Day Leclaire - More Than Perfect

“I didn’t expect him to flirt with me,” she confessed. “I thought that was my job.”

“Yes, that took me by surprise, too.” His head turned. All but his eyes remained in shadow, darkness buried within darkness. But those eyes … Heaven help her, they pierced through the night and arrowed straight into her soul. Could he see her thoughts, sense what she felt? The rational part of her knew it wasn’t possible. The more visceral, feminine parts responded to the sheer maleness of him … and wanted. “If you’ll recall, I did mention that you’re a very attractive woman.”

“With the right clothes and hairstyle, that is.”

She could feel the burn of his gaze sweep over her. Strip her. “And I was right. That’s one hell of a dress, Colter. What there is of it.”

Her grip tightened on her wrap and she refused to look at him, afraid to look in case she lost the tenuous hold she maintained on her self-control. What would he do if she fisted her hands in that black silk jacket and yanked him to her? Kissed him in a way no employee had any business kissing her boss? Would he take her? Or reject her?

“You disapprove of my choice?” she asked.

The power of his gaze grew weightier, sharper. So tightly focused she could feel it laser into her very bones. “Hell, no. Though now that I’ve seen you in this, I’m not sure I can stand having you wear any more of those chair upholstery suits you favor.”

“That isn’t your decision.” Her head swiveled in his direction and she fought to keep her voice cold and distant. “Nor do you have any say in the matter.”

“And if I insist on having a say? If I claim the way you dress reflects on me? On Diablo?”

Furious words rose up, fighting for escape, trembling on the verge of utterance. To her profound relief, the cab pulled to a stop in front of her house. Not waiting for Lucius to play the part of the gentleman, she erupted from the cab. “Thank you for escorting me home. I’ll see you Monday morning.”

She slammed the door closed before he had a chance to reply and flew up the steps of her 1940s era Craftsman cottage. She fumbled in her envelope purse for her key, found it and was just about to jam it into the lock when she heard the slow, deliberate footsteps climbing the stairs behind her. She spun around. The cab was gone.

Lucius wasn’t.

“Well?” he asked. “Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

Bad idea. Very bad idea. “Sure.” Idiot. “Would you like a cup of coffee?”

“Sounds perfect.”

She fought to address him with a casual air and came within waving distance. Not that she fooled him. Lucius wasn’t a man to fool, or a man to make a fool of. He continued to regard her with a watchful gaze, seeing far too much for her peace of mind. “I’ll give you the grand tour while it’s brewing. Not that it’s all that grand,” she chattered. It took four tries to get her key into the lock and the door opened. She threw a brilliant smile over her shoulder. “I guess the first improvement on my list is better lighting so I can see to open the door.”

He returned her smile, though his eyes were knowing. Of course they were, damn him. Devlin never missed a thing. He stepped across the threshold and closed the door behind him, overpowering the dainty, feminine foyer with an excess of testosterone. He glanced around, nodding in approval. “This is charming, Angie.”

“It needs paint. Carpets. Upgraded plumbing.” Babbling! “But the electrical is sound, as is the basic structure.”

He took his time looking around. “I like that the place has its original molding and hardwood floors. So many of the older homes have had those things stripped out and sold to restoration companies.”

She led the way to the kitchen and started the coffee brewing. “Speaking of restoration, I was thinking about restoring the ‘40s look of the place, sort of like what Moretti did with the Diamondt building. Retro appliances. Antiques from that time period.” She removed cups and saucers from the cupboard, her enthusiasm taking over. “It has two bedrooms and baths on this level, along with a powder room. One of the baths would be perfect for a claw-foot tub and one of those elegant pedestal sinks. Then there’s the upstairs. It’s unfinished right now and I’m not sure whether I want to put in a master suite up there or an office.”

“A master suite would add more to the resell value. You can always turn one of the downstairs bedrooms into a home office.”

She poured the coffee and turned to hand him a cup. He was so close she almost dumped it on him. “Sorry,” she murmured, taking a swift step backward that jammed her up against the counter. For some reason she had difficulty meeting his gaze. “There are times I think this place is built more like a dollhouse than a house meant for adults.”

“You’re nervous. That’s a first for you.” He tilted his head to one side, his eyes as black as the bowels of hell. “Why is that, Angie?”

She made a helpless shrug. “You’re my boss. And we’re in my home.”

“And we’re blurring the lines?”

“Something like that,” she admitted. Honesty forced her to confess, “Okay, totally that.”

“Normally, we aren’t the sort of people who blur lines.”

“No.”

But she wished she were. If she weren’t afraid it would mean losing her job, she’d accept the offer she could read in his gaze. Part of her urged her to do just that. After all, what did it matter? He’d made it clear he intended to marry. If he did, she’d quit. Why not take a chance before that happened? Why not show him that she was so much more than a piece of office furniture. That she was a woman with a woman’s emotions. All it would take was a kiss. A single kiss.

As soon as the thought came to her, she instantly dismissed it. Just where would that kiss lead? Straight to bed. To bed, where she’d be able to prove to him beyond a shadow of a doubt that while she excelled as his PA, she was a total disaster as the sort of woman who usually graced his bed. The stunning Lisa had managed to keep two brilliant and powerful men hooked. Angie closed her eyes. She hadn’t even been able to hook one.

“Lucius—”

He lifted a hand, cut her off. “Tonight was a disaster. You realize that, don’t you?”

Her brows pulled together in consternation. “You said it wasn’t my fault.”

“I lied. It was your fault.”

“Wait a minute. Wait just one damn minute.” She set her cup and saucer on the counter, the porcelain singing in protest. “You told me to flirt with him.”

“I told you to distract him. You didn’t distract him.” It only took a single step in her direction to have him invading her personal space. “You distracted me. And he bloody well knew it. Knew it and took advantage of that fact.”

“And you blame me for that?” she demanded indignantly.

“I blame it on that damn dress.” Burning flames of desire flared to life in his gaze, sweeping like wildfire across her skin, scorching in its intensity. All she could do was stare in return, bathing in the irresistible flames. “Maybe it would help if you took it off …”

Lucius heard the swift, panicked catch of Angie’s breath. God help him. Even that was sexy as hell. Why had he never noticed? How could he have been so blind?

“Have you lost your mind?” she demanded.

“Probably,” he admitted. Definitely.

“You can’t seriously expect me to strip down—”

“Expect? No. Hope?” He invaded the final few inches between them and caught the flutter of her pulse at the base of her throat, heard the swift give-and-take of her breath. “Oh, yeah.”