Claimed (The Lair of the Wolven #1) - J.R. Ward Page 0,6
series of long pulls made her check the doorway and do a quick mental calculation on how long Candy was going to take to come back with the coffee that hadn’t been asked for.
When you were acting nutty about cleanliness, an audience was the last thing anybody wanted.
“Okay, you ready?” Candy demanded as she came in and banged a mug down on the drying, hospital-worthy antiseptic.
“No offense, but what—” Actually, the coffee smelled great, and as she palmed it up and took a test sip, she decided Candy was right. She did need this. “What’s going on?”
“Well, first of all, you and I are using the boys’ bathroom again.”
Lydia let her head fall back. “Maybe I shouldn’t be drinking anything all day long.”
“But that’s not the big news. I’m sending the big news down to you. It’s all gonna make sense when you see it.”
“It?” Lydia shot the woman a hard stare. “Please do not tell me you overpowered that UPS driver and duct-taped him to that hand truck you like so much. You cannot hold a human being hostage in exchange for a package. Even if it’s a week late.”
“Hey, thanks for the good idea. You’re an inspired leader. But no, that’s not it.”
As Candy headed back to the waiting area, Lydia called out, “Just to be clear, I am not ever signing off on hostage taking. You keep a person locked in a closet, it’s a felony—”
Cologne.
She smelled … cologne. A woodsy, very … delicious … cologne.
And that was when she heard the footfalls. Heavy. Really heavy. A man’s.
Candy reappeared in the doorway, a sly smile on her face. “The applicant is here.”
“Applicant?”
“You know, for Trick’s replacement?”
“Oh, no, Peter’s supposed to interview—”
“I explained that as our executive director’s in a meeting, you’re going to conduct the preliminaries.” Candy eased back. “Lydia Susi, meet—what did you say your name was?”
“Daniel Joseph.”
The man who stepped into the open jambs was so tall and so broad, he was like a living, breathing door: He blocked out all light and made it impossible for anyone to come or go.
As Lydia’s eyes traveled up, up, up, she saw jeans that did little to hide muscled thighs, and a worn flannel shirt that had been freshly pressed, and a set of shoulders …
That made someone think things that should never be part of any job interview.
“Should I come in?” he said in that deep, smooth voice.
The chuckle Candy let out drifted off as the woman left.
The man’s face was a double-take and a half, his features put together in such a way that you couldn’t help but drink them in, everything balanced, symmetrical, powerful. Sensual, too, thanks to that mouth. And of course, his dark hair was on the long side of a short cut, the ends brushing his neck, and pushed back off his forehead, and curling, thick and shiny, over his ears.
“Or do we go somewhere else?” he asked.
Oh, I’ve gone somewhere, Lydia thought. And it’s going to get me in trouble with HR.
As she considered all the internal policies she was breaking—and weren’t there some federal laws, too?—she decided that she really should have just rolled over and gone back to sleep when her alarm went off at five a.m. Really and truly.
But thank God for Candy’s coffee.
I—AH, NO.” Lydia stood up and extended her hand over the desk. “I mean, please come in. And meet you. Meet me. Please to.”
Oh, FFS.
“Thanks,” the man said.
It took him two strides to get to her, and his arm was so long, he didn’t have to bend at the waist to take her palm. His grip was firm and strong, and the contact lasted a second and a half, maybe two—yet the warmth lingered as they both sat down. At least for her—
Well. What do you know. She’d never realized that chair on the far side of her desk was dollhouse-sized.
She grabbed her mug and decided Candy was right. She didn’t need the caffeine for sure, but the coffee gave her something to do with her itchy hands.
“So,” she said.
As her mind went blank, she smiled in what felt like a fake way—because it was either that or she giggled: Meeting this man in the eyes created a sixteen-year-old vortex, sucking her back to Justin Bieber crushes and that kid in her math class … what was his name?
“Isaac Silverstein.”
“What?” the man across from her said.
Crap. “I apologize. I’m just making a mental note to call—it doesn’t matter.”