be a father, but I like attractive women."
"Mr. Egan, this is not an appropriate conversation."
"Call me Ron. And what's inappropriate about a man telling a woman he finds her attractive?"
"It's the circumstances."
"Tell me what circumstances you find proper, and I'll set them up."
Just like her father. He thought money and power could solve any problem. But her irritation at his assumption didn't smother a desire to answer his question. Nor did it stop her from wondering what it would have been like to have met him under different circumstances.
"I'm sure you've met hundreds of attractive women in the course of your career," Kathryn said, trying hard to sound businesslike, "yet you were able to set that aside and concentrate on your business."
"Sure."
"That's what you have to do now."
"Why?"
He was a very stubborn man, but she guessed he hadn't made it to the top by taking no for an answer. "Why wouldn't you?"
"Because I don't see a conflict. I can find you attractive and still work with you to understand my daughter."
"Yes, but finding me attractive isn't the same as trying to establish a personal relationship between us."
"I didn't say anything about a personal relationship. Did you say that because you find me attractive?"
She was trapped. The only way out was to be completely candid. "You know you're an attractive man. I'm sure you've studied your personal appearance in minute detail, put it together like a well-orchestrated game plan, and use it to every possible advantage."
He grinned. She wished he wouldn't.
"Of course I do. Everybody prefers to be around attractive people. If they didn't, half the people in movies and TV would disappear tomorrow. But we're not talking business. We're talking personal."
"I'm not."
"I am."
"Mr. Egan - "
"Ron."
"Mr. Egan - "
"I won't let you finish that sentence unless you call me Ron."
He had moved closer to her. She wasn't easily intimidated, but she had to consciously stop herself from pulling back. She refused to give ground to this man even if her pulse had started pounding in a very unnerving sort of way, even if her normally logical mind was having difficulty maintaining the thread of her argument. Ron Egan was an absentee father who needed to be made aware of the damage his preoccupation with his career had done to his daughter.
"It's time we went back. I've found your background very helpful, but - "
"We can't leave."
"Why?"
"You haven't called me Ron."
"I don't need to."
"I want to hear it."
He was leaning on the railing, his weight on his left arm, looking up at her with the ingenuousness of a teenager trying to wheedle his way out of trouble. Only he was trying to wheedle her into it.
"Ron. There, I said it."
"Don't make it sound like a dose of bad medicine. Make it sound like you might even like me a little."
"Look, I don't - "
"Are you always this resistant with men?"
She didn't understand why she'd let their conversation become so personal. "I don't mix business with pleasure."
"I do my most effective work that way. When we do get down to business, it's usually just working out the details of something we've already decided."
"I'm not a businessperson. I'm a people person, and I find it easier to keep the two separate."
"That's a very interesting concept. Why don't we have lunch and discuss it?"
Chapter Four
"Okay," Ron said, lobster juice dripping from his elbows onto the tablecloth-size napkin tucked into his collar, "we've decided I'm a true pirate of high finance. I give no quarter and expect none. I think everyone should take responsibility for their own actions and not expect outside help. You blame my career, my pursuit of money and power, even my failure to marry again, for my abysmal failure as a father. I think we've covered me. Now I want to hear about you. What did you want from your father that you didn't get?"
She'd known from the moment she agreed to have lunch with him she had to answer his question. She'd ordered lobster salad. He ordered a lobster in the shell. He'd surprised her by taking off his coat and rolling up his sleeves. She understood why when he let the juice run down his arms to his elbows.
"Do you always eat lobster like that?" she asked.
"No. I can ease the little sucker out of his shell without getting a single drop on a linen tablecloth that costs more than some cars. But you're not going to distract me any longer. You have me at your mercy. I want