His fingers reached out and brushed the back of her hand. She had smooth, soft skin like the petals of a rose. Too late not to touch her now. He’d done it. ‘Your parents could have tried to be a bit accommodating of your tastes in terms of entertainment.’
‘They think I need to fit in, be more like them, but I’m just…not. I tried that. It didn’t work.’ Her soft sigh was a whisper between them. ‘But I love them, and they don’t mean to make me uncomfortable.’ She gestured with her hand to dismiss the topic. ‘Thank you for your company, anyway.’
‘You’re welcome.’ And he had to go.
Brent walked to the door and tugged it open and, with a low, ‘Lock it after me,’ he stepped through. On the other side, he waited until she did as he had asked, and then he walked to his truck and drove away.
What he thought about her family, about all this, didn’t matter in the end. Whatever he now knew of her, whatever empathy he felt for her, he had nothing to offer anyone, and especially not someone like Fiona.
That was what he had to remember.
Chapter Four
BRENT parked his truck and made his way into the club. Fiona had left her flat keys on her work desk, half-hidden away between two separate messy piles of paper. He had discovered this fact as he’d cleared chocolate wrappers from her work area.
Not wrappers from chocolates his graphic designer had eaten from the stash in her bottom desk drawer.
But wrappers from the chocolates he’d eaten his way through while he’d examined her design program. He hadn’t planned to eat the treats. He’d opened the drawer in search of a notepad and, though he’d told himself not to be tempted, somehow his hand had ended up in the drawer and the rest, as he focused all his attention on the nuts and bolts of her program and then on the work she’d done within it, had been, as they said, ‘history’. He’d have to replace the candy stash before she got to work on Monday.
She was on the dance floor. His gaze locked onto her and he quickly forgot his thoughts. Dear God, she looked magnificent. A black skirt that came to just above her knees, high-heeled boots and a scoop-necked cream top that clung to her curves as she moved all combined to make her a highly irresistible package of appeal.
When the number ended, Fiona smiled at her partner and moved off the floor with him. She stood half a head taller than the man. At just about the moment Brent forced himself to acknowledge he felt jealous of that man, they joined a large group of people seated at some tables pulled close together.
The fellow put his arm around one of the women in the group and dropped a kiss on her cheek.
‘Brent.’ Fiona’s exclamation came as he approached the tables. ‘What brings you here—?’
‘You.’ The word was low, husky and far too intimate, reflecting thoughts that poured through him, pushed past his defences.
In her boots with the three-inch heel, she stood almost nose to nose with him. Brent wanted to trace all her dips and curves with his fingertips.
It had to be his autism speaking, a need for a tactile exploration to feed his thought processes the answers they sought.
Sure. You believe that, MacKay.
‘Your flat keys. I found them on your desk after you left.’ That was his reason for finding her here. Only that. ‘You might have spares somewhere, but I didn’t know.’
‘I do have a spare set. In my desk at work. Oh, of all the silly things for me to do!’ Her gaze searched his face. ‘I’m so sorry you had to chase me down. I don’t have my mobile turned on, either. It’s a waste of time in here because I wouldn’t hear it ring. How did you know—?’
‘I heard you mention the name of this place when you were on your mobile phone as you were leaving. There’s no need to apologise. I couldn’t have left you without your keys to get into your home.’
Fiona’s mouth softened. ‘Thank you.’
Just two simple words, and he leaned towards her. Brent straightened and his head tipped to the right. ‘Ah—’
She was returning his glance, was as aware of him in this moment as he was of her, and Brent’s need to protect his privacy fought with his need…for her.
But for what? To explore physical attraction with her? Because that was all he could want, wasn’t it? For him, intimacy—true intimacy that involved opening up and letting someone else in was…out of the question.
And have you asked yourself why that is, MacKay? Why you’re so determined to keep people at arm’s length?
Brent knew the answer. He was different, and his ‘different’ wasn’t something people, generally, would be able to accept. So he kept it to himself. He was happier that way. Comfortable.
Safe?
It wasn’t about that. And he had every right to value his privacy, for whatever reasons he wanted to. And there was nothing else behind the way he felt. Nothing.
Fiona’s gaze searched his eyes.
Brent stared into deep blue irises until he felt the stares of some of her friends on him.
She looked past him and seemed to force a casual smile. ‘Everyone, this is my boss, Brent MacKay.’
A round of introductions followed. It gave Brent a chance to settle his reactions to her.
So why did they continue to simmer beneath the surface of every word, every exchange and glance? Rejecting those reactions should be as easy as deciding they weren’t in his best interests or, in fact, in hers. Brent had already decided that, so why…? ‘I should get going.’
‘Would you like to—?’ She stopped, clamped those soft lips together.
Brent drew her keys from his pocket and, when she held out her hand, dropped them into it.
‘Thank you.’ Her fingers curled over the keys before she snagged her bag from the back of a chair and dropped them into it. ‘Please, let me at least…I don’t know…Can I buy you a drink or something? I feel awful, putting you out this way. We could go to the bar. I see a few spaces over there. Most people are on the dance floor right now, I think.’
The bar stretched across the entirety of the far wall beyond the dance area. It was further from the music than the tables here. Brent’s voice emerged as a low growl of sound. ‘A drink would be…nice.’
He’d led her halfway around the dance floor before he registered that his choice might not have been particularly smart.
When they reached the bar, they ordered drinks and Fiona watched Brent from the corner of her eye in the bar mirror and saw the way they looked together.
A dark head and a fair one. A lean, strong face and a soft womanly one. They looked right to her, side by side this way.
The image reached past her defences, left them in the dust, left her wanting deep silent things she couldn’t want, couldn’t let herself admit.
What did Brent want?
Nothing you can pin hopes on, Fiona. Remember that.
‘I hope chasing me down with my keys hasn’t interfered with other plans of yours.’ She didn’t quite meet his gaze. ‘That is…it’s none of my business of course…I simply didn’t want to take you away from—’
A girlfriend? A lover waiting for him somewhere? The thought stung, yet it wasn’t her business, was it?
‘You