When Megan Smiles

He folded his arms on his chest, fighting an odd impulse to brush at a stray strand of hair that had escaped her severe knot. “Everyone employed by LynTech is on the list.”

“Not if someone messes up, which, since we’re all human, people tend to do from time to time.” She looked him right in the eye, and let a full second lapse for emphasis before she added, “You must understand that concept.”

Sarcastic and superior. And gorgeous. What a waste of gorgeous, he thought. “I understand that you aren’t on the list.”

He quite enjoyed her losing control when she threw up her hands and muttered, “You and your damn lists.”

No one had mentioned that she worked here, and when he’d told Zane about the ball, about her showing up, all his friend had said was, “Everyone could invite a guest if they bought a ticket.” And when Rafe had gone through the files on the work history of every employee, with pictures attached, he hadn’t come across anything on Megan Gallagher. He sure as hell would have remembered that photo. “Bottom line, Miss Gallagher, you don’t belong here.”

She stood straight again, leaning closer, and she brought that scent with her. “I don’t know what you want me to say or do. I’m new, so I’m not on the list. I’m also temporary, and I’m in here because Mr. Lawrence, who most definitely is no more to me than my boss for a month, gave me an envelope, which I forgot to take with me. Now I need it, so here I am.”

She wasn’t backing down, and truth be told, Rafe was wearing out. It had been fun for a while, maybe disturbing for most of the conversation, and definitely diverting, but he wanted this situation settled. “Why don’t we just do the obvious thing—what we did Saturday night—and call Mr. Lawrence?” He motioned to the earpiece in her ear and the cell phone in her pocket. “Use your fancy equipment and give the guy a call?”

She put her hand over her breast, and he realized she was covering the phone in her pocket. “No, I won’t.”

It was his turn to get exasperated. “And why not?”

“Because he’s my boss, and disturbing one’s boss over something like this won’t look good on my résumé.”

He checked his watch. “It’s just past seven o’clock and it’s not a Saturday night,” he pointed out. Then he reached around her to pick up the phone on the desk. “I’ll do it.”

“No, you won’t,” she said, moving with him. The next instant she was against his side, her arm tangled with his and her hand covering the one that gripped the receiver. “No,” she said again, right by his ear.

Feelings exploded in him, feelings he thought were dead and gone, buried along with Gabriella. Rafe felt Megan’s breasts against his side, her hand touching his, her breath fanning his skin. Her scent filled his nostrils. His reaction was so sudden and intense it shook him to the core. He drew back, disentangled himself, and faced her. He was shaken and trying desperately to recover.

He’d gone from baiting her to wanting her in the most basic way. She was a total stranger, a woman who was opinionated, superior, condescending, infuriating and incredibly desirable. A woman who made his whole body ache with need, and who warmed his soul. A woman who filled his mind with searing images of the two of them joining together….

He covered his left hand with his right, felt the smooth gold of his wedding band and swallowed, hard.

“Don’t call Mr. Lawrence,” she said, and it sounded as if she was speaking from a great distance, down a long tunnel.

She touched her tongue to her lips, and he could almost imagine the taste of her, as crazy and impossible as that was. She was clearly waiting for his next move, and he didn’t know what that would be. He saw her exhale, and could swear he felt her breath brush his skin. He must be insane. His world had just exploded into something he didn’t recognize.

The need in him was painfully raw and basic, but it was wrong. It didn’t matter that it seemed to have a life of its own, that it had burst into his reality, distracting him completely. Megan was a woman who didn’t give a damn about him. And he needed to force himself to stay neutral. But as she stood straighter, reducing some of the space between them, he knew he couldn’t. That was impossible. As impossible as wanting a woman like her.

Chapter Three

Megan stared at Rafe, not certain what was going on. But she wanted out of here. The room seemed closed and airless. She found that breathing wasn’t easy for her, and she spoke quickly. “You don’t want to bother Mr. Lawrence if you don’t have to.” She inhaled a deep breath. “I’m here for training and possibly evaluation for a promotion, and if you call him…” She shrugged, already saying more than she should have. “Please, just let me find the envelope and you can read what’s in it before I take it. Okay?”

He didn’t move. He just stared at her, his hands behind his back, then he spoke in a low voice. “Find the damn envelope.”

“Thank you,” she said, and didn’t waste any time before turning back to the desk to look for it. She went through everything twice, but no envelope appeared. Finally she moved some books aside and withdrew a stack of papers beneath them. There it was. The envelope even had her name on the front of it.

She turned and held it up to Rafe. “Here it is.”

He looked at it, then came close enough to take it from her. She watched him open the flap, pull out a sheet of paper and examine it. “According to this, Ms. Gallagher is being moved to another location so your time at LynTech can be spent more productively.”

“See, I told you so,” she said, and realized that sounded like a childish retort. “It’s all there.”

He looked back at the letter. “It’s got directions.” He frowned as he read silently. “That’s a lousy area,” he murmured before he looked back at her with those dark eyes. “Why are they putting you up there?”

“He said it’s wired to the LynTech database, and I can work more effectively from there than I could from the hotel.”

“Whatever,” Rafe said, refolding the paper and putting it back in the envelope. Then he shook out two keys. “Front door and loft,” he said as he read the tags. He dropped them back in the envelope and handed it to her. “Once again, I was wrong. You’re right. You can go.”

She expected to feel victorious, but didn’t, thanks to the darkness in his eyes. She didn’t understand that look at all, and normally wouldn’t have cared. But for some reason, it bothered her. “Thank you,” she said, holding on tightly to the envelope. “I just need to get my things from my cubicle, then I’ll leave.” She heard herself add, “And can you show me where to sign the list?”

She thought he might at least smile a bit at that, but all he said was, “Get your things and I’ll sign you out.”

“Okay,” she agreed, and headed for the door.

He followed, but never came abreast of her all the way to her cubicle. When she went inside he stayed at the doorless entry and silently watched as she got her briefcase and put her paperwork in it. She closed it and looked up to find him eyeing her intently. “Can I ask you one thing?” she murmured.

“What’s that?”

“Why on earth would you assume that Mr. Lawrence and I were…together?”

He motioned to her hand. “I know that’s an engagement ring, and since you were hunting for Mr. Lawrence at the ball, well…” He shrugged. “It wouldn’t be the first time an older man and a younger woman got together.”

She knew her face was getting red. “That’s not the case,” she said, and snapped the locks on the briefcase. “Not at all.”

“That’s not an engagement ring?” he asked.

“Of course it is. And for your information, my fiancé is thirty-three, five years older than I am.” Why in the heck had she told him that? “But that’s none of your business.”

“I didn’t ask,” he pointed out.

“Do you need to see my ID or anything now?”

Rafe hesitated, then put out his hand. “Sure.”

She opened the briefcase again, pulled out a slim wallet and took out her California driver’s license. He looked at it and read aloud, “Megan Stanford Gallagher.” Then he glanced up at her. “Stanford?”

She’d always hated her middle name. “My grandmother’s maiden name.”

“Oh, I thought you were named after the university,” he said. “You know, Stanford University.”

“No,” she said.

“Okay. Just checking.” Then he read, “Twenty-eight, five feet ten inches, a hundred and—”

She went around and snatched the license out of his hand. “I think that’s enough,” she said, and returned it to her wallet. “I’m who I said I am, and I’m here for the reason I told you.”

She snapped the briefcase shut and heard Rafe repeat, “You are who you say you are, and you’re here for the reason you told me.”

“Thank you.” She looked up at him. “Now, tell me if you’re just overzealous about your job, or did you seriously think I was stealing company secrets?”

“The latter,” he murmured.