Sweet Fortune

  Ethel gave Hatch a meaningful glance. “Sounds more like the proud mother than a half-sister, doesn't she? You have to understand that Jessie has had a big hand in raising Elizabeth. Connie and Lilian have been very busy with their design business for the past few years and I do believe the child spends more time with Jessie than with her mother.”

  “I see.” Hatch studied Jessie with an unreadable expression. “I imagine Jessie would make a very good mother.”

  Jessie felt herself turn an embarrassing shade of red, but the Galloways didn't seem to find the remark off-base in the least.

  “Well, well, well,” George said, chuckling heartily as he gave Jessie a knowing look. “Sounds like things are getting serious here. Your father implied as much last time I talked to him. Are congratulations in order yet?”

  “No,” Jessie managed in a croaked voice as she picked up her wineglass. She took a sip and nearly choked as it went down the wrong way. Eyes watering from the strain of trying not to cough, she shot a quick glance at Hatch. He was smiling his remote, mysterious smile. He was fully aware of his impact on her. She longed to reach across the table and throttle him.

  “Jessie is feeling a little pressured these days,” Hatch explained gently to his guests. “It's no secret that everyone in the family is matchmaking.”

  “Oh, ho.” Ethel gave Hatch a droll look. “So that's the way of it, then, hmm?”

  Jessie wished she could count to three and vanish.

  “Pretty damn obvious why they'd all want you two to get together,” George observed cheerfully. “Your marriage would certainly simplify things, wouldn't it? Keep Benedict Fasteners in the family and at the same time give Vincent the man he needs to take over and move the company into the big time.”

  “George, really.” Ethel slanted her husband a chiding glance. “You're embarrassing poor Jessie.”

  “Nonsense.” George turned a paternal smile on Jessie. “Known her since she was a toddler, haven't I, Jessie?”

  “Yes,” Jessie agreed with a sigh.

  “And we know, of course, that Vincent intends to leave the company to her,” George concluded.

  “Unfortunately, I don't particularly want it,” Jessie muttered.

  “But you will take it,” Hatch observed quietly, “because if you don't, Vincent will either sell it when he retires or continue to run it until he drops dead at his desk. Either way, the family will lose the future potential of Benedict Fasteners, which is enormous. It could easily be worth five times what it is today within five years.”

  “If you're running things, that is, eh?” George gave Hatch a shrewd glance.

  Hatch shrugged. “I do have a few ideas for the firm.”

  “Ideas that he's done a wonderful job of selling to Dad and the rest of the family. Everyone's convinced that if Hatch remains CEO, we'll all get filthy rich,” Jessie said a little too sweetly. Nobody seemed to notice the sarcasm except Hatch, who merely gave her one of his faint, polite smiles.

  “Everyone's right,” Hatch said.

  A shark, Jessie thought nervously. The man was a cold-blooded shark. The fascination she felt for him was nothing more than the instinctual interest of a deer staring into a wolf's glowing eyes.

  Ethel's brows lifted. “How did you and Hatch first meet, dear?”

  Jessie managed a brittle smile. “I believe we first spoke the morning he fired me from my job in Benedict's personnel department. Isn't that right, Hatch?”

  Ethel and George Galloway looked at her in shock.

  “He fired you?” Ethel echoed in disbelief.

  “Yes, it was all very traumatic, actually.” Jessie saw the faint hint of irritation in Hatch's expression and she began to warm to her topic. Getting any kind of rise out of Hatch was a victory of sorts. It happened so rarely.

  “Didn't know you'd gone to work for your father,” George said. “Thought you'd always avoided working for Vincent.”

  “I had been working there only a few weeks. Dad had insisted I at least try a job at Benedict. He claimed I owed it to him and to the family. I was between jobs at the time…”

  “As happens so frequently in Jessie's life,” Hatch murmured.

