# His Girl Friday

Diana Palmer

From New York Times bestseller Diana Palmer comes a reader-favorite story of a woman attempting to do the impossible: tame the roguish man she loves from afar…There has only ever been one man for young Danetta Marist…but he's the one she can never have. That's gruff, handsome boss Cabe Ritter, whose mere glance makes her spine tingle and her heart race. And then there was that heart-stopping kiss in his office. But Danetta believes in marriage and happily-ever-afters. And everyone knows Cabe is a terrible womanizer…Deep down, Cabe is no playboy. Long ago, he put up a facade to protect himself from any woman–like his alluring secretary–who wanted a commitment from him. Cabe knows that young, fresh and deliciously tempting Danetta has a lot to learn about love. But now that he has held her in his arms once, he decides that he'll be the man to teach her…for the rest of their lives.

From New York Times bestseller Diana Palmer comes a reader-favorite story of a woman attempting to do the impossible: tame the roguish man she loves from afar…

There has only ever been one man for young Danetta Marist…but he’s the one she can never have. That’s gruff, handsome boss Cabe Ritter, whose mere glance makes her spine tingle and her heart race. And then there was that heart-stopping kiss in his office. But Danetta believes in marriage and happily-ever-afters. And everyone knows Cabe is a terrible womanizer...

Deep down, Cabe is no playboy. Long ago, he put up a facade to protect himself from any woman—like his alluring secretary—who wanted a commitment from him. Cabe knows that young, fresh and deliciously tempting Danetta has a lot to learn about love. But now that he has held her in his arms once, he decides that he’ll be the man to teach her...for the rest of their lives.

His Girl Friday

Diana Palmer

www.millsandboon.co.uk

## Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Title Page

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Extract

Copyright

## Chapter One

Danetta Marist glared at the closed office door with all her might. He could just sit in there until he took root and grew into his expensive gray leather chair for all she cared. He never made mistakes; she did. If something was missing, then she misplaced it.

“It isn’t worth putting up with you just to make car payments,” she informed the closed door. “I’m a great secretary. I could get work anywhere. All I have to do is reply to ads in the paper, and prospective bosses will trample you trying to get me to work for them, Mr. Cabe I-Am-The-Greatest Ritter!”

She tucked a loose strand of curly light brown hair back into its high coiffure and her gray eyes stared daggers at the elegant wood door of his office. She twirled a pen in her slender fingers while she thought about the advantages of typing her resignation and stuffing it up his arrogant nose. Well, she wasn’t apologizing to that bad-tempered ex-drill rigger, not for anything. It wasn’t her fault that he got the calendar dates mixed up and went to a business meeting at the wrong restaurant and lost an important contract. Was she to blame because he couldn’t read?

It was just like him to accuse her of doing it deliberately. He accused her of everything from stealing his pens to drinking his bourbon, and why she stuck with the job, she didn’t know.

The pay was good, of course. And he did let her have the occasional hour off during the week to go shopping. And he wasn’t really all that bad…

On the other hand, the office was forever full of salesmen speaking a strange language that seemed to have no relation whatsoever to English as they talked about various valves and parts of drill rigs and heavy equipment. Danetta knew how oil was removed from the ground, but the technical nature of her job was still Greek. She did know what a geologist’s survey looked like, and that the work the geologists did was top secret when they were looking for new oil fields. She knew that because her cousin Jenny, with whom she roomed, worked for Cabe Ritter’s father.

But despite her halting attempt to say so, Mr. Ritter’s oilman father, Eugene, who seemed to spend his life looking for new ways to upset Cabe, had taken up one of her lunch hours explaining a geologist’s duties, along with many other things she’d never wanted to know about the oil business. Eugene owned an oil company for which Cabe no longer worked. That defection into the oil rig equipment business was the source of most of the friction between the older Ritter and his son. Cabe had been certain that Eugene would go bust during the oil glut, but he hadn’t. The old man had made money because he had super geologists on his payroll who could find things like strategic metals that he could sell to the government. It was all sort of cloak-and-dagger, as she’d learned from her secretive cousin Jenny, but the discovery of the metals made money even when oil didn’t.

Danetta did nothing quite as adventurous and secretive as seeking important geological formations. She wrote up orders, took dictation, typed letters for her impatient boss, made appointments and caught hell on a regular basis. And when friends and family asked what the Ritter Equipment Corporation made and sold she just grinned and pretended to have gone deaf. Once, with a straight face, she actually told an uncle of hers that Cabe Ritter designed and built photon torpedoes. Unfortunately the uncle wasn’t a Star Trek fan, so things had gotten sticky for a few minutes, especially when the uncle happened to meet Cabe and remarked that he sure would like to see one of those planet-busters work.

“Can’t you read, for God’s sake!” Cabe Ritter broke into her thoughts as he muttered over the intercom. “Why didn’t you tell me I had a chamber of commerce meeting at noon? It’s ten minutes until twelve, and the restaurant where we meet is twenty minutes away and I’m the program chairman!”

With a sigh she pushed the appropriate button. “The meeting isn’t today, Mr. Ritter,” she said with forced pleasantness. “That’s tomorrow. You’re looking at the wrong date.” Again, she added under her breath. “This is April the tenth, not the eleventh.”

There was a brief pause. “Who turned the page?” the deep, slow drawl demanded.

“I guess I did,” she mumbled with resignation. “God knows, I turned loose the last hurricane that hit the coast and I’m sure I cause gingivitis and tooth decay—”

“Shut up and come in here.”

She picked up her pad and pen, smoothing her skirt over her full hips and straightening her white midi blouse. She was tall, but she had a perfect figure and long, sexy legs. Her thick light brown hair reached to her waist when she let it down. She looked very pretty with it left long, but she always pulled it up into a chignon while she worked and she was careful not to apply more than a touch of makeup to her face, barely highlighting her soft, pale gray eyes with shadow. Her face was a perfect oval, and its gentleness gave the skin a delicacy beyond words. She wasn’t beautiful, but she was attractive, and most bosses probably would have noticed her even though she didn’t draw attention to her assets.

