Stephanie James - Gamemaster.pdf - Stephanie James - SilverWitch

"I See Nothing Wrong in Making Love to a Business Partner."

The last word was breathed against her mouth and in the next instant his lips closed beguilingly over hers. She knew

she should be protesting, that his attitude was all mixed up, that there was something wrong in making up the

argument With a shudder she relaxed languidly beneath his kiss.

It was slow and delirious, damp and invading, and she realized she'd had Joel's kiss in her head since last night It had

nibbled around the edge of her consciousness, sometimes reminding her of its presence forcefully, other times

receding patiently into the background but always there. Always there. And tonight it was there in reality once more.

STEPHANIE JAMES readily admits that the chief influence on her writing is her "lifelong addiction to romantic

daydreaming." She has spent the last nine years living and working with her engineer husband in a wide variety of

places, inducting the Caribbean, the Southeast and the Pacific Northwest Ms. James currently resides in California.

Dear Reader:

Silhouette has always tried to give you exactly what you want. When you asked for increased realism, deeper

characterization and greater length, we brought you Silhouette Special Editions. When you asked for increased

sensuality, we brought you Silhouette Desire. Now you ask for books with the length and depth of Special Editions,

the sensuality of Desire, but with something else besides, something that no one else offers. Now we bring you

SILHOUETTE INTIMATE MOMENTS, true romance novels, longer than the usual, with all the depth that length

requires. More sensuous than the usual, with characters whose maturity matches that sensuality. Books with the

ingredient no one else has tapped: excitement.

There is an electricity between two people in love that makes everything they do magic, larger than life—and this is

what we bring you in SILHOUETTE INTIMATE MOMENTS. Look for them wherever you buy books.

These books are for the woman who wants more than she has ever had before. These books are for you. As always,

we look forward to your comments and suggestions. You can write to me at the address below:

Karen Solem

Editor-in-Chief

Silhouette Books

P.O. Box 769

New York, N.Y. 10019

STEPHANIE JAMES Gamemaster

address Silhouette Books, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, N.Y. 10020

IS BN: 0.671-44813-7

First Silhouette Books printing June, 1983

10 987654321

All of the characters in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

SILHOUET T E, SILHOUET T E DESIRE and colophon are trademarks of Simon & Schuster.

America's Publisher of Contemporary Romance Printed in the U.S.A.

O ther Silhouette Books by Steph anie James

A Passionate Business

Dangerous Magic

Corporate Affair

Storm y Challenge

Velvet Touch

Lover in Pursuit

Renaissance Man

Reckless Passion

Price of Surrender

Affair of Honor

To Tam e the Hunter

For my brother Steve, his wife Barb and their son Donnie. Congratulations on building one of the few miracles of the

modern age: a real family that knows how to laugh.

First impressions were always important, Shelley Banning reminded herself bracingly as she pushed open the door

labeled Cassidy & Co. But she had to admit that seldom did quite so much ride on the outcome of how she handled the

first few minutes of a business confrontation. She had to come across as dynamic, cool and utterly in charge of the

situation.

And even if she managed to appear to be all of those things, it might not be enough to buy her the time she needed.

She had the distinct feeling that a man like Joel Cassidy probably didn't sell anything, especially time, cheaply.

The door of the unimposing industrial building closed behind her, shutting out the heat of a Phoenix, Arizona,

afternoon, and Shelley found herself staring at a roomful of pinball machines and video games in various stages of

repair and assembly. Racks of took lined one wall, and on the other were shelves of records, presumably for juke boxes

such as the one standing in the comer with its mechanism exposed. Cassidy & Co. was an amusement-machine

business. Among other things, Shelley added wryly as she glanced around the repair shop.

The place certainly didn't reflect the wealth of the man who owned It, she concluded, but then mechanical repair

shops everywhere were probably much the same regardless of the money pulled in by the business.

"Damn!"

The muffled curse was followed almost Immediately by a loud, ominous crash. Both emanated from the room

adjoining the one in which Shelley was standing. Since hers was decidedly empty of human life, she headed for the

doorway that opened on to the next

She stepped through the second doorway into another repair area much like the first except that in this one a

solitary man was struggling in obvious annoyance to raise the long playboard of a colorfully painted pinball machine.

