Three Blind-Date Brides: Nine-to-Five Bride. Melissa McClone
though he might leave the discussion there, or change the topic. Or simply let the silence grow as its own demonstration of his complete lack of interest in the minutiae of her life.
Instead, he caught her glance again and said, almost desperately, ‘What else have you done with your time?’
‘I went through a craft phase that lasted several years.’ Surely he would find that very ordinary. She sipped her wine and a part of her registered the wonderful fruity tartness against her tongue before she went on. ‘I crocheted a throw rug, made one patchwork quilt—a very small one. Tried out bag beading and made a tissue box cover, created my own calendar out of photos.’
Bought baby wool and hid it in the bottom drawer of my dresser, even though I know it’s there and there’s a part of me that wants to get it out and buy a knitting pattern for tiny little booties and work out how to make them.
Why did she have to feel this way? Why did she suddenly want all these things with an ever-increasing fierceness? Was it just because she was soon to turn thirty? Well, whatever the reason, it was highly inconvenient and she wished she didn’t feel this way, and it was really not conducive to her peace of mind to have such thoughts in Rick’s presence!
‘And you’ve made a laminated desk cover of cartoons. I glanced at some of them. You’ve gathered some good material.’ Though his words were bland, the look in his eyes was anything but.
‘I’ve tried out a lot of different things. I’m not like that about work, though,’ she hastened to add. ‘I’m perfectly happy at Morgan’s and hope to stay with the company for a very long time.’
‘You’ve worked with us about six months, haven’t you?’ As easily as the conversation had rambled through her hobbies, it shifted to ground she didn’t want to visit. ‘What about before that? There’s a stretch of time between those early things and now.’ And now he looked interested in quite a different way.
Marissa tried not to let her body stiffen but she so didn’t want to answer his question. She shouldn’t have let the conversation head in this direction at all. ‘I worked as a secretary in marketing for a number of years before … before I moved into my lovely position working for Gordon. I also like my apartment here better than the old one.’
There were no memories of her stupidity within its walls. Michael had never lived with her, but he’d spent time in her home.
Well, a complete break had been in order, and why was she thinking about that when she’d deliberately pushed it out of her mind straight after it had happened? Had learned the lesson and moved right along.
Had she? Or was she defensive on more than one front and trying to patch over the problems by finding a special man she could hand-pick at her own discretion? That question rose up just to add something else to her broodiness and worries about ageing, as if they weren’t big enough problems by themselves.
Her mouth tightened. ‘And Morgan’s is a great company to work for. Anyway, you don’t want to hear that boring stuff about me.’ She waved a hand.
‘Maybe I do.’ His intent gaze questioned her. ‘What made you leave your previous position? Was it a career choice or something more personal?’
She tightened her lips and shook her head, forcing a soft laugh from between teeth inclined to clench together. ‘It was time for a change of pace for me, that’s all. Now it’s your turn. Have you ever learned to crochet or knit, or maybe taken cooking lessons?’ Maybe those questions would shut him down?
‘Funny. No. None of those.’ For a moment it seemed he would pursue the topic of her career choices but in the end he let it go and moved on. ‘I’m not much of a cook, to be honest.’ And then he said, ‘My eldest niece is taking lessons. She’s sixteen and a combination of teenage angst one minute and little girl vulnerability the next. Darla, my other sister, is a good mother to her. The best.’
And then he speared a piece of bean with his fork and chewed it and fell silent and stayed that way until the meal ended.
Eventually he lifted the wine bottle. ‘Another glass?’
‘No, thank you. I’ve had enough.’ She wished she could blame the wine for the slow slide away of the barriers she needed to keep in place in his company.
Instead of controlling her attraction, she longed to ask more about his family, despite his tendency to guard any words about them.
‘Coffee, then.’ Rick signalled and a waiter magically appeared.
She drew a breath. ‘Yes, coffee would be nice.’ Maybe that would sober her thoughts, though she’d had very little to drink.
The beverages arrived. His gaze narrowed on her. ‘You’re lost in thought.’
Not thoughts he’d want to know. She forced a smile. ‘I should be thinking. About work tomorrow.’ About the fact that they were boss and employee and this evening had been a reward to her as his employee. Nothing more. ‘The rain seems to have stopped.’
‘Yes.’ He turned his gaze to the windows, almost as though he knew she needed a reprieve from his attention.
They finished their drinks in silence.
‘I’ll take you home.’ He placed some notes inside the leather account folder and got to his feet.
Outside the restaurant, he ushered her into his car and waited for her address. When she gave it, he put the car into motion. She wanted to make easy conversation and lighten the mood but no words would come. Then they were outside her apartment building and she turned to face him.
‘Thank you for feeding me dinner.’ Will you kiss me goodnight? Do I want you to? ‘It wasn’t necessary.’ And she mustn’t want any such thing. Naturally he wouldn’t want it!
‘Your cheeks are flushed. Even in this poor light I can see.’ He murmured the words as though he couldn’t stop them. ‘It’s like watching roses bloom. I took you to dinner to prove we have nothing in common but work, and yet …’ He threw his door open, climbed out of the vehicle.
He did want her still. Despite everything.
The warmth in Marissa’s cheeks doubled and her heart rate kicked into overdrive, even as she sought some other explanation for her conclusion. It had to be the wine.
She mustn’t be attracted to him, or to his layers. Yet she struggled to remember all the valid reasons why not.
His hand went to the small of her back to lead her inside. ‘Ready?’
CHAPTER SEVEN
‘WELL, here we are, right at my door,’ Marissa babbled as she opened said door, and then appalled herself by adding, ‘Would you care to—?’
‘For a moment.’ He stepped in after her, and then there they were, facing each other in her small living room.
Her fourth floor apartment was functional and neat. A lamp glowed from a corner table. She flicked a switch on the wall and the room came fully into focus—the lounge suite in a dark chocolate colour with a crushed velvet finish, her crocheted throw rug folded neatly at one end.
Prints on the walls and a kitchen cluttered full of gaily coloured canisters and racks of spices completed the picture. ‘It’s nothing special,’ she said, ‘but I’ve tried to make it a home.’
‘You succeeded.’ His gaze went to the lounge and returned to her face, and a desire he had fought—they had both fought—burned in his eyes.
‘Well, thank you again.’ She shifted beside him. Wanted him to stay. Forced herself not to offer coffee, late night TV, late night Marissa …
‘Goodnight. I shouldn’t have come in.’ His gaze tracked through her home again.
‘Yes. Goodnight. You should … go.’
The muscle of