He reached out and pulled the heavy frames away from her face. “Maybe we should try one more?”
If she wanted to embrace her feminine mystique and declare her sexuality fully emancipated, or at least emancipated enough to hold her own with her ex’s new lover, now was the time to go for it. Forget resistance. Go for an uninhibited stunner of a kiss.
“I think I could pencil one in,” she said, sounding more like an academic than a siren.#p#分页标题#e#
Still smiling, he bent his head to kiss her a second time, but as he drew close, a tsunami of panic overtook her and she backed away, suddenly afraid of letting go, of being truly seen. She’d hidden for so long behind her cardigans and books, always safe and out of harm’s way, never really noticed or admired. She’d always been happy enough that way, content to tap away on her keyboard or read a novel. Another kiss might illuminate the truth that she was the runaway cake jumper, and despite her recent attempts to break out of her shell, Marianne avoided the spotlight. She wasn’t ready for the truth. Not tonight. Maybe not ever.
She bit down hard on her bottom lip. If she was honest, some small part of her hoped he’d recognize her; wanted him to see her as more than the nerdy new girl with the glasses—see her, the essential her—but that was an impossible fantasy. Hiding was safer. She eased her glasses from his grip and settled them back on her nose, all traces of her inner siren a distant memory. “Next week. I’ll pencil it in next week.”
“I’ll take the rain check,” he said, as easy as basic math.
And then Nick Wright did something unexpected. A loose curl had fallen from her usual, pinned back style, and he reached out to brush it away from the curve of her cheek with his thumb. So gentle. So endearing.
So charming that Marianne’s heart fell, just a little bit more, temporarily in crush with the unattainable man who was all wrong for her. Trouble was, what was she going to do about it?
Chapter Six
“The list of things women like is long and contradictory.”
—mantelligence.com
Last night was a close call.
Nick slammed shut the leather cover of his tablet computer, wondering why the hell he’d kissed her on the rooftop. Chalk it up to habit—see an attractive woman, swoop in for the kiss. But she was off-limits. The deal was simple, six weeks of a platonic engagement in exchange for the partnership he’d always dreamed about. And then there was his sister’s warning and his own determination to keep things hands-off.
The whole damned situation was playing tricks with his head. Marianne was pretty in an awkward, utensil-dropping way—and there was something else, too, something he couldn’t name, something familiar, that made him weigh the pros and cons of kissing her again. But if he were smart, he’d steer clear. He enjoyed being the guy with a new woman every other week. No commitment, no one to hurt.
Besides, his fiancée was not his type. He’d been right to peg her as buttoned-up and uptight, even if she could be warm and intelligent, too. He tapped his fingers on top of the tablet. Yeah, something about her didn’t add up. And he liked things to add up.
He liked straightforward answers based on fact, not suppositions and intuition, and he made sure every case that crossed his desk reached a clean resolution, albeit generally in his favor. He put in long hours at the office and dug deep into case law to get the job done. His workaholic ways and lack of interest in commitment left little time for mysteries or love—Nick was fine with that. Keep it forthright. Keep it light. He didn’t like puzzles. A challenge, yes. A conundrum, no.
But he liked Marianne.
He liked her bright blue eyes. Liked her citrusy scent and the impossibly familiar definition of her killer legs. Liked her unexpected vulnerability. And he liked the idea of seeping under her reserve and causing a total meltdown. Loved the idea, actually.
Oddly enough, his gut told him she’d like that, too. But none of it made sense. Why had he never noticed her before? Certainly it wasn’t all about the Zumba gear. No, she didn’t add up. Blushing one second, negotiating the next. He’d figure it out. His fingers tapped a deliberate rhythm on his desk, trying to unravel the puzzle that was Marianne McBride.#p#分页标题#e#
“You’ve got that lost-in-love look on your face there, partner.”
Nick’s gaze slid in the direction of the sarcastic remark and sure enough, Drew Evans was at the other end of it. Prick. “Not a partner yet,” he said in an even, professional tone.
Jesus, that guy was always around to cause trouble. Like Nick, he was a senior associate. But unlike Nick, he was a slacker, all play, no ethics, and zero hours burning the midnight oil. Destroying a colleague to get ahead was closer to his modus operandi. More than likely, he’d started the rumor that led Nick to need a fiancée. Son of a bitch was ruthless.