SLEEPING WITH THE BOSS Page 3

  She sucked in air like an old, wheezing vacuum. "What?"

  "Your lens," Rick said, holding it out to her. "I found it."

  "Right." She swallowed that gulp of air and held it in, hoping to steady herself. Jeez. Did it have to be so darn hot in the room? Right now, she felt as though a fever were racing through her body. She looked into his eyes, and those brown depths seemed to pull her in. His victorious grin set off a series of minor explosions within her and her blood pumped as if she was in the last leg of a marathon.

  She'd never had this sort of reaction to a man before. Oh, the cute ones jangled her nerves, and here and there a fabulous mouth might make her a little antsy. But never had she fantasized so well that her whole body was tingling with heat and want.

  Not even over her late, unlamented ex-fiancée. Not even with her last boss … the one with lots of promises and an exceptionally bad memory about them.

  Nope. Rick stirred things up that had never been stirred before.

  Oh, boy.

  "Thanks," she said, and picked her contact lens up from the center of his palm. The brush of her fingertips against his skin sent another jagged spear of something dark and wicked through her body, but Eileen fought it. Otherwise, she'd be forced to roll over onto her back and shout, Take me, big boy!

  Oh, wow.

  Eileen pushed herself to her feet. "Okay, better go take care of this. Don't want to look at life like a Cyclops."

  She headed unsteadily toward the door. He was right behind her, but Eileen didn't look back. The words "pillar of salt" kept reverberating inside her mind.

  "Can I help?"

  "No thanks," she said, waving one hand. "Been doing this for years."

  "I didn't know you wore contacts."

  "No reason you should, since we haven't seen each other in six years."

  The hall looked impossibly long. The wall on her right was painted the ever-present gray, but the wall on her right was glass. Afternoon sunshine poured in, and five stories below them, it winked off the windshields of the cars jammed bumper to bumper on the 405 freeway. Just the thought of joining the thundering herd trying to get home made her grateful that Rick wanted her to stay later than usual.

  Even if he was making her a little nervous.

  "Man," Rick said from behind her, as if reading her mind, "the freeway's a mess."

  "I noticed." She made a sharp right and walked into the ladies' room.

  "It should be thinned out later, though. We could send out for dinner while we work."

  Dinner. She wasn't sure she'd be able to swallow. Eileen looked into the mirror and stared at Rick's reflection. He was there. Right behind her. In the pale blue lounge area. Of the ladies' room, for Pete's sake. Two vinyl chairs sat on either side of a low table holding a bowl of fresh flowers. Eileen looked into the mirror, ignoring the furnishings to stare instead at Rick. "Dinner?"

  "What? You don't eat?"

  "Sure I eat. I just usually don't have men following me into the ladies' room to deliver an invitation."

  He shifted his gaze from hers and looked around, as if surprised to discover where he was. Then he looked back into the mirror, meeting her gaze again with a wry, crooked smile. "Oops."

  Eileen felt a ping bounce around inside her and realized that smile of his could still affect her. Apparently, at heart, she was still that eleven-year-old girl with a kinda sorta crush. For heaven's sake.

  He jerked a thumb at the closed door behind him. "I'll, uh, see you outside."

  "Good idea."

  Once he was gone, Eileen let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. Leaning forward, she planted both hands on the slate-blue Formica counter and stared at her reflection. "This temporary job was a bad idea, Eileen. Really bad."

  * * *

  Chapter 3

  «^»

  Rick hadn't had Mexican fast food in far too long. He didn't remember tacos and nachos ever tasting quite so good. And he'd never considered having an indoor picnic on the floor of his office. But then maybe it wasn't the food, he told himself. Maybe it was sharing it with Eileen. She was annoying, irritating and more entertaining than he would have guessed.

  Watching her now while she talked about some of her customers, he saw her eyes flash with humor.

  "This one guy is a regular," she was saying, and paused to take a small bite of a taco. She chewed, swallowed and said, "He's got a standing order for a dozen roses once a week."

  "Good husband?" Rick ventured.