The first thing she noticed about the man was the pelt of flame-red hair. It was thick and cut long enough in back to

brush the collar of the faded blue work shirt he was wearing. Shelley's hazel eyes narrowed speculatively as she

studied the fluid shift of muscles under the shirt as he stood with his back toward her and raised the playboard back

into position.

Open, it revealed the intricate electromechanical workings of a pinball machine, and from the way the redheaded man

warily eyed the prop stick, Shelley had a hunch the heavy board, lined with wires and relays, had just come crashing

down unexpectedly, probably barely missing that red head.

"Excuse me, I'm looking for Mr. Joel Cassidy," Shelley announced firmly. "I understood he could be found here

today."

"What the hell...!" Clearly surprised at the sound of her soft, slightly throaty voice, the pinball mechanic raised his

head rather abruptly. His elbow swiped the unsteady prop stick, and once again the heavy playboard crashed back

into place. -

The man was quick, Shelley acknowledged silently. She watched with interest as he managed to get his hands and

head out of the path of danger in the nick of time. His vocabulary seemed limited, if colorful. The muttered oath he was

growling as he turned to face his visitor was not printable.

"Mr. Cassidy," he informed her dryly, "can indeed be found here today. The question of whether he will be found

dead or merely permanently maimed remains open, however."

"You're Joel Cassidy?" Shelley knew a distinct sense of shock as the steel blue of his eyes met hers. With barely

concealed astonishment, she quickly raked the lean, wiry, masculine figure clad in faded, low-riding jeans, a pair of

calfskin boots and the work shirt. Only the boots betrayed a hint of the money Joel Cassidy was reputed to control.

They were of supple leather and superbly crafted, and Shelley knew they had cost a fortune.

As she was adjusting to the unexpected image in front of her, Cassidy made a slight movement to set down a pair of

pliers he had been gripping in one square, strong hand, and another bit of luxury emerged as the cuff of the work shirt

shifted to reveal a very thin, very expensive gold watch on his left wrist

It wasn't enough. The watch and the boots didn't suffice to counter the image of pinball mechanic. This was the man

who held the future of Ackerly Manufacturing in his grasp? The man who was unknowingly in a position to do so

much for her own career? He just wasn't what she had anticipated, Shelley thought in confusion.

Joel Cassidy should have been dressed in a pin-stripe suit, a silk tie and a shirt that was only sent to a French

cleaners for laundering. He should have been suave, dark-haired and seated behind a mahogany desk downtown.

Good heavens! Even Ackeriy Manufacturing, a company in such dire straits it was on the verge of bankruptcy,

housed its president better than this!

But when she met the steel-colored blue of his eyes, Shelley was forced to admit there might be more to the man

than his attire suggested. There was cool intelligence in those eyes and an underlying perception that she would do

well to acknowledge from the start Men didn't become as financially successful as Joel Cassidy just by being

good-natured, easygoing, good old boys.

He was thirty-eight or thirty-nine years old, Shelley knew, and the first hint of silver was already dusting the heavy

red hair. Some of the crinkling lines around the eyes and the etched brackets on either side of the firm mouth spoke of

laughter, but most of them spoke of experience gained the hard way.

Joel Cassidy was not a handsome man, but there was a strength, a self-confidence in him that made itself known on

a fundamental level. Shelley's senses reacted to that subtle force even while she catalogued the aggressive nose,

sharp, lean planes of jaw and chin and the quiet authority with which he stood facing her. He might not have dressed

the part today, but she would do well to remember the importance of the role he was to play in her life. No, she would

not underestimate Joel Cassidy. She never underestimated anyone who wielded as much financial power as this man

did.

"I'm Joel Cassidy," he agreed with a faint nod as he swept Shelley with an assessing glance.

Shelley took a deep breath and lifted her chin determinedly. "I'm Shelley Banning from Mason Wells & Associates.

I'm here to speak to you on behalf of one of our clients. I realize you're busy," she added, flicking a glance at the

waiting pinball machine, "but I'd appreciate it if you could spare a few minutes to talk to me."

"Talk to you about what?" he asked calmly, one red brow arching quizzically.

"Money. A hundred thousand dollars, to be precise."

Cassidy whistled soundlessly. "I'm nearly always available to discuss that kind of money. Have a seat" He indicated

a stool located near a workbench nearby. With a last appraising glance, he turned back to the pinball machine and

once again raised the playboard.

