by Anne Oliver
The printer shot out the first page. That was when he noticed the minuscule print in the footer: dreamdiary.
A dream. Scanning the page, he nodded slowly and his smile returned. Okay, that made sense. Some woman’s dream fantasy…and he’d been the star attraction. His smile widened to an all-out grin.
What did this woman look like? Masses of unruly wheat-blonde hair. A wickedly clever mouth. Overinflated breasts with large pink nipples. Sexy, supple and spontaneous. Sophie.
Still grinning, he folded the two steaming pages, tucked them in his pocket.
He was looking forward to tomorrow morning.
From her car parked nearby, Sophie stared through the windscreen of her Mazda hatch. The tall building’s glass façade seemed to glint with power and authority in the early morning sunshine. The offices of J Sanderson Property Investments and Refurbishments occupied the top two floors.
Just the thought of what she had to do had her heart pounding into her throat, her fingers white-knuckled on the steering wheel. He won’t be there. Please don’t let him be there. She’d set his agenda yesterday and knew he had a breakfast meeting in Coolangatta, a thirty-minute drive away. He wasn’t due at the office until 10:00 a.m.
Which didn’t mean squat. In Sophie’s experience bosses never did the expected.
She drew in a deep fortifying breath. Get this over with. Gripping her bag, she climbed out into the already balmy, salt-scented air, smoothed her fade-into-the-background beige knee-length skirt and headed for the building.
A few people were out on their morning jog along the wide stretch of beach, a soft aqua sea foamed along its edge. Not a suit or briefcase in sight. She checked her watch. Two minutes to seven. She’d not slept a wink, worrying about Jared Sanderson’s reaction if he saw her email before she could delete it. If he hadn’t already checked his emails from home, that was.
Don’t even think about it.
Pam had complained the man never knew when to stop. Sophie’s stomach dipped suddenly as if weighted down with a bag of that wet sand beyond, and she quickened her steps.
At the entrance, she fiddled with the collar of her white blouse, ensuring all but the top button was secure. She’d scrunched her thick long hair into a clasp at the back of her head.
She smiled a good morning to the security guy unlocking the door as she withdrew her swipe card from the pocket in the side of her bag and kept moving—not too fast so as to draw attention to herself—to the elevators.
A moment later she stepped out into the hushed Sanderson offices. Quickly skirting the main reception area, she crossed the oblique sun-striped carpet to Pam’s desk, then slipped her handbag into the desk drawer.
The room was empty, still and so quiet she could hear the ocean’s eternal shoosh beyond the thick glass windows. And the guilty echo of her pulse.
The swipe card gave her access to the Inner Sanctum but she’d not had a reason to enter yesterday. Today, however… Pushing the door open, she registered nothing beyond the scent of leather and electronics as she swooped on the only thing that mattered right now. His desk was L-shaped and the computer was positioned against the wall, which meant if he turned up she’d see him to her left.
She switched the machine on. Waited on a knife’s edge. Because her legs were shaky, she barely hesitated before she sat down on his wide leather chair and rolled it forward. The faint fragrance of sandalwood met her nostrils, a heart-stopping reminder that this was a gross invasion of his privacy. She tapped in the password Pam had given her. The email icon appeared, she clicked on it, waiting, barely breathing while the messages rolled down the screen. There. Her email. Flagged as unread.
A noise, part sob, part laugh, mostly relief, escaped her as with two swift clicks she deleted the email permanently. Done. Simple.
She leaned back, blew out a long slow breath while her heart continued to thump like crazy against her ribs. I.T. security never audited executive email. Did they? She would not think about that now. She hit the keyboard and brought his day’s agenda up on screen. All she had to do was slip back to her desk and no one would—
‘Good morning.’ The deep masculine voice steamrolled over her senses like steel wrapped in black velvet.
She couldn’t have leapt out of the chair quicker if she’d been shot at. Her mind scrambled for words—any words—but to her mortification all that came out was the sound of air rushing past her tonsils.
