“Thank God that’s over!”
Miranda Austin tossed her leather document binder onto her
blotter, threw herself down into her chair and kicked off her shoes beneath her
broad leathertopped desk. How was it that sometimes after these high-level
meetings, she felt as if she’d been put through a mangle when she returned from
the boardroom? Closing her eyes, she tried to claw back her usual calm and poise
and center herself.
“Tough gig?” enquired her personal assistant, Patrick Dove, as
he crossed the office toward her.
“I’ll say…” She breathed in deep, finding it hard to settle.
“But I got my way in the end, even though it took some doing with those idiots
from Overseas Assets.”
“You always get your way.” Patrick’s tone was smooth and
quiet—not false praise, but a simple observation. “Would you like some coffee,
boss?”
Patrick made perfect coffee, but right now, Miranda felt too
wired and too wound up to appreciate it. Eyes still closed, she shook her
head.
“Is there something else I can do for you?” He paused, and the
room seemed unnaturally quiet, almost as if neither of them were even breathing.
“Some other way I can help you instead?”
Patrick said words like that a hundred times a week at least.
Both to her and to the many clients and colleagues he had to deal with on her
behalf. But this time Miranda knew he really meant them. Not that he didn’t mean
them when he was answering her calls, of course. It was just that today his
soft, suave, charming voice sounded different somehow, weighted and full of
strange intent as if he were trying to manipulate her in a benign yet subtle
manner.
Miranda’s eyes snapped open. She frowned. Was she imagining
things? Probably. She was just tired, a bit burnt out and weary of deals and
wrangling. She loved that she was the highest-ranked woman in the company, and
generally she relished even the most confrontational meetings, but sometimes,
like now, it all drained her. What she needed was a lift, a boost, and seeing
Patrick studying her so intently with those beautiful, sexy, compassionate eyes
of his, she suddenly found herself saying, “I don’t know…. But I do need something …. Maybe you should whisk me off my feet and
take me away from all this?”
“Okay then. I will.” His voice sounded different in a new way
now. Brisk. Decisive. In charge. His gentle eyes somehow weren’t quite as gentle
anymore, either, but they twinkled with a light of daring and challenge. “You
don’t have any meetings this afternoon. Let’s go for a drive, get out of town,
play hooky for a few hours.”
Heart shuddering inside her, she felt nervous, excited. As if
something wonderful were about to happen, but she didn’t quite know what.
Leaving the office for the afternoon was absurd, out of the question. She had
little enough time to catch up these days. But something in Patrick’s smile, and
the almost cocky way he was studying her, made her think of a box of chocolates
or a heady, potent cocktail. A treat, indulgent but irresistible. And when he
flicked his tongue over his lower lip, her body surged, rousing suddenly and
hard.
“I’ve got too much work to do.” Her voice sounded odd, too,
light and feathery when usually she was so cool, contained and on top of
everything.
“Well, you said you wanted to get away from it all.” His eyes
narrowed, still teasing, still tempting.
“No, I didn’t, not really…you know I didn’t mean it.”
“Ah, but I’m psychic. I can tell you really did mean it.”
Was he arguing with her? He didn’t usually do that, but this
time it seemed he was, and as his challenging smile broadened, the mad, insane,
totally inappropriate fluttering in her nether regions intensified. She’d always
mildly fancied Patrick in a rather disciplined, disconnected way, but her
feelings never broken through or taken control like this.
“No, you’re not psychic. There’re no such thing as psychic
powers. You’re
Miranda Austin tossed her leather document binder onto her
blotter, threw herself down into her chair and kicked off her shoes beneath her
broad leathertopped desk. How was it that sometimes after these high-level
meetings, she felt as if she’d been put through a mangle when she returned from
the boardroom? Closing her eyes, she tried to claw back her usual calm and poise
and center herself.
“Tough gig?” enquired her personal assistant, Patrick Dove, as
he crossed the office toward her.
“I’ll say…” She breathed in deep, finding it hard to settle.
“But I got my way in the end, even though it took some doing with those idiots
from Overseas Assets.”
“You always get your way.” Patrick’s tone was smooth and
quiet—not false praise, but a simple observation. “Would you like some coffee,
boss?”
Patrick made perfect coffee, but right now, Miranda felt too
wired and too wound up to appreciate it. Eyes still closed, she shook her
head.
“Is there something else I can do for you?” He paused, and the
room seemed unnaturally quiet, almost as if neither of them were even breathing.
“Some other way I can help you instead?”
Patrick said words like that a hundred times a week at least.
Both to her and to the many clients and colleagues he had to deal with on her
behalf. But this time Miranda knew he really meant them. Not that he didn’t mean
them when he was answering her calls, of course. It was just that today his
soft, suave, charming voice sounded different somehow, weighted and full of
strange intent as if he were trying to manipulate her in a benign yet subtle
manner.
Miranda’s eyes snapped open. She frowned. Was she imagining
things? Probably. She was just tired, a bit burnt out and weary of deals and
wrangling. She loved that she was the highest-ranked woman in the company, and
generally she relished even the most confrontational meetings, but sometimes,
like now, it all drained her. What she needed was a lift, a boost, and seeing
Patrick studying her so intently with those beautiful, sexy, compassionate eyes
of his, she suddenly found herself saying, “I don’t know…. But I do need something …. Maybe you should whisk me off my feet and
take me away from all this?”
“Okay then. I will.” His voice sounded different in a new way
now. Brisk. Decisive. In charge. His gentle eyes somehow weren’t quite as gentle
anymore, either, but they twinkled with a light of daring and challenge. “You
don’t have any meetings this afternoon. Let’s go for a drive, get out of town,
play hooky for a few hours.”
Heart shuddering inside her, she felt nervous, excited. As if
something wonderful were about to happen, but she didn’t quite know what.
Leaving the office for the afternoon was absurd, out of the question. She had
little enough time to catch up these days. But something in Patrick’s smile, and
the almost cocky way he was studying her, made her think of a box of chocolates
or a heady, potent cocktail. A treat, indulgent but irresistible. And when he
flicked his tongue over his lower lip, her body surged, rousing suddenly and
hard.
“I’ve got too much work to do.” Her voice sounded odd, too,
light and feathery when usually she was so cool, contained and on top of
everything.
“Well, you said you wanted to get away from it all.” His eyes
narrowed, still teasing, still tempting.
“No, I didn’t, not really…you know I didn’t mean it.”
“Ah, but I’m psychic. I can tell you really did mean it.”
Was he arguing with her? He didn’t usually do that, but this
time it seemed he was, and as his challenging smile broadened, the mad, insane,
totally inappropriate fluttering in her nether regions intensified. She’d always
mildly fancied Patrick in a rather disciplined, disconnected way, but her
feelings never broken through or taken control like this.
“No, you’re not psychic. There’re no such thing as psychic
powers. You’re
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