The Incorrigible Playboy

Elizabeth frowned at the clock on her desk. The arrangement with the coffee shop on the ground floor was for coffee and muffins to be delivered at ten-thirty—black expresso and a chocolate muffin for Michael, cappuccino and a strawberry and white chocolate muffin for her. She skipped breakfast to have this treat and her empty stomach was rumbling for it. It was unusual for the delivery to be late. Michael hated unpunctuality and the shop tenants were well aware of his requirements.

A knock on her door had her scuttling out of her chair to open it, facilitating entry as fast as possible. ‘You’re late,’ she said chidingly, before realising the tray of coffee and muffins was being carried by Harry Finn.

Vivid blue eyes twinkled at her. ‘Short delay while they made coffee for me, too,’ he said unapologetically.

‘Fine! You can explain that to Michael,’ she bit out, forcing her gritted teeth open to get the words out.

‘Oh, I will, dear Elizabeth. Never would I leave a blemish on your sterling record of getting everything right for him,’ he rolled out in the provocative tone that made her want to hit him. She was not given to violence but Harry Finn invariably stirred something explosive in her.

‘And may I say you look stunning this morning. Absolutely stunning!’ he rattled on as he stepped into her office, eyeing her up and down, his gaze pausing where the butterfly wings on her blouse framed her breasts, making her nipples stiffen into bullets. She wished they could be fired at him. His white T-shirt with tropical fish emblazoned on it wouldn’t look so sexy on him if there were black holes through it to his all-too-manly chest.

‘The hair is spectacular, not to mention—’

‘I’d rather you didn’t mention,’ she cut him off, closing the door and waving him towards Michael’s office. ‘Your brother is waiting.’

He grinned his devil-may-care grin. ‘Won’t kill him to wait a bit longer.’

She crossed her arms in exasperated impatience with him as he strolled over to set the tray down on her desk, then hitched himself onto the edge of it, ignoring any reason for haste. The white shorts he wore emphasised his long, tanned, muscular legs. One of them he dangled at her, teasing her need for proper behaviour.

‘A moth turning into a butterfly doesn’t happen every day,’ he happily remarked. ‘I want to enjoy the glory of it.’

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. She was not going to stand for this. A moth! She had never been a moth! She had simply chosen to be on the conservative side with her appearance to exemplify a serious career person, not someone who could ever be considered flighty like her sister.

‘The coffee will be getting cold,’ she stated in her chilliest voice.

‘Love the sea-green skirt,’ he raved on. ‘Matches the colour of the water near the reef. Fits you very neatly, too. Like a second skin. In fact, it’s inspiring a fantasy of you as a mermaid.’ He grinned. Evilly. ‘I bet you’d swish your tail at me.’

‘Only in dismissal,’ she shot at him, pushing her feet to walk to the desk and deal with the coffee herself since Harry was not inclined to oblige. It meant she had to go close to him, which she usually avoided because the man was so overwhelmingly male, in-your-face male, that her female hormones seemed to get in a tizzy around him. It was extremely irritating.

He wasn’t as classically handsome as Michael. He was more raffishly handsome—his longish black curly hair flopping around his face, crow’s-feet at the corners of his eyes from being out in the weather, a slightly crooked nose from having it broken at some point in his probably misspent youth, and a mouth that was all-too-frequently quirked with amusement. At her. As it was now.

‘Have you ever wondered why you’re so uptight with me, Elizabeth?’ he tossed out.

‘No. I don’t give you that much space in my mind,’ she answered, deliberately ignoring him as she removed her coffee and muffin from the tray.

‘Ouch!’ he said as though she’d hurt him, then laughed to show she hadn’t. ‘If I ever get too big for my boots, I know where to come to be whipped back into shape.’

She gave him a quelling look. ‘You’ve come to see Michael. Just follow me into his office.’

The devil danced in his eyes. ‘Only if you swish your tail at me.’

She glared back. ‘Stop playing with me. I’m not going there with you. Not ever,’ she added emphatically.

He was totally unabashed. ‘All work, no play—got to say you’re safe with Mickey on that score.’

Safe? The word niggled at Elizabeth’s mind as she carried the tray to Michael’s door. Why was Harry so sure she was safe with his brother? She didn’t want to be safe. She wanted to be desired so much, there would be no distance left between them.