She got an impression of height, power and stunning sexuality while a pair of enigmatic olive-green eyes studied her. And her stomach dropped to her professional, low-heeled, slingback shoes.
‘Ms Buchanan, I presume?’
CHAPTER TWO
HOW long had he been standing there?
‘Yes… Ah… Sophie…’ she managed, two stuttering heartbeats later. ‘Sophie Buchanan.’
And, oh…he was gorgeous, from the sun-bleached tips of his dark brown hair to that clean-shaven jaw that looked strong enough to crack rocks on. From the pressed white shirt and charcoal tie to the fresh sandalwood soap scent winding through her senses. She didn’t dare let her gaze wander down the rest of him.
He was the kind of man that made you momentarily forget your own name because you were too busy drawing breath and taking in the view.
For heaven’s sake, you could be in serious trouble here, girl. Focus. She dragged the scattered remnants of her business self together. ‘Good morning…Mr Sanderson…I was just…I’ve brought your agenda…up.’ Then, as if she hadn’t just been hacking into his computer without his knowledge, she walked smartly around from behind his desk, stuck out her hand. Smiled. And, for once, thanked the genes that had bestowed her with a five-feet-ten height advantage—but still it wasn’t enough because this man was at least six feet two. ‘I’m looking forward to working with you today.’
His firm unyielding palm met hers—an instant zap—and she had to force herself not to think about the way he’d palmed her breasts in her dream last night.
Because nothing surer, this was that guy.
And that was bad. Very bad. She didn’t want her dream lover spilling into her working life and she needed every day’s employment she could get. How was she going to face him all day today and not remember how it felt to be made mad, passionate and sizzling love to? And more importantly, not to let it show?
At least he didn’t know. He couldn’t… Or did he? One corner of his mouth stretched into some semblance of a smile but the eyes…there was a lot going on behind those shadowed green eyes…
‘Call me Jared,’ he said, still imprisoning her hand within his large firm grip. ‘We keep things informal around here.’
Yes, very informal. Smile still frozen in place, she tugged her fingers from his grasp, clasped her tingling hand at her side and reminded herself that he hadn’t bothered to introduce himself yesterday. ‘Right. Jared—’ She practically bit off the word and pressed her lips together. She had not just moaned his name the way she had last night, but guilty heat streaked into her cheeks anyway. He was only speaking to her now because she was in his office.
To delete an email from his computer.
The screen of which he was studying, brows lowered. Against her will, her eyes flicked there too, to make sure the file hadn’t somehow popped up again. When she looked back at him he was studying her with that same inscrutable expression.
He seemed to shake it away and said, ‘I apologise for missing you yesterday, I had to rush off. My sister went into labour and her husband was unavoidably detained. I trust Mimi looked after you?’
The receptionist. ‘Yes, she did.’ Sophie instantly forgave him for yesterday’s lapse. How many guys were so involved with their sisters that they’d rush off to be with them during labour? Unlike her brother, who’d not contacted her since he’d escaped the hell that was their home and moved to Melbourne years ago.
‘Did everything go okay?’ she said, relieved to have something other than that dreaded email and the sexual buzz that see
med to surround them to focus on. ‘What did she have?’
His eyes warmed and, oh, my, he had the most disarmingly crooked grin that kind of creased his left cheek and threatened to buckle her knees.
‘Everything went great.’ If he’d been the father he couldn’t have sounded more delighted. ‘It’s a girl. Arabella. Three and a half kilos or seven pounds seven ounces in the old money.’
‘Wonderful. Lovely name.’ She paused. ‘So I guess you were busy last night, then. Celebrating?’ Far too busy to catch up on boring old matters such as emails from the office.
He looked at her with an unsettling directness, as if he’d heard her thoughts. Indeed, as if he knew what she’d been enjoying last night, with him. And more of that blood pumped into her cheeks.
He smiled again, that warmth back in his eyes. ‘Melissa and I had a champagne or two.’
Melissa? He was involved. Sophie felt as if something had jabbed her skin and left her deflating piece by piece. She had to force her shoulders back and stand straight. Pam hadn’t let her in on that little snippet. She’d told her he didn’t have time for relationships, his family took precedence, that women were way down on his list, and, no, he wasn’t gay.