  "Hardly," she said with a quick shake of her head. "It's for the girl of the week. Always someone different, always a different color rose—according to their personalities, he says. But one week, he changed the order—switched to a spider plant."

  One of Rick's eyebrows lifted. "Makes you wonder, doesn't it?"

  "Makes me wonder how he finds so many women willing to go out with him." She sighed and leaned back, bracing her hands on the floor behind her. "His bedroom must be like an assembly line."

  "And you think I'm cynical?" Rick drew one knee up and rested his forearm on top.

  "Touché." She inclined her head at him, allowing him a point.

  "So," he asked after a long minute of silence, "how's Bridie doing?"

  Eileen smiled. "Big sister's doing fine," she said, thinking about Bridget and her ever-growing family. "Three and a half kids and a husband she drools over. She's disgustingly happy."

  "Three and a half?"

  "Pregnant again," she said with a slow shake of her head. "Hard to imagine, but Bridie just loves being pregnant and Jefferson—that's her husband—he's as nuts about kids as she is." Eileen met Rick's gaze. "If you guys hadn't split up, you could have been a very busy father by now."

  He frowned, reached for his soda and took a long drink. "No, thanks." He set the large cup back onto the rug. "Tried the husband thing. It didn't work. Besides, I'm not father material."

  "There's that sunshiny outlook on life I've come to know so well," Eileen said.

  "Touché." His turn to incline his head and acknowledge her point. Then he asked, "What about you?"

  "What about me?"

  "You involved with anyone?" And why do you care? Rick asked himself. The answer was, he didn't. Not really. It was just a polite inquiry. Didn't matter to him one way or the other.

  She sat up, dusted her palms together and gathered up her trash, stuffing it into the white paper bag. "Not lately."

  Good, he thought even though he knew it would have been better if she were engaged. Married. Hell. A nun. "Hard to believe."

  "Why?" She looked up at him.

  He shrugged. "It's just…" He waved a hand at her. "I mean…"

  She smiled. "Are you about to give me a compliment?"

  Frowning, Rick crumpled up the last of his trash and snatched the bag from her hand to stuff his trash inside. "Stranger things have happened."

  "In science fiction movies."

  "You're not an easy person, are you, Eyeball?"

  She tossed a wadded-up taco wrapper at him, bouncing it off his forehead. "Gran always said nothing good ever comes easy."

  "Yeah, but who knew she was talking about you?"

  Silence dropped between them. Outside the windows, the sun was setting and the low-lying clouds were shaded a deep purple and crimson. And inside, the silence kept growing, until it was a living, breathing presence in the room.

  Rick stared at her and caught himself wondering what she would taste like. And he wondered if he'd be willing to stop at just one taste. That couldn't happen though. He wouldn't get involved with Eileen Ryan. Beyond the fact that she aroused too much emotion within him—there was the whole business of her being the granddaughter of his grandmother's best friend.

  She wasn't the woman for a no-strings affair. She was hearth and home and family dinners. Definitely, she was hands off. There might as well have been a sign reading Keep Away tacked to her forehead.

  If he was smart, he'd pay attention.

  "We'd bette
r finish up that contract stuff," she said, her gaze locked with his.

  "Right." Rick nodded and pulled in a deep breath. "Otherwise, we could be here all night."

  "Probably not a good idea," Eileen said softly, and licked her lips.

  "Yeah," he said, wincing as his body tightened. "Not a good idea at all."

  * * *

  By Thursday evening, Eileen was regretting ever agreeing to this situation. She felt as if she was tightrope walking over a pit filled with hungry lions. One wrong step and she was nothing more than a quick meal.

  What she needed was the weekend. Time to spend down at the beach, in her own cottage. Painting the china hutch she'd picked up at the flea market last month. Or stenciling the kitchen walls. Heaven knows, she'd been putting that off for months. There'd never been enough time to get around to all of the crafty things she liked to do. She was always too busy at the shop.