  Jessie glowered at him. “I finally agreed to give Benedict a shot. It wasn't too bad, to tell you the truth. I discovered I rather liked personnel and I think I was starting to get the hang of it. But two days after Hatch was installed in the management suite, he canned me.”

  “Good heavens.” Ethel glanced at Hatch.

  “I'm sure it wasn't all that traumatic for Jessie,” Hatch said calmly. “After all, she's used to getting fired. Happens regularly, doesn't it, Jessie?”

  She shrugged. “I've had my share of shortsighted, old-fashioned bosses,” she informed the table loftily.

  Hatch nodded. “Poor bastards.”

  Jessie glared at him, wondering if he was actually trying for a bit of humor or if he was serious in his sympathy for the long line of managers who had preceded him in her life. She concluded he was serious. Hatch was always serious. “As I said. I was getting along fairly well in personnel. Admit it, Hatch. Most of the people I recommended for employment have made excellent employees.”

  “Your hire recommendations were not the problem.”

  George turned directly to Hatch. “So why in hell did you toss her out of Benedict?”

  Hatch put down his menu. “Let's just say that Jessie is not cut out for a happy life in a corporate environment.”

  “Translated, that means I tended to be on the side of the employees, rather than management, when there was a dispute,” Jessie explained. “The new CEO did not approve of my approach.”

  George Galloway gave a muffled snort of laughter. “What did Vincent say?”

  “Vincent,” Hatch said, “was profoundly grateful to me for terminating Jessie's employment with Benedict Fasteners. He'd been trying to figure out a way to get rid of her since the day after he'd hired her. It took him about twenty-four hours to realize he'd made a major mistake when he'd put Jessie to work in personnel.”

  “I must admit it all turned out for the best, however,” Jessie assured the Galloways. “A month ago I landed a terrific new position with a wonderful firm called Valentine Consultations. I feel that I've finally found my true calling in life. Mrs. Valentine says that if things work out the way she believes they will, she'll make me a full partner in the firm.”

  “What sort of consulting work does Valentine do?” George turned to her with a businessman's natural interest.

  “You don't want to know,” Hatch warned softly.

  “Nonsense. Of course we want to know, don't we, Ethel?”

  “Certainly,” Ethel confirmed. “We're always interested in what Jessie is doing. You do lead an adventurous sort of life, my dear.”

  “Mrs. Valentine is a psychic,” Jessie explained with a broad smile.

  “Oh, Lord.” Ethel rolled her eyes.

  “No wonder Benedict's praying you'll marry her,” George said, leaning confidentially toward Hatch. “She's getting worse.”

  “I'm sure it's just a phase,” Hatch said imperturbably as the waiter approached.

  Two hours later Jessie breathed a sigh of relief as Hatch brought his gray Mercedes to a halt outside her apartment building. She reached for the door handle before he had finished switching off the engine.

  “Well, there you go, Hatch,” she said, infusing her tone with a false note of good cheer. “The Galloway deal is signed, sealed, and delivered. Tell Dad I did my duty. Now, if you don't mind, I've got to run. Big day tomorrow at the office. I'm sure you'll understand.”

  Without glancing to his side, Hatch touched the button that locked all the doors.

  Jessie heard the solid click and sat back, resigned to the inevitable. “There was something else you wanted?”

  Hatch turned slightly in the seat and draped his arm over the wheel, one long finger idly stroking its smooth surface. She found herself staring at that finger, hypnotized by the od
dly erotic gesture.

  “I think,” Hatch said finally, “that we need to talk. Please invite me in for tea.”

  Jessie jerked her gaze away from his gliding finger and shot him a sharp glance. There was just enough light coming from the streetlamp to reveal the determination in his expression. The request for tea was more like a demand. Well, he had a point. Maybe it was time they talked. They had played cat-and-mouse long enough.

  “All right,” she said.

  Hatch released the locks and Jessie opened her door before Hatch could get around to her side of the car.

