Millionaire Boss. Peggy Moreland
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hair was still wound up in that old-maid bun he’d noticed at the office that morning, and she was dressed in the same utilitarian suit, with that damn fussy bow tied prissily beneath her chin.
A week, he thought with a sigh as he heaved himself away from his truck and headed for her car. He’d be lucky if he didn’t die of boredom after the first day.
When he reached the side of her car, he bent over, bracing his hands on his knees to place his face level with the open window. “Ready?”
Before he knew what was happening, he found himself staring at the business end of a small canister of mace. A mouse fending off a man-eating lion. The image that popped into his mind was ridiculous enough to be comical.
“Please don’t shoot,” he deadpanned. “I’ll go peacefully.”
She sagged weakly, then clamped her lips together and reached for the window’s handle, rolling the glass up between them with quick jerks of her hand. After snatching her shoulder bag from the passenger seat, she shoved open the door. “You startled me,” she accused.
He arched a brow, surprised by the unexpected display of temper. “Didn’t mean to,” he said, stepping out of her way. “Was just going to offer to help you with your luggage.”
She headed for the rear of her car, her nose in the air. “I can manage on my own, thank you.”
She stabbed the key into the lock, gave it a furious twist, then flung up the lid. Their hands brushed and their heads bumped as they both reached for the bag she’d stored inside. She leaped back, clutching her hand against her chest, as if stung.
Scowling, he pulled her bag from the trunk. “Over there,” he said, with a jerk of his head toward his truck, then slapped a palm against the trunk’s lid, slamming it down.
She drew the strap of her purse to her shoulder and turned, but stopped before she’d taken a full step, her eyes going wide.
He pressed a hand against the small of her back. “What’s the matter?” he asked, giving her a nudge to put her into motion. “Never seen a truck before?”
She sidestepped just enough to escape his touch. “Of course I’ve seen a truck,” she replied, sounding flustered. “I grew up on a ranch. I just never considered that you would drive one.”
He tossed her bag into the back, then opened the passenger door and shot her a wink as he held it open. “No true cowboy would be caught dead driving anything else.”
When she continued to hesitate, nervously eyeing the gaping distance between the ground and the running board created by the six-inch lift he’d added to the truck’s original design, he realized the cause of her concern. Short of hiking her skirt up around her waist, there was no way she was going to negotiate the climb.
Though he thought that scenario might be worth observing, he resolved her problem by wrapping an arm around her waist and swinging her up. She squealed as he swept her from the ground, then clung to him as he planted her conservative little pumps on the floorboard and her fanny on the passenger seat.
Dusting off his hands, he took a step back. “Comfortable?” he asked, trying hard not to smile.
She stared at him, her green eyes wide and unblinking, her face pale but for two bright spots of color high on her cheeks. A wisp of carrot-red hair had escaped her bun and now brushed her temple. A sense of déjà vu swept over him. Had he seen those eyes before, that face? Had he enacted this scene before?
A frown puckered his brow as he narrowed an eye at her. “Have we—”
She tore her gaze from his and turned to face the front. “Quite comfortable,” she replied, cutting him off. “Thank you.”
Erik frowned a moment longer, then lifted his shoulder and headed for the driver’s side of his truck.
Penny stole a peek at Erik, who sat slumped in the seat next to hers, his head tipped back, his eyes closed, his lips slightly parted in sleep. Though the private jet’s cabin was dimly lit, the overhead reading lamp and the glow from his laptop computer screen provided enough light to illuminate features she’d always considered too perfect to be human.
Taking advantage of this rare opportunity to study him unawares, she leaned for a closer look. He hasn’t changed all that much, she noted. The squint lines fanning from the corners of his eyes were a little deeper than she remembered and his cheeks were a little more lean, but basically he looked the same as the memory she’d kept locked away in her heart for the past ten years.
She caught her lower lip between her teeth, wondering what he would say if she were to tell him that she’d fantasized about him throughout the years, weaving dreams about him that made her blush even now to think about them.
He’d probably laugh, she thought, swallowing back the disappointment. He’d never given her a moment’s notice in college, treating her much as he did now, as if she were nothing but a robot programmed to do his work. Then her purpose had been to earn him an A in English. Now it was to take care of all the little details in his business and personal life.
So what exactly is it about this man that you find so irresistible?
Shying away from the question, she plucked a piece of lint from the sleeve of his T-shirt…then, unable to resist, let her fingers linger on the gentle swell of biceps. The memory of him scooping her up into his arms and plunking her into his truck, settled like a heavy mist over her mind and her heart. Unconsciously she let her fingers drift down his sleeve, shivering when she encountered warm flesh. Then, realizing what she was doing, she snatched back her hand and squeezed her eyes shut.
Oh, Lord, she cried silently. I’ll never survive a whole week without jumping him like some sex-starved nymphomaniac!
In spite of her determination to do otherwise, she stole another peek at him and had to grip her hands over the armrests to keep from reaching out and brushing back the endearing lock of hair that drooped over his forehead.
He’s too handsome, she thought, feeling the panic rising higher. Too worldly, too sexy…too everything!
And she was plain-as-a-copper-penny Penny Rawley, a dried-up old maid who’d barely ventured farther than fifty miles from the ranch she’d grown up on.
Disheartened by the reminder, she lifted a hand to turn off the overhead light, not trusting herself to look at him any longer without touching him again.
But just as her finger brushed the light’s button, an electronic alarm beeped shrilly on his laptop computer. Frozen in place by the chilling sound, she watched the screen flash red.
Erik bolted upright, knocking his forehead against the hand she still held aloft. He blinked twice, then shoved her arm from in front of his face and grabbed for his laptop, drawing it to the edge of the portable desk.
“I didn’t touch it,” she said quickly, fearing the dark scowl that creased his brow was an indication that he thought she’d done something to harm his precious computer. “I swear. I just reached up to turn off your light.”
“It’s him,” he muttered, ignoring her, his eyes riveted on the screen.
“Him?” she repeated, turning to stare at the screen. “Him who?”
Eyes narrowed, his fingers fairly flying over the keyboard, he replied, “Boy Wonder.”
She stared, watching as window after window popped into view, the information that flashed on each as foreign to her as Erik’s reference to Boy Wonder.
“He’s just down the street.” He set his jaw as he increased the size of one window and scrolled through the garbled lines of data registered there.
“Down the street?” she repeated, wondering if he realized they were presently flying 30,000 feet above the ground.
“From the office,” he snapped impatiently, then swore and slammed a fist down on the edge of the portable