More Than Perfect

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“With a little more scotch,” Lucius added blandly.

Unfortunately, the going continued to be as turbulent as the chop of the Sound outside the restaurant window, mainly because throughout their discussion, Gabe initiated a mild flirtation with her. His hand brushed hers when he made a point. His fingers lingering on her shoulder whenever he asked a question. He even caught a springy curl and gave it a tug during some teasing remark.

Normally, she’d have flirted right back, fully aware Gabe wasn’t being the least serious. But one look at Lucius’s expression warned her to play it very, very cool. It didn’t make the least sense to her. Hadn’t he requested she flirt with Moretti? Wasn’t the goal to keep him distracted and off his game? Based on the dark looks she was receiving, the goal had changed without warning. Even worse, the only person distracted was Lucius.

By the time the last bite of a vanilla bean crème brûlée had been consumed, Angie hung from the end of her rope by a tattered thread. Gabe had somehow wrung more concessions out of her boss than she thought possible, a fact that left him smoldering dangerously. That fire threatened to burst to life when Gabe leaned in to kiss her farewell in what would have been an innocuous gesture if he hadn’t taken one look at Lucius and then shifted the aim of his kiss, and slowed it, so it caressed the side of her mouth.

Angie decided it might be in her best interest to make a hasty retreat to the ladies’ room while Andre ordered her a cab. With luck the two men would have already departed by the time she returned. She was half-right. Gabe was nowhere to be seen, but Lucius remained. He draped her wrap around her the instant she joined him.

She glanced toward the maître d’. “Has Andre ordered my cab?”

“Our cab,” he corrected. “And yes, he has.”

Well, damn. That’s what she got for counting the minutes until she could let down her guard and relax. Cursing her luck, she piled a full thirty back onto her tally. “Isn’t it out of the way for you?”

“I don’t mind. Besides, I’m curious to see the house you bought.”

Great. Just great. “No problem,” she murmured. Big problem. Huge problem. And one she didn’t have a hope in hell of avoiding.

“I appreciate your coming tonight,” he surprised her by adding. “Ah, here’s the cab now.”

She followed him from the restaurant into the night air, snuggling deeper into her wrap. The scent of salt and fish flavored the breeze along the waterfront. From the direction of Puget Sound whitecaps foamed beneath a sliver of moon and ferries plied the restless chop, their lights glittering against the blackened sea. The cityscape loomed overhead, glowing with life and vitality. Lucius held the door of the cab and she slid in, praying her skirt didn’t ride any higher. To her relief it stayed put, preserving her modesty. She heard Lucius give the driver the directions before joining her. Leave it to him to have every obscure detail at his fingertips, though it gave Angie an unsettled feeling, knowing that Lucius knew where she lived and could relay the address off the top of his head.

Maybe it had something to do with the thick blanket of darkness combined with the lateness of the hour, but his presence filled the back of the vehicle. Every so often a streetlight would pierce the shadows and play across hard, masculine angles. But that only served to emphasize the darkness of his eyes and make him appear tougher, more unapproachable. Like Bogey in one of his film noirs.

She searched for something to say, desperate to break the silence. Not that it was totally silent. Outside the city lived and breathed, filled with noise and lights and movement. But for some reason, it seemed distant and remote from within the confines of the cab, where his quiet breathing thundered in her ears and a visceral awareness grew with each passing moment. She peered into the night, assessing their distance from home. Still too far.

Way too far.

“I’m sorry the evening didn’t work out quite as planned,” she offered, desperate to break the silence.

“That wasn’t your fault.” His voice issued from the darkness. Quiet, yet carrying an edge that teased along her nerves, making her painfully aware of her scanty dress—and even scantier self-control. “It was mine.”

“I didn’t expect him to flirt with me,” she confessed. “I thought that was my job.”

“Yes, that took me by surprise, too.” His head turned. All but his eyes remained in shadow, darkness buried within darkness. But those eyes … Heaven help her, they pierced through the night and arrowed straight into her soul. Could he see her thoughts, sense what she felt? The rational part of her knew it wasn’t possible. The more visceral, feminine parts responded to the sheer maleness of him … and wanted. “If you’ll recall, I did mention that you’re a very attractive woman.”

“With the right clothes and hairstyle, that is.”

She could feel the burn of his gaze sweep over her. Strip her. “And I was right. That’s one hell of a dress, Colter. What there is of it.”

Her grip tightened on her wrap and she refused to look at him, afraid to look in case she lost the tenuous hold she maintained on her self-control. What would he do if she fisted her hands in that black silk jacket and yanked him to her? Kissed him in a way no employee had any business kissing her boss? Would he take her? Or reject her?

“You disapprove of my choice?” she asked.

The power of his gaze grew weightier, sharper. So tightly focused she could feel it laser into her very bones. “Hell, no. Though now that I’ve seen you in this, I’m not sure I can stand having you wear any more of those chair upholstery suits you favor.”

“That isn’t your decision.” Her head swiveled in his direction and she fought to keep her voice cold and distant. “Nor do you have any say in the matter.”

“And if I insist on having a say? If I claim the way you dress reflects on me? On Diablo?”

Furious words rose up, fighting for escape, trembling on the verge of utterance. To her profound relief, the cab pulled to a stop in front of her house. Not waiting for Lucius to play the part of the gentleman, she erupted from the cab. “Thank you for escorting me home. I’ll see you Monday morning.”

