One-Click Buy: November Harlequin Presents

by Susan Stephens

  ‘You look deep in thought.’

  She jumped at his voice, looking up in panic, hoping the scattered contents of files and paperwork on her desk didn’t betray too much of her inexperience.

  If it did, he didn’t comment. He dropped a stack of files topped with a pile of paperwork onto a relatively uncluttered part of her desk.

  ‘What’s the latest with Phil?’

  She schooled her face into something she hoped was approaching coolly professional. ‘I’m just awaiting final confirmation he can make it for ten tomorrow—the lawyers look like falling in if that’s a goer. It shouldn’t be too long now.’

  ‘Good. I’ll be out talking to our finance people,’ he said, heading towards the lifts. ‘I might be late.’

  ‘What do you want me to do with these?’ she called out behind him, indicating the stack of material he’d left behind.

  He turned, a small furrow marring his noble brow. ‘Exactly what you normally do with them. Is there a problem with that?’

  She plastered a bright and hopefully not too false smile on her face. ‘I thought as much,’ she lied, before the scowling personage disappeared into the lift. ‘Just checking.’

  He needed a cold beer. If the meeting with a bunch of dry and dusty finance people hadn’t been enough, a trip past his grandmother’s nursing home had certainly given him a thirst. The old lady sure wasn’t getting any easier. Some days she welcomed him like she’d always done, and was full of bright stories about growing up on the family ranch in Montana. And other times she just seemed determined to give him a hard time.

  This afternoon had been one of those times.

  The lift hummed quietly up through the floors towards his office suite as he tugged loose his tie and undid his top button.

  On the way back from the private nursing-home he’d toyed with the idea of calling up someone from his current list of contacts to see if they were interested in going out for dinner, but in the end he’d decided against it. People knew he was supposed to be overseas this week, and somehow a meaningless dinner for the hell of it seemed just that—meaningless. Besides, he hadn’t wanted to give any of his current female companions a reason to think she’d been singled out for special treatment, when all he’d wanted to do was avoid eating alone.

  Eating alone was still preferable to being devoured alive.

  So he’d grab a few files from the office and pick up some Chinese takeaway on the way home, where he could enjoy that beer while he prepared for tomorrow’s round of meetings. Rogerson had been shaky on the deal before Giuseppe’s collapse had put their negotiations on hold. He mustn’t be allowed to get cold feet now.

  The lift doors opened to a still brightly lit office-lobby. Vaguely he registered that the cleaners must be late in servicing the floor, but his mind was still busy anticipating the beer. It had been a frustrating few days, today especially.

  Then a filing-cabinet door slammed and the cause of much of today’s frustrations popped her head up behind it.

  ‘Oh,’ she said, her hazel eyes wide as she quickly removed her earphones and wound them around her iPod. ‘I didn’t hear you come in.’

  ‘No doubt due to that thing you had stuck in your ears again.’

  ‘I only just turned it on! It was so quiet here.’

  ‘What are you doing here, anyway?’ His voice came out gruffer than expected, but he couldn’t help it. Morgan Fielding had played no part in his plans for a quiet evening. Frankly, he didn’t need the aggravation.

  And he really didn’t care one way or the other about her MP3 player, other than that if she hadn’t been wearing it this morning she might have heard him approaching and saved him from being subjected to that chorus-girl display of leg. A display of leg that had worked its way into his thoughts at all sorts of inopportune times today, and had raised all sorts of questions—like if the legs hidden under her give-nothing-away skirts looked that good, then what about the rest of her, covered by those ‘take no prisoners’ buttoned-up shirts and jackets she hid herself behind?

  What other treasures lay beneath the severe suits, waiting to be revealed?

  Her back stiffened as if she’d read his thoughts, her hazel eyes flashing green-tinged sparks. ‘I work here.’

  He moved closer, intrigued by the phenomenon. It was something he’d never noticed before, and they’d been working together at least a year and a half. How had he never noticed the way her eyes flared before now? Or was it related to her mood? Her temper had certainly flared more than he’d ever noticed before.

