‘Greer?’
His voice was sharper, his fingers tightening on her arms and abruptly she realisedshewas the one moving closer tohim. She was on tiptoe, leaning up to reach him, her body pushing against his. One of her hands had crept to his shoulder, a moment away from grasping the back of his head and pulling it down to hers.
Shock blasted her, breath hissing in as reality pierced the haze of desire.
She stumbled back, embarrassment surging as she realised Conall’s dark eyes held only concern and a wariness that made her stomach curdle.
Almost as bad was the fact he felt the need to keep hold of her lest she fall.
Wrenching her arms free, she retreated further, coming up against a wall. Her chest rose and fell with each quick, agonising breath and she wrapped her bare arms around her middle, trying to hold in the toxic mix of shock, disappointment and embarrassment.
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…’
Shehadmeant it. That was the problem. For twenty months she’d kept her attraction to Conall under lock and key, never giving in to it. Never even allowing her gaze to linger.
‘There’s nothing to apologise for. It’s okay.’
She stifled a bitter laugh. It was anything but okay. She’d just come on to her boss. Her face, even her ears burned with embarrassment. In the pit of her stomach fear escalated. Had she just thrown away everything she’d worked so hard for?
‘Greer, did you hear me? It’s all right. It’s not your fault you were unsteady on your feet when I surprised you. I probably scared you, appearing suddenly when you thought the office empty.’
Her brows twitched. What about her grabbing him, leaning on him as she tried to get close enough for a kiss?
But she could read nothing in his expression apart from that tiny twist of concern.
He’s being kind. He’s giving you a free pass. Maybe he feels sorry for you. Believes you’re not yourself since the knock to the head.
He was right there. Never in her wildest dreams would she have believed she’d do anything as self-destructive as trying to kiss her boss.
Yet everything she’d felt was real. Those moments in his arms she’d felt more herself, more potently alive than at any time she could remember.
‘Now, can I give you a lift home? It’s been a long week and you’re probably tired.’
She’d rather walk on hot coals than be cooped up in a car with him while he pretended she hadn’t just made a complete fool of herself.
‘Thanks, but no.’ She bent and scooped up her work clothes, holding them against her chest like a protective barrier. ‘I’m meeting someone. See you on Monday.’
Conall watched the lift doors close behind Greer. She hadn’t looked at him again, just shoved her work clothes away and strode for the exit.
His gaze had tracked every step of those bare legs. Followed the way the light shimmered on that figure-hugging dress and her dark hair that swayed halfway to her waist with each step. Straight silky hair that mesmerised and made his fingers twitch.
Seeing Greer in that dress… His breath died as a fist slammed into his chest. Or was it a blade? He swore he felt it rip through him, slicing past skin and bone to something raw and savage.
Had he really thought the offer of a lift home would weigh against the lure of her assignation tonight?
He jammed his fists tight into his trouser pockets. She’d felt that spark of attraction, heknewit. Standing there, watching her walk away had been tough. As tough as watching her confusion and not intervening when she’d pulled away.
His gut churned at the uncertainty he’d seen in her indigo eyes. No matter what Greer claimed, her memory loss haunted her.
The lift began its descent and he spun away, chest tight as he strode into his office to his vantage point at the corner window. He’d already pulled his phone out, speed dialling his head of security.
As they spoke he thought he caught a glimpse of her on the street, behind a group heading down towards Circular Quay. He couldn’t follow her. She’d demanded distance. If she saw him among the end of week revellers by the harbour she’d know it was no coincidence.
She’d even disposed of the note she’d scribbled while on the phone, with the name of a popular bar there. He told himself it was her habit to leave her desk tidy. Not because she didn’t want him to know about her date.
His chest tightened and he yanked his attention back to the phone.
A few minutes later it was sorted. He rarely needed bodyguards while in Australia, despite his wealth and well-known family name. But his security adviser assured him there’d be someone at the Quay straightaway. That was one of the advantages of being wealthy—nothing was too much trouble.
