The Geek Gets The Girl

by Michele Hauf

  “Just taste.” Melissa’s bright blue eyes twinkled and she sipped the tea. “I think it’s the one I’m going to use to enter the bake-off competition.”

  Rachel had never tasted macarons until Melissa introduced her to them. Heaven sandwiched by even more heaven was the best way to describe the little cookies that were two soft yet crisp outside layers caressing creamy yet firm ganache innards.

  She couldn’t prevent a lingering moan as the sweetness coated her tongue and she recognized the flavor that made her instantly homesick. “Rootbeer,” she said with a sigh. “Oh, Melissa, this is amazing. This is the one.”

  “You think so?”

  “I know so. Mmm.” She devoured the next two macarons.

  “You’re not the usual uptight and not right tonight,” Melissa commented as she clanked her teacup against Rachel’s. “Good day at the office?”

  “The IT guy finally showed to fix our computers.”

  “Score! You’ve been waiting awhile for him.”

  “He worked on me, too.”

  “He—” Melanie turned on the couch to study Rachel closely. Her eyes widened with glee. “Seriously? You got it on? You did?”

  Rachel nodded and covered her not-so-shameful smile with the teacup.

  “Touchdown!” Melissa met Rachel’s hand in a fist bump. “But really? The IT nerd?”

  “He’s a geek, not a nerd,” she corrected. “It was the stubble. Or maybe the thick black glasses.”

  “Oh, kill me now,” Melissa said, sprawling back against the couch arm and mocking death with a fake blade to her heart. “Rachel does the office geek. I don’t know whether to laugh or—”

  “All I’ll say—” She stood and fingered up the last few crumbs of macaron from the plate. “—is that men who work with computers all day? Really know how to use their fingers.”

  With a wink, she strode off into the kitchen with the empty plate. Melissa’s sigh gave her a smile of triumph.

  *

  Rachel slid her legs under the desk, not expecting the ‘ouch!’ that echoed up from below. She’d been so busy checking emails on her phone that she hadn’t noticed the long, lean man sprawled on her office floor, his head beneath her desk. Yet the computer tower sat on the table before the window, which overlooked the lime trees queuing down the avenue below.

  She bent to peer under the desk and found Zac’s big brown eyes, surrounded by those impossibly geeky black glasses staring up at her. “What is it beneath my desk that you find so infinitely fascinating?”

  He crossed his arms and delivered an upside-down grin. “Do I really have to spell it out for you?” He slid a hand up her ankle.

  She used all her powers of resistance to tug away and twist her legs out from under the desk. Really. Amelie was sitting right outside the office door. And if he touched her too long, her skin would turn molten and the lust she’d felt in the elevator last evening would re-ignite.

  Who was she kidding? The yearning lust was already there, anticipating the explosion.

  “Someone attached the hard drive to the underside of your desk,” he said, sitting up and waving the small black box and a screwdriver.

  “Huh. And here I’d always thought that was the classic black box and Haute Heels was spying on me.”

  “We’d be sneakier than that,” he muttered as he stood. “Uh, I mean— I’m sure the company would do it through emails and apps.”

  “Really? You think the company is keeping track of my every move?”

  Zac shrugged. “You should always assume emails sent from a company computer are not private.”

  “I know. But there’s not a little camera somewhere, watching me, is there?” She cast her gaze about the upper lines of the walls, papered in gold-flocked rococo stuff that would be better suited in Versailles. So tired. But classic Parisian. “That would just be creepy.”

  “As creepy as being watched in the elevator?”

  “There are cameras in the elevator?” Her heart thudded. Great. Just what she needed. Not the best evidence to have floating around when a girl wanted to move up the corporate ladder. “Uh, can you do something about that?”

  “What? You mean like go through the security footage and erase our hot and heavy tête-à-tête? You watch too many spy movies, Rachel.”

  “Doesn’t it bother you that we were recorded?”

  His boyish grin told her that was a stupid question. Men and their need to flaunt—well, everything. Something about macho points. And, certainly, the geek wanted all the points he could rack up, right?

