He pulled it back while hers disappeared into her lap. He flexed his fingers and this time claimed his bread, musing. He didn’t know if she was charged with static electricity because her clothes were full of artificial fibres, but every time he touched her she seemed to spark under his skin.
‘Everything’s fine,’ she answered blandly, yet the colour in her cheeks belied her tone, her voice carrying a noticeable quake.
‘I have some paperwork from the lawyers for you to sign after dinner if you’re up to it.’
She perked up immediately. ‘Do you have news about the house?’
He shook his head, saw the hope in her eyes die and wondered if he should share the news. Decided she had a right to know the truth. ‘But the lawyers say he’s entitled to make a claim, even though the property was in your name.’ Why she was so obsessed with the old place was beyond him, though he could understand why she thought it was unfair Shayne should get anything of hers after the way he’d treated her. ‘The lawyers are still looking into it. This is actually about our agreement.’
She looked at him blankly, as if her mind was still worrying about the house she might lose.
‘You don’t have to do it today if you want to check it with another lawyer. There’s no rush.’ And then he sat there wondering why he’d just said that. He wanted everything in writing as soon as possible. He didn’t want any chance of her changing her mind or developing a taste for the high life and demanding more. He wanted this thing nailed down now.
‘It’s okay,’ she said numbly. ‘Best to know where everyone stands from the start.’ She nodded then and he was suddenly transfixed by the movement in her hair. That was what was so different. There were layers of it, he realised, and as she moved her head they shifted, independently and yet together, like a field of wheat rippling in the breeze, with feathery ends flicking playfully in the light.
And then he focused again and she was watching him, wary and unsure. ‘I might actually skip dessert and get an early night,’ she said. ‘Maybe if I could just sign those documents now?’
‘It’s too much!’ she protested ten minutes later in his office. ‘Nobody needs twenty thousand dollars a month for living expenses.’
‘How do you know?’ he argued back, wishing she’d just sign it if she was in such a goddamn hurry to get back to her suite and trying to ignore the way the layers of her hair bobbed around her head as she moved and the scent of raspberries and oranges that seemed to be taking over his office. ‘You’ll need new clothes as the baby grows. Let’s face it, you could do with some new clothes now.’
Her cheeks flamed with heat. ‘But twenty thousand dollars? You clearly don’t know where I shop.’
‘So shop somewhere else. Or save the money! Book a cruise. Give it to charity. I don’t care what you do with it—just sign the agreement.’
If she could tell he sounded tense he didn’t care. He wanted her out of his office. She was too close, that damned scent of fruit wrapping around him, the soft layers of her hair dancing an invitation with even the slightest tilt of her head. And what it did to her eyes! She had the most amazing eyes. Not just blue. On a paint chart they’d probably call it ‘cerulean dreaming’.
He backed away, ostensibly to give her more room at the desk but in reality to give himself a chance to get his head together.
What was happening to him? His office had seemed a good choice a few minutes ago. Businesslike and masculine, he’d reasoned, how he liked his office to be. But somehow right now with this woman looking over a document on his desk, he was having trouble remembering what businesslike felt like. He had no such trouble when it came to remembering masculine.
His hormones were clearly dusty if he was feeling attracted to this woman.
‘All right,’ she conceded tightly. ‘It’s your money, after all,’ and he blew out a long breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding as finally she signed her name first on one copy and then the other. ‘Where else did you say to initial?’ she asked, and he was forced to move closer again, flicking a page in the document she was looking at and pointing to where she needed to put her mark. But it was her hair his eyes were drawn to as he leaned over her, and how the ends danced and flirted with his every breath, as if they were alive and oh, so responsive.
She turned her head then, her face perilously close to his, her blue eyes wide with surprise, her lips parted on a question, and right at that moment he thought that whatever her question was, he was the answer.