When Megan Smiles

“I can tell you in just a minute.” She looked for the envelope Mr. Lawrence had given her earlier with the address, directions and two keys. She searched in her briefcase, then on the desk, but didn’t see the envelope anywhere. She pulled open the desk drawer. Nothing. “I can’t find the address or directions. But I’m heading there tonight. They already moved my things over. Listen, I need to get going.”

“You’re still at work?”

“I’m just leaving.”

“Damn, you’re as much of a workaholic as I used to be,” he said. “But if you’re serious about wanting this advancement, Zane Holden and I—”

“No, no, no,” she said quickly. “I don’t want you to talk to anyone about anything. I can do this, Quint.”

“Of course you can,” he said. “Old habits die hard. Being a big brother and all.”

“I know. But please, just don’t say anything to anyone about me being here, or mention that I’m your sister or anything. Okay?”

“Okay,” he said. “But—”

She cut him off. “Give Amy and the kids my love. And let me know when you’re moving onto the ranch.”

“You got it,” he said, and Megan ended the call.

She looked through her things one more time, then remembered where the envelope was. She’d left it in Mr. Lawrence’s office, on the desk. She’d put it down when she’d picked up more files he’d given her, and she didn’t remember picking it up again. Directions, keys and phone numbers were in it. “Damn it,” she muttered, glancing out the entry to her cubicle. Mr. Lawrence was gone, but she hoped to heck that he didn’t lock his office at night.

Seven o’clock. She just hoped her boss hadn’t yet gone to meet Abe Larson. She left everything on her desk and hurried through the quiet legal department, out to the main hallway, then down to his office. She tried the outer door, and it opened. Then she crossed the reception area, tried his private office door and exhaled in a rush when she found it unlocked, too.

She looked inside and saw the room was empty. Hesitating, she finally stepped into the darkly formal area done in cherry wood, brass and various shades of beige and gold. Turning on the light, she crossed to the massive desk, disappointed to find no envelope there, just papers, folders and books neatly stacked on the polished surface. She went behind it, then tried the top drawers, but they were all locked. She reached for a deep drawer on the side, pulled on the handle and silently slid it open.

She saw a correspondence file, a stack of company calendars, what looked like an unused day planner, and boxes of paper clips—lots and lots of boxes of paper clips. But no envelope belonging to her. She reached for the drawer on the other side and opened it. Books and papers and more paper clips. And sitting in one corner, a small bottle of very expensive scotch with a single shot glass beside it. Mr. Lawrence had his vices, she thought in surprise. Two low drawers were closed and locked.

She looked at the desktop again, then went around to the In and Out baskets at the front of the desk. She rifled through the latter. Nothing there for her. “Great, just great,” she muttered, reaching for the In basket.

She barely got her hand on the top papers when someone grabbed her from behind, a strong hand on her upper arm, and she instinctively jerked to free herself. But the action only intensified the other person’s grip as he turned her around. She spun like a top, landing against a solid wall of strength with an impact that expelled the air from her lungs. Megan heard someone scream—was that her?—then the world seemed to stop in its tracks.

The “wall” she’d hit was in uniform, with no hat this time, but the same midnight-dark eyes. And his hand was holding her with a firmness that was just this side of inflicting pain. Rafe Diaz. Even larger than she remembered, and very real. She pushed away, freeing herself, and stumbled slightly, feeling the desk hit her at the hips. She pressed one palm to her chest.

Her heart hammered against her hand, and her breathing came in gulps. She’d never been so shocked in her life, or so unnerved by another person. And he looked as if everything was just fine, that it was entirely normal for him to accost her.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she managed to gasp in a hoarse voice.

Rafe had known it was her as soon as he spotted her. Even if he couldn’t see her face, and viewed her only from the back. Megan Gallagher. In Wayne Lawrence’s office going through his desk.

Rafe was supposed to be at the house in Houston, helping Carmella, the nanny, settle the boys for the night, but instead he’d been stuck doing rounds because one of the scheduled guards hadn’t shown up for work. It had been so long since he’d worried about schedules and time cards, but now, acting like any other employee, he was on the receiving end of an extended shift. But maybe it had paid off for him.

He’d come up here to check things out, make sure everything was shut up tight, and had seen the open door with Wayne Lawrence’s name on the brass plaque. He knew Mr. Lawrence had left in a limousine half an hour ago. He’d watched him get into the long black car, and for a moment Rafe had wondered if Megan was in there, waiting for the man. Then he’d pushed that thought aside and started his rounds.

Now he knew where she was. Here. Going through Mr. Lawrence’s papers, in his private office. Muttering softly under her breath.

He’d watched for a moment, a million things going through his mind. Rafe had tried to focus on possibilities. She was working with Mr. Lawrence, so he could have asked her to come up here. But why hadn’t she left with him? Why was she in here alone, going through his desk? Maybe Mr. Lawrence’s money and position weren’t the drawing cards for her. Maybe it was what his position opened up to her.

