Her legs were bare—more leg than he’d ever seen on his secretary—and proof positive that they were, indeed, very shapely. On her feet she wore what looked like ballet slippers, with straps crossed over around her ankles, but they weren’t black. They were lime-green.
James had the mad thought that she had danced all the way to the office, twirling around in that provocative little skirt, and ruffling her long hair into loose havoc, swinging the silky-looking lime-green bag she was carrying. Not a proper, clipped up leather hand-bag, a more casual, open-topped, cloth one.
No buttons in sight anywhere!
His heart started hammering. This had to be the real Lucy Worthington. And was she something! To think she’d been right under his nose all along, hiding her true self from him, wasting time that could have been spent exploring the full potential of a relationship between them.
Resentment at her duplicity fired every aggressive male hormone in his body. No more pulling the wool over his eyes. He had her in his sights now and he wouldn’t be content until she was his in every sense there was.
‘I’m sorry if I’ve kept you waiting,’ she rushed out.
The tantalising little witch had kept him waiting eight months for this!
‘I got into the wrong traffic lane,’ she babbled on, ‘and ended up being forced to go through the harbour tunnel, then on to North Sydney before I could turn around and come back over the bridge.’
She heaved a sigh that fixed his gaze on her breasts again. Buttons there, underneath the stretchy fabric, pushing it out, two perky buttons that blatantly invited a tug of his teeth.
‘I’m just not used to driving in city peak hour.’
James dragged his gaze up from her peaks—reluctantly past her crushed-strawberry red mouth—to the glistening appeal in her eyes. Fantastic green eyes. Those bland spectacles had blurred their impact. Deliberately, no doubt. So why was she showing them now? Good question!
His mind belatedly clicked onto the excuse she’d been offering for her lateness. ‘Takes experience,’ he agreed sympathetically, needing to slide into probing her motives.
‘I won’t make the same mistake again,’ she assured him.
‘No problem.’ He made an airy gesture, forgiving her confusion on the road, his mind busily occupied with finding the best way through her formidable defences.
She frowned reflectively. ‘You know, I think it’s the red sports car. It seems to spur other drivers into being aggressive. Like they want to block it in or beat it.’
While getting as much as an eyeful of you as they can, James thought.
With a very sexy shrug, she added, ‘Anyhow, it was really hair-raising out there this morning.’
‘So I notice,’ he said dryly, his gaze flicking to the long wild tresses.
‘Oh!’ She lifted an arm and attempted to pat down the wayward strands. ‘Guess I’m a bit wind-blown. I’ll tidy up shortly.’
‘Don’t on my account.’ He smiled, feeling like a shark on the prowl all primed to bite into a tasty morsel…the lifted breast, the soft underarm… ‘I like the new image,’ he said, laying the obvious on the line for her to pick up and explain.
She blushed, then instantly took evasive action as though suddenly aware of having raised attention that might prove uncomfortable. ‘Blame Orlando for that,’ she tossed off as with quick purposeful steps she skirted him to get around behind her desk.
He swung to keep her in sight, grimly digesting this new unpalatable information. ‘Orlando? You’ve thrown Josh over for some other guy?’ he quizzed, his eyes mocking her fickleness as his stomach clenched at the thought of more competition to get rid of.
‘No.’ She dumped her bag on her chair and faced him with a look of defiant pride. ‘Josh will always be…special. We understand each other.’
‘I take it he understands Orlando,’ he retorted sardonically, unable to believe that any man would like sharing Lucy with other lovers.
‘Yes, he does.’ A smile tugged at her mouth. ‘I christened the car Orlando.’
James blinked. ‘The car?’
‘Calling it an Alpha Spider seemed all wrong to me. Spiders are creepy-crawly.’ She shuddered expressively before breaking into a full-blown grin. ‘The dealer said owning an Alpha was like having an Italian love affair and the name flashed straight into my mind…Orlando…’ She drawled it seductively.
James laughed in sheer relief. This he could understand. She’d fallen in love with the car. He relaxed, hitching himself onto her desk, feeling more the master of the situation than he had before. Lucy was here with him, showing herself in her true colours, and he could proceed to pin the butterfly down.
‘I take it you’re now dressing for Orlando, the thrill of doing so having suddenly become more important to you than continuing your secretary role.’
She looked at him uncertainly. ‘I’m still your secretary…aren’t I? I mean…you don’t actually need me to dress…’
‘Like a prim spinster?’
She blushed again, no doubt inwardly squirming at his accurate description.
‘No, I don’t need that, Lucy,’ he went on, enjoying the sense of being on top. ‘I never did need it. I’m just wondering why you did it. After all, my business is show business.’
The green eyes flashed with some indecipherable but strong emotion. ‘Considering the people you deal with, James, I thought you’d be more comfortable with a contrast.’
‘Ah, thinking of my comfort, were you?’
Her chin tilted. ‘I think you found it very comfortable, having the worthy Miss Worthington—’ a scathing edge there ‘—be your ready handmaiden.’
The knives were out! A buzz of exhilaration zipped through James. Office hours had often been enlivened by verbal duels with Lucy, but this one was slicing open fascinating territory.
‘All an act for my benefit, was it?’ he challenged.
‘No. It suited me, as well. I’ve simply shifted my priorities,’ she declared.
‘No longer caring about my comfort zone.’
‘I didn’t notice you caring about my comfort zone on Friday night,’ she flashed back at him.
‘Ah! The plot thickens. It’s not entirely Orlando pressing your buttons.’ He slid off her desk, impelled to prove what he was saying. The memory of how she’d melted in his arms brought an exciting wave of confidence. ‘I got under your skin, didn’t I? A little payback, Lucy?’