Office Mate

by Noelle Adams

  On my keyboard.

  Something that doesn’t belong.

  It’s a small jeweler’s box. The top is open.

  Inside is a pretty diamond ring. An emerald cut solitaire on an engraved platinum band.

  I gape down at it like a fool.

  It takes a long time to process what I’m seeing. Then it takes a long time for me to turn my head toward Evan.

  He’s looking at me now with a tiny smile on his lips.

  As I stare speechlessly, his smile fades.

  “If it’s too soon, I’ll take it back,” he says, slowly rising to his feet. “Or if you don’t want it at all.”

  “I do!” I burst out. I’m fumbling as I reach for the ring. “Don’t you dare take it back.”

  His face transforms with relief as he walks over to close and lock the office door. Then he comes over beside my chair. He reaches over to take the ring from the box I’m holding. Then he kneels onto one knee.

  “I love you, Beck. More than anything. I never dreamed I’d find anyone like you to love and be loved by, but I’m not going to let you go now that I have. So I’ll be your Faramir forever, if you’ll be my Éowyn. Marry me. Please?”

  It all hits me in a rush, and I burst into tears.

  His mouth parts slightly as he stares.

  I try to pull it together so I can get a coherent word out, but I’m so overwhelmed that it takes me a minute.

  He doesn’t want to wait a minute. He adjusts on his knee uncomfortably. “Baby, I don’t know what this means.”

  I sob again and fling myself at him. “It means yes!”

  My flinging was a bit too hard. We both tumble to the floor.

  He doesn’t seem to mind. He’s laughing as he eases me off him, turning us both on our sides so we’re facing each other. He cups my cheek and kisses me, right there on the floor.

  I kiss him back with a wave of passion that cannot be held back.

  “If you’ll hold on a minute,” he mumbles against my lips, “I can put on the ring.”

  “Okay.” I make myself pull away, grinning and sniffing as he slides the ring onto my finger.

  Then I kiss him again.

  And this time I don’t stop.

  AUTHOR’S NOTE: The next book in the Milford College is Single Dad (about Katrina and the hot new adjunct art instructor). You can find an excerpt on the following pages.

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  Excerpt from Single Dad

  IT TAKES A LOT OF MENTAL maneuvering, but I manage not to obsess about my appointment with Max for the rest of the day. It’s not until four thirty that I have trouble thinking of anything else.

  At just before five, I go to the bathroom and check my appearance in the mirror over the sink.

  My fine, wavy hair falls to just past my shoulders, and I usually leave it loose. But for some reason I want to look particularly professional when I meet him, so I pull it back into a low ponytail. The hairdo is too severe for my face. My cheekbones stand out starkly, and my blue eyes look way too big in my small face. Instinctively I start to pull the ponytail loose, but I resist the impulse.

  It doesn’t matter if I don’t look pretty right now.

  Better to not look pretty. Not that I think he’s going to be blown away by my appearance but so that I don’t start thinking in the wrong direction regarding him.

  I powder away some of the shininess of my nose and am about to reapply lip gloss when I stop myself from doing that too.

  I’m not—not—trying to look pretty for him.

  I’m not going to let myself.

  It’s harder than it should be to leave the bathroom without seeing a reflection I’m happy with in the mirror, but I manage.

  I’ve straightened up some of the mess on my desk and am replying to an email that just came in when there’s a tap on my half-open door.

  “Katrina Pierce?”

  I would have recognized his voice even if I hadn’t expected his arrival. My whole body breaks out in shivers. I take a deep breath before I turn my chair slowly to face the doorway. “Yes,” I say with a smile that’s appropriately professional. “I’m Katrina.”

  I’m looking at him when he first takes in my appearance, so I see his reaction. It’s clearly displayed on his handsome face.

  I see him recognize me. Then I see surprise. He hadn’t known before this moment that the woman who walks by his classroom every Tuesday night is the Katrina Pierce he’s meeting today.

  And then I see another expression. I’m not sure what it is, but if I had to guess, I would have said relief.

  He mutters something under his breath. It sounds like, “Thank God you’re not a student.”

  I frown in confusion as I stand up and come around the desk to shake his hand. “Of course I’m not a student. I’m full-time staff here. Did Martha make you think you were going to work with one of our work-study students?”

  He shakes my hand and doesn’t immediately let it go, his expression relaxing into that smile I recognize from seeing it in his classroom. It’s a slow smile. Warm. Leisurely. Compelling. Open. Like he’s holding nothing back from the person he’s talking to.

  I know it’s got to be an act. Everyone holds something back. Everyone. Especially with a stranger. But it’s impossible not to feel like he’s drawing me into an intimate conversation, like he’s looking at me like I’m special.

  I’m not special—at least not to him. He’s just met me, and he smiles at everyone like this.

  I’m not going to get drawn in here.

  “No, no, nothing like that. I just didn’t know that the person I was meeting today was you.” He pauses, his gray eyes studying me with an almost amused scrutiny. “You walk by my classroom on Tuesday nights.”

  “Oh yes.” I say that like I’m making the connection, but I suspect he’s not convinced. “I work at the library late on Tuesdays, and walking through the classroom building is the shortest route home.”

