She looked at the desktop again, then went around to the In and Out baskets at the front of the desk. She rifled through the latter. Nothing there for her. “Great, just great,” she muttered, reaching for the In basket.
She barely got her hand on the top papers when someone grabbed her from behind, a strong hand on her upper arm, and she instinctively jerked to free herself. But the action only intensified the other person’s grip as he turned her around. She spun like a top, landing against a solid wall of strength with an impact that expelled the air from her lungs. Megan heard someone scream—was that her?—then the world seemed to stop in its tracks.
The “wall” she’d hit was in uniform, with no hat this time, but the same midnight-dark eyes. And his hand was holding her with a firmness that was just this side of inflicting pain. Rafe Diaz. Even larger than she remembered, and very real. She pushed away, freeing herself, and stumbled slightly, feeling the desk hit her at the hips. She pressed one palm to her chest.
Her heart hammered against her hand, and her breathing came in gulps. She’d never been so shocked in her life, or so unnerved by another person. And he looked as if everything was just fine, that it was entirely normal for him to accost her.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she managed to gasp in a hoarse voice.
Rafe had known it was her as soon as he spotted her. Even if he couldn’t see her face, and viewed her only from the back. Megan Gallagher. In Wayne Lawrence’s office going through his desk.
Rafe was supposed to be at the house in Houston, helping Carmella, the nanny, settle the boys for the night, but instead he’d been stuck doing rounds because one of the scheduled guards hadn’t shown up for work. It had been so long since he’d worried about schedules and time cards, but now, acting like any other employee, he was on the receiving end of an extended shift. But maybe it had paid off for him.
He’d come up here to check things out, make sure everything was shut up tight, and had seen the open door with Wayne Lawrence’s name on the brass plaque. He knew Mr. Lawrence had left in a limousine half an hour ago. He’d watched him get into the long black car, and for a moment Rafe had wondered if Megan was in there, waiting for the man. Then he’d pushed that thought aside and started his rounds.
Now he knew where she was. Here. Going through Mr. Lawrence’s papers, in his private office. Muttering softly under her breath.
He’d watched for a moment, a million things going through his mind. Rafe had tried to focus on possibilities. She was working with Mr. Lawrence, so he could have asked her to come up here. But why hadn’t she left with him? Why was she in here alone, going through his desk? Maybe Mr. Lawrence’s money and position weren’t the drawing cards for her. Maybe it was what his position opened up to her.
Any idea Rafe came up with was distasteful, and the fact that she was attractive didn’t help things. When she started rifling through the baskets, he knew he had to make a move. He’d come up behind her, taking in the way her slacks defined the swell of her hips, her shirt clung softly to her back and shoulders.
She hadn’t even heard him coming. The instant he touched her, felt her softness and fine bones, she gasped and spun around sharply, trying to break his hold on her. The next moment she was pressed against his chest and he was staring into eyes every bit as blue as he’d thought they were Saturday night. And that scent was everywhere, although he was careful not to inhale too deeply.
She was as tall as he remembered, but the flash and glitter were gone. The shimmery silver dress was replaced by tailored slacks and a simple white blouse. The earpiece for her phone was in place again, and her hair was combed back from her flushed face. He couldn’t tell if she had on lipstick or if her lips were that shade of pink naturally. And those eyes... Blue, and glaring at him as if he had two heads.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she yelped in a breathless voice.
He pulled his hands back, clenching them. He was almost sure they were shaking slightly, and he didn’t know why. “What do you think you’re doing?” he countered.
Those blue eyes narrowed even more and he could see her take a deep breath. “You’re the one who attacked me.”
He almost felt a laugh coming on at the way her chin lifted a bit. “And you’re the one standing in someone’s private office, rifling through papers.”
“I’m not rifling through anything, and for your information, I’m supposed to be here.”
“Oh, and you’re not on the sign-in list, either.” He would have noticed her name if she’d signed in earlier in the day.
She closed her eyes for a long moment, then looked at him again as if gathering herself. “Okay, you’ve got yet another list that I’m not on. Just tell me what list you’re talking about this time.”
“Everyone who comes into the building is supposed to sign in at the desk or in the garage. We know at any given time everyone who’s in the building. According to my lists, you’re not in the building. Therefore, you aren’t supposed to be here.”
“Forget it,” she muttered, and turned to reach for the papers again. “I don’t have time for your little power trips right now.”
He moved closer to grasp her once more and this time the softness under his fingertip unnerved him. She jerked away from the contact, and if she’d been angry before, she was furious now. But he didn’t back down. “Leave that alone,” he ordered quietly.
“Don’t you touch me again,” she retorted through clenched teeth.
He tried to ignore the way she rubbed at her arm where he’d made contact, but he couldn’t ignore the blush of high color on her cheeks, or the fact that it only made her more beautiful. “I won’t touch you if you stop trying to go through the desk.”
