‘Now seems as good a time as any,’ she said dully, knowing her dignity was past redemption. ‘I’m sure I’ve delayed you long enough already.’
‘Not at all,’ the other woman assured her as they walked side by side down the corridor. ‘Things have been a little—hectic, here the last few weeks.’
The new boss was obviously giving the employees a shake-up, Leonie thought ruefully, her humour leaving her as she realised she would probably be in for the same treatment. After all, if she hadn’t been ten minutes late in the first place she wouldn’t have been in the lift when it broke down. Or would she? As she had told Mrs Carlson, she had a strange effect on lifts. She had a strange effect on most inanimate objects, things just seemed to happen to them whenever she was around.
She smoothed her skirt down as Mrs Carlson knocked on the office door, unaware of the fact that her hair was sadly in need of brushing after her fall, that the fullness of her mouth was bare of lipgloss where she had chewed on her lips as she looked through the sample books. Not that she would have worried too much about it if she had known; she couldn’t possibly make a worse impression than she had as she grovelled about the lift floor!
Mrs Carlson opened the door after the terse instruction from within for them to enter. ‘Miss Grant, sir,’ she introduced quietly.
Leonie stared at the man seated behind the desk, the man that belonged to the black shoes and grey legs, the rest of the dark grey suit as impressive, the waistcoat taut across his flat stomach, the tailored material of the jacket stretched across widely powerful shoulders, the white shirt beneath the suit making his skin look very dark.
But it was his face that held her attention, a harshly attractive face, his chin firm and square, the sensuality of his mouth firmly controlled, his nose long and straight, ice-grey eyes narrowed on her beneath darkly jutting brows, silver threading the darkness of his hair at his temples and over his ears. Anyone who was in the least familiar with the businessworld would recognise Adam Faulkner from his photographs in the newspapers, one of the most successful—and richest—men in England today. He was also—
‘Miss Grant,’ he stood up in fluid movements, the coldness instantly gone from his eyes, his voice warm and friendly, his hand enveloping hers in a grip that was pleasantly warm, not too firm and not too loose; the exactly right handshake for a businessman to instil confidence in the person he was dealing with.
But why he should waste his time on such a gesture with her was beyond her, she was—
‘I hope your unfortunate delay in our lift hasn’t disturbed you too much,’ he continued smoothly, releasing her hand slowly, leaving the imprint of his touch against her flesh.
Leonie was stunned at his obvious concern. ‘I—I have that effect on lifts,’ she mumbled the same lame excuse she had given Mrs Carlson, conscious of the other woman still standing in the room with them.
Dark brows rose questioningly. ‘That sort of thing happens to you often?’
Colour heightened her cheeks. ‘Yes,’ she bit out. ‘Look, I don’t think—’
‘Don’t worry, I’m not expecting you to conduct our business meeting after your ordeal in the lift,’ he assured her. ‘I suggest we make another appointment for tomorrow,’ he looked at Mrs Carlson for confirmation. ‘Some time in the afternoon,’ he instructed as she left the room to consult his appointment book.
‘Please, I—’
‘Please sit down, Miss Grant,’ Adam Faulkner instructed when he saw how pale she had become. ‘Let me get you a drink. Would you like tea or coffee, or perhaps something stronger?’ He pressed a button on his desk to reveal an extensive array of drinks in the cabinet situated behind Leonie.
Leonie just kept staring at him, too numb to even answer.
‘Something stronger, I think,’ he nodded derisively at her lack of response, striding across the room to pour her some whisky into a glass. ‘Drink it down,’ he instructed her firmly as she made no effort to take the glass from his lean fingers.
She took the glass, swallowing without tasting, reaction definitely setting in.
Adam Faulkner moved to sit on the edge of his desk in front of her, dangerously close, the warmth of his maleness seeming to reach out and engulf her. ‘Terrible experience, getting caught in a stationary lift.’ He took the empty glass from her unresisting fingers, seeming satisfied that she had drunk it as instructed. ‘I’ve been caught in several myself in the past,’ he added dryly. ‘Although not lately.’
