Ulterior Motives Read Online Free PDF Page B

good.
    They were both breathing quickly when he released her. Finally Shelley remembered to open her eyes, and she was pleased to see that he looked almost as dazed as she felt.
    “You’re... good at that,” she said weakly.
    “You inspire me,” he whispered and dropped a soft kiss on her forehead. He moved away from her and went to the front door. He paused on his way out. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”
    “Not tomorrow,” she said, wanting to beg him to stay.
    “Monday, then.”
    “No... later.”
    “I’ll call you,” he repeated. He took one last look, his eyes seeming to burn through her clothes, then left, closing the door softly behind him.
    Shelley gave an enormous sigh, partly from relief and partly from longing, and dropped into an easy chair. This was going to be tougher than she had thought.
     

     
    Since Ross’ hopes for a day spent with Shelley had come to naught, he decided to get some work done. That’s why he was in Cincinnati in the first place, wasn’t it? He might even take time out to consider the possibility that he was wrong—an activity he seldom wasted much time on once he’d decided what he wanted. It was possible that Shelley was right and that they should, for the sake of common sense and good business, call a halt to this thing between them before it even began.
    Although he realized that adhering to Shelley’s sense of duty would certainly make life simpler while he was here, Ross’ life had never been simple, so why start now? Since she had made it clear she didn’t want to see him the rest of the weekend, he expected to have plenty of time to consider all the angles of the problem tonight in his elegant, luxurious, and very lonely hotel suite.
    So much for the glamorous life, he thought wryly. Despite the long rest he’d taken the previous year, he was aware of feeling burned-out again. He was tired of changing cities—or even continents—every few months, tired of hotel rooms, plane flights, long-distance calls, sudden changes of plans. Oddly enough, despite his protests to Henri Montpazier, he still liked the work itself. At least he still liked the language schools, although he was tired of firing people and hoped he wouldn’t have to do it again.
    Parking downtown proved to be no problem on a Saturday. Elite, like Babel, was open on Saturdays to accommodate its students. The regular office staff didn’t normally work weekends, though, so Ross was surprised to find Charles Winston-Clarke there. Charles was startled to see him, although his formal expression didn’t really give much away. Ross greeted him politely and let himself into his own small, makeshift office, noting with amusement that Charles wore a suit and tie even on Saturdays.
    Within minutes Ross was studying the school’s financial records for the past year. He knew that central accounting had been complaining about the Cincinnati school for more than two years, and he had been given written and verbal briefings on the whole situation. The various financial logbooks were inconsistent and messy. The high turnover of staff at this school only further complicated matters. One accountant had even lost a vital logbook, and his successor had been forced to begin a new log in midyear with no record of the first six months.
    And this was only one aspect of the job. As usual, Ross had his work cut out for him. However, things didn’t look as bad as they had on his first job for Elite. That had been eight years ago in Toulouse. The assignment had been a bargain, a bet, really, between Henri Montpazier and a brash young man who had always rebelled against authority. Ross was older and calmer now, more experienced and more confident; he’d succeeded at this enough times to know he was very good at it. Perhaps that was why he wasn’t concerned with his job this morning nearly as much as he was concerned with Michelle Baird.
    Shelley.
    Ross leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes briefly.
    Perhaps if he’d