Just One Kiss Page 6

  “I don’t think you’ve met our new president.” Nikki made the necessary introductions.

  When she came to Amy, she stopped and looked at Michael. “I understand you two already know each other.” She scanned his face for clues to the relationship but found nothing but a friendly smile.

  “Yes, we do. Good to see you again, Amy. We have a few things to catch up on before I leave.”

  As Michael turned his attention to her, an odd expression crossed Amy’s face, as though some darkened memory was awakening to new light. The expression made Nikki uncomfortable. She felt intrusive, as though she’d stumbled beyond a no trespassing sign. God, she thought, this man is like a strike in a bowling alley and the women were the pins.

  “Michael, nice to see you.” Amy extended her hand. “I’ll definitely hold you to that catching-up promise, but didn’t you think our Nikki was great?”

  “More than great. Perfect.” He sent a brilliant smile in Nikki’s direction. “Now if you’ll all excuse me, I have a meeting before dinner, for which—” he glanced at his watch “—I’m already late. So before I wreak complete havoc on Darlene’s schedule, I’d better run. It was a pleasure to meet all of you.”

  He turned to Nikki then. “Do you think you could spare some time for me tomorrow? Say about eleven? There’s something we should discuss before Monday. I have product plans I think you’d be interested in and some questions about Kingway. After your presentation, I can’t think of anyone better able to answer them.”

  “Tomorrow at eleven is fine. I’ll look forward to it. I have some reports with me—historical data, sales figures and the like. Would you like me to bring them?”

  “No. Just bring yourself. There will be time enough to review statistics back in the office. See you tomorrow then.” He turned and was gone.

  His request had surprised her, but she hadn’t hesitated. She was keenly interested in those product plans, in anything that would affect Kingway and its people. Some time alone with the new president would be enlightening on both fronts. Some time alone with the man would be delightful. She wondered about those baser instincts he’d mentioned. Would they really be so easy to unleash? The way Nikki’s thoughts were going, she decided she was the one who needed the leash. Out of bounds, she told herself for the millionth time, the man is way out of bounds.

  “I say we go for a celebratory drink. Niks has paved the way for us with the new boss man, and she deserves a toast. All in favor say aye.” John was taking the vote.

  “The ayes have it,” he announced before anyone had a chance to respond. He reached up to help Nikki step from the platform.

  “I’m for it,” she said, “but let’s make the celebration a short one. I feel the need to get into some jeans and a T-shirt.” She looked pointedly at her three friends and coworkers and added, “Now that there’s no longer a need to impress anyone.”

  “There she goes again. Planning her escape from the bar before we even get there,” Christy said. “When have you ever been in a bar for more than a short time? Not that we hold that against you, you understand. Someone in this motley crew has to keep a clear head. Better you than me.” Christy laughed, took Nikki’s arm, and pulled her toward the door. “You really must learn the fine art of partying, Niks. Think about what you’re missing.”

  “I know what I’m missing. A big head and a thick tongue the morning after. No thanks. But, believe it or not, I do feel like celebrating tonight, so I might surprise you and stay until lights out,” Nikki teased back. “Are you ready to carry me to my room and put me to bed if I lose control?”

  “Let me be the first to volunteer,” John said with mock gravity. “It would be my pleasure to tuck you in.” He exaggerated a leer. “And of course you could trust me completely.”

  “I think there’s a better chance the person needing tucking in will be you, Zinnser, not Nikki,” Christy responded. “And that will take all three of us.”

  “Whatever.” He smiled and waved a hand in casual surrender. “I’m a very flexible man.”

  “C’mon, you guys,” Amy piped up then. “Let’s not just talk about it, let's do it. We’ll be lucky to get a table if we waste any more time. And as for Nikki drinking too much, I’ll believe that when I see it.”

  As the four of them headed for the Mallard Bar, Nikki was thinking about Amy’s words. I’ll believe it when I see it. That’s what Michael had said.

