Surrender to a Donovan. A.C. Arthur

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      He stopped reading when a knock sounded at his door. Leaving the papers on his desk, Sean stood. He straightened his tie and did a quick breath check before crossing the room to answer the door.

      “Hello,” he said when she looked up at him.

      “Hi,” she replied with a smile that totally took his breath away.

      “Ah, come on in.” He cleared his throat after a few stalled seconds. “Have a seat.”

      Closing the door, Sean watched her walk to the guest chair across from his desk. It was wrong, or at least it should have been, the way he watched the sway of her bottom in the fitted dress. Yesterday her dress had been more full and she’d been leaning over, so he couldn’t really get a good look at her body. Not that he had been trying to.

      But today, this dress left no doubt in his mind that she was a very attractive woman. The heels she wore made her toned calves look almost succulent, while the bright belt at her waist gave her an hourglass shape. He needed to get behind his desk before making any further assessments or risk the possibility of a sexual harassment suit when she looked up and his thoughts were clearly betrayed through his growing erection.

      She started talking the minute he sat down. “I’m not sure what this is about. I haven’t missed a deadline, have I?”

      “No. Nothing like that,” he began, shaking his head as he gathered up the papers, stacking them neatly. “I’ve been reading some of your columns.”

      She sat up straight and he noticed that he couldn’t see up her skirt, unlike with Sabine. Her hands were folded in her lap and she looked at him quizzically with those eyes. Deep brown eyes that made him want to ask how her day was, what she’d had for lunch, what she planned to have for dinner.

      Sean cleared his throat once more and tried to reroute his thoughts. “You’re very insightful and tend to hit the mark with stunning accuracy without being too preachy. There’s a good tone to the column. I really like that,” he told her. “We really like that. And by ‘we,’ I mean upper management.”

      She nodded as if following the conversation but still waiting for the other shoe to drop. Her hair hung just past her shoulders, straight as an arrow and black as night, with honey-brown highlights. Yesterday, he remembered, it had a little curl to it. He blinked to keep from staring.

      “As you know, we’re an affiliate of Donovan Network Television.”

      Her head moved in another nod. Her hands didn’t move, weren’t shaking nervously, just sat perfectly still. She was patient; she’d waited for things before and was used to it, he surmised. Then he figured he’d just blurt it out, since the thought of making this woman wait wasn’t very appealing to him.

      “We’re thinking of possibly adding a slot to an entertainment program that’s still in development. The slot would consist of you giving your relationship advice on air.”

      Tate wanted to gasp. She wanted to ask him if he was serious or if he was sure he had the right person. Instead she cleared her throat and sat up even straighter. “You want the ‘Ask Jenny’ column to go live?” she asked, as panic and excitement fought for a prominent position inside her stomach.

      “We think it would go over well. How would you feel about that?”

      “What would be the format?” she asked over the lump in her throat. This was definitely not what she’d expected when she came to his office. Not at all.

      “I don’t know. We haven’t really gotten that far in the planning. I wanted to see how you’d feel about doing a television show. I mean, obviously that’s not the job you applied for.”

      “Obviously,” she said, then she smiled because she didn’t want him to think she was being sarcastic. “I mean, I have a degree in journalism, so I don’t know much about television.”

      “So you like writing the column?”

      She nodded. “I do. I’ve always loved writing.”

      He sat back, watching her closely. Too closely for Tate’s comfort. But she wouldn’t show how nervous she was. She couldn’t afford to. It was her firm belief that once a man knew your weakness he’d exploit it, and you. As for Tate, she’d been there and done that.

      “Do you enjoy giving advice to the lovelorn?”

      It was a simple question. She shouldn’t have felt like he was really asking her something deeper, more personal. Yet, the way his calm, assessing eyes held her gaze, she couldn’t help but feel a little exposed.

      “I like giving new insight into situations. Sometimes when you’re the one involved, you can’t see the truth or realize other alternatives to help you react to the truth. That’s what my advice provides, an alternative to the relationship they’re currently involved in.”

      “But you believe in love?” he asked, still sitting back in his chair, his fingers rubbing over his goatee. “I mean, you’ve been in love before, so you’ve had some experience in the area?”

      “Yes,” Tate answered, a little less enthusiastically than she’d been speaking before. “I have been in love.” Then, because she knew this line of questioning might be just a bit out of context, judging by the way he was still looking at her, she asked him, “Have you ever been in love, Mr. Donovan?”