A Professional Engagement. Darcy Maguire

had it made. He just had to stay on track. Rick’s gaze darted back to the doorway. Right after he sorted out this woman.

      He straightened his burgundy shirt and tightened his purple tie, smoothing down the silk. He buttoned his suit jacket, looking down at his matching black trousers. He’d pass.

      He plucked another champagne glass from the table and weaved his way to the front desk, his eyes not leaving the newcomer.

      She was taller than he’d first thought, almost as tall as himself in her black high heels. Her hair wasn’t as wild or riotous on closer inspection. The ‘do’ looked as engineered as the rest of her. It was orderly and precise—only a pretext of rebellion.

      What was she? An accountant from the finance department? A wayward librarian? Or some starched schoolteacher with aspirations of becoming a cold fish? She certainly was working the image.

      He hesitated. He was half tempted to turn on his heel and melt into the crowd, allowing himself the luxury of speculation about the woman a little longer, entertaining himself with the possibilities.

      She turned towards him, her dark eyes stabbing him.

      She was striking!

      Rick strode forward and thrust the glass of champagne towards the stranger. ‘You look lost,’ he blurted like an idiot.

      She smiled at him, putting up her hand and shaking her head at the glass. ‘No thanks. And no, not at all.’ She looked past him. ‘I’m exactly where I should be.’

      Rick took a quick sharp breath, unable to tear his eyes off the woman. He hadn’t expected the vibrancy of her voice, the sweet lilt in her tone, or the brilliance in her dark eyes. There was no way she was as cool and controlled as she appeared to be.

      His gaze slid over her, the chatter in the room fading, his breathing becoming louder, and his body becoming extremely aware of hers.

      Rick cleared his throat, deftly discarded the drinks on a desk and moved into her line of sight.

      She raised her dark eyes slightly to meet his, with an intensity that was discomfiting, as though she knew things that he wasn’t privy to. ‘I’m here for an appointment,’ she said smoothly, glancing at the empty receptionist’s desk. ‘But I think that’s the last thing on everyone’s mind.’

      ‘I could help,’ he offered.

      ‘Ye—es…’ She pursed her lips and tried to look past him. ‘Only if you can tell me where I can find Mr Keene.’

      Warmth filled his body. He couldn’t help but smile. ‘You’ve found him.’

      She looked taken aback for a moment as though he’d surprised her. She ran her dark gaze over him in a lazy perusal, from his black shoes, up his tailored suit, over his shirt and tie to his face.

      Her eyes narrowed, searching his face as though trying to find the answer to a puzzle of her own.

      Rick caught and held her gaze. ‘Do I measure up?’

      ‘Oh…sorry…of course.’ Her cheeks flushed.

      He stood taller. ‘You were expecting someone else?’

      ‘I didn’t expect you to be so old.’

      ‘Old?’ What the—? ‘I don’t think thirty-four is old.’ Had his face dried and cracked up since this morning’s shave? Had a decade or three been stolen from his life? Admittedly, he no longer had the round, smooth features he’d had as a teenager. He rubbed his jaw. But he looked after himself.

      She shrugged. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…’ She pressed her lips together and looked away. ‘I’m sorry to interrupt your celebrations. I could come back later?’

      He put up a hand to stall her. ‘No. It’s not a problem.’ But what about him being old? A person couldn’t just blurt out a thing like that and not explain, especially not a young, pretty woman like this one, even if she was hiding being a cool façade.

      ‘So…?’ she asked softly. ‘Which way would be your office? I presume you’d like to talk somewhere a little quieter?’

      ‘Sure.’ His muscles tightened. What could this be about? Dammit. He scanned the room for his secretary, his mind toying with the possibilities. Usually she would have informed him of his appointments for the afternoon before he’d gone out for lunch. Today, he’d sprung the celebration on the office…

      He walked down the hallway, vividly aware of the woman behind him, of her softly scented perfume and of the mystery that shrouded her.

      Where was she from? Who did she work for? What was her job? He could usually pick at least a person’s occupation.

      Rick opened the door to his private office and watched her pass him without a hesitation, her hips swaying gently. She moved as though she was in absolute control, with a musical rhythm, as though she was a dancer.

      He rubbed his chin. Who was she? He strode into his large corner office. ‘Patrick Keene,’ he offered, holding out his hand. ‘And you are?’

      ‘Tara Andrews.’ She shook his hand firmly, meeting his eyes with a calm assurance.

      The name meant nothing. Neither, he assured himself, did the jolt deep in his gut at her firm touch.

      Rick turned on his heel and strode around his large teak desk and glanced out at the Sydney skyline. He turned to face the woman. ‘So?’

      She barely glanced around at her surroundings. ‘I’m here about your proposal.’

      He sighed, dropping his shoulders. Mystery over. She was just work. ‘Which one?’ He moved to the desk and flicked through the papers scattered across the surface.

      ‘Which one?’ she echoed.

      ‘Which proposal are you here to discuss, Miss?’

      ‘I—’

      ‘I have several projects in the pipeline—do you represent an investor or one of the parties involved?’ He steeled himself for the concerns, the judgements, the resentments and/or the litigious threats that would come next.

      ‘I’m not here for business,’ she said in a more gentle tone. ‘I’m here on a personal basis.’

      He stared at her, his mind racing. Personal? How personal? There was no way he’d forget those deep dark eyes, those full red lips, her smooth tanned skin or her slender body, with curves that itched to be explored.

      His body heated.

      ‘I’m a proposal planner. Mr Thomas Steel asked me to come and tell you about my service in the hope that I could assist you in giving his daughter a memorable proposal of marriage.’ She leant forward and handed him her business card.

      ‘Marriage?’ he echoed, his mind numbing. He took the card and stared at the words on it, trying to clear his head.

      Had old man Steel got sick of waiting? He was always on about how old he was getting and how he wanted to see grandchildren before he died. Rick tensed. Had he and Kasey reached the end of their ruse? He hoped not.

      ‘Am I in the wrong place?’ Tara glanced at a page in the folder. ‘No. This is right. You are Patrick Keene, aren’t you?’

      He stared at her. ‘Yes, but…’ A proposal planner? He crossed his arms over his chest, clenching his jaw against the rush of blood to his ears.

      How could anyone think that a successful and extremely competent businessman like himself couldn’t handle a task as simple and straight-forward as a proposal of marriage?

      Was old man Steel pulling his leg? Or didn’t he think that he was up to the task on his own? Or was he just tired of waiting for his daughter to come up with a family and figured he needed a shove in the back.

      Unbelievable!

      She pulled a chair