  Her father always used that same phrase. With Taylor Johnson, it was only results that counted. There were no E’s for effort in the Johnson family, no ‘good try’ or ‘better luck next time’ platitudes. You either succeeded—brilliantly—or you failed. Even now she could hear his voice. “You don’t set your goals high enough, Nicole. Look at your brothers, how well they do. They succeed because they aim high. You must learn to do the same.” To him, Nikki’s aim was never high enough, her accomplishments never quite what they should be. She always had the feeling she was out by one percent.

  She told herself to quit whining. She came from a hardworking, successful family. She should be proud she was taught to work hard, to aim high, and to keep trying until she made her mark … although all that trying did get wearying at times

  Then again, maybe Amy was right. Maybe she was becoming a workaholic. After all, selling skin care products wasn’t on par with brain surgery. She should relax more, make time for some fun and games. Nothing too serious of course, not right now, when there was so much to do. But she sure could use a little candlelight and wine right now.

  Love and romance. How long had it been?

  Never.

  In all her twenty-seven years, she’d never fallen deeply in love. There’d been one semi-serious affair during college, but Dad hadn’t approved. “Not an impressive choice, Nicole,” he’d said. And he’d been right. He always was.

  She shoved thoughts of her father away. And as for the love and romance bit, why stew about it now, when she had the world on her doorstep, a chance for real success in an international corporation? She knew why, of course. Michael Dorado. Six feet of male put together in a way to tempt any father’s daughter, and a kiss that tested the limits of the Richter scale. Why did he have to be her boss? In her mind, the question was followed by three exclamation points and about fifteen question marks.

  “Why so thoughtful?” Amy whispered when they took their seats, adding sympathetically, “I know you hate sitting in bars, but try and bear up. John and Christy do want to celebrate.”

  Nikki forced a smile, touched Amy’s arm. “It’s not that. Just a bit of post-presentation letdown, I guess. Actually, I really do want to celebrate,” she added. “It’s exactly what I need tonight.”

  What she did not need was to sit in her room and moon over a globetrotting, world-weary man who operated under fictitious names. Besides, it was decided—they were to be friends.

  The word stung like a wasp bite.

  Chapter Seven

  Leaving the bar, Nikki followed the happy threesome into the elevator, looking forward to a few minutes alone in her room. By the sound of it, a few minutes was all she’d get.

  “You’re not going to let me beg off then?” she asked.

  “Absolutely not. Go to your room, get into those jeans you’ve been pining for, then meet us in the lobby in, say, twenty minutes. We’ll have an early dinner then reconnoiter all available night life.” John was adamant. “By tomorrow morning, we’ll be fortified enough, or exhausted enough, to withstand another day of Darlene Nichol’s seminars. Then it’s homeward bound.”

  “You’re sure jeans will be okay?” Nikki asked.

  “As long as you haven’t been changing the oil in your car in them, they’ll be fine. This is Whistler, remember, and so far they haven’t put in any laws to prohibit comfort.”

  “All right, you win, but it will be closer to thirty minutes. I’m going to grab a quick shower.”

  “Half an hour then.” John stepped off the elevator followed on the next floor by Amy an
d Christy.

  When she reached her own room, Nikki put down her briefcase and removed the pins holding her long, upswept braid, unplaiting it as she walked to the bathroom. When it was free, she forked her fingers through it and shook her head. She stripped, shoved the wild fall of hair into a plastic cap, and entered the shower.

  When she came out, she donned faded jeans and an electric-blue silk blouse, picking out a matching sweater to wear over it. She brushed her hair into reluctant submission and tied it loosely at her nape.

  Quickly she dusted some powder across her nose. Damned freckles. She leaned into the mirror to purge some mascara from the corner of her eye, then pulled a strand of coppery hair across her pale cheek, grimacing at her reflection. Too damned bright! Somebody up there really tossed around the paint the day they colored her. She forked her hair back into position. Michael’s cool, dark good looks again came to mind.

  She willed him out of her thoughts, grabbed her ski jacket, and headed for the door.

