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  Captivating the CEO

  Copyright © 2013 by Sara Daniel

  ISBN: 978-1-61333-599-4

  Cover Art by Mina Carter

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work, in whole or in part, in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Decadent Publishing Company, LLC

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  ~DEDICATION~

  For everyone who lives with a congenital heart defect and for those who care for them and love them.

  Chapter One

  “Please provide an unobtrusive service, so Mr. Vanderhayden doesn’t notice your presence. Silence is essential. Do not interrupt his conference call.”

  Willow Jeffries raised her eyebrows at the secretary’s instructions. Willow delivered office massages to executives too overscheduled to make a spa appointment, but most people scrolled through their Blackberries and shot off urgent e-mails while paying her to help them relax.

  Pushing open the office door, she glanced around the impersonal, ostentatious corner suite. Yawn. As expected, the workaholic CEO who owned it sat behind a massive desk with file folders and sleek electronics placed to make him look as important as possible.

  “Hello, Mr. Vanderhayden.” His name was a mouthful. “Do you mind if I call you Colin? I’m Willow, the massage therapist.” Resisting the impulse to swing her oversized bag of supplies, she maintained the reserved, modulated demeanor of her profession and stepped forward, offering a hand. “Where would you like—”

  Slicing a palm through the air, he cut her off. “Were you not informed I requested silence?”

  Although tempted to pantomime her head falling off from his chopping gesture, she lowered her arm. Not that he’d notice. His focus had shifted to the voices on his speakerphone. Then his eyes widened as he glanced at the computer screen.

  Hopefully, he’d stumbled on a porn site. A quick jerk-off might do him more good than a massage. Too bad she ran an aboveboard business. Mr. Vanderhayden, a couple decades younger and light-years more handsome than most executives she visited in the workplace, ruined his attractiveness by concentrating exclusively on his electronics. Her massage wouldn’t do jackshit to release his stress if he didn’t make time to breathe.

  Pressing the mute button on the phone, he lifted his head and narrowed icy blue eyes at her. “I’m not paying you to stand and look at me.”

  Of course not, but she enjoyed the freebie. Guys in suits usually didn’t affect her, but he took clean-cut and sophisticated to a new level with his tailored, buttoned, charcoal coat and knotted blue tie. Trying to adhere to his secretary’s—and his—command for silence, she willed him to maintain eye contact, but he released the mute button and gave orders to the unseen people on the phone while typing on the computer.

  Typical workaholic. His ability to multi-task was limited to work projects. To him, she’d always be an extension of the service she provided. On the bright side, she didn’t have to worry about him forming an attachment to her. After she gave him the massage he paid for and she stepped out of the role of masseuse, she ought to test whether convincing him to have some fun dissipated his stiffness more than a professional session. A world of unconventional possibilities to loosen him up danced in her mind.

  She rounded the giant oak desk that would make any tree hugger weep seeing it used to further corporate greed. His side radiated power, ambition, and absolute dedication to whatever people like him hoped to accomplish—world domination, or maybe alien abduction of anyone who tried to take him over.

  The voices on the phone silenced, and she caught his eye to convey she had instructions she needed to give him before she could continue. She didn’t try to communicate that, thanks to simple supply and demand, her time carried more value than his. Even if she explained aloud, she wouldn’t expect him to believe it.

  He muted the device and shot her an impatient glare, then focused on his e-mail inbox.

  “Colin.” His name rolled off her tongue like a crisp, tart dessert. “I’m going to massage your shoulders through your clothes. If you’re inclined to remove a layer or two, the less you’re wearing, the better I’ll be able to relax your muscles.”

  His attention still on the computer screen, he waved another dismissive gesture. She peeked at the all-important message. Not porn. Darn.

  “Do whatever you have to do. Just don’t interrupt.”

  “Of course.” Despite her attempt to bend to his wishes, she missed that he’d released the mute button, and her words cut off the person on the other end of the phone who spoke at the same time.

  His gaze pierced her in silent reprimand.

  Unable to stop the smirk from forming, she turned away so she didn’t destroy her professional reputation before she’d established another bond with him that better suited her personality. His scowl probably left others quaking in their boots, but she didn’t fear retribution. He needed her, not the other way around. Without her, he’d continue to suffer debilitating pain through his shoulder blades and neck.

  Not bothering to remove the special oils or the foam headrest from her bag, she set it against the wall. Despite her suggestion, he didn’t seem inclined to remove his suit coat. If she rubbed out one of his many knotted muscles before he kicked her out for disturbing his boring meeting, she’d count the session a success.

