After Hours

Rhys narrowed his eyes at her, the crease in his cheek that was almost a dimple deepening, though his smile did not. “No, I got me a smart-ass former social secretary, instead. It’s been over a month since that particular outburst. Are you ever going to let me live it down?”

She laughed. “Probably not.”

Rhys looked at her for so long that her smile faded and she shifted uncomfortably on the couch. “You’ve got a nice laugh,” he said at length. “You should do it more often.” And then he nodded abruptly toward the thick sheaf of notes on the low cocktail table in front of them. “So what do you think about the consultants’ suggestions?”

Shaken by the expression she’d seen in his eyes before he’d turned away, Angie struggled to clear her thoughts sufficiently to answer with some semblance of intelligence. It seemed very important to justify Rhys’s belief that her opinions held value. So why had her mind suddenly gone blank? Why had he chosen that particular moment to look at her as though he wanted to throw her over his shoulder and carry her away?

She was both relieved and astonished when the door to Rhys’s office suddenly burst open, sparing her the need to speak. No one ever came into Rhys’s office unannounced, without knocking. Not even his secretary. So who…?

The man didn’t simply walk through the door. He exploded into the office in a whirl of red hair, white teeth and boisterous laughter. Angie sat stunned as the maniac attacked her employer, slapping him on the shoulder with enough force to nearly send him sprawling, greeting him with just-short-of-obscene insults.

She was even more shocked that Rhys didn’t seem to mind the assault, even seemed pleased. Staring at him, she watched as the broad smile spread across his face—a smile that jolted her all the way to her toes, even though it wasn’t turned on her. Oh, heavens, she thought faintly. If Rhys ever should happen to smile at her like that, she’d be a goner.

“What are you doing in town?” Rhys demanded of the stranger, who was so tall and powerfully built that he actually made six-foot, one-hundred-eighty-five-pound Rhys look small.

“Business. I’d have called first, but it was a spur-of-the-moment thing. Couldn’t stop in Birmingham without seeing you, though.”

“Damn straight. You knew I’d have your head if I found out you’d been in town without stopping to say hello,” Rhys retorted easily. And then he seemed to remember Angie. He turned to look at her, and actually flushed a bit at the amazed expression on her face. He brushed back the lock of hair his friend’s exuberant greeting had shaken onto his forehead. “Graham, I want you to meet someone. This is my assistant, Angelique St. Clair. Angelique, this is Graham Keating, an old army buddy.”

“It’s very nice to meet you, Mr. Keating,” Angie said politely, extending her hand.

Her fingers disappeared into a paw the size of a dinner plate. “Well, well, well,” Graham Keating murmured, subjecting her to a long, slow, minute inspection. “Well.”

“As you can tell, Graham’s quite a conversationalist,” Rhys observed dryly.

“Shut up, Rhys.” Graham never took his eyes away from Angie as he spoke mildly, nor did he release her hand. “So how’d a nice girl like you end up working for a nasty son of a gun like him, Angelique?”

“Angie,” Rhys corrected before Angie could answer the teasing question. She glanced at him in question, but he continued to look at Graham. “Everyone calls her ‘Angie.’”

Everyone but you, Angie added silently.

“The name fits,” Graham mused, lifting his free hand to lightly touch Angie’s hair. “The face and hair of an angel. I’d like to paint you sometime.”

Rhys snorted in disgust, beginning to scowl. “Paint? The only thing you’ve ever painted is the outside of a barn, and you made a mess of that.”

“Shut up, Rhys. I’m in the middle of a seduction here.”

That was twice the man had told Rhys Wakefield to shut up, Angie reflected. And he was still standing. Amazing.

She tugged lightly at her hand, only to find herself pulled even closer to Rhys’s eccentric friend. “So, Angel-face, how’d you like to have dinner with me tonig

ht? I’m in town by myself—I’ll be hungry and all alone. Won’t you take pity on a visitor to your town?”

It was impossible not to like the guy. The laughter dancing in his candid green eyes was contagious. He was an attractive man, with his mane of copper hair and cleanly carved features. And yet she couldn’t help comparing him to Rhys—and Rhys was by far the more fascinating of the two, in her opinion. She opened her mouth to politely decline the dinner invitation, but again was forestalled by Rhys.

A heavy arm fell around her shoulders, tugging her backward. She found herself plastered to Rhys’s side before she quite knew how it happened. Staring up at him in surprise, she noted that his scowl had deepened, his smile gone completely. “Sorry, Graham, but she’s not available—for dinner or seduction. Off-limits, you copy?” Though the words were spoken lightly enough, there was no mistaking the firm note of warning in his voice.

Graham looked from Rhys to Angie, then back again. “Coming through loud and clear, buddy. And it’s about damned time!” With characteristic enthusiasm, he threw an arm around Rhys’s shoulders, then included Angie in the near-strangling hug. “I have to compliment you on your taste, Rhys. She’s a treasure. Beauty and brains. You make him treat you right, you hear, Angie? Let me know if he gets too obnoxious and I’ll cut him down to size for you.”

He released them abruptly. “Gotta go. I’m supposed to be in a meeting in less than half an hour on the other side of town. See you next time, buddy.”

“Graham, wait,” Rhys called out as his friend whirled for the door. “Why don’t you plan to have dinner with us later?”

“Can’t. Gotta get back to Houston tonight. Thanks for asking, though.”

Rhys cocked his head quizzically. “Then what was that drivel about being all alone and hungry tonight?”

Graham grinned cockily. “Oh, that. I just wanted to see what you’d do if I made a play for your lady. I knew you’d staked a claim the minute I walked in. You were about to go for my throat, weren’t you? It’s about damned time,” he repeated as he walked out and closed the door behind him.