Nothing But The Best. Kristin Hardy

      “Anyway, I was a late addition here,” he admitted. “Command performance from the boss.”

      “Well, when God calls…”

      “Exactly.” He studied her, feeling a little surge of frustration at the fact that she was now off-limits. She wore one of the prim and pretty suits that had been the spring runway rage. Somehow seeing her ladylike and demure clothes just gave him more of an urge to get them off her and uncover the uninhibited lover he’d discovered the night before. “Is this going to be a problem, us working together?” It was definitely going to be for him, unless he got a grip on his imagination.

      “Gee, I think it might be, considering the fact that we work in different departments, on separate continents.” Her voice was dry. She grinned at him. “Relax, it’ll be fine. This time next week, you’ll be back in Milan.”

      “London,” he corrected.

      “Wherever. I think we’re both smart enough to keep a handle on it. No harm, no foul.”

      That was overstating the case. It had certainly done harm to him—to his peace of mind, anyway. And yet, as much as he knew how narrowly they’d avoided trouble, he was glad they hadn’t figured out what was going on until after the fact, because the fact had been pretty damned memorable.

      Cilla put out her hand. “We cool?”

      “We cool.” He shook with her, letting go as quickly as he could. Before he really registered the feel of her skin.

      Cilla blew out a breath. “Oh-kay. I’m going to hit the ladies’ room. That way we won’t walk back in together.”

      “Worried about your father suspecting something?”

      “I’m not, no,” she said frankly. “But it might be best for you if we keep our distance.”

      He knew she was a creature of warmth, of humor, of appetites. Now, here was something he hadn’t expected—her concern.

      Color stained her cheeks at his pleased stare. “What?”

      Rand couldn’t prevent the smile. “Taking care of me?”

      “Oh, well, just…paying back the good deed.”

      He itched to brush his lips over hers. Off-limits, he reminded himself. “You’ve got a nice soft side, Priscilla,” he murmured.

      “Only my grandmother ever called me that,” she muttered uncomfortably.

      “You’ve got a nice soft side,” he repeated. “I’m glad I could be your Samaritan.”