Читать книгу Bedded By The Boss: The Boss's Demand / Something about the Boss... / Beguiling the Boss - Jennifer Lewis, Yvonne Lindsay - Страница 8

One

“I want her gone.”

Elan Al Mansur’s low-pitched command shot into her ear as she pressed the intercom button to speak with him. Surprise made Sara catch her breath—he must have someone in his office. She held her tongue, afraid of her new boss though she’d only been there a few hours.

“But Mr. Al Mansur…” Sara recognized the voice of Jill Took from Human Resources. “She has a bachelor’s degree in business with a minor in geology, she wrote her honors thesis on the profit potential of alternative mining technologies, and her references are excellent.”

They were talking about her.

Her finger quivered on the button as her brain told her to hang up. But she stifled her breathing and kept her finger in place.

“Did I not inform you that I require my assistant to be a mature woman?” His voice was almost a growl.

“Yes, but…”

“How old is Miss Daly?”

“Twenty-five, but she seems exceptionally mature. She presented herself…”

“Twenty-five!” Sara heard a dismissive snort. “That’s hardly what I would call mature. I’ve made it quite clear that I prefer my assistant to be a woman with decades of experience, and preferably gray hairs on her head.”

Sara’s finger twitched on the button as her hackles rose. She took in a measured gulp of air.

“Mr. Al Mansur, I’m afraid we don’t receive many applications from senior citizens. I…”

“Is Miss Daly married?”

“No, sir, I don’t believe she is. But as you know, sir, that kind of information is not—”

Jill paused and Sara pressed the phone to her ear as she heard a loud creak and some rustling. Elan Al Mansur must have silenced Jill with a gesture.

“Miss Took—” His throaty voice coiled into Sara’s ear and fear curled in her stomach at his tone. “I’m a busy man. I don’t have time for the whims and fancies of foolish girls. We both know the kinds of problems which have plagued my office of late. Miss Daly must go.”

“But Mr. Al Mansur…”

“That’s my last word on the matter. Miss Daly?”

Sara jumped in her chair as her name assaulted her down the phone line. He must have pressed the intercom button, too.

“Yes,” she croaked.

“Please, come in.”

“Yes, sir.” She hung up the phone gingerly. Adrenaline spiked through her body. I’m going to be fired.

She could hear the murmur of their voices on the other side of the heavy mahogany door, no doubt discussing the terms of her severance. Her severance? After one morning? She’d moved a thousand miles from her home in Wisconsin to take this job in Placer, amidst the crumpled peaks and wide valleys of Nevada’s high desert. All her cash had gone into the security deposit on her apartment and her car had died and… The horror of the situation bloomed like a thunderhead.

This job was the answer to all her prayers. The high salary was her ticket out from under the crushing load of debt from her college loans and her mother’s final illness. It had taken her extra time to get her degree while holding down a full-time job, and finally here was an opportunity to build her career and make her reputation as Executive Assistant and Project Manager at one of the fastest growing players in the oil industry.

Now it would be taken from her because she didn’t have any gray in her hair?

It wasn’t fair. To work so hard for so long and not even be given a chance to prove herself? No. Not today, Mr. Al Mansur. She didn’t plan to leave quietly.

Fear and rage fought inside her as she rose from her chair. Buttoning the jacket of the conservative suit she’d bought especially for the job, she strode toward the door. Her hand trembled as she reached for the large brushed-steel handle, and she inhaled sharply as she pressed down the lever.

“But she’s a plain little thing, I’m sure she wouldn’t be the type to…” Ms. Took’s words trailed off and pink flushed her cheeks as Sara made her entrance.

Her boss’s focused black gaze hit her like a right hook to the gut. He leaned back in a black leather chair, arms on the armrests, surveying her down the length of his aristocratic nose.

Everything about the man seemed designed to intimidate. From his thick black hair and hard-edged features to his broad muscled frame in its tailored black suit, Elan Al Mansur seethed with power and danger.

Sara’s angry protest withered on her tongue as he leaned forward in his chair, narrowed his eyes, and pursed his lips slightly.

“Miss Daly.”

“Yes.” She was surprised her voice sounded so normal as she gagged on a ferocious cocktail of terror and indignation.

His gaze drifted over her face, disdain plain in his raised eyebrow and slightly curled lip.

Anger simmered inside Sara along with an unfamiliar sensation. An odd tension that tightened her muscles and nerves, wound them taut like the strings of an instrument as a searing note of high-pitched anxiety rose in the air.