She downplayed them because her boss was a womanizer, and she didn’t want to risk her heart to him. She knew that she was vulnerable, because he’d given her a long, smoldering look last Christmas when she’d dressed up for a party with some of the other office girls in the building. He’d captured her under the mistletoe just as she was leaving, and her heart had all but beat her to death when he bent his dark head toward hers, with his pale eyes glittering on her soft mouth and no expression at all on his hard face. She knew she’d stopped breathing entirely. But to her surprise, he’d suddenly checked the downward movement of his head, muttered something under his breath and the kiss had been redirected to land on her cheek. He’d walked away with a curt “Merry Christmas.” After that, he’d suddenly started calling her “Dan” instead of “Miss Marist” and treating her like a younger brother. She’d pretended not to notice, but since he’d made it so obvious that he wasn’t going to make another pass at her, she’d never dressed up since. It was safer to be his younger brother.

Her parents in Missouri would have approved of her caution. He seemed to prefer blondes, and very sophisticated ones at that. He was quite openly a playboy, and that turned Danetta off completely. She’d never told him how she felt about his life-style, since it was none of her business, but she’d never want to get serious about such a man.

Anyway, she was only twenty-three to his thirty-six, and he seemed to think of her as a child because in the two years she’d worked for him, he’d never made a single real pass at her. He talked to her as if she were a younger man, about sports and sometimes even about his women. He didn’t seem to notice that his bluntness made her blush; he seemed to be talking more to himself than to her anyway.

Lately he was dating a very elegant and cool blonde named Karol Sartain, and she’d settled him somewhat. He was much less restless than he’d been for the past few months, even if his temper was growing shorter by the day. Just yesterday, Danetta had caught him watching her with the oddest expression she’d ever seen. He’d looked at her as if he suddenly wished her in Siberia, and she didn’t understand why.

Well, it was probably better that he disliked her. A man of his experience was hardly the perfect partner for a repressed maiden who kept a giant lizard for a pet.

She opened his office door and walked in. His sheer physical presence always took her breath away, especially combined as it was with his spectacular good looks. He was tall and muscular, a big man with an aggressive personality. He was a world-beater, and he looked it, with pale blue eyes that could burn holes in steel and thick, wavy dark hair that fell onto a broad forehead. He had thick black eyebrows over his deep-set eyes, and high cheekbones. His nose had been broken at least once, and his chin had a slight cleft and a couple of tiny scars etched into his dark complexion. But despite those slight flaws, he was devastating to look at, and women couldn’t seem to resist him. He had all the charm in the world when he wanted something, and if that didn’t work, he had fists like hams. He was afraid of nothing on earth. Except snakes. Danetta had never told him about her pet. She wondered if his fear ran to lizards.

Muscles rippled when he moved. He was all muscle. He’d worked on drill rigs until he started his equipment company, and he looked like a crew chief. These days he didn’t work on rigs, but when he was in a really foul mood, he went out and worked it off on his father’s ranch outside Tulsa. The elder Ritter had been a semipro baseball player back in the heyday of that sport, and he’d wisely invested his earnings in a small ranch and a string of filling stations in Texas and Oklahoma. With keen business sense, he’d parlayed that start into a successful oil business and his son, Cabe, had helped until he’d decided to get away from his father’s well-meaning dominance and start his own company—which manufactured and sold parts for drill rigs.

He’d been at it for ten years, quite successfully, but his father annoyed him by never mentioning exactly what Cabe did for a living. In fact, by way of revenge, he liked to tell his friends that Cabe was a janitor at a local bar. Danetta hadn’t understood the amazement of new clients at first when they realized whose son Cabe was—because old man Ritter was something of a legend in the oil business, and many of his cohorts bought their parts from Cabe. But now that she was in on the joke, it was alternately amusing and exasperating.

The elder Ritter had never quite approved of his son’s independence. He liked running the whole show, and everyone’s life that was in any way connected to his own. Just as his son did. When Eugene frequently visited Cabe at the office, he was full of helpful suggestions for Danetta. His last had been that she stop calling his son “Mr. Ritter” and concentrate on wearing clothes that emphasized her nice figure.

“You’ll never catch his eye that way, you know,” the old man had muttered, clearly disapproving her neat skirt and blouse.

“Mr. Ritter, I don’t want to catch his eye,” she’d replied. “He’s not my type at all.”

“You’d settle him,” he continued as if she hadn’t spoken, nodding his silver head as he towered over her, with eyes as pale a blue as Cabe’s. “Keep him away from these party girls he takes around. He’ll die of some god-awful disease, you know,” he whispered conspiratorially. “He doesn’t even know where those girls have been!”

At that point, Danetta had excused herself and made a dash for the rest room, where she collapsed against a wall in tears of hysterical laughter. She’d wanted so badly to tell her boss what his father had said about him, but didn’t know how to bring up the subject.

Cabe’s curious scowl finally caught her attention. “Well, don’t just stand there, Dan, sit down,” he muttered, watching her watching him. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you lately, but your mind’s just not on your work.”

Her eyebrows lifted sharply. “I beg your pardon?” she faltered, standing beside the chair across from his massive desk.

“Sit!” he said shortly.

She sat. The curt authority in that deep voice had the same effect on his male employees. He was so used to throwing out orders that he didn’t have any inhibitions about doing it at restaurants, other peoples’ parties—just about anywhere. Hostesses were said to sigh with relief when he left.

“No wonder your father doesn’t approve of you,” she muttered. “You’re just like him.”

“Insults are my line, not yours, kid,” he reminded her. He leaned back in the chair and it squeaked alarmingly. He was no lightweight, even if it was all muscle. His pale blue eyes stared a hole through her. “You don’t look very cheerful this morning. What’s wrong?”

“You had two bites out of me before I got in the door, and it wasn’t my fault,” she replied.

“So? I have two bites out of you most mornings, don’t I?” His eyes glittered with faint humor. “It goes with the job description. You cried for the first two days you worked here.”

