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“So I gathered.” She stared at the computer monitor as if mesmerized by it. Her fingers clicked over the keyboard with impressive speed. “I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. Blaine.”
The final comment was added as an afterthought and without benefit of a glance.
Rich shuffled uncomfortably. “And you are…?”
She leaned forward, hit the backspace and re-entered a number. “Catrina Jordan.”
“Catrina. That’s a lovely name.” He repeated her name, which was pronounced Cat-rina, emphasis on “Cat,” rather than the softer European pronunciation. “Your mother must have been a feline fancier.”
“My mother was allergic to cats. I was named after my grandmother.” Another correction made its way to the monitor. She studied her notes a moment, then went back to inputting figures without further comment.
“I see.” Rick felt like a high-school nerd trying to ask the homecoming queen for a date. “My mother was a big Humphrey Bogart fan.” He flashed his famous smile, presuming she would be dazzled by it.
And she might have been, if she’d bothered to look up. “He was a fine actor.”
He puffed his cheeks, blew out a breath. “She named me after Humphrey Bogart’s character in Casablanca.”
“How interesting,” she murmured in a tone that clearly implied she’d rather discuss the genetics of animal dander with an intellectual dwarf than indulge in further conversation with him.
“Look, I want to apologize for what happened earlier. I didn’t mean to embarrass you. I mean, if you were embarrassed there was no need to be. This is a casual company. We’re all on pretty much a first-name basis here. It didn’t occur to me that you’d be intimidated just because my name is on the letterhead.”
Her fingers froze over the keyboard, then she tucked them in her lap. She took a deep breath, then swivelled around to face him. “I was not intimidated, Mr. Blaine, nor am I interested in conducting an office flirtation with the boss, or with anyone else for that matter. I take my work very seriously, and I’m good at what I do. I need this job. I’ll be a valuable employee for your company, but that is all I will be.”
If she’d shoved her keyboard down his throat sideways he couldn’t have been more shocked. “Exactly what kind of reputation do I have among my employees?”
The dart of her gaze proved he’d hit a nerve. “You are highly regarded,” she confessed. “Everyone I’ve spoken with thinks the world of you.”
“So I’m not known as a lecherous skirt-chaser?”
That adorable flush revealed itself in crimson patches on her otherwise perfect complexion. “On the contrary, you’re known as a man who is generous and outgoing to everyone.”
“And you just naturally resent generous, outgoing people?”
His teasing question was rewarded by the hint of a smile, which she quickly quashed by biting her lip. “I apologize for my rudeness. The truth is that you’re right, I was embarrassed because I didn’t know who you were and because I’d made such a fool of myself in your presence. I presumed you were deliberately taunting me. Perhaps I was mistaken.”
“Perhaps?” He tilted his head in a manner he knew was boyish and unthreatening. “Let’s start over, shall we?” He stuck out his hand. “My name is Blaine, Rick Blaine. I work here.”
She hesitated, then offered her hand. “Catrina Jordan. I work here too.”
Her hand nested in his with a perfect fit. It was soft to the touch, a warm contrast to her cool demeanor. “I hope we can be friends, Catrina.”
Apparently that was the wrong thing to say, because she withdrew her hand with more speed than would normally be expected. “I’m sure we will be, Mr. Blaine.”
“Rick.”
“Very well. Rick.” With that, she swiveled her chair toward the monitor and began inputting figures into the computer.
Rick stood there like a spurned suitor, knowing he should muster whatever small dignity he retained by walking quickly to the nearest exit.
As usual, however, Rick rarely did what he should do, but followed his instinct instead. He took the opportunity of studying this unexpected woman, the firm curve of her jaw, the determined crease of her chin.
He’d seen fear in her eyes when she’d looked at him, a fear that both saddened and intrigued him. He acknowledged that Catrina Jordan represented a challenge, not only to his masculine ego but to his sense of humanity. Something had wounded her, something she still feared, something that she apparently recognized in him. Even though this seriously bothered him, Rick chose not to explore it too closely.
