Carefully, I step away from my desk and into the hallway, and glimpse a large stranger there at the door. He’s leaning close, shielding his eyes to look inside; I swallow hard to calm the fear, walking toward the intercom with cautious determination.
“Yes?” I say into the speaker, and the man steps back. He sees me and gives an uncertain wave, then hits the exterior intercom button. I don’t recognize him, and that he looks a little rough and slouchy only unsettles me all the more.
“Ms. O’Neill?”
“Yes?” I repeat, more firmly this time. Who is this man? How does he know me?
“Um, it’s Michael Warner.” He sounds vaguely apologetic as he removes a baseball cap and mops his brow. “Sorry to bother you.” That’s when I recognize him as the electrician from yesterday. I sigh in relief, and open the door a crack, though not all the way. Although he’s not a stranger, I’m still jumpy from the adrenaline rush.
“Sorry, I didn’t really think about how much of an intrusion this might be.” He gives me a slight smile. God, he may be slouchy today, but he’s even more beautiful in the shocking daylight, especially his eyes, which are an unusual golden brown color. He has the kind of intense gaze that penetrates you on the molecular level, and I blink beneath it.
“No problem.” I swallow hard. “What’s up?”
“Just wondering if the power is working okay? Any more trouble?” Now this seems like a thinly veiled excuse to me. All the feelings from yesterday, the sense that some kind of connection was forming between us, well it all comes rushing back, as I lean my head sideways against the doorframe. Maybe that way he won’t notice the scars so much.
“You know, it’s going great,” I answer brightly, forcing myself not to smile at him. Instead I hope he’ll see enthusiasm flickering in my eyes, even as I wrap my arms around myself protectively.
“You mind?” He gestures over my shoulder, toward the interior of the building. “You know, if I come in? Just for a second.”
Without meaning to, I stare back at him. Maybe because I’m surprised at how direct he’s being, or even more likely because I’m getting a really strange vibe from him. Like he’s interested in me, but not quite sure how to go about it. I wish I’d gotten a clearer answer about his marital status from Andrea yesterday. As sexy as he is, I’m not down with seeing a married man, and if he is married, I’m feeling way too much attraction flickering between us.
“Ms. O’Neill?” The brown eyes narrow a bit, as uncertainty flashes across his face.
“Sure, sure, come on in,” I rush to say, opening the door wide. “Where’s my southern hospitality when I need it most?”
“Back in Georgia?” he says, shoving his hands deep into his jeans pockets as I fasten the lock back in place.
“Let’s hope not.” I break into a true smile, and I feel the way the muscles pull at the corners of my mouth. God, why does he light me up this way? And he gives me such a glorious smile in return, one that fills his whole face.
“Sorry for being a little cautious,” I say in embarrassment. “It kind of weirds me out being here alone on the weekends, that’s all. It’s creepy quiet.”
“You didn’t recognize me?” He seems genuinely surprised, and I don’t want to admit that he looks a little more ragged than I pictured him being, wearing old jeans and a faded Harley Davidson shirt. Still, he’s undeniably handsome, with those keen brown eyes that transmit so much energy.
“Well, it was dark yesterday, you know.” I lead him into my office.
His voice gets softer, fuller. “But I recognized you.” I don’t know how to respond to that, so I nod, my ponytail bobbing rhythmically. I feel him behind me, his presence; am aware of his body and how tall he is, as he shadows me all the way into my office.
“Please, sit down.” I make my way to the other side of my desk. Maybe if I stick to my usual professional role, I can regain my composure here. I run a smoothing palm down the front of my khakis as I primly take my seat. Then, folding my hands in front of me, sitting very upright, I meet his magnetic, golden-eyed gaze. Oh, yes, he’s too beautiful for me—by many long miles. Plus, he’s got to be married.
Surreptitiously, I glance at his hand, but it’s obscured behind the stack of manuscripts on my desk. Okay, no answer to the Big Question yet.
“So.” I clear my throat. “What’re you doing here on a Saturday? Don’t tell me you’re this dedicated to keeping my lights on.” As soon as the double entendre is out of my mouth, I regret its accidental escape. Thank God Michael doesn’t even seem to notice.
“Oh,” is all he says, like he hadn’t thought about it before now. “Just forgot my paycheck, that’s all.”
He reaches absently for a paperweight on the corner of my desk, moving it from hand to hand, which is when I begin to wonder precisely why he’s come to visit me. He looks down at the domed glass, studying the picture within. “Your family?”