“I was scared to death of you those first two days,” she recalled.

“Then you threw the desk calendar at me.” He sighed. “It was nice, having a secretary who fought back. You’ve lasted a long time, Dan.”

Maybe too long, she wanted to say. But she didn’t.

“No comment?” He jerked forward in his chair with one of those lightning moves that always threw her off balance. For a big man, he was incredibly fast. “Look here, we’ve got to do something about my father.”

She blinked at the sudden change of subject. “We do?”

He glared at her. “Yes, we. He’s feeding the rumor mill again. His latest favorite bit of gossip is that I’m looking for a wife. My phone rang off the hook last night with offers from the aged eligible of Tulsa.”

She grinned at his irritated expression. She could just see the spinsters getting their arrows out. “You know why, don’t you?” she asked. “You changed the lock on your apartment and now he doesn’t have a key that fits.”

“My God, I had no privacy at all! I had to do it. He was waiting for me at the apartment last Friday night,” he said, his eyes narrowing angrily. “I took Karol home with me after dinner and there he stood, sharpening his knife on a whetstone. He took one hard look at her and invited himself for coffee and a drink. He didn’t go home until after midnight. Meanwhile he treated Karol to a monologue on the fine art of castrating calves, mucking out stables and assorted other disgusting subjects that made her sick. She went home.”

“Oh, I can understand that,” she agreed, trying to convince herself that it didn’t matter about Karol going home with him. It did irritate her, though, that she minded his careless attitude toward his conquests, when she should have been grateful that she wasn’t among them. “I once heard him tell one of your women friends about the treatments you were taking for some contagious condition.”

His eyes widened. “It was Vera, wasn’t it? Wasn’t it? My God—” he banged his fist on the desk “—that’s why she left in such a hurry and without saying goodbye! The venomous old snake!” Vera, Danetta recalled, had been his steady date before Karol.

“Is that any way to talk about your father, Mr. Ritter?” she asked gently.

He gave her a tolerant stare. “Dan,” he began, using the appalling nickname that he and he alone had stuck her with, “when he was in here last week, one of the kinder things he said about you was that you dressed as if you had pull at the Salvation Army surplus store.”

She was so insulted that she forgot to protest the destruction of her name. “The venomous old snake!” she exclaimed.

He raised an eyebrow. “That’s what I thought you said. Any ideas?”

“None that won’t get you arrested,” she replied. “Why is he interfering so much lately?”

He sighed, brushing a huge hand through his thick, wavy hair. “He thinks I need a wife. So he’s going to find me one.”

“Maybe he’s just bored,” she murmured thoughtfully. “You could ask your stepmother to take him on a world cruise.”

His eyes hardened. “I have as little contact with my stepmother as possible,” he said curtly.

“Sorry.” She knew that was a sore spot with him, but she didn’t know why. He was a very private man in some ways.

He shrugged. “I guess your parents are still married?”

She smiled. “Yes, sir, for thirty years last November.”

“Don’t call me sir,” he said harshly. He broke a pencil and got to his feet, moving toward the window like a human steamroller while Danetta caught her breath at the bite in his voice. He pulled open the blinds and looked over the flat landscape of the city. “I don’t want to get married. I don’t want to love anyone.”

She stared at his broad back incomprehensibly.

He fingered the blinds thoughtfully. “You haven’t volunteered any information about Karol to my father, have you?” he asked suddenly, turning toward her.

His height was intimidating when he loomed over her that way. She shifted gracefully in the chair. “No, si—” She cleared her throat. “No, Mr. Ritter. He did all the talking. As usual.”

“What did he say?”

She muffled a giggle. “That you were going to catch some god-awful disease if he didn’t save you from those women.” She leaned forward. “You don’t know where they’ve been, you see.”

He burst out laughing. The sound was deep and rich and pleasant, because he wasn’t usually a laughing man. It took some of the age from his hard face, made his blue eyes sparkle. She smiled at him because he looked wickedly handsome when he was amused.

“So that’s his angle. Maybe I can have a long talk with him about modern life.”

“That will only work if you tie him up and gag him first.”

“He’s confiding in you lately, is that it?” He pursed his lips and studied her with that quiet scrutiny that was becoming more and more frequent. “How old are you now, Dan?”

“Twenty-three.” And if you don’t stop calling me Dan, I’m going to wrap you in cellophane tape and hang you out the window, she added silently.

“You were barely twenty-one when you came here,” he recalled thoughtfully. “Gangly and nervous and painfully shy. In some ways, you’re still shy.”

“How kind of you to notice,” she said, “now about the mail—”

“You don’t date,” he said as if he knew.

She crossed her long legs. “Well, no. Not a lot,” she said with obvious reluctance.

His blue eyes searched hers. “Why?”

She chose her words carefully. She’d never had this kind of personal discussion with him before, and she wondered why he’d brought up the subject. Surely his father hadn’t been trying to play Cupid for her? “I’m not modern enough to suit most men,” she replied finally.

He perched himself on the corner of his desk and looked down at her quietly. “Modern as in sexually liberated?”

She felt her cheeks grow warm. “My parents were middle-aged when I came along, and they were and are very conventional people. I was taught that love should mean something more than sex. But I discovered that to most men, love meant a nice dinner followed by a session in bed. Nobody was willing to spend the time it would take to build a relationship, especially when there were so many women who didn’t want one anyway. So I gave up evenings with unpleasant endings and brought Norman home to live with me.”

He frowned. “Norman?”

“Norman, my iguana,” she explained.

He paled and gave her a frankly horrified look. “Your what?”

“My iguana. He’s a nice pet,” she said defensively. “I got him when he was just a baby—”

“An iguana!” He looked quickly around the office as if he thought she’d put Norman in her purse and brought him to work with her. He actually shuddered. “My God, nobody has an iguana for a pet! It’s a snake with legs, for heaven’s sake!”

