No, not walked through, he stormed through like a force of nature. When Bastien Thibeadaux shoved open the double doors, it made Phaedra jump. The resounding echo as the doors flung open reminded her of thunder.
Phaedra looked up from the magazine, meeting Bastien’s gaze from across the room. It took her less than a second to collect herself. In that time, she took him in from the top of his closely cropped, but wavy hair all the way down to his steel-toed work boots. Lightning flashed in her mind, and when it faded, left a single, smoking word burned into her brain. Trouble. This man was trouble. He spelled trouble all those years ago for her in school, and he was going to be trouble for her now. She knew that as assuredly as she knew his name. Thibeadaux. Trouble. The two were inextricably linked.
The dark blue coverall he wore was not meant for fashion but function. The long sleeves were rolled up, showing off the fraternity tattoo in the shape of the Greek alphabet symbol omega. The tattoo did its job. It showed off his pride and commitment to his fraternity and had the added bonus of accenting well-muscled arms.
He hadn’t exaggerated when he said the work was physical. You couldn’t get cut biceps and triceps like that just managing workers. Bastien stood around six foot two or six foot three. Yet, he seemed taller to Phaedra because she hadn’t stood up yet to greet him. She was afraid to.
She’d read in novels or seen romantic comedies of people going weak in the knees, but she’d always thought that was a ridiculous exaggeration. It didn’t happen in real life. Certainly not to her. She wasn’t the type of woman who was swayed by physical appearances. She wasn’t that shallow. Not anymore. Since graduating from college—and her one lapse of judgment at that homecoming party—she’d learned a valuable lesson: forming emotional attachments based purely on physical appearances didn’t work out. At least, not for her.
Yet, there she was, sitting in that chair, staring up at the man with skin like sweet golden honey, looking into wide hazel eyes and seriously wondering what it would take to get him to remember her. What would she have to do to get him thinking about her, looking at her the way he did back then—with deliberate attention and single-mindedness of purpose?
Get a grip on yourself, Phaedra! This man is a client.
This man was big trouble. It only took him a moment to cross the room with his long-legged strides before Phaedra came to another snap decision. This was one potential client she was going to drop like a hot rock. Forget all the time she’d already sunk into preparing for this meeting. If she had any real sense, she should end the meeting right here, right now. What made her believe she could face him after all this time and not let it affect her reason?
Phaedra’s mind scrambled to find a reasonable excuse for why she’d suddenly have to leave. A mix-up in her schedule. An emergency call from the office. Yes, that sounded plausible. Anything sounded better than telling him that she had serious doubts about her ability to keep business on her mind while he was around. She’d just have to apologize for wasting his time. But she’d only do it from the relative safety of her car, call him from her cell phone as she was burning rubber out of the parking lot.
“Ms. Burke-Carter.” Bastien approached her, holding out his hand in greeting. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”
His voice had the same sexy Southern quality as she remembered from their phone conversation. Same, yet different, if she could at all explain it. There was no distraction of coffee shop chatter this time or the rumble of railcars passing by her to mute the effects of Bastien’s speech. Now she had the full effect of his voice directed at her.
Unprotected, unshielded, Phaedra felt caught in a maelstrom as vivid memories and raw emotions that she thought she’d long buried swirled inside her. Fifteen years was a long time to forget. Not long enough, apparently. It was unsettling, this uncontrollable urge to run for cover. Phaedra wasn’t used to feeling this way. She wasn’t sure if she liked it. At the same time, she found herself wishing that she could indulge in it more. She had to do something to get her wits about her. What could she do to stall for time?
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