Читать книгу Australian Boss: Diamond Ring: Australian Boss: Diamond Ring - Nikki Logan - Страница 10

BRENT parked his truck and made his way into the club. Fiona had left her flat keys on her work desk, half-hidden away between two separate messy piles of paper. He had discovered this fact as he’d cleared chocolate wrappers from her work area.

Not wrappers from chocolates his graphic designer had eaten from the stash in her bottom desk drawer.

But wrappers from the chocolates he’d eaten his way through while he’d examined her design program. He hadn’t planned to eat the treats. He’d opened the drawer in search of a notepad and, though he’d told himself not to be tempted, somehow his hand had ended up in the drawer and the rest, as he focused all his attention on the nuts and bolts of her program and then on the work she’d done within it, had been, as they said, ‘history’. He’d have to replace the candy stash before she got to work on Monday.

She was on the dance floor. His gaze locked onto her and he quickly forgot his thoughts. Dear God, she looked magnificent. A black skirt that came to just above her knees, high-heeled boots and a scoop-necked cream top that clung to her curves as she moved all combined to make her a highly irresistible package of appeal.

When the number ended, Fiona smiled at her partner and moved off the floor with him. She stood half a head taller than the man. At just about the moment Brent forced himself to acknowledge he felt jealous of that man, they joined a large group of people seated at some tables pulled close together.

The fellow put his arm around one of the women in the group and dropped a kiss on her cheek.

‘Brent.’ Fiona’s exclamation came as he approached the tables. ‘What brings you here—?’

‘You.’ The word was low, husky and far too intimate, reflecting thoughts that poured through him, pushed past his defences.

In her boots with the three-inch heel, she stood almost nose to nose with him. Brent wanted to trace all her dips and curves with his fingertips.

It had to be his autism speaking, a need for a tactile exploration to feed his thought processes the answers they sought.

Sure. You believe that, MacKay.

‘Your flat keys. I found them on your desk after you left.’ That was his reason for finding her here. Only that. ‘You might have spares somewhere, but I didn’t know.’

‘I do have a spare set. In my desk at work. Oh, of all the silly things for me to do!’ Her gaze searched his face. ‘I’m so sorry you had to chase me down. I don’t have my mobile turned on, either. It’s a waste of time in here because I wouldn’t hear it ring. How did you know—?’

‘I heard you mention the name of this place when you were on your mobile phone as you were leaving. There’s no need to apologise. I couldn’t have left you without your keys to get into your home.’

Fiona’s mouth softened. ‘Thank you.’

Just two simple words, and he leaned towards her. Brent straightened and his head tipped to the right. ‘Ah—’

She was returning his glance, was as aware of him in this moment as he was of her, and Brent’s need to protect his privacy fought with his need…for her.

But for what? To explore physical attraction with her? Because that was all he could want, wasn’t it? For him, intimacy—true intimacy that involved opening up and letting someone else in was…out of the question.

And have you asked yourself why that is, MacKay? Why you’re so determined to keep people at arm’s length?

Brent knew the answer. He was different, and his ‘different’ wasn’t something people, generally, would be able to accept. So he kept it to himself. He was happier that way. Comfortable.

Safe?

It wasn’t about that. And he had every right to value his privacy, for whatever reasons he wanted to. And there was nothing else behind the way he felt. Nothing.

Fiona’s gaze searched his eyes.

Brent stared into deep blue irises until he felt the stares of some of her friends on him.

She looked past him and seemed to force a casual smile. ‘Everyone, this is my boss, Brent MacKay.’

A round of introductions followed. It gave Brent a chance to settle his reactions to her.

So why did they continue to simmer beneath the surface of every word, every exchange and glance? Rejecting those reactions should be as easy as deciding they weren’t in his best interests or, in fact, in hers. Brent had already decided that, so why…? ‘I should get going.’

‘Would you like to—?’ She stopped, clamped those soft lips together.

