his.... She couldn’t even think, damn him.
With a deep breath, she stepped across the threshold, averting her gaze from the devilish gleam in his golden eyes. Gazing down at the expensive oriental carpet, she started to check her boots for mud but decided he deserved a muddy rug for what he’d done.
“Shall I leave the door open?” he asked.
Emma turned to face him, her heart catching in her throat. She hadn’t realized she’d stopped so close to him, so close the power of his virility overwhelmed her.
Somehow he’d seemed larger out in the open, bulkier. In fact, he was lean, his muscles long and smooth.
His tousled hair made him look younger, as did his relaxed features. Perhaps it was the dim lighting that softened the lines of his angular face. Whatever the cause, the result was a rakish beauty that stole the anger from her heart and rendered her incapable of responding for an instant.
Suspenders disappeared over his broad shoulders and held the dark gray trousers that hugged his lean hips and strong thighs. She tried to swallow, but her mouth had gone dry.
Emma shrugged in a feeble attempt to appear calm, hoping he couldn’t see the rapid rise and fall of her breathing. “Suit yourself,” she managed to say.
Reece laughed and stepped away from the door, leaving it open. She had moved as far into the room as she dared. The thought of him standing between her and the door unsettled her, though she couldn’t say why. Despite the amusement he was enjoying at her expense right now, he had always behaved like a gentleman, at least on the surface.
“Please sit down,” he said, indicating a straight-backed chair beside the desk.
“I’d rather stand,” she said, struggling in vain to ignore his magnetism. There was a certain comfort in standing, as if she hadn’t committed herself to being here yet. She could still leave, run away.
“Very well,” he replied, moving to the sideboard she hadn’t noticed before. “May I offer you a drink?”
His flawless etiquette clashed with the shabbiness of his room. He acted as if they were in the drawing room of a grand house like the huge columned mansion in the painting that hung over his desk instead of a stark room in a muddy mining town.
With an effort, Emma reminded herself of the danger lurking under his polished surface. It radiated from him like heat from an open fire. She needed to say what she had come here to say and leave as quickly as possible.
“No, I don’t want a drink!" she snapped, resurrecting some of the anger that had brought her here. It had evaporated like early morning fog in the heat of the sun the minute he’d opened the door.
“Do you mind?” he asked, indicating the bottle in his hand.
“Always the consummate gentleman, aren’t you?” she said, crossing her arms over her chest.
She watched his hands, so strong, so sure, as he uncorked a bottle and poured whiskey into a glass. And she couldn’t help wondering what it would feel like to be touched, caressed by those hands. Shocked by her own thoughts, she averted her gaze with an inaudible gasp.
“Well, this place may be rough and uncivilized, but I try to maintain a degree of refinement. I prefer to change the environment to suit me rather than allowing the environment to change me." He turned to face her, leaning back against the sideboard as he turned the glass up and drank. “But I do not believe you came here to discuss my social skills.”
“You bought all the newspapers." Her accusation lacked the vehemence she wanted to convey as she fought for calm, fought against the dark attraction she always felt in his presence.
A shrewd smile touched the corner of his mouth and lightened his eyes. Not only was he not remorseful over his actions or embarrassed that he’d been found out, he seemed proud of what he’d done.
“I suppose Ralphy told you. That boy is incapable of keeping anything to himself." He gestured toward her with his glass, cocking his head
With a deep breath, she stepped across the threshold, averting her gaze from the devilish gleam in his golden eyes. Gazing down at the expensive oriental carpet, she started to check her boots for mud but decided he deserved a muddy rug for what he’d done.
“Shall I leave the door open?” he asked.
Emma turned to face him, her heart catching in her throat. She hadn’t realized she’d stopped so close to him, so close the power of his virility overwhelmed her.
Somehow he’d seemed larger out in the open, bulkier. In fact, he was lean, his muscles long and smooth.
His tousled hair made him look younger, as did his relaxed features. Perhaps it was the dim lighting that softened the lines of his angular face. Whatever the cause, the result was a rakish beauty that stole the anger from her heart and rendered her incapable of responding for an instant.
Suspenders disappeared over his broad shoulders and held the dark gray trousers that hugged his lean hips and strong thighs. She tried to swallow, but her mouth had gone dry.
Emma shrugged in a feeble attempt to appear calm, hoping he couldn’t see the rapid rise and fall of her breathing. “Suit yourself,” she managed to say.
Reece laughed and stepped away from the door, leaving it open. She had moved as far into the room as she dared. The thought of him standing between her and the door unsettled her, though she couldn’t say why. Despite the amusement he was enjoying at her expense right now, he had always behaved like a gentleman, at least on the surface.
“Please sit down,” he said, indicating a straight-backed chair beside the desk.
“I’d rather stand,” she said, struggling in vain to ignore his magnetism. There was a certain comfort in standing, as if she hadn’t committed herself to being here yet. She could still leave, run away.
“Very well,” he replied, moving to the sideboard she hadn’t noticed before. “May I offer you a drink?”
His flawless etiquette clashed with the shabbiness of his room. He acted as if they were in the drawing room of a grand house like the huge columned mansion in the painting that hung over his desk instead of a stark room in a muddy mining town.
With an effort, Emma reminded herself of the danger lurking under his polished surface. It radiated from him like heat from an open fire. She needed to say what she had come here to say and leave as quickly as possible.
“No, I don’t want a drink!" she snapped, resurrecting some of the anger that had brought her here. It had evaporated like early morning fog in the heat of the sun the minute he’d opened the door.
“Do you mind?” he asked, indicating the bottle in his hand.
“Always the consummate gentleman, aren’t you?” she said, crossing her arms over her chest.
She watched his hands, so strong, so sure, as he uncorked a bottle and poured whiskey into a glass. And she couldn’t help wondering what it would feel like to be touched, caressed by those hands. Shocked by her own thoughts, she averted her gaze with an inaudible gasp.
“Well, this place may be rough and uncivilized, but I try to maintain a degree of refinement. I prefer to change the environment to suit me rather than allowing the environment to change me." He turned to face her, leaning back against the sideboard as he turned the glass up and drank. “But I do not believe you came here to discuss my social skills.”
“You bought all the newspapers." Her accusation lacked the vehemence she wanted to convey as she fought for calm, fought against the dark attraction she always felt in his presence.
A shrewd smile touched the corner of his mouth and lightened his eyes. Not only was he not remorseful over his actions or embarrassed that he’d been found out, he seemed proud of what he’d done.
“I suppose Ralphy told you. That boy is incapable of keeping anything to himself." He gestured toward her with his glass, cocking his head
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