She glared at him. “He is not! In fact, he looks like a little Chinese dragon. He’s an iguanid; a descendant of dinosaurs, of ancient Iguanodon. He’s quiet and clean and you should see the effect he has on door-to-door salesmen! He’s three feet long, although he’s still just a baby,” she murmured with a smile. Incredible that she’d never told him about Norman, but then, they hardly ever discussed routine things about their private lives. He didn’t even know that she lived with Cousin Jenny, she supposed. She wondered if he even knew that Cousin Jenny worked for his father, or that two years ago, it was Jenny who had told her about this job so that she could apply for it.

“Why do you keep a reptile for a pet? Are you trying to grow your own prince?”

She sighed angrily. “That only works with frogs. Listen, I just keep Norman for a pet, I don’t kiss him.” She frowned. “Well, I used to when he was a baby—”

“Oh, God!” he burst out, shuddering. He stared at her. “No wonder you can’t get dates! No sane man goes around kissing a woman who kisses iguanas!”

“There’s no danger of that,” she sighed to herself, unperturbed on the surface as she fought down the picture in her mind of Mr. Ritter bending her back over an arm and kissing her senseless. That was what she’d thought he was going to do at that Christmas party for one long, ecstatic second, until he came to his senses.

He got up and moved around his desk and sat down heavily. “I can see it now. One night there’ll be a man in your apartment, and you’ll call a press conference to explain how he got there. First you picked up your iguana and kissed it, and all of a sudden, poof! Prince Charming!” He frowned. “Or would you get a king with something as big as an iguana?”

“You’ll be the first to know if it ever happens,” she promised.

He lit a cigarette, grinning at her scowl. “You bought me that smokeless ashtray last Christmas.”

She pushed it toward him with a loud sigh. “I suppose I did.”

“I try to quit.”

“I wouldn’t call going overnight without cigarettes trying to quit smoking,” she murmured dryly. She pushed the mail toward him, a gentle hint that she had plenty of work to do, even if he didn’t.

He smiled indulgently. “I know, I’m procrastinating again. Did I ever tell you how much I hate answering mail? I’m still getting over last night,” he added on a heavy sigh. “Karol wanted to go to a concert. We sat through four hours of chamber music. I hate damned string quartets. I’d rather have gone to a country and western concert, but she doesn’t think fiddles are cultural.”

She had a giggle.

“Why are you giggling?” he demanded. “Surely you realize that fiddles are a big part of the American folk scene, and that sure as hell is cultural!”

“To you, chili is cultural,” she reminded him.

“Of course it is. It’s the only American food I like. Why in God’s name do you button those blouses up to your chin? Are you afraid I’ll go crazy if I get a glimpse of your naked throat? And you haven’t worn your hair down since Christmas.”

Her eyes widened. That was the most personal thing he’d ever said to her and it shocked her. “The blouse…it’s a jabot collar,” she stammered.

“I don’t like it. Can’t you buy something with a V neck?” He glowered. “Failing that, you might try a shirtwaist dress, they button up.”

“What is this fixation about the way I look?” she burst out. “My hair’s wrong, you don’t like my clothes, now I button them wrong…!”

“I don’t know.” He took a draw from the cigarette, his eyes going involuntarily to her long, elegant legs where they were crossed. The skirt came just above her knees, and he admired the fluid lines of her body with new interest. “Maybe my father’s right, and I shouldn’t have a secretary who dresses like a Quaker.”

She stared at him. “Mr. Ritter, do you feel all right?” she asked cautiously.

He sighed half angrily, staring at her again. “I’m frustrated,” he muttered, knocking an ash off his cigarette. “You try going without a woman for four months and see how you manage.”

She felt her face burning, but she glanced down at her notepad and concealed it. “I’ve gone without a woman for twenty-three years, and it hasn’t done me any harm,” she informed him.

“Oh, you know what I mean,” he grumbled.

Unfortunately she did. He was the bluntest man she’d ever known. He said exactly what he thought, no matter how shocking it sounded. He didn’t even pull his punches with language when one of his clients or cohorts made him mad. In fact, during Danetta’s first week on the job, Mr. Ritter had taken exception to a few remarks from a dissatisfied customer, and the unfortunate gentleman had come out of Mr. Ritter’s office headfirst, followed by some of the foulest language Danetta had ever heard. It was a fascinating introduction to her hot-tempered, uninhibited boss.

He narrowed his blue eyes again and searched her face. “You never talk about your love life.”

“I guess I could make up something,” she said, trying not to look and sound as unsophisticated as he made her feel.

“I thought as much.” He was watching her in an odd way. He seemed to do that a lot these days, as if he was curious about something. She wished he’d come out with it. He made her feel like an insect on a pin. “Too many nights alone can make a woman vulnerable, you know. Especially a repressed maidenly type.”

“Are you trying to tell me something, Mr. Ritter?” she asked finally.

“I’m concerned about you,” he said surprisingly. “Ben Meadows, my new sales manager, mentioned this morning that he’d been trying for two weeks to get a date with you, but that you froze him out.” He smiled faintly, and his pale eyes became intent. “He thinks you won’t go out with him because you’ve got a crush on me. In fact,” he added with a stare that was pure speculation, “so does my father.”

She couldn’t help the flush that highlighted her exquisite complexion. Her heart jumped into her throat. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “My gosh!”

He glared. “Well, you don’t have to make it sound like a perversion,” he said shortly. “Women do find me attractive from time to time.”

“A certain type of woman, yes. Not me!”

He sat very still and she wondered if she’d finally gone too far. He didn’t seem to move, but his eyes narrowed and grew cold. “Why not you?”

“That’s personal.”

“So it’s personal. I want an answer,” he said doggedly.

She took a deep breath. She couldn’t lie to him, even if she might have done better to lie. “Because you’re a womanizer, Mr. Ritter,” she said, feeling backed into a corner. He was beginning to look dangerous, and she dropped her eyes to her lap. “I’m sorry, but I don’t find that kind of man very attractive.”

