Stephanie left the cafeteria a couple of minutes later. In spite of everything, she had to struggle not to laugh. Her four self-proclaimed romantic friends seemed to believe that a couple of dinners—one of which they knew nothing about—and a few stolen kisses in the moonlight constituted marriage.
When she arrived at her desk, Stephanie placed her purse in the bottom drawer, sat down and pulled out some paper, preparing to type a letter. She paused, her hands poised over the keyboard, trying to analyze her feelings for Jonas. The page in front of her blurred as she remembered his kisses. From the look about him, he was as surprised as she was. The minute they’d met, Stephanie had disliked the man. He was so dictatorial and high-handed that he infuriated her. He enjoyed baiting her and challenging her. In some ways, Jonas Lockwood was the most difficult man she’d ever known. But at the same time, Stephanie suspected that the rewards of his love would be beyond any worldly treasure she hoped to accumulate.
At five that evening, Stephanie cleared off the top of her desk, preparing to head home to her apartment. It was so late by the time Jonas finished assembling the bookcase that she hadn’t had the energy to fill it with the books that were propped against her bedroom wall. She’d learned as the evening progressed that Jonas was an avid reader, and they’d had a lively discussion on their favorite authors. When he’d left her apartment, it had been close to midnight. She’d thanked him for dinner and his help with the bookcase, and had been mildly disappointed that he hadn’t kissed her good night. Nor did he arrange for another meeting. At the time, Stephanie hadn’t given the matter a second thought. Now she wondered how long it would be before she saw Jonas again. She was a bit discouraged not to have heard from him before now. All day, she’d been half expecting him to pop in unannounced and dictate another letter to her. The entire afternoon felt strangely incomplete, and she realized that she’d been wanting to hear from him since the minute she arrived that morning.
On her way to the elevator, Stephanie spotted Jonas talking to Donald Black, head of the accounting department. Her pulse quickened at the virile sight Jonas presented. He was an attractive figure, tall and broad-shouldered, and—she freely admitted it—he was a handsome devil. Her heart swelled at the sight of him, and when his gaze happened to catch hers, Stephanie smiled warmly, revealing all the pleasure she felt at seeing him again.
Jonas didn’t respond. If anything, he almost looked right through her, as if she were nothing more than a piece of furniture. If any emotion showed on his taut features, it was regret. Stephanie swallowed, feeling as if she had a pine cone lodged in her throat.
When he did happen to glance in her direction, Stephanie read the demand in his eyes. What happened outside the office was between them, but inside Lockwood Industries she was nothing more than a secretary, and she’d do well to remember that.
Humiliated and insulted, Stephanie stiffened and looked past him as though he were a stranger, pretending she had neither the time nor the energy to play his infantile games. She thrust her shoulders back in a display of anger and pride, and held them so stiffly that her shoulder blades ached within seconds.
From the minute Jonas had left her the night before, Stephanie had been happy and content. Now her spirits plummeted to the bottom floor at breakneck speed and landed with a sickening thud. She turned her gaze to the front of the elevator and refused to look at him another moment.
She heard the two men walking behind her, but Stephanie ignored them both.
“Good evening, Miss Coulter,” Jonas said in passing.
“Good evening, sir,” she responded tightly, in a professional crisp tone.
The elevator arrived, and without another word, Stephanie joined the others in the five o’clock rush. She rode the elevator to the street level, and five minutes later caught Metro bus #17 that dropped her off a block from her apartment.
Affronted by his attitude, chagrined at how much she had read into the simple evening they’d shared, and disgruntled that she’d allowed Jan and friends to talk her into believing Jonas Lockwood had a heart, Stephanie quickly changed clothes and decided to weed her miniature herb garden.
She hadn’t been home more than thirty minutes when the doorbell chimed. Glaring at her front door, she continued pulling up the weeds in the small redwood planters, then stared down at her garden gloves and realized she’d uprooted more basil than anything else.
She didn’t need to answer the door to know it was Jonas who stood on the other side. When the doorbell rang sharply a second time, Stephanie impatiently set the trowel aside and stood up.
She muttered under her breath as she marched across the living room floor, and swore that if he commented on her purple tennis shoes one more time she would slam the door in his face. She jerked off a dirt-covered glove and pulled open the door.
“Hello, Stephanie.”
“Mr. Lockwood,” she responded tautly. “What an unpleasant surprise.’’