Eating alone was still preferable to being devoured alive.
So he’d grab a few files from the office and pick up some Chinese takeaway on the way home, where he could enjoy that beer while he prepared for tomorrow’s round of meetings. Rogerson had been shaky on the deal before Giuseppe’s collapse had put their negotiations on hold. He mustn’t be allowed to get cold feet now.
The lift doors opened to a still brightly lit office-lobby. Vaguely he registered that the cleaners must be late in servicing the floor, but his mind was still busy anticipating the beer. It had been a frustrating few days, today especially.
Then a filing-cabinet door slammed and the cause of much of today’s frustrations popped her head up behind it.
‘Oh,’ she said, her hazel eyes wide as she quickly removed her earphones and wound them around her iPod. ‘I didn’t hear you come in.’
‘No doubt due to that thing you had stuck in your ears again.’
‘I only just turned it on! It was so quiet here.’
‘What are you doing here, anyway?’ His voice came out gruffer than expected, but he couldn’t help it. Morgan Fielding had played no part in his plans for a quiet evening. Frankly, he didn’t need the aggravation.
And he really didn’t care one way or the other about her MP3 player, other than that if she hadn’t been wearing it this morning she might have heard him approaching and saved him from being subjected to that chorus-girl display of leg. A display of leg that had worked its way into his thoughts at all sorts of inopportune times today, and had raised all sorts of questions—like if the legs hidden under her give-nothing-away skirts looked that good, then what about the rest of her, covered by those ‘take no prisoners’ buttoned-up shirts and jackets she hid herself behind?
What other treasures lay beneath the severe suits, waiting to be revealed?
Her back stiffened as if she’d read his thoughts, her hazel eyes flashing green-tinged sparks. ‘I work here.’
He moved closer, intrigued by the phenomenon. It was something he’d never noticed before, and they’d been working together at least a year and a half. How had he never noticed the way her eyes flared before now? Or was it related to her mood? Her temper had certainly flared more than he’d ever noticed before.
‘I thought you would have gone home by now.’
‘I got in late, remember?’ Eyelids dropped down like shutters over her eyes. ‘I was making up for your precious lost time.’ Her mouth closed on a pout, a full bottom lip supporting a Cupid’s bow that still managed to look lush and inviting even while striking that haughty pose.
She had great lips. Great lips and sensational legs, and eyes that sparked like fireworks, and there was no way he didn’t want to get closer to see what other features Morgan Fielding had been concealing up till now.
Studiously ignoring him, she tilted her head away and picked up another piece of paper from the pile next to her, looked it over briefly, and dragged open the top drawer of the cabinet, her fingers searching through for the correct file.
‘You already worked through lunch,’ he said, edging closer until he was alongside her as she selected a file and slipped the paperwork in. He caught a whiff of her scent as she moved, and he drank it in like fine wine. Whatever it was, it suited her—warm and womanly and evocative. And definitely not subtle.
He leaned one arm up on the filing cabinet next to where she was working and studied her. Her hair was different too. Normally it didn’t move all day, but today it had refused to be imprisoned from the start, and the course of a few hours had further relaxed it. He liked the way it escaped in tiny curling tendrils that seemed to shine in a dozen colours, from dark blond through to sun gold. ‘You don’t eat?’
‘I was very late. Unforgivably so, apparently. I figured me taking time out to eat was a luxury the company could ill afford.’
He noticed she didn’t look at him. He also noticed the colour was rising in her cheeks. With anger? Although, she didn’t seem angry, more bothered by his proximity. What did she think he was going to do? She was his PA, for heaven’s sake.
She replaced the file in the cabinet but it was Maverick who caught the drawer and pushed it closed.
She looked up at him. ‘What are you doing? I haven’t finished.’
‘And just what do you think you’re doing?’
‘What does it look like I’m doing?’ she snapped. ‘I’m taking a bath!’
He blinked, the mental picture that comment suddenly evoked too much to digest. A bath and those legs—now there was a heady combination. Even better, someone would have to peel down those stockings for her first. Breath whistled through his teeth while once again fire flared into life in his groin. A damn shame she was his PA. A damn shame.