Sophie reminded herself quickly and sternly that it made no difference. In fact it was good. Great. Men were off her agenda for life. And she was going overseas in three weeks and five days.
She lifted her chin to demonstrate a confidence she was far from feeling. ‘I won’t hold you up. I know you have an eight a.m. meeting in Coolangatta.’ Thank heavens. She could—
‘No rush,’ he said in that steel and velvet voice that both startled and enticed.
‘I…’ She watched the way the muscles in his back shifted beneath the smooth white cotton as he sank into his plush leather chair. Held her breath and waited for her heart to stop while she watched his long tanned fingers work the keyboard and… Oh, dear… Remembered those clever fingers working on her body… The sensation peppered her skin with instant goose-bumps.
She shook the fantasy away. More important to worry about how long he’d been watching her at his desk and what he’d seen. From her position, she saw him click off his agenda and bring up his emails. Her stomach tightened. Oh, no.
‘Wouldn’t want to miss anything important…’ He glanced sideways at her, although how a glance could scour your eyes for every secret you’d ever kept and last for eternity—
Prickly heat climbed up her neck and her hand rose un-steadily to play with the button at her throat. ‘I’ll let you get on with it,’ she said, backing away before he decided to open his Deleted Items folder and flash her private thoughts onto the screen and…she’d just die of embarrassment. No, no, she reminded her stunned self, she’d deleted it permanently. She was off the hook—
‘What’s this?’ He stilled, leaning closer to the screen, blocking Sophie’s view and her heart jumped into her mouth again. ‘This is your work, I take it?’ He turned slowly towards her. His eyes seemed darker and there was a gleam there that she was sure hadn’t been there before.
She found herself backing away from his powerful gaze as if pushed by some physical force. Her hands alternately fluttered and clenched in front of her. ‘I can…explain…’
‘No need.’ He leaned back in his chair, a slow smile touching his lips. ‘I left it with Pam but I see you’ve finished it. Everything looks to be in order, you can email it today.’
The Lygon report. A sigh escaped her lips, instantly bitten off when she caught him still watching her, eyes darker than she’d thought. She straightened. ‘I’ll get right on it.’
‘This afternoon will be soon enough.’ He glanced back at the screen, then said, ‘Nothing else here that can’t wait.’
He rose and she almost sagged with relief. Her legs were like jelly and she really, really wanted to escape to her desk and regroup.
But before she could propel herself forward—rather, backward and away—he opened his briefcase, pulled out a few files. ‘Since you’re here and obviously enthusiastic to get on with the day, I’d like you to come with me.’
‘Me?’ To Coolangatta? With him? Her breath caught. ‘But…’
He looked up sharply. ‘Is that a problem?’
Uh oh. A temporary PA’s golden rule: do not irritate the boss no matter how short your stay is. ‘No. Not at all. Absolutely.’ She shook her head, then nodded. Her head spun.
‘Good.’ His eyes pinned hers so directly, so intensely, she felt as if she were being probed, naked, with twin lasers.
She flicked at her collar, lifted her blouse away from her skin, sticky now despite her morning shower, and flashed him a smile. ‘I’ll leave a note for Mimi.’
‘Fine.’ He blinked, then seemed to shake his head, the movement abrupt, and frowned at his watch. ‘Better make that call from the car on the way.’ He handed Sophie the files without looking at her. ‘These need mailing this afternoon.’ His voice was clipped as he snapped his case shut. ‘Bring Pam’s laptop, you can familiarise yourself with the project before we get there. Coffee— Forget it, we don’t have time.’
‘No worries.’ This was more like the Jared Sanderson Pam had talked about. Complained about. Adjusting the files in her arms, she swung around to carry them to her desk. ‘I’ll meet you downstairs in two minutes…’
But he was already out of the door, leaving that spicy fragrance in his wake.
