“You bet.”
He stuck out his hand. After a second’s hesitation, she offered hers. It was almost half the size of his, slim and fine-boned. He carefully applied a little pressure and ordered himself to let go. It was damned hard to do. What he wanted to do was pull her into his arms and take her down to the floor.
Some of that must have been coming through because her eyes widened in alarm. He stepped back.
“I’ll start moving my stuff in tomorrow. And I’ll definitely be taking you up on your offer to help me decorate. Of course I’d like to pay for the design of my office. I can see that a lot of work went into it.”
She waved that away. “No, don’t worry. I was just doodling. Consider the design a welcome present.” She turned into the hallway and he followed, trying not to ogle her backside and trying not to be obvious about smelling the air in her wake. His men said he had the sense of smell of a bloodhound. He could smell cigarette smoke on a man’s clothes a day after he’d smoked. Suzanne Barron’s smell nearly brought him to his knees.
Her scent was perfume, something light and floral, mixed in with an apple-scented shampoo, the smell of freshly washed clothing and some indefinable something that he just knew was her skin. Soon, very soon, he’d be smelling her skin close up. Just a matter of time.
The sooner the better. Christ, the view from the back was as enticing as the one from the front—sleek curves, dark-honey hair bouncing with every step she took.
He’d never seen a woman as curvy yet as delicately made as Suzanne Barron. Everything about her was dainty, fine-boned. He was going to have to be careful. No rough sex when he took her to bed. He’d have to enter her slowly, let her get used to him before…
She turned and smiled at him. “That’s all right, then.”
All right! His eyes narrowed and his body quickened until he stopped himself just short of reaching for her. She’s talking about the lease, you idiot, he told himself.
“I’ll get a contract drawn up and have a copy of the keys made for you. When did you say you want to start moving in?”
Now! His body clamored. Right this second. But he had things to take care of. “I don’t have much to move. Mostly filing cabinets and computer equipment. Lots of that.” He smiled into her eyes. “You’re going to order the furnishings for me, right? Spend whatever you have to, I’ll be good for it.”
She was looking up at him, breathing slowly.
“Right, Suzanne?”
She blinked and seemed to come out of a daze. “Oh, yes, um, that’s right. And I’ll have a copy of the keys made for you.”
He opened the door. The contrast between what was behind him—a delicate lady in a jewel of a building—and what was in front of him—bleak burned out storefronts, liquor stores and empty lots—made him turn back to her. Little Miss Muffet had to know that there were spiders out there. Big bad ones.
“Check me out, Suzanne. Make sure you know who you’re putting in your house. Call Bud. Call him now.”
Pale pink lips slightly parted, gray eyes wide, she stared at him. “Okay, I…” She swallowed. “I will.”
“And set the security system when I leave.”
She nodded, her eyes never leaving his face.
“Do you know the seven digit code by heart?”
“How do you—? All right, no I don’t.”
“Start getting used to keeping the building secure. Learn the code by heart. I’ll bet you keep the code on a piece of paper taped to the underside of your desk. You’re right-handed so it’s probably taped to the right side.”
She blew out a little breath and nodded. Bingo.
“That’s not good. From now on keep the code in a safe and memorize it. You’ve got a security system, so use it. I want this building locked down after I leave.”
“Yessir, Commander, sir.” A dimple twinkled then disappeared. “Or would that be aye aye?”
“The correct answer is—yes, I’ll do exactly as you say.”
She was so close he could have seen the pores in her skin if she’d had any. Instead, her skin was as smooth and perfect as marble, except soft and warm, he’d bet. He had one foot out the door, stepping from one world into another. He had to force himself to move.
“Lock the door, Suzanne,” he said again as he crossed the threshold, pulling on the handle.
He waited patiently on the steps until he heard the distinctive whump-ding of the XOL security alarm going on then walked down the steps into the rainy morning.
CHAPTER TWO
Whew.
Suzanne leaned against her door and put a trembling fist to her racing heart. Her legs felt like wax and she wanted to slide down to the floor in a puddle.
John Huntington—Commander John Huntington—wasn’t anything like what she’d been expecting.
The email had been innocent enough.
Dear Ms. Barron,
Saw your ad in The Oregonian today for the lease of office space and am interested in viewing the premises. I am looking for corporate headquarters for my company. If it would suit you, I would like to make an appointment for 10 a.m. on the 21st of December.
John Huntington, President, ASI.
How nice. A CEO, she’d thought as she emailed back. An image of a white-haired avuncular type floated in her mind. A businessman. Perfect.
The Pearl was gentrifying at a dizzy pace, but pockets of it were still very dangerous. Having a businessman around would make her feel safe.
The one thing the man sitting across from her didn’t make her feel was safe. Scared, maybe. No, not scared, really, just…what?
Not a white haired fatherly type at all. Not old. Not safe. He looked dangerous. That was it. That was what had Suzanne’s entire system on alert.
At first she thought the wrong man had come. He hadn’t looked like the president of a company. He looked rough, dangerous. Like a biker, not a businessman. A big man, shoulders so broad they spanned the chair back, black, close-cropped hair with a dusting of silver at the temples, eyes somewhere between a very dark blue and brown, impossible to guess at in the uncertain watery light.
Whatever the color, though, he’d looked at her as if he were about to swallow her up whole.
She’d never seen a man so blatantly…male. Of course, she thought, with a wry shake of her head, the men she met as a decorator were a little different from the men in the Navy. Still, the brute male power he’d exuded had been overwhelming.
He hadn’t done anything, had barely moved in his chair, never fidgeting or moving position, he hadn’t said or done anything untoward, but she’d felt her entire body go into overdrive. She’d kept her hands from trembling only by sheer force of will.
This was crazy and had to stop now. John Huntington was paying a lot of money for the rental—more money, actually, than it was worth, given the location. So she was going to have to start getting used to him as a tenant. She couldn’t afford to have to stand against a door and wait for her heart rate to slow down every time she saw him.
Maybe I should get out more, she thought. Stop working so hard. Start dating. Get a life.
Maybe the next time her bank manager asked her out, she should accept, instead of making an excuse. They’d dated a few times. Except Marcus Freeman was so pale, even by Portland white bread standards, and so boring. His hands were soft and white. Not broad and dark and hard like John Huntington’s hands…
Stop that!
Good Lord, what was the matter with her?
Feeling her legs steady now beneath her, and able to bear her weight, she walked back down the hallway to her office. Seeing the familiar objects, each one hand-picked, each one with a history, calmed her. She’d had such pleasure designing this place, with the hardwood floors, beveled stained glass windows and terracotta sconces. The color and shapes gave her a lift, brightened her day.
Odd how her design for the rental unit was so completely different.