The Millionaire's Mistletoe Mistress. Natalie AndersonЧитать онлайн книгу.
and felt deliciously cool on her hot body. She took in a breath and told herself to calm down as she tried to work the buttons through their too small holes. Any last shred of calm dissipated as she pulled on the new trousers—they were way firmer round the hips and thighs than she would usually wear. Definitely too firm round the butt. Her temperature lifted again as she tucked in the shirt and did up the zip and button at the waist. This was the kind of sleek outfit she’d have worn at her old job—emphasising her curves and showing her long legs while still being appropriate office attire. She’d wanted to look attractive there. Wanted to be wanted—what a naïve fool of a girl she’d been. She’d learnt more than one painful lesson as a result. One of them being that work and amorous relationships shouldn’t ever mix.
So she had no desire to be seen as feminine at Mackenzie Forrest. She simply wanted to be good at her job. But this was only a first meeting, with all the office and admin team. The new boss probably wouldn’t even notice her—he’d be too busy giving a speech or something. And at least the trousers covered the ugly graze. She’d fashioned a crude plaster for it out of tissue and sticky tape. That would sponge up the blood and stop her trousers from rubbing against it and being even more uncomfortable. Her elbow was sore, too. And she was thrown by the whole twenty-minute mess.
Imogen tossed her muddy clothes into the shopping bag. One last deep breath and another quick count to ten as she tried to forget the blue eyes that had twinkled at her with that mix of humour and heat and concern.
There had definitely been heat. Oh, yes, there’d been heat.
Awkwardly, she walked out of the room and took another frantic look at her watch—already three minutes late. The door of room number sixty-nine was shut. Good thing too. Turning, she headed for the lifts and—oh, wouldn’t it just be her luck?
Towel Guy was up ahead, and looking back down the corridor at her. Only he was wearing more now—more as in a tailored suit: it had to be custom-made, the way it hung so smoothly from his tall frame, dark grey, with an ice-white shirt and a blue tie that brought out the sapphiric tint in his eyes. Oh, yes, he was malemodelicious. His hand was on the door to take the stairs, but he paused, watching her hobble towards him. Then he moved away from the door, pressing the button to summon the lift instead. All the while he watched her walk nearer.
Totally self-conscious, she moved towards him, refusing to run. He could get this lift and she’d get the next. She didn’t want to be red-faced and breathless when meeting the new boss. She was already late, so another minute wasn’t going to matter that much. Anyway she couldn’t run. Her leg was too stiff.
The lift arrived. He entered. Kept his finger on the door open button long enough for her to get there and get in. For a mad moment she met his eyes, and was nearly fried on the spot.
‘Which floor?’
‘Two, please.’ Imogen looked low to the ground, not really wanting to look into those blues again—they were hotter than hell.
The doors slid shut and she kept her focus hard on the seam in the centre of them.
‘The colour really suits you.’
She started, glanced down at the green, felt her embarrassment increase—but the politeness thing was deeply ingrained. ‘Oh …’ She took a breath to try and be able to talk. ‘Thank—’
‘The green is nice.’ He cut her off. ‘But I was thinking of the red.’
Stunned, she turned, her widened gaze colliding with his—all blue fire. Then the solemnity in his face shattered and he smiled—a full-blown, toe-curling, bone-melting blaze of a smile. It felt as if splotches of crimson heat were being stamped all over her body. So much for not being red-faced when she met her new boss. It was going to take at least half an hour for her to cool down after exiting the lift. But this guy was irresistible, and she smiled back.
Nodding, she stated the only thing in her head that she could share publicly. ‘I’m really embarrassed.’ She was also really attracted.
‘Hey,’ he joked, ‘I was wearing less.’
‘Yes.’ Her smile broadened as the lift doors slid open. The comeback bubbled out of her, filled with sassy spark, just as she stepped out. ‘That suited you, too.’
She met his eyes with a lift of her brow, beyond trying to hide the attraction now.
‘I’d like to …’ He glanced at his watch, spread his hands and shrugged. ‘But I have to—’
‘I’m late for something, too.’ Imogen smiled as she closed the conversation. Another time, another place, maybe they’d have talked more, flirted, had some fun?
Imogen hadn’t done that in … well, ever. But honestly just the idea of it, the almost-but-not-quite nature of their encounter, was enough to put a little jolt of pleasure in her day. But now real life had to be attended to—she had a meeting to survive and a career to keep on track.
She walked down the corridor, conscious that he was only half a pace behind her. She stopped as she came to a suite of meeting rooms. He stopped right beside her. For a moment they stood, both reading the sign on the first door.
‘We’re heading to the same meeting,’ he said flatly.
Was the dismay that she was feeling reflected in his face?
He blinked, and in that minuscule moment his whole demeanour changed. He withdrew, and his eyes—those windows to anything personal, to that wild heat—veiled as he became completely professional.
He opened the door. ‘After you.’ And he ushered her in.
She didn’t answer verbally—couldn’t as she hobbled as far to the back of the room as she could. Oh, no. He had an American accent. He couldn’t possibly be …
‘Sorry I’m a little late, everyone. I’ve been sightseeing.’
She turned and looked to where he’d walked in and instantly taken command. Sightseeing? Right.
‘And it took me a bit longer to get changed than I thought it would.’
A smile flashed—charming, but remote rather than hot. Of course it had taken him longer. One of his new employees had tried to burst into his room when he was taking a shower.
‘My name’s Ryan Taylor. Please call me Ryan.’
Imogen closed her eyes as he confirmed the worst. Not for the first time in her life she wished the ground would open up and swallow her whole. Opening them, she saw the impossible hadn’t happened, and she was stuck in what could only be one of the most embarrassing situations of her existence.
She wished she’d done even a smidge of homework—then she would have known, could have been prepared. But as she’d spent every moment outside of work these last three months studying for the two accountancy papers the company was sponsoring her for, she’d hardly had time to breathe—determined to get as high a grade as she could to prove to them and to herself that she was worth it.
All that she’d known about Ryan Taylor was that he was going to oversee the change in management and steer Mackenzie Forrest into a supposedly bright new future.
And now she knew how magnificent he looked all but naked.
CHAPTER TWO
IMOGEN kept her weight on one leg as the other suddenly pounded with pain. Silly how just a stupid scrape could hurt so much. She hoped the bandage she’d fashioned would hold. Hoped this would be a sit-down meeting. Hoped she wouldn’t have to say anything—because she was still puffing, adrenalin still zinging around her body courtesy of her haste, her accident and her encounter with—Oh, hell—she’d practically had her tongue hanging out as she’d ogled him all over, like some sex-starved spinster. Okay, so she was a sex-starved spinster. That didn’t mean she wanted her new boss to know all about it!
She caught him looking at her intently, a frown causing the faintest of lines on his brow.