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“He’ll be with you shortly. Just finishing up an important phone call.” Archie Bendt’s P.A. glanced up from her computer as she said these words with a perfectly synchronised smile.
Aaron feasted his eyes on her. She was beautiful. Totally his type, the leggy Swedish look, lean bone structure and long legs, pale blue eyes perfectly framed by long lashes. Her nose didn’t wrinkle when she smiled and her mouth was catwalk model material—not somehow reminiscent of a rosebud that tasted like icing-sugar-coated marshmallows.
He flashed a wide smile, showing off his teeth. He’d met Lauren quite a few times at the photocopier and she’d made the odd remark that could have been construed as vaguely flirtatious. Not that he’d go anywhere with it, of course. He never dated women he worked with; well, okay, there had been one time that led to an awkward month or so early on in his career. In the end it had been a face-off to see who would leave the company first. Luckily, she did.
No. All he wanted was to feel the familiar stirring of interest in the right parts of his anatomy for the right kind of woman.
But there was nothing. Zip. Zero. Zilch.
Even more disturbing was how the libidinous pathways in his brain appeared to have got badly scrambled. Whenever he looked at an attractive woman, an image of thatothermouth, thoseothereyes, one delectably swollen pink nipple would flash in front of his eyes like some erotically charged one-armed bandit.
And he couldn’t even claim the jackpot.
So he sat and eyeballed Lauren Donovan in a way that was crass and professionally unsound. And might even get him reported if he didn’t keep it in check, but for the fact his intentions were harmless.
He just wanted the old him back.
Archie suddenly burst out of his office and strode over to Lauren’s desk. He came to a halt behind her, and confident hands landed on the back of her chair as he leaned over her shoulder.
Aaron caught the way she twirled a lock of silvery blonde hair as she looked up at him, and something… some kind of energy between the two of them made his scalp tighten.
He disregarded it. He was in a heightened state of arousal at the moment… not towards Lauren, obviously, he was simply more hyper-aware of bodies right now… a rather unfortunate consequence of being in a state of coitus interruptus since last Saturday night.
“Get the invoices out on this one will you, Laurie,” Archie said. “And then we’re pretty much done and dusted on the De’Bel case after that.”
“Cool. No problem.”
Archie’s fingers drummed out a beat on the back of Lauren’s chair and she swivelled slightly more his way. They gifted each other a grin. A collegiate,professionalgrin.
“C’mon in, Aaron.” Archie jerked his head towards his office. “We have some serious stuff to nut out on the Willoughby-Green trial. Have you got your iPad to jot notes on?”
‘Right here.” Aaron patted the device and, jumping up, followed Archie’s expensively suited back into the office. Just before he closed the door, he glanced at Lauren.
Her eyes were focused past him. On Archie Bendt’s incredible shoulders.
* * *
Behind the door of the men’s toilet at Trojan’s with the bright red Alpha sign emblazoned on it, Aaron tugged on his running shorts. Exasperation warred with exhaustion. The meeting with Archie had gone on for more than two hours and he’d found it hard to concentrate on all the details required for the court report. It had been like this all week. His concentration slipping, and an underlying restless energy coursing through his veins.
Fear surfaced. What if… What if he was slipping back… Christ, that had been another lifetime. He’d been barely in his teens. He’d been fine now for years.
That was why he was running, right? Pounding himself to a pulp all the way into the city. And all the way back at night. Every day so far this week. Because exercise did the trick, calmed him down, helped him focus.
He hung up his suit neatly in his locker, then scrunched his shirt in with his toiletries and laptop in the backpack; he’d still have to do some work tonight at home to get up to speed. Trainers on, laces tied and he was out the door, slinging his pack on his back and jogging on the spot, waiting for the lift. Lauren sashayed through the automatic glass doors of Trojan’s with her bag and a coat slung over her arm and waited.
“That’s a disciplined routine,” she remarked as they got in the lift.
He stood still with difficultly and grinned at her, feeling rather stupid—though why, he couldn’t fathom. He tried for a mild version of hiscome-fuck-melook but there was nocome-fuck-meenergy flowing between them, that was blatantly obvious.
He gave her a casual wave as he made his way across the vast marble floor of the foyer and heard her heelsclack-clackingin the other direction.
And then he was out on the city pavement, his earbuds in place and all he had to do was focus on the rhythm of his playlist and his running feet.
Finally, panting and dripping, he was feeling around for his keys in his pocket and staring absently along the street when he saw a red Golf GTI zip into a parking place just down from his block. Dad had one of those in his stable of cars under the house… Frig, surely not? Dad never visited him in his “little rabbit hutch”, as he so kindly referred to Aaron’s apartment.
He waited and within a minute a familiar male form had vacated the car, clicked the remote and was strolling, hands in pockets, towards his apartment.
Oliver. What was he doing here? Annoyance churned in Aaron’s stomach.