  Which was why she'd been looking forward to these two weeks. With Paula, her new manager, in charge at Larkspur, Eileen could relax about the shop. It was in good hands.

  Her full vacation was already shot, so she planned to make good use of at least the weekends. She'd have some breathing room. She needed to get herself far, far away from Rick Hawkins. She needed to keep busy enough that maybe she'd stop daydreaming about what she'd like to be doing with Rick. Eileen groaned quietly. All she had to do was get through today and tomorrow, and she'd have two whole days to decompress.

  "Eileen?"

  "Yessir, boss?" She turned her head to watch him come through the doorway from his office.

  He frowned and looked at her as she stood up, holding onto her purse and car keys as if they were life rings tossed into a churning sea. "You leaving already?"

  "It's not 'already,'" she said, scooping her black cardigan off the back of her chair. "It's after five and I'm going home." She was actually running home, but didn't feel the urge to tell him that. Back to her empty little cottage where she wouldn't have to look into Rick's brown eyes. Where she wouldn't have to remind herself that she wasn't interested in getting involved with anyone again, much less the bane of her childhood.

  Slipping into her sweater, she flipped her hair out from under it, then pointed at a manila folder on her desk. "The last letters you wanted are right there. Sign them and they'll go out in tomorrow morning's mail."

  "Fine, but—"

  "See you later."

  "Eileen."

  His voice stopped her just three feet from the door. She gave that magic portal one longing glance, then took a deep breath and turned to face him. His hair was mussed, his tie loose and his collar opened. He looked far too good. If he suggested ordering dinner in and working late again, she'd have to say yes. She'd spend the whole meal drooling over him and then go home to be frustrated alone. But if he didn't ask her to stay late and have dinner, she'd be disappointed because then she wouldn't get a chance to drool over him. Oh yeah. No psychological problems here. "What?" She snapped out the word a little harsher than she'd planned.

  "You free this weekend?"

  Whoa. She reeled a little. Was he asking her what she thought he might be asking her? Not just fast-food dinner and work, but maybe a date? Maybe a movie or something else that was totally inappropriate considering they were working together? Considering their grandmothers had arranged all of this? Considering that she wasn't in the mood for a man in her life? Ye gods. Her stomach skittered nervously. "Why?"

  "I've got some meetings."

  Okay, no date. Work.

  "Now that's a shame," she said, and sidled closer to the door.

  "I'll need a secretary."

  No way. She'd already lost two perfectly good weeks of vacation. She wasn't about to give up her weekends, too. "Rick…"

  "One meeting's scheduled for late tomorrow morning, then all day Saturday. Maybe one Sunday morning."

  "But I don't—"

  "You'll be paid overtime."

  Her fingers curled around her purse strap. "That's not the point."

  "What is?" he asked, folding his arms across a chest that she'd spent far too much time imagining bare. "Too scared to go away with me?"

  She laughed shortly, harshly and hoped it sounded convincing. "Yeah. That must be it—go away? Go away where?"

  "Temecula."

  "In Riverside county?"

  "Is there another one?"

  "No, but—"

  Rick walked across the room, stared out the window for a long minute, then turned to look at her again. "Edward Harrington was my first client when I opened my business." Rick shrugged. "He took a chance on me. Twice a year, I go out to Riverside to look over his portfolio and discuss changes and investments."

  "You go to him?"

  Rick smiled. "Most independents go to their customers."

  "Still. One customer's going to take all weekend?"

  "No, but Edward referred me to some of his golf buddies and I see all of them when I go out there. I'm seeing Edward tomorrow and then the others on Saturday."

  "So you work all week and then even more on the weekend."

  "Uh-huh." He studied her for a long, thoughtful minute, unfolded his arms, then waved both hands at her. "You know what? Never mind. You're right."

  Wary now, Eileen watched him. It wasn't like him to change tactics so suddenly. "I'm right about what?"

  "I can't ask you to go."

  "You already did," she pointed out.

  "I take it back."

  "What?" she said. Turning around, he walked back into his office. She was right behind him. Rick smiled at her hurried footsteps as she raced to catch up. "You take it back?" she asked. "What are you, in third grade?"

