A Bride For The Brooding Boss. Bella Bucannon
or much of anywhere besides ovals and training grounds. Beaches in summer, of course—swimming and running on the sand were part of the family’s fitness regimen.
As she’d strolled past modern or renovated buildings a window display advertising Barossa Valley wine triggered a light-bulb moment. The Valley, the Fleurieu Peninsula and the Adelaide Hills, plus many other tourist areas, were all within easy driving distance, and she’d been promised a two-week vacation as soon as the assignment ended. All she’d need were a map, a plan and a hire car.
She picked up Chinese takeaway, and spent the evening poring over brochures and making notes. In full view from her window a group of young athletes were training in the parklands over the road. On the side-lines some adults watched and encouraged. Others sat on the grass with younger children, playing games or reading with them.
Her eyes were drawn to a man sitting with a boy on his lap, their heads bent as small fingers traced words or pictures in a book. Her chest tightened and she crossed her arms in a self-hug. Why didn’t she have any memories of those occasions? Why had she never asked either parent to read to her or share a favourite television show with her? She’d always been too afraid of rejection.
Why had they never noticed her quietly waiting for some of the attention claimed by her boisterous brothers? If it had been intentional maybe it wouldn’t hurt so much. Being overlooked cut deeper than deliberately being ignored. And she’d never been able to summon up the courage to intentionally draw attention to herself.
The boy looked up, talking with animation to his father. Eyes locked, they were in a world of their own.
It conjured up the image of Matt Dalton holding her gaze captive as they’d talked. Even thinking of those weary blue eyes spiked her pulse, and memories of that long-ago kiss resurfaced. Her balcony secret she’d never revealed to anyone. Never intended to.
* * *
Lauren chose a different route to work in the morning. She felt more herself, determined to show her new boss she was the professional his friend had recommended.
Last night no matter how many positions she’d tried or how often she’d thumped the pillows, sleep had eluded her. Reruns of her two encounters with Matt Dalton had kept her awake until she’d given in, got up, and researched the company. Something she normally avoided to keep distance and objectivity.
There’d been no reference to him, only a Marcus Dalton who’d become successful by investing in small businesses, and persuading others to participate too. The website hadn’t been updated since November last year, indicating there’d been difficulties around that time.
No, wait. She’d been asked to assess twenty-one months. So the anomalies had been discovered only recently but long-term deception was suspected.
The sleep she’d eventually managed had been deep and dreamless, surprising since her last thoughts and first on awakening had been of full grim lips and jaded midnight-blue eyes.
* * *
The door adjacent to Mr Dalton’s was still locked. From the piles of folders on his desk and extension, he’d arrived very early. He appeared even wearier, the shadows under his eyes even darker.
Lauren tried to ignore the quick tug low in her abdomen, and the quickening of her pulse.
‘Good morning, Mr Dalton. Would it be possible to have the outer door unlocked so I won’t disturb you going in and out?’
Or be disturbed by my immature reaction to you.
Intense blue eyes scanned her face, reigniting the warm glow from yesterday.
‘Good morning, Ms Taylor. I’m not easily disturbed.’
Of course you’re not. You’re a cause not a recipient. Ignite a girl’s senses with a soul-shattering kiss then forget her. Though to be fair she’d been the one to run.
‘My watch alarm is set for an hourly reminder to relieve my eyes, stretch and drink water. To ease my back, I sometimes walk around or up and down a few flights of stairs.’
‘Not a problem.’ He glanced at the bottle in her hand. ‘Keep anything you like in the fridge under the coffee machine or there’s a larger one in the staffroom.’
Without looking, he flicked a hand towards a door in the wall behind him. ‘There’s an ensuite bathroom here or, if you prefer, washrooms on the far side of Reception.’
Why the flash of anguish in his eyes? Why was she super alert, her skin tingling during this mundane conversation?
‘Thank you.’ She turned towards the bench, away from his probing gaze, popped her drink bottle and morning snack into the fridge, then went to her desk. Keeping her eyes averted didn’t prevent his masculine aroma teasing her nostrils as she passed him.
She settled at her new station and, while the system booted up, filled in the personnel document he’d left for her. Once everything was laid in her preferred setting, she stood by the window to stare at the distant hills for a slow count of fifteen.
Now she was ready to start.
For two hours, apart from a short break for her eyes, she focused on the screens in front of her. But like a radio subliminally intruding into your dreams, some part of her was acutely aware of each time the man next door spoke on the phone or accessed the filing cabinets in this room.
The feeling in the pit of her stomach now was different, familiar, one she found comfortable, the exhilaration of the chase. The minor errors matched those in the audits. The one anomaly she found was puzzling enough for her to recheck from the beginning, puzzling enough to tease her brain. A challenge worthy of the fee her boss charged Dalton Corporation.
She headed for the ensuite to freshen up ready for coffee, cheese crackers and relief time. There was one door on her left, another along the corridor to her right.
She regretted choosing the latter the moment she saw the iron-smooth black and silver patterned quilt covering a king-sized bed. For a nanosecond she pictured rumpled sheets half covering a bare-chested Matt, his features composed in tranquil sleep. She blinked and pivoted round. Not an image she wanted in her head when she locked eyes with this cheerless, work-driven man.
On her return to the office, his posture enforced her last description. His chin rested on his hands, his elbows on the desk, his attention fully absorbed by the text on his screen.
Stealing the opportunity to observe him unnoticed, she stopped. A perception of unleashed power bunched in his shoulders, a dogged single-mindedness showed in his concentration. The untrimmed ends of his thick hair brushed the collar of his shirt, out of character to her perception of a smart, city businessman.
His mug had been pushed to the edge of his desk, presumably empty. She picked it up, startling him.
‘Would you like a refill?’
He nodded. ‘Thanks. Flat white from the machine, one sugar. How’s it going?’
‘Progressing. Do you want details?’
His eyes narrowed.
She pre-empted his next remark. ‘People who hire me have varying knowledge of technology and require different levels of explanation.’ Many don’t like to betray their ignorance in the field. ‘My daily report will be comprehensive.’
‘Do whatever’s necessary to get results. I’ll read the report.’ Again an undertone of irritation further roughened his voice, a darkening glint of angst flashed in his eyes.
Matt made a note in red at the top of the paper in front of him, and regretted being repeatedly terse with her. He closed his eyes, clasped his neck, and arched his back. He felt bone tired from sitting, reading, and trying to make sense of his father’s recent actions.
He wished he could shake the guilt for not being around, for not noticing the subtle changes on his trips home for family occasions. Maybe if he’d spent more one-on-one time with Marcus he would have. Instead he’d apportioned