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would start tomorrow, she thought, closing her eyes, succumbing to her
weariness and letting all of her heavy armor drop from her for a moment. She
felt the helpless fascination creep in and take her over, and then curled up on
the couch with the memory of his devastating smile raging through her like a
wildfire she could not bring herself to put out.
                 Not
yet. Not tonight.
     

  CHAPTER THREE

 
                 “I’VE
remembered you,” Lucas announced, swaggering into her office like a conquering
hero, his smile far too bright and much too wicked as it played over his mouth.
“It came to me over the weekend.”
                 It
was Monday morning, nearing eleven o’clock, and Grace was not feeling at all
charitably inclined toward her new team member. She sat back in her desk chair
and regarded him stonily.
                 It
did not matter in the least that he looked even more delicious this morning, in
yet another absurd, catwalk-ready sort of suit that made him seem like a sleek,
wild, green-eyed jaguar set down among a fleet of tamed and corpulent house
cats. His dark hair was still too long for civility—and the office—and stood
about in what she imagined were spikes as carefully managed as his wardrobe.
His perfect male form was still showcased to mouthwatering effect, his muscled
shoulders and lean hips lovingly defined, his torso a work of art in dark wool.
His beauty was still far greater, far more masculine and disturbing, than one
would suspect from having seen him in photographs.
                 His
bruises had faded considerably, she could not help but notice. His dizzying
appeal had not.
                 Happily,
she told herself with some internal rigor, her moment of weakness had passed.
There was no genetic defect, no predisposition. Lucas Wolfe was nothing more
than the human version of a well-known painting, widely regarded as beautiful
in the extreme—even a masterpiece. One could appreciate such a painting the way
one appreciated all forms of beauty. Lucas Wolfe was a curiosity to be admired,
and then ignored.
                 “Mr.
Wolfe,” she said now, smiling perfunctorily. “I understand that this may be a
new experience for you, and I’ll try to be sensitive to that, but I think you’ll
find the team is expected to make it into the office at nine o’clock sharp each
morning, not at eleven. Even you, I’m afraid.”
                 “At
Samantha’s party,” he continued, unperturbed. Quite as if she had not spoken,
much less reprimanded him. “It was when I went to get the drinks, wasn’t it?
You were standing by the bar.” His dark brows rose in challenge, and something
else she told herself she did not wish to explore, even as it slid intimately
along her skin, kicking up goose bumps. “I knew I recognized you.”
                 “I’m
afraid I can’t remember,” Grace said, lying coolly and without a single shred
of remorse.
                 “Of
course you do,” he said, with that easy confidence and a knowing gleam in his
bright eyes that arrowed directly into Grace’s sex, making her knees feel weak
even as she felt herself soften. For him .
Her heart jumped in her chest. She was entirely too grateful that she happened
to be sitting down. He was lethal.
                 And impersonal , she reminded herself
sharply, crossing her legs beneath her desk. You could be a random shopgirl. A bus driver. The bus itself. He has
chemistry with the very air around him—he can’t help it .
                 “Mr.
Wolfe, really,” she said, frowning at him. “This project is doomed to failure
if you cannot respect the most basic rules of the workplace. Allow me to give
you a refresher course.”
                 “Less
a refresher course, and more an introduction,” he amended, with a careless
shrug and no visible sign that he was at all