The intercom on his desk phone beeped.
“You have an unscheduled visitor, Mr.Donovan.”
The interruption surprised him.No one got into his office without an appointment.When Thompson refused admission, they went.“And?”
“Lara Bertrand.”
Well.Well.
“She knew the code and said you were expecting her.”
Her move took him off guard.He’d been prepared for her phone call, but not a visit.“Send her in.”He opened his top drawer and slid the BHI file inside.Her picture, he put under his keyboard.
Connor moved to the middle of the room and waited.
Seconds later, Thompson opened the door.
Lara walked in, wearing sky-high stilettos and a pencil skirt with a matching blazer.The suit was red.Libido red.She’d likely selected her outfit carefully, believing she had chosen a power color.If his guess was right, no doubt she’d discarded black as too obvious and a pastel as too feminine.All would have been a better choice.Red made him think of sex.
Beneath the jacket, she had on a white lacy something.Perhaps a camisole.Definitely something he’d want to move aside as he bared her shoulders.
She radiated a cool, timeless elegance.The small patent leather clutch in her left hand added an ultrafeminine touch.Factor in the way her long, dark hair spilled across her shoulders, and testosterone short-circuited his brain.
She was part Audrey Hepburn, part pin-up girl.And he had to force himself to remember his manners and the fact Thompson still stood there, a puzzled frown buried between his eyebrows.
“Ms.Bertrand,” Connor greeted, extending his hand.Better than giving in to temptation and curling it behind her neck to hold her still for his kiss.
Though her hand disappeared in his, her grip was strong.Despite their size differences, she was meeting him with courage, as an equal.But damn, he noticed that her nails had been manicured with those sexy French tips.And he wondered what they’d feel like on his back.“To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?”he asked.The handshake ended much too soon.The morning’s image—of her bound to his bed, unable to get away—raced through his mind.
Thompson cleared his throat and said, “I informed Ms.Bertrand that you have a very busy schedule and only have a few minutes available.”
“Thank you.Would you like coffee, Ms.Bertrand?Perhaps a bottle of water?”The questions were part of the code he and Thompson had prearranged.If Connor didn’t offer a beverage, Thompson would return shortly to escort the visitor out.
“Is the coffee strong?”
“Very,” Thompson replied.“If that’s the way you like it, you’ll be pleased.”He paused.“Cream or sugar?”
“Black is fine,” she replied.
“Damn,” Connor said, as Thompson closed the door behind him.
“Damn?”
“I was hoping you’d ask for sugar at least,” he confessed.
“Oh?”She frowned, drawing her eyebrows together.
His packet stash was almost completely depleted.“Long story.Have a seat?”
Though he had a small area with a couch and several armchairs for informal discussions and meetings, he extended his hand toward the chair in front of his desk.Until he knew the nature of her business, keeping some distance between them was wise.
“Thank you,” she said.
He waited until she sat, then he took his chair.
She placed her small bag on the carpet then crossed her legs.
Fuck if he didn’t hear the sweet whisper of silk.
