His Secretary's Little Secret. Catherine Mann
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familiar mischief.
Why did he have to be so damn sexy?
“Please, don’t make things more awkward than—”
“Go out with me on a date.”
A date? With Dr. Easton Lourdes? The world slammed still. “A what?”
“A date, where two people spend time together at some entertaining venue. Tomorrow’s not a workday, so it can be afternoon or evening. I don’t want to presume what you would enjoy because honestly, you’re right, we haven’t spoken very much. So for our date, what do you think about a wine-tasting cruise?”
She couldn’t drink, not while pregnant. She winced.
“Okay,” Easton said, moving from behind his desk, “from the look on your face I’ll take that as a no. Concert in the park with a picnic? Go snorkeling? Or take a drive down to the tip of the Keys and hang out at Hemingway’s old house or climb to the top of the Key West Lighthouse?”
“You’re serious about wanting to go on a date?” What would she have thought if he’d made that request months ago? Or if she weren’t pregnant now? What if he’d made that request when she had the luxury of time to explore the possibility of feelings between them?
Except she didn’t have time.
He sat on the edge of his desk, a devilish look in his eyes. “Serious as a heart attack.”
She could see by his face he meant it. Totally. He wanted to go on a date with her. She’d spent two years attracted to him while never acting on it in order to maintain her independence and now—when the last thing she should be doing was starting an affair with him—he was asking her out.
Her emotions were clouding her judgment. Their impulsive night of sex had flipped her mind upside down. Their attraction was every bit as combustible as she’d expected. It had stolen her breath, her sanity. She’d even entertained pursuing something with him. For a moment, she’d not cared one whit about her independence. But fears had assailed her the next morning. Heaven knew if he’d suggested a date then, she would have run screaming into the Everglades, never to be seen again.
Okay, maybe that was overstating things. Or maybe not.
But it did bring up the point that now, things were different. She really did need to talk to him soon and come up with a plan for their baby. Meanwhile, though, maybe she could use this time to get to know him better on a friendship level and find the best way to tell him about their “love child.”
She just had to ignore the electricity that sizzled between them every time he looked at her.
“Key West,” she said. “Let’s take the drive to see Hemingway’s house.”
* * *
The romantic ride he’d planned just yesterday to Hemingway’s house had somehow gone awry.
What should have been a leisurely scenic drive down the heart of the Florida Keys was getting him nowhere with Portia. He wanted her to open up to him, to reveal something about herself. But she was totally clammed up and he was on fire to know more about her. To find a way past her defenses and back into her bed. To pull her clothes off, slowly, one piece at a time and make love to her in a bed, at a leisurely pace rather than a frenzied coupling in a bathroom during a storm.
And she’d gone into her Ice Queen mode again.
Which had never overly bothered him before but was, for some reason, making him crazy now. Yes, he burned to know more about her than what she took in her coffee—although these days she seemed to enjoy water with fruit slices more than her standard brew. He needed to get her talking.
And he also needed to power his way past this slower moving traffic into a clearer stretch of road.
Checking the rearview mirror, he slid his vintage Corvette into the fast lane, getting out from behind a brake-happy minivan. As they passed the van, he noted the map sprawled out on the dash. That explained everything about the somewhat erratic driving behavior.
He used the opportunity of an open road to check out Portia, noting her slender face, porcelain skin and pointed nose. The edges of her mouth were tensed slightly. Her hair was gathered into a loose ponytail, not completely down, but definitely more casual than her usual tightly pulled-back twist. The hairstyle had led him to believe getting through to her today would be easier.
Apparently, he would have to work harder at getting her to reveal her thoughts. And work harder at restraining the urge to slide his hands through her hair until it all hung loose and flowing around her shoulders. He remembered well the feel of those silken strands gliding through his fingers as he moved inside her—
Hell, there went his concentration again.
He draped his wrist over the steering wheel and searched for just the right way to approach her. Often times the simplest ways worked best. Maybe he’d been trying too hard.
“When my brother and I were kids traveling the world with our parents, we became masters at entertaining ourselves during long flights. I’m thinking now might be a good time to resurrect one of our games.”
She tipped her head toward him. “Oh really? What did you two play?”
Ah, good. She’d taken the bait.
“Our favorite was one we called Quiz Show. I was about ten when we started playing. I was determined to beat my older brother at something. He was still so much taller, but I figured since we were just a year apart, I had a fighting chance at taking him down in a battle of the minds.”
“Tell me more,” she said, toying with the end of her ponytail, which sent his pulse spiking again.
“We’d already been on a transcontinental flight and then had to spend ten more hours in a car. So we’d burned out on books and toys and homework. We started asking each other outrageous questions to stump each other.”
The result? Two very tight brothers. He hoped to re-create that experience with Portia. To learn something about her. “Would you like to play?”
“Uh, sure. You go first, though, and I reserve the right not to answer.”
“Fair enough.” A natural quizmaster, he paused, thinking of his first question. One that would help them flow into more personal topics. “What do you do for fun?”
“Are you being rude?” she asked indignantly.
Well, hell. “What do you mean?”
“You said the questions were meant to stump the other person so your question could be taken as an insult.”
“Damn. I didn’t mean that at all. How about consider this as a new game, our rules. I meant what does Portia Soto do for fun? To unwind? Because I don’t know you well and I’m trying to get to know you better.” He needed more than just raw data. He wanted her quirks, her idiosyncrasies. He wanted to figure out his attraction to her. Once he did, then he could put those tumultuous dreams to rest.
Or know whether to pursue an all-out affair.
She shot him a sideways look, her ponytail swishing, the ribbon rippling in the wind. “Okay, I see what you mean. But you have to promise not to laugh at my answer.”
“I would never. Unless you tell me you make to-do lists for fun. Then I might.” He kept his tone casual, his grip on the leather steering wheel light.
“I may be a Post-it note princess, but that isn’t my ‘fun’ time. No. I actually like to draw.” She said the words so quietly that they were almost swept away by the wind.
“You draw?” He spared her a sidelong glance, noting the way her cheeks flushed, even beneath her oversize sunglasses.
She nodded, pony tail bobbing. “I do.”
“Well, what do you like to draw?” He pressed for progress.
She took a deep breath,