Just One Night.... Trish Morey
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her and she glanced around as a couple emerged from the lift, forcing her to move both her feet and her thoughts closer to Leo’s door.
Seriously, why should he remember her? A rushed grope in a filing room with a woman he hadn’t seen before or since. Clearly it would mean nothing to a man with such an appetite for sex. He’d probably forgotten her the moment he’d left the building. And she’d been Eve then, too. Not the Evelyn she’d reverted to when she’d started her virtual PA business, wanting to sound serious and no-nonsense on her website.
And it’s only one night, she told herself, willing herself to relax as she arrived at the designated door. Just one short evening. And then she looked down at the keycard in her damp hand and found she’d been clenching it so tightly it had bitten deep and left bold white lines across her fingers.
Let herself in when it was the last place she wanted to be? Hardly. She rapped softly on the door. Maybe the driver was wrong. Maybe he wasn’t even there…
There was no answer, even after a second knock, so taking a fortifying breath she slid the card through the reader. There was a whirr and click and a green light winked at her encouragingly.
The door swung open to a large sitting room decorated in soft toffee and cream tones. ‘Hello,’ she ventured softly, snicking the door closed behind her, not game to venture yet beyond the entryway other than to admire the room and its elegant furnishings. Along the angled wall sat a sofa with chairs arranged around a low coffee table, while opposite a long dresser bore a massive flatscreen television. A desk faced the window, a laptop open on top. Through the open door alongside, she could just make out the sound of someone talking.
Leo, if the way her nerves rippled along her spine was any indication. And then the voice grew less indistinct and louder and she heard him say, ‘I’ve got the figures right here. Hang on…’
A moment later he strode into the room without so much as a glance in her direction, all his focus on the laptop that flashed into life with just a touch, while all her focus was on him clad in nothing more than a pair of black silk briefs that made nothing more than a passing concession to modesty.
He was a god, from the tips of his damp tousled hair all the way down, over broad muscled shoulders that flexed as he moved his hand over the keyboard, over olive skin that glistened under the light, and over the tight V of his hips to the tapered muscular legs below.
And Eve felt muscles clench that she hadn’t even known she’d possessed.
She must have made some kind of sound—she hoped to God it wasn’t a whimper—because he stilled and glanced at the window in front of him, searching the reflection. She knew the instant he saw her, knew it in the way his muscles stiffened, his body straightening before he slowly turned around, his eyes narrowing as they drank her in, so measuredly, so heatedly she was sure they must leave tracks on her skin.
‘I’ll call you back,’ he said into the phone, without taking his eyes from her, without making any attempt to leave the room or cover himself. ‘Something’s come up.’
She risked a glance—there—and immediately wished she hadn’t, for when she looked back at him, his eyes glinted knowingly, the corners creasing, as if he’d known exactly what she’d been doing and where she’d been looking.
‘Evelyn?’
He was waiting for an answer, but right now her tongue felt like it was stuck to the roof of her mouth, her softly fitted dress seemed suddenly too tight, too restrictive, and the man opposite her was too big and all too obviously virile. And much, much too undressed. The fact he made no attempt to cover himself up only served to unsettle her even more.
He took a step closer. ‘You’re Evelyn Carmichael?’
She took a step back. ‘You were expecting someone else?’
‘No. Nobody else—except…’
‘Except what?’ she whispered, wondering if spiders’ eyes glinted the same way his did as they sized up their prey.
‘I sure as hell wasn’t expecting anyone like you.’
She felt dizzy, unbalanced and unprepared, and there was absolutely no question in her mind what she had to do next, no wavering. She turned, one hand already fumbling for the door handle, her nails scratching against the wood. ‘Clearly you’re not ready,’ she said, breathless and panicky and desperate to escape. ‘I’ll wait outside.’
But she’d barely pulled it open an inch before a hand pushed it closed over her shoulder. ‘There’s no need to run away.’
No need? Who was he trying to kid? What about the fact a near-naked man was standing a bare few inches away from her and filling the air she breathed with a near-fatal mix of soap and citrus and pure, unadulterated testosterone? A man she’d once been prepared to spend the night with, a lost night she’d fantasised about ever since. A man standing so close she could feel his warm breath fanning the loose ends of her hair, sending warm shivers down her neck. What more reason did a girl need to flee?
Apart from the knowledge that it wasn’t the beast she had to be afraid of after all. It wasn’t the beast she couldn’t trust.
It was her own unquenched desires.
‘Stay. Help yourself to something from the minibar while I get dressed next door. I promise I won’t be long.’
‘Thanks,’ she whispered softly to the door, not sure if she was thanking him for the offer of a drink or for the fact he was intending to put some clothes on. But she was sure about not turning around before he removed his arm from over her shoulder and moved away. Far, far away with any luck. ‘I’ll do that.’
And then the arm withdrew and she sensed the air shift and swirl as he departed, leaving her feeling strangely bereft instead of relieved, like she’d expected. Bereft and embarrassed. God, she must seem so unsophisticated and gauche compared to the usual kind of woman he entertained, practically bolting from the room with her cheeks on fire like some schoolgirl who’d wandered into the wrong loos by mistake!
She could actually do with a stiff drink right now, she mused, still shaky as she pulled open the minibar fridge, assuming she could open her throat wide enough to drink it. Then again, tonight would be a very good night not to drink alcohol, and not just because she probably had no tolerance for it these days. But because drinking anything with anaesthetic qualities in this man’s presence would be a very, very bad idea.
Especially given she was already half-intoxicated just being in his presence.
True to his word, he was already returning from the room beyond by the time she’d made her selection, a pair of slim-fitting black trousers encasing those powerful-looking legs and a crisp white shirt buttoned over his broad chest. Even dressed, he still looked like a god rather than any mere mortal, tall, dynamic and harshly beautiful, and yet for one insane, irrational moment her eyes actually mourned the loss of naked skin to feast upon, until he joined her at the minibar and it occurred to her that at least now she might be able to speak coherently.
‘Did you find something?’ he asked, as she moved aside to give him room as he pulled a beer from the fridge.
‘Yes, thanks,’ she said, twisting the cap from a bottle of mineral water and grabbing a glass, still discomfited by his presence. Then again, it was impossible to see him clothed and not think about those broad shoulders, the pebbled nipples and the cluster of dark hair between them that swirled like storm fronts on a weather map, before heading south, circling his navel and arrowing still downwards…
She sucked in a rush of air, cursing when it came once again laced with his tell-tale scent. Distance was what she needed and soon, and she took advantage of his phone ringing again to find it. She did a quick risk assessment of the sitting room and decided an armchair was the safest option. She needed to stop thinking about Leo Zamos with no clothes on and start thinking about something else. Something that didn’t return the flush to her skin and the heat to her face.
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