Harry bounded past her, opened the door and commanded his brother’s attention. ‘Hi, Mickey! I held up the coffee train to have one made for myself. Have a few things to discuss with you. Here’s Elizabeth with it now.’

‘No problem,’ Michael answered, smiling at her as she sailed in with the tray.

She hugged the smile to her heart. Michael was the man of true gold. Harry was all glitter. And she hated him calling his brother Mickey. It was rotten, schoolboy stuff—Mickey Finn—linking him to a spiked drink, and totally inappropriate for the position he now held. No dignity in it at all. No respect.

‘Thanks, Elizabeth,’ Michael said warmly as she unloaded the tray, setting out the two coffees and muffin on his desk. ‘Table booked?’

‘Yes.’

‘What table?’ Harry asked, instantly putting her on edge again.

‘It’s Elizabeth’s birthday. I’m taking her out to lunch.’

‘A … ha!’

Her spine crawled at the wealth of significance she heard in Harry’s voice. If he was about to make fun of the situation … She picked up the emptied tray and swung around to shoot him a killing look.

He lifted his hand in a salute, pretending to plead for a truce between them but his eyes glittered with mocking amusement. ‘Happy birthday, dear Elizabeth.’

‘Thank you,’ she grated out, and swiftly left the two men together for their discussions, closing the door to give them absolute privacy and herself protection from that man.

It was difficult to concentrate on work. She tried, but the clock kept ticking on—eleven o’clock, eleven-thirty, twelve. Lucy hadn’t dropped in and Harry was still with Michael. Anything could have happened with Lucy. It frequently did. She might not make it into the office at all, which would be a relief, no chance of a meeting with Michael. Harry was the main problem. She wouldn’t put it past him to invite himself to her birthday lunch. If he did, would Michael put him off?

He had to.

No way could a romantic mood develop between them if Harry was present. He would spoil everything.

A knock on her door cut off her inner angst. Elizabeth looked up to see the door opening and Lucy’s head poking around it.

‘Okay to come in?’

Her stomach cramped with nervous tension at the late visit but it was impossible to say anything but ‘Yes.’

Lucy bounced in, exuding effervescence as she always did. Today she was dressed in a white broderie anglaise outfit: a little frilly skirt that barely reached midthigh, an off-the-shoulder peasant blouse, a wide tan belt slung around her hips, lots of wooden beads dangling from her neck, wooden bangles travelling up one forearm and tan sandals that were strapped up to mid-calf. Her long blond hair was piled up on top of her head with loose strands escaping everywhere. She looked like a trendy model who could put anything together and look good.

‘Ooh … I love the hair, Ellie,’ she cooed, hitching herself onto the edge of Elizabeth’s desk, just as Harry had, which instantly provoked the thought they would make a good pair.

‘It’s very sexy,’ Lucy raved on. ‘Gives you that just-out-of-bed tumbled look and the colour really, really suits you. It complements the clothes I picked out for you brilliantly. I have to say you look absolutely marvellous.’ Her lovely sherry-brown eyes twinkled with delight. ‘Now tell me you feel marvellous, too.’

Lucy’s smile was so infectious, she had to smile back. ‘I’m glad I made the change. How was your weekend?’

‘Oh, so-so.’ She waved her hand airily then pulled a woeful grimace. ‘But I’ve had the most terrible morning.’

Out of the corner of her eye Elizabeth caught the opening of the door to Michael’s office. Tension whipped along her nerves. Was it Harry coming out or both men?

Lucy rattled out her list of woes, her hands making a host of dramatic gestures. ‘A body was buried in the wrong plot and I had to deal with that. Then a call came in that someone was interfering with a grave. I had to go out to the cemetery and investigate, but that wasn’t too bad. It was only a bereaved husband digging a hole on top of the grave to put in potting soil so he could plant his wife’s favourite rose. Nice, really. The worst thing was a dog running amok in the memorial garden and knocking off some of the angels’ heads. I had to collect them, load them into the van, and now I have to find someone who can stick them back on again. You wouldn’t believe how heavy those angels’ heads are.’

‘Angels’ heads …’ It was Michael’s voice, sounding totally stunned.

It jerked Lucy’s attention to him. ‘Oh, wow!’ she said, looking Michael up and down, totally uninhibited about showing how impressed she was with him.