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For a brief millisecond her feet wouldn’t move. She didn’t want to sit at his desk. The image of sitting on it kept elbowing to the front of her thoughts. But she couldn’t come up with a plausible reason to ask him to move to the table.
Reluctantly she stepped inside, trying to keep her eyes focused on anything other than Logan Moore and those lips that, just last night, had been planted firmly between her—
Another clench between the legs told her to calm down and let it go. She was a professional. She hadn’t made it to where she was by lusting over something as silly as a few open shirt buttons.
She picked up her pace and casually took a seat across from him. She just wouldn’t look at him. They were here to discuss her ad campaign, not to gaze into each other’s eyes.
Without a word of greeting, she dropped the folders onto the desk and opened the first. She pulled the now sweaty pen from her left hand and flipped open her notebook preparing to get down to business.
“So this is what we’ve got,” she said. “I think Tyndale is going to like these ads.”
“Good afternoon to you, too, Trisha.”
She slowly brought her eyes from the ads to his face. His mouth was cocked in a half-smile, she could swear his gaze had just been planted on her chest, and when their eyes locked, a bolt of lightning shot through her, curling her toes.
Don’t look at his eyes.
She quickly glanced to his hair and those dark, wavy curls that she’d had her fingers threaded through on a number of imaginary occasions.
Hair, bad.
She shot her eyes down to his chest.
No, not the chest.
His ear, she could focus on his ear, she thought, before remembering she’d nibbled on it last Tuesday.
As her eyes shot around his features like a pinball, she realized she was sinking without a net. She needed to pull it together. She quickly glanced at the bronze Remington statue that stood on the credenza behind him. A team of wild horses. How fitting. She’d need a team of horses to jolt the lust from her head.
“You’re always business, aren’t you, Trisha?”
Her eyes met his as she mentally slapped herself in the face. It was time to act like a grown woman, like a company director who was supposedly slated for a VP position at the prestigious Moore Agency. And if she wanted that spot, she was going to have to prove to herself that she could overcome this lust for her boss and act maturely instead of being some sort of flustered teenager.
She cleared her throat, took a deep breath and began acting like a woman who belonged in the business world.
“I’m just excited about this campaign. I think we’ll get the contract. We’ve come up with some ideas that match the tone of the resorts and the image Marc Tyndale wants to portray. You’ll be impressed.”
He glanced down to the files. “I’m always impressed when it comes to you.”
Not helping.
“I appreciate that.”
With his elbows propped on the armrests, he laced his fingers together and tilted back his chair, relaxed, casual and entirely sexy. His movement caused a light breeze of his aftershave to sweep up her nose, sending another intoxicating wave of heat through her midsection.
“I only have one problem when it comes to you, Trisha.”
That iced her down and grabbed her attention.
She studied him, waiting for an explanation.
His brief grin let her know he’d noticed the look of concern on her face. “Trisha, you work too hard. There’s only a couple nights a week you leave here on time.”
Those would be the nights she cut out to have imaginary sex with her boss.
He pulled up his chair and leaned his arms on the desk, moving a little too close for her comfort.
“What I’m getting at is, I don’t want to be responsible for ruining your personal life.”
Too late.
“If you need another assistant,” he continued, “please just say the word.”
She exhaled the breath she’d been holding and forced herself to relax.
“I appreciate that, but Devon and I are fine.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“Really,” she insisted. “If I feel it’s too much, I’ll tell you, but for now, I’m fine.”
“Uh-huh. And I assume your boyfriend would agree?”
She opened her mouth, but any attempt at words would have only resulted in a low gurgle in her throat. Logan had never made reference to her personal life before. He’d always remained strictly business, and being that he was the reason she had no boyfriend, she wasn’t sure how to answer.
His smile turned to reluctance. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry into your personal life.”
“No, please.” She couldn’t let her silence make him feel like a cad. “It’s just…I don’t have a boyfriend, that’s all.”
Logan’s eyes darkened. She couldn’t tell if it was disbelief, or suspicion, but something inside him turned, and for the life of her, she didn’t understand why.
Why would Logan care that she was unattached? And why would he react with such obvious distaste? Plenty of people in the office were single. Logan himself was single, uninvolved in a serious relationship.
What did it matter to him?
And without a doubt, it mattered.
It was written all over his face.
She opened her mouth to inquire, but he cut her off.
“There’s more to life than work. You’re already doing a great job, you don’t need to do more and I need to know that you can delegate responsibility.”
Well, there it was. The hint that Adrienne’s VP rumor might actually be true.
“I’m just giving extra attention to Tyndale. I know how important this particular account is to you.”
A faint smile crossed his face. “It is important, but I won’t sacrifice my staff to get it. Besides, I need you rested for the sales pitch next week.”
A lump formed in Trisha’s throat. This was exactly the glimpse inside Logan Moore that snatched her heart and twisted it in knots. It was this caring, supportive side of Logan that he didn’t often show, but when he did, it made her want to unpeel those layers of stoic professionalism to see what was truly inside.
“I appreciate that,” she said. “And I promise, once these go to print, I’ll take some time off.”
He cleared his throat and took the folder in his hands. “I suppose that’s a reasonable deal. So let’s get the ball rolling.”
“SORRY I’m late.”
Trisha dropped her purse on the kitchen counter of her parents’ Tiburon home, pressed a kiss to her mother’s cheek and took a seat at the bar next to her brother Mark.