  ***

  “Half an hour from now, this Cinderella turns into a pumpkin and heads for home,” Nikki announced wearily. “And all the kings horses and all the king’s men won’t be able to put her together again.” It was close to midnight and her head was splitting.

  “Is that a mixed metaphor or plain old mangled English?” Christy asked, not that anyone could hear. The amplifiers made a communications vacuum of the room they were seated in.

  “What’s the name of this place again?” Amy yelled in John’s direction.

  “The Savage Beagle. Great spot, don’t you think? C’mon, Amy, let’s show this crowd how it’s done.” John grabbed her hand and they headed for the dance floor.

  Nikki and Christy were alone at the table when a tall blond man approached.

  “Not bad,” Christy whispered in Nikki’s ear as he drew closer.

  He looked down at Nikki. “You’re Nicole Johnson, aren’t you? I heard you speak today. Great presentation.”

  She nodded her thanks.

  “Bill Scott.” He offered his hand and she took it. “As you’ve probably guessed, I’m with Prisma. California.”

  Nikki smiled and shook his outstretched hand.

  “Would you like to dance?” he asked.

  Nikki guessed he was the tiniest bit drunk, but decided to risk it. No use alienating a future Kingway distributor.

  “Sure.” She took his hand and rose to her feet, hoping she was right, and he was only a little drunk. She wouldn’t relish a scene on the dance floor.

  As it turned out, her fears were unfounded. He was a superb dancer with a sure, easy rhythm that made following him effortless. Nicole relaxed into his arms and was soon enjoying herself under his expert lead. She laughed with him when he moved her easily from the faster-paced rock to the slower strains of a pulsing love song.

  “Where did you learn to dance like that?” she asked when he returned her to the table.

  “Would you believe in another life?”

  Nikki looked up quizzically.

  “I danced professionally for a few years. Mind you, that was long, long ago.”

  “It shows. I can’t remember when I’ve enjoyed dancing so much.”

  “Thanks. Maybe we can do it again sometime.” There was an unmistakable glow in his eyes.

  “Maybe.” Nikki smiled, but she was glad when Christy returned. Nikki introduced the two of them and was quick to tell Christy what a great dancer Bill was. Christy didn’t waste a minute. In seconds, Bill was back on the dance floor.

  She glanced around the crowded club. It was now a solid press of over-heated bodies, a tangle of wrigglers, shakers, and jumpers, moving to music that poured from every corner of the room. As she watched, the music grew louder still, its beat stronger. It was the edge of the evening, the time when parties began in earnest, and music, lights, and alcohol combined to dislodge inhibitions and shake loose all the normal constraints.

  It was also time for her to go home. She’d stay long enough to say her good nights, then she was out of here.

  Waiting for her friends to come back to the table, she idly scanned the crowd.

  It wasn’t shock that made her heart pound and her breath quicken. It was him. Him with a capital H. And he was staring at her.

  Michael sat across the room at a table near the window. Darlene Nichols was with him and a middle-aged couple. Nikki recognized Jim Mallon, the man who handled Canadian distribution for Prisma. The woman with him was his wife.

  Darlene seemed desperate to catch Michael’s eye. That woman doesn’t like me, Nikki thought, watching her. She wondered briefly what impact that dislike would have on her new role at Prisma, then shifted her attention to a more interesting subject. Michael Dorado.

  When her eyes met his, he nodded with the barest hint of a smile. The air between them tensed, like a cord snapped tight. Nikki smiled back and waved. The wave was ... perky, she thought, and perfect for the occasion. Light and meaningless, the kind of wave one friend gave to another. She was proud of herself. She was the first to pull her eyes away. The room was becoming uncomfortably warm.

  Across the room, Michael worked to settle himself down. Dropping his gaze to the amber Scotch in his glass, he tapped his index finger on the smooth tumbler and fought to keep his eyes off her. He was successful until he raised the drink to his lips, then again his eyes found her. He was, he admitted, fascinated. After their brief eye contact and her breezy wave, she did not look back.

