He smiles, but his gaze is very intent. “One more meeting?”
I hold my breath for a moment, and when I exhale, my doubts leave me too. “You’re on.”
I rest my head on his shoulder again, and we carry on dancing under the flickering bistro lights while Sinatra sings and the rain falls around us in sheets.
Not romantic. Not even a little bit.
Chapter
Four
Lachlan
The noise outside my office breaks my concentration, and I curse and look up from the spreadsheets I’m examining. My assistant Elliott’s voice is high with aggravation, and I wonder what’s going on.
I’m rising from my chair to find out, when the door opens and Joe appears.
My immediate smile makes me want to hit myself around the head. But I can’t help it. He’s made me smile since the first moment I’d seen him at that wedding, his sweet charm and humour on full display. He’d been intriguing, with his dark, wavy hair and a square chin that hinted his sunny temperament might be hiding stubbornness. He’d been so pretty he’d stopped my breath, and I’d watched him all the way through the wedding rather than paying attention to Daisy and Mark saying I do.
When I finally got to talk to him after stalking him, he’d been quick-witted, dry-humoured, and a funny mix of impulsiveness and steady kindness. Not to mention hot between the sheets.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
My assistant barges in behind him. “I’ll get him to leave, Lachlan.”
I shake my head quickly. “No need.” Joe’s beaming smile makes my chest puff up, but I disguise it by sitting back in my chair. “To what do I owe this pleasure?” I say as Elliott leaves and Joe grins at me.
“I’ve brought food, but more importantly I’m obviously just in time to save you from drowning in paperwork. Go me and my saviour tendencies.”
“My hero,” I say dryly, and he grins.
“Not all superheroes wear cloaks. Some of us are stuck with Burberry.”
“Well, their loss is my gain,” I drawl, eyeing the way his lithe, muscular body moves under his dark suit. He puts a bag down on my desk and then strolls around the office picking things up and putting them down like a hummingbird in pinstripe.
“And am I to have the food, or are you just taunting me while you indulge your shameless nosiness?”
He smiles back at me, unabashed at his curiosity. “You can have it, but I’m afraid I’m going to have to take you away from here to eat it.”
I stretch, enjoying his lightning-quick scan of my body. His eyes shine with approval.
“I can’t,” I say with genuine regret. I gesture at the paperwork spread around me. “I have so much to do.”
“And you can’t not do it as befits the owner of this huge accounting firm?” He raises one eyebrow.
I flush. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.” I don’t know why I didn’t. Maybe it’s because I just wanted to get to know him, and names and titles can often interfere with that.
I’m expecting a tart retort, but he just grins at me and goes back to examining the huge photograph on my wall. “That’s Lake Windermere.”
“How do you know?” He intrigues me in a funny way I’ve never felt before.
“I grew up near there. Do you like it there? You must do, if you have a photograph of it.”
I shrug. “I was there on business, so I didn’t see a lot of the area, but I was passing a small gallery that was showing a local photographer’s work. I saw that and had to have it.”
“Why?”
I blink. “Well, he’s gone on to great things, so the artwork has appreciated in value.” I stop as he blows a raspberry. “What?” I snap.
“That’s not why you bought it.”
I’m torn between irritation and amusement because this cocky young man is so irreverent and all the more charming because of it. “And you’d know that, how?”
“Because you’ve hung it here where you’ll see it every day. That means it’s important to you.” He looks at the photo curiously. “Tell me why,” he commands.
I repress a smile at his bossy tone and look at the photo. It’s a beautiful black-and-white shot of the lake, showing the reflection of the sky in the water. It’s simple, stark, and absolutely stunning, and I’d paid a fortune for it without a second thought.
“Because it looks like it’s showing another world in the reflection. A secret, serene world where everything is reversed, and every time I look at it, it gives me happiness and peace.” I shut my mouth with a snap, unable to believe I just told him that.
He offers me a wide smile as if I’ve pleased him and goes back to staring at the photo. I’m unable to tear my eyes away from him. He’s just as stunning as the picture, with his shiny black hair and blue eyes, and I have the same instinctive reaction towards him as I did the artwork—this desire to possess him, to own him for myself.
“I have a deadline,” I say quickly, shying away from my incredibly alarming thoughts.
He pouts, but it’s belied by his merry eyes. “It’s been medically proven that forensic accountants need more fresh air than normal human beings.”
“I must have missed that study. I can’t think how that happened.”
“Maybe you were reading—” He picks up a piece of paper on my desk. “Traddon Industries. Maths. Blah blah blah.”
I roll my eyes and grab it from him, settling it back on the pile while fighting the urge to laugh. It’s never far from the surface with Joe.
“So now you know I’m not coming with you, how about you hand over my grub?”
He comes close, and I catch the fresh scent of the outdoors and the spiciness of his cologne. It’s expensive and subtle, and makes me want to nuzzle my nose into his neck and breathe him in.
“Surely you can spare a little time for a walk? The park’s just over the road. We could have a stroll, and you can get some fresh air.”
His eyes are the colour of a robin’s egg, and beneath the fun, I sense concern. It’s a bit of an anomaly to me. Not many people bother themselves with how hard I work. And it’s the concern that makes me waver. Well, that and the fact that it’s been a week since I saw him for our strange but enjoyable date. Not a date, I remind myself and try not to tot up how many hours I’ve spent thinking about him since then and how many times my hand has reached for the phone.
His eyebrow climbs, and I realise I’ve been silent for too long. I brush my hand through my hair to cover my agitation. “Would that be another meeting?” I finally drawl.
“An assignation,” he corrects me. “And just look on it as an extension of the first one, seeing as I didn’t feed you properly then.” I give in and chuckle at the wry look on his clever face. Sensing weakness, he straightens and grabs my suit jacket from the coat stand. “Come on,” he coaxes. “Let’s go.”
“How is it that you’re here?” I grumble, standing up. “Don’t you have brides to marry?”
“I don’t actually marry them, Lachlan,” he says, holding up the jacket for me to slide my arms into. “That would make me straight and bigamous, and I’m far too pretty for jail.”