She needed a list of criteria for the most appropriate partner, a conservative, safe plan to dating, a timetable that would fit in with her commitments and work demands. This was not the time to get distracted or fall for anyone willy-nilly.
She stepped into the lift, taking a deep slow breath. What was she even thinking? One thing she was sure of. She was never going to fall for anyone, especially someone like that.
She was not going to make the same mistakes as her mother. No way in hell.
Case Darrington punched the lift button, unable to stop the smile that had crept on to his lips at meeting the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on.
It wasn’t just her looks. It was everything about her.
The way she’d pulled her short chestnut-brown hair up and back into a wild and spiky knot intrigued him, suggesting a conservative layer covering something untamed underneath.
The large chunk of hair that she left loose could be called a fringe, hanging down and cupping her cheek like his hands itched to.
Her skin had beckoned to him, creamy smooth. Her lips, full and plump like peaches just begging to be tasted. Her eyes, deep dark green, pinning him to the spot.
So much to explore…who was she?
He should have asked her name, should have skipped getting exact directions from the guard and just followed her. He should have kept her talking instead of letting her have her escape without even getting her name, her floor, a glass shoe.
Case put his attaché case by his feet and tried to stop smiling. Hell. She’d floored him, with her eyes, her lips, her words…
Case couldn’t say when he’d last been so flattered so simply. Had watched such a beautiful display of…innocent reaction.
He stiffened. What was he thinking? He wasn’t about to get carried away with any unusual aches in the heart that he’d thought had died on him.
He’d grown wiser the hard way.
The doors opened on the lift and he snatched up his attaché case and stepped in. He wasn’t here for anything but work.
He gripped his case tighter, the woman’s face leaping into his mind, her green eyes sizzling and her full lips taunting him.
Dammit. Why couldn’t life be as straightforward as figures on a balance sheet?
A woman with deep red hair swept into the small space. ‘Hello, handsome,’ she lilted.
Case turned to find fluttering lashes on dark eyes that were drinking him up.
He stepped back. That tone…that look…sent memories flashing through the gashes in his heart.
‘Are you visiting or are you planning to stay around and make all my dreams come true?’ she asked softly, her smile widening, showing teeth.
‘I work here,’ he said bluntly, staring at the lift doors, willing the thing to get to his floor faster. He’d have to look into that. The lift was too slow. Employees needed to get to their floors much faster, especially when accompanied by predatory females.
She waved a hand laden with gold jewellery, the bracelets tinkling. ‘I think I’d remember you unless you have that whole Clark Kent-Superman thing going,’ she purred softly, sidling closer to him. ‘So are you Clark, or are you my Superman? I do love games.’
‘I’m new.’ And he hated games. He’d seen enough games to last him a lifetime. Hell, his ex had been a master at them, playing him in ways he’d never believed possible.
She ran a hand along his jacket sleeve, leaning closer, affording him a generous view of her low-cut blouse and the assets heaving there. ‘I could show you around.’
‘I don’t think so, Miss—?’ He stared at the panel—the floor he wanted was the only one lit. Please let it be a mistake, let her not be working with him…The last thing he needed was a constant reminder of his biggest failure in life to date.
She giggled softly as though she hadn’t heard his denial. ‘Call me Chrystal. And you are?’
The lift chimed.
‘Darrington,’ Case blurted, striding forward.
The doors opened just in time and he kept moving. He couldn’t wait to get as much distance as possible between himself and that man-eater.
He only wished he could escape the memories of his failed marriage as easily.
CHAPTER TWO
The Beatles say all you need is love…
I say give me bug spray.
TAHLIA slapped her handbag on to her desk and swept up the files in one deft move, taking a deep breath and lifting her chin, the echo of her babbling bombarding her senses. What was that?
She was never like that. How embarrassing. She cast her eyes to the ceiling. Please let her not be so stupid again.
She glanced around her office, one wall full of filing cabinets, one with potted plants and paintings, one covered in current jobs and timelines and one made of glass with a great view of the lifts.
She shook her head and swept out of the door, striding down the aisle between the cubicles, replaying that débâcle over again in her mind. The floor could have done her one little favour and swallowed her up before she’d made such a complete and utter fool of herself. Cripes. How old was she?
She was far too old to be acting like a schoolgirl, that was for sure. Thank goodness that Emma and Keely hadn’t seen that deplorable display. She had a reputation to uphold. Cool, calm and always in control Tahlia Moran, soon to be Marketing Executive.
She swung into the last cubicle. ‘Morning, Susan,’ she offered, handing the young woman who was just sitting down a file. ‘Could you put some ideas together for this client? They want to change their look to reflect the new season.’
‘Sure.’
Tahlia nodded, striding down the row, doling out the updates for existing clients wanting changes to their websites and the assignments for potential clients.
She juggled the files in her arms. There were things a would-be executive did not do, and one was running off at the mouth in emotionally charged situations. Not that she was admitting there was anything but an overactive imagination and a neglected personal life at the root of that particular encounter downstairs.
Two years since her last real date wasn’t that long, not when she was ensuring a successful career for her future.
She clutched the files remaining. It didn’t matter anyway. Downstairs had been nothing but an anomaly. She wasn’t going to have to deal with that guy, or that abhorrent lack of control again.
‘Hey, you,’ Tahlia offered Emma, stepping into her friend’s cubicle and dropping the files on her desk. ‘Flirt magazine’s next issue—they want their update to match the theme and want another competition page designed and put on the site.’
Emma took the file. ‘Sure thing.’ The glow of love was bright in her eyes. ‘Did you hear? It’s time. Your day.’
Tahlia shook herself. ‘Em?’
‘Haven’t you logged on yet?’ Emma shot her a quizzical look. ‘Raquel just sent out a mass email to everyone for a meeting in the conference room at half past. Sounds like it could be it.’
Tahlia shook her head, kicking herself for not going through her normal routine—checking her voicemail, SMS and inboxes, both cyber and deskbound.
‘And?’
‘And the whispers suggest it’s about the Marketing Exec