Her Not-So-Secret Diary. Anne Oliver
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He looked up sharply. ‘Is that a problem?’
Uh oh. A temporary PA’s golden rule: do not irritate the boss no matter how short your stay is. ‘No. Not at all. Absolutely.’ She shook her head, then nodded. Her head spun.
‘Good.’ His eyes pinned hers so directly, so intensely, she felt as if she were being probed, naked, with twin lasers.
She flicked at her collar, lifted her blouse away from her skin, sticky now despite her morning shower, and flashed him a smile. ‘I’ll leave a note for Mimi.’
‘Fine.’ He blinked, then seemed to shake his head, the movement abrupt, and frowned at his watch. ‘Better make that call from the car on the way.’ He handed Sophie the files without looking at her. ‘These need mailing this afternoon.’ His voice was clipped as he snapped his case shut. ‘Bring Pam’s laptop, you can familiarise yourself with the project before we get there. Coffee—Forget it, we don’t have time.’
‘No worries.’ This was more like the Jared Sanderson Pam had talked about. Complained about. Adjusting the files in her arms, she swung around to carry them to her desk. ‘I’ll meet you downstairs in two minutes …’
But he was already out of the door, leaving that spicy fragrance in his wake.
Jared tossed his briefcase and suit jacket onto the back seat of his new pride and joy, his BMW hard-topped convertible, and blew out a strained breath. Took off his cufflinks, slid them into his trouser pocket and rolled his sleeves up—something he never did before meeting a new client. He was a professional and he dressed like one. Every day. He liked routine, the predictability of it.
There was nothing routine about this morning.
Nor was Sophie Buchanan, dream-weaver, what he’d expected. Unlike the brazen and over-endowed vision he’d imagined, she was tall, slim and understated. She wasn’t his usual blonde; her hair was the colour of a mid-winter’s night. Smooth and sleek and shiny.
He hadn’t missed her fragrance on the air when she’d all but leapt off his chair. Not the expensive perfume most women he knew wore, but something light and sparkly, like fresh fruit and summer.
And all he’d been able to see when they’d made eye contact was the disturbing image of her sprawled over his bed wearing nothing but a blackberry-stained smile and dangling a sliver of snakeskin from one finger. It had taken considerable restraint not to yank her against him and find out if the reality was as good as the fantasy she’d described.
She’d deleted the email.
He’d seen the nerves, read the body language and was confident it had been a genuine mistake, not some scheme she’d devised to get his attention.
The devil of it was it had got his attention, and in a big way. Just looking at her and knowing what she’d been dreaming had given him a hard-on and he was still feeling its effects. Not a professional image. And knowing all those intimate details, how was he going to deal with having her right outside his office all day?
So why had he asked her to accompany him to Coolangatta? He couldn’t resist the smile. Maybe because she was here already and his PA usually accompanied him? The smile teased his lips into a full-on grin. Maybe he wasn’t going to change his routine just because Pam was unavailable?
And maybe he wanted to find out more about Sophie Buchanan. Like why this woman had dreamed sexy dreams about him when they hadn’t even met. The trick would be not mixing business and pleasure.
She exited the building, sunshine sparking off her ebony hair as she searched his car out. Unlike her fantasy, her dress code was wishy-washy conservative, but a gust of wind blew the fabric of her blouse against her body, outlining a low-cut bra and subtle yet teasing curves. He leaned across the seat and shoved open the passenger door, slid on his sunglasses and fiddled with his GPS while he waited—hardly courteous, but it was preferable to the alternative of letting her see how she’d affected him.
How her creative writing had affected him.
So he wouldn’t let the way he’d noticed her hips undulate provocatively as she crossed the car park—not to mention those long tanned legs beneath her fitted skirt—distract his thoughts from the upcoming meeting.
She dropped into the passenger seat as if those spectacular legs were about to give out and he grinned to himself. Dying to know if he knew, wasn’t she? But she wasn’t asking, and he wasn’t telling.
‘Been temping long?’ he asked as he swung out of the car park.
‘A few years. But not for much longer.’ He noted she wasted no time opening the laptop.
‘Why’s that?’
She tapped keys, her attention riveted to the screen. ‘I’m going to the UK next month.’
‘Oh? Working or sightseeing?’
‘Both, I hope.’
‘Anything lined up there?’
‘Work-wise, not yet. I’ll take it as it comes.’
They were cruising south along the Gold Coast Highway, negotiating the morning peak-hour traffic, and he wondered for a moment how it would feel to take off across the globe with no responsibilities and only oneself to think about.
‘We’ll be meeting with the building’s owner and the architect to discuss the project brief,’ he informed her. ‘You’ll find the info in the file labelled CoolCm20. Familiarise yourself with it and be prepared to add to it later.’
They followed the bitumen past Burleigh Heads and crossed the bridge where a glimpse of turquoise water met white sand lined with Norfolk pines. Salty air with a whiff of motor fumes blew through the open window, but at this time of day he preferred the fresh morning breeze to air conditioning.
‘So your company offers clients advice on refurbishment projects,’ she said, looking up from the file a short time later.
He nodded, checking his rear-view mirror before changing lanes. ‘Not only advice. We prepare a complete project brief. Should he or she wish to proceed, we initiate contracts and manage the project to completion.’ He glanced her way. ‘So you and Pam know each other?’
She nodded. ‘We go back a long way. As a matter of fact, we’re still neighbours in the same apartment complex.’
‘You’re from Newcastle too, then.’
‘Yes. I moved up here four years ago.’
‘With family?’
She shook her head and looked away towards the side window.
‘Boyfriend? Partner?’ he asked, glancing her way again when she didn’t elaborate. He saw her shoulders tense, her jaw tighten.
‘I needed a change of scenery,’ was all she said.
Obviously it wasn’t only the scenery she’d wanted to change. Someone had hurt her. None of his business, Jared told himself. He didn’t need to know her life history. He was only interested in the Sophie who was sitting beside him right now. The one who smelled as fresh as the morning and dreamed about him.
He couldn’t help the smile that threatened to give him away every time he thought about it. The idea of this quietly professional woman playing out those erotic fantasies with him had grasped him firmly between his thighs and wasn’t about to let go.
Unless he did something about it …
* * *
Change of scenery. If only it had been that simple. Sophie refocused her gaze on the safety of the computer screen. How could she have stayed in Newcastle knowing she might bump into Glen and his new lover—his new pregnant lover? Which was inevitable given their mutual friends and working environments. She hadn’t wanted their pitying glances and platitudes so she’d moved to the Gold Coast and taken a business course.