Chapter 4
Sandesh tried to refocus on the conversation and not the heat of the woman standing before him. Not happening.
From the moment his ears had picked up the administrative assistant’s objection, the thud of something he couldn’t puzzle out, and another heavier thud before the door opened, he’d gone from corner office mode to time to take someone down.
And then she’d burst into the room.
First thought: He hoped he did have to take her down, because that body underneath him would make his day. Second thought: Sucked to be wearing a damn monkey suit, because he recognized a woman of action. Third thought as she was introduced and her eyes swept his body: If she kept eye contact for more than two seconds, he wasn’t leaving without her number.
She did keep contact. Her eyes were so direct, sensual, and interested that the world fell away. Her mischievous, dark eyes and the fan and flutter of those thick eyelashes swallowed every decent thought from his mind.
His eyes returned the exploration. She had the cheekbones of an American goddess, Cher-length, sleek black hair, round breasts pressed against a cream silk blouse, long legs in bold print pants, and the curve of rise-to-meet-you hips. All of that combined with her unmistakable interest was almost too much.
“Jordan? Sandesh, you’ve aroused my interest.” She paused. “Tell me more about your organization. IPT?”
Dear God. If her eyes had been direct and aware, her voice was the promise of sex and the slipping of silk sheets against hot skin. His entire body caught fire.
Justice cleared her throat, her eyes slid over him in a lazy, feline way.
He gave her a smile he hoped wasn’t laced with lechery as he fished the question from memory. “The IPT is run and staffed entirely by former soldiers. It’s designed to aid victims of war and disaster globally. We’re focused on creating self-sustaining businesses. Giving options to people in difficult regions other than starve, flee, or fight. Die or be subjugated.”
She frowned. “Why soldiers?”
“Soldiers are skilled and adaptable. They’re used to discomfort. Used to keeping calm and navigating through difficult situations. Used to assessing problems, implementing strategies. Not having to train civilians saves us money. But I also wanted to give those soldiers having a problem going from warrior to Walmart an option. A way to recover the compassion they might have had to shut down in order to get the job done.”
Those fine, gemstone eyes—onyx black and hot as pitch—widened with curiosity. Or doubt. “But a man’s natural instinct, his base emotions, are geared toward aggression and fighting, right? The military amplifies that. Aren’t you afraid that your volunteers are going to create more problems than they solve?”
He cleared his throat. He couldn’t help himself. Her point was too close to one he’d heard again and again. Soldiers, men specifically, were dogs of war, trained and good for one thing: killing. If he recruited them for his charity, he was asking for trouble. It pissed him off. “No. I’m not. Are you?”
She smiled again, that coy smile that made his mouth go dry. “I just find it bizarre to expect them to act like Boy Scouts.”
“Bizarre?” His voice rose before he could help himself. Seriously? He ran a hand under his collar, massaged his tense neck. “Why is it so bizarre to believe most men, just like most women, are capable of a whole range of actions?”
And that most men aren’t made to be mindless butchers as well as mindless fucks? That last part he had the good sense not to say.
“That’s not exactly what I meant by—”
Mukta Parish began to laugh, taking the conversation down a degree. She moved closer. Her astute brown eyes were framed by her rose niqab. Her powder-pink business suit showed off a determined-shouldered, Hillary Clintonesque form. She clapped her hands, her heavy bracelets jangling. “Justice, I hope you’ll be more supportive of Sandesh’s charity when you’re doing PR for him in Jordan.”
Justice’s eyes widened, as if she’d been caught with her hand in the cookie jar. “Of course. I’m just playing devil’s advocate. I know how best to defend the charity. When do we leave for Jordan?”
She wanted to go to Jordan now? She’d just put down his entire mission. He had enough issues with organizing; he didn’t need to add her to the list.
Mukta stepped forward. “We were just discussing the fact that Sandesh wouldn’t need to worry about transporting weapons for his own security. He could use one of our private jets. And, of course, take off from our private airport.”
Oh. That was right. These people were scary rich. And the IPT was in dire need of capital.
Leland grabbed Justice by the forearm. “That’s our cue, Justice. Let’s leave them to the details.”
He guided Justice out of the room. Sandesh watched them go with growing concern. This was the woman who was supposed to do PR for him in the Middle East. Didn’t that job require tact? Seriously. She was going to get him killed.