But today feels different. I don’t know why, but I suspect that it has something to do with my first client and the way my stomach is curled with anticipation. I do worry about that, but worrying doesn’t seem to change it. Neither do all the reiterations of how bad a guy like Rogan could be for me. Nothing seems to be able to penetrate the dangerous spell he’s so effortlessly weaving over me. I’m fighting it, but still I find myself looking forward to seeing him. And that’s not a good place to be. Not for me, anyway.
Today, I’m not surprised when Mona doesn’t greet me as she usually does. I have a feeling I know exactly where to find her.
Just before I turn the corner to walk into my “office,” I smooth my hair into its neat wave that flows over my left shoulder, concealing the side of my neck. I straighten my shirt and pull a cat hair from my sleeve, and my hand stops dead as I let it drift from my fingertips into the subtle air current passing by.
I’m primping. Preening. And that’s not like me either. I mean, I try to look nice and decent every day, but today . . . today I want to be attractive again. I didn’t really realize it until just now. And that worries me.
It’s that worry that I carry through the doorway and into my office. I’m wearing it like a shield, but still, it’s unable to stop the arrow of attraction that strikes me when I see Rogan sitting in my makeup chair, chatting amicably with my friend.
How can he do this to me? And how can I let him?
Or do I even have a choice?
Before I can offer a greeting, Mona chirps from beside Rogan, “Good morning! Look who has your coffee. Again.”
She’s glowing. Again. I think she’s getting a bigger kick out of this than I am. Of course, I’m making a concerted effort not to. It’s not bad for Mona’s health to enjoy Rogan, but I can’t say the same for me.
“Impressed yet?” Rogan asks, standing and walking toward me to hand over the tall white cup. His wink says that he’s teasing me. His grin says that he’s pleased with himself. He’s like a proud little boy, sporting his first blue ribbon.
I stare up at him, so handsome in his charm, and I wish I could look away. But I can’t. “Impressed? You mean that you don’t suffer from short-term memory loss after being punched in the head too many times?” I say, garnering my defenses, defenses that I worry are crumbling even as I speak.
“Hey, in my line of work, that’s a distinct possibility.”
I smile politely up at him, determined not to let him see that he affects me. “Well, it takes more than a cup of coffee to impress me.”
He isn’t the least bit put off. “Even perfect coffee?”
“Too easy.”
“Too easy?” he asks in mock offense. I arch one brow at him and he gives in. “Maybe you’re right, but I’m giving you fair warning,” he declares, his voice dropping to a low, seductive timbre.
“Fair warning?” I ask.
He nods, all playfulness gone now. “Fair warning. I’ve got six weeks to impress you. And impress you I shall, Beautiful Katie.”
As I look into those captivating eyes, I remember his words. Makes me want to see you smile, I guess. I can’t help asking my one burning question again, only softly this time. “Why me?”
He doesn’t hesitate with his answer. “Something tells me you’re worth the effort.”
Air stops moving in and out of my concrete lungs, and all I can do is gaze up into Rogan’s incredibly handsome face as he reaches out to brush the pad of his thumb over my cheekbone. Through the fog of his considerable charisma, though, alarm bells start to ring inside my head.
“You’re wasting your time,” I manage to breathe out, trying desperately to hold on to my indifference.
“For the first time in a lot of years, I feel like I’m not.”
We stand like that—nose to nose, the backs of Rogan’s fingers against my cheek—staring at each other for who knows how long before I see a familiar smiling face peek over his shoulder. Only Mona, Amazon that she is, with the added help of her stilettos, could accomplish such a feat.