  ‘I thought you would have gone home by now.’

  ‘I got in late, remember?’ Eyelids dropped down like shutters over her eyes. ‘I was making up for your precious lost time.’ Her mouth closed on a pout, a full bottom lip supporting a Cupid’s bow that still managed to look lush and inviting even while striking that haughty pose.

  She had great lips. Great lips and sensational legs, and eyes that sparked like fireworks, and there was no way he didn’t want to get closer to see what other features Morgan Fielding had been concealing up till now.

  Studiously ignoring him, she tilted her head away and picked up another piece of paper from the pile next to her, looked it over briefly, and dragged open the top drawer of the cabinet, her fingers searching through for the correct file.

  ‘You already worked through lunch,’ he said, edging closer until he was alongside her as she selected a file and slipped the paperwork in. He caught a whiff of her scent as she moved, and he drank it in like fine wine. Whatever it was, it suited her—warm and womanly and evocative. And definitely not subtle.

  He leaned one arm up on the filing cabinet next to where she was working and studied her. Her hair was different too. Normally it didn’t move all day, but today it had refused to be imprisoned from the start, and the course of a few hours had further relaxed it. He liked the way it escaped in tiny curling tendrils that seemed to shine in a dozen colours, from dark blond through to sun gold. ‘You don’t eat?’

  ‘I was very late. Unforgivably so, apparently. I figured me taking time out to eat was a luxury the company could ill afford.’

  He noticed she didn’t look at him. He also noticed the colour was rising in her cheeks. With anger? Although, she didn’t seem angry, more bothered by his proximity. What did she think he was going to do? She was his PA, for heaven’s sake.

  She replaced the file in the cabinet but it was Maverick who caught the drawer and pushed it closed.

  She looked up at him. ‘What are you doing? I haven’t finished.’

  ‘And just what do you think you’re doing?’

  ‘What does it look like I’m doing?’ she snapped. ‘I’m taking a bath!’

  He blinked, the mental picture that comment suddenly evoked too much to digest. A bath and those legs—now there was a heady combination. Even better, someone would have to peel down those stockings for her first. Breath whistled through his teeth while once again fire flared into life in his groin. A damn shame she was his PA. A damn shame.

  Otherwise he just might have been tempted to do something stupid, like move even closer and see if that sassy mouth was as generous in the kissing department as it was in the giving lip department.

  ‘A bath,’ he murmured, crossing his arms. Mentally he shifted beer to his number-two favourite thing right now. ‘Now there’s a thought after a long day.’

  He caught the flash of fear in her eyes. He also caught something else there too—a tiny tremor that had her lips parting as she gave a tiny, almost breathless gasp—and a tiny pause when her eyes rested on his lips before they slid away to the lift as if it were some kind of lifeline.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I shouldn’t have said that. I was just finishing off the filing before I went home.’

  He frowned, at both her words and her suddenly skittish nature after she’d been so feisty before. Did she really think he was planning to carry her off to the bathroom in his suite here and now? And why should that be
a problem, even if he was? Most women he knew would welcome the suggestion. ‘You told me you always prefer to do your filing first thing in the morning, while you’re fresh. I thought you hated doing it in the evening.’

  ‘Ah, well…’ Now she looked even more trapped, like someone had sprung a snare on her. ‘Usually I do, that’s true. But seeing I was making up some time I thought I might as well make an early start with it, given tomorrow’s set to be a big day.’ She edged away, giving him a wide berth as she circled around to her desk. He got the impression she was fleeing. ‘I should get going,’ she whispered, confirming his thoughts, a husky layer in her voice grating on his senses.

  He watched her close down her computer before slipping on her navy jacket and gathering up her bag, stuffing her bright-pink iPod into a pocket.

  ‘By the way,’ she said without looking up, ‘Phil Rogerson’s confirmed for ten a.m., and the lawyers have rescheduled so they can be there. It’s all set. Good night. I’ll see you in the morning.’