  "Nope." He walked around behind his desk and took a seat. Keeping his gaze averted from hers, Rick shuffled through the piles of financial reports on his desk. The minute he'd asked her to go along, he'd known she'd refuse. And maybe that was how he should leave it. It'd be a hell of a lot safer. But damn it, he wanted her to go with him. Wanted her away from the office and on neutral territory. Wanted her—hell.

  He just wanted her. "I'm just being logical," he said. "I can handle the work without you. And you'd hate it anyway and I don't blame you. You'd be bored."

  "Bored?"

  "Sure." He glanced at her. Her eyes were flashing. It was working. Damn, she hadn't changed a bit. For one brief second, he wished he'd been wrong and that she had simply said, Okay fine. See you. Then that feeling was gone and he was prodding her again. "Besides, like I said, I can handle this alone. I'll take a laptop with me. Type up my own notes."

  She snorted.

  He glanced at her. "I don't need a secretary after all," he went on, warming to his theme now that he was on a roll. Eileen was reacting just as he'd known she would. Just as she always had. Tell her she couldn't do something and there was nothing she wanted to do more. Like the time when she was ten and her gran told her that she couldn't hang on to a car bumper while on her skateboard. Naturally, she'd done it anyway, the car made a sharp right turn and Eileen had broken her wrist when she crashed into Mrs. Murphy's trash cans.

  Maybe it was a mistake to challenge her hard enough so that she would come along for the weekend, but damned if he could resist the idea. He hadn't felt this kind of attraction for a woman before. And it was bloody hard to deny it.

  Her green eyes were stormy and he could actually see thoughts and emotions pinwheeling through her mind. God, she was so easy to read. And he enjoyed it after years of looking at a woman and wondering just what the hell she was thinking behind her cool, polite mask of interest.

  "You don't need a secretary?" she said. "You, who types with two fingers?"

  One eyebrow lifted. "Speed won't be required. Just accuracy."

  She frowned at him, turning that delicious-looking mouth into a pout that made him want to bite her. Oh yeah, it'd be much better—safer—if she told him no. Damn, he hoped she didn't. "I can handle note taking. I'll bring a tape recorder or something. You can type every
thing up on Monday."

  "You can?"

  "Well, of course you could," Rick said, watching her as she leaned both hands on the front of his desk. The high collar of her business shirt dipped just a bit and he caught a tantalizingly small peek at her chest. But just that tiny glimpse was enough to make him hard—and damn grateful to be sitting behind his desk. Clearing his throat, he continued, "I'm just saying, there's no reason to. I wouldn't want to put you out."

  She pushed up from the desk, planted both hands at her hips and countered, "I'm working for you. It's part of the job."

  "I can't ask you to go away with me for the weekend." He kept arguing, knowing it was in her nature to dig in her heels. She was absolutely the most contrary woman he'd ever met. She fascinated him. "Wouldn't be fair."

  "Fair?" she repeated. "Now we're talking about fair?"

  "Hey." Rick leaned back in his chair, gripped the arms and said, "I'm only trying to be reasonable."

  "Uh-huh. Where's the meeting?" she asked, tapping the toe of one shoe against the carpet with a staccato beat.

  He hid a smile at the temper already rising inside her. He should feel guilty about manipulating her into this, but he didn't. "Eileen, it's not necessary for you to go."

  "I'm going." She glared at him. "I'm your secretary and it's my job."

  "I don't think it's a good idea."

  "Deal with it," she said. "Honestly, you wanted me to work for you and then when I say I am, you say no."

  "Just trying to be fair."

  "Well, quit it."

  "Okay." He held up both hands and surrendered. "Didn't know it would mean this much to you."

  "Now you know."

  "I appreciate it."

  "No problem." She inhaled sharply and blew it out again in a rush. "Where do you want me to make reservations?"

  "The Hammond Inn will work. Their number's in the Rolodex."

  "Fine," she said, and turned to leave the room.