She slammed the door closed before he had a chance to reply and flew up the steps of her 1940s era Craftsman cottage. She fumbled in her envelope purse for her key, found it and was just about to jam it into the lock when she heard the slow, deliberate footsteps climbing the stairs behind her. She spun around. The cab was gone.

Lucius wasn’t.

“Well?” he asked. “Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

Bad idea. Very bad idea. “Sure.” Idiot. “Would you like a cup of coffee?”

“Sounds perfect.”

She fought to address him with a casual air and came within waving distance. Not that she fooled him. Lucius wasn’t a man to fool, or a man to make a fool of. He continued to regard her with a watchful gaze, seeing far too much for her peace of mind. “I’ll give you the grand tour while it’s brewing. Not that it’s all that grand,” she chattered. It took four tries to get her key into the lock and the door opened. She threw a brilliant smile over her shoulder. “I guess the first improvement on my list is better lighting so I can see to open the door.”

He returned her smile, though his eyes were knowing. Of course they were, damn him. Devlin never missed a thing. He stepped across the threshold and closed the door behind him, overpowering the dainty, feminine foyer with an excess of testosterone. He glanced around, nodding in approval. “This is charming, Angie.”

“It needs paint. Carpets. Upgraded plumbing.” Babbling! “But the electrical is sound, as is the basic structure.”

He took his time looking around. “I like that the place has its original molding and hardwood floors. So many of the older homes have had those things stripped out and sold to restoration companies.”

She led the way to the kitchen and started the coffee brewing. “Speaking of restoration, I was thinking about restoring the ‘40s look of the place, sort of like what Moretti did with the Diamondt building. Retro appliances. Antiques from that time period.” She removed cups and saucers from the cupboard, her enthusiasm taking over. “It has two bedrooms and baths on this level, along with a powder room. One of the baths would be perfect for a claw-foot tub and one of those elegant pedestal sinks. Then there’s the upstairs. It’s unfinished right now and I’m not sure whether I want to put in a master suite up there or an office.”

“A master suite would add more to the resell value. You can always turn one of the downstairs bedrooms into a home office.”

She poured the coffee and turned to hand him a cup. He was so close she almost dumped it on him. “Sorry,” she murmured, taking a swift step backward that jammed her up against the counter. For some reason she had difficulty meeting his gaze. “There are times I think this place is built more like a dollhouse than a house meant for adults.”

“You’re nervous. That’s a first for you.” He tilted his head to one side, his eyes as black as the bowels of hell. “Why is that, Angie?”

She made a helpless shrug. “You’re my boss. And we’re in my home.”

“And we’re blurring the lines?”

“Something like that,” she admitted. Honesty forced her to confess, “Okay, totally that.”

“Normally, we aren’t the sort of people who blur lines.”

“No.”

But she wished she were. If she weren’t afraid it would mean losing her job, she’d accept the offer she could read in his gaze. Part of her urged her to do just that. After all, what did it matter? He’d made it clear he intended to marry. If he did, she’d quit. Why not take a chance before that happened? Why not show him that she was so much more than a piece of office furniture. That she was a woman with a woman’s emotions. All it would take was a kiss. A single kiss.

As soon as the thought came to her, she instantly dismissed it. Just where would that kiss lead? Straight to bed. To bed, where she’d be able to prove to him beyond a shadow of a doubt that while she excelled as his PA, she was a total disaster as the sort of woman who usually graced his bed. The stunning Lisa had managed to keep two brilliant and powerful men hooked. Angie closed her eyes. She hadn’t even been able to hook one.

“Lucius—”

He lifted a hand, cut her off. “Tonight was a disaster. You realize that, don’t you?”

Her brows pulled together in consternation. “You said it wasn’t my fault.”

“I lied. It was your fault.”

“Wait a minute. Wait just one damn minute.” She set her cup and saucer on the counter, the porcelain singing in protest. “You told me to flirt with him.”

“I told you to distract him. You didn’t distract him.” It only took a single step in her direction to have him invading her personal space. “You distracted me. And he bloody well knew it. Knew it and took advantage of that fact.”

“And you blame me for that?” she demanded indignantly.

“I blame it on that damn dress.” Burning flames of desire flared to life in his gaze, sweeping like wildfire across her skin, scorching in its intensity. All she could do was stare in return, bathing in the irresistible flames. “Maybe it would help if you took it off …”

Three

Lucius heard the swift, panicked catch of Angie’s breath. God help him. Even that was sexy as hell. Why had he never noticed? How could he have been so blind?

“Have you lost your mind?” she demanded.

“Probably,” he admitted. Definitely.

“You can’t seriously expect me to strip down—”

“Expect? No. Hope?” He invaded the final few inches between them and caught the flutter of her pulse at the base of her throat, heard the swift give-and-take of her breath. “Oh, yeah.”

“I work for you. And this doesn’t just blur the lines. It steps way over them.”

He reached for her, hooked one of the curls that had taunted him all evening and allowed it to twine around his finger. It clung to him, silken soft and utterly female. He’d watched Moretti do just that and it had taken every ounce of his self-possession not to deck the bastard. Lucius shook his head in an attempt to clear it. He didn’t understand what was happening to him, couldn’t make any sense out of the strength of his reaction. Angie had worked for him over the past eighteen months and not once in all that time had he ever felt the urge to connect with her on a personal level. To take her into his arms and discover whether that sexy, impudent mouth tasted as good as it looked.