He took a draw from his cigarette and let out a thin cloud of smoke. His eyes grew brooding and even colder. “I suppose I asked for that. I didn’t realize what kind of answer I might get.” He sat up straight. “All right, Dan, you’ve convinced me that my father doesn’t know what the hell he’s talking about. Let’s do the mail.”

She felt guilty, but she didn’t dare back down. He respected spirit. She’d learned her first week as his secretary that it was either give it back as good as he gave it out, or spend her life in tears. He didn’t pull his punches, and he didn’t respect anyone who did. As she soon discovered, he needed that toughness to deal with the people who frequented this office. Business was hard, and he was equal to it, even during recessions.

All the same, she had the oddest feeling that she’d wounded him. If a woman he called by a masculine nickname could wound him, that was. Sometimes it cut her to the bone when he called her Dan. He made it sound as if she were his fishing buddy or his tennis partner. He treated her that casually, and it had hurt. Maybe that had prompted her uncharacteristic outburst about his lack of morals.

She wondered why he was so promiscuous. In two years, she’d learned next to nothing about him, except about the type of woman he liked. About his feelings and thoughts, she knew nothing. She knew his mother had died ten years ago, and that his father had remarried a lady named Cynthia. Danetta knew that he spent time with them, but he never talked about them. His father did let a few things slip from time to time when he came into the office, but not enough to satisfy her growing curiosity about the enigmatic man she worked for.

He started dictating, pacing as usual, and she had to work to keep up with him. He wasn’t sparing her. She felt the whip of his voice and the ice in his stare until he was finally through and let her go back to her own desk.

He was unusually silent for the rest of the day. She sent people into his office and buzzed him when he was needed on the telephone, but he didn’t offer her coffee or stop to talk. At quitting time, he was out the door before she was, leaving her to close up without even a goodbye unless she counted the curt jerk of his head as he left, attaché case in hand.

Danetta watched him go with mixed feelings. Perhaps she shouldn’t have opened her mouth. Now she’d really complicated things.

She covered the typewriter and the computer, got her purse and sweater, and went out to stand in line for the bus. She watched it approach indifferently, her mind still on her boss. One of these days I will kiss my iguana, she thought vengefully, and he’ll turn into somebody as handsome as Robert Redford and then you’ll be sorry, Mr. Ritter! And he’ll buy me mink coats and diamonds and we’ll live in decadent luxury…

She became aware of amused stares and realized belatedly that she was talking out loud.

“I’m a writer,” she improvised. “It’s a great plot, the iguana prince…”

“Yeah? The part about Robert Redford was great,” an elderly woman said, grinning as she got onto the bus just ahead of Danetta. “But nobody would kiss an iguana!”

Danetta only smiled.

## Chapter Two

Norman was curled up on the radiator, as usual, when Danetta got home. He opened his eyes and then closed them again, his long emerald-green body sprawled over the warm place.

“You’re so enthusiastic, Norman,” she sighed, pausing to rub his head and tickle his chin. He did look ferocious, she supposed, remembering Mr. Ritter’s horrified expression when she’d mentioned having an iguana. But the reptile’s fierce appearance was just window dressing in Norman’s case. She’d carried him around and petted him since he was barely seven inches long, and she didn’t find him in the least intimidating or frightening. It was hard to be afraid of a creature that liked spinach quiche and responded to a whistle. She was sure that a book she’d read on iguanas said they were stupid. It was a good thing Norman couldn’t read.

She heated up some quiche for him and turned on a Beethoven sonata. When she put the quiche in a bowl with two or three fresh hibiscus petals from the florist, Norman sniffed and oozed down onto the floor. He looked like a miniature dinosaur, Danetta thought as she watched him plod to his food dish and eat hungrily. He wasn’t much on regular meals. He ate about every second or third day, and he was certainly healthy enough. His tail gave her nightmares. It was terribly long and quite handsome, and she lived in fear of stepping on it. Iguanas shed their tails quite easily if they were pulled on, but Norman would never forgive her if she cost him his crowning glory.

She brooded most of the evening over Cabe Ritter’s behavior. First he wanted her to dress in a more feminine way, then he accused her of having a crush on him, then he seemed to be mad because she denied it. He was the most puzzling man she’d ever known.

Finally she went to bed, leaving Norman on the radiator. It was still cool at night, and that warmth attracted him. He was so predictable. She could always find him on the radiator, on his paper in the bathroom—because he was housebroken—or in the kitchen. It was a good thing that Mr. Ritter had never come to visit her at home, she mused as she lay awake. Norman would give him fits.

She closed her eyes with determination, but she kept seeing her enigmatic boss’s broad, hard face. She’d denied her attraction to him for a long time, and it was a good thing she’d learned to hide it. If she’d given herself away today when he’d made that accusation, she’d be looking for another job.

As if she’d ever have a chance with such a man, she sighed inwardly. He could have his pick of women, and did. Danetta wouldn’t even be in the running. She only wondered why he’d been so irritated when she’d made that remark about his being a womanizer. Surely he didn’t want her to have a crush on him! Of course not. She groaned and rolled over. She had to try to get some sleep.

The next morning, she felt as if she hadn’t gotten even one hour’s worth. She went to work dragging, her eyes bloodshot and dark circled. She’d dressed hurriedly in a green-and-lavender-and-brown swirled dress—a shirtwaist dress, although she hadn’t really meant to. She left her hair down, too, mainly because she didn’t have time to put it up after she’d overslept.

Mr. Ritter was usually a half hour later than she was. Today, of course, he was early. Mentally groaning as she tried to tiptoe into the office, she prepared herself for a lecture. He didn’t say anything as it turned out, but he did give her a cold glance as she walked in, his eyes going pointedly to the clock on the office wall, which proved that she was a full ten minutes late. He was on the phone, nodding and muttering to someone on the other end of the line.

She mouthed an apology and started to take off her lightweight car coat.

“Keep it on,” he called to her, covering the receiver. “Get the tape recorder and your pad and pen. We’re going out to a rig to get some data about that new machine part I made for Harry Deal.”

