Читать книгу A Bride For The Brooding Boss - Bella Bucannon - Страница 9

CHAPTER TWO

MATT STARED AT the open doorway, perplexed by his reactions to a woman so unlike the outgoing, assured females he usually favoured. He raked his fingers through his hair. They were strangers, so why the censure in her alluring eyes when they’d met? It irked. It shouldn’t have affected his attitude but he knew he’d been less than welcoming.

His finding her delicate perfume enchanting was also disconcerting. And she’d stiffened when he’d touched her. Had she felt the zing too? Please not. He had enough complications to deal with already.

Would it make her job easier if she knew the whole story? Loath to reveal family secrets to outsiders, he’d tell her only if it became relevant to her succeeding. Despite his friend’s glowing report, he’d been less than impressed.

Dalton Corporation was in trouble. His only choice was to trust her on the corporate level. He had little reason to trust her, or any other woman, personally. Especially as her manner said she’d judged him for some transgression made by someone else.

Had she suffered the same indignity as he had? The soul-crushing realisation that you’d been used and played for a fool. The embarrassment of how close you’d come to committing to someone unworthy, incapable of fidelity or honesty.

The dark-haired image that flared took him by surprise. Any affection he’d felt for Christine had died when she’d proved faithless. He hadn’t seen her since he’d walked out of her apartment for the last time after telling her the relationship was over, and why. He’d rarely thought of her either.

They’d both spent nights in each other’s homes but he’d held back from inviting her to live with him. Looking back that should have been a red flag that he had misgivings. Thankfully he’d told no one of his plans to propose to her.

Admitting he’d been stupid for assuming mutual friends and lifestyle expectations would be a good basis for a modern marriage hadn’t been easy. He wasn’t sure he’d ever consider that life-changing step again.

God, he hated being here handling this mess. He’d hated even more being in London where people gave him sympathetic looks and wondered what had happened.

Letting out a heartfelt oath, he banished both women from his mind. There were emails to read and respond to, and he’d promised his mother he’d be there for dinner. He grabbed his coffee mug, feeling the urgent necessity for another caffeine boost.

* * *

Nearly two hours later he pulled into the kerb outside his parents’ house, switching off the engine to give himself time to prepare for the evening ahead. He regretted the loss of unwavering respect for his parents, wished he’d never found out his father had been having affairs. He’d lost a small part of himself when he’d come home that evening nine years ago, and had never been able to obliterate what he overheard from his mind.

‘I suppose this one’s as gullible as the rest and believes she has a future with you. How many more, Marcus?’

‘Man wasn’t meant to be monogamous. If you want a divorce, be prepared to lower your standard of living.’

‘Why should I suffer for your indiscretions? I’m giving up nothing.’

Somehow his mother’s acceptance of his father’s infidelities made her complicit. In disbelief he’d fled to his room, changed into a tracksuit and taken off, pounding the footpath trying to drive what he’d heard from his mind. His hero had fallen. He’d returned to a silent, dark house where, for him, nothing would ever be the same.

He scowled, thumping the wheel with an open hand. He’d always been confident, sure of himself and his judgement of cheating and affairs. Now he felt remorse as his father had turned into a stranger who’d made drastic mistakes in the last eighteen months, sending Dalton Corporation on a downhill path.

Pride dictated he fix those glitches and return the company to profit status, along with preserving its good name. Only then could he consider his own future, and for that he’d need a clear head. The only people he’d give consideration to would be family and his partners in London.

He started the engine, and drove through the elaborate gates, grimacing as he entered the luxurious house. This was his father’s dream, a symbol of wealth and prestige, bought during Matt’s absence abroad. He hadn’t told his mother their financial status was in jeopardy. If Lauren Taylor was as good as her reputation, and he’d inherited any of his father’s entrepreneurial skills, he might never have to.

* * *

Adelaide had a different vibe from the city Lauren remembered. Not that she’d seen much of the metropolitan area when she’d lived here, or much of anywhere besides ovals and training grounds. Beaches in summer, of course—swimming and running on the sand were part of the family’s fitness regimen.

As she’d strolled past modern or renovated buildings a window display advertising Barossa Valley wine triggered a light-bulb moment. The Valley, the Fleurieu Peninsula and the Adelaide Hills, plus many other tourist areas, were all within easy driving distance, and she’d been promised a two-week vacation as soon as the assignment ended. All she’d need were a map, a plan and a hire car.

She picked up Chinese takeaway, and spent the evening poring over brochures and making notes. In full view from her window a group of young athletes were training in the parklands over the road. On the side-lines some adults watched and encouraged. Others sat on the grass with younger children, playing games or reading with them.

Her eyes were drawn to a man sitting with a boy on his lap, their heads bent as small fingers traced words or pictures in a book. Her chest tightened and she crossed her arms in a self-hug. Why didn’t she have any memories of those occasions? Why had she never asked either parent to read to her or share a favourite television show with her? She’d always been too afraid of rejection.

Why had they never noticed her quietly waiting for some of the attention claimed by her boisterous brothers? If it had been intentional maybe it wouldn’t hurt so much. Being overlooked cut deeper than deliberately being ignored. And she’d never been able to summon up the courage to intentionally draw attention to herself.

