Wanted by the Boss - Maureen Child Mills & Boon Spotlight

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leaned back, perching her behind on the edge of her desk. ‘‘And by the way, Vanessa?’’ She shook her head sadly. ‘‘Not the deepest puddle on the block. Just the word ‘disfigurement’ was enough to get rid of her.’’ She studied him through amused eyes. ‘‘Swimming in pretty shallow pools, aren’t you?’’

      Shallow? Good description of Vanessa and all of her pals. But hey, he wasn’t interested in meaningful. At the time, all he’d been interested in was a dinner companion and a bed warmer. Vanessa hadn’t been much good at either one. But that was hardly the point.

      ‘‘Are you this mouthy with all of your employers?’’

      She came away from the desk. ‘‘I don’t have an employer. Not anymore. I’m my own boss.’’

      ‘‘Probably a wise move.’’

      ‘‘What’s that supposed to mean?’’

      ‘‘You don’t play well with others, do you?’’

      ‘‘I’ve been doing a good job, haven’t I?’’

      ‘‘Sure,’’ Rick said, moving a little closer. Her scent reached out to him and he sucked it in. Stupid. ‘‘If you don’t take into account the grumbling and the refusal to take orders and—’’

      ‘‘I don’t need to follow orders, I know how to run an office—’’

      Hell, she was as easy to bait as she’d been as a kid. That Irish temper of hers was always bubbling and simmering just below the surface. And watching the temper flash in her eyes was damn near hypnotic. The emerald-green depths churned and darkened and bordered on dangerous, and still Rick was fascinated.

      ‘‘But this is my office,’’ he countered, egging her on. Her skin flushed, her breathing quickened and she looked like a coiled spring ready to explode. And his mouth nearly watered. Man, he was in some serious trouble here. He hadn’t wanted a woman so badly in…ever.

      ‘‘Oh, I know it’s your office,’’ she said, taking a step closer and leaning in for effect. ‘‘It’s got your boring, unoriginal stamp all over it. Anyone else would have a little color around here. But not the great Rick Hawkins. Oh no. Let’s play the corporate game. Battleship-gray all the way for you, isn’t it? You’re just one of the fleet. No originality at all.’’

      ‘‘Originality?’’ She could say whatever the hell she wanted about the decor. Because he couldn’t give a good damn about what the place looked like, beyond it appearing dignified and successful. Did she really think he was the kind of guy to carry swatches of fabric around, for God’s sake?

      But he was damned if he’d stand here and be called a lemming. He’d opened up more brokerage accounts in the past year than any of his competitors. He’d become the fastest growing firm on the West Coast over the past three years and that hadn’t happened because he blindly followed everyone else.

      ‘‘Well, look around you,’’ she exclaimed. ‘‘This whole building is like a warren of rabbit holes. And every one of you bunnies is tucked away in your little gray worlds.’’ She waved her hands around, encompassing the pale gray walls, the steel-blue carpet and the generic watercolors dotted sparingly throughout the room. ‘‘I’m willing to bet the same interior decorator did all of the offices in this place. You’ve probably all got the same awful paintings hung in the same places on the same gray walls.’’

      ‘‘Because I work in an office building I’m unoriginal?’’

      She nodded sharply. ‘‘Hard to be a free spirit when you work on the S.S. Conformity.’’

      ‘‘What?’’ He had to laugh despite her insulting tone. She was way over the top. Like some latter-day hippie. He half expected her to start chanting and calling on Sister Moon to help free his soul.

      Damn, he hadn’t had this much fun in a long time.

      ‘‘What you need is—’’ She slapped one hand to her left eye and shouted, ‘‘Freeze.’’

      ‘‘What?’’ Instinctively he took a step.

      ‘‘Don’t move.’’ She gave him a one-eyed glare. ‘‘Don’t you know what ‘freeze’ means?’’

      ‘‘What the hell are you talking about now?’’

      Slowly she lowered herself to the floor. ‘‘My contact. I lost a contact.’’

      ‘‘You’re kidding.’’

      ‘‘Do I look like I’m kidding?’’ She tipped her head back to stare at him.

      ‘‘You wear contact lenses?’’

      Her one good eye narrowed. The other was squeezed shut. ‘‘Well, to coin a phrase, duh.’’

      Rick glanced at the floor and carefully went down on his knees. ‘‘I knew your eyes couldn’t be that green naturally.’’

      ‘‘Watch where you kneel!’’ she blurted, then giving him a one eyed glare again, she added, ‘‘And they’re not tinted lenses, if you must know.’’

      He looked at her. ‘‘Prove it.’’

      She opened her left eye. Just as green as the right one. Deep and pure and clear, they looked like the color of spring grass. Or, of a backlit emerald in a jeweler’s display case. He stared into her eyes and, for a moment, let himself get lost in their depths. It was almost like drowning, he thought, then brought himself up short when she tore her gaze from his. He wasn’t going to drown in any woman’s eyes. Not again.

      ‘‘So.’’ She swallowed hard, inhaled quickly and said, ‘‘Just run your fingers gently over the carpet.’’

      ‘‘This happen often?’’ he asked as he knelt beside her.

      ‘‘Usually just when I’m upset.’’

      ‘‘So, often.’’

      She gave him an elbow to the ribs. ‘‘Cute.’’

      ‘‘So I’ve been told.’’

      ‘‘By Vanessa?’’ she asked.

      ‘‘Vanessa was a client,’’ he explained, his gaze searching the carpet as his fingers traced softly across the fabric. ‘‘We had dinner a couple of times, that’s all.’’

      ‘‘Apparently she’s still hungry.’’

      ‘‘Too bad,’’ he muttered, briefly remembering just how boring Vanessa really was, ‘‘because I’ve had enough.’’

      ‘‘Ooh.’’ Eileen turned her head to look at him. ‘‘Sounds like there’s a story there.’’

      He glanced at her. She flipped her hair to one side. She smiled and something inside him tightened. Her fingers brushed his as they searched and he felt a short stab of heat that sliced right down to his insides. He’d never felt that with Vanessa. Or his ex-wife. Or anyone else for that matter.

      Damn it, she was getting to him. And he couldn’t allow that to happen. He had to remind himself that Eileen was just an old—not friend—not enemy, either. And certainly not old. So what did that make her? Besides, of course, a top-grade, A number-one temptation?

      ‘‘Hello?’’ she muttered, and waved one hand in front of his face.

      ‘‘Right. Story. No story. Vanessa was just…’’ He thought about it for a long moment. He didn’t owe her or anyone else an explanation. But since she was staring at him from one good eye, he knew she wouldn’t just drop it, either. Finally he said simply, ‘‘Temporary.’’

      Her eyebrows arched. ‘‘Lot of that going around.’’

      ‘‘Nothing lasts forever.’’ His voice

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