Not only that but thoughts of her had kept him awake for a long time the night before and he wondered if he had done the same to her.
So he’d held out a chair for her. ‘Miss Harrington,’ he’d said smoothly, ‘I believe this is your seat.’ She hadn’t wanted to sit beside him—he’d seen that right away—but her professionalism had won out and she’d taken the seat he’d offered with consummate grace. Then she’d set her laptop on the table in front of her and shifted away from him as much as she could.
Now, while he waited for everyone to quieten down, he couldn’t help letting her know he knew her secret.
‘What I’m talking about, Eleanore,’ he drawled, ‘is that I never would have expected you to fight dirty.’
‘I do not fight dirty,’ she forced out.
‘You don’t think going braless is fighting dirty? And who would have thought you were the type. I approve by the way.’
‘I did not go braless for you!’ She looked at him and he almost felt sorry for her when she blushed.
Noticing the avid glances of his employees Lukas introduced her to the group of five and outlined her impressive credentials. Once he was finished he smiled as she completely ignored him and took the floor.
She had clearly prepared herself for the morning and he was impressed with her articulate speech even though she’d once again butchered his language and told the team she was very happy to head up the project and worked to look forward with them. No one had laughed at her gaffe and he supposed that was because she exuded just the right mix of authority and genuine warmth. What shone through was that although she had grown up in a privileged household she worked hard and was clearly passionate about her job. And everyone liked her, he realised, including him.
He liked her very much, especially the inordinate amount of bare skin she had flashed beneath her fitted jacket and flimsy scarf. It made him want to open up her jacket button by button to reveal exactly what she had worn to tempt him with underneath.
She handed out a sheath of papers she must have printed off that morning and Lukas flicked through them quickly. They were ideas for the guest bedrooms and as the others looked through them more slowly she explained her vision.
‘We have thirty rooms in total that need to be themed. As our target audience is predominantly couples we want the rooms to look sexy.’ She paused to clear her throat and he withheld a smile as one of their earlier conversations replayed in his mind. He liked that he affected her. Very much.
‘I’ve drawn up ideas for ten of the rooms,’ she continued. ‘And I don’t mind that some of the themes are repeated, but we want originality. We also need someone to source the textiles for the individual rooms and public areas.’
Lukas didn’t join in the brainstorming session but instead found himself distracted by her scent and the graceful movement of her hands as she spoke. She wore a small gold signet ring on her left-hand pinkie finger and he wondered if an ex-lover had given it to her. Or a current one. The thought had his gut tightening even though he knew he didn’t have any claim to her.
When she suddenly stopped talking he realised he’d moved his leg closer to hers and that his knee was pressed firmly against her thigh. Would she move hers away or leave it there?
* * *
Eleanore curled her toes inside her shoes when she felt the light pressure of Lukas’s knee against her own. She knew what he was doing: making her sit beside him, invading her personal space, looking sexy in another dark suit and open-necked shirt that he knew drew a woman’s eye to the masculine column of his tanned neck and the whorl of hair that just peeked out the top and made her wonder how thick it was and how far across his chest it spread.
Knowing she should have been immune to his lady-killer charm didn’t stop Eleanore from wondering how it would feel to be held in his arms. How it would feel to make love with him... Which made no sense at all because she’d never had trouble focusing on her goals before. Never even been tempted to deviate from them. Structure was important to her and it was something Isabelle had always admired about her.
‘You’re so practical, El, it’s really impressive. You put your head down and don’t let anything get in your way.’
And she wouldn’t let Mr Smooth-Talking Kuznetskov get in her way either, Eleanore thought. But how in the world did he know she wasn’t wearing a bra? Or that she wasn’t the type? She grimaced. She didn’t know what upset her the most: that he had guessed that she was braless or that he had guessed she wasn’t the type who went braless. She blew out a frustrated breath. Maybe she should see a shrink when she returned to the US. Because sleeping with her pseudo-boss—which would no doubt be wonderful a little voice on her shoulder assured her—was definitely not on any of her list of goals.