After Hours

“Yes, sir?”

“Thanks for caring, Angelique.”

Angie stared at the receiver after Rhys abruptly disconnected the call. No one had ever called her “Angelique,” and she was stunned by the sound of that name on his lips. She hung up slowly, telling herself she’d be very glad to get back to normal on Monday. Surely they’d return to being Mr. Wakefield and Ms. St. Clair within the sober confines of the office. It would be much better for all concerned when they did. Much safer for her.

SOMETIME DURING THE NIGHT, Angie woke with a moan, finding her hand at the pounding pulse in her throat, the echo of Rhys’s voice ringing in her mind. “Angelique,” he’d called her in the dream. And then he’d kissed her senseless.

Wincing at the hazy memory of the rest of the dream, she hid her face in the pillow, groaning in embarrassment.

Her attraction to Rhys Wakefield was growing all out of proportion. She had to get it under control before her professional relationship with him was affected. She couldn’t get involved with him, she reminded herself. She was still too vulnerable, still hurting.

She didn’t want him to find out about her father. She’d be humiliated if he did, if he thought less of her because of her father’s lack of ethics. Rhys was scrupulously honest in his own business dealings; he had no time for anyone he couldn’t trust to be equally honorable.

Her past relationships, both friendly and intimate, had disappointed her, left her feeling used and empty. Even if Rhys should want a fling with her—and he’d never indicated that he did—she couldn’t risk losing her job when it ended, and she was certain it wouldn’t last long. He gave no indication of being interested in long-term commitments. And she had nothing to offer if he was.

She had to get this under control. Had to keep her distance from this man who was getting much too close without even trying. She wondered anxiously if it was already too late to back away from him.

RHYS WAS ALREADY at the office when Angie arrived Monday morning. He was pale, slightly hollow eyed and still racked by an occasional cough, but she could tell that he was near full recovery. Her first reaction when he appeared in the door to her office was to flush scarlet. She tried to hide her odd behavior by “accidentally” dropping her pen behind her desk and bending to pick it up, ordering herself to stop behaving so foolishly. He couldn’t possibly know what she’d dreamed simply by looking at her.

“What have you done with it?” he demanded as soon as she’d straightened in her chair, hoping he’d attribute her heightened color to her bending over.

“What have I done with what, Mr. Wakefield?”

He scowled, though she wasn’t sure whether it was because of her return to formality or her unsatisfactory response to his question. “The Perkins file, dammit. I tried all day Friday to get you to bring it to me—which you neglected to do—and now I can’t find it.”

“It’s been taken care of, Mr. Wakefield. The papers have been delivered to Mr. Perkins for his signature. They should be back here later this afternoon.”

“When was this done?”

“Friday,” she admitted. “It really wasn’t very complicated and I knew you were anxious to get the deal wrapped up. I—”

“If I had wanted you to take care of it, I would have instructed you to do so, Ms. St. Clair,” Rhys interrupted bitingly.

This time there was nothing she could do to hide her flush of embarrassment. “I’m sorry, sir. I just—”

“Please remember in the future that I hired you to serve as my assistant. If I’d wanted someone who’d feel qualified to take charge around here, I’d have picked one of those smart-ass M.B.A.s who applied for this job.”

Angie bit her lip. “Yes, sir.”

He glared at her a moment longer, then turned on one heel and stalked away.

For the first time since she’d started working for Rhys, Angie found herself close to tears after one of his diatribes. And she’d worried about getting too deeply involved with him, she thought grimly. He’d made it quite clear that there was nothing to fear on that score. If he felt anything at all for her, even the faintest touch of gratitude—it certainly hadn’t been evident in the way he’d just talked to her. She was another employee to him, one he wasn’t too pleased with at the moment. In her eagerness to be of assistance to him, she’d overstepped the invisible boundaries he’d erected between himself and everyone else.

She wouldn’t make that mistake again.

Taking a deep breath, she busied herself with her work. In that area, at least, she knew exactly what needed to be done.

RHYS FELT LIKE A HEEL. It really hadn’t been necessary to jump all over her like that, he told himself, staring morosely at the closed door to his office. Indulging in an uncharacteristic bit of self-analysis, he decided that he’d been so cross with Angelique because he’d needed to reassert control in their relationship—their business relationship, he added firmly. It made him uncomfortable that she’d seen him at his worst, weak, sick, unable to walk from the bathroom to the bed without her assistance. Not to mention the dream he’d had last night, in which she had played a prominent, decidedly erotic role.

He’d come to work that morning believing he had things nicely under control again, only to have the unnerving sensation of feeling his mind go blank the moment he’d stepped into her office and seen her sitting behind the desk. She’d looked so beautiful, so distant, so damned desirable that his tongue had gone dry.

When s

truggling for a moment to think of something to say after she’d retrieved the pen she’d dropped in a moment of clumsiness, the only thing that had come to mind had been the Perkins file. And then he’d jumped down her throat simply because she’d been a bit overzealous in helping him out while he’d been ill. She’d been fully qualified to handle the Perkins deal, and he was well aware of it. He’d been a real jerk to climb all over her for trying to help—especially after she’d been so considerate about taking care of him Friday.

Climb all over her. The subconscious phrase repeated itself, bringing an accompanying image that shot a bolt of arousal right through his abdomen. It really had been too long since he’d been with a woman, he decided grimly.

He owed her an apology.