Playboy Boss, Pregnancy Of Passion Part 14

'A teensy, teensy one.' He held his thumb and forefinger a couple of millimetres apart.

'There's no hope for you, is there?' she asked ruefully.

He grinned. 'No. But if you want to try any persuasion techniques, I'm open to suggestions.' He glanced at his watch. 'Gotta go. See you later.'

For a second, she wondered if he was going to kiss her goodbye. Then again, this was the office. And of course Luke would be professional with her here. She damped down the disappointment, waited for her computer to boot up, and started working through the emails.

Two seconds later, the office door opened and Luke strode back in. 'Forgot something,' he said.

'Uh-huh.' She could be just as professional as he was. She carried on working, a.s.suming that he was going over to his desk.

And then he spun her chair round. Leaned over her. And kissed her. Thoroughly.

'Later,' he said softly, and left the office.

And it took a good ten minutes before Sara was calm enough to concentrate on her work.

Luke was out of the office for most of the day, and Sara was in the middle of emailing him to say she was leaving for the day when he walked in.

'Hi there. Sorry, got held up,' he explained. 'Is everything OK?'

'Fine.' She smiled at him.

'Is there anything I need to know about?'

'Apart from what I've already sent you? No. I was just about to go home.'

'Five o'clock on the dot?' he teased. 'You weren't supposed to be here anyway. You could've left earlier, if you'd wanted. Gone shopping or something.'

'Shoe shopping?' she teased.

He took a look under the desk. 'Yet another different pair. Are you sure your name isn't really Imelda?'

'No, but Lou changed our spaniel's name to Imelda, because he steals shoes and piles them up in his bed. He never chews them-just cuddles them. And it's always one from everyone in the house.' She laughed. 'Lou says it's because he thinks it'll mean we can't go out without him.'

She noticed that Luke looked faintly awkward. Because he wasn't a dog person? Or was it the fact that she was talking about her family? Despite telling her about his dad teaching him to fly the kite, Luke never said a word about his family, so it was a fair bet they weren't close.

'Are you still OK to eat with me tonight?' he asked.

'Sure.'

'Good.' He took the notepad from her desk and scribbled down an address. 'This is the restaurant. Meet you there at eight?'

'Fine.' So he planned to meet her there rather than outside the squash courts. He really did like to keep his life compartmentalised, she thought.

He opened his wallet and took out a couple of notes, proffering them to her. 'Take a taxi.'

She folded her arms. 'I'm perfectly capable of getting the Tube.'

He sighed. 'You're female, you're on your own and it's the evening.'

'It's still light at eight o'clock,' she pointed out.

'I don't care.' He put the notes on the desk in front of her. 'Take a taxi there, and I'll see you home.'

'Has feminism completely pa.s.sed you by?' she asked.

'No,' he said. 'I believe in equal opportunities. But I also believe in not taking stupid risks to make a point. It's not a particularly rough area, and I know you're streetwise-but you also don't know the area, which makes you vulnerable. So stop being stubborn about it and take a taxi. And wait inside the restaurant for me. I'll book a table in my name.' He folded his arms and stared at her.

Sara knew when she was beaten. 'All right. Thank you. Even though I think it's completely unnecessary and over the top.' She tucked the notes into her purse, then switched off her computer. 'See you at eight. Have a good match.'

'Thanks.' He smiled at her and headed for his own desk as she left the office.

He was going through his emails when she returned.

'What?' he asked.

'As the saying goes... "I forgot something."' She spun his chair round, the way he had to her that morning, bent her head and kissed him, deepening the kiss and exploring his mouth.

By the time she broke the kiss, his pupils were enormous, there was a slash of colour across his cheeks and his mouth was slightly swollen and reddened.

'How the h.e.l.l am I supposed to concentrate after that?' he demanded.

'You're the genius. I'm sure you'll work something out.' She gave him a cheeky grin and sashayed out of the office, knowing that he was watching every move she made.

At five to eight that evening, she was waiting in the restaurant; true to his word, Luke had booked them a table. She sat facing the door so he'd see her as soon as he walked in, ordered a mineral water and was browsing through the menu when something made her look up.

Luke.

Funny that her senses were so attuned to him, she knew the second he'd walked in the door. It had never been like that for her before. Not even with Hugh-and she'd been so sure that she and Hugh would marry and settle down and have children.

With Luke, she wasn't sure of anything. They were taking this day by day, and he'd been up front about the fact he disliked children. Quite what the future held for them, she didn't know.

But, for the life of her, she couldn't just walk away without seeing where this took them.

'I'm so glad you don't believe in making a man wait for you to make a dramatic entrance,' Luke said, brus.h.i.+ng his mouth against hers and sliding into the seat opposite hers.

His hair was still damp from the shower, and he looked utterly gorgeous in plain black trousers and a black cashmere sweater. He'd drawn admiring glances from several tables on his way over to her; it wasn't just the way he looked, but the way he moved. All loose-limbed and s.e.xy.