Any idea Rafe came up with was distasteful, and the fact that she was attractive didn’t help things. When she started rifling through the baskets, he knew he had to make a move. He’d come up behind her, taking in the way her slacks defined the swell of her hips, her shirt clung softly to her back and shoulders.

She hadn’t even heard him coming. The instant he touched her, felt her softness and fine bones, she gasped and spun around sharply, trying to break his hold on her. The next moment she was pressed against his chest and he was staring into eyes every bit as blue as he’d thought they were Saturday night. And that scent was everywhere, although he was careful not to inhale too deeply.

She was as tall as he remembered, but the flash and glitter were gone. The shimmery silver dress was replaced by tailored slacks and a simple white blouse made of something soft that clung to her high breasts. The earpiece for her phone was in place again, and her hair was combed back from her flushed face. He couldn’t tell if she had on lipstick or if her lips were that shade of pink naturally. And those eyes…Blue, and glaring at him as if he had two heads.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she yelped in a breathless voice.

He pulled his hands back, clenching them. He was almost sure they were shaking slightly, and he didn’t know why. “What do you think you’re doing?” he countered.

Those blue eyes narrowed even more and he could see her take a deep breath that strained the fine material across her breasts. “You’re the one who attacked me.”

He almost felt a laugh coming on at the way her chin lifted a bit. “And you’re the one standing in someone’s private office, rifling through papers.”

“I’m not rifling through anything, and for your information, I’m supposed to be here.”

“Oh, and you’re not on the sign-in list, either.” He would have noticed her name if she’d signed in earlier in the day.

She closed her eyes for a long moment, then looked at him again as if gathering herself. “Okay, you’ve got yet another list that I’m not on. Just tell me what list you’re talking about this time.”

“Everyone who comes into the building is supposed to sign in at the desk or in the garage. We know at any given time everyone who’s in the building. According to my lists, you’re not in the building. Therefore, you aren’t supposed to be here.”

“Forget it,” she muttered, and turned to reach for the papers again. “I don’t have time for your little power trips right now.”

He moved closer to grasp her once more and this time the softness under his fingertip unnerved him. She jerked away from the contact, and if she’d been angry before, she was furious now. But he didn’t back down. “Leave that alone,” he ordered quietly.

“Don’t you touch me again,” she retorted through clenched teeth.

He tried to ignore the way she rubbed at her arm where he’d made contact, but he couldn’t ignore the blush of high color on her cheeks, or the fact that it only made her more beautiful. “I won’t touch you if you stop trying to go through the desk.”

She closed her eyes for a fleeting moment, then opened them and took a breath. He was sure there was a shadow of a smile at the corners of her full lips. It was no wonder an older man would fall into her trap, if she used that smile to get to him. Then she spoke evenly and with a softer tone. “No doubt you’re earning your wages, Mr. Diaz, and I’m sure protecting LynTech is right at the top of your job description. But in this instance, as in your actions Saturday night, you’re wrong. I’m just trying to find something that was left here for me.”

If she’d just smiled, he probably would have backed off. He would have shown her out and let it go. But she used that tone, the one that sounded polite and reasonable, but had an underlying hint of superiority and condescension. “What was he leaving for you— money, jewelry, keys to an apartment?”

She looked confused, until his sarcastic remark suddenly registered. Her cheeks dotted with even more color, and she lifted her hand as if to strike him. “You creep!” she cried as he caught her by her wrist.

“Don’t even think of doing that.” She jerked against his constraint and he released her. “You’re out of here. Let’s go.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” she exclaimed, rubbing at her wrist. “How dare you suggest that I…that Mr. Lawrence and I…” She shook her head as she hugged her arms tightly around herself. “That’s sick.”

“I’m sick? You’re the one seducing a man old enough to be your father to get…whatever.”

“Whatever?” she echoed.

He expected another explosion and braced himself, but when it came, the emotion wasn’t anger. Instead she started laughing. “You’re serious? You think that I—that…” Suddenly she smiled, the way she’d smiled in the car on Saturday night, a real expression of humor that quite literally took his breath away. “Me? You think that I’m…?” She shook her head. “You’re so wrong.”

On Saturday night he’d thought it was fun to spar with her, to bait her and joust with words, but he knew right now that he was out of his element. Rafe didn’t want any part of her smile, or the way she made him feel completely off balance.

“Oh, I’m wrong, am I?” he muttered. “Then why don’t you explain things so this poor, lowly hired hand can understand?”

She didn’t respond to his sarcasm, but leaned back against the edge of the desk. “Okay, I’ll put this simply. I work here. I just arrived Saturday, and had to go right to the ball to meet Mr. Lawrence, who is my boss, and someone I had never even seen before. I didn’t, and still don’t, know about signing in or signing out. That was one thing I wasn’t told to do, and I imagine my name isn’t on your endless list of lists for the same reason it wasn’t on the list for the ball. Someone forgot to put it there.”