  “I don’t think it wise to advertise public displays of affection,” she said firmly.

  “Of course not. I was teasing about the elevator cameras. There were none in that one,” he offered. “What happened was a one-time thing, yes?”

  “No. I mean…” She gauged the flicker in his eyes as he waited for her to walk her way out of that impulsive reply. It was the curve at the corner of his lips that clued her in that he was playing with her. “You never know what another day will bring,” she offered airily, picking up a file to fake like she had work to do.

  She did have work to do. But seriously? She watched Zac place the hard drive on the table next to the computer tower and all she could think about was how those fingers really knew how to play her. But she’d only gotten warmed up. And anticipating the big finale could set her off course from her business trajectory.

  “So, you’ll be working in my office again today?” she asked.

  “For a bit. Then I’m going to take a look at the rest of the equipment throughout the office. If you don’t mind.”

  “Mind? I expect a thorough job.”

  “You are the last person I would ever disappoint, Miss Parker.”

  He turned away and tugged out his iPhone, tapping notes into it. His profile was all stubble shadow and slicked-back hair. 50s rocker with the cool élan of office studiousness. The look was growing on her. So different from the muscled blondes whose arms she generally melted into. But even more, she wondered about running her fingers through his black hair. So thick and soft. And then she’d clutch it, and kiss him roughly—

  “Rachel? What are these?”

  Shaking herself from a fantasy re-do of the elevator scene, she eyed the boxes he pointed to stacked on the table beside the computer hardware. “Shoes for the new line.”

  “Can I move them over to make some room to work?”

  “Sure. Shove them wherever. I plan to sort through them later.” She winced inwardly. She’d never find the time today. The ad meeting was this Friday. She needed an entire ad campaign within four days. God, help her. “Tomorrow for sure. I’ll have Amelie remind me.”

  “Sounds like you’ve a plan. So, uh…since you’re all about keeping it all business in the office and…er, avoiding hidden cameras—”

  “Don’t ask me out on a date,” she rushed out before he could continue. “I don’t do the commitment thing. At least not at this point in my life.”

  “Is a date a commitment?”

  “No. But it’s too…expected.”

  “Oh. Uh…okay. Wouldn’t want to do what was expected of me. But really? You expected me to ask you out?”

  “No, I just…” Had weird imminent date radar that she tried to avoid like bargain-basement flip-flops. “This is not appropriate conversation for a business office.”

  “Right. So how does one go about arranging time to, uh…see you again? Should I have Amelie set up an appointment?”

  He wanted to see her again? He was standing right there. He could look all he liked. But she knew he wanted to see her privately. Which would then allow him to touch as well as look. And she did anticipate seeing just how hot he could make her. Because after hours? She could do as she pleased.

  “We could go Dutch,” she suggested. “There’s a great little restaurant not far from where I live in the 7th. Sans tourists. We could meet there around eight this evening?”

  Zac’s brows furrowed and hi
s mouth pursed in thought. “Sounds suspiciously like a date.”

  “Oh, it’s not. Because I say it’s not.”

  “Your logic is astoundingly refreshing, Rachel. To a non-date at eight, then. Could I possibly pick you up?”

  “It’s not far from my place. I’ll text you the address. I can walk there.”

  “It’s supposed to rain later. The sky is already darkening.”

  She studied the gray sky through the window. Paris had been pouting for days. “I suppose a ride would not construe a date.”

  “Because you say so?”

  “Exactly.” Oh, Rachel, what art thy strange rules of which you speak?

  After entering his number into her phone, she texted him her address, then left him alone in the office, thinking when she returned it would smell like cloves with a touch of masculine leather. That gave her the initiative to work swiftly so she could get back before the scent disappeared.

  *

  Thank you, weatherman. It was pouring outside. Zac’s plan to keep Rachel Parker in her home—and all to himself—would prove a success. Balancing the bouquet of white freesia and the takeout bag in one hand, he knocked on her door with the other.