  She was halfway to the lift when the truth hit him. Tonight he had no interest in eating alone. Tonight he’d rather spend time going a few more rounds with this challenge of a female—all executive finesse one day, all paradoxical woman the next.

  ‘Morgan!’

  She stopped, and he saw her back straighten as she took a breath before turning slowly around.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Have dinner with me.’

  CHAPTER THREE

  SHE blinked once, a slow-motion shutter over her suddenly expressive eyes. Then she gave a barely there shake of her head. ‘No.’ She turned abruptly around and bridged the remaining distance to the lift, making sure not to press the down button too lightly to register. In fact it was a wonder she didn’t push the button clear through the wall.

  There was the sound of movement behind her, pounding feet across the floor, and then the steel grip of his large hand wrapping like a manacle around her wrist and forcing her around. ‘That’s it?’ he questioned. ‘Just “no”?’

  Even through her jacket his touch felt like a brand, scorching and searing its way deep into her flesh, bone-melting heat that threatened her resolve to get out of here as quickly as she could.

  She looked down at the hand circling her wrist, so large and masculine against her navy jacket. Just a few hours ago it had been her hand on his arm, trying to stop him, when her worst nightmare had happened and she’d realised she was stuck in this pretence until Morgan returned. But this time he was trying to stop her.

  How the tables had turned.

  She raised her eyes slowly, determined that he wouldn’t see how much his touch affected her. ‘What’s wrong?’ she challenged. ‘Not used to getting no for an answer?’

  ‘You’re meeting someone.’

  She wanted to laugh at his knee-jerk reaction. Of course a man like Maverick would assume a woman would feel incomplete without a male, especially when offered his scintillating company. But she didn’t laugh—she couldn’t—not given the way the heat radiating from his eyes paralleled that from his grip, setting her skin to a tingling mess of nerve endings. Instead she battled to get her racing pulse under control, to get her breathing more regular, while wondering if she should compound her sins by inventing a boyfriend Morgan would have to conveniently shed upon her return.

  In the end she merely shook her head. The lie was big enough, and getting bigger without her adding to it.

  ‘Then why not eat with me?’

  ‘I don’t think it’s a good idea.’

  ‘You haven’t eaten all day.’

  Somewhere along the line he’d relaxed the tone of his voice. It was less strident, more persuasive. And somewhere along the line he’d also relaxed his hold on her wrist, so that his thumb stroked the underside of her wrist, making lazy circles on her skin. Lazy circles, to counteract a frantic pulse. It was hypnotising, so gentle in comparison to his cast-iron grip of before, but no less bone-sappingly heat generating. Warmth bloomed like soft sunlight throughout her body, warming her breasts to tingling, before pooling heavy and insistent between her thighs.

  She swallowed, not sure she could trust herself to speak. ‘I had an apple.’

  The corners of his mouth curled while his body hovered too close, too hard and too hot.

  ‘Tempting,’ he acknowledged, still stroking her arm, the circles larger now. ‘But hardly enough.’

  ‘I’ll eat when I get home.’

  ‘I’ll take you home after we’ve eaten.’

  ‘I told you, it’s not a good idea.’

  ‘Why not?’

  Because I’m not who you think I am, she wanted to shout. Because it will only complicate things when Morgan returns.

  She sighed, struggling to find the right answer, because things were far, far too complicated already.

  ‘Because I don’t want to!’ she finally settled for. ‘And you can’t make me.’

  His eyes narrowed. ‘It’s only a meal.’

  Was it? The words themselves sounded perfectly logical, and yet when did ‘only a meal’ invitations come with a heated massage of her wrist and her senses? When did they come with dark eyes that simmered like melted chocolate, looking like they were ready to suck her down into so much molten bliss, so much so that the concept of eating a meal morphed into visions of much more carnal delights? And, if he could make her burn with just one look, with just one touch, then what more was possible?

  Oh God, she had to get out of here, before she started wanting to find out.

