Her Not-So-Secret Diary(2)

His youngest sister Melissa was home already; he could hear the shower  running. Setting the bottle and glasses on the coffee table, he sat on  the sofa and checked his phone for messages and the day's office emails.  He gave most only a cursory glance. Pam would have phoned with anything  urgent.

Sophie Buchanan. The unfamiliar name popped up with a reference to the  Lygon report. Ah … now he remembered Pam had gone home sick yesterday.  Crystal's nine-fifteen call this morning informing him she was in labour  ten days early and that Ian's flight wasn't due in from Sydney for  another hour had pushed everything and everyone out of his mind. Sophie  must be the temp Pam had organised.                       
       
           



       

'Hey, Liss?' he called when he heard movement in the hallway. 'Get your  butt in here. We've got some celebrating to do.' He popped the cork and  filled the glasses as Melissa appeared in the doorway, wrapped in her  robe, her red hair damp about her face.

'Ooh, lovely.' She wasted no time padding across the room and taking the proffered glass. 'Special occasion, Auntie Melissa.'

She grinned, clinked her glass to his but remained standing. 'Welcome to  the world, Arabella Fleur.' She sipped then said, 'She's got your ears.  Nice and flat.'

He tasted the wine, then grinned back, chuffed with the idea that some tiny part of him at least was immortal. 'You think?'

'I do. This is nice.' Another sip, followed by a long, slow swallow. Her  brows arched over her aquamarine eyes as she glanced at the label. 'But  I still prefer the French variety.'

The bubbles fizzed on his tongue as he studied her. Their father's death  had left the three of them orphans. He'd been eighteen, Crystal  thirteen, Melissa just six. She'd never known their mother, who'd died  when she was two weeks old. When had that little girl become this  sophisticated young woman? Too sophisticated. 'You're not supposed to be  experienced enough to know the difference.'

'Oh, pul-lease, I'm nearly eighteen.' She swung away. 'You sound like a father.'

Her accusation took the shine off. Twelve years ago Jared had taken on  the role and responsibilities of both parents. And he didn't regret it  for a minute. But sometimes …

'Maybe,' he acknowledged. 'But I won't apologise for it. I love you, Lissa, and that's never going to change.'

'I know.' Her voice softened and she shook her head. 'But sometimes … '

Yeah. Raising Lissa had been the most challenging experience of his  life. And he had a feeling the hardest part wasn't done yet. The  letting-go part.

'Speaking of fathers … and babies and all … ' Twirling her glass, she pinned  him with the same intense gaze. 'When are you going to find some poor  girl who's willing to put up with your conservative ways and start a  family of your own?' And let me get on with my life, her eyes said.

To avoid her familiar rant, he picked up his phone again, flicked  through his messages once more. 'No hurry. I still have you to look out  for.'

She made a noise at the back of her throat. 'You were my age when Dad  died. When are you going to get it into your head that I'm an adult, w-'

'Not for another three weeks, you're not.'

'And another thing,' she steamrolled ahead. 'I've been … '

What the … ? He blinked, refocused, Melissa's protests fading into the  background somewhere. His name was Jared, and this dream hottie could  scorch her sheets any time he wanted-

'Something wrong?'

'What?' He tore his eyes away momentarily to glimpse Melissa staring at  him. He shook his head, whether in denial or to clear it, he didn't  know. 'It's nothing.' Nothing he wanted to share, least of all with his  baby sister who'd just accused him of being conservative. My  snakeskin-print G-string melted away beneath the heat of his hand and my  thighs fell apart as he- Whoa.

He threw back a mouthful of the bubbly but the liquid did little to  soothe his suddenly very dry, very tight throat. He set the glass down  with a clunk.

'Bad news?'

'Not exactly … ' Though what exactly this was, he didn't know. Yet. But he intended finding out.

'So, as I was saying, I've been giving it some thought, and-'

'Sorry, Liss, I'm going to have to deal with this,' he said, rising. He  caught the frustration in her eyes but he couldn't give her his full  attention until he'd resolved the hot little matter currently burning a  hole in his palm. 'We'll talk later, okay?'

