The Sweetest Hours (Harlequin Superromance) by Cathryn Parry Page A

requested of him. It would be another extended evening of discussing numbers with his uncle. The discussion would eventually be carried to a restaurant in the Old Town, but all would be business.
    There would be no more “sweetest hours” for him, unless, maybe, his letter could convince Kristin to forgive him. Now that the deal was closed and he could speak truthfully with Kristin, he’d swing by the mail room on the way to his meeting and see that his letter to her got off safely. That was the best that he could do for her within the rules of his business dealings.
    “Mr. MacDowall?” One of the pool secretaries met him in his doorway. Malcolm didn’t use secretaries; he took care of all his own administrative work and travel arrangements. Confidentialities were better kept that way.
    “Yes?” he said, walking around her and down the hallway as he spoke.
    The secretary hastened after him. “Sir, I’ve been asked to make an appointment in your calendar for Monday.”
    He glanced sharply at her. “What about?”
    “Ah...you were recently in America, correct? At the Aura Botanicals plant?”
    His feet slowed, stopped. He turned to her. She was smiling nervously. He had a terrible foreboding about this.
    “Who is asking?” he said.
    “There’s a lady...an engineer, Jean says...in the reception area asking to schedule some time with you.”
    For a long moment, Malcolm couldn’t move. Didn’t dare to breathe.
    But it couldn’t be Kristin. She didn’t yet know his real name, for one thing.
    He thrust the folder containing the financials for the meeting with his uncle into the secretary’s hands. “Please, take this to the fourth floor conference room and give it to Mr. Sage’s assistant. Tell the group I’m delayed, but will meet with them shortly.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    Malcolm kept walking. He strode through the “sheep’s pen,” the field of cubicles containing their support staff. He marched into the reception area, hoping upon hope—
    It was her.
    Kristin Hart’s curling, rich blond hair was the first thing he saw, because her back was to him. He swallowed, his heart seeming to pulse in his chest.
    She seemed thinner, or maybe that was just his recollection. She wore a heavy coat, but it was short, and he could see her legs from her knees down. Really nice legs.
    She was just...beautiful to him. In his shirt pocket, he still had the letter he’d written her. He would have mailed it weeks ago, but there were agreements and red tape he’d had to go through in order to carry out his offer to her. He’d explained it all within the text, and now it was too late to mail.
    The letter would have to be delivered in person.
    He wiped a sweaty palm against his pants. This was what he’d been hoping to avoid. She might not take it well, not at first. He was more comfortable dealing with numbers than managing sensitive communications.
    And, oh, bloody hell, he’d kissed this woman.
    Without warning—with no time to figure out his strategy, Kristin turned to him. Maybe she’d known he was staring at her, because her first expression didn’t seem to be shock.
    A flicker of pleasure brightened her face.
    He felt hope, because pleasure had been his first reaction, too. A huge part of him was damned happy to see her.
    “George...?” Kristin’s voice was throaty. Normally, it would have thrilled him, but...
    I’m not George. If Malcolm never heard that damned name again, it wouldn’t be too soon.
    But he couldn’t think of where to begin. How to say...everything he felt toward her? How had he phrased it in the letter? He suddenly couldn’t remember a word he’d written.
    She tilted her head toward him. Her eyes, so green and clear, stared into his. “What are you doing here, George?”
    “I...was about to ask you the same thing,” he said, stupidly so.
    The receptionist hung up the phone she’d been speaking into and looked up at him brightly. “Hello, Mr.—”
    Stop. Don’t say another word.