Brent drew her keys from his pocket and, when she held out her hand, dropped them into it.

‘Thank you.’ Her fingers curled over the keys before she snagged her bag from the back of a chair and dropped them into it. ‘Please, let me at least…I don’t know…Can I buy you a drink or something? I feel awful, putting you out this way. We could go to the bar. I see a few spaces over there. Most people are on the dance floor right now, I think.’

The bar stretched across the entirety of the far wall beyond the dance area. It was further from the music than the tables here. Brent’s voice emerged as a low growl of sound. ‘A drink would be…nice.’

He’d led her halfway around the dance floor before he registered that his choice might not have been particularly smart.

When they reached the bar, they ordered drinks and Fiona watched Brent from the corner of her eye in the bar mirror and saw the way they looked together.

A dark head and a fair one. A lean, strong face and a soft womanly one. They looked right to her, side by side this way.

The image reached past her defences, left them in the dust, left her wanting deep silent things she couldn’t want, couldn’t let herself admit.

What did Brent want?

Nothing you can pin hopes on, Fiona. Remember that.

‘I hope chasing me down with my keys hasn’t interfered with other plans of yours.’ She didn’t quite meet his gaze. ‘That is…it’s none of my business of course…I simply didn’t want to take you away from—’

A girlfriend? A lover waiting for him somewhere? The thought stung, yet it wasn’t her business, was it?

‘You might have come here with someone—?’

He spoke almost when she did, and then stopped, and their gazes met and held and the atmosphere between them thickened into silently acknowledged curiosity and a certain comprehension.

‘I don’t…’

‘There’s no one.’ Fiona’s heart began to beat more heavily in her chest.

They both lowered their gazes to their drinks, sipped.

Brent’s face tightened as he looked up at her again. ‘This—’

‘I’ve been thinking about the Doolan project.’ Fiona rushed the words out and took another fortifying sip of her lemon mineral water. If she made it all about work they could forget those moments looking into each other’s eyes in a mirror.

Could forget the warmth and consciousness in their eyes, the desire that when they faced each other in reality, they both worked hard to hide.

A part of her wanted to see it again, even though following that path with him could only lead to hurt for her because he would do what every other man had done.

He would go cold on the idea of her sooner or later. He’d already shown the capacity for that.

So talk about work, Fiona, and ease through these moments and then let him go. ‘I know the couple are at loggerheads with each other in their personal lives, but I thought I might have an idea to keep both of them happy with our project plans.’

‘Go on. I’m interested in any contribution you want to make.’ It was clear he meant this.

And perhaps equally clear that he welcomed the change of topic to a work-related subject as much as she told herself she must take the conversation there.

The little sting of hurt was foolish and incidental, and she did her best to ignore its impact. ‘If we use either of the couple’s suggested overall ideas for the project, one of them is likely to resent the result.’

‘It will be one more thing for them to argue about, and our company might get caught in the middle of that altercation.’ His lashes formed thick crescents against his cheeks as he briefly dipped his gaze.

There was something almost vulnerable in that sight, and that made Fiona vulnerable as she softened towards him.

Maybe they needed to be at loggerheads so she could stop being so conscious of him as a man. Because, whether she wanted to be or not, she was, and, though she felt that same vibe back from him, he was her boss and he seemed determined not to notice her even if he was noticing her.

Oh, she had to stop this analysing!

Brent cast a wry smile her way. ‘So do you think you and I could agree on something that might satisfy both of them?’

Far too easily.

So much for her idea of being at loggerheads for her own salvation. Fiona straightened on the stool. ‘Yes. I think we could do it, for the sake of the project and for the company’s overall good. It’s simply a collaboration of minds, after all.’

‘I couldn’t agree more.’ His nod was pure professionalism. The warmth in his glance was not, but he masked that quickly and she told herself to stop noticing. They sipped their drinks in silence before she spoke again.