He headed straight for his study and booted up his computer. Drummed his  fingers on the desk. The attachment was titled with today's date. No  reference to Lygon.

He swiped his palms over day-old stubble, clicked the file open. The  text flashed onto the screen. It was pink. Wild, colourful and erotic.  Despite himself, he felt a smile tug the corner of his mouth. The more  he read, the hotter it became.

The hotter he became.

He shifted on his chair to ease a growing pressure beneath the front of  his trousers. The scene was so vivid he could almost feel the silky  smoothness of her inner thighs, the budded nipple against his palm, her  sultry heat as he plunged inside her.                       
       
           



       

When he'd finished, most of his blood had pooled in his lap. He leaned  back, rolled tensed shoulders and shook his head to clear the images.  He'd had no idea words alone could turn a man rock hard in less than a  minute.

Man, he really needed to get laid.

Sophie Buchanan. Had he met her? He didn't recognise the name, but then  he didn't always remember the names of women he'd slept with a few  months after the fact. And it had been that long. His business and  family made sure of that.

Snakeskin print. He grinned to himself. He'd definitely remember  snakeskin. And he was pretty sure he'd have remembered that kinky  position …  Was it even anatomically possible? He was damn well willing to  give it his best shot-given the opportunity …

So … Sophie Buchanan must have attached the wrong document to her email.  Didn't stop him sending it to his printer. Should he ignore it tomorrow?  Mention it to her? Tempting to watch her reaction, but, professionally  speaking, in his place of business? Probably not.

She'd sent it thirty minutes ago, he noted. Had she been in bed? In her  snakeskin G-string, perhaps. Lust hazed his vision, sweat slicked his  palms, his brow, the back of his neck.

Steady, he ordered himself. Then another thought occurred to him. Was  this some kind of set-up? Perhaps it was her intention to get him hot  and bothered. What if she'd deliberately set out to seduce him? Looking  for a more permanent position in his company via his bed. Disgust left a  nasty taste in his mouth. Equally distasteful was the thought that she  was attracted to his wealth and prepared to do anything to savour some  of it.

The printer shot out the first page. That was when he noticed the minuscule print in the footer: dreamdiary.

A dream. Scanning the page, he nodded slowly and his smile returned.  Okay, that made sense. Some woman's dream fantasy … and he'd been the star  attraction. His smile widened to an all-out grin.

What did this woman look like? Masses of unruly wheat-blonde hair. A  wickedly clever mouth. Overinflated breasts with large pink nipples.  Sexy, supple and spontaneous. Sophie.

Still grinning, he folded the two steaming pages, tucked them in his pocket.

He was looking forward to tomorrow morning.



From her car parked nearby, Sophie stared through the windscreen of her  Mazda hatch. The tall building's glass façade seemed to glint with power  and authority in the early morning sunshine. The offices of J Sanderson  Property Investments and Refurbishments occupied the top two floors.

Just the thought of what she had to do had her heart pounding into her  throat, her fingers white-knuckled on the steering wheel. He won't be  there. Please don't let him be there. She'd set his agenda yesterday and  knew he had a breakfast meeting in Coolangatta, a thirty-minute drive  away. He wasn't due at the office until 10:00 a.m.

Which didn't mean squat. In Sophie's experience bosses never did the expected.

She drew in a deep fortifying breath. Get this over with. Gripping her  bag, she climbed out into the already balmy, salt-scented air, smoothed  her fade-into-the-background beige knee-length skirt and headed for the  building.

A few people were out on their morning jog along the wide stretch of  beach, a soft aqua sea foamed along its edge. Not a suit or briefcase in  sight. She checked her watch. Two minutes to seven. She'd not slept a  wink, worrying about Jared Sanderson's reaction if he saw her email  before she could delete it. If he hadn't already checked his emails from  home, that was.

Don't even think about it.

Pam had complained the man never knew when to stop. Sophie's stomach  dipped suddenly as if weighted down with a bag of that wet sand beyond,  and she quickened her steps.