get you a drink. Would you like tea or coffee, or perhaps something stronger?’ He pressed a button on his desk to reveal an extensive array of drinks in the cabinet situated behind Leonie.
Leonie just kept staring at him, too numb to even answer.
‘Something stronger, I think,’ he nodded derisively at her lack of response, striding across the room to pour her some whisky into a glass. ‘Drink it down,’ he instructed her firmly as she made no effort to take the glass from his lean fingers.
She took the glass, swallowing without tasting, reaction definitely setting in.
Adam Faulkner moved to sit on the edge of his desk in front of her, dangerously close, the warmth of his maleness seeming to reach out and engulf her. ‘Terrible experience, getting caught in a stationary lift.’ He took the empty glass from her unresisting fingers, seeming satisfied that she had drunk it as instructed. ‘I’ve been caught in several myself in the past,’ he added dryly. ‘Although not lately.’
‘It’s my second time today,’ Leonie mumbled dully, feeling the alcohol in her bloodsteam, remembering too late that she hadn’t had any lunch, that the piece of dry toast she had eaten for breakfast wasn’t enough to stop the effect the whisky was having on her. That was all she needed to complete her day, to be roaring drunk in front of this man! ‘The one at work has always been unreliable,’ she added in defence of her clumsiness in getting stuck in two lifts that had broken down.
‘Maybe you have too much electricity in your body,’ Adam Faulkner suggested softly. ‘And it has an adverse effect on other electrical things.’
She looked up at him sharply, and then wished she hadn’t as a wave of dizziness swept over her. She was going to get up out of this chair to make a dignified exit and fall fiat on her face, just to prove what an idiot she was! If this man weren’t already aware of that!
‘Maybe,’ she nodded, swallowing in an effort to clear her head, having a terrible urge to start giggling. In one part of her brain she could logically reason that she had little to giggle about, and in another she just wanted to start laughing and never stop. There was so much about this situation that was funny.
‘Miss Grant?’
She frowned up at him. ‘Why do you keep calling me that?’
He shrugged. ‘It’s your name, isn’t it?’
‘Leonie Grant, yes,’ she nodded in exaggerated movements. ‘I—Hic. I—Hic. Oh no,’ she groaned her humiliation as her loud hiccups filled the room. She really was making a fool out of herself—more so than usual, if that were possible! She should never have got out of bed today, should have buried her head beneath the bedclothes and stayed there until fate decided to be kind to her again. If it ever did, she groaned as she hiccuped again.
‘Maybe the whisky was a bad idea,’ Adam said in amusement, going over to the bar to pour her a glass of water.
Leonie gave him a look that spoke volumes before swallowing the water, almost choking as a hiccup caught her mid-swallow, spitting water everywhere, including over one black leather shoe as Adam Faulkner’s leg swung in front of her as he once again sat on the edge of his desk. ‘Oh dear,’ she began to mop at the shoe with a tissue from her bag, becoming even more agitated when several pieces of the tissue stuck to the wet surface.
She closed her eyes, wishing the scene would evaporate, that she would find it had all been a bad dream. But when she opened her eyes again the black shoe dotted with delicate yellow tissue was still there, and the man wearing the shoe was beginning to chuckle. Leonie looked up at him dazedly, liking the warmth in his eyes, the way they crinkled at the corners as he laughed, a dimple appearing in one lean cheek, his teeth very white and even against his tanned skin.
Mrs Carlson entered the room after the briefest knock, breaking the moment of intimacy. ‘I’ve checked your appointment book, Mr Faulkner, and you’re free at twelve o’clock or three o’clock.’
‘Twelve o’clock, I think,’ he still smiled. ‘Then Miss Grant and I can go out to lunch afterwards.’
‘Oh but I——’
‘Book a table, would you? He cut across Leonie’s protest, smiling at his secretary, much to her obvious surprise. ‘My usual place. And you may as well leave for the evening now, Miss Grant and I are just going to dinner.’
‘Er—yes, Mr Faulkner.’ The older woman gave Leonie a curious look, seeming to give a mental shrug before leaving the room.
‘She’s wondering why you could possibly want to take me to dinner,’ Leonie sighed, wondering the same thing herself. But at least the suggestion had stopped her hiccups!
Adam stood up after dusting the tissue from his shoe. ‘It’s the least I can do after your ordeal in the lift.’
‘But that was my fault——’
‘Nonsense,’ he humoured.
Leonie blinked at the determination in his face. ‘Why should you want to take me out to dinner?’
‘Miss Grant——’
‘Will you stop calling me that!’
‘Would you prefer Leonie?’ he queried softly, locking his desk drawers and picking up his briefcase in preparation for leaving for the evening.
‘Yes,’ she snapped.
‘Then you must call me Adam,’ he invited huskily.
‘I’m well aware of your name,’ she bit out impatiently. The whisky may have gone to her head but she wasn’t that drunk! And she had no idea why this man should want to take her out to dinner, they——
‘Then please use it,’ he urged, as his hand on her elbow brought her to her feet.
Leonie swayed slightly, falling against him, flinching away from the hard warmth of his body. ‘Please, I don’t want to go out to dinner,’ she protested as he propelled her from the room at his side, the top floor of the building strangely in silence, Mrs Carlson having followed his instruction and left for the evening, the other employees having left some time ago.
Adam didn’t release her arm. ‘When did you last eat?’ he asked pointedly as she swayed again.
‘I had some toast for breakfast this morning. I need to diet,’ she defended heatedly as the grey eyes looked her over disapprovingly.
‘You’re too thin,’ he stated bluntly.
‘I’m a size ten,’ she told him proudly.
‘Definitely too thin,’ he repeated arrogantly. ‘I happen to be one of those men who prefers his woman to have some meat on her bones.’
His woman? His woman! Just who did he think he was? ‘I happen to like being thin,’ she told him irritably.
He arched dark brows. ‘Do you also like starving to death?’ he drawled.
It was her weakness for good food that had pushed her up to a size fourteen in the past, and she had no intention of giving in to that weakness again, not when it had taken so much
