Izzy twitched the edge of the curtain back into place and turned to glance at her. ‘Why didn’t you ever say?’
‘I didn’t notice.’ Liar. ‘He’s my boss. I don’t see him that way.’ Great big liar.
Now he was here, and the two of them were about to go out, would it be okay? Molly’s heart rolled over and played dead. Just like her dog, Horse, in one of his silly moods when he wanted her to pet him and rub his tummy and tell him what a good boy he was. On cue, a foghorn woof sounded from the flats’ communal back yard.
Molly forced breath back into her lungs, and used it to once again try to explain things. ‘This is business. It’s not a date. It’s nothing to get excited about.’
‘If you say so.’ Faye tiptoed to the phone and picked it up, whispered something Molly couldn’t hear, and hung up. Then she tiptoed towards the back door of Molly’s flat. ‘We’ll just leave quietly. You look like a million dollars, anyway, you really do. Whether you want to treat it as a date or not.’
‘You look like a princess.’ Izzy followed Faye, also on tiptoes. ‘Maybe you’ll meet someone there who’ll sweep you off your feet, if not your boss.’
Fairy tales again. There’d never been any telling them. Both women slipped out the door. Molly locked it behind them. She didn’t want to meet anyone. The only feelings she had…
Were completely controllable. Molly went to her room to collect her bag—also borrowed. She felt the comforting weight of the PDA in there, and drew a breath aimed at steadying her nerves.
There were footsteps on the path outside, on the porch, and then the doorbell chimed.
‘Coming,’ Molly muttered. Coming, ready or not.
CHAPTER THREE
JARROD waited on the porch of Molly’s tiny flat. The flats on either side sported cluttered yards full of potted plants, garden gnomes and odd bits of small statuary. Molly’s yard had a miniature rosebush either side of the path near the porch, a neat little area of lawn and nothing else.
The area didn’t tell him much about his PA’s private life, not that he needed to know.
Jarrod smoothed his hand over his tie and acknowledged he felt tense, keyed up. Understandable. His business was under attack and he wanted that fixed.
Footsteps sounded inside Molly’s apartment, the tap of heels on parquet.
His PA had made that odd comment about shoes when she’d answered her phone, so maybe it only sounded like heels. Even so, he wondered briefly how she would be dressed. In classic black, maybe, something that covered her from neck to toe and went with her thick-framed glasses. Before he finished the thought, the door swung open.
Molly stood on the other side, but it wasn’t the Molly he knew and worked with. It was a vision of a woman with silky dark hair flowing about her shoulders, a flawless face, big brown eyes, and her perfect figure outlined in a beautifully simple burgundy dress that left her arms bare, outlined her curves, dipped in at her waist and flared all the way to her feet.
‘I’m ready. I have the PDA. Izzy and Faye made sandwiches and I talked them out of three layers of necklaces and fifteen cheapskate arm-bracelets.’ The words tumbled breathlessly over each other, and his PA’s face flushed in a way that made her look even more becoming. ‘That is, I’m ready to leave.’
‘I’m glad you’re ready,’ he said rather stupidly. Was his jaw hanging open? He clenched his teeth, just to make sure that wasn’t the case.
‘Yes,’ she muttered through softly parted lips. ‘I’m ready to beard the vultures—that is, to see the sculptures.’
‘You’re wearing heels.’ This was said rather accusingly. He tried to soften his tone. ‘You don’t—at work.’
The sandals on her feet did indeed have heels. They were also encrusted in small glass beads, and he couldn’t seem to take his gaze from toenails painted with burgundy polish to match that on her short, trimmed fingernails. He forced his gaze slowly back up, and noticed the delicate pearl necklace that lay in the valley between her breasts.
‘Not—I don’t usually, no.’ She lowered her hand from the doorknob.
He couldn’t remember what they’d been talking about so he made the only announcement that came to mind. ‘We should go.’
His voice sounded about an octave lower than usual. His ears buzzed, and he couldn’t seem to catch his breath. A wash of warmth flooded his bloodstream as he added, ‘You’re also not wearing your glasses.’
Brilliant conversation, Banning. Any chance you can do better before she decides you’re a complete, dithering fool?
He cleared his throat. ‘You look very nice, though—glasses or not.’
Far more than that. Sweet, desirable, hot…
A tight feeling caught at his chest. He thought it might be panic—because this was like seeing her for the first time, and he felt as though he’d missed something that was right there. And how could he have missed it for so long? Worse, why did the sight of her this way have such a strong impact on him? He, who felt so little, whose family had bred that lack of feeling into his DNA with their coldness and their lack of love or any kind of gentle feeling?
It must simply be sexual awareness, though that had never jolted him in quite this intense, unexpected way. The thought didn’t exactly help, given it was inappropriate all by itself. Heat warmed the back of his neck as he tried to batten down his reaction to her. Molly was his assistant. This was a working night. The clothes, the appearance, might be different, but nothing had changed between them.
Nothing other than that his eyes had been opened to her.
Well, he could just close them again, couldn’t he?
Molly stepped out onto the porch and pulled the door forward until the lock clicked into place. Her gaze skittered over his charcoal suit-coat, the grey shirt and darker grey silk tie, down to his feet and up again. ‘I like—I like—um, your tie. It matches the colour in your eyes. Yes. You look nice, too. You do. Of course.’
She looked away. ‘That is, the tie matches one of the colours in your eyes, but at the moment they’re mostly grey, not so much on the hazel side of things.’
‘I didn’t think my eyes changed colours much.’ He’d never noticed.
‘Oh, they do. I mean, it appears they have. At the moment—’ She stopped the words.
There’d been something in her eyes for just a moment. Interest—reluctant, unexpected perhaps, as his had been—but there.
He didn’t want that. Didn’t want to think of her that way, or her to think that way of him; he didn’t want this to be personal at all. Such reactions could only cause trouble. So why did the knowledge that she’d studied him closely enough to notice nuances of his eyes almost please him?
‘Right. You’re ready to leave, to get to work on this problem that’s been tossed at the business?’ Perhaps if he repeated the words aloud he would remember the purpose of this night, and