Behind him, Shelley frowned uncertainly and then shrugged, walked across the bare concrete floor and perched

herself on the wooden stool. Hooking the heels of her burnished leather pumps over a rung, she adjusted the narrow

skirt of her yellow linen suit She regarded Joel Cassidy as he bent over his machine and began fiddling with an interior

mechanism.

He was no longer looking at her, but she wasn't fooled for a minute. The blue eyes hadn't missed an inch of her

figure or her attire when they had swept over her a moment earlier. Shelley found herself wondering briefly what he

had thought of her and then dismissed the question. What did she care? She was here to do business with the man,

not seduce him!

In any event, she reminded herself on a note of inner laughter, she was hardly the seductive type. Everything from

the short cut of her toast-brown hair, which was softly and sleekly shaped into the nape of her neck, to the crisp lines

of the yellow suit, with its close-fitting jacket and white tie-collared blouse, spelled business.

The hazel of her eyes was a blend of green and blue that could mirror a variety of emotions, from cool disdain to

warm laughter, and always reflected her underlying Intelligence. The face, framed by the short curve of toast-colored

hair, was marked by an energy and animation that often made the onlooker forget the lack of any real beauty. It was an

interesting face, not a beautiful one, with its firm line of nose and jaw. .The hint of sensuality in the fullness of her

lower lip somehow blended nicely with the feminine strength, making a promise of warmth just beneath the surface.

The yellow suit fit well over the fullness of rounded breasts and hips that had more of a curve man Shelley would

have liked. It was a fullness that she fought valiantly and continually with a never-ending diet A difference of only five

pounds was enough to mark the border between rounded and plump in her mind, and she defended that border

zealously. There were, unfortunately, too many occasions when she abandoned the fight temporarily.

"Okay, Miss Shelley Banning, what are you selling? Swampland in Florida? Dry oil wells in Oklahoma? How are you

going to entice me to part with a hundred thou?" Joel asked with apparent curiosity as he hovered over the pinball

game.

"You've already parted with it," she murmured politely. "I'm here to ask you to stay parted from it a while longer than

you had intended, that's all."

He lifted his eyes from the switch he was adjusting, and his gaze collided with hers. "Who did you say you

represented?" he asked very calmly.

"Mason Wells & Associates. It's an accounting firm here in Phoenix," she responded quietly, aware of a sensation

of being pinned like a yellow butterfly.

"And your client?" he prodded, resting on his elbows as he watched her from under the raised playboard.

"Ackerly Manufacturing," she told him with a bravado she was far from feeling. Then she waited.

"I see." He nodded, glancing back inside his machine. " That hundred grand."

"Yes, that hundred thousand."

"Would you hand me that wrench behind you?" He didn't look up.

Shelley's eyes narrowed. Was the man going to play games with her? She stifled a small exclamation of irritation and

glanced around for the wrench. It was lying on the workbench, and she picked it up. Sliding off the stool, she walked

forward to stand across from him on the opposite side of the pinball machine. Wordlessly, she held out the tool.

"Thanks."

Again, she waited. Shelley wanted his full attention. He applied the wrench carefully and precisely and then handed

it back to her without looking up.

"Phil Ackeriy died two months ago," he finally pointed out "The money was due three months ago."

"I'm aware of that I've just been assigned the Ackeriy account, and I've been going through the books. That's why

I'm here to see you today, Mr. Cassidy." She must be steady, businesslike, certain about the direction in which she

was going. Silently, Shelley kept up the positive-thinking lecture. No one had said convincing someone to give up a

hundred thousand dollars was going to be easy.

"What exactly, are you asking me to do?" The question was conversational in nature. Joel appeared more interested

in a sticking relay inside the machine than in her answer.

"I'm asking you to give Ackeriy Manufacturing another six months before you demand repayment and I'm asking

you to let me schedule that repayment in installments."

He did look up at that a lazy grin slicing across his hard features to reveal strong white teeth, not all of which,

Shelley found herself noting, were perfectly straight. There was an unexpectedly charming crookedness to one on

the left side. That she'd even been aware of such a tiny detail annoyed her.

"You're kidding" was all he said. The blue eyes flared briefly with real humor.

