A noise, part sob, part laugh, mostly relief, escaped her as with two swift clicks she deleted the email permanently. Done. Simple.
She leaned back, blew out a long slow breath while her heart continued to thump like crazy against her ribs. I.T. security never audited executive email. Did they? She would not think about that now. She hit the keyboard and brought his day’s agenda up on screen. All she had to do was slip back to her desk and no one would—
‘Good morning.’ The deep masculine voice steamrolled over her senses like steel wrapped in black velvet.
She couldn’t have leapt out of the chair quicker if she’d been shot at. Her mind scrambled for words—any words—but to her mortification all that came out was the sound of air rushing past her tonsils.
She got an impression of height, power and stunning sexuality while a pair of enigmatic olive-green eyes studied her. And her stomach dropped to her professional, low-heeled, slingback shoes.
‘Ms Buchanan, I presume?’
CHAPTER TWO
HOW long had he been standing there?
‘Yes… Ah… Sophie…’ she managed, two stuttering heartbeats later. ‘Sophie Buchanan.’
And, oh…he was gorgeous, from the sun-bleached tips of his dark brown hair to that clean-shaven jaw that looked strong enough to crack rocks on. From the pressed white shirt and charcoal tie to the fresh sandalwood soap scent winding through her senses. She didn’t dare let her gaze wander down the rest of him.
He was the kind of man that made you momentarily forget your own name because you were too busy drawing breath and taking in the view.
For heaven’s sake, you could be in serious trouble here, girl. Focus. She dragged the scattered remnants of her business self together. ‘Good morning…Mr Sanderson…I was just…I’ve brought your agenda…up.’ Then, as if she hadn’t just been hacking into his computer without his knowledge, she walked smartly around from behind his desk, stuck out her hand. Smiled. And, for once, thanked the genes that had bestowed her with a five-feet-ten height advantage—but still it wasn’t enough because this man was at least six feet two. ‘I’m looking forward to working with you today.’
His firm unyielding palm met hers—an instant zap—and she had to force herself not to think about the way he’d palmed her breasts in her dream last night.
Because nothing surer, this was that guy.
And that was bad. Very bad. She didn’t want her dream lover spilling into her working life and she needed every day’s employment she could get. How was she going to face him all day today and not remember how it felt to be made mad, passionate and sizzling love to? And more importantly, not to let it show?
At least he didn’t know. He couldn’t… Or did he? One corner of his mouth stretched into some semblance of a smile but the eyes…there was a lot going on behind those shadowed green eyes…
‘Call me Jared,’ he said, still imprisoning her hand within his large firm grip. ‘We keep things informal around here.’
Yes, very informal. Smile still frozen in place, she tugged her fingers from his grasp, clasped her tingling hand at her side and reminded herself that he hadn’t bothered to introduce himself yesterday. ‘Right. Jared—’ She practically bit off the word and pressed her lips together. She had not just moaned his name the way she had last night, but guilty heat streaked into her cheeks anyway. He was only speaking to her now because she was in his office.
To delete an email from his computer.
The screen of which he was studying, brows lowered. Against her will, her eyes flicked there too, to make sure the file hadn’t somehow popped up again. When she looked back at him he was studying her with that same inscrutable expression.
He seemed to shake it away and said, ‘I apologise for missing you yesterday, I had to rush off. My sister went into labour and her husband was unavoidably detained. I trust Mimi looked after you?’
The receptionist. ‘Yes, she did.’ Sophie instantly forgave him for yesterday’s lapse. How many guys were so involved with their sisters that they’d rush off to be with them during labour? Unlike her brother, who’d not contacted her since he’d escaped the hell that was their home and moved to Melbourne years ago.
‘Did everything go okay?’ she said, relieved to have something other than that dreaded email and the sexual buzz that seemed to surround them to focus on. ‘What did she have?’
His eyes warmed and, oh, my, he had the most disarmingly crooked grin that kind of creased his left cheek and threatened to buckle her knees.
‘Everything went great.’ If he’d been the father he couldn’t have sounded more delighted. ‘It’s a girl. Arabella. Three and a half kilos or seven pounds seven ounces in the old money.’