She closed her eyes for a fleeting moment, then opened them and took a breath. He was sure there was a shadow of a smile at the corners of her full lips. It was no wonder an older man would fall into her trap, if she used that smile to get to him. Then she spoke evenly and with a softer tone. “No doubt you’re earning your wages, Mr. Diaz, and I’m sure protecting LynTech is right at the top of your job description. But in this instance, as in your actions Saturday night, you’re wrong. I’m just trying to find something that was left here for me.”
If she’d just smiled, he probably would have backed off. He would have shown her out and let it go. But she used that tone, the one that sounded polite and reasonable, but had an underlying hint of superiority and condescension. “What was he leaving for you—money, jewelry, keys to an apartment?”
She looked confused, until his sarcastic remark suddenly registered. Her cheeks dotted with even more color, and she lifted her hand as if to strike him. “You creep!” she cried as he caught her by her wrist.
“Don’t even think of doing that.” She jerked against his constraint and he released her. “You’re out of here. Let’s go.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you,” she exclaimed, rubbing at her wrist. “How dare you suggest that I... That Mr. Lawrence and I...” She shook her head as she hugged her arms tightly around herself. “That’s sick.”
“I’m sick? You’re the one seducing a man old enough to be your father to get...whatever.”
“Whatever?” she echoed.
He expected another explosion and braced himself, but when it came, the emotion wasn’t anger. Instead she started laughing. “You’re serious? You think that I— That...” Suddenly she smiled, the way she’d smiled in the car on Saturday night, a real expression of humor that quite literally took his breath away. “Me? You think that I’m...?” She shook her head. “You’re so wrong.”
On Saturday night he’d thought it was fun to spar with her, to bait her and joust with words, but he knew right now that he was out of his element. Rafe didn’t want any part of her smile, or the way she made him feel completely off balance.
“O
h, I’m wrong, am I?” he muttered. “Then why don’t you explain things so this poor, lowly hired hand can understand?”
She didn’t respond to his sarcasm, but leaned back against the edge of the desk. “Okay, I’ll put this simply. I work here. I just arrived Saturday, and had to go right to the ball to meet Mr. Lawrence, who is my boss, and someone I had never even seen before. I didn’t, and still don’t, know about signing in or signing out. That was one thing I wasn’t told to do, and I imagine my name isn’t on your endless list of lists for the same reason it wasn’t on the list for the ball. Someone forgot to put it there.”
He folded his arms on his chest, fighting an odd impulse to brush at a stray strand of hair that had escaped her severe knot. “Everyone employed by LynTech is on the list.”
“Not if someone messes up, which, since we’re all human, people tend to do from time to time.” She looked him right in the eye, and let a full second lapse for emphasis before she added, “You must understand that concept.”
Sarcastic and superior. And gorgeous. What a waste of gorgeous, he thought. “I understand that you aren’t on the list.”
He quite enjoyed her losing control when she threw up her hands and muttered, “You and your stupid lists.”
No one had mentioned that she worked here, and when he’d told Zane about the ball, about her showing up, all his friend had said was, “Everyone could invite a guest if they bought a ticket.” And when Rafe had gone through the files on the work history of every employee, with pictures attached, he hadn’t come across anything on Megan Gallagher. He sure would have remembered that photo. “Bottom line, Miss Gallagher, you don’t belong here.”
She stood straight again, leaning closer, and she brought that scent with her. “I don’t know what you want me to say or do. I’m new, so I’m not on the list. I’m also temporary, and I’m in here because Mr. Lawrence, who most definitely is no more to me than my boss for a month, gave me an envelope, which I forgot to take with me. Now I need it, so here I am.”
She wasn’t backing down, and truth be told, Rafe was wearing out. It had been fun for a while, maybe disturbing for most of the conversation, and definitely diverting, but he wanted this situation settled. “Why don’t we just do the obvious thing—what we did Saturday night—and call Mr. Lawrence?” He motioned to the earpiece in her ear and the cell phone in her pocket. “Use your fancy equipment and give the guy a call?”
She put her hand over her chest, and he realized she was covering the phone in her pocket. “No, I won’t.”
It was his turn to get exasperated. “And why not?”
“Because he’s my boss, and disturbing one’s boss over something like this won’t look good on my résumé.”
He checked his watch. “It’s just past seven o’clock and it’s not a Saturday night,” he pointed out. Then he reached around her to pick up the phone on the desk. “I’ll do it.”
“No, you won’t,” she said, moving with him. The next instant she was against his side, her arm tangled with his and her hand covering the one that gripped the receiver. “No,” she said again, right by his ear.
Feelings exploded in him, feelings he thought were dead and gone, buried along with Gabriella. Rafe felt Megan against his side, her hand touching his, her breath fanning his skin. Her scent filled his nostrils. His reaction was so sudden and intense it shook him to the core. He drew back, disentangled himself and faced her. He was shaken and trying desperately to recover.
He’d gone from baiting her to falling for her. She was a total stranger, a woman who was opinionated, superior, condescending, infuriating and incredibly desirable. A woman who warmed his soul.
He covered his left hand with his right, felt the smooth gold of his wedding band and swallowed, hard.
“Don’t call Mr. Lawrence,” she said, and it sounded as if she was speaking from a great distance, down a long tunnel.