Jared tossed his briefcase and suit jacket onto the back seat of his new pride and joy, his BMW hard-topped convertible, and blew out a strained breath. Took off his cufflinks, slid them into his trouser pocket and rolled his sleeves up—something he never did before meeting a new client. He was a professional and he dressed like one. Every day. He liked routine, the predictability of it.
There was nothing routine about this morning.
Nor was Sophie Buchanan, dream-weaver, what he’d expected. Unlike the brazen and over-endowed vision he’d imagined, she was tall, slim and understated. She wasn’t his usual blonde; her hair was the colour of a mid-winter’s night. Smooth and sleek and shiny.
He hadn’t missed her fragrance on the air when she’d all but leapt off his chair. Not the expensive perfume most women he knew wore, but something light and sparkly, like fresh fruit and summer.
And all he’d been able to see when they’d made eye contact was the disturbing image of her sprawled over his bed wearing nothing but a blackberry-stained smile and dangling a sliver of snakeskin from one finger. It had taken considerable restraint not to yank her against him and find out if the reality was as good as the fantasy she’d described.
She’d deleted the email.
He’d seen the nerves, read the body language and was confident it had been a genuine mistake, not some scheme she’d devised to get his attention.
The devil of it was it had got his attention, and in a big way. Just looking at her and knowing what she’d been dreaming had given him a hard-on and he was still feeling its effects. Not a professional image. And knowing all those intimate details, how was he going to deal with having her right outside his office all day?
So why had he asked her to accompany him to Coolangatta? He couldn’t resist the smile. Maybe because she was here already and his PA usually accompanied him? The smile teased his lips into a full-on grin. Maybe he wasn’t going to change his routine just because Pam was unavailable?
And maybe he wanted to find out more about Sophie Buchanan. Like why this woman had dreamed sexy dreams about him when they hadn’t even met. The trick would be not mixing business and pleasure.
She exited the building, sunshine sparking off her ebony hair as she searched his car out. Unlike her fantasy, her dress code was wishy-washy conservative, but a gust of wind blew the fabric of her blouse against her body, outlining a low-cut bra and subtle yet teasing curves. He leaned across the seat and shoved open the passenger door, slid on his sunglasses and fiddled with his GPS while he waited—hardly courteous, but it was preferable to the alterna
tive of letting her see how she’d affected him. How her creative writing had affected him.
So he wouldn’t let the way he’d noticed her hips undulate provocatively as she crossed the car park—not to mention those long tanned legs beneath her fitted skirt—distract his thoughts from the upcoming meeting.
She dropped into the passenger seat as if those spectacular legs were about to give out and he grinned to himself. Dying to know if he knew, wasn’t she? But she wasn’t asking, and he wasn’t telling.
‘Been temping long?’ he asked as he swung out of the car park.
‘A few years. But not for much longer.’ He noted she wasted no time opening the laptop.
‘Why’s that?’
She tapped keys, her attention riveted to the screen. ‘I’m going to the UK next month.’
‘Oh? Working or sightseeing?’
‘Both, I hope.’
‘Anything lined up there?’
‘Work-wise, not yet. I’ll take it as it comes.’
They were cruising south along the Gold Coast Highway, negotiating the morning peak-hour traffic, and he wondered for a moment how it would feel to take off across the globe with no responsibilities and only oneself to think about.
‘We’ll be meeting with the building’s owner and the architect to discuss the project brief,’ he informed her. ‘You’ll find the info in the file labelled CoolCm20. Familiarise yourself with it and be prepared to add to it later.’
They followed the bitumen past Burleigh Heads and crossed the bridge where a glimpse of turquoise water met white sand lined with Norfolk pines. Salty air with a whiff of motor fumes blew through the open window, but at this time of day he preferred the fresh morning breeze to air conditioning.
‘So your company offers clients advice on refurbishment projects,’ she said, looking up from the file a short time later.
He nodded, checking his rear-view mirror before changing lanes. ‘Not only advice. We prepare a complete project brief. Should he or she wish to proceed, we initiate contracts and manage the project to completion.’ He glanced her way. ‘So you and Pam know each other?’