Undone By Her Ultra-Rich Boss

Noting that the colour had returned to Orla’s cheeks and the strength to her voice, Duarte got to his feet and took a surprisingly unsteady step back before turning on his heel, shoving his hands in his pockets and stalking out. He needed air, the more of it he could get and the fresher it was, the better.

Thank God he’d been around to stop her falling, he thought grimly as he emerged into the bright afternoon sunshine and inhaled raggedly, his pulse still hammering at the memory of the sight of her standing there about to swoon. Why he’d changed his mind and opted to work from here instead of staying at the house he hadn’t a clue. It wasn’t as if he couldn’t stay away from her. He wasn’t that desperate. He was totally in control of the effect she had on him. He didn’t need to know where she was or what she was doing. He’d decided to head to the kitchen because he was thirsty and felt like an ice-cold beer, not because he’d caught sight of her through the window pacing up and down the flagstones with such a wretched expression on her face that his heart had almost stopped.

But none of that mattered. All that did matter was that he’d been in the right place at the right time and a good thing too because if she’d cracked her head on the stone floor she could have hurt herself badly. She could have lain there in pain—or worse—for hours.

Orla evidently wasn’t as indestructible as she liked to make out. She had insecurities and vulnerabilities and that meant that he was keeping an eye on her. He wasn’t ignoring another woman’s emotional well-being. He’d learned that lesson. So from now on, he was sticking to her like glue.