‘To answer your question from earlier, I caught a lift here with Stacey but I think she’ll end up at Caleb’s place later.’ The couple had been one of her ‘fix it’ projects and had got back together after not speaking to each other for three months. ‘I’ll head off myself soon. I don’t want a really late night.’

They’d finished their drinks. Somehow they were both on their feet.

‘Thanks again for bringing my keys to me, for taking the time to do that.’

‘Do you need a lift home?’ He asked it in such a level way, yet his gaze was not level. It was thoughtful and cautious, offering and…almost braced for her to say no?

As if Brent MacKay would care whether she rejected or accepted him in anything. He was a self-made, very wealthy, highly eligible and extremely talented man. If anything, he had the whole world at his feet.

Yet that’s not what you see in the backs of his eyes at times when he drops his guard a little. That’s not what you saw in those photos with his brothers.

Well, what Fiona looked for and believed she ‘saw’ in those around her were things she had to guard. Her family’s discomfort with that side of her had proved that. She tried to respond in kind. ‘I left my car at Stacey’s place. I just need to get a taxi that far.’

‘What suburb?’

Fiona told him.

Brent nodded. ‘I’ll drive you.’ Decision made. ‘It’s on the way. It would be silly for you to wait around for a taxi and have the expense of it when there’s no need.’

‘Thank you. I just feel guilty for bringing you out when you must have had far better things to do with your time than chase after a designer who can’t even keep track of her apartment keys.’

‘You’re an artist. It is okay for you to forget things sometimes, you know. Some people would say it was almost obligatory.’ They drew near the tables of her friends and Brent waited while she bade them all a quick goodbye.

Once they were outside he quickly hustled her to his truck and got them on the road. They didn’t speak much at first. In the quiet of the night the truck’s cab felt isolated and enclosed and…intimate.

If only she could be a little less conscious of him, but that didn’t seem to be an option for her at the moment.

As he drove them towards her friend’s home, she turned to him and searched his shadowy face. ‘Were you at work late before you discovered my keys?’

‘Yes. I got…caught up there.’ His slight hesitation seemed to hold perhaps a hint of embarrassment. Or some kind of chagrin?

‘Well, now I’m going to owe you twice as much of an effort when I attend the Awards night with you tomorrow night.’ Fiona gave him directions as they neared Stacey’s home.

He drove the truck into an empty space on the street and killed the engine.

It was a quiet residential street and she’d parked her car underneath a street light.

‘Talk about your work for the company if that chance comes up. That’s all I ask.’ He climbed from the truck, crossed in front and opened her door for her. ‘Let’s see you to your car.’

When they got to her car she had her key ready and she turned to him and thanked him quickly and maybe that would have done it, except her nose bumped the side of his neck as she did that because he moved, and she moved, and she didn’t anticipate his closeness and suddenly all the resistance seemed pointless because all the awareness was there, wasn’t it?

He smelled good. Did she press her nose to his neck for the slightest split second?

Did he tip his head towards hers, encouraging that act?

Two deep breaths, one from him, one from her, and they were apart again, the silence an endless consciousness until his gaze met hers and she saw what had to be rare indecision inside him.

‘I shouldn’t do this. It’s not smart.’ His words were an echo of her thoughts.

And she wanted to know…‘Why do you—’

He shook his head. ‘Maybe it’s those long, tall boots. They’re as good to blame as anything.’ His hand closed around her upper arm. His lashes swept down over glittering green eyes that had gone from indecision to determination in…the blink of green eyes.

And Fiona’s senses stalled and her heart stalled and inside her the war hit a new level of anticipation and concern, of need to engage and need to retreat and she thought, Now. He’s going to kiss me now.

And it was what she’d waited for, hoped for without wanting to admit it to herself. Would it be such a bad thing, even if it might cause complications for them?

But he stood there very still, and his fingers tensed where they held her. And his head twitched once, hard, to the right and the moment was lost.

Brent uttered a harsh, ‘Goodnight,’ and dropped his hand, and left her standing there while he walked away.