will brief you on them,” Max said.
Duke stepped forward to take her hand. As a rule he avoided handshakes. Having spent the past four years in Japan with the CEO of Pryce Enterprises, he preferred the Japanese custom of bowing. Being back in the U.S. meant practicing American customs.
As he grasped her hand, a tingle ran up his arm, proving their first touch hadn’t been a fluke. Such a small hand, he thought. Yet her fingers were long and for a moment he imagined them on his body, her long nails scraping against his flesh. He glanced again at the woman. What did his body sense that his mind missed? She wasn’t his type.
She was diminutive, delicate, fragile even. The kind of person who would be easily destroyed by the darkness inside him. Through the thin layer of glass he looked into her deep brown eyes and found…warmth.
She met his gaze but glanced quickly away. He had that effect on women. His deceased wife, Rebecca, used to say he could quiet a room of chattering women in .85 seconds flat. It seemed to still hold true.
“I look forward to working with you, Mr. Merchon,” she said.
He suspected she didn’t. She was the bookish kind of woman who preferred to work alone. But she had the potential to be the star at center stage.
He nodded. “Call me Duke.”
“And I’m Cami.”
He didn’t believe in idle chitchat as a rule and didn’t engage in small talk unless necessary. It wasn’t that he couldn’t be polite. It was just that he’d never led a soft life and the ability to be social when he didn’t want to be had long since burned out of him. “Let me help you carry your presentation to the elevator.”
She shoved her boards into a leather case then reached for her purse. “Thanks, but I’ve got it.”
She stepped toward the door as it opened toward her. Her leather attaché flew in one direction and she lost her balance, but Duke grabbed her and the case. Working with her was going to be a challenge; he liked to control his environment. Something about Cami Jones said she wasn’t predictable. Probably the biggest challenge he’d faced since he’d started working for Pryce. He was surprised she hadn’t done herself in before now.
“I’m afraid I’ll have to insist on helping you.”
She aimed him a crooked smile. “Are you afraid Pryce doesn’t have enough liability coverage to cover my workers’ comp claim?”
Having been taught to always be kind, he shrugged. “Let’s just say it’s the gentlemanly thing to do.”
“It’s okay,” she said as they walked through the doors and waited for the elevator. “I know what you’re afraid of.”
Duke knew then this woman was more than she seemed. How did she look at him and see fear when everyone else saw strength?
“Do tell,” he invited.
“The long empty shaft behind the elevator doors is just too much of a temptation for a klutz like me.”
She blinked at him and laughed, hiding her mouth behind her hand and not meeting his gaze.
Cami had a sense of humor and, although his professional demeanor didn’t change, he wanted to laugh out loud.
She stepped into the elevator. “The world won’t end if you crack a smile.”
One hand on the open door, she reached for her presentation. “Thank you for your help, Duke.”
“You’re welcome, and it might.”
“Might?”
“The world could come crashing to a halt if I smile.”
“It hasn’t happened yet.”
“I haven’t smiled yet.”
“I’ll take that as a challenge,” she said quietly, and the doors closed before he could reply.
Two days later Duke found himself outside Cami’s office. The day, which had been going downhill all morning, took a drastic turn for the better when he knocked on her door and stepped inside her office for their ten-thirty appointment.
Endless slim legs were displayed and a veil of brown curly hair blocked the face of the woman as she leaned forward. Her hands skimmed a shapely thigh and fastened one silk hose to a garter. Feminine attributes were as out of place in a conservative office as an orphan at a family reunion.
Duke paused in the doorway to enjoy the show. It had been a long time since he’d seen silk-and-lace-clad legs and longer still since he’d been interested in seeing more. But something about those slim thighs encased in navy silk hose and lace garters got to him.
Arousal shot through his body, bringing awareness to his every pore. Blood pounded heavily through his veins, and he felt himself grow hard. He shifted his legs, easing the pressure against his inseam, and wondered if humans really could spontaneously combust.
He wanted to close the door and lift her to the desk. To rip through her panties and take her quickly. The impulse was strong, and he hated the weakness. No one got the upper hand on Duke’s control. Discipline was all he had left, and he wouldn’t surrender it easily. Certainly not to some research librarian turned event coordinator.
His abrupt knock hadn’t given her any warning but when he cleared his throat he got her attention. Cami gasped. She dropped her skirt without fastening the second garter. The thought of that unfastened garter hovered in his mind. This woman shouldn’t wear satin-and-lace undergarments.
The dress was baggy and understated. Her low-heeled shoes were maidenly and her hairstyle old-fashioned. She was the type of woman who should wear cotton underpants and support hose. Why wasn’t she?
Duke was uncomfortable. He knew enough about sexual harassment law to know he was in for a world of hurt if he said anything, yet he couldn’t keep quiet. The spectacular legs hidden under that ugly dress demanded mentioning. Was this what his body had sensed days earlier? That the ugly clothing was just camouflage for a spectacular woman?
The intensity of her blush could heat a small house in winter. She averted her gaze and refused to look at him. Her nervousness evoked a tenderness that was at odds with his arousal. Yet just as strong. She fiddled with her glasses, taking them off and wiping them clean and then putting them back on.
“I believe we have a ten-thirty meeting,” he said.
“You’re a few minutes early,” she snapped.
Duke realized she intended to ignore the fact that she’d just had her skirt hiked halfway up to her waist. He forced the tantalizing image from his mind, though the loose garter remained. He didn’t believe in emotional entanglements. Least of all with klutzy, average-looking women.
She held out her hand. He grasped it with the intent of releasing it as quickly as he had the other day. But her hand was soft—softer than any other he’d ever felt. Even his deceased wife’s hands had been callused from evenings spent playing volleyball.
He stroked her palm with his forefinger before he let his hand fall back to his side. He knew he shouldn’t have, but that damn unfastened garter lingered in his mind and the image of her on the desk, her sexy legs encircling his waist, remained in his mind.
“Please have a seat,” she said, motioning for him to use one of the two guest chairs. They were standard office issue and looked about as comfortable as wet shoes. Yet the rest of her office welcomed him in a way he’d never before experienced.
A four-shelf bookcase overflowed with books, every tabletop surface held picture frames of large family groupings and individual members. Candle-holders and potpourri also abounded. It was the sweetest-smelling office on the floor. She had soft music with some woman chanting playing in the background.
Her office—a reflection of the woman herself—was so feminine it bothered him. There was even a lace thing on the surface of her credenza crammed