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Then I grinned wider.
I knew I liked Rita.
“Oh yes, I know what you mean. I’ll be happy to be of service. But I’m not sure he’ll be smiling once he makes this meeting,” I told her, sitting on the leather sofa.
Yeah, I doubted Heath would be happy at all.
Rita waved her hand. “Honey, he’s a hot-blooded man starting his morning with a woman who looks like Victoria’s Secret lost a model. He’s gonna smile.”
I didn’t reply, not wanting to dash Rita’s hopes just yet.
Boots echoed from a hallway off to the left of Rita’s desk, which I guessed led off to the badass lair.
“Oh, and he’s on time. That’s a disappointment. I was quite looking forward to going and wrangling him.” She gave me wink.
I suppressed a laugh. “Maybe next time.”
She gave me a look before glancing at a ringing phone. “One can hope. Lovely to meet you, dear. I hope Heath can help you. Come and have a chat when you’re done.”
“I will,” I lied. I was so hoping to slink off somehow before I had to disappoint Rita with her knowing I lied to get in. But then again, if I knew Rita, and I did—you recognized the good kind of crazy in people—I was sure she’d understand. Most likely approve.
She gave a cheerful greeting to the person at the other end of the phone at the same time a motorcycle boot stepped into the foyer. Followed by the rest of the rather impressive man from the day before.
Now without the distraction of things like a dead body and all the blood and the terror of thinking I may become a bloody dead body myself, I could fully appreciate him in all his badass glory. He was wearing all black, from his heavy-duty kickass motorcycle boots to the long-sleeved black Henley, pushed up at the sleeves to expose his muscled forearms.
Does no one in this office feel the heat?
Maybe these New Zealand men had some kind of mastery over temperature control that we in the Northern Hemisphere had yet to fathom.
I didn’t usually like shaggy hair or beards on men—it made them look dirty—but this one was well-showered and I knew he’d smell great. The beard was long but trimmed perfectly, and the inky hair that brushed his shoulders was also groomed in a “manly” way. Plus, whatever ‘dirty’ he was, it was totally in all the best ways.
But I was ruined. Though my loins appreciated him for the fine male specimen he was, they didn’t burn hot the way they had against the hood of my car the night before. Nor in the early hours when I’d had to use B.O.B to ease the frustration that built up after the hood incident.
Plus, he was even hotter once his carefully blank expression turned into a glower as he spied me on the sofa.
Men couldn’t really blame women for making them angry. It was their fault for being so hot while they were fuming that it was almost mandatory to make them that way on a regular basis.
I darted up and crossed the distance before he could run.
But badasses didn’t run from a challenge. Or a woman. I’d spent enough time around them to know that little gem.
It’s what I was counting on.
My theory proved true when I met his motorcycle boots with my pointed black patent leather heels.
He crossed his arms and regarded me.
“Polly?” he asked with dry accusation.
I shrugged, fluttering my lashes. He didn’t blink, though I didn’t expect him to. It was worth the try. “Would you have met with me otherwise?”
He gave me a look. “I’d rather my boss didn’t try and shoot me, so no.” His eyes roved over the tight-fitting halter I’d tucked into my slacks and the slew of necklaces tangling down my mid-section. “Though I’m thinking the view might be worth it. He’s a shit shot anyway.” His accent was like Keltan’s but his voice was rougher, raspy. That coupled with the faint smell of tobacco communicated he was a smoker.
The smell was enticing and pleasing to me considering it beckoned me to come back to the dark side of yellowing teeth and premature wrinkles. Plus, it was radiating off a hot guy.
“What do you want? If it’s getting shot, it better be worth it.”
Okay, Heath was more than hot. He had a way of communicating heat and sex without changing his tone or expression. I idly wondered how that translated to the bedroom. I bet he was a total whips and chains kind of guy.
But that was my sexually deprived mind thinking.
I shook myself out of that particular fog. “Well, I’m here for work, actually. Specifically to see if I can ask a favor.”
He continued to regard me. “A favor?” Again, the flat voice held undertones that would have made my downstairs react had it not been for his infuriating boss.