‘It’s my second time today,’ Leonie mumbled dully, feeling the alcohol in her bloodsteam, remembering too late that she hadn’t had any lunch, that the piece of dry toast she had eaten for breakfast wasn’t enough to stop the effect the whisky was having on her. That was all she needed to complete her day, to be roaring drunk in front of this man! ‘The one at work has always been unreliable,’ she added in defence of her clumsiness in getting stuck in two lifts that had broken down.
‘Maybe you have too much electricity in your body,’ Adam Faulkner suggested softly. ‘And it has an adverse effect on other electrical things.’
She looked up at him sharply, and then wished she hadn’t as a wave of dizziness swept over her. She was going to get up out of this chair to make a dignified exit and fall fiat on her face, just to prove what an idiot she was! If this man weren’t already aware of that!
‘Maybe,’ she nodded, swallowing in an effort to clear her head, having a terrible urge to start giggling. In one part of her brain she could logically reason that she had little to giggle about, and in another she just wanted to start laughing and never stop. There was so much about this situation that was funny.
‘Miss Grant?’
She frowned up at him. ‘Why do you keep calling me that?’
He shrugged. ‘It’s your name, isn’t it?’
‘Leonie Grant, yes,’ she nodded in exaggerated movements. ‘I—Hic. I—Hic. Oh no,’ she groaned her humiliation as her loud hiccups filled the room. She really was making a fool out of herself—more so than usual, if that were possible! She should never have got out of bed today, should have buried her head beneath the bedclothes and stayed there until fate decided to be kind to her again. If it ever did, she groaned as she hiccuped again.
‘Maybe the whisky was a bad idea,’ Adam said in amusement, going over to the bar to pour her a glass of water.
Leonie gave him a look that spoke volumes before swallowing the water, almost choking as a hiccup caught her mid-swallow, spitting water everywhere, including over one black leather shoe as Adam Faulkner’s leg swung in front of her as he once again sat on the edge of his desk. ‘Oh dear,’ she began to mop at the shoe with a tissue from her bag, becoming even more agitated when several pieces of the tissue stuck to the wet surface.
She closed her eyes, wishing the scene would evaporate, that she would find it had all been a bad dream. But when she opened her eyes again the black shoe dotted with delicate yellow tissue was still there, and the man wearing the shoe was beginning to chuckle. Leonie looked up at him dazedly, liking the warmth in his eyes, the way they crinkled at the corners as he laughed, a dimple appearing in one lean cheek, his teeth very white and even against his tanned skin.
Mrs Carlson entered the room after the briefest knock, breaking the moment of intimacy. ‘I’ve checked your appointment book, Mr Faulkner, and you’re free at twelve o’clock or three o’clock.’
‘Twelve o’clock, I think,’ he still smiled. ‘Then Miss Grant and I can go out to lunch afterwards.’
‘Oh but I—’
‘Book a table, would you? He cut across Leonie’s protest, smiling at his secretary, much to her obvious surprise. ‘My usual place. And you may as well leave for the evening now, Miss Grant and I are just going to dinner.’
‘Er—yes, Mr Faulkner.’ The older woman gave Leonie a curious look, seeming to give a mental shrug before leaving the room.
‘She’s wondering why you could possibly want to take me to dinner,’ Leonie sighed, wonderin
g the same thing herself. But at least the suggestion had stopped her hiccups!
Adam stood up after dusting the tissue from his shoe. ‘It’s the least I can do after your ordeal in the lift.’
‘But that was my fault—’
‘Nonsense,’ he humoured.
Leonie blinked at the determination in his face. ‘Why should you want to take me out to dinner?’
‘Miss Grant—’
‘Will you stop calling me that!’
‘Would you prefer Leonie?’ he queried softly, locking his desk drawers and picking up his briefcase in preparation for leaving for the evening.
‘Yes,’ she snapped.
‘Then you must call me Adam,’ he invited huskily.
