Sheer, ball-gripping panic had scattered his normally sharp thoughts. It was Sara Beth who made the connection.
“You’re Alex’s new executive assistant! What a pleasure to meet you.” She dropped his hand and advanced on Cailin, her feminine skirt swirling around her. “I’m Sara Beth Brannigan, Alex’s wife.”
Cailin’s face paled, going sheet white and strained in seconds, and he wondered if she would actually faint—and what the hell he would do about it—but he had to give her credit for class and discretion. She squared her shoulders and greeted Sara Beth politely, exchanging pleasantries as she studiously avoided looking toward him. Were her hands shaking the way they had the first time he’d touched her? He pushed the thought away quickly, ignoring Sara Beth’s questioning look.
What the hell was he going to do? The entire situation hung in a delicate balance he wasn’t sure he could deal with right now, wasn’t sure he wanted to deal with. He’d deliberately left Cailin without a way to contact him—he had no room in his life for a lover, even if she’d been the type to accept the only kind of arrangement he might be free to offer. She wasn’t, and he couldn’t. It was too dangerous, too unethical, too something he would never have considered.
Until he’d met Cailin. Until he’d touched her.
The women were moving slowly into the outer office, friendly chatter filling in his blaring silence. Sara Beth he didn’t worry about; she’d happily wait until tonight to have her curiosity satisfied. But Cailin? How the hell did he handle the fact that she would work for him day in and day out, in close quarters, usually alone—he groaned silently at the thought—and not explain why this wasn’t the disaster she thought it was, why he wasn’t the bastard she would, rightly, to her at least, label him? How—
The outer door opened, and James Allen walked in. Good ol’ boy that he was, the barrel-chested investor ignored the two women right in front of him and walked straight to Alex. “Brannigan, sorry about the change this morning. Car wouldn’t start, damn thing. You know how that is.”
Likely not, considering the fact that Allen’s car was a stretch limo complete with driver. His assistant had called earlier to explain the wait for the company to send out a new car, asking to change the location of their meeting from Allen’s office to his. “No problem, James. This works just as well for me.”
After shaking the man’s hand, Alex escorted him into the inner office. Pausing at the door, he hesitated for a long moment before he turned back to Cailin. Tight white lines traced the edges of her mouth, but it was the determination in her shoulders that concerned him. Determination to what? Run? Cuss him black-and-blue? Whatever it was, he had a feeling he was dangling on a very short rope; he’d have to figure out how to extend it before he ended up dropping off the cliff—or hanging himself with what was left.
He spoke carefully. “Bring us some coffee, please, Cailin. And hold my calls until lunch. We’ll talk then.”
Her lips pressed into a firm slash, but she didn’t contradict him. “Certainly, Mr. Brannigan,” she said in the perfect executive assistant’s voice. “I’ll be in directly.”
Sara Beth walked casually toward him, snuggled against his chest, the minx, and whispered in his ear, “And we’ll talk tonight.”
When he looked down, a devilish light sparkled in her eyes. She tiptoed up and brushed his cheek with a light kiss. “Have a good day, love.”
Love. Her nickname for him, their own private little joke. But today all he could think about was how Cailin would take it. Forcing a smile, he nodded before turning his body and his thoughts to the man waiting in his office. Anything to avoid the disaster facing him when this meeting was over.
* * * *
She tried to cut herself some slack; she really did. She hadn’t known he was married when she slept with him. She hadn’t asked… Oh God, she hadn’t asked! She’d just assumed everyone would be as honest as she was, that the act of sex would make it as impossible for him to fake emotions as it did for her. She knew how hard it was to fake affection; she’d done it for the last two years of her marriage, or year if you counted only the time she’d actually had any hope of getting laid. Maybe she was just too stupid to figure out how a true expert did it.
Alex, on the other hand, had obviously mastered the art of lying with his body. She would have bet her life that the intensity of his attraction had moved beyond the physical. That he enjoyed her body had been evidenced by the fact that he could get it up; it took something more to actually interact with interest and emotion and seeming honesty. Heck, he’d missed his calling. An Academy Award-winning performance, no doubt about it.