Hightower Affairs 2: Bedding the Secret Heiress by Emilie Rose

action reminded him of Lauren doing the same downstairs. His body reacted with a physical kick he couldn’t prevent.
    He yanked his thoughts back to the woman in front of him. “This morning you said Trent had been snooping when I mentioned a rich lover.”
    Lauren shot a startled look at him over her shoulder as she stopped at her bedroom door. “Excuse me?”
    “Do you have a lover waiting for you?” What kind of man would let a woman like her out of sight for months on end?
    “I’m not seeing anyone and haven’t for…a while.” She grimaced as if she regretted replying, unlocked her door and after an awkward hesitation stepped inside. “I don’t have a printed copy of my paper. You’ll have to read it on my laptop unless you have a portable printer.”
    “Not this trip.” He set his briefcase on the floor by the door and scanned the room. Flowers and ruffles dominated the decor. Not surprising since most of the house looked as if it had been hit by a lace factory explosion. “Boot up.”
    She shifted on her feet and nibbled her bottom lip, clearly uncomfortable with him in her room. Then she squared her shoulders, crossed the Aubusson rug and sat at the rolltop desk. She opened her laptop and turned it on. Her room, like his, lacked a spare chair. He’d requested suites with bathrooms attached, but he’d booked at the last minute and both of those had already been taken by honeymoon couples he had yet to see, although he had heard some telltale knocking on the wall last night—presumably a headboard. When his assistant played back his dictation he’d probably wonder what in the hell Gage had been doing.
    “What exactly were you looking for at the plant today?”
    Lauren’s question drew him back to the present. He sat on the edge of the pillow-laden bed within a yard of her and tried to engage his brain. Work was rarely a top priority when he visited a woman’s bedroom. “Ways to increase efficiency and profitability. Cutting waste is usually the first step.”
    “Did you find some? You certainly took a lot of notes.”
    “I’m still assimilating data.”
    “Ah, yes. Assess, assimilate, communicate and implement,” she quoted his earlier words back at him.
    “You paid attention during the car ride to the location.”
    “Yep.” Her unexpected smile punched the air from his lungs. “Flying is all about acronyms. All I had to do was make up one to fit your strategy. AACI. Piece of cake. So now what?”
    “I’ll take the data I gather back to my office, and my team and I will go over it and brainstorm strategies for improvement.”
    “I would have expected you to fly solo.”
    She’d read him correctly. “Having a team of specialists allows us to take on more clients.”
    More clients meant more revenue. More revenue meant more investments. More investments meant a greater chance of financial security if his business failed. Watching his father’s financial and mental collapse had taught Gage to always have Plans A, B and C ready to implement at a moment’s notice.
    Lauren swiveled in her chair to open the file on her computer, revealing the back of her neck and a tiny horseshoe-shaped birthmark just beneath her hairline. Trent had the same one. Gage had noticed it back in college when his buddy had sported a military buzz cut.
    Gage couldn’t take his eyes off Lauren’s vulnerable nape. He tugged the pencil from her hair, letting the strands fall and cover temptation. The urge to test the texture of her hair was an unwelcome one.
    Her spine went rigid and then relaxed. “Oops. Forgot about that. I stole a pencil. Internal theft—the curse of the corporate world.”
    The mischief in her eyes as she looked at him over her shoulder thickened his throat. “Return it tomorrow.”
    She lifted her glass, sipped and swallowed, once again drawing his eyes to her mouth the way a Dumpster draws flies.
    “Tomorrow is Sunday.”
    “Still a workday.”
    “Don’t take this the wrong way, Gage.