Midnight Under the Mistletoe. Sara Orwig
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places and you don’t even know it.”
She smiled at him again, thinking he might be missing some wonderful family companionship and didn’t even know it. “As long as I’m content, it doesn’t matter.”
“So tell me about this family of yours and what they all do.”
“My family lives near me in Dallas. Dad is an accountant and my mom is a secretary. My younger brother works part-time and is in school at the University of North Texas. I’ve taken classes to become a teacher. This semester I didn’t enroll, but I hope to start back soon.”
“How far along are you?”
“I have a little more than half the credits I need. Back to my family—in addition to my siblings, I have five small nieces and three nephews. We have assorted other relatives, grandparents, aunts and uncles, who live in the same general area.”
“Big family.”
“My siblings and I visit my parents on weekends,” she said. “So do my aunts and uncles. There are anywhere from twenty to thirty or forty of us when we all get together.”
He paused as he started to drink his water, giving her a polite smile as if she said they spent every weekend at the park so they could play on the slides and swings.
“My family is definitely not that together,” he said. “We go our separate ways. Dad’s deceased and Mom disappeared from our lives when we were young.”
“We have different lifestyles,” she said, thinking this was a man she couldn’t possibly ever be close to even if circumstances had been different. His world and hers were poles apart. Their families were so different—hers a huge part of her life, his nearly nonexistent, what with his father being deceased and his mother walking out years earlier. Those events had to influence him and make him the man he was today. This job would be brief and then she probably would never see him again. “The quesadilla is delicious,” she said.
“I told you Rosie is a good cook. So, is there any special person in your life right now? I assume no one objected to you taking this job.”
“Not at all and there’s no special person at the moment. As long as I can go home for the weekends and holidays, I’m fine.”
“I’m not sure I’ve been involved—friends or otherwise—with someone as tied into home and family.”
“I’m your secretary—that’s different from your women friends.”
“We can be friends,” he said, looking amused, and a tingle ran across her nerves. In tiny subtle ways he was changing their relationship from professional to personal, something she did not want. With every discovery about him, she saw what opposites they were. This was not a man who would ever fit into her world or her life other than on a physical level. She definitely did not fit into his.
Surprised that he was even interested, she had to wonder. She had never heard a word of gossip about him even remotely trying to have an outside relationship with an employee. Far from it—occasional remarks were made to new single women to forget about impressing the boss—if they even got to know him—except through efficient work.
“We can be friends to a degree in a professional manner,” she said, wondering if she sounded prim.
“Emma, we’re going to be under the same roof, working together for weeks. Relax. This isn’t the office and it’s not that formal. If I have something critical, a letter I just have to get out, an appointment that has to be made by a certain time, I’ll tell you.”
“Fair enough,” she said, feeling as if their relationship just made another subtle shift. Or was it her imagination because she found him so physically attractive? “So you don’t gather often with the family, you travel a lot—what else do you do?”
“Most of the time for the past few years my life has been tied up in my work. I have a yacht, but I’m seldom on it. I ski. I have a villa in Italy. I have a condo in New York, one in Chicago and I spend the most time between Paris and Chicago where we have offices. I like cities.”
She placed her fork across her plate and stood. “That was a delicious lunch. If you’ll excuse me, I should get back to the letters.”
“Sit and relax, Emma. Those letters aren’t urgent and they’ll be there after lunch. I’m enjoying talking to you. There’s no rush. And I suspect some tidbit will appear for dessert.”
Surprised, she sat again. “I’m not in the habit of arguing with my supervisor. I don’t think I can possibly eat dessert. This was more lunch than I usually have.”
“Indulge yourself while you can,” he said. Pushing his plate forward, he placed his arms on the table and leaned closer. “Emma, this is lunch. We’re not at work. Forget the supervisor-secretary relationship, which doesn’t have to exist 24/7. This is just two people having lunch together,” he drawled in that husky voice that was soft as fur. Vivid blue eyes held her attention while his words poured over her and the moment shifted, holding a cozy intimacy. “Beautiful green eyes, great red hair—they sort of lend themselves to forgetting all about business,” he said softly.
“We’re about to cross a line we shouldn’t cross,” she whispered while her heart hammered.
“We crossed that line when you came in the door,” he replied.
Two
Her heart thudded because his words changed their relationship. She realized her reply would set the standard. For a fleeting second, how tempted she was to flirt back, to give him a seductive reply that was on the tip of her tongue. For the moment, she wished he were someone else and not her boss.
Following the path of wisdom, practicality and caution, she smiled and chuckled, shaking her head and trying to diffuse the electrifying tension that had sprung between them. “I don’t think so,” she replied lightly. “We can’t. I’m here for a secretarial job, which sets definite limits. I’m not crossing that line. If that’s part of my work—then tell me now.”
“Definitely not part of the job,” he said, leaning back and studying her with a faint smile and amusement dancing in his blue eyes. “As rare for me as for you in an employer-employee situation. But we’re not going to be able to shut it off that easily. As a matter of fact, I think the chemistry is in spite of both of us, not because of either of us wanting it to happen. That’s a big difference and rather fascinating.”
“We’ll not pursue it,” she persisted. Rosie appeared with a tray that held four choices of desserts. “What would you like, Miss Hillman?” she asked.
“Please just call me Emma,” she said, looking at luscious desserts. She was no longer hungry, yet Rosie stood with a broad smile and Emma knew how her own mother liked for everyone to take some of her desserts, so she selected a small slice of chocolate cheesecake.
Zach took a monstrous concoction of vanilla ice cream and brownies topped with fudge sauce with a sprinkling of fresh raspberries.
“You must work out big-time to turn that into muscle,” she observed and the moment the words were spoken, she wished she could take them back because she had just tossed the conversation back to the personal. “This is so much food. What does Rosie do with leftovers? Save them for dinner?” Emma interjected, trying to get the conversation on a different note as rapidly as possible.
He flashed a slight smile as he shook his head. “I work out and my injured foot has thrown me off schedule. As for the leftovers—there are a lot of people on this ranch. She’ll pass them on after lunch and they’ll be gone by midafternoon. You think all those hungry cowboys won’t light into her cooking? They’ll devour it.”
She smiled, glad the moment had been diffused and they were back on a harmless topic. “This is delicious,” she said as she ate a bite. She looked up to meet his steady gaze that fluttered her insides.
“She’ll be glad to know