The boy looked up, talking with animation to his father. Eyes locked, they were in a world of their own.

It conjured up the image of Matt Dalton holding her gaze captive as they’d talked. Even thinking of those weary blue eyes spiked her pulse, and memories of that long-ago kiss resurfaced. Her balcony secret she’d never revealed to anyone. Never intended to.

* * *

Lauren chose a different route to work in the morning. She felt more herself, determined to show her new boss she was the professional his friend had recommended.

Last night no matter how many positions she’d tried or how often she’d thumped the pillows, sleep had eluded her. Reruns of her two encounters with Matt Dalton had kept her awake until she’d given in, got up, and researched the company. Something she normally avoided to keep distance and objectivity.

There’d been no reference to him, only a Marcus Dalton who’d become successful by investing in small businesses, and persuading others to participate too. The website hadn’t been updated since November last year, indicating there’d been difficulties around that time.

No, wait. She’d been asked to assess twenty-one months. So the anomalies had been discovered only recently but long-term deception was suspected.

The sleep she’d eventually managed had been deep and dreamless, surprising since her last thoughts and first on awakening had been of full grim lips and jaded midnight-blue eyes.

* * *

The door adjacent to Mr Dalton’s was still locked. From the piles of folders on his desk and extension, he’d arrived very early. He appeared even wearier, the shadows under his eyes even darker.

Lauren tried to ignore the quick tug low in her abdomen, and the quickening of her pulse.

‘Good morning, Mr Dalton. Would it be possible to have the outer door unlocked so I won’t disturb you going in and out?’

Or be disturbed by my immature reaction to you.

Intense blue eyes scanned her face, reigniting the warm glow from yesterday.

‘Good morning, Ms Taylor. I’m not easily disturbed.’

Of course you’re not. You’re a cause not a recipient. Ignite a girl’s senses with a soul-shattering kiss then forget her. Though to be fair she’d been the one to run.

‘My watch alarm is set for an hourly reminder to relieve my eyes, stretch and drink water. To ease my back, I sometimes walk around or up and down a few flights of stairs.’

‘Not a problem.’ He glanced at the bottle in her hand. ‘Keep anything you like in the fridge under the coffee machine or there’s a larger one in the staffroom.’

Without looking, he flicked a hand towards a door in the wall behind him. ‘There’s an ensuite bathroom here or, if you prefer, washrooms on the far side of Reception.’

Why the flash of anguish in his eyes? Why was she super alert, her skin tingling during this mundane conversation?

‘Thank you.’ She turned towards the bench, away from his probing gaze, popped her drink bottle and morning snack into the fridge, then went to her desk. Keeping her eyes averted didn’t prevent his masculine aroma teasing her nostrils as she passed him.

She settled at her new station and, while the system booted up, filled in the personnel document he’d left for her. Once everything was laid in her preferred setting, she stood by the window to stare at the distant hills for a slow count of fifteen.

Now she was ready to start.

For two hours, apart from a short break for her eyes, she focused on the screens in front of her. But like a radio subliminally intruding into your dreams, some part of her was acutely aware of each time the man next door spoke on the phone or accessed the filing cabinets in this room.

The feeling in the pit of her stomach now was different, familiar, one she found comfortable, the exhilaration of the chase. The minor errors matched those in the audits. The one anomaly she found was puzzling enough for her to recheck from the beginning, puzzling enough to tease her brain. A challenge worthy of the fee her boss charged Dalton Corporation.

She headed for the ensuite to freshen up ready for coffee, cheese crackers and relief time. There was one door on her left, another along the corridor to her right.

She regretted choosing the latter the moment she saw the iron-smooth black and silver patterned quilt covering a king-sized bed. For a nanosecond she pictured rumpled sheets half covering a bare-chested Matt, his features composed in tranquil sleep. She blinked and pivoted round. Not an image she wanted in her head when she locked eyes with this cheerless, work-driven man.

On her return to the office, his posture enforced her last description. His chin rested on his hands, his elbows on the desk, his attention fully absorbed by the text on his screen.

Stealing the opportunity to observe him unnoticed, she stopped. A perception of unleashed power bunched in his shoulders, a dogged single-mindedness showed in his concentration. The untrimmed ends of his thick hair brushed the collar of his shirt, out of character to her perception of a smart, city businessman.

His mug had been pushed to the edge of his desk, presumably empty. She picked it up, startling him.

‘Would you like a refill?’

He nodded. ‘Thanks. Flat white from the machine, one sugar. How’s it going?’

‘Progressing. Do you want details?’

His eyes narrowed.

She pre-empted his next remark. ‘People who hire me have varying knowledge of technology and require different levels of explanation.’ Many don’t like to betray their ignorance in the field. ‘My daily report will be comprehensive.’

‘Do whatever’s necessary to get results. I’ll read the report.’ Again an undertone of irritation further roughened his voice, a darkening glint of angst flashed in his eyes.

Matt made a note in red at the top of the paper in front of him, and regretted being repeatedly terse with her. He closed his eyes, clasped his neck, and arched his back. He felt bone tired from sitting, reading, and trying to make sense of his father’s recent actions.

