AS I’M ORGANIZING MY briefcase, I hear a knock at my door. A single firm knock. It’s her. The pulse I’ve only just tamed, erupts into a furious canter again. I should probably not call her in now.
“Come in.” Damn it.
When she glides in, she catches the briefcase and the look in my eyes. Her shoulders tauten, throwing back the rippling, coppery hair. “You’re leaving for the day?”
Do I sense a hint of disappointment in her question? I clear away any sign of softness from my throat. “Claire is putting away a few proposals that have just come in. Why don’t you go through them, so we can discuss them tomorrow?”
“Oh?” A stern frown creases her forehead, shadowed by the lovely hair that falls into her face. My wayward thoughts surprise me with a fleeting image of my fingers brushing it from h
