He wasn’t at all sure he wanted to hear about this boyfriend, at least not at this particular moment. But she obviously wanted to tell him something.
“What happened?” he asked.
She lowered her head, gnawed on that lip again, thinking. “He hurt me. He…”
A natural male fury whipped through him. “He forced you?”
“No, no,” she said. “Nothing like that. He just… lied to me. He used me and I…” She sighed and turned to the window. “It cost me my job.”
Oh. Suddenly her hesitation was totally understandable. She must have worked for the guy, and this would feel like history repeating itself. And what could he say?
“And you’re worried that could happen again,” he said.
“Can you, in good conscience, promise me that if I sleep with you, it would never affect my job?”
He breathed slowly, studying her. “I can’t promise that, Anna.” As much as his hardened, aroused body wanted him to make all sorts of promises, he couldn’t actually make that one. Because it might change things in the office. That was life.
The limo slowed in front of the Ritz, and he gave her a moment to smooth her hair. When John opened the back door on her side, Parker watched her climb gracefully out of the car, the sexy red dress clinging to every curve he wanted to explore with his hands and mouth.
Nothing was going to happen to his career if they had sex and things didn’t work out. He was smart enough to know that. And so was she.
He cleared his throat and willed his arousal to subside as they made their way to the elevator. When the doors closed he turned to her.
“Anna,” he said, wrapping the hand that still held hers around her back. “You know what I want. But, it’s your call.” He resisted the urge to kiss her, but continued. “If that means we end up in bed together, well—” he smiled and touched her jaw with his other hand “—great. But…”
If it meant kissing her chastely good-night and keeping the best administrative assistant he ever had, that was great, too. Not as great, but Parker knew when to compromise and when to push.
The doors opened and he took her hand, leading her into the hushed hallway. He pulled out the room key and opened the massive double doors to the darkened suite, the only sound the steady thump of his heart while he waited for her decision.
He’d forgotten to leave a light on, and they stood in the shadows, inches apart. She hadn’t spoken since they’d left the limo and he knew the next word she said would seal their fate.
She turned to him and slid her arms around his shoulders, locking at his neck. He resisted a grin of victory, but lowered his head for the kiss he expected.
“Thank you for the most amazing party I’ve ever been to.” She rose on her toes, kissed his cheek and backed away. “Good night, Parker.”
He could barely see her disappear into her room, but in the silence, he heard the lock turn. He stood in the dark for a few minutes, tapping the card key against his palm. The card key that she obviously didn’t realize was a master and could open her bedroom door.
Smothering a soft sigh, he shook his head, the disappointment finally making it down to the lower half of his body to deliver the bad news.
The lady said no.
He shimmied out of the tuxedo jacket, threw it over a delicate French provincial chair and strode to the bar, flipping over a brandy snifter and filling it with a solid slug of the good stuff. With one hand, he loosened his bow tie and unbuttoned the first two buttons of the tux shirt.
He took the drink to the balcony that ran the length of the salon, folding into a comfortable chair and inhaling the sounds and scents of an active avenue two stories below.
Didn’t this beat all? He was in London, in his favorite suite, with a smoldering hot woman undressing in the next room… and he would be going to bed alone.
Why hadn’t he thought this through when he’d issued the impulsive invitation? Because he’d been seeing legs in heels and hearing off-key songs in his head, that was why.
Drinking a little deeper than the heavy brandy called for, his throat burned. Hell, everything burned. He wanted her. He really wanted her.
But she wanted…
Now there was an unanswered question. What did Anna want? A promotion? A boyfriend? A husband? A good time?
She really didn’t talk about herself so much. She asked a lot of questions about his business; made herself basically indispensable; got him hot, bothered and distracted… but what was her deal? For a minute, he was a little annoyed at himself for not asking.
Then he narrowed his eyes until the city-lit sky blurred and he let the most unsettling thought settle right down on him.
What if Anna wanted . . . information?
The leak at Garrison had started about three or four months ago, right when she’d moved into the desk outside his office. She’d been promoted from HR, where, according to his department manager, she’d been an exemplary, if low-profile, employee.
But, still.
Ice hardened in the very veins that had been molten just minutes earlier.
Was Anna the spy?
Evidence, however circumstantial, started flashing like frozen images of proof in his head. She knew about every deal that had fallen through in the last two months. Of course she did; she had total access to his office. She’d even showered in there! How often had she been in there alone?
The only people who knew he was coming to London were the charter-jet people, maybe someone in his travel department… and Anna. And, in the elevator, she’d acted as if she’d never even heard of Jordan Jefferies, which seemed impossible in their business.
The impact of the revelation catapulted him to his feet, and he bounded back into the salon as the facts popped into his head and fell into place.
She knew the names of competitors. She constantly steered the conversation toward work. She always seemed so interested in the business, and even a little bit nervous around him.
Even on the plane yesterday, she’d dragged him back to open files, forcing him to go over every minor element of every major deal, and then, what had she done when they’d gotten to London? E-mailed it all. She’d said she was sending his e-mail for him, but was someone getting copied on that correspondence? Someone named Jefferies?
Oh, man. He almost cracked the crystal in his hand as he reviewed the events of the last hour. As soon as he’d talked about the spy, the minute he’d focused in on the mole in his operation, what had she done?
Classic, by-the-book, take-no-prisoners sexual distraction. Right up to the hotel room, she’d had him panting, pawing and as far away from thoughts of spies as he could be.
What did she take him for? He slammed the snifter so hard on the bar that brandy sloshed over the side and, in one move, he scooped up the master card key he’d left there.
What do you think I’m doing, Mr. Garrison?
He could still hear her seductive voice, feel the pressure of her kiss, the soft breath of a… traitor.
Jamming the card key into the lock on her bedroom door, his heart kicked against his ribs. And he froze. What if he was wrong?
Without making a noise, he turned the knob and opened the door. In the shadows, he saw her shape in the bed, the sheet almost covering her, but for one achingly long, sexy leg draped over it. He heard her sigh and shudder.
Already asleep… or faking it?
“Anna.”