His eyes locked on hers. “You’re being reassigned to a position in accounting. Your salary and benefits will remain the same. You’ll begin your duties immediately.”

Accounting? She’d moved here to take a highly visible position as right hand to the CEO, with assurances that her duties would range far beyond administrative tasks. A transfer to accounting was a step backward. A slap in the face.

“But why?” The words shot out before she had a chance to shape them into an intelligent question.

Jill Took shifted awkwardly in her chair, “Er, we believe your skill set and attention to detail will be better employed in, er, other capacities.”

Sara tore her eyes from Miss Took and fixed them back on the man who wanted her gone. He didn’t even know her and already he despised her.

Instead of shrinking in the face of his distaste, she felt her assertive impulse growing, swelling, threatening to burst its boundaries.

But she had everything to lose and nothing to gain from alienating this man. Proceed with caution.

His arrogant features had an unsettling beauty to them. Some women might find him attractive. But to her he was simply a boss. An ordinary man in a dark suit who just happened to have eyes that tore through flesh and bone with the intensity of their gaze.

She stared at him for a full five seconds and he didn’t flinch. A curious expression lit his unblinking eyes. His lips parted slightly but he didn’t speak. At last, he leaned forward—his chair let out a violent creak—and reached for a pen on his desk.

“You’ll be compensated for your inconvenience, Miss Daly.”

“I don’t want compensation.” At last her repressed ire bubbled over into speech. “I want this job. I’m qualified for this job and I’m a hard worker. I’ll be the best assistant you’ve ever had, I promise you that, Mr. Al Mansur. You will find no fault with me.”

She could hardly believe she was begging to keep a job with a man who obviously didn’t want her around, but she was damned if she’d let a career opportunity of this magnitude be snatched rudely away.

“That will not be possible, Miss Daly.”

His poker face and easy posture threw fresh fuel on the flames of her indignation.

“I overheard your conversation.” The words slipped out before she had time to consider the consequences. Good. It was time to lay all her cards on the table.

He raised an eyebrow and a shadow clouded his face. He blinked once, then his fierce eyes tunneled into her again with harrowing intensity.

Sara struggled for breath, for strength to defend herself. “I heard you say I’m not old enough for the position.”

“Er, Miss Daly—” Jill Took rose from her chair, but ceased speaking when her boss raised his hand.

“Miss Daly, I’ll be frank with you.” His voice was deep, his tone casual. He leaned back in his chair—creak!—and crossed his arms over his chest. Sara couldn’t help noticing how thick his upper arms were, even through the wool of his suit.

“I’ve had my fill of flighty girls who are here merely to hunt for a husband. Don’t think I flatter myself that I’m the object of their attentions. Frankly, I find them pathetic.”

He looked down his slightly aquiline nose at her for a second and the full force of his disgust threatened to knock her off her feet.

“I have a business to run and I will no longer tolerate the foolish behavior of those who have anything other than my business on their mind. For this reason I shall no longer consider young, single women for this position.”

He leaned forward again—creak!—and picked up a pen off the desk. As if to sign her death warrant. “That will be all, Miss Daly.”

A rush of exasperation propelled Sara to his desk. She placed her fingertips on the polished mahogany and leaned toward him. Close enough to taste his scent—subtle and masculine—the fragrance of a deodorant soap released by warm, active skin.

He leaned back slowly, surveying her, arms crossed over his chest. Listening.

Now she was on the offensive.

“Mr. Al Mansur, I may be a young, single woman, but, believe me, I have no interests beyond performing this job to the best of my abilities. I am an experienced executive assistant.”

And a plain little thing. Plain, was she? So much the better. She lifted her chin and fixed her gaze directly on his dark eyes. He narrowed them slightly.

She sucked in a breath. “Your company is the kind of fast-growing, forward-thinking firm I want to work for. You’ve achieved revenue growth of ten percent a year over the last five years. You’re a leader in exploiting new drilling technologies and reducing environmentally harmful emissions at your drilling sites.”

She steadied herself, refused to wilt in the heat of his scorching stare. “Your company has won praise for creating a progressive labor-friendly work environment. Praise it may not deserve, given the way I’m being treated. And if you take this job away from me I’ll sue you for reverse age discrimination.”

As her words reverberated off the stark white walls of his office, she sprang back from the desk. She crossed her arms over her chest, mirrored his defensive gesture. Her assertiveness thrilled her—and appalled her. A lawsuit? She couldn’t even afford a two-piece suit. She was bluffing, but what the heck, she didn’t have much to lose.