  Conversation had been sparse since Jessie and Hatch had left the restaurant. It was even sparser as they went down the hall to her apartment. When they reached her door, Hatch took the key from her hand and fitted it into the lock.

  Jessie stepped inside, found the light switch, and flipped it on.

  Hatch reached for Jessie's burnt-orange duster. He eased it from her shoulders slowly, letting her feel the weight of his hands. She was suddenly conscious of just how much material was missing from the back of her dress.

  “Would it be so bad, Jessie?” he asked quietly.

  She stepped briskly away from the lightweight coat, leaving it in his fingers. “Would what be so bad?”

  “You and me.” He tossed the duster over the back of a chair. His eyes held hers as he shrugged out of his suit jacket.

  There was no point in pretending she didn't know what he meant. Jessie turned toward the shadowed kitchen. “Yes.”

  “Why?” He followed her, one hand loosening the knot of his tie.

  “Don't you understand, Hatch?” Jessie opened a cup-board and took down two mugs. “It would be a disaster for both of us.”

  “You haven't given us much of a chance yet.” He took a seat at the counter, one well-shod foot hooked on the bottom rung of the kitchen stool. “Every evening we've had together, all four or five of them, has followed the same pattern as this one.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “First, I've had to corner you and cut off all the obvious exits. Then I've had to coax you or blackmail you or lay a guilt trip on you in order to keep you from backing out at the last minute. When I do get you out to a restaurant, you spend the time baiting me. Then I take you home and you say good night downstairs and dash out of the car as if you're running off to meet another man. You call that giving us a chance?”

  “Certainly makes one wonder what you see in me, doesn't it? But I guess we both know the answer to that.” She switched on the kettle with a savage little twist of her fingers. “I'm Vincent Benedict's daughter.”

  Hatch responded only with mild curiosity to that unsubtle taunt. He smiled quizzically. “You think I'm interested in you just because of the company?”

  Jessie sighed. “I think that's a big part of it.”

  “The company is what brought us together. And I want it very badly. But I would not marry you to get it unless I also wanted you just as badly. And I do. Want you, that is.”

  Jessie gasped and her hand jerked so quickly that she scattered a spoonful of tea leaves all over the kitchen counter. “Damn.”

  “Relax, Jessie.”

  “You always have this effect on me.”

  “I know,” he said softly.

  “How can you expect me to get serious about a man who makes me feel like a complete klutz?” She put another spoonful of tea in the pot and reached for the hissing kettle.

  “Jessie, please. I know there's a mutual attraction here. And we both have the best interests of Benedict Fasteners at heart. So why won't you give me a chance?”

  She leaned back against the counter and eyed the tea as it steeped. “Okay, okay. I'll give you an answer but you aren't going to like it.”

  “Try me.”

  “I'll admit I'm attracted to you, but I'm not going to get involved with you, Hatch. I am not going to get serious about you. I am definitely not going to marry you, even though everyone else thinks it would be a really nifty idea.”

  “Because?”

  She drew a deep, steadying breath. “Because you are a carbon copy of my father.”

  He considered that in thoughtful silence. “No,” he said at last. “I'm not.”

  “You're right. You're worse than my father in a lot of ways. Harder. More driven. More consumed by your work. If that's possible. There's a reason my father has two ex-wives, Hatch. And the reason is not that he's a womanizer or that he's the kind of man who has to trade in older wives on younger ones in order to feel powerful and successful. The truth is, he chose good women both times he married and he knew it. He would still be married if he had his way.”

  “I know.”

  “If you ask Connie and Lilian, they'll tell you that they each married him because when he made them a top priority he was irresistible. They each left him because once he had married, he went right back to Benedict Fasteners, his true mistress.”

  “That's a rather juvenile, self-centered view of things, isn't it? No woman should expect to be the only focus of attention in a man's life. Running a successful business like Benedict Fasteners takes a lot of time and energy, Jessie. You know that.”