  Behind him, she hovered her hands above his shoulders, hesitant to begin. He was wound tight enough that she expected a several story bounce if she tossed him out the window. He required more than a once-a-week desk massage. She’d recommend an entire lifestyle change.

  Given the choice, she’d spend all afternoon helping him unwind and relax for free. But her preferences didn’t rate an ounce of consideration, a characteristic shared by every major event in her life so far.

  Determined to get on with the job, she pl
aced her hands on his shoulders. Through the fabric of his coat, she identified his stiff muscles and concentrated on easing his physical symptoms. If he brought her back, she might expand her mission.

  Something elemental about the man spoke to her, and she needed to guard against her spontaneous nature taking an unprofessional turn. She enjoyed being in a relationship, and her revving hormones reminded her she’d been ignoring them. But she didn’t have the luxury of beginning one for the foreseeable future. Casual sex and random hookups weren’t her thing.

  In a year, maybe a few months if all went well, she’d be brave enough to try a relationship again. But at this point, she couldn’t entertain the option and create a personal bond, hurting someone she cared about, regardless of her mounting sexual frustration.

  Pressing her fingers under Colin’s collar, she half-listened to his detailed instructions to the people on the phone for some mumbo-jumbo business plan. He gave her no more attention than a picture hanging on the wall—not that he bothered to adorn his walls. His prime real estate on the Chicago skyline did give him a helluva view of the white caps on Lake Michigan though. Considering she could have pounded the tension out of his shoulders with a sledgehammer, she guessed he didn’t spend much time unwinding in front of the window.

  For a half hour, she worked her fingers, thumbs, palms, and forearms against his upper back. Since he didn’t seem aware of the time, she kept up her ministrations until his secretary opened the door, motioning for Willow to leave. She rubbed her hands across his broad shoulders a couple more times for her own enjoyment before turning to pick up her bag.

  Stepping around the desk, she faced him, bracing her hands on the solid frame until his fabulous blue eyes focused on her. She opened her mouth, but he shot her another quelling stare before she dared to interrupt his hellfire important meeting.

  Considering his health took importance over any job, she dared. She set a business card on the keyboard. “If the massage helped, call me and I’ll come back,” she whispered, mindful of the speakerphone. “And let your secretary leave by five tonight, so she doesn’t miss her daughter’s soccer game.”

  Scowling, he swiped the card away and grumbled, “If you’d followed my instructions not to interrupt, I might have hired you for another session.”

  “Are you referring to me, sir?” The voice on the phone sounded horrified. “I apologize. I thought you’d finished speaking.”

  “I wasn’t talking to you, Migs.” Colin muted the speaker then cursed, the muscle in his jaw twitching.

  Willow leaned closer. She wanted to fix him, but her presence obviously created more stress than it relieved. “I’ll leave a couple of names with your secretary for massage therapists who are better at following the rules and fading quietly in background. But if you found some relaxation from your session today, I’d love to interrupt you again. It would be my pleasure. In fact, we’ll both derive more pleasure if you take off your suit coat next time.”

  She strolled to the door then glanced back. For the first time, Colin Vanderhayden ignored the voices from his electronics and stared at her.

  ***

  “Ms. Jeffries is here for your shoulder massage, Mr. Vanderhayden.”

  Colin released his breath quietly so his secretary, Louise, wouldn’t hear it over the intercom. Willow came back. He should have taken her advice to hire someone else, but she’d proven her touch worked against the pain that cost him productivity. No one needed to have an inkling how much he looked forward to the appointment, to the sparkle she added to his long, predictable day.

  As always, though, business came first. “Set up the conference call with New York and then you can send her in.”

  Willow glided through the doorway, wearing a blue tunic shirt over her slight frame. Leggings and some moccasin-boot hybrid completed her hippie attire.

  “Wait, he’s not ready for you yet.” Louise’s horrified voice echoed through the door and the intercom.

  “You’re not ready?” Willow’s brow furrowed as she glanced at him. “You’re at your desk. I don’t have any modesty reservations about you removing your coat or shirt in front of me.”

  “My phone conference isn’t ready.”

  She pressed her palms to her chest and outrageously staggered a couple of steps. “How terrible. You’re not talking to anyone else yet and might have to endure my conversation.”

  The unfamiliar tone took a moment to register. Teasing. She apparently took his decision to book her for another session as proof she didn’t need to follow his rules, not to mention corporate decorum.

  “I’m sorry. I tried, sir,” his secretary said in a small voice from the doorway.

  “I’ll handle this, Louise. You set up the call.”

  “Yes, sir.” Backing away, she closed the door behind her.