He wanted to know about this lovely young woman, wanted to know everything about her, what she enjoyed, what she disliked, what made her laugh, what brought out the joy in those luscious brown eyes.
A glance around her desk gave him a few tantalizing hints. There were no personal items, no family photographs. Her ring finger was bare, a fact he’d noticed when he’d first seen her threatening the collating machine.
He spotted a small but healthy philodendron plant at the edge of her desk, alongside an extra-large disposable cup emblazoned by the logo of a coffee boutique not far from the office. She liked plants and gourmet coffee.
On the floor behind her chair was a gym bag with a pair of running shoes tied to the handle. She was a probably a jogger, and he presumed she headed to the nearby park during lunch hour since she’d brought her fitness togs into the office.
He was still scrutinizing her personal effects when she suddenly spun around, skewered him with a stare. “Will there be anything else, Mr. Blaine?”
“Uh…nice plant.”
“Thank you.”
Feeling chastised and thoroughly dismissed, he backed away and returned to the spot where Frank Glasgow had been watching with obvious disapproval.
“It’s not my place to question,” Frank said, “but I thought you had rather firm rules against, well, mixing business with pleasure, so to speak.”
“Is it that obvious?”
“I’m afraid so.”
Heaving a sigh, Rick absently ran his knuckles over his scalp, a habit that made it even more difficult to control a shock of nut-brown hair that drove his barber crazy. Frank was right, of course. Rules were rules, and no business could be effective if its employees were constantly sizing each other up for romantic entanglement.
But there was something about Catrina Jordan, something that stuck like a sharp tack somewhere inside Rick’s chest and wouldn’t let go. “Rules are like mirrors. You never mean to break them, but sometimes it just happens.”
Frank shook his head. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”
“So do I,” Rick replied quietly. “So do I.”
Chapter Two
“One large house blend, please, to go.”
Pushed and prodded by the crowd around the counter, Catrina struggled to extract the cash to pay for her purchase, only to have her wallet elbowed from her grasp by a burly patron. Frustrated, she bent to retrieve it, but it was wedged under the heel of a large, booted foot. She puffed her cheeks, blew out a breath.
It was definitely going to be one of those days.
“Excuse me, sir. Sir?” She hesitated, then tugged the hem of the blue jeans extended over the offending boot. A man with a brushy beard sniffed the air like a puzzled grizzly before frowning down at her. She swallowed, tried for a smile. “You’re standing on my wallet.”
He blinked, glowered, stepped to one side.
Murmuring her thanks, Catrina scooped up her wallet, gasping in horror as the coin purse yawned open to disperse a handful of jingling change.
Coins rolled across the crowded floor, lodging between a forest of shifting legs and shuffling feet, where only a desperately broke masochist would venture in an attempt to retrieve them.
Catrina dropped to her knees and frantically scooped up as many as she could find.
By the time she slapped a handful of coins on the counter along with her last dollar bill, flyaway strands of hair stuck to her moist cheek, there was a hole the size of Wyoming in the knee of her panty hose, and she was pretty sure that her deodorant had failed.
It was barely 7:30 a.m.
She shouldered her purse, snatched her covered cup of coffee, then muscled her way through the surging crowd desperately hoping that everything that could go wrong already had. Then she collided with a well-formed chest wrapped in a casual knit shirt sporting the suspiciously familiar scent of soap and cedar.
“Well, fancy meeting you here.” Rick Blaine widened his eyes as if stunned by the coincidence. “Ms. Horton? Catherine, right?”
She managed a tight smile, spoke through her teeth. “Jordan, Catrina Jordan.”
“Of course. I remember now.” He flashed a grin, pushed the glass door open and held it for her.
She grunted her thanks and brushed by him, striding quickly up the sidewalk toward the office. She wasn’t surprised when he fell into step beside her.
“I see we both have excellent taste in coffee.” He angled a speculative glance at the capped cup in her hand. “Latte, skim?”
“House blend, black.”
