n’t expect to find anyone here today.”
“Neither did I,” she breathed. “And that’s precisely why I came in—to work without interruption—from the telephone or…anything else.” Her breathing was still uneven; the man made her nervous. She tried to control herself and avoid overreacting.
“Do you come in after hours often, Miss O’Toole?” Another question!
“Only when I feel it’s necessary!” she responded cuttingly, and then feeling immediately contrite, added, “Please call me Erin. Everyone else does.”
“Fair enough. I like to keep things on a personal level.”
Erin’s black eyebrows shot skyward with his last remark, but she decided it would be wiser not to comment. She had only to remember his grip on her wrist and the storm of emotions that had seized her with his touch. She didn’t understand why she was overreacting to him, but she knew that it would be best to put distance between them.
He rose to leave, and Erin felt the air slowly escape from her lungs. She needed time to collect herself, to be alone. However, before reaching the door he paused.
“What was your relationship with Mitchell Cameron?” he asked.
Erin swallowed hard and met the chill in Kane’s eyes. “He was my boss,” she replied curtly.
“That’s all?” Kane’s angular face was tense, his jawline firm.
Erin narrowed her eyes. “No…that isn’t all!” she said defiantly, watching his gray eyes grow a shade more calculating.
“Somehow I didn’t think so.”
“Mitchell Cameron is my friend. That fact won’t change, even if you did fire him!”
“So you know about that,” he thought aloud. “Did Cameron tell you?”
“That’s right.”
“Did he explain why?”
“I thought maybe you could answer that one.” Now she goaded him.
Kane slammed the door closed, reversed his stride and came back to Erin’s desk. He planted his hands firmly on the polished surface and pushed his face to within inches of hers.
“What exactly did he tell you, and when?”
“I don’t really know if it’s any of your business,” she shot back at him. Why was he so angry with her? She didn’t understand it, but she felt her temper rise with his.
As quickly as a cat springing, he reached out for her and pulled her face near to his. “Anything about this bank is my business!”
“But Mitch doesn’t have anything to do with the bank anymore, does he?” she asked rhetorically. “You took care of that!”
She felt his closeness, the warmth of his hand against her chin, the light pulse in the tip of his fingers, the heat and magnetism that seemed to radiate from him.
“Why don’t you tell me about ‘your friend,’ Mitch,” he coaxed, and suddenly the fingers that had been rough became gentle. His thumb persuaded her to relax as it moved sensually along the line of her chin and jaw, stopping just short of her throat.
“There’s nothing to tell,” she whispered, trying to think coherently and disregard the intimate persuasion of his hand.
His eyes, flooded with passion, cooled. “Just how good friends are you?”
“Good friends—just that,” she managed, and seeing the clinical hardness on his face, pushed his hand away, adding, “Nothing more. And I resent the implication.”
“Implication?” he mocked.
“That I sleep with him. That is what you were getting at, isn’t it?” she asked with a bitterness she couldn’t conceal. “Not all successful women sleep their way to the top!”
“I didn’t mean to imply…”