pause lasted longer, or maybe it felt that way because his gaze stayed on her the whole time. ‘Yes, I know and I suppose you’re right. I’d had the same thought.’ His tone softened. ‘Now let Linda put you to bed, man. I’ll check in with her later.’
Before Marissa could get all mushy over that obvious concern for his employee, or feel uneasy as a result of his focus on her, he closed the phone.
‘Is Tom—?’ She got that far with the question before he brought them to a halt beside a large slate-coloured four-wheel-drive car.
People called them cars. Marissa told herself this was a muscular extension of its owner. All strong lines and height and breadth and power. It was twice as tall as an ordinary car, and it should stand as a warning to her. There was no softness to be found here, no gentler side, just sheer strength.
Really? Because Rick had seemed quite considerate, as well as all those other things.
‘Tom is ill with what appears to be a hard-hitting virus. Ross River fever, the doctor thinks.’ Rick removed his hard hat and ran his hand through his hair for real. Thick dark hair with a glint or two of silver at the temples. He was thirty-seven years old, her boss Gordon had told her, with degrees in both civil engineering and architecture.
Rick had used those and other skills to forge his way to massive success consulting on structural refurbishment and undertaking new construction work. Bridges, buildings, roads, he’d covered all of it and now had a team of several hundred people working under him, just in the office side of his business alone.
That was what Marissa needed to remember. The word ‘driven’ probably didn’t begin to describe him.
Driven. Willing to do anything to get what he wanted, no matter how that impacted on others? Like Michael Unsworth?
‘Ross River fever can be quite debilitating while it lasts, can’t it? Tom did look very unwell this morning.’ Marissa had worried for the man until he’d assured her that his wife would soon be there to collect him. She didn’t want her thoughts on Rick, and she pursued the conversation with that in mind. ‘I hope Tom recovers quickly and fully.’
‘Linda will make sure he rests, and I’ll be keeping an eye on his progress…’He used the remote on his keyring to unlock his car. Even the movement of those strong, long-fingered hands appealed.
‘I’m glad I could fill in for Tom this morning, though the meeting turned out to be a bit of a waste of time for you.’ Marissa wrestled with the strap of her hard hat and finally got the thing off. Wrestled to get her thoughts into submission at the same time. A quick shake of her head took care of any hat hair possibility, though she knew that nothing would keep her curls down for long.
‘I appreciated that you got yourself here quickly when Tom couldn’t. Make sure you hand your taxi receipt in for reimbursement.’ He had his hand out, reaching to open the passenger door. It paused mid-stretch as his gaze locked onto her head and stark male awareness flared in the backs of his eyes. ‘Your hair—’
‘Is it a mess? I’m afraid I can’t do a whole lot with it, though I do occasionally tie it back or put it up.’ She uttered the words while she tried to come to terms with the expression in his eyes, with the reciprocal burst of interest it raised in her. Goosebumps tingled over her nape and down her arm. ‘It’s just that it takes ages and I was busy this morning,’ she finished rather lamely while she fought not to notice those reactions.
‘“Mess” wasn’t really what I was thinking.’ He murmured the admission as though against his will, and then, ‘Let me have the hat.’ His fingers brushed hers as he took it from her.
Warmth flowed back up her arm again from the brief contact.
Totally immune to him, are we? Doesn’t look like it, and he definitely did notice you just now. You saw it for yourself.
Oh, shut up!
He tossed the hats onto the back seat and ushered her towards the front one. ‘Hop in. This was my third stop this morning. I have quite a bit of dictation for the trip back to the office. It’s up to you whether you speak your notes into a recorder or write them down, but there are deals in progress, so we need to get moving.’
‘I’m quite willing to be occupied.’ And you see? The Morgan’s boss was highly focused on his work, his success. All those things Michael had cared the most about, had used her to achieve. Marissa hopped, or rather, he boosted her up into the high cab of the car and she landed in the seat with a bit of a plop. It was a soft, comfortable, welcoming seat, contrasting with the strength of the vehicle itself.
Not that she thought Rick Morgan had a soft side to match his car. She couldn’t let herself think that. He was off-limits to her in any case and she needed her hormones to accept that fact without any further pointless comparisons.
The manoeuvre had also left rather a lot of leg exposed and she quickly tugged the skirt back into place.
Rick’s gaze locked onto that expanse of leg and he caught his breath. Blinked twice. And then he strode around the front of the vehicle with his shoulders thrown back and a shuttered expression on his face that made her more conscious of him than ever.
He couldn’t want her. In fact he was probably wondering why on earth he had noticed her at all. She would seem like part of the furniture to him. Like a coffee table with sturdy blocks keeping it low to the ground. Well, women her height didn’t have slender legs that went on for ever, did they? Not that she was comparing herself to a coffee table.
‘I’ll take written notes.’ She didn’t want to speak aloud in front of him for who knew how long, repeating everything he said. That would feel far too intim—uncomfortable. ‘It’ll be more efficient.’
‘Then let’s see what we can do about cementing the positive outcomes that are riding on this morning’s earlier visits.’ He set the car in motion while she prepared herself—a man with power and achievement on his mind.
Michael Unsworth had been all about those things too, in the most arrogant of ways, though it had taken her way too long to see that, to see beyond his surface charm. He’d led her on, taken credit for all her hard work for him as though he’d done it all himself and, when she’d called him on that, he’d dumped her, had claimed their secret engagement had never existed. She was more than over all that, of course. It had happened months ago and she’d told him what a snake he was at the time.
Yes. Totally moved on. Her ongoing tendency to occasionally blare raging I don’t need a man style music in her apartment at night notwithstanding.
She happened to like the musical accompaniments to some of those particular songs, and if she truly felt that way she wouldn’t be trying to find a man she liked on a dating site, would she?
And you don’t think you’re so keen to find a man because Michael dumped you and your birthday will be the anniversary of the day you believed you and he became ‘secretly’ engaged as well as making you officially ‘old’? You’re not out to prove something? Several somethings, in fact?
She was simply out to do something positive and proactive about her future. She didn’t even care if she found a man before she turned thirty. The dating site was a way to look around. If nothing eventuated, no big deal.
And
