Her Man Friday(22)
Author: Elizabeth Bevarly

It just wasn’t right, Leo thought. He didn’t care how hard Kimball had worked or how talented and gifted the man was. There was no reason to hoard all that money, when it could do so much for so many and still leave Kimball a fat and sassy cat. The man should be ashamed of himself, for God’s sake, not spreading a little bit around for others to enjoy. And on top of that. .

On top of that, Leo had actually just bragged to a woman that he could bench press his IQ. He groaned inwardly. What a moron. He should have his IQ rechecked. Because ever since coming to Ashling, he’d felt it slipping away little by little. And whenever Lily Rigby walked into a room, well… His IQ went right out the window.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt it necessary to try and impress a woman in order to win her over. Usually, women responded to him with enthusiasm right off the bat, with absolutely no coaxing from the studio audience. And although he definitely sensed interest on Miss Rigby’s part, there was something else in her that held her aloof. It was something that also prevented him from acting on his desire to get to know her better.

Partly, in spite of her clear interest, he suspected there was something going on between her and Kimball, however superficial the relationship seemed to be. And he was also hesitant, he had to admit, because, well, at the risk of coming off as an intellectual snob—which, when he got right down to it, he was—Lily Rigby just wasn’t as smart as Leo was. And he really preferred women who could keep up with him in the contemplative arena. Not that she was particularly shallow, mind you—well, not too shallow—but that whole cat thing from their initial encounter was never far from his thoughts.

Plus, as much as he hated to do it, he still had to view her as an unknown quantity where the missing Kimball millions were concerned. He didn’t really think Lily Rigby had anything to do with the money’s disappearance—thanks to that cat business—but at this point, he had no leads, and it would be foolish to rule out anyone. Miss Rigby was as likely a suspect as anyone, he supposed.

Yet even at that, something held Leo in check where she was concerned. As gregarious and chatty as she was, there was something standoffish in her nature that warned anyone—male or female—not to get too close. It was almost as if she were hiding something she feared others would discover about her. Then again, Leo had encountered that kind of thing in women before, and it had only made him work that much harder to win them over.

Miss Rigby, he was beginning to think, would be no different in that respect. Ultimately, he was going to want to figure her out, to dress her down and study her thoroughly, until he knew once and for all what made her tick. Because in spite of all his misgivings, she was, quite simply, too tempting to pass up.

He did his best to hide his interest as she made her way back across the room. And given the size of the room, it would probably take her half an hour to make the journey, so Leo took his time drinking in the sight of her. Where her snug little suits and sweater sets had fairly scorched his insides, the black velvet number wrapping her body now set off little explosions throughout. With its long sleeves and modest length, the dress shouldn’t have been revealing. But the scooped neck fell just low enough to display the upper swells of her br**sts, and the hourglass shape made the most of Miss Rigby’s numerous—and dangerous—curves.

For a small woman, she was lush as hell, he thought. And something inside him that was already strung way too tight grew even more taut.

"Johnnie Walker Blue Label over ice. Is that all right?" she asked as she extended the glass toward him.

An exceptional Scotch that, last time he’d checked, ran one hundred dollars a bottle? Leo thought. Gosh, he guessed he’d just have to make do, wouldn’t he?

"That will be fine, Miss Rigby. Thank you."

When he curled his fingers around the glass, somehow—he couldn’t begin to imagine quite how—his hand wound up completely covering hers. They spent a few moments volleying for possession of the glass before Leo finally lifted his free hand to shift the drink there. But even after he’d managed a successful trade off, their fingers remained tangled for another moment more. And as he worked—but not too hard—to free himself from the delicate trap she posed, it occurred to him that in addition to being small and lush, Miss Rigby was also very, very soft. And warm. And tempting.

Oh, boy.

He was just about to forego his personal freedom, to succumb to the urge to tighten his fingers in hers and pull her forward, when she somehow managed to disengage herself from the snare. Without so much as a Mother-may-I, she took a giant step backward, curling both hands around her own drink, as if the cut crystal tumbler were a talisman to ward off evil. Her cheeks were stained with pink, though whether the blush was a result of embarrassment or something else entirely, Leo couldn’t have said. But relief coursed through him at the realization that he could unbalance her the way he had. Hey, why should he be the only one here who’d lost his equilibrium?

Unsure exactly what kind of comment might be appropriate following what had felt like foreplay for some reason—very public foreplay, at that—Leo lifted his drink to his lips, filling his mouth with the smoky, mellow Scotch that lesser men had never before tasted. And as he rolled the liquor around on his tongue before swallowing, as he savored every last trace of it spilling into his belly, he decided there was a lot to be said for having billions and billions and billions of dollars.

As the liquor warmed his insides, his spirits, his very soul, Leo turned to say something else to Miss Rigby. But she’d directed her attention elsewhere, to a point behind him, and every last ounce of her being seemed to be focused on whatever—or whoever—that was. Before he even turned around, Leo knew.

Schuyler Kimball had come down to dinner.

Chapter Seven

Leo had expected the billionaire to be larger than life, but the man who entered the dining room wearing a faultless black tuxedo—and an even more faultless blonde—looked to be ordinary enough. All right, so Kimball was reasonably good-looking, Leo conceded. If you were one of those women who went for a man who was tall and well built, who had ruggedly handsome features… jet-black hair and ice-blue eyes… a square jaw, strong mouth… and one of those cool, shaken-not-stirred dispositions about him. But only if you were the kind of woman who went for a man like that. Immediately, he turned to look at Miss Rigby, whose gaze was still fastened on her employer, and he frowned.

Evidently, she was one of those women.

Because she seemed to have forgotten that Leo was even there, so focused was she on Schuyler Kimball. He looked for traces of jealousy or resentment on her part where the faultless blonde was concerned, but he detected neither. On the contrary, Miss Rigby didn’t seem to notice Kimball’s companion any more than she noticed Leo.