Regardless, his meaning is crystal clear. He has no interest in pursuing me. Yet the heat in his expression says the opposite.
Our bodies are two magnets. Drawn together without intent. His hands lift and hover near my cheeks as though he wants to touch me. We’re so close now my breasts are lightly brushing his chest as our breathing synchronises. His head dips. Our breaths connect our open lips. Neither of us seems able to look away. I can see he’s as lost in this moment as I am. I want to kiss him like I want to keep breathing. My eyelids start to close …
A sharp rap on the door breaks the spell and we jump apart. Nick is in his chair behind his desk before I can blink.
“Yes?” he calls, his voice harsh.
The door opens and Harry pokes his head in as I sink into the chair Nick offered me earlier, my legs shaking, my knickers damp and my whole body burning.
“Will told me Lulu was in here, thought I’d pop in to say hello.” Harry settles himself in the chair beside me. “Is Nick giving you a hard time, Lulu?”
I recall the hardness I felt brushing my belly only moments ago, and my breath catches.
“No. Not at all. We were discussing the colour scheme for his office.” My voice comes out a little strangled, even to my ears, and I glance at Nick. His mask is back in place, and his attention is trained on a point over Harry’s shoulder.
“Oh, good, good. Glad to hear you’re getting on board, Nick.” Harry takes his reading glasses off and peers at me. “Are you quite well? You look a little flushed.”
I glance at Nick’s impassive expression, but his eyes remain locked on that spot above Harry’s shoulder. “Yes, I’m fine. Maybe a little overdressed for this weather, I think.”
Harry’s brows draw together in confusion, which is not surprising since the offices are sitting at a very comfortable cool. Keeping a lid on this thing between Nick and me—whatever the hell it is—is going to be harder than I thought.
Chapter Eleven
Nick
BythetimeHarrystops blabbing and offers to escort Lulu to the lift, I’m able to stand without embarrassing myself. And Lulu. This attraction is becoming damned inconvenient. Not to mention inexplicable.
Christ on a bike. I didn’t even touch her and I was rock hard. I’ve never experienced such a visceral response to a woman. I can’t seem to shake the feelings she stirs up. Yet we couldn’t be less suited.
The sort of woman I need is someone like Eleanor, although it appears that is not the sort of woman I want. If by want you mean cannot keep my hands off. But how on earth would a woman like Lulu be a suitable partner for a politician or senior partner?
The little voice inside my head, which sounds suspiciously like my sister, whispers again that those things were my parents’ dream for me, not mine. I’ve been ignoring that voice all my life, but it keeps getting louder, especially since Dad died. And yet I made him a promise. Breaking my word isn’t something I can do carelessly. I need to make a decision. Either start listening to the voice or silence it for good. Trouble is, I have spent so many years assuming this was my path that I have no real idea what I would do, given a choice.
One thing I do know is I can’t deny the magnetic pull I feel when Lulu is in the room, nor the way she plays on my mind when she’s not. I succumbed to that pull on Friday night, not to mention what almost happened in my office today, but I can’t let it happen again. Somehow, I need to find a way to resist her until this damn project is finished and I won’t have to see her again.
I have a couple of weeks of blessed relief from seeing Lulu, during which I manage to convince myself all will be well. A train of thought which comes to a screeching halt one Monday morning when I arrive to find tradies putting up protective sheeting in the lift.
“A little notice would’ve been nice,” I bark at Mandy as I stomp into my office.
“There was an email on Thursday. Did you not read it?” She gives me one of her patient looks, but I can see the grin hiding behind it. She’s enjoying this. “It had a full schedule for the work. I could forward it again if you like? But this shouldn’t affect you at all. Until the third week of work. Then we’ll get you set up in one of the conference rooms for a week or so—” Mandy is very efficient. She would have made sure I got the email. I can only assume I ignored it. No prizes for guessing why.
“No, we damn well won’t,” I snap. “You tell Harry if they want to interfere with this office, they’ll need to do it over a weekend. I will not have my work schedule disrupted.” And with that, I slam my door on the racket I already hear starting up in the outer office. Yes, I overreacted. The prospect of Lulu being in the office on a regular basis has me rattled. I would have liked some time to mentally prepare myself. Turns out two weeks was not enough.
I stay holed up in my office all morning with the door firmly closed. Not because I don’t want to run into Lulu—although I don’t—but because I’m busy. Not having to see her is simply a happy by-product. And yet, I have trouble concentrating, wondering what is going on outside. Our offices are all fully soundproofed, so I can’t hear anything with the door closed except for the occasional thump or crash.
By mid-afternoon I’m going a little stir crazy. I refuse to acknowledge that perhaps it’s the thought of seeing Lulu drawing me out of my office. Mandy is not at her desk, and I desperately need a coffee.
As I head to the kitchen, I spot Lulu leaning over plans on the conference room table, deep in conversation with a tradie. The table has been pushed to one wall and furniture fills the rest of the space, piled high and covered in drop sheets. Her Medusa hair is pulled into a haphazard knot on the top of her head, although most of it seems to be making a successful bid for escape. As if she can sense me watching her through the glass wall, her head comes up. Our gazes lock, and just like Medusa she turns me to stone. Well, part of me anyway. If anyone was around to see the glass wall melting between us, I would have a lot of explaining to do. It takes me longer than it should to break eye contact and head back to my office. Without my coffee.
At least I will only have to risk seeing her until Thursday this week. On Friday, the partners are taking the senior admin staff, and Edith—because she would pitch a fit if she wasn’t invited—out on the company yacht. Not only is a day on the water one of my favourite things, but it will be a welcome relief from the danger of running into Lulu MacLeod at every turn.
My grandfather and his partner were both keen sailors, and the first extravagant purchase they made once the firm found some success was an eighty-foot yacht, as they were measured in those days. It costs a fortune in berthing and upkeep, but selling her has never even been on the radar for any of us. We use her to entertain clients, for the occasional staff function and sometimes a partner will use it for a weekend or holiday. Days out onPartnerare, without question, my favourite days of the year.
A few years ago, we replaced the old sail system with self-furling sails to make it easier to manage when non-sailors are aboard, since none of the other partners are particularly keen and Harry is no longer fit enough to be much help. With the new sails, Will and I can manage her for the day without any problems, regardless of the weather conditions.
I get to the yacht club early on Friday to ensure everything is set with the boat and enjoy some quiet time. It’s a picture-perfect spring day. Warm sun, a slight breeze, and a cloudless sky. The boat’s teak deck gleams warmly under my feet as I step aboard barefoot, relishing the gentle movement of the water. I lay out all the cushions and towels we store in the cabin when the boat is not in use and make sure the heads have been stocked with paper, soap and hand towels. I’ve scarcely finished checking the lifejackets and ropes when I hear a call from the dock. It’s the caterer with several large eskies full of snacks, lunch and drinks. We hoist them into place, and I have a few minutes to relax in the sun before the first of the staff should start arriving.
No sooner have I cracked my first mineral water—I’m designated skipper today—than I hear a shout from the dock. Harry is striding towards me in the most garish Hawaiian shirt I have ever seen, with his wife Stella by his side. And … No. It can’t be. But it is. Keeping up with Harry’s huge stride is The Interloper herself, hair twisting wildly in the breeze, enormous sunglasses dwarfing her face, and exquisite long legs, tanned and bare, under cut-off denim shorts.Jesus take the wheel. Today has gone from delight to disaster.