‘I’m well aware of your name,’ she bit out impatiently. The whisky may have gone to her head but she wasn’t that drunk! And she had no idea why this man should want to take her out to dinner, they—
‘Then please use it,’ he urged, as his hand on her elbow brought her to her feet.
Leonie swayed slightly, falling against him, flinching away from the hard warmth of his body. ‘Please, I don’t want to go out to dinner,’ she protested as he propelled her from the room at his side, the top floor of the building strangely in silence, Mrs Carlson having followed his instruction and left for the evening, the other employees having left some time ago.
Adam didn’t release her arm. ‘When did you last eat?’ he asked pointedly as she swayed again.
‘I had some toast for breakfast this morning. I need to diet,’ she defended heatedly as the grey eyes looked her over disapprovingly.
‘You’re too thin,’ he stated bluntly.
‘I’m a size ten,’ she told him proudly.
‘Definitely too thin,’ he repeated arrogantly. ‘I happen to be one of those men who prefers his woman to have some meat on her bones.’
His woman? His woman! Just who did he think he was? ‘I happen to like being thin,’ she told him irritably.
He arched dark brows. ‘Do you also like starving to death?’ he drawled.
It was her weakness for good food that had pushed her up to a size fourteen in the past, and she had no intention of giving in to that weakness again, not when it had taken so much effort to lose the excess weight. ‘I’ll survive,’ she muttered.
‘Will you be okay in the lift now that it’s working properly?’ Adam asked as the lift doors opened to them invitingly.
‘I’ll be fine,’ she dismissed his concern. ‘Although the way today is going so far it could break down on us again,’ she said ruefully.
Adam smiled down at her as they were confined in the lift together. ‘I can’t think of anyone I would rather be stuck in the lift with,’ he said throatily.
Leonie gave him a sharp look, expecting sarcasm but finding only warm invitation in the dark grey eyes. He was flirting with her, actually flirting with her!
‘Pity,’ he drawled as they arrived safely on the ground floor, stepping into the carpeted reception area, nodding to the man on night security, guiding Leonie to the parking area, opening the passenger door of the sporty BMW for her, the top to the pale blue car back in the heat of the day. He took her briefcase from her and threw it in the back with his own before climbing in next to her, starting the engine with a roar. ‘Would you like the top up or down?’ he enquired politely.
She touched her hair ruefully. ‘I think it’s beyond redemption, so down, please.’
Adam glanced at her as he drove the car towards the exit. ‘You have beautiful hair.’
Leonie tensed at the unexpected compliment, her breath held in her throat.
‘The style suits you,’ he added softly.
The tension left her in a relieved sigh. ‘Thank you.’
Conversation was virtually impossible as they drove to the restaurant, although the fresh air did clear Leonie’s head somewhat, giving her time to wonder what she was doing on her way to dinner with this man. She should have been more assertive in her refusal, shouldn’t have allowed herself to be manoeuvred in this way. And yet she knew she was curious, couldn’t think what possible reason Adam had for wanting to take her out to dinner. And his tolerance with the mishaps that just seemed to happen to her was too good to last!
She had been to the restaurant before that he took her to, but it had been a year ago, and hopefully no one would remember that she was the woman who had tripped on her way back from powdering her nose and pushed some poor unfortunate diner’s face into his dinner!
‘Good evening, Mr Faulkner,’ the maitre d’ greeted warmly, his eyes widening warily as he saw his companion. ‘Madam,’ he greeted stiffly.
He remembered her! It had been over a year ago now, and this man still remembered her. He probably didn’t have many people who came here and assaulted another diner for no reason!
‘Do we have to eat here?’ she demanded of Adam in desperation as they followed the other man to their table.
His brows rose. ‘You don’t like the restaurant? Or perhaps the French cuisine isn’t to your liking?’
‘I love it,’ she sighed. I just don’t feel—comfortable here, that’s all,’ she mumbled.
‘Thanks, Henri,’ Adam dismissed the other man, pulling out her chair for her himself. ‘Just relax, Leonie.’ His hands were warm on her shoulders as he leant forward to speak softly in her ear, his breath gently ruffling her hair.
