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Authors: Kristin Hardy
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âyes.â
âSo why the o-dark-thirty start time?â Dylan asked as the doors opened onto the BRS lobby.
Max strode out of the elevator car and into the short passage that led from the lobby to the main office floor. âYouâd be surprised how much work you can get done at this hour. There are fewer distractions. And donât start with any of your games,â she warned as he turned to block her way. âIâve got work to do. Some lunatic got it in his head to completely change all of our floor plans and theyâve got to be re-rendered before the next design review.â
Mischief flickered in his eyes as he raised his hands in the air and leaned in toward her, so close that she could feel the warmth of his breath against her cheek. For an instant, her knees turned to water.
âI guess I wonât play any games, then,â he murmured into her ear.
It would take so little. All she had to do was turn toward him. And she was tempted, God knew she was tempted. It would put to rest the curiosity that had nagged at her for days. It would answer all the questions she had. But it wouldnât be smart. And it wouldnât be safe, sheâd learned that before.
Max gave herself a mental shake and brushed past Dylan. âExcuse me, Iâve got work to do,â she said, pleased that her voice remained steady. Even if sheâd had to work to keep it that way.
Sheâd seen little of him since that day at the medical center, staying at her computer most of the time, working on renderings. Not that she was avoiding him, of course, she was simply focusing on getting the job done. Except she hadnât been doing that very well, either. That breathless moment when heâd lowered his mouth toward hers kept replaying itself over and over again in her head. And she couldnât help but wonder what mightâve happened if she hadnât turned her head.
Always before, Max had been able to see a kiss coming a mile away and decide whether she wanted to let it happen or stop it in its tracks, or even control the situation so that the opportunity never arose. WithDylan, sheâd been so preoccupied with the argument that sheâd found herself caught completely by surprise and unable to stop the kiss until the very last.
And the worst part was that she knew deep down she hadnât wanted to stop it at all.
She glanced over in his direction to find him standing at the door of his office, watching her. Something skittered around in her stomach. She was going to have to be very, very careful with Dylan Reynolds, Max decided as she opened the door of her office. Very careful indeed.
Â
Max had to give Paul Fischer credit, when it came to getting input for the hospital addition, he was nothing if not democratic. The hospital building commit tee included everybody from the chairman of the board on down to orderlies. Nearly two dozen people crowded into the hospitalâs biggest conference room to talk with Dylan and Max about what they wanted from the new wing. They jostled together on the extra chairs that had been crammed in around the table. The temperature in the room kept rising.
Or maybe it just felt that way because the only open chair that had been left for Max was next to Dylan. She had to give him credit, he knew how to impress potential clients. His silver and cobalt-blue tie fell just on the über-hip side of flashy. She would have bet money that the suit was Armani. Before him on the table sat a paper-thin, brushed aluminum laptop. He looked stylish, modern, talented and fiercely competent. And he had them all mesmerized.
If she didnât watch out, Max thought, heâd have her mesmerized, too. She set down her pen, trying to concentrate on what Fischer was saying. Something to drink, she thought, would help. As she picked up her water bottle, the cuff of her jacket caught her Montblanc and sent it spinning off the edge of the table.
Max ducked down
âSo why the o-dark-thirty start time?â Dylan asked as the doors opened onto the BRS lobby.
Max strode out of the elevator car and into the short passage that led from the lobby to the main office floor. âYouâd be surprised how much work you can get done at this hour. There are fewer distractions. And donât start with any of your games,â she warned as he turned to block her way. âIâve got work to do. Some lunatic got it in his head to completely change all of our floor plans and theyâve got to be re-rendered before the next design review.â
Mischief flickered in his eyes as he raised his hands in the air and leaned in toward her, so close that she could feel the warmth of his breath against her cheek. For an instant, her knees turned to water.
âI guess I wonât play any games, then,â he murmured into her ear.
It would take so little. All she had to do was turn toward him. And she was tempted, God knew she was tempted. It would put to rest the curiosity that had nagged at her for days. It would answer all the questions she had. But it wouldnât be smart. And it wouldnât be safe, sheâd learned that before.
Max gave herself a mental shake and brushed past Dylan. âExcuse me, Iâve got work to do,â she said, pleased that her voice remained steady. Even if sheâd had to work to keep it that way.
Sheâd seen little of him since that day at the medical center, staying at her computer most of the time, working on renderings. Not that she was avoiding him, of course, she was simply focusing on getting the job done. Except she hadnât been doing that very well, either. That breathless moment when heâd lowered his mouth toward hers kept replaying itself over and over again in her head. And she couldnât help but wonder what mightâve happened if she hadnât turned her head.
Always before, Max had been able to see a kiss coming a mile away and decide whether she wanted to let it happen or stop it in its tracks, or even control the situation so that the opportunity never arose. WithDylan, sheâd been so preoccupied with the argument that sheâd found herself caught completely by surprise and unable to stop the kiss until the very last.
And the worst part was that she knew deep down she hadnât wanted to stop it at all.
She glanced over in his direction to find him standing at the door of his office, watching her. Something skittered around in her stomach. She was going to have to be very, very careful with Dylan Reynolds, Max decided as she opened the door of her office. Very careful indeed.
Â
Max had to give Paul Fischer credit, when it came to getting input for the hospital addition, he was nothing if not democratic. The hospital building commit tee included everybody from the chairman of the board on down to orderlies. Nearly two dozen people crowded into the hospitalâs biggest conference room to talk with Dylan and Max about what they wanted from the new wing. They jostled together on the extra chairs that had been crammed in around the table. The temperature in the room kept rising.
Or maybe it just felt that way because the only open chair that had been left for Max was next to Dylan. She had to give him credit, he knew how to impress potential clients. His silver and cobalt-blue tie fell just on the über-hip side of flashy. She would have bet money that the suit was Armani. Before him on the table sat a paper-thin, brushed aluminum laptop. He looked stylish, modern, talented and fiercely competent. And he had them all mesmerized.
If she didnât watch out, Max thought, heâd have her mesmerized, too. She set down her pen, trying to concentrate on what Fischer was saying. Something to drink, she thought, would help. As she picked up her water bottle, the cuff of her jacket caught her Montblanc and sent it spinning off the edge of the table.
Max ducked down
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