were no memories of her stupidity within its walls. Michael had never lived with her, but he’d spent time in her home.
Well, a complete break had been in order, and why was she thinking about that when she’d deliberately pushed it out of her mind straight after it had happened? Had learned the lesson and moved right along.
Had she? Or was she defensive on more than one front and trying to patch over the problems by finding a special man she could hand-pick at her own discretion? That question rose up just to add something else to her broodiness and worries about ageing, as if they weren’t big enough problems by themselves.
Her mouth tightened. ‘And Morgan’s is a great company to work for. Anyway, you don’t want to hear that boring stuff about me.’ She waved a hand.
‘Maybe I do.’ His intent gaze questioned her. ‘What made you leave your previous position? Was it a career choice or something more personal?’
She tightened her lips and shook her head, forcing a soft laugh from between teeth inclined to clench together. ‘It was time for a change of pace for me, that’s all. Now it’s your turn. Have you ever learned to crochet or knit, or maybe taken cooking lessons?’ Maybe those questions would shut him down?
‘Funny. No. None of those.’ For a moment it seemed he would pursue the topic of her career choices but in the end he let it go and moved on. ‘I’m not much of a cook, to be honest.’ And then he said, ‘My eldest niece is taking lessons. She’s sixteen and a combination of teenage angst one minute and little girl vulnerability the next. Darla, my other sister, is a good mother to her. The best.’
And then he speared a piece of bean with his fork and chewed it and fell silent and stayed that way until the meal ended.
Eventually he lifted the wine bottle. ‘Another glass?’
‘No, thank you. I’ve had enough.’ She wished she could blame the wine for the slow slide away of the barriers she needed to keep in place in his company.
Instead of controlling her attraction, she longed to ask more about his family, despite his tendency to guard any words about them.
‘Coffee, then.’ Rick signalled and a waiter magically appeared.
She drew a breath. ‘Yes, coffee would be nice.’ Maybe that would sober her thoughts, though she’d had very little to drink.
The beverages arrived. His gaze narrowed on her. ‘You’re lost in thought.’
Not thoughts he’d want to know. She forced a smile. ‘I should be thinking. About work tomorrow.’ About the fact that they were boss and employee and this evening had been a reward to her as his employee. Nothing more. ‘The rain seems to have stopped.’
‘Yes.’ He turned his gaze to the windows, almost as though he knew she needed a reprieve from his attention.
They finished their drinks in silence.
‘I’ll take you home.’ He placed some notes inside the leather account folder and got to his feet.
Outside the restaurant, he ushered her into his car and waited for her address. When she gave it, he put the car into motion. She wanted to make easy conversation and lighten the mood but no words would come. Then they were outside her apartment building and she turned to face him.
‘Thank you for feeding me dinner.’ Will you kiss me goodnight? Do I want you to? ‘It wasn’t necessary.’ And she mustn’t want any such thing. Naturally he wouldn’t want it!
‘Your cheeks are flushed. Even in this poor light I can see.’ He murmured the words as though he couldn’t stop them. ‘It’s like watching roses bloom. I took you to dinner to prove we have nothing in common but work, and yet …’ He threw his door open, climbed out of the vehicle.
He did want her still. Despite everything.
The warmth in Marissa’s cheeks doubled and her heart rate kicked into overdrive, even as she sought some other explanation for her conclusion. It had to be the wine.
She mustn’t be attracted to him, or to his layers. Yet she struggled to remember all the valid reasons why not.
His hand went to the small of her back to lead her inside. ‘Ready?’
CHAPTER SEVEN
‘WELL, here we are, right at my door,’ Marissa babbled as she opened said door, and then appalled herself by adding, ‘Would you care to—?’
‘For a moment.’ He stepped in after her, and then there they were, facing each other in her small living room.
Her fourth floor apartment was functional and neat. A lamp glowed from a corner table. She flicked a switch on the wall and the room came fully into focus—the lounge suite in a dark chocolate colour with a crushed velvet finish, her crocheted throw rug folded neatly at one end.
Prints on the walls and a kitchen cluttered full of gaily coloured canisters and racks of spices completed the picture. ‘It’s nothing special,’ she said, ‘but I’ve tried to make it a home.’
‘You succeeded.’ His gaze went to the lounge and returned to her face, and a desire he had fought—they had both fought—burned in his eyes.
‘Well, thank you again.’ She shifted beside him. Wanted him to stay. Forced herself not to offer coffee, late night TV, late night Marissa …
‘Goodnight. I shouldn’t have come in.’ His gaze tracked through her home again.
‘Yes. Goodnight. You should … go.’
The muscle of his upper arm brushed the curve of her shoulder as he turned. He made a choked sound and his fingers grasped her wrist.
‘We mustn’t—’ But she lifted her head as his lowered and then his mouth was on hers.
He tasted of coffee and wine and Rick—a wonderful, fulfilling taste that she lost herself in. So totally lost herself …
Rick’s stomach muscles clenched as he fought the urge—almost the need—to crush Marissa close. He didn’t need. He made choices.
Like this one? What was he doing?
Marissa made a soft sound in her throat and her hand lifted to his biceps, and then his shoulder, over his shirt. He wanted her hand on his skin. Somewhere. Anywhere. To warm him …
When she finally stroked her fingers over the cord of his neck and up to the edge of his jaw, he pressed in to her touch. As though he couldn’t survive without it. The feeling was shocking, almost unmanning, and yet still he kissed her, pressed nearer, kept going.
Rick caught her hand as it dropped away from his face. Caught it between their bodies with his and held it to his chest. Felt eased somewhere deep inside as he did this.
He meant to control this. It was only desire. It had to be—he could still prove it. Somehow. If he merely kissed her again, tasted her again and then …
The and
