“Luke? Your nine thirty is here.”
Luke looked away from the screen with the stock market prices unreeling on it, and checked the other monitor, where his current schedule was displayed.
Not that he needed to check. He knew exactly who he was meeting at nine thirty.
Marisa Clair.
So, she’d actually turned up. And on time, too. He’d half expected her not to since she’d already made it clear she wasn’t the kind of woman who did what she was told.
He sat back in his chair, satisfaction unwinding through him, not to mention a very unwelcome burst of anticipation. Neither of which he should be feeling.
This was a work-related matter. About the use of company e-mail. He had to remember that and not think of underwear of any kind. Or kisses. Or lipstick on his shirt…
Gritting his teeth, Luke made a minute adjustment to the knot of his tie, made sure the cuffs of his shirt were a touch clear of his jacket. Then he pressed the intercom button. “Send her in please, Lisa.”
A minute later, his office door opened and a petite blond woman walked in. She appeared…different from the woman he remembered from the wedding. Then, she’d nearly been falling out of her green silk bridesmaid’s dress, tawny gold curls trailing coyly over her shoulder, like a pinup from a men’s magazine. Today, though, those gold curls were pulled up on top of her head in a neat-as-a-pin bun, and instead of a green dress, she wore a plain black pencil skirt with a red blouse.
The combination should have made her look businesslike and professional, but it didn’t. It made her look illegal.
Heat pooled in his groin. The fit of her skirt was exact, outlining every contour, as did the red cotton of her blouse as it pulled tight across her full breasts. The color matched her lipstick, drawing attention to the perfect shape of her mouth. And the way she walked in those sky-high black stiletto shoes… There was something inherently sensual about her that appealed to the primitive male inside him.
Damn. Why was that? And why the hell did it have to be her?
He’d been hoping that his inexplicable attraction to her, that insane chemistry that had sparked between them at Christie and Joseph’s wedding, had been a fluke. Something entirely situational. But apparently not.
How bloody irritating. Still, irritating or otherwise, one thing was for sure: he wasn’t going to forget himself as he had that night. Today he would remain in control of himself and of the situation.
He’d allow himself fifteen minutes to give her his thoughts on her behavior, see that it wouldn’t keep happening, then get rid of her. Once he’d dealt with her, he could meet with the Gibson Group managers knowing he was on top of things. Totally in command of his company. Totally in command of himself. As any normal CEO would.
That should be easy, shouldn’t it?
Marisa halted in front of his desk. She had one button of her blouse undone and he found his gaze resting on the necklace around her neck, a thin silver chain with a little misshapen blue glass bead threaded through it. A strange kind of necklace to have only one bead, and a very oddly shaped bead at that. Also, the blue glass should be resting in the hollow of her throat and wasn’t. It was ever so slightly off-center. His fingers itched, desperate to put it straight.
She gave a delicate cough and raised a perfectly arched brow. “Ahem. I believe I’m allowed to have one button undone without it becoming ‘revealing.’ If that’s what was bothering you.”
And he realized he’d been staring. For at least a full twenty seconds without saying a word.
Goddammit. He had a schedule to get through. He should not be standing around gawking at women.
“No, of course it wasn’t,” he said coolly, getting to his feet and gesturing toward one of the chairs behind her. “Please sit down.”
“Thank you.” She did so, giving him an amused smile in the process. As if she knew exactly what he was thinking. A woman fully cognizant of her beauty and its effect on men. It would have annoyed him if he hadn’t noticed the faint blush of color on her cheekbones.
Interesting. Was that in response to him? It disturbed him to realize that he was very satisfied by that idea.
Marisa gave a little wiggle in the chair, a movement that shot his blood pressure up another notch, smoothed her skirt, then clasped her hands around one knee. She cocked her head, eyeing him from beneath the most ridiculously long lashes he’d ever seen.
“So,” she said in a smoky, husky voice. “What happened to us keeping our distance from each other, then?”
He came around the side of the desk, then leaned back against it. Folded his arms. “I could ask you the same question.”