Shelley's fingers tightened as she unconsciously curled them over the edge of the machine housing. "I'm not joking,

Mr. Cassidy. Ackerly Manufacturing is on the brink of a long slide into bankruptcy. I'm going to save it, but I'll need

your cooperation to do so."

"I'm in the fun-and-games business, Miss Banning," he drawled meaningfully, "not the charitable contributions

field."

"Will you at least listen to what I have to say? I promise that in the end you won't lose. You'll merely be deferring

the payback."

"Is this the part where you offer me your body in exchange for my agreement not to press for the money?" he

inquired interestedly. The blue eyes swept down to the curve of her breast, and Shelley had to resist a sudden urge to

step backward. It was as if he'd actually reached out and touched her.

She should have been prepared for such a jibe, but it took her by surprise nonetheless, perhaps because her own

mind had been so totally on business. She covered the moment of shock with a flashing glance of utter disdain, but

nothing could halt the rush of red into her cheeks. Lord! She was thirty years old and had learned something about the

occasionally uncouth ways of the business world long ago. Surely she wasn't going to let this man embarrass her so

readily.

"No, Mr. Cassidy—"

"Joel," he corrected mildly. "Call me Joel. Something tells me we're fated to be on a first-name basis."

"No, Joel," she said very evenly, taking a grip on her poise, "this isn't the part where I offer you ray body, and I

recommend you don't hold your breath waiting for that particular bargain. I can guarantee it isn't in the offing. I'm here

to talk business, and I would appreciate it if you would be so kind as to pull yourself away from that machine long

enough to hear me out. It is, after all, a great deal of money we're talking about!"

" My money," he emphasized.

"Your money," she affirmed gamely. Why was she letting him bait her? She had to hold her own against this man or

everything would be lost "If you'll listen to my plans, I can show you how you'll get your money back."

"That money was secured by certain Ackerly Manufacturing assets," he murmured. "I'll get it back one way or

another. Even if the company goes into bankruptcy."

"I'm here to convince you to wait"

"That loan was made to a friend, Phil Ackeriy, not to his son. Now that Phil's dead, I don't see why I should wait for

repayment. Personally, I don't give a damn what happens to Ackeriy Manufacturing now that Phil's gone."

"You may not care about the future of the company, but there are a great many people who do, including other

creditors and a lot of employees! Demanding repayment right now will be all it takes to push the company over the

brink. I need a little time, Mr. Cassidy. Joel," she amended quickly, seeing that he was about to correct her again.

"You need the time? I'm curious, Shelley. What's in this for you?"

He did have a way of getting to the heart of the matter, she admitted ruefully. Perhaps that was one of the talents

required for getting rich.

"I told you, I inherited the account from my predecessor at Mason Wells, who recently retired. It's my job to try to

straighten out the company."

"As the firm's accountant, you're not required to save it, merely to make certain that the financial records are nice

and neat," he said calmly. "Would you hand me that screwdriver over there on the bench?"

Shelley's mouth tightened for an instant, and then she gave in and walked over to retrieve the screwdriver. "A good

accountant is in a position to counsel a firm like Ackerly when it is in a difficult financial position. I want to help the

company, and I think I can do it."

"Why?" He took the screwdriver and went back to work.

"Because it's my job!" she gritted, losing patience rapidly.

"It's not your job to come pleading to the firm's creditors." He didn't raise his head as he spoke, electing to

concentrate on the task at hand.

"I'm making it my job!"

"Why?"

"Because I am! That's why!"

"You sleeping with Phil's son? What's his name? David? No, Dean, isn't it?"

The remainder of her patience went up in a puff of smoke. "Mr. Cassidy, if you don't pull yourself out of that

machine and give me a little of your no doubt valuable time, I will personally see to it that the prop stick suffers

another unexpected accident This time you may not get out of the way quickly enough to avoid having that board put

a picturesque scar on your head!"

The steel-blue eyes lifted assessingly to her flaming hazel gaze and taut features. For an instant, he didn't move,

studying her intently. Then wry humor flickered behind the auburn lashes and tugged at the comers of his mouth. Very

carefully, as if afraid of triggering the "accident" with a too-hasty move, he straightened. Gingerly, he lowered the

playboard back into place, never taking his eyes off Shelley.

"There," he said gently, turning toward her, "now that you've cowed me with threats of physical violence, perhaps

you'll join me in a cup of coffee? I promise to give you my full attention."