And all hers.

'How was your squash match?' she asked.

'Someone completely destroyed my concentration earlier,' he said. 'So what do you think?'

She batted her eyelashes. 'Are you saying you lost because of little ol' me?'

'Yup. So the very least you can do is kiss me better.'

'In the middle of a restaurant?' She wagged her finger at him. 'Tut, tut, Mr Holloway. You need to learn some patience.'

'You're trying mine right now.'

She just laughed. 'I'm hungry.'

'So,' he said, 'am I.'

'Then let's order.'

He sighed. 'You really don't take a hint, do you?'

'You promised me food. And I thought you hotshot businessmen made a point of under-promising and over-delivering?'

'Yeah.' He laughed. 'You know, that dress looks fabulous.'

It was a red linen s.h.i.+ft dress, teamed with a black lacy shrug and her black pearls. One of her favourites.

'Thank you. This all looks fabulous. What do you recommend?'

'Dim sum to start, then crispy duck. Then maybe share a mixture of dishes.'

It was the perfect evening. Good food, good company, good conversation.

And he held her hand all the way home on the Tube. He even came in for a coffee and chatted to Justin about cars and sound systems. To the point where Sara let herself begin to hope that this was going to work out. True, he didn't sit anywhere near her and he gave Justin the impression that dinner had been business rather than personal, but at least he stayed and talked.

'I'll see you tomorrow,' she said when she finally saw him to the door.

'No. You were supposed to take today off, and tomorrow you're definitely not in the office. Go and buy some shoes or something.'

'You're a bad influence,' she said with a smile. 'I never need encouraging to buy shoes.'

'Show them to me on Wednesday,' he said with a grin.

So he wasn't planning to see her tomorrow at all. OK. Well, this was new for both of them, and taking it slowly would be sensible. 'Mmm. And it'd be nice to have new shoes for tomorrow night-my regular pizza night with the girls.' Just so he'd know she wasn't pining over him. 'They, at least, will appreciate them.'

'And you're saying I won't?'

'You're a man,' she said loftily. 'Of course you won't. I'll see you Wednesday, then.' She reached up to kiss his cheek.

In response, he drew her closer. Kissed her mouth. Not with the hunger he'd kissed her that morning: this was a sweet, soft kiss of promise. The kind of kiss that made her feel as if her bones had just melted. The kind of kiss that stole her heart. 'Sweet dreams, Sara,' he said, and waited until she'd closed the front door behind her before walking away.

When Luke got home, he really intended to work. There were some reports on potential properties that he wanted to compare and contrast. But he couldn't concentrate the way he usually did. Every report he looked through, he found himself staring at the pictures of the hotel rooms and thinking of Sara and wondering how soft the bed was.

And it drove him crazy.

He never, but never, had a problem compartmentalising his work and his love life.

Or maybe it was because she worked with him. It couldn't be anything else, he was sure.

But he missed her the next day. Missed the sa.s.sy comments mingled with sound common sense and good ideas. Missed bouncing ideas off her. Missed her ready smile.

And the kick-boxing turned out to be even more of a disaster area than his squash match.

'Either you're working too hard or she's utterly gorgeous,' Mike, his sparring partner, said afterwards.

'Working too hard,' Luke fibbed. He knew exactly what the problem was. Sara. He couldn't stop thinking about her. And, against his better judgement, he ended up texting her later that evening.

Hope you're having a good evening. L.

It was completely innocuous, in case one of her friends picked up her phone by mistake. But enough to let her know he was thinking of her.

The reply came an hour later. I am. Very girly. You'd HATE it.

He almost-almost-suggested that she came over to his place for coffee afterwards. But that would be too needy, and he wasn't needy. Ever.

He left it half an hour before enquiring casually, You busy tomorrow night?

Why?

Have dinner with me?

The gap before she replied felt incredibly long, and Luke was cross with himself. Ridiculous. Sara wasn't a game player; she was probably on the Tube and didn't have a signal.

And then his phone beeped. Thought you had kick-boxing on Weds?

Skipping it. His concentration was so shot this week, he knew it was pointless. So, dinner?

What time?

After work. He suppressed the thought that tomorrow night he might get to find out whether her underwear co-ordinated with her shoes and her tops. Any food you don't like?

This time, instead of beeping to signal the arrival of a text message, his phone rang.

'Rather than playing text ping-pong, isn't it easier to have a conversation on the phone?' Sara asked crisply.

'You were out for the evening. I thought it was easier to send a text so you could answer at your leisure.'

'Well, I'm home now, so you can talk to me.'

He laughed. 'Now that's a dangerous invitation.'

'Why?'

He couldn't resist teasing her. 'What would you do if I gave you a dirty phone call?'

She laughed back. 'Probably enjoy it.'

He was speechless. She'd really called his bluff; right at that moment, he felt as if his tongue had been glued to the roof of his mouth.