  “Too much time and energy, as far as I'm concerned. Connie and Lilian will both tell you they got sick and tired of trying to compete with the company. I don't intend to make the same mistake they did. I won't commit myself to a man for whom business will always come first.”

  “Jessie…”

  “My father is a workaholic. So are you. Workaholics don't make good family men, Hatch. I know. I'm the daughter of one, remember?”

  “That's a pretty extreme view.”

  Jessie was incensed. The man was being deliberately dense. “Don't you understand? If I ever decide to get married, I'll want a husband who cares more about me than he does about building a corporation, a man who will think it's just as important to get to his children's school plays as he does to a meeting with a client. I want a man who knows that life is short and that people—and especially family—are far more important than business.”

  “Calm down, Jessie, you're getting worked up.”

  “You wanted this little chat.” She was vaguely aware her voice was rising. She picked up one of the mugs. “You asked me a question and I'm answering it. What's more, I'm not finished. In addition to a man who is not totally addicted to his job, I want one with blood instead of ice water in his veins. I want one who's got some real, honest emotions and who isn't afraid to show them. You're always so damn cool and controlled. I want a man who can—”

  “That's enough, Jessie.”

  She broke off quickly as Hatch got to his feet. When he stepped toward her, closing the distance between them in two strides, she panicked and dropped the mug she had been clutching.

  Hatch reached her just as the mug crashed on the counter-top and rolled into the sink. His artist's hands closed slowly, inevitably around her upper arms and he pulled her against him with unnerving gentleness.

  “I think,” Hatch said, his mouth inches from her own, “that it's the comment about having ice water instead of blood in my veins that I take exception to the most. Kiss me, Jessie.”

  Wide-eyed, Jessie stood very still, looking up at him. This was the first time he had ever taken her in his arms. If she kissed him, it would be the first time. The monumental importance of the occasion threatened to overwhelm her. She shuddered. “Hatch, I was just trying to make a point.”

  “Kiss me,” he commanded again, his voice very soft even though his eyes were very brilliant. “Find out for yourself if it's blood or ice water that keeps me alive.”

  “Oh, Hatch…” Jessie threw caution to the winds. In that moment she knew she could not go to her grave without finding out what it was like to kiss Sam Hatchard just once. The tension she felt in his presence had been building for weeks and it had to be released.

  With an anguished little cry she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled his head down to hers. Standing on tiptoe, she
crushed her mouth against his.

  Her first impression was that she was peering over the rim of a volcano. Boiling lava simmered deep down in the heart of the mountain, just as her intuition had warned her. There was definitely heat here, but it was under awesome control, surrounded by layers of frozen stone. Images of banked fires and smoldering furnaces flickered in her mind.

  Moth to the flame.

  Hatch's mouth moved slowly on hers, taking complete control of the kiss with effortless ease. Jessie was not quite certain just when she was no longer doing the kissing but became, instead, the one being kissed.

  Hatch's elegant, dangerous hands tightened on her arms as he held her against the length of him. She could feel the long, hard muscles of his upper thighs and was deeply aware of the strength in him. It compelled and fascinated everything that was feminine within her.

  But overshadowing all the other impressions that were pouring in on her was a sense of Hatch's pure self-mastery.

  Jessie did not know what she had been expecting, perhaps some proof that Hatch would be as cold physically as he was in every other aspect of his life. Perhaps she had hoped such a discovery would calm the storm of conflicting emotions she felt toward him.

  What she found instead was infinitely more disturbing. It would have been reassuring to know that there really was no emotion buried in this man. To discover that the fire was there, just as she had suspected, but that he had complete control of it, was unsettling in the extreme.

  Jessie began to tremble. Alarmed, she brought her hands up and pushed at Hatch's shoulders. He let her go at once, his gaze amused and all too knowing. The pace of his breathing was unchanged, slow and steady as ever.

  Jessie stepped quickly away from him, aware that her mouth was quivering. She bit her lip in an effort to regain her self-control as she stalked to the cupboard and got down another mug.