“That doesn’t sound too appetizing.” He grimaced comically.
She laughed brightly, al
most too spontaneously. “Well, that’s what I’m having for dinner tonight.”
She took her purse out of her desk drawer, stood up and reached for her blazer hanging on a hall tree near the door. Before she could pull it down, David stilled her hand. He turned her around to face him, eased her purse out of her hand, placed it on the desk and put his hands on her shoulders.
“The fact that you’re tired isn’t the real reason you won’t go out with me, is it?”
She met his eyes levelly. “No.”
He drew a heavy sigh. “I thought as much.” His fingers brushed her cheek caressingly, but she stood unaffected and stoic. “Kathleen, it’s no secret that I’m attracted to you. More than attracted. Why won’t you at least go to dinner with me?”
“You know why, David. That’s no secret either. You’re married.”
“Not happily.”
“I’m sorry, but that’s none of my concern.”
“Kathleen,” he groaned, and pulled her closer. She shrugged away from him, but couldn’t escape his firm hands. Deciding to try another tack, he asked, “If I weren’t married, would you be interested in seeing me?”
“The point is moot. You—”
“I know, I know. But if I weren’t married, would you be interested?”
His eyes compelled her to answer, and as always, Kathleen was harmfully honest. “You’re an attractive man, David. If, if you weren’t married, yes, I would want to see you—”
Before she could finish, she was crushed to him in a desperate embrace. His arms wrapped around her like closing pincers and his head lowered to capture her mouth under the bruising pressure of his.
He knew how to kiss. For one brief moment, Kathleen thrilled to the sheer masculinity of him, to the fervent lips moving over hers, persuading them to open. She didn’t consciously surrender, but suddenly his tongue was inside her mouth, greedy and intrusive. His hand slid down her spine onto her hips and he drew her tighter.
Frantically, she began pushing him away. Her fists made several futile attempts at pounding on his back. Then she flattened her palms against his shoulders and pushed with all her strength, kicking at his shins at the same time until he released her.
His eyes were wild with lust and his chest heaved with exertion. He took one step toward her, but the rigid lines on her resolute face and the green ice of her brilliant eyes halted him. He knew he had gone too far.
“Stay away from me,” she gasped in a strangled voice. “If you ever touch me again, I’ll file a formal complaint of sexual harassment.”
“Crap. Even if you had the guts to carry it that far, who’d believe you? Dozens of people have seen us together. You’ve put out signals. I’ve acted on them. It’s as simple as that.”
“You’re what’s simple if you can’t distinguish between friendship and a come-on!” she said angrily. “We’re coworkers. That’s all.”
“For the time being.”
“Forever, Mr. Ross.”
He made a scoffing sound as he straightened his clothing. “We’ll see.”
He left, but Kathleen knew that she had merely stalled him. He was probably planning his next course of attack. She sat down at her desk and covered her face with her hands. Now what?
Damn him, he was right—she wouldn’t file charges of sexual harassment. She could probably make them stick, but she didn’t want to invest the time and energy it would require to see it through. Even if she won, she would still be working at Mason’s, and recently she had come to feel that the formal department store wasn’t providing her with enough challenge. It was staid. She wanted to work in an environment where the attitude toward fashion was progressive and innovative.
David Ross was the catalyst she had needed to make the difficult decision of leaving the safe and familiar for the unknown.
At least that’s what she had told herself. What she refused to acknowledge was that rather than confronting a problem, she had run away from it. Retreat had been her strategy since the loss of her parents. Some things were so bad that one’s only choice for coping was to flee.
Inexplicably, Erik Gudjonsen’s face was suddenly emblazoned on the backs of her eyelids. His self-assured expression was all too reminiscent of David Ross’s. What was it with men even remotely good looking? Was a handsome face supposed to allow them special privileges? Did they think all women were ready to fall into bed with them? To surrender to practiced hands and lips? To…
She ignored the sudden acceleration of her pulse and the tingling feeling that prickled the erogenous parts of her body. For a fleeting instant, she wondered what it felt like to be kissed by a man with a mustache.