  ‘I want to go,’ she stated as emphatically as she could, hoping her voice sounded convincing when every other part of her was insanely drawn to him, insanely drawn to what she knew would be more dangerous than stepping into quicksand. Somehow she knew that once those eyes had sucked her in there would be no escape.

  It couldn’t be allowed to happen!

  As if on cue, the lift pinged, announcing its arrival, the doors sliding open alongside her. Escape! She turned away from him, turned away from his heat and towards the welcoming cave of the lift where the air already seemed cooler. Safer.

  She wrenched her arm away, assuming she would meet with resistance to her dash for freedom, but there was none, and the momentum of jerking her arm caught her wrong-footed and sent her tripping sideways towards the lift door-frame.

  She cried out, trying simultaneously to regain her footing and brace herself for the impact to come, when he caught her in a tangle of feet and arms and spun her into his arms. Her chest collided with his, which sent the air in her lungs whooshing out of her. But she was saved. She dragged in air, content for the moment to rest in the circle of his arms, his lean body lending her strength while she caught her breath.

  ‘Okay now?’ he murmured in her ear, his cheek pressed against her hair and his warm breath a silken caress.

  She drew in another long breath, feeling the beat of her heart slow and regulate before she felt steady enough to respond.

  ‘Th…thank you,’ she whispered, finally feeling confident enough to try to push herself away. She raised her hands to his chest and felt the answering thud of his own heartbeat. And in the space of just a second or two she felt it kick up a notch, a double-barrelled call to arms.

  The relief that she hadn’t crash-landed gave way to a fear that she’d been saved into circumstances much more dangerous indeed.

  She edged back and looked up at him, and felt the connection with his eyes like a bolt of electricity. They were so dark, so heavy with desire—desire for her.

  No, she registered from some far-off place. Not for her.

  He thought she was Morgan.

  It was Morgan he took her for. It was Morgan he wanted.

  But right now that didn’t seem to matter, not with the way his eyes focused on her mouth, not with the way his lips hovered so tantalisingly close to her own.

  He might think she was Morgan, but it was Tegan he was going to kiss.

  And it was Tegan who was going to let him.


  With one hand he lifted her chin, and her lips parted on a sigh.

  His answering growl fed into her senses like a rolling wave of desire, and she barely registered the lift doors sliding closed behind her, cutting off her escape route.

  Except escape was now the furthest thing from her mind, and, just when she thought it wasn’t possible to feel any more, he kissed her. One brief touch at first, then a second that was more an intermingling of breath, a sampling, an introduction, and then he came back, increasing the pressure as he pressed his lips to her own. His were a revelation—firm and yet gentle, masterful without dominating. Instead they gave generously, inviting her to participate in the dance of lips, and then, as he deepened the kiss, tongues.

  And it was no hardship at all to accept his invitation.

  Her spine seemed to melt, her body arching into his, letting herself be supported by his hands, while she clung to him, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him close, feeding on his male taste and touch even as he supped on her.

  Such wide shoulders, such lean, muscled flesh; her hands relished the sculpted skinscape of him. She curled her fingers into the shirt covering his firm flesh, feeling his muscles flex and tighten beneath. He shuddered when she raked her nails across the fine fabric, and pressed his long, lean length closer to her so she could not be in any way ignorant to the extent of his arousal.

  How empowering. Knowing she could do this to him. Knowing that a man like Maverick would react to her touch. Knowing that a man like Maverick wanted her.

  His hand scooped its way under her jacket, sweeping the length of her back, setting her skin alight in a sensual massage. This man came with heat, she realised, answering an earlier question. Everywhere he touched her burned. Everywhere he touched her sizzled.

  It was Maverick setting her aflame.

  She was crazy, she recognised; she must be crazy. But it was the kind of crazy that rolled you into a ball and kept you moving, without a chance of drawing breath, without a chance of finding your feet and coming up for air. And as she drank his male essence into her senses she had to admit there was definitely something to be said for being crazy.