, Logan needed to find out the rules. First thing in the morning, he'd contact his friend to start some research.
Logan tapped his finger absently against the crystal rim and frowned at the strange restlessness flooding through him. Hell, he'd never bothered to question his life before. Crazy to start now. He pursued a strict path to achieve money and power, and never looked back. No regrets. After all, there had never been a choice.
Growing up in the slums, he watched his mother struggle to support them after his father left. He vowed one day he'd be successful. She regaled him with tales of a world that was limitless, urging him to make the most out of himself and break away from the vicious cycle of poverty. As his mother grew weaker, he'd been driven by a hunger that constantly ate at his gut, and spent each day working furiously. He was determined to make a home for them someplace safe, where guns and drugs and crime didn't dominate the streets. He longed to see his mother happy again, instead of offering a tired smile when she came home from the restaurant where she worked, counting every penny from the tips she received.
He delivered newspapers and ran odd errands. He worked as a cashier and waited on tables. The neighborhood knew him as the boy who'd do any job as long as the pay was good. And, slowly, he began to build a reputation.
His big break came in high school, when he was recommended for a summer internship by one of his teachers. He took the train into the city every day and worked late into the night at a well known financial firm. By practically living at the office, he soaked up every bit of information. He learned he had a head for figures and a talent for getting what he wanted. Emotions had no place in the world of high finance, and Logan found himself easily slipping into a role that demanded nothing but the accomplishment of profit. At home, he was overcome by feelings of guilt and helplessness. When he stepped into the office, he felt nothing, and as time passed, he realized he had started earning a name for himself. Negotiating the acquisition of companies demanded a businesslike approach and certain ruthlessness, especially in hostile takeovers. Logan realized early on in the game it was easy to tap into those parts of himself. He remained cold when faced with pleas and objections from family companies not wanting to merge. He made a man sign on the dotted line with whatever ammunition he could get, and he learned how to play dirty.
One day his mentor failed to show up for a meeting. Familiar with the deal, he closed the contract personally with a higher margin of profit.
The company fired the executive and hired him immediately. Logan never looked back.
Until now.
He set the snifter on the coaster and got up from the easy chair. No need to start questioning himself. He achieved his goals and finally proved his worth. Just like his mother always wanted.
He grabbed the poker and stirred the fire. Hissing logs popped in the silence. He must be tired. He certainly wasn't lonely. His life was too busy to waste precious time exploring the strange emotions bubbling up inside of him. By morning, he'd be back in control and start on his plan to get Chandler into his bed.
"May I have your attention, please?"
Chandler gazed at a dozen pair of eyes, all filled with doubt and curiosity. Shorts and tshirts replaced the business suits. The excess office furniture had been moved into storage and in its place exercise mats were spread out on the floor.
The late afternoon sun cast relaxing patterns about the spacious room. Chandler immediately surmised that her students, which mostly consisted of males, were not too keen on the idea of dealing with stress. Brows lowered in confused frowns. Low murmurs rose and fell through the air. She guessed their distress was caused by the noticeable absence of their esteemed leader, who had yet to show. She fought back a surge of anger and decided to start the class. If the other night caused a change of heart in Logan Grant, so be it. She'd make her workshop a success without him.
"My name is Chandler Santell and I'll be the instructor working with you over the next few months." Her gaze swept the room. "I regret we have to start without Mr. Grant, but I'm sure he'll join us later. As we all know in the business world, sometimes we get caught up in pressing schedules which demand most of our time."
"Ah, but as someone once told me, we must always allow time for certain pleasures."
Chandler turned at the masculine voice behind her. Her gaze collided with amused gray eyes. She felt her cheeks burn as she remembered their prior conversation. Keeping her voice neutral, she said. "Please join us, Mr. Grant. I'm glad you could make it."
His eyes swept over her figure as he closed the distance between them. He smiled lazily. "Please call me Logan. I prefer to be on a first name basis with people I work closely with."
She fought the next blush threatening to overcome her, and nodded her agreement, not trusting herself to speak. Logan lowered himself to the mat and stretched his long, powerful legs in front of him. He propped his hands up behind his back and exchanged easy banter with his employees. Grudgingly, she admitted he looked as much at ease in his gray sweatshirt and jogging shorts as he did in his expensive tailored suits. His forearms and legs were sprinkled with dark hair, his lightly tanned skin gave him a healthy glow. His pose made his sweatshirt stretch and cling to his broad chest, reminding her of how his muscles had jumped under her touch. Chandler cleared her throat and forced her thoughts away from the man who'd haunted her dreams last night. She refused to let him bully her with his deep, rich voice or his sexual innuendoes. She pulled herself back to reality and turned to face her class.
"Most of you don't know what to expect from this workshop so I'd like to give you an overview. First, I want to assure you I won't make everyone sit in Lotus position while we chant to relieve ourselves of stress. At least not the first week." Everyone laughed.
"We all want to learn how to be more productive on our jobs by taking care of ourselves and our needs. This encompasses not only dealing with stress, but also being aware of our diet, personal habits, and bodies. We'll talk about nutrition, exercise, stress, and awareness. I'll show you some easy breathing techniques and stretches to loosen some of the tension."
She lowered herself to one of the mats and sat in a comfortable, cross-legged position. "I've been involved in the corporate culture," she continued easily, "so I know first hand the pressures involved on a day to day basis. It seems easier to keep continuing to skip meals, drin
k more coffee, and close one more deal. But if we continue the behavior, all of us are going to burn out. Then we'll be nowhere, except maybe a hospital.
"What does this have to do with your current job? Let's say you're in an important meeting and the client is ready to close the deal. You've been up all night poring over the contracts and you're tired. There's been no time for breakfast so you gulp down some coffee to get started. You've done all the research, wined and dined the client over lunch or dinner, and it's time to sign them on the dotted line." She paused. "Let's say the client balks. Asks for more time. Wants a better deal."
A combined groan rose from her group.
"What are you going to do? If you've been up all night on a diet of caffeine, stressed to the limit, couldn't your temper snap? Or what if you're not thinking clearly, so you offer him what he wants, no matter what the price?" A burst of laughter rang out as Logan frowned and shook his head.
Chandler smiled. "At that moment, anything can happen because you've lost control of your mind and body. In a stressful situation, our adrenaline takes over and we act on instinct. In a business meeting you only want to rely on your wits. So, if you've been taking care of yourself and the client balks, you can clearly see options. You can catalogue his weaknesses and strengths; decide whether to bluff or walk away from the deal; make a judgment if he needs more finessing or his mind is made up.