After Hours

Something in the smiling good-mornings she was given in the hallways told her that she’d been the topic of office gossip since leaving the party Friday evening. She could just hear it. Ms. St. Clair, the straitlaced, no-nonsense “deputy dictator” had gotten herself smashed at the office party, and Rhys Wakefield, who’d never before gone out of his way on behalf of anyone to their knowledge, had yelled at the men responsible and then taken her home. Fully half the other employees had probably suspected then that she and Rhys were having an affair. At the time, they’d have been wrong. Now, they were absolutely right. She gulped.

Or were they having an affair? Did one day and one night of incredible, teeth-rattling, mind-spinning, repeated lovemaking constitute an affair? Was it going to happen again? And if so, why hadn’t Rhys called her last night when she’d waited up until midnight hoping he’d do so? Had he been giving her time to recuperate, or had he started to regret the involvement with his assistant, which would prove so awkward at the office?

It seemed she had a lot of questions, she thought wryly, stowing her purse in her desk. If only she had a few answers to go with them.

She hadn’t been at work for half an hour before Rhys summoned her.

“Good morning. How do you feel?” June asked solicitously when Angie passed her desk.

As if a hangover lasted three days, Angie thought with a mental sigh. “I’m fine, thanks, June.”

“Well, you look wonderful. Come to think of it, Mr. Wakefield looks wonderful today, too. Very relaxed.” June’s voice was as smugly satisfied as if she took full credit for Rhys’s state of mind.

“That’s, uh—” Angie kept her eyes trained on Rhys’s door, unable to finish the weak comment. Her hand wasn’t quite steady when she tapped on his door. Would he greet her with the smile she’d seen and melted over during the weekend? Or would he be back to business as usual, the aberrance of the weekend put firmly behind him?

More questions, she thought, turning the doorknob. But this one was about to be answered.

Rhys looked up from his desk as she entered. “Good morning, Angelique. Where do we stand on the Phoenix project? I assume you’ve checked the figures?”

She wasn’t quite sure what to make of him this morning, Angie decided as she automatically filled him in on the first thing she’d done upon entering her office. His question was completely businesslike, but his eyes, his voice and his smile were all—warm, she thought, resisting the impulse to fan herself with the steno book in her hand. Intimate. Full of memories she shared.

“Sit down and let’s go over this,” he instructed, nodding toward her usual chair beside his desk. “I’m not too comfortable with our rate of production on this one. What do you think?”

I think I’m in big trouble, Rhys Wakefield. Because I love you. And because I’m only a hair’s breadth away from pouncing on you and begging you to make love to me right there on your desk. “I think you’re right to be concerned,” she said in a clear, brisk tone, sitting gracefully in the chair and crossing her legs. “The production rate is way down on this one. Why do you think that is?”

RHYS MADE IT THROUGH most of the day without losing his precarious control, and the effort exhausted him much more than the pile of work he and Angie waded through during those hours. Sitting only a few scant feet away from her, catching an occasional tantalizing whiff of her light fragrance, watching her neat mauve jacket shift over her soft breasts when she moved, surreptitiously eyeing the length of long, smooth legs that he could almost feel around his back—it was a wonder he could speak without drooling and stammering, he thought grimly.

He wasn’t sure what snapped his control late in the afternoon. Maybe it was the way she’d been nibbling on a pencil as she studied a report June had typed for them. Watching her, he’d broken into a fine sweat, finding it necessary to loosen his tie. Or maybe the way she looked up with a quick laugh and a teasing remark when he made a desperate grab for his coffee cup and knocked it over, swearing as coffee spilled over the top of his desk and splashed onto his slacks.

Or maybe he was only human and could hold back his natural desires not one moment longer.

Whatever the cause, he shoved his chair away from his desk with enough violence to cause her to look up from her renewed pencil nibbling with startled inquiry, reached out to snatch the pencil from her hand and had her in his arms, all before she could say a word. The report June had spent four hours working on fell to the floor.

It had been thirty-one hours since he’d kissed her, he’d calculated only moments before. It felt more like thirty-one days. He devoured her mouth as if he’d been starving—and maybe he had been. After one brief, shocked moment of hesitation, Angie slid her arms around his neck and kissed him back as if she’d been every bit as hungry.

He pulled away only to draw a quick, impatient breath. “Again,” he muttered, holding her closer.

“What if—?”

He didn’t give her the chance to finish the question. He knew she’d been about to express a concern that someone would walk in. That was unlikely and they both knew it. No one except Graham dared to enter Rhys’s office without knocking first. Not even Angie. So he continued to kiss her without thought of anything except how very right she felt in his arms, how much he’d missed her since having her there last.

Long moments later, he slowly, reluctantly drew back. Much more of that, he thought ruefully, and he’d be tempted to test the privacy of his office even more daringly.

Angie looked rather dazed. He smiled and touched a finger to her warm, flushed cheek. “Thanks,” he said with a lightness at odds with the roughness of his voice, “I needed that.”

“I—um—wasn’t expecting that,” she told him unnecessarily, her own voice not quite normal.

“You should have been. It was all I could do not to go for you hours ago.”

Her color deepened. She lifted a hand to her disheveled hair, then stroked her little finger over her smudged lips. “I must look as though I’ve just been thoroughly kissed,” she scolded.

“At least you don’t look as though you’ve just been thoroughly—”

“Rhys!”

He chuckled at her shocked exclamation. “Have dinner with me tonight?”

She moistened her lips, and Rhys fought the urge to pull her back into his arms. “In a restaurant?” she asked hesitantly.