Chapter Two
GREER STARED BLEARILY at the summer sunlight edging her bedroom curtains and cursed her inability to sleep late.
She’d been awake most of the night, only falling asleep as dawn approached. She wanted to roll over, close her eyes and shut out the world, but there was no hope of that. Fully awake, her brain was busily replaying last night’s events, as if she hadn’t been over and over them for hours.
She tried to convince herself the disturbed night was because her mind was active after socialising with strangers for the first time in… How long? Months? It felt like years.
Despite her reservations, she’d met some interesting people last night and Matt was a nice guy, not pushy, not assuming too much.
One of the women had mentioned a lunchtime Pilates class mere blocks from where Greer worked, inviting her to attend. It had been worth going last night just for that, an opportunity to pursue the acquaintance, perhaps form a friendship.
In other circumstances she’d have enjoyed the lively group more, especially as she’d felt so cut off lately.
But it had been impossible to relax completely. Because all the time she’d smiled and chatted, a great part of her mind had been replaying that scene in the office. When she’d burst out of the bathroom straight into Conall’s arms and proceeded to make a fool of herself.
Greer grimaced and hugged a spare pillow to her chest. Her face burned as she replayed each embarrassing moment in excruciating detail.
The worst of it was that she couldn’t, quite, regret her actions. Conall’s touch, the strong, steady rhythm of his heart beneath her hand, even the tickle of his intriguing, masculine scent in her nostrils, had felt affirming in ways she couldn’t explain.
Affirming and reassuring. As if he could conquer the nebulous fear that these days prevented any sense of true well-being. She rolled onto her back with a huff of self-disgust and stared up at the ceiling.
It wasn’t the white-painted surface she saw. It was his eyes, a gleaming brown so dark it was like looking at the night sky. Eyes that surveyed her without giving anything away.
Did he despise her? Or was he embarrassed by her actions?
He probably felt sorry for her. He had his pick of clever, gorgeous women. Women probably threw themselves at him all the time. He’d been forgiving last night but in the harsh light of day, how would he feel?
Unlikely to want to be assaulted by his assistant. Would he send her back to Perth, perhaps to her old job in accounts? Or would he, come Monday, ask for her resignation?
Conall wasn’t like his father, who had a seriously roving eye and a reputation for bending the rules.
He wasn’t the sort to use his position to importune a woman or indulge in an office affair.
Greer had never once taken a call from one of the women he dated.
He kept business and his private life strictly separate.
Which meant, despite the good work they’d done together, her time as his personal assistant could be over. The office was for work, nothing else, and she’d crossed that line.
He couldn’t really have mistaken her physical response to him for surprise making her unsteady on her feet.
The phone rang and she grimaced, but habit made her reach for it. Her eyes rounded when she saw it was Conall.
Her heart hammered and there was a queasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. She pushed the hair out of her eyes and wriggled higher in the bed, shoving the extra pillow behind her.
‘Morning, Conall.’ Thankfully she sounded normal, only a slight huskiness betraying her sleepless night.
‘Greer. I’m sorry to ring you early on a Saturday, but I knew you’d be up, being an early riser.’
She cast a wry gaze over her rumpled bed. ‘How can I help?’
‘Something’s come up and I want your input. Do you mind?’
I do if you’re going to sack me.
She set her jaw. This was the man who, for the past couple of weeks, had scrupulously not allowed her to work beyond minimum hours. Who’d rung her at home, but only to make sure she was okay.
Besides, she had nothing planned for the weekend. Nothing at all, and she was used to being busy.
How had she filled her free time in Sydney before? She wished she remembered.
‘No, that’s okay. Where would you like to meet?’
‘Excellent. I’m almost there. I’ll see you soon.’
Almost here? Surely not. But the connection went dead in her hand. His penthouse was a ten minute drive but it sounded like he’d already left.
She glanced down at the brief cotton nightie she wore on hot nights. The material ended halfway down her thighs and was so fine as to be translucent.
Fifteen seconds later, clothes in hand, she leaned in and turned the shower on, pushing the bathroom door shut with her foot and tossing her clothes onto the vanity unit.
Reefing off the nightie, she stepped into the cubicle, shoving her hair into a shower cap.
The water was cold enough to make her gasp, but at least it cleared her head.
