“Right. Of course. Bad example. It’s hard to explain, but I’ve sort of given up…” She stopped, thank God, just shy of explaining about walking chocolate. Which he most definitely was. “It’s a diet thing.”
Justin pushed himself away from the desk, shaking his head. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those women.”
“Excuse me?” Unless he meant one of those women who couldn’t string together a coherent sentence—which she blamed on how good he smelled—he was about to be in trouble.
“Someone with hang-ups about her body, who always wishes she were skinnier.”
The angry heat that blazed through her had nothing to do with his hitting close to home, it was based on principle. “You’ve known me for a matter of hours, Mr. Hawthorne, and you think that gives you the right to diagnose any so-called hang-ups?”
He grimaced. “In my defense, I was headed toward a compliment.”
“Yeah?” She crossed her arms. “Well, you took a wrong turn somewhere.”
His gaze slid down her body. “What I should have said is that you…don’t need to…”
He trailed off, his male admiration too frank to need words. Olivia tried to be offended by the perusal—who the hell was he to so boldly assess her and pronounce judgment? Her body, on the other hand, must’ve missed the memo on political correctness. Her skin prickled with awareness, growing warmer. His expression shifted as he raised his eyes back to hers. The appreciation had been replaced by something deeper, more urgent, and Olivia swallowed.
Even if she’d been able to muster any indignation, it would have been a tad hypocritical coming from someone so recently having toolbelt fantasies.
“Justin, I—”
“That’s an improvement,” he interrupted approvingly. “Much better than ‘Mr. Hawthorne.’ I’d like us to be on a friendly basis.”
Just how friendly did he have in mind? Desire swirled through her abdomen, warm and thick and slow, like honey.
“Olivia?” A knock accompanied Jeanie’s voice on the other side of the closed door.
Blinking, Olivia tried to reorient herself to her surroundings. For a moment there, she’d forgotten she was even at the office. Carefully looking past Justin, not wanting to risk meeting his eyes again, she called back, “Come on in, Jeanie. I have those proofs ready.”
The door opened and Jeanie stepped inside, her expression hesitant. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. I—hello. You must be Justin.”
Smiling, he shook Jeanie’s hand, and annoyance caught Olivia off guard. A moment ago, he’d used that smile on her. Had she reacted with the same girlish, awestruck expression that was now on Jeanie’s face? Probably. Less than a full day into a new resolution to change her dating diet, and here she’d been, devouring Justin with her eyes and going all trembly and fluttery inside when he locked gazes with her.
She just needed some distance, time to regroup and strengthen her resolve.
Once Jeanie had the manila folder she’d come in for, she walked away, stopping at the door with an inquisitive glance in Olivia’s direction.
“Please, leave it open,” Olivia said. “Justin was on his way out.”
Judging from his raised eyebrows, this was news to him, but he turned without argument. As Jeanie had done, he paused at the entrance to the office. “We can just finish our discussion later,” he said with a wink.
He’d winked at her? It was such a kitschy thing to do, yet she didn’t hear bad ’70s pickup lines in her head. Instead, she was tempted to smile. The only thing that kept her from doing so was the threat of “finishing” their chat. Let’s see, which part was she most eager to revisit—why she didn’t think it would be a good idea to have lunch with him, what he thought of her figure, or how attuned their bodies had been? No thank you. With any luck, this little encounter would never come up again.
As if she’d ever had any luck with men.
AFTER A NIGHT spent in an apartment empty of her ex-boyfriend’s presence and her ex-roommate’s couch, Olivia entered the office Tuesday with renewed resolve. Her thoughts had strayed to Justin Hawthorne several times during the night, but echoes of heartache and humiliation had quelled her unwise attraction. Lifting her chin, Olivia strode toward her office, saying good morning to Jeanie as she passed. I’m here to work, not think about men.
Three hours later, she leaned back in her chair, congratulating herself on a productive morning. She’d even managed a quick conversation with Steve on the interoffice line without wanting to strangle the man with his own necktie.
“I deserve a break,” she muttered, stretching her muscles as she stood. A cup of tea sounded good, and maybe she’d drop by Meg’s office on the way back from the break room, see if her friend had any fun model gossip this morning.
The break room was a beige room with scuffed cabinets and absolutely zero decorative qualities. There was, however, always a ready supply of hot and cold beverages, the day’s copy of the Atlanta Journal-Constitution to read, and usually people with whom to shoot the breeze. All in all, a good source of procrastination.
Today, the coffee room’s inhabitants were female, with one notable exception.
Justin Hawthorne sat in a blue plastic chair amid five women, including Kate from HR; Steve’s personal secretary, Diane; a couple of ladies from accounting; and even sixty-seven-year-old Ms. Phipps, who kept casting wish-I-were-forty-years-younger glances in Justin’s direction.
The admiring glances Olivia could empathize with, but really, had Diane forgotten this was a place of business? When the curvy redhead asked Justin if she could have the issue of the AJC lying on the table in front of him, she managed to phrase the request in a breathless sultry tone that insinuated she wanted something much more. Instead of waiting for him to hand her the paper, she slowly leaned forward, brushing against him in a way Kate could have used as the what-not-to-do example in her sexual-harassment seminar.
Waggling his eyebrows, Justin said something in a low voice that caused Diane to laugh, and Olivia ground her teeth. Her annoyance was only heightened when she couldn’t help an admiring glance of her own. No man should look that good! His all-black attire today was a great foil for his light hair and bright eyes.
Basic black is back, and what could be sexier?
The man lounged in his chair like a sexy monarch surveying his coffee-scented kingdom. Or a sheikh with his harem. Olivia reached blankly for one of the mugs kept over the sink, but instead of seeing the cabinet in front of her, she envisioned herself in a flimsy costume of veils, summoned by Justin to—
“Morning.” His warm deep voice in her ear caused her to jump, and she clenched the handle of the blue mug to keep from dropping it.
“Justin! I didn’t notice you.” More accurately, she’d been too lost in her own torrid fantasies to see him stand up.
“Apparently.” He raised a dark blond brow. “Not very flattering, you realize.”
Olivia said nothing as she filled her mug with water. Was his teasing comment an invitation for her to appease his ego? Why would he need it when, as far as she could tell, the other women in the room had been generously feeding his self-esteem?
Sean’s parting words echoed in her mind. It wouldn’t be fair to the women of the world to limit myself to just one. Was Justin cut from the same cloth? Wanting that sixth woman’s attention when he already had the adoration of five, including a gorgeous redheaded secretary who was now glaring daggers at Olivia? Was that all the moment of sexual connection in her office yesterday had been about? For a few seconds, with his eyes on hers, he’d made her feel no one existed beyond the two of them, but maybe he would have behaved the same with any other woman.