She had to grit her teeth. Harry Deal was an old-line rigger who hated women and made no secret of it. He made her feel like fish bait, and Mr. Ritter knew it. Which was probably why he was dragging her out to the rig with him, she thought miserably. He was getting even for what she’d said the day before.

“Not today,” she sighed to herself. She put her coat over her arm as she got the necessary items together. “I’m just not up to Harry Deal today.”

“Stop moaning,” her boss snapped. He held open the office door, his cold eyes taking in every fact of her appearance. But they lingered on the soft thrust of her breasts and the sensuous curves outlined by the dress, and the coldness went out of them. The pale blue began to darken, to glitter. His jaw tautened and the arm that had been holding the door open moved, so that as she started to go through the doorway, he was suddenly blocking her way.

She looked up warily, her apprehension visible on her soft features. Close up he was devastating. That gray-and-beige sports coat clung to him lovingly, not too tight but certainly not overloose. Her eyes dropped, noting involuntarily the way his gray slacks molded the powerful muscles of his long legs. He smelled of spicy cologne, and her eyes rose again and stopped at the wide curve of his mouth above that cleft chin. She could feel the heat of his big body and it made her long to lean against him.

“Is this for my benefit?” he asked quietly, his eyes smoothing down the clingy shirtwaist dress.

Her heart bounced in her chest as her eyes met that glittery stare. “Of course not,” she faltered. “I…was running late, and I didn’t have time to put up my hair.”

“I’m not talking about your hair,” he replied, his voice deep and measured. His arm moved deliberately so that it brushed lazily against her shoulder, and she could feel the warmth of his breath on her temple. “Be careful,” he murmured softly. “You said yourself that I was a womanizer. Wearing something that sexy might give me ideas.”

Her shocked eyes were trapped in his stare. It was like electricity flowing between them for one long, staggering instant.

“I…didn’t mean to,” she stammered.

“Didn’t you?” He moved his arm away and stood aside to let her pass. She managed that on legs almost too wobbly to support her. After shrugging into her coat, she went out to the car. Her face burned as she realized just how vulnerable she was to him. And he wasn’t even trying. What would she do if he ever made a real pass at her?

There was a strained silence between them as he drove out of town toward one of Harry Deal’s newest oil rigs. This was a derrick, because Harry was drilling for the first time on this new field on his property. He hadn’t hit oil yet, but Danetta would have bet that he was going to. Harry could smell oil, and he had quite a track record.

“My father has a percentage of this exploration,” Cabe said a few minutes down the road. He tapped ashes from his cigarette into the ashtray of his big gray Lincoln, glancing sideways at Danetta. “Relax, for God’s sake,” he snapped. “I’m not going to jump on you!”

She bit her lower lip until her teeth bruised it. “I appreciate it,” she managed with forced humor.

He took a long draw from his cigarette and let out an audible sigh with the smoke. “It’s all right, Dan,” he said after a minute. “I don’t have the right to tell you how to dress, although I guess I might have pushed you into what you’re wearing today by the insulting things I said about the way you looked.” He moved uncomfortably. “It’s my father, damn it! I hadn’t even noticed your clothes until he stuck his nose in.” In fact, he hadn’t really noticed Danetta that much until his father had started to point out her virtues. Now he found himself watching her all too often. Like right now. He glanced toward her and then away, his face tautening as his eyes registered once again how sexy she looked in a dress that fit properly. “That dress is…very flattering.”

She knew her face was flaming. All at once she felt like one of the creatures on the endangered species list. She darted her eyes to the window without acknowledging the compliment. “You said your father had an interest in Mr. Deal’s operation?”

He put out the cigarette. “A small percentage, yes,” he replied, relieved to have the hot tension die down. The sight of her in that dress wasn’t doing his self-control any good at all, and he hoped she was too green to realize that his bad temper was due to the new attraction he was feeling for her. “Eugene likes to have his finger in every pie he can find.”

“I thought oil was a bad investment right now.”

“The market’s down, but it will come up again. Like gold, it fluctuates. But as long as it’s a necessity, prices will eventually go up. Eugene and Harry Deal are smart enough to diversify. They’ll make out.”

“Is there a problem with the equipment you made for Mr. Deal?” she asked.

“He thinks so. I don’t.” He glanced at her and grinned. “I know the joker who’s operating the rig for him. He’s an old-line rigger and he doesn’t like trying new things. He’s probably put the damned part in backward or left it out altogether.”

Which turned out to be exactly the case. Danetta, standing uncomfortably to one side while Cabe wrestled with an unfathomable piece of greasy equipment, saw the older man nearby turn red when the motor was turned back on and the part slid into place and worked with textbook precision.

The rig was overrun with men—muscular, rough-looking men who seemed to find Danetta, even in her light car coat, quite an attraction. There were some women in that line of work, but not in Harry Deal’s crew. She felt all too conspicuous.

She was holding Cabe’s jacket while he worked. Now he wiped his hands on a handkerchief that would never be white again and gave Harry Deal a speaking look.

Harry, a white-haired, short man with a big nose, glared at his rigger. “Okay, I stand corrected,” he muttered. “Sam, you can explain all this to me later.”

“Yes, sir,” Sam grumbled. He shot Cabe a hard glare and stomped off to the other side of the rig.

“How’s your dad?” he asked Cabe.

“Making money. He hopes you’re going to fund him a new Rolls with this strike.”

“I’m doing my best.” He turned, pursing his lips at Danetta. “Still got the same secretary, I see. Not married yet, Miss Marist?”

Danetta hugged Cabe’s coat to her breasts. “I did find one candidate, Mr. Deal,” she replied sweetly, “but he couldn’t change a tire and talk at the same time, so I gave him up.”

Harry smiled unpleasantly. “Can’t change your own tire?”

“I have to these days. Most men are so fastidious that they don’t like getting mussed up doing those difficult jobs.”

Cabe saw disaster ahead. He took Danetta by the arm and led her away from a smoldering Harry. “Let me know if you have any more problems, Harry,” he called over his shoulder. “We have to get back to work.”

“Thanks, Cabe,” the older man said shortly and turned back to his job.