Well, except the position in accounting. Which did still have the same excellent salary and benefits. Recrimination snaked in her gut. She was playing pretty high-stakes poker with her life right now.

His face tightened as he watched her. His black eyes burned with intensity that sent an icy shiver up her spine. If looks could kill… Perhaps looks could kill? The one he gave her right now seemed to be sapping her life force in an alarming way.

On second thought, Mr. Al Mansur, perhaps counting a few beans…

“You…” He uttered the single word in a voice so deep it was barely within the human range of hearing.

He paused, then rose from his chair in a single swift motion.

“You…” Rage crackled in his throaty speech and sparked in his eyes. He rested a big hand on the desk, amidst the piles of papers and stacks of files that covered its surface. Awareness of his threatening physique cowed her as he leaned across the desk, a muscle working in his jaw. “You—will sue me?”

“It’s not fair. You haven’t given me a chance. You’re firing me for something someone else has done.” She sounded calm and rational, though she felt anything but. “Let me prove to you I can do this job. If you aren’t happy with my performance, then you can transfer me or fire me outright and I won’t complain.”

He considered her for a moment, brow furrowed. Then he drew himself up and crossed his arms over his chest. He shot a glance at Jill Took, then looked back at Sara with one eyebrow raised.

“All right, Miss Daly. You shall have one month.”

She sagged with glorious relief.

“One month to prove that you can keep your mind focused on your duties.”

“You won’t be disappointed, sir.” She resisted the urge to add a military salute.

Her shoulders locked with sudden anxiety as he strode around his desk. Disobeying the instinct to shrink from his approach, she forced herself to stand steady. She took his offered hand and shook it with what she hoped was authoritative firmness. Big and warm, his hand gripped hers for a mere instant.

And in that instant she realized the magnitude of the challenge before her.

An invisible shudder rocked her as his skin touched hers. His dark eyes seemed to see right through her, their piercing gaze penetrating to the core of her being. Everything in her pricked up—ears, hair, goose bumps—agonizingly aware of the dangerously male life force before her.

When she drew her hand back it tingled slightly. Her body flushed with sudden heat that belied the air-conditioned chill of the office. If not for the stiff fabric of her new suit, her newly tightened nipples would be clearly visible.

What on earth?

Chemistry? Sara stepped backward, blinking, afraid of the strange sensations surging through her. How could a man she didn’t know—a man she didn’t like at all—have this kind of effect on her?

Oh, dear.

She cleared her throat, desperate to get control of her errant body and mind and demonstrate the focused professionalism she’d promised.

“Will that be all, sir?” She sounded like a movie character. Right now she needed a script.

She needed to get out of there.

ASAP.

Her boss had turned away to rifle through the mess of papers sprawled over his huge desk.

“Hmph,” he grunted, without looking up. Then he nodded dismissively to the two women. “Thank you.”

Jill Took rose from her chair and bolted for the door. Sara scurried behind her like a startled rabbit.

Outside in the spacious annex that held Sara’s desk, Jill turned to her.

“Sara, what I was saying when you came in, about you being a plain little thing…” Her cheeks turned pink again. “You know I was just trying anything I could think of to get Mr. Al Mansur to change his mind.”

“Of course.” Sara nodded vigorously, wondering why Jill’s cheeks were so pink if she wasn’t fibbing. “And I appreciate you standing up for me. I won’t let you down.”

“I know you won’t. I hired you, remember?”

Sara laughed a little, glad to release some tension.

Jill lowered her voice. “He’s all right really. It’s just that, well, he’s right, quite honestly. I hired his last two assistants. They appeared to be perfectly capable, suitable employees, very polished and efficient, but they… I don’t know how to explain it. They went gaga over him.” Jill widened her eyes comically.

Sara blinked and swallowed. She’d tasted a sip of gaga and was still tipsy from it.

“I mean, he’s a good-looking guy and all,” Jill continued quietly, with a quick glance at the closed door. “But he has some kind of bizarre effect on women that makes them throw themselves at him in the most embarrassing way. I could tell you weren’t that sort at all.”

Since you’re such a plain little thing.

The unspoken words hung in the air between them. Sara shrank like Alice in Wonderland before the immaculately attired thirty-something blonde in her designer suit and high heels. Apparently Jill was impervious to whatever strange curse of irresistibility hung over the head of poor Elan. Sara felt thoroughly humbled.

