AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Wished it were so.
Now she really was losing it.
Her eyes scanned the spacious office and fell on a nearby suite, three leather settees arranged in a U formation around a glass-topped coffee table. She sensed an opportunity to escape his close proximity and gather her scattered thoughts to the deal. ‘Perhaps we could sit there?’ she suggested with wash-day brightness laid on thick. ‘And I can fill you in on Monica and Jake’s plans.’
She was already seated, her briefcase beside her on the floor and unclipping her portfolio, when she realised he was still standing there, his lips curled again, a facsimile of a smile fading before reaching his eyes.
Then he seemed to shrug, making even that slight gesture look elegant and full of animal grace. ‘Perhaps we could,’ he agreed, before surprising her completely by ignoring the other sofas and sitting down alongside her, as if determined to turn her escape into purgatory.
He liked the way she seemed to shrink back against her armrest after that initial look of shock, especially after he’d angled himself sideways, snaking one arm along the back of the chair. Now she squeezed herself into the corner of the sofa and focused on sorting through the contents of the folder on her knees like it was some kind of lifeline. ‘I have some brochures,’ she mumbled, her long fingers fumbling.
She was flustered.
He liked a woman flustered. It kept her on the defensive, right where he wanted her. Unless she was in bed, of course, and there he welcomed the occasional tigress.
Would prim-looking Miss Turner be a tigress in bed?
He took his time to look at the woman alongside him up and down. The button-through blue silk dress with modest neckline hid more than it revealed, but first impressions had told him she had a reasonable body hidden beneath: nicely balanced in the hip and bust departments, slim-waisted and long-legged, with her facial features arranged just as acceptably as her body parts.
Second impressions only confirmed the first. Even in profile—the real test—her features were engaging. High cheek-bones, a classic nose, that lush mouth…
He frowned. He couldn’t remember the name, but something about her looked almost familiar. The thought was discarded the very next instant. He met a lot of women, and if he had met this one before he was sure he wouldn’t have let her get away without knowing her better.
Unless she’d been out of bounds. Some people didn’t share the same scruples, he knew from experience, but if there was one thing he wouldn’t touch it was someone else’s woman. ‘Are you married, Miss Turner, or engaged?’
Her head snapped around, a couple of brochures sliding unnoticed from her fingers into her lap. ‘Why do you ask?’
He smiled, scooping the pamphlets up, noticing with satisfaction the tremor as the back of his fingers skimmed the top of her legs; it was no more than a featherlight contact through the silk of her skirt, but enough to elicit the kind of reaction he was used to. The kind of reaction he welcomed when he himself was attracted. ‘You work in the wedding business—wouldn’t someone who has been married themselves understand what a bride really wants to make her day perfect? How else would you know?’
‘Oh, I see, I…’ Colour invaded her cheeks, and this time he kept his smile to himself. Most definitely flustered. Did she imagine he had ulterior motives in determining her marital status? Did she hope?
‘It doesn’t work that way,’ she continued, accepting the brochures back and sweeping an imaginary strand of hair behind her ear, fiddling with an already perfectly aligned pearl earring. ‘I’ve arranged more than one hundred weddings now. I can assure you, I’ve had plenty of experience to ensure Monica’s wedding goes off without a hitch. Now—’
‘So you’re not married, then?’
She blinked, the shutters coming down over deep violet-coloured eyes, a movement that only drew attention to the long sweep of her dark lashes over the biggest surprise—cheeks flushed with sudden colour—before she once again opened them. Did she have any idea how innocent yet sexy she looked when she did that? He sighed. What a waste. In other circumstances he might have been able to pursue this attraction to its logical conclusion—in other circumstances he most likely would have. But she’d hardly be in the mood for sex once he’d given her the bad news.
‘Did I say I wasn’t married?’
‘You intimated it, I’m certain.’
Her teeth pestered her bottom lip as she frowned, and he could tell she was rewinding her words, working out which of them had given her away. Then she shook her head. ‘And is it actually relevant?’
