After Hours

He gave her a look. “No, in a bookstore. Where did you think?”

“What if someone from the office sees us out together? Aren’t you worried about the gossip?”

“Screw the gossip,” he answered inelegantly, annoyed by her implication that he

wanted to hide their relationship. Hell, he wouldn’t care if the whole world saw her on his arm, knew she belonged to him—for the moment, anyway, he amended quickly, warning himself not to start wanting too much. He’d learned early in life that wanting and getting were usually two very different things. “Do you want to have dinner with me or not?”

“Yes, Rhys,” she answered gently, touching his cheek with her fingertips. “I’d love to have dinner with you.’”

He caught her hand in his, trying not to crush it. “Then go home and change,” he said rather hoarsely. “I’ll pick you up at seven.”

She glanced in surprise at her watch. It was just past five. “You want me to leave now?”

“Unless you want to test the possibilities of that leather couch,” he answered bluntly.

Her eyes widened. And then she smiled. “Tempting as that is, I think I’ll take you up on your advice to go home and change.”

“Maybe that would be best,” he agreed. He watched her cross the office, toss a smile over her shoulder and walk out the door. And then he exhaled in a gust of frustration and ripped off his already loosened tie.

HE HAD GOOD INTENTIONS to take her to a very nice restaurant to prove to her that he was proud to be seen with her. He really did. He’d even managed to make reservations on short notice. But the moment she opened her door, looking cool and stunning in her simply cut black dress and sexy high-heeled sandals, all he could think about was throwing her over his shoulder and hauling her off to bed.

“Angelique. You look so damned beautiful.”

She started to thank him, then noted the hungry, almost savage look on his face. He smiled and tossed her purse onto a table. And then she held out her hands to him. “We can eat later,” she assured him gently.

He groaned and caught her in his arms. “Yeah,” he murmured distractedly, his hands already caressing her back through the clingy, silky black fabric. “Later.”

MUCH LATER, Rhys groaned again—apologetically, this time. “Are you mad?” he asked tentatively.

With some effort, she lifted her head from his shoulder. “Why should I be mad?” she asked, honestly confused. How could she be mad after Rhys had made such beautiful, sensitive, glorious love to her?

“I promised to take you out to dinner. I suppose it’s too late now.”

She smiled at his sheepish look. “I suppose so,” she replied without undue concern. “We’ll have to find something here. I’m sure we can make do.”

He frowned at her teasing smile. “I’m not afraid to be seen in public with you,” he informed her flatly. “It’s just that I—uh—”

“Took one look at me and got carried away with passion,” she finished for him, feeling decidedly smug.

His mouth quirked. “Yeah. Something like that.”

She reached up to kiss him lightly. “Now how could I possibly be mad about that?”

He hugged her, and the gesture was so natural, so sweet and unexpectedly romantic that she had to blink back tears. And then he spoke. “You’re a good sport, Boston.”

A good sport? So much for romance, she thought wryly, suppressing a sigh as the incipient tears evaporated. “What would you like to eat?” she asked, reaching for her robe.

Fifteen minutes later she stood at the stove, pressing a spatula against two sizzling hamburgers as Rhys prepared buns and condiments. The black dress having seemed inappropriate for such an informal dinner at home, she’d wrapped herself in a pink terry robe. Rhys wore the slacks to his suit, his unbuttoned shirt flapping over them, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He looked so good that she had to force herself to concentrate on the burgers. “How do you want yours?”

“Rare.”

“Of course.” Now why hadn’t she guessed? Smiling to herself, she slipped his undercooked patty onto one of the buns he had ready, prepared to let hers cook a while longer.

“Tomorrow night we’ll eat out,” Rhys promised, carrying his plate to the table. “We’ll leave straight from the office so we don’t risk getting distracted again.”

He seemed to be taking for granted that they’d be spending a great deal of their spare time together. Angie had no complaints, but she wondered how long it would last. She had a nagging suspicion that the more time she spent with Rhys, the harder it would be when he grew tired of the affair. “All right.”

He gave her a quick glance, as if something in her voice puzzled him, but didn’t comment.