“Not at all,” she managed. “I need this job and I mean to keep it.”

“You’ll do great,” Jill said, giving her a reassuring squeeze on the arm.

Sara nodded resolutely. “You bet I will.”

Sue him for reverse age discrimination, would she? Elan raised his eyebrows. That was a first. She obviously knew little about discrimination law, but it stung that she’d thought to accuse him of bias.

He had nothing against female employees. He’d even hire them out in the oil fields if they wanted the work.

But he wanted nothing more to do with simpering maidens who draped themselves across his desk and fluttered their eyelashes over his morning coffee. They exhausted him with their intrigues and flirtations. And none of them could even make a decent cup of coffee. Weak—the coffee and the women.

He looked up at a knock on the door. “Come in.”

Sara entered with a report he’d asked her to prepare and placed the file on his desk.

“Can I get you anything?” Her voice rang in his silent office like a bell. She waited quietly. A strand of pale hair had come loose from her bun and fluttered near her chin, which lifted in a gesture of defiance.

“I could use a cup of coffee.” He cocked his head.

“I don’t know how to make coffee.” She stared at him, her attitude almost insolent. He leaned forward in his chair, struck by her refusal.

“I suspect you have the aptitude to figure it out,” he said slowly. “But never mind. Too much caffeine rattles the nerves.”

He saw a slight smile tug at the corners of her mouth, but she quickly gained control of her features and regarded him once again with a stony expression.

He’d felt the sharp edge of her attitude and he had to admit he liked it. She stood her ground admirably.

She leaned over to replace the cap on a pen lying open on his desk. The loose strand of hair hung momentarily in her eyes and she raised a hand to brush it aside. As she tucked the lock behind her ear she looked up at him, caught off guard, and their eyes met.

A mute challenge.

Suddenly his office seemed uncomfortably warm.

She turned and left without another word. A good sign. She wouldn’t bend his ear with idle chitchat.

He’d give her the chance she asked for. That she’d demanded. He’d seen the fire that flared in her eyes. Eyes the color of rare jade, cool and flecked with gold. Fringed with pale lashes that had blinked in anger as she’d stared him down.

A plain little thing? What an expression. He was amused by the way some people defined beauty in terms of how loudly it shouted at you. For him, true beauty was a quality that shone from within, that brightened and strengthened, like the morning sun rising behind dark mountains. A force that could be dangerous to its beholder.

But Sara’s quiet beauty had no effect on him. He’d grown used to enjoying the more obvious kind of feminine attributes. When in Rome… Fast cars, fast women and the comfort and ease of being alone in his bed at the end of the day.

No ties, no responsibilities, no commitments. Something that would be unheard of, horrifying even, to the people he’d left behind in Oman.

But he had everything he needed here, including freedom from the crippling bonds of traditions that had no place in the modern world.

* * *

Sara spent much of the afternoon rearranging the files in her desk. Her predecessor’s organizational system baffled her. But then it didn’t sound like she’d been there long. Nor had the woman before her or the one before that.

Had they all fallen victim to the dangerous charms of a boss who wanted nothing more than an efficient worker?

She smoothed the last of her newly printed labels on her neatly rearranged file folders and eased the drawer shut.

Her boss emerged from his office and walked past her desk without saying a word or even looking in her direction. He strode across the floor with the powerful gait of a predator.

As the tall mahogany door to the elevator lobby closed behind him, Sara reflected that Elan himself must be the reason this job came with hardship pay. She could already see he worked like a demon and expected his employees to do the same.

Oh, she could be a demon all right.

She felt a little circumspect about entering his office when he was away, but he hadn’t actually told her to keep out. She planned to organize it in a such a way that he’d wonder how he ever survived without her.

She pushed open the door and stepped into the hushed space. No paintings or statues, not a single photograph ornamented his desk. Elan was clearly all business all the time.

She’d felt it necessary to establish that she was not the coffee waitress, but now she was keen to prove she’d do everything in her power to make Elan’s day run smoothly. With brisk efficiency, she sorted and rearranged the disarray of papers on his desk, labeling them with sticky notes if they required action. She sharpened his pencils and tested his pens, threw away any dry ones.

She’d rustled up a can of WD-40 to rid his chair of its infuriating squeak. Proud to be a roll-up-the-sleeves type of person, she was on her hands and knees under the chair when the door opened.

