The Duke's Boardroom Affair / Convenient Marriage, Inconvenient Husband: The Duke's Boardroom Affair. Michelle Celmer

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      He was standing so close now that he could reach out and touch her. And though every instinct she possessed was screaming for her to back away, she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of so much as a flinch.

      “And then I got to thinking.” He leaned in, his face so close to hers she could smell the toothpaste on his breath. “Who says they even have to know?”

      Bloody hell, was she in trouble. If he decided to kiss her right now, she would have no choice but to kiss him back. And then he would know the truth. That she wasn’t nearly as rigid as she’d led him to believe.

      His eyes locked on hers. Deep brown irises with flecks of black that seemed to bleed out from his pupils. Full of something wicked and dangerous. And exciting. And God knew she could have used a little excitement in her life.

      No, no, no! Excitement was bad. She liked things even-paced and predictable. This was just chemical.

      It took everything in her, but she managed to say, with a tone as bland as her expression, “Are you finished?” “Finished?”

      “Can we go to work now?”

      The grin not slipping, he finally backed away and said, “You’re tough, Victoria Houghton.”

      Didn’t she wish that were true. Didn’t she wish that her heart wasn’t pounding so hard it felt as though it might beat right through her rib cage. That her limbs didn’t feel heavy with arousal. That her skin would stop burning to feel his touch.

       Don’t let him know.

      “Yes, I am,” she lied.

      A playful, taunting grin lifted the corners of his lips, and he reached past her to open the door. “But I’m tougher.”

      By three o’clock that afternoon Victoria managed to catch up on the backlog of calls and e-mails. No thanks to Charles, who, in a fraction of that time, proved himself to be a complete pain in the neck.

      He popped into her office a minute after three, for what must have been the fifth time that day. “I heard the phone ring. Any answer to the employment ad?”

      He knew damned well that she had just placed the ad with the employment agency that morning and they weren’t likely to hear anything until at least tomorrow.

      He parked himself behind her chair, hands propped on the back, his fingers brushing the shoulders of her jacket. The hair on her arms shivered to attention and she got that tingly feeling in the pit of her belly. But telling him to back off would only give him the satisfaction of knowing that he was getting to her.

      “It was your mother,” she told him, leaving off the again that could have followed. The woman was ruthless. The kind of mother who drove her children away with affection. It probably didn’t help matters that Charles was an only child and the sole focus of her adoration.

      No wonder he didn’t want to settle down. He was already smothered with all the female attention he could handle.

      “What are you working on?” he asked, leaning casually down to peer at her computer monitor, his face so close she could feel his breath shift the hair by her ear.

      “A template for an updated, more efficient call and e-mail log.”

      He leaned in closer to see, his cheek nearly touching hers, and, did he smell delicious. She wanted to bury her face in the crook of his neck and take a long, deep breath. Nuzzle his skin. Maybe take a nibble.

      “How does it work?” he asked.

      “Work?”

      “The spreadsheet.”

      Oh, right. “When I input the number or e-mail address, it automatically lists all the other pertinent information, so you don’t have to waste any time looking it up yourself. It’s color-coded by urgency.”

      “That’s brilliant,” he said.

      She couldn’t tell if he meant it or was just being sarcastic. “Oh, yes, I’m sure they’ll award me the Pulitzer. Or maybe even the Nobel Peace Prize.”

      The rumble of his laugh vibrated all the way through her. “You said my mother called again. What did she want this time?”

      She swiveled in her chair and stuck a pile of phone messages in his face, so he had no choice but to back off or get a mouthful of fuchsia paper. “To remind you about your father’s birthday party. She wanted to confirm that you’re spending the entire weekend with them.”

      He took the messages and sat on the edge of her desk instead, riffling through them. “What did you tell her?”

      “That you would be there. All weekend. And you’re really looking forward to it.”

      He shot her a curious look. “Seriously?”

      She flashed him a bright and, yes, slightly wicked smile. “Seriously.”

      He narrowed his eyes at her. “You didn’t really.”

      “Oh, I did.”

      She could have sworn that some of the color drained from his face. “That’s odd, because I seem to recall telling you to tell her that I wouldn’t be able to stay the whole weekend.”

      “Did you?” she asked innocently. “I guess I forgot.”

      He knew damned well that she hadn’t forgotten anything.

      “That’s evil,” he said.

      She just smiled. That was what he got for messing with her—although, in all fairness, she had been the one to kiss him. But she had the feeling that there would be nothing fair about this unspoken competition they had gotten themselves into.

      “Just for that, I should drag you along with me,” he told her.

      A duke bringing his personal assistant home for a weekend visit with the folks. Like that would ever happen. She had the sneaking suspicion that being royals, they clung to slightly higher standards. Or maybe they would make her stay in the staff quarters and take her meals in the kitchen.

      Was that what she had been reduced to? Servant’s status?

      She and her father may not have been megarich, but they had lived a very comfortable lifestyle. The outer edges of upper crust. And to what end? Had he only been honest, lived within their means, she wouldn’t be in this mess.

      But now was not the time or the place to rehash her father’s betrayal.

      “I could ring her and tell her you don’t want to stay,” she told Charles. “That you have better things to do than spend time with your parents. Although, you know, they’re not getting any younger.”

      “Wow,” he said, shaking his head. “You and my mother would get along great.”

      She doubted that. His mother didn’t strike her as the type to socialize with СКАЧАТЬ