have feelings for him. Right? Right?
She gasped and drew sharply back. Her hands dropped from him.
He released her in the same instant, and stared at her as though he couldn’t believe what he’d done. As though his actions astounded him. As though he’d felt them in the same deep places she had?
Don’t fool yourself, Marissa.
His jaw locked tight. ‘I showed a weakness of character by doing that. I apologise.’ He stepped back from her and the warmth of his eyes returned to a stark, flat grey.
Marissa wanted to take consolation in the fact that he looked as though he had run a marathon, looked as torn and stunned and taken aback as she felt, but he’d soon recovered his voice, hadn’t he? And his self-control. She had to do the same.
‘This mustn’t be repeated. I’ll never participate again—’
‘I don’t mix work with pleasure, or pleasure with emotional commitment. I don’t do emotional commitment.’ He spoke the words at the same time, and then looked at her sharply. ‘What do you mean—?’
‘Nothing.’ She cut her hand through the air. Best to simply deal with this moment, and do so once and for all.
He was corporate. He didn’t feel more than physical interest in her. She had somehow managed to embellish this encounter as if she believed his response to her ran deeper, and his words right now made that absolutely clear. No commitment.
She wanted to ask Why not? Instead, she forced out the words that had to be said.
‘There was an attraction between us and we both gave in to it for a brief moment.’ That should put it into perspective. ‘It was a mistake and now it’s over and done with. I’m sure we’ll both very quickly forget it.’
‘I’m sure you’re right,’ he agreed and left.
From: Kangagirl:
I was dumped very publicly by my fiancé in an office environment where we worked together. Now I’m up to my neck in one again. An office situation and lots of hard work, I mean, not anything else because I wouldn’t be that silly. I feel pressured, that’s all.
From: Englishcrumpet
What’s your ex-fiancé’s name and where can we find him in case we want to let him know what we think of him? The dirt bag!
From: Sanfrandani
Marissa. Do you still have feelings for the guy?
From: Kangagirl
No. I couldn’t possibly have!
But Marissa hadn’t been thinking of Michael Unsworth when she’d given her half desperate answer to her friends when they’d discussed last night’s dinner. She’d been thinking of Rick. She placed several more loose letters and memos onto the pin inside the file on her desk and told herself not to think back to that kiss at all.
She needed to forget her boss in that way altogether and get back to her dating plans.
No distractions. Especially no Tall, Dark and Delicious distractions.
Tall, Out of Bounds and Emotionally Blockaded, she amended. All the things she could never accept. Except the tall part.
And she wasn’t emotionally blockaded. She was cautious. A whole different matter.
Rick’s mobile phone beeped out a message on his desk.
Marissa forced her attention to her work. What she really needed was for Tom to get better and come back so she could go back to working for Gordon, and stop thinking about Rick.
The fax machine whirred. Marissa got up at the same time that Rick left his desk. They met in front of the machine and hers was the hand that reached first for the sheet of paper that emerged.
‘I’ll take that. I think it’ll be for me.’ He reached out his hand.
‘Certainly. Here you go.’ She passed the fax to him, couldn’t help but see the image of a head and shoulders that filled the space. A cheeky smile that belied the wounded expression in dark eyes. Arched brows and thick dark hair and a bit too much make-up on the face, if the black and white image was anything to go by. The girl looked about sixteen. His older niece?
Curiosity slid in sideways to assail her before she could stop it.
The office phone rang. With the fax clasped in his hand, Rick strode to her desk and answered it. ‘Rick Morgan.’ A pause. ‘What’s going on, Kirri?’
There was silence as he listened to whatever response he got and Marissa realised she was in the middle of the room, a party to a private conversation—something Rick wouldn’t want her to overhear, if his reaction when she’d seen him with his other niece was any indication.
Marissa scooped a pile of files from the corner of her desk and headed for the file room. Rick’s words followed her, as did that faxed image with the wounded eyes.
‘You’re as beautiful as ever, Kirri. You have lovely blue eyes and a killer smile and you’re sweet on the inside where it counts most of all. And so is your mother. You know that, Kirrilea.’ His tone was both gentle and fierce. Not exactly emotionally blockaded right now!
He drew a breath and Marissa glanced out of the file room at him—just a really brief glimpse—but that one moment showed he was holding back some kind of deep inner anger, wanting to comfort his niece and not let her hear that anger in him, all at the same time. ‘Next time don’t ask Grandad something like that, okay? Ask me, instead.’
Another pause while Marissa started to push folders away and tried hard not to listen, not to wonder about this grandfather who wouldn’t tell a teenager she looked lovely, about her boss’s family altogether. Rick had said, ‘Ask me.’
She bit her lip. He must have plenty of commitment capability, because he seemed to have it for his nieces, his sisters …
There were other things that week. A call from his mother. Final swimming lessons with his niece and the tinge of colour on the tips of his ears as he’d asked if Marissa might manage to make a certificate, perhaps with an image of a fish on it. Something to state that Julia had passed her first unofficial swimming class.
Marissa navigated each glimpse into his layers with the promise to herself that she wouldn’t let them intrigue her. That she didn’t want to help him unlock his inner ability to commit—she didn’t even know if he truly possessed such a thing. He clearly believed he didn’t. That she didn’t think of his kiss constantly and wake in the middle of the night wondering what it would be like if they did live at the dawn of time, if she had chosen him.
Tick, tock, tick, tock.
No. No tick-tocking. No Big 3-0 depressive, subconscious birthday countdown, no biological rumblings at all, and no remembering kisses. No, no, no!
On Thursday, while Rick dictated straight over Marissa’s shoulder to finalise a memo he didn’t have time to even place first on a tape, a woman rushed through