“Devon’s been out of town and I’ve had to handle everything,” she added.
“No worries,” her father said. “I’m just putting on the potatoes. We won’t be eating for at least a half hour.”
“How is the Tyndale campaign coming?” her mother asked.
“Good. Logan seems pleased and I think we’ve got a solid shot at the account.”
She grabbed a wineglass from the counter and poured herself a glass of Bordeaux, ready to put the day behind her and relax in the company of her family. Despite their busy schedules, everyone still gathered twice a month for dinner with the folks. It was a ritual they’d shared since childhood.
Her parents both had hectic careers, her father, Phillip, an economics professor at U.C. Berkeley, and her mother, Monica, an executive for Sunwest Bank. But no matter how demanding their careers, her parents had always made sure the family sat down to a meal together at least once a week. The tradition had lasted through Trisha’s childhood, and even though the kids had grown and moved out, they all kept returning for the weekly meal that only recently had dropped back to twice a month.
Her parents had never insisted they make it, the dinners were simply an open invitation to whoever could come. But they always did. Her older sister, Cheryl, was a stay-at-home mom of two young toddlers and these dinners were her opportunity to get off her feet and let someone else do the cooking for a change.
Trisha’s younger brother, Mark, was still in college working toward a doctorate in psychology and he never turned down the chance to come home, laundry in tow.
For Trisha, the visits were her way of staying grounded, the frequent reminder of what she wanted from life. Watching her parents work together was her way of staying real, the scene before her reflecting everything she hoped to find in a marriage someday. Her mother and father loved cooking together and had perfected the task to an art. They bustled around the kitchen like two lovers in a dance and it was a symbol of how they shared their lives. Juggling careers and three children wasn’t an easy task, but Phillip and Monica Bain had always made it look easy, their deep respect for each other and unyielding camaraderie working together to make a success of their lives and their family.
They had become the litmus test Trisha used when evaluating a current lover. If a man didn’t treat her like her father treated her mother, he wasn’t long in the arms of Trisha Bain. Though she admitted her parents were a hard act to follow, she always believed she could find that special someone who could work with her through life like her parents worked together.
Like she and Logan did at the office.
She blinked away the errant thought, insisting on keeping that subject on the shelf while she enjoyed dinner with her family.
“So, you’re just in time to help me,” Mark said as Cheryl took a seat at the bar.
“Help with what?” she asked.
“Valentine’s Day is coming up and I need some ideas on what to get Grace.”
“Getting serious about Grace, are we?” Monica asked as she snapped peas into a large glass bowl.
“Maybe. I’m not ready for the altar, but I think a woman who can handle me through finals deserves something nice.”
Cheryl chuckled. “She deserves sainthood.”
“Okay, so short of that, what should I get her?”
“That’s easy. Diamonds and gold.”
“I said I’m not ready for the altar.”
“I was thinking necklace, idiot.”
Mark mulled over the suggestion. “What do you think, Mom?”
“A necklace would be nice, or maybe a bracelet.”
He turned to Trisha. “Anyone give you jewelry for Valentine’s Day?”
Trisha tried to remember getting anything on Valentine’s Day, but none of her relationships seemed to make it to that level. Somehow, before things got serious, she’d always found some sort of deal breaker in a man that nixed their future together—a thought that left her wondering about the choices she’d made in the past.
She considered the question. “No jewelry, but Hal had taken me for a motorcycle ride up the coast. That was kind of sweet. He’d told me to bring my camera and we’d stop and shoot some landscapes along the way.”
Trisha had a passion for nature photography, and she’d remembered thinking how sweet it was that Hal had considered her hobby when planning their day.
“Although,” she recalled, “it didn’t turn out the way I’d hoped.”
“God, I remember that.” Cheryl chuckled. “You ended up in some dingy bar, didn’t you?”
“The place was a dive. I spent the whole time worrying my camera would get stolen.”
“What were you doing with that guy?” Cheryl asked. “He was so not you.”
Trisha took a sip of her wine. “I fell for his body and forgot there was a personality inside.”
“He was hot,” Cheryl agreed. “Tell me, is it true what they say about the size of a man’s hands? That guy had some big hands.”
“I’m not hearing this,” their father proclaimed.
Cheryl rolled her eyes. “Come on, Dad, we’re grown women. How do you think you ended up with two grandchildren?”
Phillip gasped and jokingly turned to his wife. “You told me that was divine intervention!”
“It was, honey.” Monica winked. “Cheryl’s just pulling your leg.”
“Can we get back to gift ideas?” Mark asked, that baby-brother whine still evident in his voice at the age of twenty-five.
“I told you,” Cheryl said. “Women are easy. Buy her a necklace. Grace will love it. Men are the hard ones to buy for. I never know what to get Steve.” She looked at their father. “Dad, what was the best Valentine’s present Mom ever gave you?”
“That’s easy. I got a lovely handmade card telling me we were going to have a baby. And eight months later, you were born.”
“Seven,” Monica said. “Remember? All my babies were early.”
Phillip chuckled. “You almost delivered Trisha in the middle of a business meeting. I remember the nurses saying you were the best-dressed screaming woman they’d ever seen.”
Monica groaned. “That was awful. My water broke right in the middle of a roomful of bankers.”
“If you ask me,” Mark chimed in, “I think Trisha just wanted to join the meeting.”
