by Cynthia Eden
“The parents passed away some years ago and his older brother died of smallpox soon after, if I recall correctly. However, St. Martin has never taken up his place in Parliament, having instead disappeared for years to the farthest reaches of the globe. In her majesty’s service, one presumes. Although one can presume no longer with his resignation.”
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DEMON CAN’T HELP IT,
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Jo breathed in slowly through her nose. What had she just agreed to? Seeing this man every day? She pulled in another slow, even breath, telling herself to shake off her reaction to this man’s proximity.
Sure, he was attractive. And he had—a presence. But she wasn’t some teenage girl who would fall to pieces under a cute boy’s attention. Not that cute was a strong enough word for what Maksim was. He was—unnerving. To say the least.
But she wasn’t interested in him. She decided that quite definitely over the past two days. Of course that decision was made when he wasn’t in her presence.
But either way, she should have more control than this. Apparently should and could were two very different things. And she couldn’t seem to stop her reaction to him. Her heart raced and her body tingled, both hot and cold in all the most inappropriate places.
“So every morning?” he said, his voice rumbling right next to her, firing up the heat inside her. “Does that work for you?”
She cleared her throat, struggling for calm her body.
“Yes—that’s great,” she managed to say, surprising even herself with the airiness of her tone. “I’ll schedule you from eight a.m. to—” she glanced at the clock on lower right-hand of the computer screen, “noon?”
That was a good amount of time, getting Cherise through the rowdy mornings and lunch, and giving him the go ahead to leave now. She needed him out of her space.
If her body wasn’t going to go along with her mind, then avoidance was clearly her best strategy. And she’d done well with that tactic—although she’d told herself that wasn’t what she was doing.
“Noon is fine,” he said, still not moving. Not even straightening away from the computer. And her.
“Good,” she poised her fingers over the keys and began typing in his hours. “Then I think we are all settled. You can take off now if you like.”
When he didn’t move, she added, “You can go get some lunch. You must be hungry.” She flashed him a quick smile without really looking at him.
This time he did stand, but he didn’t move away. Instead he leaned against her desk, the old piece of furniture creaking at his tall, muscular weight.
“You must be hungry, too. Would you like to join me?”
She blinked, for a moment not comprehending his words, her mind too focused on the muscles of his thighs so near her. The flex of more muscles in his shoulders and arms as he crossed them over his chest.
She forced herself to look back at the computer screen.
“I—I don’t think so,” she said. “I have a lot to do here.”
“But surely you allow yourself even a half an hour for lunch break.”
She continued typing, fairly certain whatever she was writing was gibberish. “I brought a lunch with me, actually.” Which was true. Not that she was hungry at the moment. She was too—edgy.
“Come on,” he said in a low voice that was enticing, coaxing. “Come celebrate your first regular volunteer.”
She couldn’t help looking at him. He was smiling, the curl of his lips, his white, even teeth, the sexily pleading glimmer in his pale green eyes.
God, he was so beautiful.
And dangerous.
Jo shook her head. “I really can’t.”
He studied her for a moment. “Can’t or won’t. What’s the matter, Josephine? Do I make you nervous?”
Jo’s breath left her for a moment at the accented rhythm of her full name crossing his lips. But the breath-stealing moment left as quickly as it came, followed by irritation. At him and at herself.
She wasn’t attracted to his man—not beyond a basic physical attraction. And that could be controlled. It could.
“You don’t make me nervous,” she said firmly.
“Then why not join me for lunch?”
“Because,” she said slowly, “I have a lot of work to do.”
Maksim crossed his arms tighter and lifted one of his eloquent eyebrows, which informed her that he didn’t believe her for a moment.
“I don’t think that’s why you won’t come. I think you are uncomfortable with me. Maybe because you are attracted to me.” Again the eyebrow lifted—this time in questioning challenge.
BRAVA BOOKS are published by
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Copyright © 2009 Cindy Roussos
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