Working Overtime. Raye Morgan

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Название Working Overtime
Автор произведения Raye Morgan
Жанр Контркультура
Серия Mills & Boon Cherish
Издательство Контркультура
Год выпуска 0
isbn 9781408945162



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to need.” He gestured toward the doorway. “Why don’t we stop in at the coffee shop and work up our strategy for this project over a cup of coffee?”

      She hesitated. She’d had other plans for the rest of her lunch hour. But she supposed they could wait. For the time being, he was the boss. “Fine,” she said, turning toward the doorway.

      They didn’t speak again as they strode side by side down the hallway. Chareen stared straight ahead, but her mind was racing. She wasn’t sure she could do this. Michael Greco was nothing like what she’d expected.

      The last acquisitions specialist she’d worked with had been a huge, balding man with a laugh that shook the rafters of the building. They had worked really well together, and when she’d told Leonard Trask, the Legal Services manager who was almost like a second father to her, that she would be willing to take that sort of assignment again, she had expected to be paired with another older, nonthreatening sort of man. But Sherry had been right about one thing. Michael Greco belonged in a hunk calendar.

      That in itself wasn’t going to be easy to deal with. It had been a long, long time since she’d had a man in her life, and she was determined it would be a much longer time before anything like that happened again. She had two little boys at home who were the result of her last experiment in romance. Her life was set. She was a single mom, and she had no intention of being anything else for the time being. Working closely with a man who had this sort of masculine appeal was not going to be a piece of cake.

      But there was more. There was something about him that bothered her to the core of her soul and made her wish she could think of a way to get out of this assignment. She’d noticed it from the first, when she’d seen the picture Sherry had made from the photo she’d borrowed from Human Resources. He reminded her of someone—Danny McGuire, the father of those two little boys. It was just a fluke, of course, just a chance resemblance. But it was enough to make her wish she was anywhere but here. She only hoped they could get on with the business at hand and get it over with. The sooner the better.

      She chose a latte, while Michael Greco poured himself a large cup of some very black blend, and they made their way to a table near the window, overlooking the rolling green lawn that led down to a small, reed-fringed duck pond. He made a move as though thinking of pulling her chair out for her, but she hurriedly pulled it out for herself, then felt a bit foolish for having done so.

      But what the heck? She’d been doing things that made her look foolish from the very beginning with this man. She wasn’t sure why that bothered her so much, but it did. And that was unusual, because she was known around here for being a little sassy, a little brash, and a whole lot sure of herself. It wasn’t true, of course. But she had managed to develop the reputation. It was a good shield against her real feelings.

      She glanced at him sideways as he began to talk, going over the fundamentals of the White Stones project. Did he really look a lot like Danny, or was she imagining things? He did have the same sort of thick brown hair, cut very much like Danny used to wear it. And his hazel eyes were just as knowing. But his nose was straighter. His had more of a Roman look, whereas Danny’s had looked as though it had been molded by a street fight or two. And his mouth was different. Danny’s had always been twisted in a mocking grin. Michael Greco had only smiled once that she knew of, when they had first come face-to-face. Ever since, she’d been getting the feeling that he didn’t want to be with her any more than she wanted to be with him. She moved restlessly in her seat, wondering why this meeting was so uncomfortable for them both. Maybe, for some people, it was dislike at first sight.

      She wished, suddenly, that she was with her children. Three-year-old twins, they were at a stage where they were alternately adorable and infuriating, and she hated missing even a minute of their development. This had been a particularly topsy-turvy week, because she’d had to move her little family out of their home, as the landlord was doing some long-overdue repairs and painting. For the time being, they were living in quarters made available to TriTerraCorp employees, and the boys were having a little trouble getting used to it. Half of her mind was going over ideas of things she could do to make it up to her children, while the other half was listening to her new temporary boss.

      “Don’t you agree?” he asked her suddenly.

      Startled, she looked up and met his steely gaze. She had no idea what he’d asked her to agree to. He’d made her feel foolish again, and he’d done it on purpose. Her chin rose. “I never contradict the boss,” she said crisply, giving him a look of pure challenge.

      His nod seemed to acknowledge that she’d gotten out of that one pretty well. Just as she settled back, pleased with herself, someone opened a door to the terrace and a sudden breeze swept through the room, scattering cups and papers. A napkin rose from the center of their table and Chareen reached to catch it. Michael reached for it at the same time, and somehow their hands met, fingers tangling. Electricity sizzled through her system and her gaze met his. The heat was sizzling through him, too. She could see the evidence in his eyes.

      They both drew back as though they’d been burned and he quickly began talking again, going over the land that had been earmarked for the White Stones purchase, the various long-range uses of the property, the potential for the master-planned resort that was in the works. But her pulse was racing. She stared down at her latte and wondered if she was going crazy.

      Michael went on, going over the fine points of the project and detailing the problems they were having with the Coastal Commission, which oversaw environmental concerns, but she was already familiar with most of what he was telling her, and her mind was wandering again. She knew from experience that this work would take a few months, at least.

      Months, working side by side with this man. How often would their hands touch? How often would his gaze catch hers and kindle that shivery feeling? She didn’t want to think about it.

      But there was no way she could get out of this, short of quitting her job. She was the only one who had the background to research the old Spanish land grants. He couldn’t do this without her. But somehow she was going to have to find a way to keep their actual physical contact to a minimum.

      “We’re set to include two golf courses,” he was saying. “A convention center and a main hotel, along with two subsidiary hotels, one more of a spa and the other a sort of bed-and-breakfast. Then there will be a tract of condominiums, and a small, upscale shopping area, including four restaurants.”

      Deciding that she’d better get with the program, she made an appropriate comment. “Wow. How large is the projected property?”

      “About eight hundred acres. Mostly along a canyon that opens onto a wide beach.”

      She frowned. That sounded familiar. “Where exactly is it?”

      “North of Gaviota, south of Vandenberg Air Force Base.”

      She nodded. That was a beautiful area of Southern California and she was looking forward to working there. She had an elderly uncle who still lived in the area. She’d visited his rickety beach house often as a child, walking down to the ocean on hot summer days. It was going to be fun being back there. But she was going to have to be wary.

      A friend of hers had a saying she was always repeating, “If you don’t want to get burned, stay away from the fire.” Words of wisdom. She was going to keep them in mind.

      Michael checked his watch and stifled a groan. They’d only been sitting here for a little over a quarter of an hour. It felt like much longer. The obnoxious minutes were dragging their scruffy little feet. This was like some type of unbearable medieval torture.

      He glanced over at Chareen. She was staring down into her drink and he took the opportunity to take a good look at her.

      He took in her silky curtain of hair, the soft curve of her cheek, her elegant chin line, and then his gaze trailed down into the opening of her blouse, where the upper swell of her breasts was barely visible. Reaction surged through him and he had to look away quickly, grabbing his coffee cup and draining it in one long swallow. It was as though someone had picked up one of his teenage dreams, looked inside and pulled out everything he