The Honeymoon House. Patty Salier

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СКАЧАТЬ at her panty hose when he wasn’t looking.

      Mr. Harrington leaned forward on his oak desk. “Danielle, your sister, Lisa, has gotten me terrific deals on real estate for the past few years. I owe her many favors. But I must be honest with you. I’d prefer working with an architect with denser experience.”

      Danielle’s throat went dry. “Mr. Harrington, I’ve made a computer sketch of the most romantic honeymoon house you could ever dream of,” she quickly said, giving her last push. “Please let me show it to you. I’ve got the disk right here.”

      As she frantically searched her black leather briefcase for the disk, the telephone rang. It was Saturday and his secretary wasn’t in, so Mr. Harrington answered the phone himself.

      Just as she found the disk, he hung up.

      “Danielle, I’ve got to drive to West L.A. to resolve a business problem.” He rose from his desk. “I should be back in forty-five minutes or so. Feel free to set up your architectural program on my computer. I look forward to seeing your vision of my house.”

      Danielle’s spirits rose as he left the office. She still had a chance. She ran to his computer and inserted her disk. What he didn’t know was that it wasn’t just the honeymoon house job she wanted.

      Her sister, Lisa, told her that Harrington was planning to build a new children’s library in Santa Monica.

      Danielle sucked in her breath. A children’s library. She’d promised her parents, dedicated elementary-school teachers, that someday she’d design a children’s library in their honor. When her mother and father were killed in an automobile accident a few years later, she’d vowed to keep her heartfelt promise to them.

      That’s why she had to get this job. If Mr. Harrington hired her, he’d see what a great architect she was. Then he wouldn’t be able to resist hiring her as the architect for his new children’s library.

      Danielle’s heart soared as her design of Mr. Harrington’s contemporary honeymoon house appeared on the screen. As she pulled the chair closer to the computer to get a better view, her panty hose caught on a sharp edge of the desk. A huge, gaping hole appeared in her nylons.

      “That’s it!” she called out. “You’re coming off!”

      Danielle ran out to the reception area. She searched the secretary’s desk for the ladies’ room key. But the desk was locked.

      She glanced out the office door into the fifteenth-floor hallway. The hall was deserted on that Saturday. She returned to Harrington’s private office, closed his door—and realized there was no lock.

      She remembered he had said he’d be back in forty-five minutes or so. She had time. So she quickly lifted her skirt and began tugging down her panty hose.

      

      In the multilevel Century City underground parking structure, Paul Richards drove his faded green van, looking for a parking space. He was so eager to talk to Mr. Harrington that he was forty minutes early for his appointment.

      He was just about to turn into a spot, when the engine sputtered and died.

      “You did it again,” he groaned, shaking his head. His van had stalled out on him fifteen times in the past month.

      He pulled out a wrench from his construction tool belt lying on the worn passenger seat. He got out and yanked open the hood of the van, then tinkered with the valves to get the engine going again.

      He needed a new van. He needed to pay his mortgage on his small cottage in Santa Monica. And he needed his general contracting business to grow, because residential building was at a record low.

      At his last meeting with Mr. Harrington, Paul had handed him a business proposal. Harrington had the finances, and Paul had the construction talent. Paul hoped to create a partnership with Mr. Harrington to construct commercial buildings.

      “Paul, I like your idea of a partnership,” Harrington had told him. “With me as the financier, you as the general contractor and Victor Horton, the architect you recommended, we could make an unbeatable team.”

      If only Harrington would make his final decision, Paul wouldn’t be sweating it out anymore. As he slammed down the hood of his van, he anxiously glanced at his watch, wanting to hurry up to Mr. Harrington’s office.

      A few minutes later, Paul quietly entered Mr. Harrington’s reception area. He wished he’d dressed properly for the meeting. He’d rushed from a construction site and was sweaty in work shorts and a T-shirt.

      Paul noticed that the door to Mr. Harrington’s private office was closed. Mr. Harrington had told him many times to just walk in without knocking when he came by on a Saturday.

      He wiped his perspiring hands on his shorts, turned the doorknob and barreled into the office.

      “Mr. Harrington—” Paul’s words caught in his throat.

      Standing in front of him was a shapely female holding up her skirt in one hand and panty hose in the other. His gaze landed on her tanned bare legs and pink bikini panties.

      “What are you doing in here?” Danielle shrieked. She yanked down her skirt. Her cheeks turned bloodred with embarrassment.

      Paul leaned against the door, unable to take his eyes off her. Her black hair flowed down her shoulders like silk. “Exactly what are you doing in here?” he asked, glancing at the nylon hose in her hand.

      She immediately stuck the panty hose in her briefcase. “I—I have some work on the computer that I need to show Mr. Harrington when he returns,” she stammered. “So if you will please leave...”

      “Leave?” Paul repeated, incredulous. “I’m here to see Mr. Harrington, too.”

      “You can wait outside.”

      “Are you throwing me out?”

      She stared at him with bold turquoise eyes. “Listen, Mr. Whoever You Are, if you don’t get out of here in three seconds, I‘ll—I’ll—”

      He was definitely intrigued. “You’ll what?”

      “I don’t know, but I’ll do something!”

      Paul smiled. “I’m open to all possibilities.”

      “You’re—you’re impossible!”

      Danielle felt exasperated, embarrassed, but most of all, she was frustrated at herself for being so attracted to him.

      His charcoal gray eyes twinkled mischievously at her. He had curly brown hair that gave him a boyish quality. His green T-shirt hugged the hard muscles of his broad chest. She had to force her eyes away from the ample bulge in his denim shorts.

      “Tell me,” he began. “Who are you? I’ve been here hundreds of times. I definitely would’ve remembered you.”

      His steady gaze made her knees grow weak. “You first,” she insisted.

      No man had ever thrown her off balance the way he had. She had to sit up on the edge of the desk to steady herself.

      “Okay,” СКАЧАТЬ