Tempting the Corporate Spy(17)

“Jon.”

He came to. “I’m sorry?”

She glanced back his way, turning on the coffee maker. “I said do you want some coffee or do you have to get going?”

“Coffee this time of night?” he said weakly. “You’ll be up for hours.”

“I want to be.”

So did he, but he doubted they had the same idea for a nighttime activity. Fuck the desk. For this he’d need a bed and both of them to forget their respective work for a little while. Suddenly, shockingly, that was all he wanted.

“I don’t have much luck with guys at bars,” she was saying now, her back still turned to him as she busied herself getting a mug down from the cupboard. “Or at all, I guess you might say.”

He should go on home. Return tomorrow and fight the good fight. Not sit here, drawn by the vulnerable note in her voice and the insane sense he was getting that she didn’t have any confidence in her own incredible attractiveness to the opposite sex.

He could pretty easily prove her wrong, right here, right now.

“The guys you meet are nuts then.”

“Thanks. Maybe. I don’t know, Jen always had a way with guys and I just…didn’t.” Her slender shoulders shrugged. “I’m focused on my career, so it doesn’t matter. But sometimes, I don’t know, I’d like to be asked to dance, I guess.”

He stood up. “Well, that was an invitation if I’ve ever heard one.”

If he couldn’t do what he really wanted right now, at least he’d have an excuse to touch her.

She glanced back at him with a slight smile as he went to the old-fashioned radio on the corner of the countertop.

“Jon, that was Cecily’s, I’m warning you. Who knows what’ll come out of it.”

With a twist of the knob, it was Sinatra that did. Cool. He loved Sinatra. Kind of a sign he figured. Fly me to the moon.

He held out a hand to her. “Okay. Come on. Dance with me.”

She shook her head, laughing. “I wasn’t hinting for a dance. I was just talking too much. I don’t know why…you’re a very good listener, Mr. Consultant. That’s all.”

“I’m a very good dancer too.”

“Well, newsflash, I’m not.” Her hands seemed glued to the sink. “I’ll embarrass us both.”

“It’s impossible to be embarrassed when there are only two people on the dance floor and nobody’s watching. I promise.”

Carefully, he pried her hands away from the sink, the first touch between them electric, and then tugged her to him, keeping their joined hands clasped up by his chest, as he put his other lightly on her waist and she draped her free one on his shoulder.

They moved together slowly, gradually.

Let me see what spring is like/ on Jupiter and Mars…

“See? You can so dance, Miss Altman.”

“There was a lot more gyrating going on at the bar.”

Swaying to Sinatra, their bodies not quite touching, their eyes locked. Hers were some subtle combination of forest green and gold glints, with surprisingly dark eyelashes for a blonde, though he doubted she had any makeup on. She looked fresh scrubbed and achingly lovely with bare pink lips. He wanted to nuzzle her soft neck and feel the butterfly touch of her lashes against his cheek as they danced. He settled for bringing their clasped hands to his mouth and lightly kissing her fingers, hearing her draw in a quick breath.

“So chivalrous,” she said in a low tone.

Chivalrous, hell. It took every damn ounce of willpower he had not to tug her toward him and close the distance between them. To keep dancing. But he did. He wanted her to have her spin.

With her height, they fit well as he twirled her around and dipped her, an endeavor she suffered with a yelp, their faces close together as he swooped her up again.

You are all I long for/all I worship and adore…

They would fit perfectly making love. He was sure she must be thinking the same thing as the erection he was holding off made a resurgence, just as the song ended.

“That was nice. Thanks.” She pulled away and shut Sinatra off before he went on to his next number. “But I should get to work.”

She went over to the sink, pouring some coffee and taking a sip before setting it down to spoon nondairy creamer in her cup. During the workday, she had been a little jumpy around him. But now, in her flimsy nightclothes, when she should be on guard, wary of how she would look to a guy, to him, she seemed oblivious.

He didn’t think of Dickhead and his threats. He didn’t think of anti-piracy. He didn’t even think of Julie.

His only thought was for this girl who fit so well in his arms.

He stood behind her, with no more than a breath of air between her back and his front, and she could not fail to hear his uneven breathing. She set the spoon down slowly and turned to face him, which was even more dangerous now that they weren’t dancing, and made him even more sure of what he wanted to do here.