‘No worries.’ This was more like the Jared Sanderson Pam had talked about. Complained about. Adjusting the files in her arms, she swung around to carry them to her desk. ‘I’ll meet you downstairs in two minutes…’
But he was already out of the door, leaving that spicy fragrance in his wake.
Jared tossed his briefcase and suit jacket onto the back seat of his new pride and joy, his BMW hard-topped convertible, and blew out a strained breath. Took off his cufflinks, slid them into his trouser pocket and rolled his sleeves up—something he never did before meeting a new client. He was a professional and he dressed like one. Every day. He liked routine, the predictability of it.
There was nothing routine about this morning.
Nor was Sophie Buchanan, dream-weaver, what he’d expected. Unlike the brazen and over-endowed vision he’d imagined, she was tall, slim and understated. She wasn’t his usual blonde; her hair was the colour of a mid-winter’s night. Smooth and sleek and shiny.
He hadn’t missed her fragrance on the air when she’d all but leapt off his chair. Not the expensive perfume most women he knew wore, but something light and sparkly, like fresh fruit and summer.
And all he’d been able to see when they’d made eye contact was the disturbing image of her sprawled over his bed wearing nothing but a blackberry-stained smile and dangling a sliver of snakeskin from one finger. It had taken considerable restraint not to yank her against him and find out if the reality was as good as the fantasy she’d described.
She’d deleted the email.
He’d seen the nerves, read the body language and was confident it had been a genuine mistake, not some scheme she’d devised to get his attention.
The devil of it was it had got his attention, and in a big way. Just looking at her and knowing what she’d been dreaming had given him a hard-on and he was still feeling its effects. Not a professional image. And knowing all those intimate details, how was he going to deal with having her right outside his office all day?
So why had he asked her to accompany him to Coolangatta? He couldn’t resist the smile. Maybe because she was here already and his PA usually accompanied him? The smile teased his lips into a full-on grin. Maybe he wasn’t going to change his routine just because Pam was unavailable?
And maybe he wanted to find out more about Sophie Buchanan. Like why this woman had dreamed sexy dreams about him when they hadn’t even met. The trick would be not mixing business and pleasure.
She exited the building, sunshine sparking off her ebony hair as she searched his car out. Unlike her fantasy, her dress code was wishy-washy conservative, but a gust of wind blew the fabric of her blouse against her body, outlining a low-cut bra and subtle yet teasing curves. He leaned across the seat and shoved open the passenger door, slid on his sunglasses and fiddled with his GPS while he waited—hardly courteous, but it was preferable to the alternative of letting her see how she’d affected him. How her creative writing had affected him.
So he wouldn’t let the way he’d noticed her hips undulate provocatively as she crossed the car park—not to mention those long tanned legs beneath her fitted skirt—distract his thoughts from the upcoming meeting.
She dropped into the passenger seat as if those spectacular legs were about to give out and he grinned to himself. Dying to know if he knew, wasn’t she? But she wasn’t asking, and he wasn’t telling.
‘Been temping long?’ he asked as he swung out of the car park.
‘A few years. But not for much longer.’ He noted she wasted no time opening the laptop.
‘Why’s that?’
She tapped keys, her attention riveted to the screen. ‘I’m going to the UK next month.’
‘Oh? Working or sightseeing?’
‘Both, I hope.’
‘Anything lined up there?’
‘Work-wise, not yet. I’ll take it as it comes.’
They were cruising south along the Gold Coast Highway, negotiating the morning peak-hour traffic, and he wondered for a moment how it would feel to take off across the globe with no responsibilities and only oneself to think about.
‘We’ll be meeting with the building’s owner and the architect to discuss the project brief,’ he informed her. ‘You’ll find the info in the file labelled CoolCm20. Familiarise yourself with it and be prepared to add to it later.’
They followed the bitumen past Burleigh Heads and crossed the bridge where a glimpse of turquoise water met white sand lined with Norfolk pines. Salty air with a whiff of motor fumes blew through the open window, but at this time of day he preferred the fresh morning breeze to air conditioning.