Working With the Enemy by Susan Stephens

Author:Susan Stephens [Stephens, Susan]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9781459219298
Google: NpKbdRY_ffYC
Amazon: 0373528515
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2012-01-02T13:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TEN

SOME hours later with her hair freshly shampooed at Quentin’s preferred salon and left to curl in wild disarray almost to her waist, dressed in a short black skirt, black opaque tights and flat Mary Janes, with a tight little top that clung like sticking plaster to her breasts, Bronte wasn’t totally convinced she looked like the archetypal interviewee for the post of estate manager at Hebers Ghyll, but more importantly Quentin was pleased with her appearance and declared her ready for her interview with Heath. ‘Wouldn’t I have been better buying a tweed jacket, or something?’ she said, feeling increasingly anxious as the moment of truth approached. Craning her neck, she stared at her bottom, which was very tightly clad indeed.

‘A tweed jacket?’ Quentin demanded as if she had suggested wearing a homespun jerkin. ‘Certainly not. Heath is not just the cutting edge, he is the leading edge—the spear, the arrow, the—’

‘Okay, okay, I’m happy,’ Bronte insisted, holding up her hands.

They returned to Heath’s building where Quentin told her to wait in the anteroom to Heath’s corner office.

She could do this, Bronte persuaded herself nervously, her knees jiggling up and down as she perched on the very edge of one of the smart black leather couches. Though why she was dressed as if to seduce the boss, when that was the last thing she wanted.

She was here to persuade Heath she could be a top drawer estate manager. She was not losing her nerve. She would not be fixated on how aroused she was at the thought of seeing him again. She would definitely not be scanning Heath’s office for likely trysting opportunities. She would forget how she had felt after sex when Heath pulled away, and how deep the feeling was that what they’d done hadn’t been wrong. She would be cool and professional. They had both moved to a new place. It was a good place. It was the right place for them to be—

And then the door swung open and the breath left her lungs in a rush. Had she really thought she was ready for this? Her heart was crashing against her ribs. Her awareness levels had soared beyond the possible. Heath stood framed in the doorway like a totem to all things sexual: a deity, a yoni god, a man with eyes of stone, wearing what, on the face of it, was a casual outfit—jeans and a top—but it was the kind of easy look that reeked of money and style.

For a moment her mind was wiped clean and her mouth refused absolutely to communicate with her brain. The last time she’d seen Heath he’d been groaning—She’d been screaming—They’d been—

Thankfully, she managed to summon up an autopilot voice—faint though it was. ‘Hello, Heath.’

‘Bronte,’ he said briskly. All business. All coldly assessing as he took in her new look.

She wasn’t sure whether to be glad of Quentin’s assistance or not now. Something more low-key—something more mouse-like—might have bought her enough time to state her case clearly.

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