“Ah, that explains it.”
“Explains what?”
“Your rather high-strung and spirited disposition.”
She swivelled to stare at him, stumbling on an uneven patch of concrete. “I beg your pardon?”
He was sipping his coffee through a small hole in the cap, and allowed himself to complete the process before favoring her with a glance. “No insult intended, of course. Anyone who starts the day with enough caffeine to jump-start a semi is bound to be a bit jittery, that’s all.”
“I am not jittery.”
“You haven’t drunk your coffee yet.”
“Coffee or no coffee, I am not a jittery person.” The nerve of this man, a virtual stranger presuming to cast comments upon her personality. “It’s ridiculous for you to make such a categorical statement about a person you don’t even know.”
“You’re quite right, it is. The only way for me to make reparations for my boorish presumption is to rectify that situation. How about dinner tonight?”
Only then did she note the sly gleam in his eye and realize that she’d leaped right into the trap. “No, thank you.”
“Tomorrow night?”
“No. Thank you.”
“Ever?”
“Probably not.”
“Ah, probably leaves the door open.”
“No, it doesn’t.” She reminded herself that this man had the power to take her job away, a job that she desperately needed to care for her baby daughter. “Please, don’t take it personally. I’m not in the market for a romantic relationship, or any relationship for that matter.”
“Not even a friendship?”
“In my experience, friendship is nothing more than the masculine code word for sex without commitment.”
He choked on his coffee, coughed until his eyes watered. When he could speak without wheezing, he stared at her in genuine astonishment. “Don’t hold back, tell me what you think.”
She couldn’t bite back a smile this time. He really was a charming fellow and definitely an attractive one. Under other circumstances, she would have been flattered by his attention and might even have responded favorably to it. “I apologize if I’ve insulted you. I do have an unfortunate tendency to speak my mind a bit too candidly at times.”
“No, no, I appreciate candor.” He frowned, shot her a glance. “That’s a lie. I hate candor.”
“Most men do.”
“Most women do, too. For example, would you appreciate being told that the hole in your nylons makes you look like you have a fist-sized wart on your knee?” He grinned when she jerked to a stop and stared at him. “I didn’t think so.”
Her astonishment melted into amusement. She chuckled. “Touchе, Mr. Blaine.”
“Rick.”
“Touchе, Rick.”
They had reached the offices of Blaine Architectural. He politely opened the door for her. “So now that we know each other well enough for brutal honesty, will you go out with me?”
“No,” she said pleasantly. “But I will regret it more than I would have ten minutes ago.”
“It’s because of my eyebrows, isn’t it?”
“Your what?”
“My eyebrows. I know they’re ugly. They tweak in the middle, sag at the side, and I’ve been told they make me look like a stunned Chihuahua. I’ll bet you hate dogs.”
“I love dogs.”
“Then why won’t you go out with me?”
Exasperated, she stepped into the elevator, whirled around and pressed a palm in the center of his chest to keep him from following. “Because you are rich, arrogant and pushy. Does that about cover it?”
He blinked. “Yes, I believe it does.”
The midday sun was warm, the autumn air cool, and the shady park was bustling with activity. From his vantage point behind a sprawling cedar, Rick watched the svelte blonde completing her warm-up exercises beside a glossy, forest-green bench. She rolled her arms, flexing her shoulders beneath a sweatsuit worn thin at the elbows, and patched at the knees. Her shoes were old too, scuffed and scarred from repeated use.
It didn’t matter. She could have been wrapped in stenciled burlap, and Rick still would have thought her the most appealing woman on Earth.
He didn’t know why.
Fascinated, he continued to stare as she stretched her calf muscles, dipping down until her forehead brushed her knee. Every movement was fluid and graceful, the epitome of vibrant health and lithe femininity.
His greedy gaze absorbed every nuance, every twist of her waist, every bend of her knee until she shook her body as if it were a limp rag. As soon as he realized she was preparing to sprint away, he emerged from behind the tree, planting himself directly in her view.