“Arrogant old dinosaur,” Danetta muttered, all too aware of the biting grip Cabe had on her arm even through the thick cloth.

“You escalated things, honey,” he reminded her. “Now get in there and keep quiet until I get you out of earshot.” He gave her a faintly amused glance. “You’ve never talked back to Harry before.”

“Maybe it’s the smell of oil and grease that did it,” she offered, smiling impishly. She felt free, now that she’d finally stood up to the old devil. Maybe working for Mr. Ritter had given her that bit of extra self-confidence. She’d had to stand up to him, and now it was getting to be second nature to stand up to other people. She’d…expanded emotionally, she thought.

He chuckled softly as he put her in the Lincoln, leaving his jacket in her hands as he went around and got in. He was still trying to get the grease off his big hands.

“Damned old-line riggers,” he said on a heavy sigh. “Harry needs to fire that son of a—”

“Mr. Ritter!” She glared at him.

“Sorry, Miss Lily-White.” He glanced at her as he started the car. “You ought to be used to my language by now.”

“I ought to,” she agreed. She leaned back against the cushy seat with a long sigh and closed her eyes. “Just when I think I’ve heard it all, you invent new words.”

He chuckled softly. “Do I?” He sat watching her with the engine running, his eyes curious. He slowly turned her face toward him, with a big, grease-stained hand. The smile left his hard lips. “You’re a little wildcat when you get started, aren’t you?” he asked in a tone he’d never used with her before. “You didn’t have that fire in the beginning. It took a few tears to bring it out, but you don’t back away from anything these days, do you?” he mused. His big thumb moved to her mouth and suddenly dragged across her lips while he watched her reaction with narrowed, intent blue eyes.

The sensation that deliberate action caused shocked her. Her body went taut and hot all at once, and her breath caught audibly.

Her response was sheer delight. He’d forgotten that a woman could be that sensitive to his touch. She was innocent, not like the jaded, very sophisticated women who frequently passed through his life. Almost everything sensual was new to her. His thumb moved again and pressed against her mouth so that she could taste tobacco and the faint smell of grease on it. He felt his body tighten as her face told him exactly how much pleasure she was feeling. His blue eyes glittered into hers at a proximity that made her muscles clench.

“Did you know that your mouth was that sensitive, little one?” he asked huskily, searching her wide eyes. “That it could arouse you when a man played with it?”

She swallowed nervously, her body tingling with new sensations. “The…men on the rig…” she whispered.

“The windows are tinted,” he reminded her in a slow, deep undertone. His thumb moved again with sensual pressure and he bent closer, so that the cologne scent of his big body overwhelmed her. Her scent was in his nostrils and he wanted nothing more in life than her soft mouth. Reason and sanity seemed to go out the window as he watched with masculine delight the helpless reaction of her innocence to his experience.

“Mr. Ritter…!” she murmured. He was overwhelming her, and she was afraid.

“Have you ever been kissed properly?” he whispered, letting his eyes drop to her parted, swollen lips. “With your mouth open under a man’s lips?” he breathed, and she actually moaned. His jaw tautened. “It would be so easy. I could lower my head, just an inch or so,” he drawled softly, moving closer, “and let you taste my breath. And then I could slide my hand into your hair, like this—” he drew her face up under his with the pressure of his fingers at her nape “—and I could kiss you like that. I could part your lips with my mouth and drag you against me so hard that you could feel my heart beating…”

She panicked at the mental pictures he was putting into her mind, and in one last burst of sanity she pushed at his chest, trying not to feel the hard warmth of hair-roughened muscles under the thin white shirt. “No! You…mustn’t,” she pleaded. “I work for you…!”

“Work for me,” he echoed, his voice barely audible. He stared down at her soft mouth and felt his body clench with the need to take it. Work for him. The words echoed in his mind and he blinked and scowled down into Danetta’s shocked eyes. Danetta! His head jerked up.

“My God, what am I doing?” he asked harshly. He let go of her abruptly and sat up, moving away from her to light a cigarette. He managed it with a brief fumble, which she was too shaken to see. “I’m sorry, Dan,” he said stiffly. His heart was shaking him, and the tautness of his body was unexpected and disturbing. She was only a child. “That won’t happen again.”

He put the car swiftly into gear and pulled out onto the road without looking at her.

Danetta tore her eyes away from his hard features. She could hardly believe that had happened at all, except for the faint soreness of her mouth and her tingling scalp. No wonder women flocked around him, she thought miserably. He had an infallible technique. He’d barely touched her and yet he’d made her knees weaken. She could still taste his smoky breath in her mouth and hear the deliciously shocking things he’d said to her. She almost groaned at the fever he’d kindled and left unsatisfied. She’d wanted his hard lips to crush down on hers, to feel his arms go around her, his chest pressing roughly against her soft breasts. She wrapped her arms around her, trembling a little in the aftermath. What was wrong with him?

He was quiet all the way back to the office, keeping the radio between them. But all the while she was thinking, and wondering if he’d done it on purpose, to show her how vulnerable she was to him. Maybe it was revenge for calling him a womanizer. To show her that even she was wide open to his practiced technique. By the time they got into the underground garage, she felt sick all over, certain that he’d been trying to humiliate her.

She reached for the door handle the minute he parked the car, but his big warm hand caught hers, staying it.

“Not yet,” he said quietly. His eyes searched hers in the tense silence between them. Something in her eyes made him feel guilty. “I’ve hurt you.”

“I called you a womanizer,” she reminded him, dropping her eyes to his chest. “Was that…why? To teach me a lesson?”

“No, it wasn’t. And I got the lesson, honey,” he said shortly, then sighed heavily. “I’m used to jaded, experienced women who take everything a man does for granted. I’ve never had any experience with shy, fascinated virgins who make it all seem new and exciting.” He managed a wry smile at her blush. “Just for the record, Miss Marist, have you ever kissed a man with your mouth open?”

She went beet red and averted her face. “That’s none of your business!”

