An Irresistible Bachelor(10)

Surely she could handle that amount of interaction.

In a flash, she pictured him as he'd leaned forward, in that crazy moment when she could have sworn he was going to kiss her.

Maybe she could handle seeing him that often.

Callie stayed awake until the sun came up, thinking about the things she needed to buy or borrow. After she'd finally formulated a way to make all the pieces fit together, she called his office number and was surprised when the phone was answered by a secretary, even though it was the weekend. . "When she gave her name, the woman said, "Oh, good. He's been waiting for you."

Mask: Came over the line, something classical and rather grand. Callie managed to swallow even, though her mouth was dry.

"Good morning, Ms. Burke." Walker's smooth, gently mocking voice came through the phone and went right down her spine.

"I'll do it,"

There was a soft laugh of satisfaction and then he was all business. "Fine. Let's meet, ten o'clock, at the Plaza."

She frowned, looking down at his card. "I thought you were in Boston."

"No, still here. Ten o'clock? We'll meet in my suite." When she hesitated, he said dryly, "If it makes you more comfortable, I'll get a chaperon. And I'll make sure the bondage masks and the handcuffs are put away."

She gripped the phone. "Very funny."

Callie wrote down the name of his suite and hung up the phone, her heart racing. When she put her hand on her chest and felt buttons, she looked down at herself. She'd slept in her clothes.

Well, not really slept.

Debating the wisdom of what she'd agreed to do, she went into the bathroom and turned on the shower. As she stripped, she considered critically the black pants, white button-down, and black sweater she'd inadvertently used for pajamas. They were modest, nondescript. There was only more of the same in the closet.

She wished she had something chic to wear when she met with him. A getup that would help give her some of the backbone she was going to need when she sat across from the man and tried to pretend she was every bit as sophisticated as he was.

She peered out at the Chanel suit and smiled, figuring Grace probably wouldn't mind if she threw that puppy on one more time.



Chapter 4



Callie was right on time when she walked into the Plaza Hotel. The first thing she did when she got inside was take off her coat and fold it so that the satin lining, and not the furry outside, showed. After she found the elevators, she took one high up into the building and stepped out into a lofty hallway. A series of brass signs on the wall helped her find her way.

As she was walking along, a blond woman in a sleek red suit and matching coat approached in a wave of perfume. The blond's hair was cropped short, emphasizing her carved cheekbones and tilted eyes, and her jewelry was discreet but expensive. The woman looked over and smiled with a nod.

Callie mimicked the cool upward tip of the chin, thinking she'd have to remember the gesture, and kept going. A little farther down, she stopped in front of a set of double doors marked "Greenough Suite."

She raised her hand to knock, but a voice stopped her. "Are you looking for Mr. Walker?"

Callie turned around. A maid holding a set of towels was looking at her with pleasant inquiry.

"Yes, I am."

"He went out about an hour ago. He should be back soon, but I can't let you in."

"That's okay. I'm happy to wait out here."

After the maid left, Callie leaned against the wall, cradling her coat in her hands. She was thinking about what she would say when she saw him and remembered the woman in the red suit. How would someone like her greet Jack Walker?

Whatever the words, they would undoubtedly strike the perfect note. Just like the woman's clothes and hair had.

"Sorry to keep you waiting." As she jerked at the sound of Walker's voice, she let out a squeak she could have done without. "Didn't mean to sneak up on you."

She opened her mouth, but any cogent thought stalled as she took a good look at him. The black T-shirt and running shorts were a surprise. And so was the sheen of sweat over his skin.

But his body was what really got her attention.

My God, she thought. He was an athlete under those expensive suits.

The man's shoulders were wide and solid and his arms showed a heavy network of veins and muscle. She couldn't help but glance farther down and noted that his stomach was as flat as the wall she was leaning against and his thighs were corded with strength. He looked like some kind of well-made machine, all superb working parts that had just passed a rigorous test down on the streets of New York: