Three Blind-Date Brides: Nine-to-Five Bride

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 his upper arm brushed the curve of her shoulder as he turned. He made a choked sound and his fingers grasped her wrist.

‘We mustn’t—’ But she lifted her head as his lowered and then his mouth was on hers.

He tasted of coffee and wine and Rick—a wonderful, fulfilling taste that she lost herself in. So totally lost herself …

Rick’s stomach muscles clenched as he fought the urge—almost the need—to crush Marissa close. He didn’t need. He made choices.

Like this one? What was he doing?

Marissa made a soft sound in her throat and her hand lifted to his biceps, and then his shoulder, over his shirt. He wanted her hand on his skin. Somewhere. Anywhere. To warm him …

When she finally stroked her fingers over the cord of his neck and up to the edge of his jaw, he pressed in to her touch. As though he couldn’t survive without it. The feeling was shocking, almost unmanning, and yet still he kissed her, pressed nearer, kept going.

Rick caught her hand as it dropped away from his face. Caught it between their bodies with his and held it to his chest. Felt eased somewhere deep inside as he did this.

He meant to control this. It was only desire. It had to be—he could still prove it. Somehow. If he merely kissed her again, tasted her again and then …

The and then part didn’t happen. Not in the way he intended. Not Goodbye and Glad you enjoyed the dinner and That was nothing out of the ordinary.

Instead, he should ask what the hell he was doing kissing her in the first place.

Even that question couldn’t get through. Not with his lips fused to hers, their bodies a breath apart. It should have—it needed to. A part of Rick acknowledged that. He kissed her again anyway. Kissed her and drew her against his chest and wondered if he was stark, staring crazy as his heart thundered and his arms ached to keep her within their clasp.

Marissa didn’t know what to do. She’d let this get out of her control and she didn’t know how to bring it back. Rick’s kiss, his touch, his arms around her all combined not only to swamp her senses but also to overwhelm her in too many other ways.

His hold felt like a haven, his touch what she had needed and waited for. Her emotions were involved in this kiss, and she couldn’t let them be. She had to protect herself. He didn’t even want to desire her, and she was determined to have no feelings for him. She didn’t have feelings for him. Right? Right?

She gasped and drew sharply back. Her hands dropped from him.

He released her in the same instant, and stared at her as though he couldn’t believe what he’d done. As though his actions astounded him. As though he’d felt them in the same deep places she had?

Don’t fool yourself, Marissa.

His jaw locked tight. ‘I showed a weakness of character by doing that. I apologise.’ He stepped back from her and the warmth of his eyes returned to a stark, flat grey.

Marissa wanted to take consolation in the fact that he looked as though he had run a marathon, looked as torn and stunned and taken aback as she felt, but he’d soon recovered his voice, hadn’t he? And his self-control. She had to do the same.

‘This mustn’t be repeated. I’ll never participate again—’

‘I don’t mix work with pleasure, or pleasure with emotional commitment. I don’t do emotional commitment.’ He spoke the words at the same time, and then looked at her sharply. ‘What do you mean—?’

‘Nothing.’ She cut her hand through the air. Best to simply deal with this moment, and do so once and for all.

He was corporate. He didn’t feel more than physical interest in her. She had somehow managed to embellish this encounter as if she believed his response to her ran deeper, and his words right now made that absolutely clear. No commitment.

She wanted to ask Why not? Instead, she forced out the words that had to be said.

‘There was an attraction between us and we both gave in to it for a brief moment.’ That should put it into perspective. ‘It was a mistake and now it’s over and done with. I’m sure we’ll both very quickly forget it.’

‘I’m sure you’re right,’ he agreed and left.

From: Kangagirl:

I was dumped very publicly by my fiancé in an office environment where we worked together. Now I’m up to my neck in one again. An office situation and lots of hard work, I mean, not anything else because I wouldn’t be that silly. I feel pressured, that’s all.

From: Englishcrumpet

What’s your ex-fiancé’s name and where can we find him in case we want to let him know what we think of him? The dirt bag!

From: Sanfrandani

Marissa. Do you still have feelings for the guy?

From: Kangagirl

No. I couldn’t possibly have!

But Marissa hadn’t been thinking of Michael Unsworth when she’d given her half desperate answer to her friends when they’d discussed last night’s dinner. She’d been thinking of Rick. She placed several more loose letters and memos onto the pin inside the file on her desk and told herself not to think back to that kiss at all.

She needed to forget her boss in that way altogether and get back to her dating plans.

No distractions. Especially no Tall, Dark and Delicious distractions.

Tall, Out of Bounds and Emotionally Blockaded, she amended. All the things she could never accept. Except the tall part.

And she wasn’t emotionally blockaded. She was cautious. A whole different matter.

Rick’s mobile phone beeped out a message on his desk.

Marissa forced her attention to her work. What she really needed was for Tom to get better and come back so she could go back to working for Gordon, and stop thinking about Rick.

The fax machine whirred. Marissa got up at the same time that Rick left his desk. They met in front of the machine and hers was the hand that reached first for the sheet of paper that emerged.

‘I’ll take that. I think it’ll be for me.’ He reached out his hand.

‘Certainly. Here you go.’ She passed the fax to him, couldn’t help but see the image of a head and shoulders that filled the space. A cheeky smile that belied the wounded expression in dark eyes. Arched brows and thick dark hair and a bit too much make-up on the face, if the black and white image was anything to go by. The girl looked about sixteen. His older niece?

Curiosity slid in sideways to assail her before she could stop it.

The office phone rang. With the fax clasped in his hand, Rick strode to her desk and answered it. ‘Rick Morgan.’ A pause. ‘What’s going on, Kirri?’

There was silence as he listened to whatever response he got and Marissa realised she was in the middle of the room, a party to a private conversation—something Rick wouldn’t want her to overhear, if his reaction when she’d seen him with his other niece was any indication.

Marissa scooped a pile of files from the corner of her desk and headed for the file room. Rick’s words followed her, as did that faxed image with the wounded eyes.

‘You’re as beautiful as ever, Kirri. You have lovely blue eyes and a killer smile and you’re sweet on the inside where it counts most of all. And so is your mother. You know that, Kirrilea.’ His tone was both gentle and fierce. Not exactly emotionally blockaded right now!

He drew a breath and Marissa glanced out of the file room at him—just a really brief glimpse—but that one moment showed he was holding back some kind of deep inner anger, wanting to comfort his niece and not let her hear that anger in him, all at the same time. ‘Next time don’t ask Grandad something like that, okay? Ask me, instead.’

Another pause while Marissa started to push folders away and tried hard not to listen, not to wonder about this grandfather who wouldn’t tell a teenager she looked lovely, about her boss’s family altogether. Rick had said, ‘Ask me.’

She bit her lip. He must have plenty of commitment capability, because he seemed to have it for his nieces, his sisters …

There were other things that week. A call from his mother. Final swimming lessons with his niece and the tinge of colour on the tips of his ears as he’d asked if Marissa might manage to make a certificate, perhaps with an image of a fish on it. Something to state that Julia had passed her first unofficial swimming class.

Marissa navigated each glimpse into his layers with the promise to herself that she wouldn’t let them intrigue her. That she didn’t want to help him unlock his inner ability to commit—she didn’t even know if he truly possessed such a thing. He clearly believed he didn’t. That she didn’t think of his kiss constantly and wake in the middle of the night wondering what it would be like if they did live at the dawn of time, if she had chosen him.

Tick, tock, tick, tock.

No. No tick-tocking. No Big 3-0 depressive, subconscious birthday countdown, no biological rumblings at all, and no remembering kisses. No, no, no!

On Thursday, while Rick dictated straight over Marissa’s shoulder to finalise a memo he didn’t have time to even place first on a tape, a woman rushed through the door and zeroed her gaze onto him.

‘I’m sorry. I’m probably interrupting, but something’s happened and I don’t have to take the chance because I know I committed to hostess duties for you tonight, Rick, and I’d never let you down, but I just wondered …’

The woman was thin, with a determined air about her, and she sported a feminine version of Rick’s nose and jaw. She flipped straight brown hair over her shoulder and for a moment Marissa saw eyes very like the ones in that faxed photograph.

Marissa’s interest—curiosity—spiked.

Anyone would be curious, she justified, and hated her weakness where her boss was concerned.

‘What’s happened, Darla?’ Rick strode around the desk, clasped the woman’s elbows. ‘Is Kirrilea all right? Did our fath—’

‘Kirri’s fine, and Dad is his typical self. There’s no point wishing he’ll change because he’s made it clear he won’t, but I won’t have him upsetting my daughter—’ She broke off. ‘I told Kirri to send you the fax. I hope you didn’t mind.’

‘I didn’t.’ He chopped a hand through the air as though to dismiss the very idea. ‘Tell me what’s brought you here.’

Marissa printed the memo Rick had dictated. ‘If Rick can sign this I’ll put the phone on answering service and hand-deliver the memo. That way you won’t be disturbed while I’m gone.’ She would get out of their way and try not to think about his complexities. Or her ever-growing conviction that he had emotional commitment aplenty for his sisters and nieces and therefore why wouldn’t he have the capacity for that in any other relationship?

‘I’m so sorry. I’m Darla.’ The woman stuck out her hand, shook Marissa’s firmly. ‘Forgive my rudeness. I was a little excited.’

Marissa liked Darla’s honesty and her determined smile, the strength she sensed in her and, most of all, her clear affection for her brother.

‘I’m Marissa. The borrowed secretary. Very transitory. And it’s no problem.’ Nor were the callisthenics of her brainwaves. Marissa would get those under control as of now. ‘Please, excuse me.’

She took the signed memo, dealt with the phone, left them and delivered the memo.

Should she dawdle back to give them more time? It probably wasn’t necessary. Rick would have taken his sister into his office.

He hadn’t. They stood exactly where Marissa had left them. Darla was talking fast while Rick nodded.

Marissa’s steps slowed as both heads turned her way. ‘Um …’

Darla spoke first. ‘Would you truly not mind the overtime, Marissa? Rick says you might be prepared to help him out, but I don’t want to ask if it will cause any problems.’

Rick leaned a hand against the edge of Marissa’s desk. Tension showed in the line of his shoulders and yet, when he looked at his sister, all Marissa could see was affection and … pride?

‘My sister has the chance to meet with the central management team in charge of her real estate brokerage.’ Rick’s gaze met Marissa’s and held. ‘There may be a promotion in the offing … if you’d be prepared to hostess a business dinner at my home tonight.’

CHAPTER EIGHT

‘OF COURSE. I’ll be happy to hostess the event.’ Marissa spoke the words while panic did its best to get a grip on her.

The business dinner at Rick’s home had been noted in the BlackBerry. Everything went in there and, indeed, Marissa had prepared Rick some information so he could be fully informed before the evening. She’d thought that would be the extent of her involvement. The idea of spending a night working at Rick’s side, in his home, in a whole other setting to the office, where she would see even more parts of him … well, it unnerved her even while her hormones set up a cheering section about it.

Marissa spoke to the other woman. ‘If Rick feels I could be of assistance, I … I’m sure I can cope with hostessing the event.’

Somehow. Maybe. If she managed to get a grip on herself and her thoughts about her boss between now and then. Marissa tried to keep the hope out of her tone as she added, ‘That is, if there’s no one else more suitable, maybe someone else in the family who could take your place?’

‘There isn’t,’ Rick said, squashing that hope quite flat.

A smile broke over Darla’s face. ‘Oh, thank you!’

The woman impulsively threw her arms around Marissa and then turned to her brother and hugged him. He cupped her head so tenderly in his hand as he hugged her back. A fierce well of protectiveness crossed his face before they separated.

Layers. How many more could he possibly have? Now Marissa’s hormones had given up the cheer squad routine and brought out the tissues, going all emotional on her right when she didn’t need that to happen.

‘It’s settled then.’ Rick drew his wallet from his pocket and pulled out some notes, frowned when his sister opened her mouth. ‘I know you like good luck charms. Buy one to wear tonight.’ He gestured to the silver bracelet on her wrist. ‘You’ll find room for it on there somewhere. And get something for Kirrilea—a trinket. And tell her my secretary very kindly laminated that faxed page and I have it on my desk where I can enjoy it.’

Darla’s fingers closed over the money and his hand, and a sheen of moisture came to her eyes before she blinked and turned away. ‘God, I wish our father had half … Well …’ She smiled with a fierce determination that quickly became the real thing as she turned once again to Marissa. ‘Thank you. I hope I’ll have good news after tonight but, even if not, I appreciate the chance to attend the meeting.’

She rushed out of the office at the same frenetic pace she’d entered it.

‘If her speed is anything to go by, she probably does the work of five people and very much deserves a promotion.’ Marissa made the observation lightly when she didn’t feel light at all. But she would be okay tonight. She would.

‘I know she deserves it.’ He murmured the words without appearing to think about them.

There’d been no wedding band on Darla’s finger, no mention of a man in the proceedings and an impression that Darla was alone and turned to her brother for emotional support.

Alone with a sixteen-year-old daughter. Darla hardly looked old enough. And Marissa now wanted to clutch at straws, even though something told her that would be futile. ‘Did you really need me to help you tonight, or did you just want Darla to feel free to chase this job promotion?’

Rick’s eyelashes veiled his expression as he answered. ‘There’s no one else suitable at such short notice.’

‘Right, then I guess that will be fine.’ She would simply maintain her professionalism and make it fine. She could do that. All it would require was a little concentration, a lot of focus and maybe some tranquilliser for the hormone squad!

A phone call came in then. Marissa thought she recognised the voice, but couldn’t place it. When she asked for a name, the caller paused for a heartbeat before saying, ‘Just put me through. I’m returning his call.’

Marissa connected the call.

Rick rose from his desk and closed his door after he answered the call. Super-secret business, apparently.

Marissa got on with her work.

Whatever, anyway. She had more important things to think about. Like tonight!

‘I think Carl Fritzer is deliberately goading you on the topic of environmental issues.’ Marissa directed the comment to Rick and then nodded her thanks to the catering guru as she accepted a platter of artfully arranged biscotti and small handmade chocolates.

The evening was more over than started now, and the three of them stood in the kitchen of Rick’s penthouse apartment. It was a large and lush place—four bedrooms at least and functional in all the nicest ways but, for tonight, Rick had taken everyone outside to the rooftop terrace.

Marissa had fought with herself every step since she’d arrived. She didn’t want to be delighted by his home, nor constantly and utterly aware of him in it. Didn’t want to note that his midnight-blue shirt and black trousers made him look even more Tall, Mysterious and Compelling. She still wanted Ordinary, darn it. She did!

‘I truly don’t understand why Mr Fritzer would do that.’ Focus on work, Marissa. ‘What difference does it make to any possible business dealings between our company and his?’ The stamp of ownership she put on her statement was a whole new problem. Since when had it been the ‘Marissa and Rick team’?

Remember what happened to the ‘Michael and Marissa’ so-called ‘team’? Well, you should!

Marissa forced herself to go on. ‘Morgan’s follows all the codes to the letter and, in a lot of cases, goes a lot further than most companies in its efforts towards environmental friendliness.’

‘The man seems to consider a bit of goading as good entertainment value, but I noticed his colleagues don’t seem to share his enthusiasm for the topic.’ When Rick shrugged, his shirt clung to his broad shoulders, outlined the strength of the muscles beneath the cloth.

There was something different in him tonight when he looked at her, too. She couldn’t pin it down, but he seemed to be weighing her up, or searching for something. He was perhaps softer towards her? More attentive? Interested in a different way?

Some of his examination seemed—she didn’t know—almost empathetic or something? But that made no sense.

What if he was beginning to think of her in a deeper way? Given her determination to steer utterly clear of even noticing him, the thought shouldn’t please her, yet she felt a reciprocal softening towards him.

‘There may be something Fritzer is hiding about his own dealings or standards.’ Rick’s gaze caressed her face and neck as he went on. Did he realise he was doing that? ‘I’ll have a team investigate that possibility before I commit us to any work with the company. I can find out anything I need to know before they get to the stage of an acceptance of our offer of services.’