He wished he could shake the guilt for not being around, for not noticing the subtle changes on his trips home for family occasions. Maybe if he’d spent more one-on-one time with Marcus he would have. Instead he’d apportioned blame without considering it was their lives, their marriage. For nine years he’d kept physical and emotional distance from two of the most important people in his life.

He heard the soft clunk of a mug on wood. By the time he straightened and looked, a steaming coffee sat within reach, and Lauren was disappearing into her room. She’d discarded the light jacket she’d worn on arrival. Tired as he was, the male in him appreciated her slender figure, her trim waist. The pertness of her bottom in the grey trousers.

Inappropriate. Unprofessional.

As he drank the strong brew the sound of a quirky ringtone spun his head. The friendliness of Lauren’s greeting to someone called Pete rankled for no reason. Her musical laughter ignited a heat wave along his bloodstream.

He strode to the ensuite to splash water on his face and cool down.

* * *

‘Hey, it’s nearly twelve o’clock.’

Lauren started, jerking round to see her temporary boss standing in the doorway, the remoteness in his eyes raising goosebumps on her skin. She blinked and checked her watch.

‘Two minutes to go. Are you keeping tabs on my schedule?’ Some clients did.

‘Not specifically.’ He moved further into the room, closer to her desk. To her.

Her pulse had no right to rev up. Her lungs had no right to expand, seeking his masculine aroma.

‘Your work’s high intensity.’ His neutral tone brought her to earth.

‘I’ve learnt how to manage it. Results take patience and time.’

He gave a masculine grunt followed by a wry grin. ‘The latter’s not something we have plenty of. Take a lunch break. I need you fully alert.’

Eight floors by foot before taking the elevator to the ground helped keep her fit. She smiled and walked out into the light drizzle. Adelaide was like a new city waiting to be explored. Chomping on a fresh salad roll, she strolled along, musing on that dour man, wondering what, or who, had caused the current situation. And why Marcus Dalton was no longer in charge.

Matt was clearly related. He bore a strong resemblance to the photograph on the website she’d accessed. Even with the ravages of the trauma he was under, he was incredibly handsome with an innate irresistible charisma. Was he married? In a relationship?

She chastised herself, chanting silently, Never let anyone get to you on assignments. Stupid and unprofessional, it could only lead to complications and tears. However, she had never been in this situation before...she’d never been kissed by one of her clients.

* * *

‘There’s definitely a recurrent anomaly. Finding when it started may tell me how and what,’ Lauren informed Matt as she gave him her report prior to going home.

She was leaning towards it being deliberate because of the number of identical anomalies. No reason to mention she had no idea how it had been achieved.

He nodded and dropped the report in a tray. ‘How’s the hotel? I asked Joanne to book somewhere not too far out.’

‘Oh.’ Was he trying to be sociable? Make amends for his abruptness? ‘Very nice, and my room overlooks the parklands.’

‘Not too noisy on that corner?’

She couldn’t suppress her grin. ‘I live in Sydney, remember. You tune it out or drown it with music.’

His gaze held hers for an eon, or longer. The darkening in the midnight-blue coincided with heat tendrils coiling through her from a fiery core low in her abdomen. Her eyes refused to break contact, her mouth refused to say goodbye. Her muscles refused to obey the command to turn her away.

It was Matt who broke the spell, flinching away and shaking his head. His chest heaved as his lungs fought for air. He clenched his fists to curb the impulse to—no, he wouldn’t even think it.

‘Did you bus or taxi?’ He didn’t particularly care but was desperate to keep the conversation normal. To ignore those golden specks making her eyes shine like the gemstones in his mother’s extensive jewellery collection. His voice sounded as if he’d sprinted the last metres of a marathon.

‘I walked. It’s not that far.’

His eyebrows shot up. ‘Walked?’ To and from a bus stop or taxi rank was the furthest most women he knew went on foot, apart from in shopping centres.

She shrugged. ‘Beats paying gym fees and clears my head.’

‘I guess. Just take care, okay.’ He had no reason to worry, yet he did.

‘Always. Good afternoon, Mr Dalton.’

‘I’ll see you tomorrow, Ms Taylor.’

As soon as she’d gone he slumped in his chair, stunned by his reaction to her smile, quick and genuine, lighting up her face. His pulse had hiked up, his chest tightened. And his body had responded quicker and stronger than ever before.

His fingers gripped the armrests as he fought for control. This shouldn’t, couldn’t be happening. Women, all women were out of bounds at the moment. Even for no-strings, no-repercussions sex. She was here on a temporary basis. She was an employee, albeit once removed.

He groaned. She was temptation.

He forced his mind to conjure up visions of the life he’d left behind in London, crowded buses and packed Tubes, nightclubs, cafés and old pubs. Teeming, exciting. Energising. Attractive, fashionably dressed women in abundance. Great job, great friends. And one woman he’d thought he’d truly known.

It had been a near perfect world prior to his trust going down the gurgler and his existence being uprooted into chaos. Now he had little social life, even less free time, and collapsed wearily into a deep dreamless sleep every night. And woke early each morning to the same hectic scenario.