Three Blind-Date Brides. Fiona Harper

daughter. Marissa didn’t want a surprise party—or any kind of party—and she hoped her Mum had understood that from her hints on the topic.

      There was no big deal about wanting to find a man before she turned thirty anyway, and nor was Marissa’s pride in a mess because she’d been duped and dumped.

      She had her whole world in complete control, and she liked it just fine that way!

      ‘Good afternoon, Rick Morgan’s office, this is Marissa.’

      Rick sat at his desk and listened as Marissa answered yet another phone call and took a message. He’d told her he didn’t want to be disturbed while he worked his way through the report that had been delivered.

      Yet he hadn’t managed to tune out his awareness of her as she beavered away at her desk.

      Maybe it was the way her hands flew across the computer keys that had him glancing her way over and over. Or the fact that when she thought herself unobserved her interest in the materials she processed showed all over her expressive face.

      Frowns and nods of approval came into play until she finally printed out each piece of work with an expression of satisfaction. Would she be as open and responsive—?

      That wasn’t something he needed to know, yet the thought was there, along with others. Rick finished reading the report and scooped up the signed letters that needed to be mailed.

      ‘You like hard work, don’t you.’ It wasn’t really a question but he set the signed letters down on the corner of her desk and waited for her to answer anyway. That was another problem he appeared to have developed. He couldn’t seem to stop himself from getting up from his desk and finding a reason to visit hers.

      Once there, his gaze seemed to have a will of its own, roving constantly over her face and hair, the nape of her neck, the hands that moved with such speed and efficiency over the computer keyboard. He wanted those hands on him.

      No. He did not want Marissa Warren’s hands on him. Yet there was something between them. It had been there from the moment they’d met at the bridge this morning and he’d let her come to the most predictable conclusion about Julia because of that.

      Now he wanted to explain, wanted her to know he was free—but he wasn’t, was he? Not to get involved with his temporary secretary, or any other woman who wanted more than a casual physical interlude with him. He’d made his choice about that.

      ‘Do I like hard work?’ Her gaze flipped up to his. Almost immediately she veiled the sparkle in her eyes. A shrug of one shoulder followed. ‘I guess I like to think I’m as efficient as the next person and there seems a lot to be done in this office at the moment. Or perhaps it’s always this busy?’

      ‘Tom and I work hard, but there’s more to contend with right now than is usual, even for us.’ To move his gaze from her, he shifted it to a photo of an older couple that she’d added to her desk. The woman had curly hair, cut shorter. Her parents …

      Was she an only child or did she, like him, have siblings? An intriguing-looking laminated sheet covered the left half of the desk. Much of it had work strewn on top but the bits he could see appeared to be cartoon cuttings.

      Her foibles and family history shouldn’t interest him. Another sign of trouble, and yet still he stood here, courting time with her when both their interests would be better served if he didn’t.

      ‘Will it be a problem for you to work longer hours for the next few days?’ That was what he really needed to know. ‘Is there someone at home who’ll mind?’

      Marissa’s answer was only relevant to him in terms of how it impacted here.

      Except his body stilled as he waited for her response, and that stillness had little to do with concerns about his working life.

      ‘Tom has welcomed the longer hours because he and Linda are saving to buy a house.’ The words left his mouth in an explanation he hadn’t intended to give. ‘He’s used to my ways and knows his way around this office. He copes.’

      ‘I can manage any work Tom would have done.’ She spoke the words with her chin in the air. An answer, but not all the information he had wanted.

      ‘I don’t doubt that.’ He wanted her to know he thought well of her. Wanted her to … think well of him. The last time he’d experienced this particular care about another’s opinion of him, he’d been twenty years old and convinced he was in love, until the girl had started talking about the future—theirs—and he’d wanted to run a mile.

      Just like his father, except Stephen Morgan was in a family and he did his running a little differently. Rick hadn’t even tried for a less than overt approach. He’d got out of that relationship so fast he’d probably left the girl spinning and he’d avoided commitment ever since.

      ‘I’m not … tied to any home responsibilities.’ Marissa offered this information cautiously, as though she’d prefer not to have given it.

      ‘Then I won’t worry too much if I do have to ask you to work extra hours.’ Rick stared into the warm brown eyes fixed unerringly on him and the moment stretched out, expanded to encompass not only the words they had exchanged but also what they weren’t saying. The sparkle in the air between them. His awareness of her, hers of him, the denial of both of them.

      Sexual attraction. That was all it was, but even so it wasn’t wise and he had to realise that and move them past it. He drew a deep breath. ‘It’s clear you can cope with the workload. You’ve handled yourself very well so far today. I appreciate your efforts.’

      ‘Th-thank you.’ A pleased expression lifted the corners of her mouth and softened her eyes. ‘I’ve simply done my job.’

      Something about that softening brought back the urge he’d had earlier in the lift to kiss her senseless, and he lowered his tone of voice to a low rumble. ‘So I’ve observed.’

      ‘I can work whatever hours are needed. I’d just appreciate knowing so I can gear my social life accordingly.’ She cleared her throat and couldn’t quite seem to meet his gaze. ‘I cancelled a drink after work today because I figured I wouldn’t be out by five.’

      Rick wanted to say there’d be no time whatsoever for her to spend on ‘drinks’. Presumably with some man. He noted at the same time that she must be looking. Looking, but not seriously involved right now.

      But women who looked and carried photos of their parents with them did want depth and permanency, and that kind of relationship was not on his agenda.

      ‘I should get on, if that was all.’ She reached for the pile of letters to be mailed, began to calmly fold them into the window envelopes she had waiting on her desk.

      Dismissed by his temporary assistant. Rick gave a snort of amusement and reluctant admiration before he swung away. ‘I’ll be in my office and … er … I promise there won’t be any more correspondence brought out for you to type today. I know your tray is still loaded.’

      ‘No.’ She didn’t look up. ‘You’ll just hold it over for tomorrow so I won’t get stressed out. I won’t anyway, but that’s okay. I understand the tactic. Gordon does the same thing.’

      Now he’d been compared to a fifty-year-old.

      Rick disappeared into his office, pushed the door closed so he wouldn’t be tempted to listen to Marissa taking phone calls or watch her as she worked, and decided that it was very different working with her rather than Tom.

      That explained his ongoing interest in her. He half convinced himself he believed this. Well, maybe a quarter. He immersed himself in his work.

      At twenty minutes to six that evening Marissa stuck her head around his door. ‘Your presence is requested at an emergency conference.’

      He’d started to believe they might have nearly caught up on their workload. So much for that idea. ‘Which department heads? What’s the problem?’

      She