When Megan Smiles. Mary Anne Wilson

she’d smiled in the car on Saturday night, a real expression of humor that quite literally took his breath away. “Me? You think that I’m…?” She shook her head. “You’re so wrong.”

      On Saturday night he’d thought it was fun to spar with her, to bait her and joust with words, but he knew right now that he was out of his element. Rafe didn’t want any part of her smile, or the way she made him feel completely off balance.

      “Oh, I’m wrong, am I?” he muttered. “Then why don’t you explain things so this poor, lowly hired hand can understand?”

      She didn’t respond to his sarcasm, but leaned back against the edge of the desk. “Okay, I’ll put this simply. I work here. I just arrived Saturday, and had to go right to the ball to meet Mr. Lawrence, who is my boss, and someone I had never even seen before. I didn’t, and still don’t, know about signing in or signing out. That was one thing I wasn’t told to do, and I imagine my name isn’t on your endless list of lists for the same reason it wasn’t on the list for the ball. Someone forgot to put it there.”

      He folded his arms on his chest, fighting an odd impulse to brush at a stray strand of hair that had escaped her severe knot. “Everyone employed by LynTech is on the list.”

      “Not if someone messes up, which, since we’re all human, people tend to do from time to time.” She looked him right in the eye, and let a full second lapse for emphasis before she added, “You must understand that concept.”

      Sarcastic and superior. And gorgeous. What a waste of gorgeous, he thought. “I understand that you aren’t on the list.”

      He quite enjoyed her losing control when she threw up her hands and muttered, “You and your damn lists.”

      No one had mentioned that she worked here, and when he’d told Zane about the ball, about her showing up, all his friend had said was, “Everyone could invite a guest if they bought a ticket.” And when Rafe had gone through the files on the work history of every employee, with pictures attached, he hadn’t come across anything on Megan Gallagher. He sure as hell would have remembered that photo. “Bottom line, Miss Gallagher, you don’t belong here.”

      She stood straight again, leaning closer, and she brought that scent with her. “I don’t know what you want me to say or do. I’m new, so I’m not on the list. I’m also temporary, and I’m in here because Mr. Lawrence, who most definitely is no more to me than my boss for a month, gave me an envelope, which I forgot to take with me. Now I need it, so here I am.”

      She wasn’t backing down, and truth be told, Rafe was wearing out. It had been fun for a while, maybe disturbing for most of the conversation, and definitely diverting, but he wanted this situation settled. “Why don’t we just do the obvious thing—what we did Saturday night—and call Mr. Lawrence?” He motioned to the earpiece in her ear and the cell phone in her pocket. “Use your fancy equipment and give the guy a call?”

      She put her hand over her breast, and he realized she was covering the phone in her pocket. “No, I won’t.”

      It was his turn to get exasperated. “And why not?”

      “Because he’s my boss, and disturbing one’s boss over something like this won’t look good on my résumé.”

      He checked his watch. “It’s just past seven o’clock and it’s not a Saturday night,” he pointed out. Then he reached around her to pick up the phone on the desk. “I’ll do it.”

      “No, you won’t,” she said, moving with him. The next instant she was against his side, her arm tangled with his and her hand covering the one that gripped the receiver. “No,” she said again, right by his ear.

      Feelings exploded in him, feelings he thought were dead and gone, buried along with Gabriella. Rafe felt Megan’s breasts against his side, her hand touching his, her breath fanning his skin. Her scent filled his nostrils. His reaction was so sudden and intense it shook him to the core. He drew back, disentangled himself, and faced her. He was shaken and trying desperately to recover.

      He’d gone from baiting her to wanting her in the most basic way. She was a total stranger, a woman who was opinionated, superior, condescending, infuriating and incredibly desirable. A woman who made his whole body ache with need, and who warmed his soul. A woman who filled his mind with searing images of the two of them joining together….

      He covered his left hand with his right, felt the smooth gold of his wedding band and swallowed, hard.

      “Don’t call Mr. Lawrence,” she said, and it sounded as if she was speaking from a great distance, down a long tunnel.

      She touched her tongue to her lips, and he could almost imagine the taste of her, as crazy and impossible as that was. She was clearly waiting for his next move, and he didn’t know what that would be. He saw her exhale, and could swear he felt her breath brush his skin. He must be insane. His world had just exploded into something he didn’t recognize.

      The need in him was painfully raw and basic, but it was wrong. It didn’t matter that it seemed to have a life of its own, that it had burst into his reality, distracting him completely. Megan was a woman who didn’t give a damn about him. And he needed to force himself to stay neutral. But as she stood straighter, reducing some of the space between them, he knew he couldn’t. That was impossible. As impossible as wanting a woman like her.