“In other words, you haven’t,” he mused, chuckling gently. “All right, chicken, run for it.”

“I don’t need teaching!” she threw at him as she wrestled the car door open.

“Oh, but you do,” he replied softly, his hand preventing her from jumping out. “You don’t know what I’d give to be your teacher,” he added with narrowed, glittery eyes. “But that would be disastrous for both of us. I’m too jaded and you’re too pure. The best I could offer you would be a few hours in my bed, and I wouldn’t insult you with that kind of proposition. You need a good, steady man to cherish you and give you children.” He shrugged heavily, staring at the glowing tip of his cigarette, and for a few seconds he let down his guard. “That would require a kind of trust I can’t give a woman. I don’t want to be vulnerable, Dan.”

“Nobody’s asking you to be!” she said angrily, so embarrassed that she could hardly sit still.

He caught her eyes. “Are you vulnerable?” he asked quietly. “Was my father right? Don’t you have a flaming, king-size crush on me?”

“No!” she cried.

There was a world of experience in his slow, knowing gaze. “Then why didn’t you fight me?” he asked in a tone as smooth as warm honey.

She darted out of the car and into the building so fast that she could barely breathe when she reached the office. The first thing she planned to do was type out her resignation. But when she opened the door, Eugene Ritter was sitting impatiently in the waiting room, looking like a thundercloud.

“What have you done with my son?” he demanded belligerently.

Danetta stopped short, her hair disheveled, her mouth red from the hard pressure of Cabe’s thumb, out of breath and almost shaking from what he’d said to her in the car.

“On second thought,” Eugene murmured thoughtfully as he studied her, “what has my son been doing to you?”

Cabe came in the door behind her, looking smug and so damned arrogant that she could have thrown the typewriter at him.

“Hello, Dad,” Cabe said absently. “Need something?”

Eugene stared at his son, looking for traces of lipstick probably, Cabe thought amusedly. The older man’s face fell. “Not really,” he said. “I wanted to know if you’re coming to our anniversary party tomorrow night. Nicky’s expecting you.”

Nicky? Danetta had heard that name once or twice. Was it a man’s name or a woman’s? Probably a woman’s, she thought miserably.

“I’m busy tomorrow night,” Cabe said shortly. “I’m taking Karol to the ballet,” he added, with a long, silent stare at Danetta’s averted face.

“So that painted woman is more important to you than I am,” Eugene said angrily. “And what about Cynthia? Is she going to suffer for the rest of your life because I had the audacity to marry again?”

Cabe turned on the older man, his eyes dangerous. “She’ll never be my mother, and Nicky will never be part of my family! Damn you, I loved my mother! You couldn’t even get her in the ground before you had Cynthia in front of a justice of the peace!”

“That’s a lie and you know it,” Eugene said in a surprisingly calm tone. “Cynthia did work for me while your mother was alive, but it wasn’t until after her death that we fell in love. Nicky was a delightful surprise, not an accident, and I won’t apologize for him. My God, boy, he isn’t taking anything away from you! He doesn’t even inherit anything except a share of my total estate. Cynthia and I agreed on that from the start! She’s got money of her own to settle on him, in case you’ve forgotten.”

“I’ve forgotten nothing,” Cabe told his father in a tone like shattering ice.

Eugene started to speak and then just shrugged, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “It wouldn’t kill you to spend one night with us, all the same. It hurts Nicky that you ignore him.”

“I owe him nothing!”

The older man grimaced and turned away.

Cabe slammed his fist down on Danetta’s desk, startling her. She’d put away her coat and was just sitting down to work. “All right,” he said angrily. “Damn it, I’ll come for the night.”

“That’s my boy,” Eugene said with an infrequent tenderness. He looked past Cabe at Danetta, who was trying to be invisible. “Why don’t you leave the brassy blonde at home and bring that one with you?” he mused. “She keeps an iguana. Nicky would love her.”

Danetta actually gasped. “How did you know about Norman?” she asked.

Eugene grinned. “Ask Jenny.” His eyes went back to Cabe. “Your secretary here looked pretty flustered when she walked in. I thought maybe you’d—”

“We just came from Harry Deal’s oil field,” Cabe said with uncommon venom. “She and Harry got into it.”

“I hope she won. He’s hell on the nerves,” Eugene said with a disappointed sigh. “Well, I’ll see you tomorrow night,” he muttered. “Brassy blonde, God knows how many men—”

“Get out!” Cabe said shortly.

Eugene knew when to quit. He waved at Danetta and walked out without another word.

Danetta was fumbling with the computer, trying to turn it on. Considering how well she did it normally, it was rather disturbing to look like a rank amateur. It had been an upsetting morning.

She smelled cigarette smoke. Cabe came closer with a cigarette in his fingers and stood over her, his pale eyes watchful, his dark, wavy hair falling rakishly onto his broad forehead. He had one hand in his pocket and his chiseled lips were pursed as he looked at her openly and with pure male appreciation.

“I don’t have a crush on you,” she said, trying to appear calm.

He lifted the cigarette to his mouth and took a long draw from it. “I’m thirteen years older than you,” he said quietly. “From a practical standpoint, you don’t even have a yardstick to measure me against. Your life is a blank slate.” He blew out wispy smoke. “No, I’m the last complication you need in your life, kid,” he said shortly. “So no more close encounters. Let’s get to work.”

He went back into his office with that quick, measured stride that meant he was in a temper. She should have been relieved. But she wasn’t. It was like the end of something that hadn’t even begun.

She loaded the computer, her heart around her ankles. If he didn’t want complications, why did he touch her that way in the car, saying those things to her? Her brows drew into an angry frown. He couldn’t resist a little mockery, she supposed. But she wouldn’t let him get away with it twice. From now on, she was immune. Or at least, he was going to think she was.

She wondered vaguely who Nicky was. It sounded as if he was a relative, and why would he like Danetta just because she had an iguana? She sighed. Her whole life seemed to be one big question these days.

She started the word processing program and began to type out the routine letters that Cabe had scribbled answers on before they left the office.