  She answered with a bright smile and enthusiasm. Then her eyes averted to the takeout bag, and the smile wobbled. “I thought we were going Dutch?”

  “I took the liberty of picking something up.”

  “But I…” Her palm smoothed over the red dress that hugged her curves and stopped high on her thighs. Gray gladiator knee-high sandals emphasized her slender legs. The sexy vibe continued in her loosely pulled-up hair. She’d dressed to seduce, but also, to be appreciated.

  “I can’t imagine you skipping out into the rain and getting that pretty dress wet. Or your hair.”

  She twirled a finger into a tendril that spilled from the upsweep and tickled at her neck. “I’m not one of those women who complain about a little wet.”

  Oh, the comeback he could give to that comment.

  “Indulge me,” he entreated, wondering if he’d judged her incorrectly. She was into him, wasn’t she? The suggestion they get together for a non-date had been hookup code. Or had she been serious about the elevator being a one-time thing?

  The woman sucked in her lower lip and gave his suggestion too much thought. Zac was almost ready to call defeat and suggest he hand her the takeout and leave, when she nodded and tugged him inside by the tie.

  His luggage had arrived early this morning and he felt much more comfortable in Zegna from head to toe, but at the last minute, he’d gone with the cheap shirt and shoes. He couldn’t blow his cover this early in the game.

  “You’re not wearing your glasses,” she commented as she took the takeout bag and the flowers.

  “Sorry. I wasn’t aware I needed to fulfill some sort of geek fantasy for you.”

  “You don’t. I mean, you are fantasy material. Uh—” She slipped around the corner into the kitchen. “I said that wrong,” she called. He heard her fuss with the plastic wrapped about the flowers.

  She’d said it exactly as she’d meant it. Fantasy material, eh? Was it the stolen office liaison, or indeed, the geek she’d pegged him as? Either suited him fine. Because neither was a stretch. Not that he was an expert on office liaisons by any means, but he was willing to give anything a try once. Twice, if it felt good.

  Last evening in the elevator had only stoked his desires. No one was getting out without an orgasm—or two—tonight.

  Zac strolled to the table beside the low, red velvet couch and picked up a Mason jar half-filled with buttons of all sorts, colors, and sizes. He gave it a shake, and the sound of plastic bits clattering against the glass made him smile.

  “I pick them up when I see them on the ground,” Rachel called from around the corner. “Find them everywhere when I’m walking in the city. I love to wonder over whom the button might have belonged to. Does he or she miss it? Are they aware? Or is she on a date and, at that moment, revealing bra from across the dinner table? I’d like to return one some day. Just so I could get my questions answered.”

  He smiled and set the jar down. Interesting chick. A collector of lost security devices, a makeshift office manager, and a sexy temptress all rolled into one incredible package. Thank you, Paris.

  He wasn’t going to give one moment’s thought to the fact that he shouldn’t even be standing in this apartment, admiring the distant view of some famous monument he didn’t have a name for. That he was the boss and should keep this search and destroy visit to Haute Heels strictly business. No fooling around with the employees in order to learn company secrets.

  He wasn’t here tonight to learn any secrets but those that might be whispered as Rachel gasped and came beneath his exploring touch. And he could handle playing the role of geek. She didn’t need to know he was the boss. He’d leave Paris with the facts, and great memories of an intriguing and sexy woman.

  “Dinner is officially plated,” she announced, peering around the corner and beckoning him with a finger.

  Zac wanted that finger to loosen his tie all the way tonight.

  Chapter 5

  “Once the computer system is virtualized, the entire office will function more smoothly.” Zac finished the red wine and wandered into the living room from the tiny kitchenette wedged between the windowed wall and the fridge.

  Rachel hastily tossed the dishes in the sink and grabbed the opened wine bottle, following him like some kind of puppy to heel. She still didn’t understand his geek speak, but it absolutely turned her on. Or possibly, it was everything about him. He relaxed on the couch, holding up his goblet so she could fill it. The suit looked nicer than yesterday’s offering. More expensive? She could usually spot a designer label from across the room, but those shoes—the poor man.