“What on earth…?” Her boss’s deep voice rumbled across the silent office. From her vantage point under the desk she could see two shiny black brogues, and the crisp cuffs of his pinstriped suit.

A fist of apprehension seized her gut and she obeyed the instinctive urge to leap to her feet.

“Ouch!” She banged her head hard on the underside of the chair.

The brogues took a step forward and Sara swallowed hard. She maneuvered out from under the massive chair and clambered to her feet with as much dignity as her fitted skirt would allow.

The sunset streaming through the wall of windows made her blink. As did the sight of Elan, his broad shoulders silhouetted in the doorway. His suit jacket was unbuttoned and his tie loosened, revealing a glimpse of dark throat that beckoned her eyes.

The harsh features of his face gleamed like rare metal in the copper rays of the lowering sun as he stared at her, dark brows lowered over narrowed eyes.

He looked down at the shining mahogany surface that had previously been covered by papers, then at her, and the can in her hand.

“What are you doing?”

She cleared her throat. “Your chair creaks.”

One black brow raised.

“Didn’t you notice? It’s been driving me crazy. Let’s see if I got it.” She jumped down into the seat of the enormous leather chair and was pleased to hear absolutely nothing. “I think I nailed it.”

He hadn’t moved a muscle. “What have you done to my desk?” He wrenched his eyes from hers to the newly uncluttered expanse of mahogany.

“I sorted your papers into relevant categories. I didn’t throw anything away, but the pile on the left can go, I think.”

He frowned at her. His face darkened and suspicion clouded his eyes. “How could you possibly know enough about my work to organize my papers on your first day?”

“Instinct.”

But all instinct fled as her skin began to sizzle under Elan’s searing gaze.

“Please rise from my chair.” He spoke slowly, as if attempting to communicate with someone with a poor command of the language.

She jolted to her feet. She’d been so transfixed by him she’d forgotten she was lounging in his personal throne.

His dark pupils tracked her with laser-beam intensity. “What made you think you could enter my office and handle my effects without permission?”

She struggled to regain her professional demeanor. “I consider keeping your desk organized to be one of my responsibilities.”

He lowered his head slightly, scrutinizing her. “How do I know you weren’t placing a bug there?”

“A bug?”

“To record my conversations.”

Indignation stung her. “Are you saying anything worth recording?”

She immediately regretted her childish pique.

Elan stared at her. His brow furrowed as he digested her insolence. But his reply was measured, calm.

“To my business rivals, yes.” He strode across the room and maneuvered around her. He quickly crouched down and reached a hand under the seat of the chair.

Sara found her eyes resting on his neck, on the strip of tan skin between the starched collar of his white shirt and the close-cropped black hair at the base of his skull. His small, delicate ear was at odds with the massive, powerful build of his body.

He knelt on the floor and reached an arm under his desk. The roping muscles of his back, visible even though the dark fabric of his suit, captured her attention. It took a few seconds before she realized he was feeling the underside of the desk, searching for electronic devices.

Anger at his suspicion pricked her. She’d never been accused of criminal activity before, and distrust didn’t sit well with her. She’d worked at one job or another since age fourteen, and the admiration and satisfaction of her boss had always been something she could count on.

Elan leaned further under the desk. His suit jacket lifted, revealing the curve of his rear. Good Lord, the man was built like a decathlete.

She took a step backward, trying to regain control as a sudden swell of heat made her body uncomfortable inside the stiff fabric of her suit.

He backed slowly out from under the desk while she tried to look anywhere except at his well-muscled backside. Elan avoided looking at her, too, as he pulled himself awkwardly back up to his feet.

“Still think I’m a mole?” She cocked her head, daring him to extend his accusation.

He ran a hand through his thick hair. “Your previous job was with an electronics firm, no?”

“Yes, Bates Electronics. I worked there for two years. They have no relationship to the oil industry that I know of and no reason to engage in industrial espionage. I am not a spy.”

“Couldn’t you have alerted building maintenance to the fact that my chair creaks?”

“Sure, but by the time I’d called them, explained the problem and demonstrated the squeak, I could have fixed it myself. There’s nothing highly specialized about spraying lubricant.”

He looked at her. The word lubricant hung in the air between them. An innocent word, related to the greasing of cogs, the oiling of hinges, the wetting of pistons. Images which sent Sara’s mind spinning in all sorts of forbidden directions.

She remembered his warnings against showing any prurient interest in him. The thought triggered a rash impulse to test Elan’s sense of humor by asking if she could be fired for saying the word lubricant in his presence.

