of a man who’d showered and shaved recently, the comb lines in his thick hair, those intriguing blue eyes and his long-fingered hands…Her eyes widened as she realised even his hands impressed her. All of him stirred her senses in a way that made her long to have some physical contact with him—a touch, a mingling of their breath as they kissed…
Then their gazes lifted to each other’s and she could see a nerve flickering in his jaw—a nerve that told her he was battling a similar compulsion. She’d known from the way he’d looked at her last night that he was no longer seeing her as a stick of furniture, but to think that he wanted her as she seemed to want him was electrifying.
It was as the lift doors started to close that they came out of their long moment of immobility. He pressed a button and the doors reversed their motion. He gestured for her to step out ahead of him.
She did so with a murmured thank-you, and headed for her small office. They both greeted Molly Swanson.
‘Uh—give me ten minutes, then bring the diary in, Liz. And coffee, please, Molly.’ He strode through into his office.
‘How did it go? Last night?’ Molly enquired. ‘By the way, I’ve already had three calls from Miss Pengelly!’
‘Oh, dear.’ Liz grimaced. ‘I’m afraid it might be over.’
‘Probably just as well,’ Molly said with a wise little look in her eyes. ‘What he needs is a proper wife, not these film star types—I never thought she could act her way out of a paper bag, anyway!’
Liz blinked, but fortunately Molly was diverted by the discreet buzzing of her phone.
* * *
Eight minutes later, Liz gathered herself in readiness to present herself to her employer with the diary.
She’d poured herself a cup of cold water from the cooler, but instead of drinking it she’d dipped her hanky into it and splashed her wrists and patted her forehead.
I must be mad, she’d thought. He must be mad even to contemplate getting involved with me. Or is all he has in mind a replacement for Portia? Someone to deflect all the women he attracts—and I refuse to believe it’s only because of his money.
Things were back to thoroughly businesslike as they went through his engagements for the day one by one, and he sipped strong black aromatic coffee from a Lalique glass in a silver holder.
‘All right,’ he said. ‘Have you got the briefs for the Fortune conference?’
She nodded.
‘I’ll want you there. There’s quite a bit of paperwork to be passed around and collected, et cetera. And I’ll need you to drive me to and pick me up from the Bromwich lunch. There’s no damn parking to be found for miles.’
‘Fine,’ she murmured, then hesitated.
He looked up. ‘A problem?’
‘You want me to drive your car?’
‘Why not?’
‘To be honest—’ Liz bit her lip ‘—I’d be petrified of putting a scratch on it.’
He sat back. ‘Hadn’t thought of that. So would I—to be honest.’ He looked wry. ‘Uh—get a car from the car pool.’
Liz relaxed. ‘I think that’s a much better idea.’
His lips twitched, and she thought he was going to say something humorous, but the moment passed and he looked at her in the completely deadpan way he had that had a built-in annoyance factor for anyone on the receiving end of it.
Liz was not immune to the annoyance as she found herself reduced to the status of a slightly troublesome employee. Then, if anything, she got more annoyed—but with herself. She had been distinctly frosty in the lift before they’d found themselves trapped in that curious moment of physical awareness, hadn’t she?
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