She felt strangely bereft when he removed his hands and went to sit opposite her, their table in a quietly intimate part of the restaurant. As the waiter poured the wine that had been waiting for them, she could feel the tingling of danger along her spine, wary of this romantic setting, wary of this game Adam was playing with her.
‘Adam—’
‘Try the wine,’ he urged huskily.
‘When are we going to discuss the work on your office suite?’ she asked determinedly.
‘Tomorrow. Before lunch.’
‘About lunch—’
‘Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll like the restaurant I’ve chosen for us,’ he sipped his own wine. ‘Please try it,’ he encouraged throatily.
She sighed her impatience, ignoring the glass of wine. ‘Why are you doing this?’
‘This?’ he prompted softly.
She shrugged. ‘The charm, the restaurant, dinner, the wine. Why, Adam? And don’t say to atone for the lift breaking down with me in it because I won’t believe you.’
‘You’re right,’ he nodded, perfectly relaxed as he leant back in his chair, dismissing the waiter as he arrived to take their order. ‘I had this table booked for us tonight before I even realised you were stuck in the lift.’
‘Why?’
‘Don’t you usually go out for business meals with your prospective clients?’
‘Of course,’ she sighed. ‘But it’s usually lunch, and so far we haven’t discussed any business.’
‘We will,’ he promised. ‘Tomorrow.’
‘Why not now?’
He shrugged at the determination in her face. ‘Maybe after we’ve eaten,’ he compromised.
This time he didn’t wave the waiter away when he came to take their order, and with the arrival of their first and consequent courses there wasn’t a lot of time for conversation. And by the time they got to the coffee stage of their meal Leonie had to admit that she didn’t give a damn if they ever discussed business, feeling numb from the head down, the wine one of her favourites, her glass constantly refilled as soon as she had taken a few sips, the food as delicious as she remembered, forgetting her diet for this one night.
‘You look like a well-fed cat,’ Adam eyed her appreciatively.
‘I feel like a very relaxed one, if you know what I mean,’ she smiled happily.
He grinned. ‘I know exactly what you mean.’
He was so handsome, so ruggedly good looking, that he made her senses spin. Or was that the wine? No, she was sure it was him. And he had been so patient with her when she knocked a glass of wine all over the tabl
e, had dismissed the anxious waiter to mop up the surplus liquid himself, had got down on the floor and helped her pick up the contents of her handbag when she accidentally opened it up the wrong way and it all fell out, had even chuckled a little when she knocked the waiter’s arm and ended up with a potato in her lap. Yes, he had been very charming.
‘Shall we go?’ he suggested throatily as she smiled dreamily at him.
‘Why not?’ She stood up, narrowly avoiding another table as she turned too suddenly. ‘I never go back to the same place twice if I can avoid it,’ she assured him happily.
‘It must be difficult finding new restaurants,’ he smiled, a smile that oozed sensuality.
‘I rarely eat out,’ she dismissed. ‘It’s safer that way, for other diners, I mean,’ she explained as they went outside, surprised to see it was already dark, a glance at her watch telling her it was almost ten o’clock. They had been in the restaurant hours!
His mouth quirked. ‘I noticed you have a tendency to—well, to—’
‘Drop things, knock things, bump into things,’ she finished obligingly. ‘My husband found it very irritating,’ she added challengingly.
‘Really?’ Adam sounded non-committal.
‘Yes. He—Where are we going?’ she frowned as she realised they were in a part of London she didn’t know very well, the exclusive residential area.
‘My apartment.’
Leonie blinked as they entered the underground car-park. ‘You live here?’ she frowned.
‘Since my separation,’ he nodded, coming round to open her door for her.
Things were happening too fast, much too fast she realised as they entered the spacious apartment, barely having time to notice its elegant comfort before Adam swept her into his arms, his eyes glittering darkly with desire.
‘I’ve wanted to do this ever since the lift doors opened and I saw you grovelling about on the floor,’ he announced raggedly before his mouth claimed hers.
Lovers in the Afternoon Page 2