  “If you can make it happen,” she said. “Then I don’t care what you’re talking about. Just make my life and that of the rest of the office easier. I want the Paris branch of Haute Heels to succeed. I just wish they hadn’t decided to send in a spy this week, especially when half my staff is either out with the flu or having babies.”

  “Seriously? How many are having babies?”

  “Well, only the one. But three have the flu or nasty spring allergies, and we don’t have a large staff to begin with. I almost forgot. I have dessert.” She rushed into the kitchen for the plate of macarons Melissa had dropped off earlier.

  Smoothing her hands over her dress, she was secretly thankful they had spent the evening inside. Sharing Zac with the ambient noises of a restaurant didn’t feel right, and she had been saved from having the world observe her silly infatuation with the man.

  Not silly. There was nothing wrong with being interested in a sexy guy. It was just the different kind of man that she found herself attracted to that induced a sort of inner battle. To do him or not to do him? Sure, he was sexy, but did she really want the challenges that accompanied an office romance?

  “Did you say something about a spy?” Zac called.

  On the other hand, he wasn’t on the office payroll. He worked in the building, not specifically for Haute Heels, so it wouldn’t be that difficult to keep the two separated. And damn it, she deserved whatever good vibes he wanted to send her way.

  “Yes. I got a memo that some bigwig is stopping by. I suspect it will be a clandestine visit. Our office hasn’t been performing well.”

  Before she could turn to go back into the living room, a hand glided over her hip and his nose nuzzled against her hair.

  “I just hope…” she started.

  “You hope?”

  “No, forget that conversation thread. I don’t want to talk about work. Let’s keep business and pleasure separate.”

  “Agreed.” Wine-scented breath heated her neck, sending a good shiver up the back of her scalp. “Dessert?” he wondered.

  She turned to pull him up against her. “What are you in the mood for?”

  He eyed the macarons that sat a hands-reach away on
the counter. She picked one up and offered it to him. His bite crumbled the cookie’s light, airy shell and crumbs fell onto her dress.

  “Rootbeer? That’s awesome.” He swept his fingers over the crumbs, ever-so-slyly running the back of his hand over her nipple. He opened his mouth, and she stuck in the remaining half of the macaron. The man even chewed sexy.

  “My neighbor is a pastry chef. And a sugar dealer. She feeds my habit.” She slid her hand along his and beckoned it back to her nipple. “Another?” she asked.

  He tugged aside the neckline of the dress to expose red lace (always matching underthings). “Yes.”

  He lifted her against the counter and she wrapped her legs around his hips. The man’s lips firmly landed on hers and she sighed into his breaths. He tasted savory, like wine with a top note of rootbeer and sugar.

  He glided a hand up her spine and she arched against his chest. He held her securely, breasts to chest, as he peppered kisses down her chin and over her jaw to lash his tongue along her neck.

  “Not another elevator quickie,” he said against her skin. “I need more of you, Rachel, longer this time.”

  “Are you kidding? You’re not getting away from me that easily. Oooh. Yes, right there.”

  His kisses landed on the top of her breast. The demi bra barely covered her nipple, and his serious attention to her curves vanquished any lingering vacillation she had regarding whether or not to engage in an affair. The vixen had pushed the door wide open.

  “Bedroom?” he asked.

  “Around the corner.”

  “Wine,” he said, as he lifted her from the counter, his kisses landing at her collarbone, her breast, and deeper, between her cleavage.

  She swept up the half bottle of wine, and he carried her down the short hallway into the bedroom’s pink depths. Pink, because she kept a red scarf over the low-wattage lamp near the bed. She liked the soft color playing across the white walls and sheets. And no, it was not bordello chic as Melissa liked to tease. The rest of the room was clean pine furnishings with spare, brushed steel hardware, and not a decorative pillow or silly wall hanging in sight.