She touched her tongue to her lips, and he could almost imagine kissing her, as crazy and impossible as that was. She was clearly waiting for his next move, and he didn’t know what that would be. He saw her exhale, and thought he felt her breath brush his skin. He must be insane. His world had just exploded into something he didn’t recognize.
The desire to kiss her was overwhelming, but it was wrong. It didn’t matter that it seemed to have a life of its own, that it had burst into his reality, distracting him completely. Megan was a woman who didn’t care about him. And he needed to force himself to stay neutral. But as she stood straighter, reducing some of the space between them, he knew he couldn’t. That was impossible. As impossible as wanting to be close to a woman like her.
CHAPTER THREE
MEGAN STARED AT Rafe, not certain what was going on. But she wanted out of here. The room seemed closed and airless. She found that breathing wasn’t easy for her, and she spoke quickly. “You don’t want to bother Mr. Lawrence if you don’t have to.” She inhaled a deep breath. “I’m here for training and possibly evaluation for a promotion, and if you call him...” She shrugged, already saying more than she should have. “Please, just let me find the envelope and you can read what’s in it before I take it. Okay?”
He didn’t move. He just stared at her, his hands behind his back, then he spoke in a low voice. “Find the envelope.”
“Thank you,” she said, and didn’t waste any time before turning back to the desk to look for it. She went through everything twice, but no envelope appeared. Finally she moved some books aside and withdrew a stack of papers beneath them. There it was. The envelope even had her name on the front of it.
She turned and held it up to Rafe. “Here it is.”
He looked at it, then came close enough to take it from her. She watched him open the flap, pull out a sheet of paper and examine it. “According to this, Ms. Gallagher is being moved to another location so your time at LynTech can be spent more productively.”
“See, I told you so,” she said, and realized that sounded like a childish retort. “It’s all there.”
He looked back at the letter. “It’s got directions.” He frowned as he read silently. “That’s a lousy area,” he murmured before he looked back at her with those dark eyes. “Why are they putting you up there?”
“He said it’s wired to the LynTech database, and I can work more effectively from there than I could from the hotel.”
“Whatever,” Rafe said, refolding the paper and putting it back in the envelope. Then he shook out two keys. “Front door and loft,” he said as he read the tags. He dropped them back in the envelope and handed it to her. “Once again, I was wrong. You’re right. You can go.”
She expected to feel victorious, but didn’t, thanks to the darkness in his eyes. She didn’t understand that look at all, and normally wouldn’t have cared. But for some reason, it bothered her. “Thank you,” she said, holding on tightly to the envelope. “I just need to get my things from my cubicle, then I’ll leave.” She heard herself add, “And can you show me where to sign the list?”
She thought he might at least smile a bit at that, but all he said was, “Get your things and I’ll sign you out.”
“Okay,” she agreed, and headed for the door.
He followed, but never came abreast of her all the way to her cubicle. When she went inside he stayed at the doorless entry and silently watched as she got her briefcase and put her paperwork in it. She closed it and looked up to find him eyeing her intently. “Can I ask you one thing?” she murmured.
“What’s that?”
“Why on earth would you assume that Mr. Lawrence and I were...together?”
He motioned to her hand. “I know that’s an engagement ring, and since you were hunting for Mr. Lawrence at the ball, well...” He shrugged. “It wouldn’t be the first time an older man and a younger woman got together.”
She knew her face was getti
ng red. “That’s not the case,” she said, and snapped the locks on the briefcase. “Not at all.”
“That’s not an engagement ring?” he asked.
“Of course it is. And for your information, my fiancé is thirty-three, five years older than I am.” Why had she told him that? “But that’s none of your business.”
“I didn’t ask,” he pointed out.
“Do you need to see my ID or anything now?”
Rafe hesitated, then put out his hand. “Sure.”
She opened the briefcase again, pulled out a slim wallet and took out her California driver’s license. He looked at it and read aloud, “Megan Stanford Gallagher.” Then he glanced up at her. “Stanford?”
She’d always hated her middle name. “My grandmother’s maiden name.”
“Oh, I thought you were named after the university,” he said. “You know, Stanford University.”
“No,” she said.
“Okay. Just checking.” Then he read, “Twenty-eight, five feet ten inches, a hundred and—”
She went around and snatched the license out of his hand. “I think that’s enough,” she said, and returned it to her wallet. “I’m who I said I am, and I’m here for the reason I told you.”
She snapped the briefcase shut and heard Rafe repeat, “You are who you say you are, and you’re here for the reason you told me.”
“Thank you.” She looked up at him. “Now, tell me if you’re just overzealous about your job, or did you seriously think I was stealing company secrets?”
“The latter,” he murmured.
“You are kidding, aren’t you?”
“No.”
“And you thought I was getting involved with Mr. Lawrence to ferret out company secrets?”
“That sounded reasonable to me,” he said.
She shook her head. The thought was just plain sickening to her. “I’m ready to leave,” she said, then saw the boxes she had to take with her. She pointed to them. “They need to go with me. Since you’re here, and you have to sign me out, you can carry them down for me.”
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