Her Not-So-Secret Diary. Anne Oliver
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gazes locked and for a beat out of time the spectre of that dream fantasy smouldered in the tiny space between them. ‘I don’t believe that for a moment.’
‘Believe it,’ she muttered, and, pushing out of the car, she started walking.
He shrugged into his jacket, grabbed his briefcase from the back seat and caught up with her along the path. Without further comment she accompanied him to the main door where they met the owner, Sam Trent, and Ben Harbison, an architect who’d worked with Jared on several projects. After a briefing in Sam’s office, they spent half an hour inspecting the premises while Sophie took notes. For the remainder of the meeting, she worked unobtrusively at one end of the table, the only sound the quiet click of her keyboard.
Unobtrusive? For the second time in as many minutes Jared looked up from the plans in front of him, his gaze unerringly finding Sophie. Focused on her task, she wasn’t giving him a second’s glance.
How did she manage cool concentration when he couldn’t? Her fast, efficient fingers with their clear-varnished nails were the cause of the clicking and Jared couldn’t stop thinking about them being fast and efficient in other ways, as she’d described in her dream. And whenever the breeze wafted through the open window, it wasn’t the sea air but her fragrance that floated to his nostrils.
The meeting wrapped up at nine-fifteen. He was glad his ten o’clock appointment didn’t require his PA. And his eleven-fifteen would keep him busy until lunch. Only the afternoon to get through, he thought, watching the little hollows behind her knees as she bent over to retrieve her bag from the floor.
Swinging his gaze away, he focused on Sam’s conversation while he stuffed a couple of files into his briefcase. Reminded himself again that he didn’t get involved with employees.
However, a couple of hours of working back this evening would clear yesterday’s clutter and when the work was finished Sophie’s two-day fill-in for Pam would be over. She would no longer be in his employ…
CHAPTER THREE
‘YOUR ten o’clock cancelled,’ Sophie informed Jared as they walked to the car.
A hunger fist clenched around her stomach. She hadn’t had time for breakfast. And she’d refused Sam’s offer for refreshment because she hadn’t been sure she’d keep it down she was so uptight, and had stuck to her bottled water. ‘He’ll ring back this afternoon and reschedule.’
Jared aimed the remote at the car and the alarm blipped. ‘In that case, I’d like to make another stop before we head back.’
She’d been hoping for some time and space back at the office. Alone at her desk. She didn’t want to be anywhere near him, inhaling his scent, listening to his voice and wondering. This on-the-edge-of-the-seat feeling that Jared might have read her diary was killing her. In a way it was almost worse than knowing. At least if she knew, she could make some attempt to deal with it. But she wasn’t going to risk asking.
It was a beautiful day with the sky’s blue dome reflecting on the sea. Ridges of surf scrolled along the sand, already dotted with beach-goers. Right now Sophie wished she were one of them. No boss to stress over, just a day of relaxation stretched out to enjoy. Or better still, to be one of the gulls wheeling high and low over the ocean.
As she watched Jared open the boot she reminded herself she’d be as free as those gulls in just under four weeks. He dropped his gear in, motioned her to do the same with Pam’s laptop. He shrugged out of his jacket once more, then to her surprise he yanked off his tie and tossed it in the boot with the rest of his stuff, and said, ‘What do you say to fish and chips?’
Now? What was wrong with muesli and fruit and a nice hot coffee? ‘It’s only nine-twenty—’
‘First off, do you like fish and chips? And I’m not talking the fast-food skinny-mini deals but the old-fashioned crisp on the outside, soft in the middle and wrapped in butcher paper kind.’
‘I do, but—’
‘So forget the office—and the boss—for an hour and take a break. I know a little seafood shop here that’s open early. They do take-away cappuccino too, if you need your caffeine fix.’
Forget the office? Take a break? She’d barely done an hour’s work. Forgetting the boss wasn’t going to happen and fish and chips at nine-thirty on a weekday?
Was this happy-looking, suddenly smiling man the same man Pam said was all work and no play? There had to be a catch.
‘O-k-ay.’ She smiled back, blinded by that knee-weakening crease. It really should be registered as a deadly weapon.
One block back from the esplanade and a few moments’ walk brought them to a row of shops. They passed a bakery and its rich scent of coffee and fresh bread. Sophie slowed her steps, all but drooling at the window selection, but then Jared laid a casual hand on her shoulder.
She jumped at the startling contact as he steered her past the shop with barely there persuasion. It seemed an easy relaxed gesture, except that she was super aware of the slight pressure of his fingers on her collarbone, like a low-grade current tickling her flesh. Aware also of the sun-warmed fragrances of clean cotton and masculine skin surrounding her.
As if he knew she’d been about to forgo chips in ten minutes in favour of a sticky bun right now, he dipped his head and said, ‘It’ll be worth the wait.’ His voice was lazy and layered with all the richness of the Black Forest gateau she’d just salivated over.
‘Is that a promise?’ She heard her own voice echo that same tone and her suddenly dry tongue cleaved to the roof of her mouth. Her heart rate accelerated as she turned and looked up at him. They were talking food, weren’t they?
His expression revealed nothing … but had his eyes gone darker? ‘You can tell me afterwards.’
‘Right.’ His eyes were darker. And up close she noticed the distinctive olive green was ringed with a fine rim of navy. She also noticed they’d stopped walking. He was still touching her and her flesh was still tingling.
She hitched her bag higher so that his hand slid away, and resumed walking, but he was close enough so that their arms bumped, a too-delicious friction of firm flesh, crisp shirt and masculine hair.
A moment later he slowed again, this time outside a bright shop called The Baby Tree with teddies spilling out of prams and the cutest little baby outfits suspended from colourful chains. ‘Come on. Help me choose something for my new niece. Thirty seconds. What do you think—a teddy or that fluffy red kangaroo?’
For one trembly moment of indecision Sophie stared at the pretty window and the pair of tiny overalls covered in roses with a matching sun-hat. The rainbow selection of lace booties. And yearned.
Then the familiar chill that accompanied such visions swirled through her heart and she shivered in the balmy air. She hadn’t set foot in a baby shop since—In a long time.
‘I’m not really a baby person.’ She spun away from the window and gazed at the shop across the street, but didn’t see it. ‘Don’t let me stop you, though.’ Without looking at him, she dredged up a smile from somewhere and pasted it on her lips, while groping in her bag for her sunglasses. Hoping she looked more careless and indifferent than she felt, she waved in the direction they’d been heading. ‘I’ll go ahead and order.’
She slid on the glasses, turned and walked. One foot in front of the other. Her smile dropped from her lips and she was conscious of the residual sweaty palms and heavy heartbeat. Of all the shops he could have chosen, he’d stopped at The Baby Tree.
It had caught her off guard. With most of her friends down the coast in Newcastle, over the past four years it had been easy to avoid the baby trap. Pam was seriously single and Sophie’s focus was her upcoming overseas trip. Not making babies and playing happy families.
Those things hadn’t worked for her.
She’d