Tycoon Takes Revenge

“Right after you left last night, I had an unexpected run-in with Sybil. Apparently she witnessed enough to know we’d been arguing.”

Kayla closed her eyes. It was a nightmare, a complete nightmare.

“I’ll say this for her,” Noah continued, “that woman has a nose for gossip like a bloodhound on a scent.” He regarded her blandly. “Anyway, I made some sarcastic remark about a lovers’ spat, and she took it seriously. I was going to correct her when I realized it would be much more fun to make the most of the situation.”

“So instead of letting her believe we were arguing, you told her that we were involved?” she asked incredulously.

“What’s the matter?” he asked. “Uncomfortable being the subject of rumors? Not too pleasant, is it?”

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

He shrugged. “I’ll admit to some grim satisfaction at being handed an opportunity to even the score.”

She grabbed her shoulder bag and her blazer. “Let’s discuss this somewhere else.”

He looked mildly surprised. “If you say so.”

They had to talk, she thought, but this wasn’t the place to do it. She wasn’t about to provide fodder for the office gossip mill. But somehow she had to convince him to call Sybil and get her to print a retraction. The alternative didn’t bear thinking about. She refused to be lumped together with Huffy, Fluffy and Buffy.

As he followed her down the hall and into an elevator, she was aware of his tread behind her—and of the glances that the two of them attracted.

When they got downstairs and outside into the still-warm September sun, she sighed with relief. At least they were away from prying eyes.

Turning to Noah, her brows snapping together, she began, “Now look—”

Her planned reprimand ended with a gasp as he swept her into his arms.

Her eyes widened. “What—”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a man—a photographer—leap forward and snap a shot of them just before Noah’s mouth closed over hers.

Two

Kayla put her hands on Noah’s chest and pushed, but he held firm.

For the next few seconds, several thoughts tumbled through her mind. Who was that guy with the camera? Were any of her co-workers around? She’d be mortified! What the heck was wrong with Noah? However, those thoughts were quickly drowned out by one overwhelming sensation: the feel of Noah’s lips on hers.

He kissed expertly: his lips soft but sure and his focus concentrated on making her feel. His big, solid body pressed against her. He smelled of soap and shaving cream and just plain guy, and tasted of mint and warmth and subtle sweetness. He overloaded all her senses at once, and she was intoxicated.

It was like being kissed by the captain of the football team in front of the entire school—except she was a twenty-seven-year-old woman with a job and rent payments who happened to be standing in front of her office building at exactly the time that her boss or innumerable other people might be happening by.

That last thought brought her back to reality with a thunk!

She pulled her mouth from Noah’s and shoved him away.

Noah loosened his hold on her—the expression on his face a mixture of pleasant surprise and—help—male curiosity.

“What are you doing?” she demanded, then glanced around. The guy with the camera was still there, snapping away. “And, you! Who are you?”

When he lowered his camera, she recognized him as a photographer for the Boston World.

Suddenly she felt ill.

The photographer, who frequently worked with Sybil LaBreck, smiled and waved at her. “Hey, there, Kayla. You know, if I hadn’t just seen it with my own eyes, I’d never have believed the rumor about you and Noah.” He shook his head bemusedly.

She didn’t have a chance to respond because just then she noticed that, striding down the sidewalk toward them, on his way to the office, was Ed O’Neill, managing editor of the Sentinel.

Her boss.

She whirled back to Noah.

One look at his amused face, however, and she realized she hadn’t just been sunk, she’d been torpedoed—or, more precisely, set up.

The irony wasn’t lost on her either: she’d just been photographed apparently kissing him in the same way he’d been snapped apparently kissing Fluffy.

She jabbed a finger into his chest. “You! This was all part of the plan, wasn’t it?”

Noah caught her finger. “Sweetie—” he said, and she knew he was playing to the audience “—is it really so bad to announce our love to the world?”

She yanked her hand away from his.

“Hello, Kayla.”

The two of them turned, and she came face-to-face with Ed, whose expression said he was wondering what the hell was going on.

“Er—hello, Ed.” She smiled brightly.

Noah held out his hand. “Hi, Ed.”

Noah knew her boss?

Ed took it and said gruffly, “Noah. What brings you here first thing in the morning?”

Noah looked amused. “Well—”

“We were just saying goodbye,” Kayla interrupted, then took a step toward the Sentinel’s entrance. “I’ll take the elevator up with you, Ed.”

Ed looked from one to the other of them, then glanced at the photographer at the curb. “Anyone want to explain to me what’s going on?”

She was going to die, right there in front of the Sentinel’s headquarters. She could already see the headline: Ms. Rumor-Has-It Slain by Innuendo.

Noah smiled. “Sorry, Ed. Gotta run.” His eyes met hers. “I’m sure Kayla will explain everything. Won’t you, honey?”

She gritted her teeth while Ed raised his eyebrows at the endearment. “Of course,” she said. “Say hello to Huffy, Fluffy and Buffy for me, won’t you?”

His eyes laughed at her. “Sure.”

To Ed, she said in a low voice, “There’s a Boston World photographer standing at the curb. I’ll explain, but once we’re inside.”