  His own words mocked him. Did he have any chance of handling Willow? Hadn’t he asked for her specifically because she didn’t fall in line with everyone else and he craved something different? He tried to roll his shoulders to dissipate the growing tightness, but the action sent fingers of agony spiraling down his neck and back. No, he’d requested her because she knew how to fix the pain.

  “Do you intimidate everyone you meet?” Either the lighting reflected oddly from her shirt, or her lip gloss sported a strange bluish hue, standing out against her nearly gothic, pale skin.

  “Apparently not.” Tearing his attention from her mouth, he regarded her pointedly.

  “Good.” Shooting him a cheeky grin, she waltzed around the desk.

  Her banter relieved a pressure deeper than any muscle spasm. Weird lip gloss and Pocahontas fashion ideas aside, she simultaneously soothed and stimulated him with her presence.

  She brushed the collar of his suit. “If I promise not to swoon at the sight of your pristine white shirt, would you be willing to part with your coat for a half hour?”

  “Only if you promise to stop mocking me.” Even with the assertive demand, he didn’t have any anger to add heat to his words, enjoying her refreshing contrast to everyone who cowered and stammered apologies around him.

  As if considering, she tapped her index finger against her lips, her nails painted in a similar bluish-purple shade as her lip gloss. “You drive a hard bargain. But all right. I accept.”

  Shrugging out of his coat and draping it on the back of his desk chair, he ignored that her mocking acceptance violated her end of the bargain. Her golden hands would do their job while he refocused on productive tasks. “Do what I’m paying you to do. I have a call coming in, and my shoulders are killing me.”

  “No, this stress you put yourself under is what’s killing you.” All traces of teasing disappeared, her tone serious for the first time. “The ache in your shoulders and neck is your body’s way of telling you to take a break.”

  “New York is on line one, sir,” Louise announced through the intercom.

  “You were my break, and now it’s over,” he said to Willow.

  “I never got into quickie breaks.” She wrinkled her nose. “Thanks for the warning, not that you could have tempted me anyway.”

  Unwilling to let her have the last word, he prepared to shoot back a retort. Her eyes sparkled in anticipation. Snapping his mouth closed, he denied her the pleasure and depressed the speaker button to order the New York division to report on their progress.

  Listening to the well-rehearsed speech, he asked pointed questions and gave instructions, all the while aware of the amazing hands zeroing in on his agonizing pressure points. Not for the first time, he bit back a sigh of pleasure.

  “You know, if you take a full breath or—heaven forbid—release one, I won’t think less of you,” she murmured against his ear. “In fact, deep breathing helps your body get more oxygen to its tissues. You’ll ensure you get your money’s worth out of this session.”

  Because it behooved his bottom line, he inhaled. Then he did it again to place her scent—a strange mix of herbs and spices, creating a unique and e
lusive allure, nothing like the overpowering floral perfume some women drenched themselves in.

  “Mr. Vanderhayden?” the voice on the phone inquired.

  He waited for the rest of the question, but apparently it had already been spoken. Due to Willow’s distracting influence, he’d lost the thread of the conversation. Instead of increasing his efficiency, she cost him his concentration. Not giving himself a chance to reconsider, he shoved her hands off him. “Out. You’re done for today.”

  “You don’t want to get your money’s worth from the last fifteen minutes?”

  “No.” His time was more valuable than the wasted expense. On the other hand, he panicked at the possibility of losing out on her magical hands soothing his aches. “Tell Louise to fit you into my schedule on Friday.”

  ***

  Most of the time, Willow turned down a request for a six p.m. Friday appointment and shrugged off the lost potential income. But Colin intrigued her too much to say no. So, once again, she rounded his desk while he tapped on his keyboard and yakked with people who apparently didn’t have better things to do on a Friday night. His coat hung on the back of his chair, but his starched white shirt remained fully buttoned and secured at the neck with a blue tie.

  “Silly me, I thought you’d scheduled me so late so I wouldn’t interrupt your calls.”

  His frown grew more pronounced, but he didn’t glance at her. As tempting as it was to continue to bait him, if her presence increased his anxiety, she defeated the purpose of her visit.

  While he worked, she rubbed her hands along his rigid shoulder muscles. Even with the shirt barrier, her skin tingled in response. Too bad he hadn’t asked her on a Friday night date instead of a professional visit.

  He was a better client than he’d been a couple of days ago. When she pressed in, he exhaled fully. Then his diaphragm expanded with a deep inhale. Either she’d done a good job of teaching his body how to react to her touch, or her insistence about getting his money’s worth sparked his attention.