A Bride For The Brooding Boss. Bella Bucannon
his life.
He heard the soft clunk of a mug on wood. By the time he straightened and looked, a steaming coffee sat within reach, and Lauren was disappearing into her room. She’d discarded the light jacket she’d worn on arrival. Tired as he was, the male in him appreciated her slender figure, her trim waist. The pertness of her bottom in the grey trousers.
Inappropriate. Unprofessional.
As he drank the strong brew the sound of a quirky ringtone spun his head. The friendliness of Lauren’s greeting to someone called Pete rankled for no reason. Her musical laughter ignited a heat wave along his bloodstream.
He strode to the ensuite to splash water on his face and cool down.
* * *
‘Hey, it’s nearly twelve o’clock.’
Lauren started, jerking round to see her temporary boss standing in the doorway, the remoteness in his eyes raising goosebumps on her skin. She blinked and checked her watch.
‘Two minutes to go. Are you keeping tabs on my schedule?’ Some clients did.
‘Not specifically.’ He moved further into the room, closer to her desk. To her.
Her pulse had no right to rev up. Her lungs had no right to expand, seeking his masculine aroma.
‘Your work’s high intensity.’ His neutral tone brought her to earth.
‘I’ve learnt how to manage it. Results take patience and time.’
He gave a masculine grunt followed by a wry grin. ‘The latter’s not something we have plenty of. Take a lunch break. I need you fully alert.’
Eight floors by foot before taking the elevator to the ground helped keep her fit. She smiled and walked out into the light drizzle. Adelaide was like a new city waiting to be explored. Chomping on a fresh salad roll, she strolled along, musing on that dour man, wondering what, or who, had caused the current situation. And why Marcus Dalton was no longer in charge.
Matt was clearly related. He bore a strong resemblance to the photograph on the website she’d accessed. Even with the ravages of the trauma he was under, he was incredibly handsome with an innate irresistible charisma. Was he married? In a relationship?
She chastised herself, chanting silently, Never let anyone get to you on assignments. Stupid and unprofessional, it could only lead to complications and tears. However, she had never been in this situation before...she’d never been kissed by one of her clients.
* * *
‘There’s definitely a recurrent anomaly. Finding when it started may tell me how and what,’ Lauren informed Matt as she gave him her report prior to going home.
She was leaning towards it being deliberate because of the number of identical anomalies. No reason to mention she had no idea how it had been achieved.
He nodded and dropped the report in a tray. ‘How’s the hotel? I asked Joanne to book somewhere not too far out.’
‘Oh.’ Was he trying to be sociable? Make amends for his abruptness? ‘Very nice, and my room overlooks the parklands.’
‘Not too noisy on that corner?’
She couldn’t suppress her grin. ‘I live in Sydney, remember. You tune it out or drown it with music.’
His gaze held hers for an eon, or longer. The darkening in the midnight-blue coincided with heat tendrils coiling through her from a fiery core low in her abdomen. Her eyes refused to break contact, her mouth refused to say goodbye. Her muscles refused to obey the command to turn her away.
It was Matt who broke the spell, flinching away and shaking his head. His chest heaved as his lungs fought for air. He clenched his fists to curb the impulse to—no, he wouldn’t even think it.
‘Did you bus or taxi?’ He didn’t particularly care but was desperate to keep the conversation normal. To ignore those golden specks making her eyes shine like the gemstones in his mother’s extensive jewellery collection. His voice sounded as if he’d sprinted the last metres of a marathon.
‘I walked. It’s not that far.’
His eyebrows shot up. ‘Walked?’ To and from a bus stop or taxi rank was the furthest most women he knew went on foot, apart from in shopping centres.
She shrugged. ‘Beats paying gym fees and clears my head.’
‘I guess. Just take care, okay.’ He had no reason to worry, yet he did.
‘Always. Good afternoon, Mr Dalton.’
‘I’ll see you tomorrow, Ms Taylor.’
As soon as she’d gone he slumped in his chair, stunned by his reaction to her smile, quick and genuine, lighting up her face. His pulse had hiked up, his chest tightened. And his body had responded quicker and stronger than ever before.
His fingers gripped the armrests as he fought for control. This shouldn’t, couldn’t be happening. Women, all women were out of bounds at the moment. Even for no-strings, no-repercussions sex. She was here on a temporary basis. She was an employee, albeit once removed.
He groaned. She was temptation.
He forced his mind to conjure up visions of the life he’d left behind in London, crowded buses and packed Tubes, nightclubs, cafés and old pubs. Teeming, exciting. Energising. Attractive, fashionably dressed women in abundance. Great job, great friends. And one woman he’d thought he’d truly known.
It had been a near perfect world prior to his trust going down the gurgler and his existence being uprooted into chaos. Now he had little social life, even less free time, and collapsed wearily into a deep dreamless sleep every night. And woke early each morning to the same hectic scenario.
MATT WAS PACING the floor, talking on the phone when Lauren arrived Thursday morning, hoping for a repeat of yesterday when she’d been left pretty much alone all day. He’d been absent when she’d finished so she’d left her report on his desk.
On the way to her room she returned the preoccupied nod he gave her, grinning to herself at the double take he gave her suitcase and overnight bag. She’d booked out of the hotel, confirmed she’d be returning on Monday and been promised the same room.
She did her routine and began work, fully expecting an apologetic call some time from her eldest brother, who’d been delegated to pick her up on arrival in Melbourne. She’d long ago accepted she was way down on her family’s priority list.
Her priority was to complete her designated task. Her expertise told her a human hand was involved. If—when, Lauren, think positive—she solved what and how, fronting Matt Dalton was going to be daunting. The few occasions she’d had to implicate someone in a position of trust had always left her feeling queasy, as if she were somehow to blame.
In two days she’d become used to the sound of him in the background like a soft radio music channel where the modulations and nuances were subtle, never intrusive. Every so often the complete silence told her he’d left the office. Occasionally someone came in. Few stayed more than a couple of minutes.
There was no sign of him when she went to the fridge, though an unrolled diagram lay spread out on his desk. She resisted the impulse to take a peek, and consumed her snack while enjoying the view from her window.
Matt’s return was preceded by his voice as he walked along the corridor not long after she resumed work. She glimpsed him as he strode past her doorway to the window, ramrod-straight, hand clenched. Not a happy man.
His temper wouldn’t improve when her report showed all she’d written down so far today was a slowly growing number of random dates.
‘Dad!’
His startled tone