Nine-to-Five Bride. Jennie Adams
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filing for at least the next several days. Instead, Rick’s secretary had propped himself up in her doorway and croaked out his request that she meet his boss on site so he could take himself off to the doctor.
Next minute Marissa had been whipping along in a taxi, and then she’d found Rick waiting for her at the bridge site like a knight in shining hard hat.
Well, not really a knight. No horse. But he’d listened patiently as she’d given a flurried explanation to go with her sudden appearance, then he’d said, ‘Yes, I know. Shall we?’ and had cupped her elbow to escort her onto the bridge.
That constituted contact, which was why she could blame this entire blip in her reaction to him on her senses, not her intellect.
Rick went on, ‘The report will explain why your ideas won’t work, and will agree with my assessor’s initial report and recommend the committee works directly with him from now on. Had there not been a temp from downstairs manning my office the day you made your appointment, you’d have been informed that you should meet with the Project Manager today, not me.’
Having a temp make an inappropriate appointment for him explained how Rick had ended up wasting his time on this meeting. Marissa had wondered. Her attraction to him didn’t explain anything, except her hormones apparently hadn’t read her Blinddatebrides profile or her list of requirements in a prospective mate.
Date. Prospective date. And this man wasn’t one. She expected all of her to take note.
‘You’ll be billed for this discussion. I hope your interactions with our company will remain amicable and be a little more focused in the future.’ Having made it plain that the man’s efforts to bypass the proper channels hadn’t come free of charge, Rick nodded. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse us.’
Good. It was over. They could get back to the office and Marissa could forget this weird awareness of the boss and return to her real work. In this instance, taking care of the backlog of filing Gordon had left behind before he’d gone on holiday and, once that was done, a long list of non-urgent hack work he’d left for her.
Rick’s firm fingers wrapped around her elbow.
Instant overload.
Nerve-endings. Senses. Her gaze flew to his. He was already watching her. His fingers tightened.
For a frozen heartbeat his gaze became very intent indeed. Then he shook his head and swept her away along the bridge and she started to breathe again and reminded herself of her focus.
Nice. Ordinary. Guy.
Someone to have babies with. If they wanted to. At some point when they decided they’d like that. No rush at all. Again, Marissa was the leader of this particular outfit, not her clock or her hormones or anything else.
She frowned. What did she mean, clock? As in ticking biological clock? How silly. She simply wanted someone steady and dependable and completely invested in building a solid relationship of trust, friendship and affection with her.
Sure, that might mean a family one day, but she didn’t feel driven to have children. Just because she found herself noticing mothers with babies in supermarkets and shops and on the street…
No. The Big 3-0 didn’t stand for B. A. B. Y.
Not at all.
It only stood for birthday-she-didn’t-want-to-think-about.
Hmph.
And just because she’d noticed the Morgan’s boss…
‘Tom explained he was unwell before he sent you out here to meet me?’ Rick spoke the words as he steered her along. ‘Did he give you his travel pack?’
‘I met with Tom briefly at the office before his wife whisked him away to go to the doctor.’ Marissa tapped the bag that slapped against her hip with each step.
Rick must be around six foot two inches tall. Much of it appeared to be strong, ground-eating legs, not that she wanted to think about his legs, or even his anatomy in general. ‘And, yes, I have Tom’s travel pack.’
The shoes that went so nicely with her chocolate-brown knee-length skirt were also shoved in the tote.
‘You’ll need it for dictation on the trip back to the office.’ He hit the base of the bridge without slowing his pace, though he took care to make sure she could keep up.
As he walked forward he dropped his hold on her and drew out his mobile phone. The conversation when the number picked up brought an edge of concern to his face and deepened the grooves on either side of his firm, moulded lips.
Would those grooves crease appealingly when he smiled?
Not interested in the answer to that. Not interested in the lips that would form the smile, or the abandoned feeling in one particular elbow either.
‘You’ll recover, though?… What’s the treatment?… Can Linda get some time off work? If she can’t, I’ll arrange nursing care for you.’ He listened for a moment and some of the tension in his face eased. ‘Okay. You’ve got it covered then, but if you think of anything you need, you let me know, and don’t worry about work. I’ll cope.’
He paused. His grey gaze examined her, frankly assessing her before he spoke again. ‘It wasn’t your fault I ended up at this meeting this morning, Tom. We agreed to put a temp in the chair that day and she apparently didn’t know any better than to book me for this appointment instead of the Project Manager. Cartwright took advantage of that fact.’
The second pause lasted longer, or maybe it felt that way because his gaze stayed on her the whole time. ‘Yes, I know and I suppose you’re right. I’d had the same thought.’ His tone softened. ‘Now let Linda put you to bed, man. I’ll check in with her later.’
Before Marissa could get all mushy over that obvious concern for his employee, or feel uneasy as a result of his focus on her, he closed the phone.
‘Is Tom—?’ She got that far with the question before he brought them to a halt beside a large slate-coloured four-wheel-drive car.
People called them cars. Marissa told herself this was a muscular extension of its owner. All strong lines and height and breadth and power. It was twice as tall as an ordinary car, and it should stand as a warning to her. There was no softness to be found here, no gentler side, just sheer strength.
Really? Because Rick had seemed quite considerate, as well as all those other things.
‘Tom is ill with what appears to be a hard-hitting virus. Ross River fever, the doctor thinks.’ Rick removed his hard hat and ran his hand through his hair for real. Thick dark hair with a glint or two of silver at the temples. He was thirty-seven years old, her boss Gordon had told her, with degrees in both civil engineering and architecture.
Rick had used those and other skills to forge his way to massive success consulting on structural refurbishment and undertaking new construction work. Bridges, buildings, roads, he’d covered all of it and now had a team of several hundred people working under him, just in the office side of his business alone.
That was what Marissa needed to remember. The word ‘driven’ probably didn’t begin to describe him.
Driven. Willing to do anything to get what he wanted, no matter how that impacted on others? Like Michael Unsworth?
‘Ross River fever can be quite debilitating while it lasts, can’t it? Tom did look very unwell this morning.’ Marissa had worried for the man until he’d assured her that his wife would soon be there to collect him. She didn’t want her thoughts on Rick, and she pursued the conversation with that in mind. ‘I hope Tom recovers quickly and fully.’
‘Linda will make sure he rests, and I’ll be keeping an eye on his progress…’He used the remote on his keyring to unlock his car. Even the movement of those strong, long-fingered hands appealed.
‘I’m