  He toyed with the idea of asking her to dance but decided against it. Impossible! If he was reacting to her from this distance, he could guess the effect if those tight jeans of hers so much as brushed against his body. He’d embarrass both himself and her.

  It hadn’t been easy watching her curl into another man’s arms on the dance floor, swaying her body to his lead. He felt as though the man were touching something that belonged to him, and it irritated him that she seemed to enjoy it. She would enjoy his arms, too, he would make sure of it. But it wasn’t dancing that he wanted to do with Nikki Johnson. What he wanted was to break a few rules.

  “Michael? Where are you?” Darlene trilled. She moved a manicured hand across his line of vision in another attempt to gain his attention.

  The loud music gave way to a quieter ballad, and this time her efforts were rewarded. Michael lowered his head and turned his ear toward her, reluctantly pulling his eyes away from Nikki.

  “Sorry, Darlene. Did you say something?”

  “If I did, it apparently wasn’t too interesting. Not nearly as riveting as the new sales manager from Kingway.” Darlene tried to joke, but could not keep the sarcasm from coloring her comment. Michael was annoyed, both with himself and Darlene. It was not like him to be so transparent. He’d been staring and he knew it.

  “I was just thinking about her speech today. She strikes me as a smart young woman,” he lied.

  “She’s not so young, my dear Michael, and I think she strikes you as more than smart.” This time Darlene’s tone dripped acid.

  Michael couldn’t ignore it. “Darlene, I—”

  “—And so she is,” Jim Mallon said appreciatively, interrupting what would have been Michael’s equally acidic response to Darlene. Mallon glanced toward their subject. “Nikki’s more than smart. She’s one of the most talented people in the business. Frankly, I think she’s wasted at Kingway. The market isn’t big enough for her. I was about to tell her that, try to recruit her for our national organization, when Prisma bought the company. You’ve got a real crackerjack there. She’ll be a real asset.”

  “You know her then? Quite well by the sound of it.” Michael gave his full attention to the man on his right.

  “Not well, but I do know her. We met a couple of times. Industry luncheons, things like that. I know her mostly through our customers. As you know, many of them in the West carry the Kingway skin care line along with Prisma Cosmetics. I assume that’s one of the reasons you bought the company.”

  “One of them,
yes.” Michael agreed.

  It was the natural link between the two product lines that first interested his mother, Megan, in acquiring Kingway just months before she died. Megan had met Jayne Kingway in Paris at an industry seminar, and they’d had some preliminary talks. She’d asked Michael to check out the company, saying she felt Kingway had the products Prisma needed to round out its own line. By the time Michael finished his report, Megan Dorado was dead. Trusting his mother’s instincts and his own, he decided to go ahead with the purchase.

  Jim went on. “Nikki’s a pistol. No doubt about it. My guess is she’s doubled Jayne Kingway’s business in two years. Damn close to it anyway. It was Nikki who set up the new distribution network. Some of your Pacific Northwest distributors already carry her products. They love her.”

  “Why’s that?” Michael asked, anxious for more information. He wanted to know everything about her.

  “Simple. She keeps her promises and she stays accountable. I guess you’d say she’s an expert in plain old-fashioned service. If there is a problem, she keeps her head up. She’s accessible. Those are rare qualities these days.”

  Darlene cut in. “You make her sound like some kind of whiz kid or boy genius.”

  Mallon chuckled. “Never a boy genius, Darlene. No red-blooded male would ever take Nikki Johnson for a boy anything.”

  I’ll second that, Michael thought to himself.

  “A slip of the tongue,” Darlene went on, her voice defensive. “Prisma does those same things, and on a much larger scale, I might add. It’s a normal part of doing business. No one gives us a blue ribbon for it.”

  Jim Mallon smiled wickedly. “True enough, Darlene. It’s just that some people, like the lady we’ve been discussing, do it better than others. Besides, both you and I know when it comes to distributor service, Prisma occasionally lets the ball drop. Maybe you could learn a lesson or two from the red-headed wonder over there.” He gestured with his head toward Nikki.