After four hours of perching within two feet of Nathan Trainor, Chloe was in a state of seething physical turmoil and utter mental exhaustion. Keeping up with a mind as lightning fast as his was hard enough, but when she asked a question and he glided his chair over to look at her computer screen, her body compounded the problem.
He would lean in, bringing his cheek so close she had only to turn her head to kiss it. Or they would both reach for the same touch-screen icon and his fingers would brush over the back of her hand, leaving a trail of heat that lingered for minutes. The most exquisite torture was when he would stretch his arm across the desk in front of her to pick up whatever report or contract she was working on. The warm fragrance of starch and man filled her nostrils, making her want to thread her fingers into the heavy waves of his hair, so she could hold him there and simply breathe in.
Even during the midmorning break he finally agreed to take, he lounged on the couch and invited her to sit in one of the leather upholstered chairs beside him while one of his minions served them coffee and various brunch-style snacks. When Trainor stretched out his legs, the fabric of his trousers caught against the nylon covering her calf, and the contact zinged right up to a spot between her thighs.
When Ed appeared in the doorway to inquire where Mr. Trainor would like him to serve lunch, Chloe interjected, “Don’t fix anything for me. I need to run some errands, so I’ll grab a sandwich at a deli.”
She was amazed to see a look of disappointment cross her boss’s face. “I thought we would work through lunch,” he said. “We’ve got some good momentum going.”
So it wasn’t that he wanted to spend some social time with her. He just wanted to keep working. Irritation at her stupid na?veté made her tart. “I’m entitled to thirty minutes of paid lunchtime.”
Annoyance flashed across Trainor’s face. “Take as long as you need. Have Oskar drive you wherever you want to go.”
“Let me make you a sandwich to take with you,” Ed said, his tone conciliatory. “There aren’t many delis in this neighborhood.”
Suddenly she felt stifled. All these offers of so-called help seemed more like attempts to keep her in Trainor’s orbit.
She stood up, sending her chair rolling backward so that Trainor had to catch it to avoid a collision. “Thank you, but I prefer to walk and find my own lunch. I’ll be back in a half hour.”
She stomped out of the room and down the hall, only to stop in front of the elevator with its palm plate. Would the doors open for her, or did her handprint have to be authorized in some way?
Annoyed, she slapped her hand against the black square and dashed away a tear of relief when the doors slid apart. At least she could leave of her own free will while she had the strength to do it.
Nathan tilted back his chair and pressed his fingertips against his eyelids. He’d screwed that up royally.
“If you want to work yourself into a state of collapse, that’s your call. But you need to let Ms. Russell come up for air every now and then,” Ed said.
Nathan dropped his hand and looked at the man who’d been more of a father to him than his own. “It was an excuse.”
“For what?”
“I wanted her to eat lunch with me.”
“Did you consider just asking her?”
Nathan shook his head. “I’m her employer.”
Ed’s look of censure faded. “Not at lunchtime. You’re just a man who’d like some good company.”
CHAPTER 11
There were no delis within a five-block radius of Trainor’s building, so Chloe was forced to spend twice her normal lunch budget for an artsy sandwich at a snooty bistro. At least she’d found a pleasant little park to eat in while she lectured herself about letting her boss get to her. He was bored because he was confined to his house. She was just a temp, which made it safe for him to toy with her. Once he got back to the office, his interest in her would evaporate.
A niggling little voice asked her why she didn’t just give in to the attraction flaring between them. What would she lose? He wouldn’t tell anyone because it wouldn’t look good for a CEO to sleep with his temporary executive assistant. She wouldn’t tell anyone for the reverse reason.
He was just a man. He put his pants on one leg at a time, although she hadn’t actually seen him do it. So why did she feel out of her depth with Nathan Trainor? Maybe she was afraid he would ruin her for a lesser mortal. After all, it was hard to compete with helicopters, Jimmy Choo sandals, and a chauffeur-driven Rolls-Royce. In bed, all those would be stripped away. He wouldn’t be wearing a custom-tailored suit, and she wouldn’t be wearing a bargain-basement scarf.
He’d made love to movie stars and supermodels. She would be a minor diversion compared to those, possibly a disappointment.