Irresistible Greeks Collection. Кэрол Мортимер
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her sparkling eyes, her smooth golden skin, her warm smile. And because he was in bed, he remembered other things, too.
He remembered touching her skin—all over. He remembered kissing her smiling mouth. He remembered stripping off her clothes and running his hands over her body, teasing, tasting—
Hell! He couldn’t show up on her doorstep halfway to wanting to bed her. Not that she’d even be there. It was her office, for God’s sake. Why would she be burning the midnight oil editing photos? Presumably she had a life.
She probably even went out on dates now that she was divorced. Maybe she had a boyfriend. His jaw tightened and he shoved his hands in the pockets of his jacket as he started walking down the street.
He didn’t expect she would be there. So he was taken aback to discover lights on in the bay window of the apartment that was her office.
She didn’t have a life, after all? He stopped across the street and stared.
Now what? Turn around and walk back to Columbus? Catch a cab home? And stare at the damn skylight again?
Abruptly Alex crossed the street, took the steps to the front door two at a time, opened the door to the vestibule and punched the doorbell.
He waited. And waited. He shifted from one foot to the other, and wondered if she left the lights on all the time. Maybe she wasn’t even there.
He was ready to turn around and leave when all at once he heard the sound of the lock twisting and the door handle rattling. The door opened.
Daisy stared out at him, nonplused. “Alex?”
“I came for the photos.”
“What?”
“The editor called me. She wants the photos. You said you’d have them ready.”
“I said I’d call you when they were ready.” She was gripping the door, glaring at him, and by God, yes, her eyes were sparking fire.
He almost smiled as he snaked past her into her office before she could object, then turned and let his gaze run over her again.
She was wearing a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt—about as inelegant as imaginable—and she looked as sexy as hell. Her blonde hair was hanging loose around her face. It was disheveled, as if she—or someone else?—had been running fingers through it.
“Am I interrupting something?” he snapped.
“What?” She frowned. Then she shrugged. “My work. If you want the photos, let me get back to them. They’re not done yet. I’m sorry. I’ve been busy. I’ll have them for you tomorrow. I—”
“Let me see them.”
“No. Not while I’m still working.”
“Why? Afraid of someone else’s opinion?”
“Do I offer you opinions about the buildings you design?” she countered with saccharine sweetness. “Of course not. So go away.”
But Alex didn’t want to go away. He wanted to drop down in the chair and watch her work. He wanted to run his fingers through her hair and pull her close. He wanted to slide his hands down the curve of her spine, cup her buttocks—
He groaned.
“What’s wrong?” She was looking at him intently, worriedly.
He ground his teeth, then turned away, knowing he should get the hell out of here, but somehow he couldn’t go. It was as if she’d bewitched him, cast some spell that wouldn’t let him find the woman he knew had to be out there, the woman who would actually be right for him.
“Alex?” she pressed in the face of his silence.
Finally he snapped. “I’ve had five dates, and they’ve all been disasters!”
Daisy’s eyes widened. She stared at him, then let out a sound that might have been a laugh. Or a snort.
“What a shame,” Daisy said in a tone that told him it had been both a laugh and a snort.
“It is, damn it! And it’s a waste of time.” Alex cracked his knuckles and spun away to pace irritably around her office. But every step brought him closer to her. And he wanted her. Badly.
She stepped past him and moved toward her desk, and he wheeled to follow her when he found himself face-to-face with the photos on her walls.
None of them, of course, was Daisy.
But they all spoke of Daisy. Of what she wanted and he didn’t.
Families. Children. Pets.
He looked at her. Her cheeks were flushed. She ran her tongue over her lips. She watched him warily, worriedly.
“Never mind,” he said abruptly. “I have to go.”
Ignoring his desire, forcing himself to turn away from the most beautiful woman he’d ever made love to, he stalked out the door. He was halfway down the steps when he turned his head, his heart still hammering. “Send me those photos, damn it.”
THE next day Alex got an email with a link to a site where he could download the photos Daisy had taken.
Here you are, the email said. Sorry it took so long. Hope they meet with your editor’s satisfaction. Thank you for the opportunity to work with you.
Kind regards, Daisy Connolly.
Kind regards? Daisy Connolly?
As if he would need her last name to distinguish her from all the other Daisys in his life.
Blast her, anyway! Alex smacked a hand on the desk next to his computer screen. So all it had needed was for him to turn up on her doorstep and make an idiot of himself and Daisy was suddenly inspired to finish editing the photos, send them along and get him out of her life.
Swell.
He’d lain awake half the night—staring at the damned skylight and cursing his own misplaced desire—and wishing Amalie would come up with a viable “option.”
In the morning he called her and demanded a better selection. “The last one was a charlatan,” he said. “If she was an architecture student, I play center field for the New York Yankees.”
“I’m talking to another young woman today,” she promised. “You’re very discerning. It takes time.”
It didn’t take time, damn it. That was the trouble. If Daisy wanted what he wanted there wouldn’t be any problem at all.
But she didn’t. That was perfectly clear. She probably hadn’t been stalling. She’d probably actually been busy, too busy to get right to his photos. But once he’d turned up on her doorstep, making demands, she’d outdone herself getting the photos finished so she didn’t need to have anything more to do with him.
They were amazing photos, though.
He stood in his office, staring at them now. He’d spread them out on his drafting table, studying them, seeing himself through her eyes.
They were every bit as sharp and insightful as the ones he’d seen on her wall last night. She’d taken most of the shots in black and white which, on first glance, surprised him.
But the more he studied them, the more he saw what she was doing: she had used the monochrome scheme to pare him down to his essence, exactly the way an architectural drawing or a blueprint did.
She caught him clearly—a man who had little patience with subtlety, who knew what he wanted.
He wanted her.
She had to know that. Didn’t she know that?
He