Once Touched, Never Forgotten - By Natasha Tate Page 0,9
they scolded with shocked gasps of titillation. “What if he hears you? He’s our new boss!”
The pretty coed didn’t even blush. “So? I’d be happy to trade in my position for one that’s a little more … unprofessional with a man who looks like that. Wouldn’t you?”
Colette ducked her head, feeling her own face heat. She’d thought the same thing when she wasn’t much older than these girls. And she’d paid the price for her foolishness.
If she were a better person, she’d warn the girls away from him before they got hurt.
But they wouldn’t listen. Why would they? She certainly hadn’t.
She’d nearly reached the exit when the gossip around her decreased in volume. An air of expectancy rushed to fill the silence and the fine hairs on Colette’s arms rose.
“Miss Huntington,” Stephen called. The edge of command carried the same immutable force of will as it had five years ago. “A moment, please.”
Stumbling forward as if she hadn’t heard, she continued toward the door without glancing back.
The shock of Stephen’s warm fingers at her elbow, recognizable even after all this time, sent a shiver of awareness coursing through her veins. Awareness she couldn’t afford to feel, yet felt all the same.
“Miss Huntington,” he repeated, more sharply this time.
Fear, hot and sharp and irrational, leaked from her lungs into her muscles and nerves and skin. Fighting the fear, she lifted her chin and turned to face him as if his touch impacted her not at all. “I’m sorry?”
His eyes narrowed, whether in amusement or anger she couldn’t tell. “I wish to speak with you.”
Feigning surprise, she lifted both brows. “Now?”
A wintry smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes revealed a flash of white teeth. “Yes.”
She felt the weight of her coworkers’ regard, sensed the murmur of gossip they’d leave in their wake. “Why?”
“Perhaps we should adjourn to my new office to discuss it.”
Panic raced down her spine, but she forced a bland note of polite courtesy to her voice. “I’d be happy to oblige you any other day, Mr. Whitfield. Today, however, I have a prior commitment.”
Her curious colleagues stalled in their mass exodus, their ears and eyes trained on the merest hint of scandal involving their new boss. Stephen raised his gaze to his nosy employees, his expression exuding an unmistakable authority. “Is there a problem?” he intoned, and the subtext of his words couldn’t have been more clear.
Dismissed with nothing more than a polite question, her coworkers jumped as if they’d been jolted with a cattle prod. Within seconds the double doors of the conference room had clicked closed and Stephen and she were plunged into muffled silence. The pulse rushing in her ears formed the only sound, her serrated breath its only counterpoint.
CHAPTER THREE
STEPHEN’S nostrils flared, though his smile remained fixed in place. “Now, what was it you were saying about a previous commitment?”
Colette swallowed nervously and avoided his eyes. “I said I couldn’t stay today. I have an appointment.”
Still tall and broad, he wore his power as easily as his designer suit. The inscrutable expression he wore possessed the same seductive persuasiveness it always had. “Cancel it.”
“I can’t.”
“Of course you can. Anything can be rescheduled.”
“True,” she improvised, unwilling to renege on her promise to Emma. “But I’d prefer not to.”
When he didn’t respond, she raised her eyes to his, only to find his blue gaze glinting with challenge. “Is this really how you wish to play it?”
She felt her neck tighten defensively. “Play it?”
“Colette,” he scolded with a patronizing smile. “You know me. I know you. And you’re far too intelligent to think I’m interested in these games.”
Up close, he was even more beautiful than she remembered. Except, like a faded photograph that had been brought out into the light too many times, her memory of him was softer. More gentle. Now he looked inaccessible in a way he hadn’t before. Strong, remote and polished. He made her wonder if any of his grim smiles ever contained the warmth of her memories.
“It’s not a game. This is my only day off, and my schedule is impossibly tight.” She made a show of checking her watch. “I’m late as it is.”
“Then meet me after you’re done.” The quiet command, delivered in a low, dangerous hum, resonated through her body, reminding her of the way he’d dismantled every barrier she’d ever thrown up. No wall, no door would ever keep Stephen Whitfield out. Once he saw something he wanted, he went after it with a single minded purpose no