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Rose, who wished she had got off on the wrong floor, had lifted her chin and given her name. She wasn’t going to do meek for a fully paid-up member of the fashion police.
The woman’s eyebrows had shot to her smooth hairline as she’d consulted her computer screen. ‘You’reMiss Hill?’
She wouldn’t give the sneering superior blonde the satisfaction of knowing that apprehension was making her knees knock.
Should I have knocked?
The thought came to her halfway through the door and caused her to stumble and lurch into the room.
Hands wide to steady herself, she managed not to fall flat on her face. The flick of the smile of relief faded before it formed as she looked across the room, a room that actually dwarfed the dimensions of the boardroom she had just walked through.
The impressive dimensions and the stunning glass wall made only a vague impression. It was the man who rose from his negligent pose behind a massive desk occupied by computer screens that dominated the space and her focus.
A big room butnota safe distance!
He looked impressive on a TV screen, in a Hollywood heart-throb kind of way. Rose had watched him out of idle curiosity as much as anything else—that and the fact such occasions were a rarity. He didn’t court publicity, which made any interview he gave compulsive viewing—perhaps that was his intention, a variation on treat them mean, keep them keen.
From her armchair position she knew that he was possibly the most handsome man ever to draw breath. She knew that he had a way of moving that was fascinating, all restrained power and elegance. She knew about the sculpted structure of a face that was arresting from any angle, all fascinating angles and intriguing planes, a masterful straight nose, carved cheekbones, his sensually sculpted wide mouth, his glowing golden-toned olive skin that matched the rich dark hair that sprang from his broad forehead and curled into his neck.
What she hadn’t known was that his sloe-dark gaze framed by long ebony lashes and set below thick straight brows could paralyse a person’s faculties.
She hadn’t known that his sheer masculinity, the whipcord-lean male strength of his long, lean body not disguised by the perfect tailoring, could send a quiver through a person’s body until it coalesced in a warm quiver in their pelvis...
No, Rose, not a person, you. Own it—your pelvis.
It took Rose a breath-suspended moment to recognise the disturbing sensation of unfurling desire sliding through her body.
Ashamed and shocked, she shook her head to free herself from the sensual fog and, realising that her mouth was open, closed it.
Wow, that was embarrassing, she thought as she rearranged her features into an expression of cool, polite interest. Boom! Sonic—definitely!
And she wasn’t interested.
‘You wanted to see me?’ She tried to direct her gaze to a point over his left shoulder but that hard dark stare had a mesmeric quality... No man should have eyelashes that long.
CHAPTER THREE
AFTERARTHURHADapparently lost his magic touch, Zac had been forced to personally intervene and virtually beg the outgoing nanny, who was standing, bags packed, at the door, to stay until tonight. That had not sat well with him, plus he was irritated that the information Marco had sent over had been partial at best because he apparently didn’t want to prejudice Zac’s judgment. For Zac this translated as ‘make my life more difficult’. And as for facts being prejudicial...?
He found it easy to shift his frustrations onto the woman who already had a black mark for tardiness.
Zac didn’t appreciate being kept in the dark, and as for his impartiality... He let out a measured sigh. He could not blame Marco, who didn’t know Zac’s plan... The additional information would have been useful as he couldn’t allow just anyone into his home with access to the baby.
Sure, her work record was clean but, and it was a big but—if he’d been brought up by his own father he had wondered what man he would be now—shehadbeen raised by her father. Not that he could compare a minor league conman and chancer with a brutal, violent, drug-addled character who thought the practical solution to an unwanted pregnancy was to beat up his pregnant girlfriend.
He sighed. Earlier this had seemed a win-win situation but now...?
Then she fell into the room and he discovered that once you got past the trainers, jeans that clung to long legs, and a weird baggy thing with lurid handprints all over topped by a denim jacket that was several sizes too big for her petite frame, the woman standing there was identical to her elegant twin, who he already knew was an incredibly beautiful woman.
While he had been able to acknowledge the beauty of his friend’s wife, he could enjoy her company while not being attracted to her. The beautiful glowing princess he had met was a work of art with a good sense of humour had been his objective assessment.
Given they were genuinely identical, he ought to be feeling the same way now. Instead there was no objectivity to the instant and powerful physical reaction he was experiencing to this terribly dressed copy with a cloud of untamed titian hair that floated around her vivid face,
Identical but not, he mused, searching her face for some defining feature, although there was none. Perhaps it was the depth of her wide-spaced eyes, a shadow that suggested mystery that drew him in, and the way she looked up at him through her lashes...part of the indefinable additional factor that his body reacted to so spectacularly? Whatever it was, the indefinablesomethingabout her bypassed all logic circuits in his brain and pressed the primal button.
His shoulders lifted in a fractional shrug, a faint smile quivering along the firm sensual line of his mouth that contained self-mockery as he rose to his feet, gesturing with one long-fingered hand for her to take a seat. Sure, this was a complication, but one he was confident he could deal with.
Unlike some men he did not find the forbidden-fruit attraction an added turn-on, and he never had any problem walking away from such complications. There were plenty of women who were not already attached.