  “Ah. I see.” His smile is deepening. Warming.

  Oh God, how is he doing this to me? My whole body is vibrating with excitement, and my heart is pounding so loudly I’m afraid he might be able to hear it.

  He’s still holding my hand. His is big and warm and strong and... Shit. I draw my hand back abruptly.

  I clear my throat and make a valiant effort to pull myself together. “Please have a seat. You wanted to talk about the art exhibit?”

  I feel better when I’ve returned to my chair and put my desk between us, although my hand still tingles from the feel of his.

  “Yeah. Thanks for helping us out with it. Did Martha tell you about it?”

  “She said the paintings are all inspired by books, and you wanted to include copies of the books in the exhibit somehow.”

  He nods, slouching slightly in the seat. He looks too big for the small leather chair. He feels too big for the office.

  He seems to fill all the extra space in the small room.

  “Yes. So I’m hoping it’s all right with you if the kids specify what kind of edition of each book we use.”

  “Um, yeah, to a certain extent. The library can’t afford first editions.”

  “Oh, of course not. Not like that. I just mean some will want paperbacks. Some will want books that look old—not valuable books just old-looking. That kind of thing. I’ll make sure they know they have to work with whatever you can easily find and afford. A few of them want to use their personal copies of the books, if that’s okay.”

  I’m relieved that this sounds like a fairly reasonable project. “Yes, that would be fine. Martha’s given me a budget to work with. It’s not a huge amount, but I’ll be able to buy reas
onably priced books for all twenty-one students.” I checked the class enrollment shortly after my conversation with Martha so I’d know how many books I’d need to come up with. “Do you have the list yet?”

  “I have a list of the titles, but I haven’t gotten edition preferences from all my students yet. I’ve told them I need the final list by next Tuesday night. Will that give you enough time?”

  “Yes, that should be fine.” I’m desperately trying not to stare at his big hands, the bristles on his strong jaw. He’s wearing a pair of faded jeans and a camp shirt, so he obviously doesn’t have to dress up for work. His forearms are sexy and masculine.

  Just like all the rest of him.

  I wonder if he’s a painter too. I wonder what it would feel like for him to paint all over my naked body.

  The surge of heat that rushes through me is so intense that I jerk my head away from him. I’m throbbing between my legs. Literally throbbing.

  From nothing more than being in the same room with him.

  This doesn’t happen to me, and I don’t know how to handle it.

  I don’t like it. He’s somehow doing this to me without adjusting his normal laid-back demeanor.

  I catch my breath and give him another professional smile. “Okay. Well, as soon as you have the final list, email it to me, and I’ll start working on it.” I dig in the top drawer of my desk—which is filled with pens and sugar packets and random sheets of paper—until I find one of my business cards.

  They gave me a box of them when I started my job, and I’ve only used a few of them. Maybe some people still use business cards, but it’s not me at all. But this seems like a good way to end the conversation before I do something genuinely embarrassing. I hand him the card and add, “My contact information is here.”

  He accepts the card, his fingers brushing against mine and generating more of those tingles. He’s smiling as he asks, “Are you always this abrupt?”

  “Abrupt?”

  “You’re rushing me out of here. Is it me, or do you just not like to stay past five o’clock?”

  He doesn’t look offended. If anything, he looks even more amused.

  His expression unsettles me even more. “I don’t mean to be abrupt. I just thought we covered what we needed to cover.”

  “Did you?”

  He’s laughing at me. Silently but obviously. I frown and narrow my eyes.

  He tilts his head. “Now you’re annoyed with me. What did I do?”

  “You didn’t do anything.”

  He raises his thick, dark eyebrows.

  I let out a breath. “You look like you’re laughing at me, and like everyone else, I don’t actually like it when people laugh at me.”

  He seems to take my response seriously because he thinks before he speaks. “I wasn’t laughing. I was smiling.”

  “Your smile looked unreasonably amused.”

  “Oh, I see. Well, I was amused but not because I was laughing at you. Because you were trying to get rid of me, and I’m not used to that happening to me.”

  “I can imagine,” I mutter dryly, feeling better since he seems to be telling me the truth.

  “Why can you imagine?”

  “Because you’re one of those guys who can talk people into doing anything.” I speak the words as an obvious truth. Inarguable. It’s as clear to me as anything has ever been. “So I’d imagine most people aren’t trying to get rid of you.”

  “So why are you?”

  “I’m not trying to get rid of you. I thought the conversation had reached a natural end.” Despite my nerves and confused attraction, I’m starting to enjoy the conversation. It feels like a verbal duel.

  He leans forward in his chair, his eyes holding mine. “And I don’t believe it had.”

  YOU CAN FIND OUT MORE about Single Dad here.

  About Noelle Adams

  NOELLE HANDWROTE HER first romance novel in a spiral-bound notebook when she was twelve, and she hasn’t stopped writing since. She has lived in eight different states and currently resides in Virginia, where she writes full time, reads any book she can get her hands on, and offers tribute to a very spoiled cocker spaniel.

  She loves travel, art, history, and ice cream. After spending far too many years of her life in graduate school, she has decided to reorient her priorities and focus on writing contemporary romances. For more information, please check out her website: noelle-adams.com.