The momentary anger dissolved, leaving Shelley disgusted with her loss of control. She .would never get anywhere

unless she maintained control of herself and of the situation. "Thank you. A cup of coffee would be appreciated."

With a nod, he led. her toward another workbench on the opposite side of the room. At one end, a coffee machine

and several dirty cups reposed.

"Don't worry, I've got some plastic cups," he murmured, seeing her uncertain glance at the used mugs. He opened a

cupboard and drew out a styrofoam cup. "Cream?"

"No, thanks," she said automatically. A professional dieter learned to always say "no" to that particular question.

Wordlessly, she accepted the cup of dark, steaming brew.

"You may change your mind about the cream. Greg makes the stuff the way he likes it, which is strong, to say the

least."

"Greg?"

"One of my men. He's out on a call at the moment Running this business is a lot like being a doctor. We're on call

twenty-four hours a day." He sipped cautiously at his own mug.

Shelley frowned curiously. "Why is that?"

"The machines are in various bars, restaurants and arcades only as long as the owner of the location wants them. If

the guy who owns the tavern doesn't get good service from me, he's likely to give his business to another operator. It's

a hell of an incentive for Cassidy & Co. to provide 'round-the-clock repair and maintenance."

"Someone has to get out of bed at midnight if the video game in one of your locations goes down or the juke box

gets broken?" she demanded, glancing around at the roomful of tools and machines.

"Yup. That's why I hire people like Greg and Mac. In the beginning, I was the only one available to get out of a warm

bed in the middle of the night. Played merry hell with my social life," he added a little too politely, blue eyes glinting.

"I can imagine," she retorted with what she hoped was a total lack of interest. Striving for a more neutral topic, she

asked quickly, "Do you still have many of those traditional pinball games in the arcades and taverns? I thought the

new video games had become the rage."

"They have. I've pulled in most of the old-fashioned pinball machines and replaced them with the videos. That one I

was working on when you started threatening to assassinate me with it is out of a truck stop. There were a few

traditionalists still patronizing the place, so I left it there, but the owner finally said he wanted one of the newer

games."

"What in the world do you do with an old pinball machine?" she asked.

"I recondition them, take out the coin chutes and sell them to private parties who want one for their home recreation

room. That's what I was doing with that one." He nodded toward the machine he'd been working on when she'd

arrived.

"I see." She took a gulp of her coffee, trying to figure out what to say next. How was she going to get the

conversation back on track?

"Now that I've given you this brief glimpse into the life of an amusement-machine route operator," he went on dryly,

"why don't you tell me a little more about the exciting world of accounting?"

"Such as?" she asked warily.

"Such as why you've undertaken the task of championing Ackerly Manufacturing," he retorted firmly.

"You keep implying there's something personal in it for me," she sighed.

"And I'll go on implying it until I find out what that something personal is. Come now, Shelley, if you're asking me to

forgo a hundred grand indefinitely, the least you can do is be honest about where you fit into the picture." He lounged

back against the workbench, watching her coolly.

Shelley hesitated, unsure how much to tell him, and then decided there was nothing wrong with the truth. "I want to

use Ackerly to make my name in the consulting world," she finally said quietly. "It's my golden opportunity to gain a

reputation as a consulting accountant who can handle situations such as impending bankruptcy. I have no intention

of growing old behind a desk at Mason Wells & Associates. I want to start my own firm one of these days and

specialize in helping firms in trouble."

"That's your sole motivation?" he persisted.

She shut her eyes in brief, controlled irritation. "My sole motivation."

"You're not sleeping with Dean Ackerly?"

She turned to face him boldly. "If I were, it sure as hell wouldn't be any of your business!"

"I disagree. When there's this much money involved, a man likes to know all the details."

"You didn't seem overly concerned about details when you loaned Phil Ackerly that money a year ago!" she

pointed out accusingly.

"Phil was a friend, and I knew he needed the money. Besides, I owed it to him." Joel lifted one shoulder dismissively.

"He was the one who insisted on securing the loan with company assets."

"You owed it to him!" Shelley stared at him uncomprehendingly.

"He gave me a loan when I needed it to get started in business several years ago."

"He loaned you a hundred thousand dollars several years ago?" She was getting more and more confused.

"It was only five thousand, but at the time that much money was as out of my reach as a hundred grand was for him

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