It was the shortest shower on record. Soon she was in her underwear, cleaning her teeth as she hung up her towel.
She put on light, summer-weight trousers and a fitted T-shirt before trying to tidy her hair.
She’d put it into a plait last night but had been so restless it had come loose and tangled.
The doorbell rang and her heart punched hard against her breastbone.
If he’d come to fire her, pride dictated she didn’t look like a rumpled mess. On the other hand, she didn’t want to keep him waiting, in case he was here for some other reason.
Another couple of quick strokes with the hairbrush and she turned, only to come up short as she viewed herself properly in the mirror, including the dark shadow of her lacy bra under her white T-shirt.
She couldn’t remember buying the pretty, frivolous item in midnight-blue but yesterday it had seemed perfect to wear with the blue dress and she’d quickly grabbed it this morning. How she wished she’d stuck to plain beige.
No time to change. Besides, what did that matter if she were about to lose her job?
‘Coming!’ Closing the bedroom door behind her, she walked to the entrance, slowing her breathing in an attempt to ease her nerves. A tall figure with broad shoulders was visible through the opaque glass at the top of the door.
Conall. Instead of easing, her tension rocketed but she could at least conceal it. Standing tall, she unlocked the door and pulled it open.
Her first thought was that this wasn’t Conall, her employer. She’d only seen him like this in the hospital and once, stretched out on the sofa in this very room, features softened by sleep, an undisciplined lock of dark hair tumbling across his brow, making him look…
‘Conall!’ Her voice was too high. ‘I didn’t expect you so soon.’
After that one sweeping look, she kept her gaze on his face. It was better not to notice how those faded jeans clung to his long, muscled thighs. Or how the black polo shirt complimented his dark golden skin and showed off his wide chest and flat stomach.
Enigmatic eyes held hers. She’d give a lot to know what he was thinking, but for once she couldn’t read his mood. Strange when at work she often sensed what he was thinking and anticipated his requirements.
That only heightened her nerves. As if he’d deliberately cut her off so she couldn’t interpret his thoughts.
Greer repressed a shiver, telling herself not to jump to conclusions. He might not be here to complain about her unprofessional behaviour.
Fervently she hoped that was the case.
‘Can I come in? I’ve brought gifts.’
She looked down and saw his hands full with a large bakery box and a tray with two large travel mugs.
Automatically she stepped back and waved him in.
Surely he wouldn’t bring breakfast if he intended to dismiss her.
By the time she closed the door and followed him, he was at the kitchen end of the open-plan room, helping himself unerringly to plates from the cupboard.
Of course he knew where things were. He’d stayed overnight and shared breakfast with her. His unfussy pragmatism had helped ease her fears that first night out of hospital when she’d been spooked by her amnesia.
She paused between the island bench and the small dining table. Even on a knife edge, wondering about the fallout from yesterday, there was something reassuring about Conall’s presence.
His eyes snared hers and her skin warmed. ‘Bench or table?’
It took her a second to realise he was asking where they’d eat. She glanced at the small round table, imagined facing him, so close their knees would touch. ‘Bench.’
His gaze cut away and it felt as if a thread, pulled taut between them, had snapped.
She moved forward, pushing the fruit bowl to one end of the bench, grabbing the travel mugs he’d brought and taking off their lids.
Immediately the aroma of rich coffee filled the air.
She leaned closer, inhaling the blissful smell.
When she opened her eyes he was watching her. Before she could let herself hesitate, she blurted out, ‘About last night—’
‘You had a good evening?’
She frowned. ‘I did, thank you. But about earlier—’
‘I’m sorry I startled you. I should have called out to let you know I was there. Next time I will.’ He looked down at the food he’d brought. ‘I hope you’re hungry.’
Greer stared, perplexed. He was brushing off what she’d done. As if her trying to climb his body for a kiss hadn’t happened. Perhaps he thought her head injury made her behave oddly. But if that were the case he wouldn’t have her back in the office yet.
She wanted to clear the air with an apology. But she’d done that last night and he’d waved it aside.
Maybe he’s so used to women throwing themselves at him, he takes it in his stride.
It took a moment to swallow the sour taste on her tongue.
Instead of speaking, she pulled out a stool and sat down. ‘Thank you, Conall.’
He didn’t say anything, just nodded. But it was clear he knew she wasn’t thanking him for the food.