“May I help you?” Erin inquired in her most coolly professional voice. She guessed at the identity of the intruder and tried to present a calm and efficient demeanor to her new superior. It wasn’t an easy task, considering the fact that she was sitting Indian-style in a semicircle of legal documents. She rose as gracefully as possible, without letting her eyes waver from the calculating face of the man who just last night had fired Mitch.

“You’re Miss O’Toole?” he continued his inquiry, not answering her question, and only breaking the power of his gaze by a glance at the carved nameplate on her desk.

“That’s correct,” she agreed, for some reason unable to smile. “I assume you’re…Mr. Webster?”

“Kane,” he suggested. His silvery eyes drove more deeply into hers and she could feel that he was watching her response, almost anticipating her reaction. “You were expecting me?”

“No, of course not.”

“Then…you were waiting for Mitchell Cameron?”

“I told you before, no.”

“Then what exactly are you doing here?”

She paused for a moment. It had to be evident that she was busy with legal work, didn’t it? Perhaps it was the way that he asked the question that made her feel a need for caution. “I was working.”

“I can see that,” he scoffed, and for a minute a smile threatened to creep over his face. “But I guess my question should be more specific. Why are you working—” his eyes scanned the office “—seemingly alone, on a Saturday?”

“I am alone!” Was he relieved? “And the reason that I’m here is that there has been a tremendous increase in my workload with the conversion to Consolidated,” she replied, but he didn’t seem to be listening. To her consternation he came into the room and casually hooked one leg over the desk corner, as if to remind her that he owned the place—literally.

She felt a need to back away from him—to put a little space between his body and hers, but she ignored the temptation. Intuitively she knew that she couldn’t show him the least sign of vulnerability or weakness. The harshness in his attitude and his tight-lipped questions made her stiffen and become increasingly wary.

“I see,” he mused as if he really didn’t. He tented his hands under his chin in a thoughtful and, in Erin’s opinion, overly dramatic pose. “Then you’re saying that you’re overworked?”

“No…”

“No?” He smiled broadly, but the grin didn’t light the cold depths of his eyes. “Then you must be inefficient,” he suggested.

“I beg your pardon!” Erin blurted, the color draining from her face. What was he doing to her with all of these insane questions and inaccurate accusations?

“Well, it has to be one or the other, doesn’t it?”

“Of course not!” she rifled back at him, and suddenly felt as if she had just swallowed a well-placed morsel of bait. He was toying with her for some reason, and it frightened her. To hide her nervousness she began stacking the legal volumes back on the shelf and tidying the scattered papers. She started to arrange her desk in brisk, sure movements, all the while aware that his eyes touched her face, her hands, her neck, her breasts….