Mercifully she held her tongue. She dug her fingernails into her palms, tried to control the craziness goading her. Why on earth would she want to provoke and irritate her new boss?

She had an almost irresistible urge to see what lay behind the highly polished granite facade Elan Al Mansur presented to the world.

He drew himself up, took off his suit jacket and hung it over the back of his chair. Unhooked his gold cuff links, dropped them on the desk and rolled up his sleeves. His forearms were muscled, brown and dusted with black hair.

The thought of those forearms closing around her waist, holding her tight, swept through her mind like a gale-force wind.

She stepped backward and smoothed the front of her suit with a hand, trying to brush away the bizarre physical sensation assailing her.

Elan pushed his shirtsleeves up above his elbows as he settled into his chair. Sara suspected her face was blazing as she struggled to keep her eyes off his arms. An arm, for crying out loud! What on earth was wrong with her?

The watch on that arm probably cost more than her mother’s last round of chemo treatments. It was gold, the white face covered with dials. Probably a Rolex. She suspected nothing but the best was good enough for Elan Al Mansur.

“You have no work to do, Sara?” He looked up from his papers, fixing her with a slit-eyed stare. She jumped inwardly.

“I wasn’t sure if you needed anything.”

“If I want something, I’ll let you know.” One broad finger rested on the page, marking his place. “In the meantime, I’ll expect you to provide your own entertainment.”

He’d been aware of her eyes on him, studying him, appraising him. Enjoying him. Humiliation clenched her gut. She turned swiftly away as she felt a renewed blush darken her cheeks.

“Would you like me to change the water in that vase of roses?” From one of his legions of tormented admirers, no doubt.

He looked at her for a moment.

“No.” He glanced back to his papers. “Perhaps you could take them home? I don’t like flowers.”

“I can’t take them home, I ride a bike to work. But I’ll put them on my desk. They’ll brighten the place up a bit. Thanks.”

She paused to bury her face in the yellow blooms. The soothing scent of rose petals filled her senses, relaxed her.

“They’re lovely.”

“Not to me. They’ll be dead in a day or two. I don’t wish to watch them die.”

“I’ll enjoy their swan song. If you don’t need anything else, I’ll take off for the day.”

He glanced quickly at his expensive watch. “Fine.” He went back to shuffling a concertina of papers between his powerful fingers. She lifted the vase and moved toward the door, opened it with her hip.

“Good night.” She turned to him.

Lowered in concentration, his face was hidden from her until he raised it. “You ride a bike to work?”

“Yes.” She paused, waiting for his disapproval.

“I see.” He looked at her for a moment, stony features unreadable. Then he turned back to his papers, opened his pen, and etched a dramatic signature into the crisp white document on his desk.

Sara slipped out through the door with a silent sigh of relief and heard it close softly behind her.

Elan placed the signed papers in his out-box and rose slowly from his chair. He stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling window that looked over the parking lot toward the desert and the distant mountain range beyond.

The sun hung low in the sky, glinting off geometric rows of cars baking in the late-afternoon sun. Many employees had already left. The rest were striding across the parking lot, climbing into their cars and driving out through the gates in an orderly fashion like so many instinctive ants.

A lone figure broke from the orderly procession of cars, darting among them, zigzagging across the parking lot on a bicycle.

Sara.

He narrowed his eyes, straining to get a better look at her. She’d changed out of her beige suit. Of course, who would ride a bicycle in a tight skirt? Well, not tight, but fitted, hugging the curve of her hips gently, as he recalled rather too clearly.

She’d put on shorts. Bicycle shorts, the stretchy kind. He blinked. Swallowed. Her legs were lean, muscled, powerful. Her tawny hair was tied back in a ponytail. Shouldn’t she be wearing a helmet?

He tracked her movements across the parking lot as she made a diagonal path to the exit while the long line of cars wound patiently around the edge of the lot. She stood on her pedals as she went over a speed bump, lifted her backside into the air.

He coughed and turned away. Experienced a sudden rush of uncomfortable sensation. Something stirred inside him that surprised and annoyed him. His pulse pounded and he opened his mouth to breathe.

He moved away from the window and undid another button on his shirt to loosen it. The powerful visual of Sara’s raised hips taunted him.

A plain little thing? Not so. She merely plied her feminine charms in a more calculated fashion than the girls in miniskirts and high heels.

But already he could see she was no different from the others.