Windswept by Ann Macela Page B

watch. It was late enough to quit for the day. Best to retreat to her room and read the mystery she had picked up last weekend. She closed down the computer and straightened the desk. Before leaving, she glanced into Davis’s office. He was scowling at the screen and seemed to be totally absorbed in the document. As she left the room, she called a good night and he answered with an absentminded tone.
    Davis leaned back to watch her leave the outer office. Something was definitely happening between them, but he wasn’t sure what. Up to now, she had been treating him just as he imagined she would treat anybody--pleasant, business-like, somewhat impersonally. She certainly hadn’t given him any of the signals a woman usually gave a man she was interested in--no flirtatious glances, no prolonged eye contact, no small innocent touches, no standing just a little bit too close.
    But the sizzling eye contact when she was leaving after their first meeting and now every time they touched, whether by handshake, as when they made the bet, or by the contact with his shoulder, as when she kept him in his chair . . . From the way she snatched her hand from his shoulder, she had to have felt something, too.
    All right, he was attracted to her and she to him. He’d very much like her in his bed. What was he going to do to put her there?
    It had been a while since he had to work actively to pursue a woman, but he hadn’t forgotten how. This one might be trickier than most, however.
    There were the ethics of the situation. She was a guest in his home. She had not come here to share his bed. Given her evident desire for access to the papers, her manifest determination for achievement of her career goals, and her subsequent demeanor toward him, he doubted she had any such notion in her head.
    She also, in a way, worked for him. He definitely did not get involved with any woman whom he employed. On the other hand, this business relationship was more of an outside-contractor one, and it was a done deal. Her access to the papers did not depend on his access to her. They could work around any difficulty, he decided--assuming it even arose.
    He had not invited her here with ulterior motives--well, not really. Attraction had been a very minor part of the package. Anything developing between them now would be between two consenting adults. If he kept control of the situation, kept it light with no strings attached for either of them, there would be nothing to worry about, he concluded. A summer affair would be a pleasant interlude for both of them.
    Now, as to actual pursuit. He wouldn’t, couldn’t simply jump her bones. Not only was such a crude approach not his style or inclination, she would be at the least insulted, at the most pissed as hell. No, best to take it slow. He was a patient man and had all summer. He just needed to pursue her slowly, get her used to the idea of him as a man, as her lover. Build on their existing attraction, help her come to the conclusion she wanted to be, indeed belonged, in his bed. He wasn’t sure how experienced she was with a lover, but her nervousness led him to believe, not very.
    His campaign should be a slow, steady one, he decided. He had the distinct hunch, if he pushed too hard, too fast, she’d be gone, papers or no papers.
    Another aspect added to his satisfaction with his plan, he thought as he ran it through his mind again. He enjoyed her company immensely. At dinner she expressed genuine interest in his business and the manner in which he carried it out. Her questions had been perceptive and penetrating. He was surprised to realize he had not talked so much about himself and the business to anyone, ever.
    He had never had a woman as a friend before. He had certainly never thought of Sandra as a “friend.” But it would be easy to become friends with Barrett Browning. They were already well on their way. He simply looked forward to making their friendship become more.
    It was too bad Granddaddy