Lovers In The Afternoon

Lovers in the Afternoon
Carole Mortimer

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

WHAT was this man doing in her bed!

Dear God, it wasn’t even her bed but his, she remembered now. She had been introduced to him at his office only that afternoon, and five hours later here she was in his bed!

She looked down at the man sleeping so peacefully at her side, one strong arm flung back across the pillow as he lay on his back, dark hair silvered with grey, all of his body deeply tanned, from a holiday he had taken in Acapulco he had told her over dinner. And she was well aware of the beauty of all that body, had touched every inch of it, from the broad shoulders, muscled chest with its covering of brown-grey hair, taut fiat waist, powerfully built thighs, down long supple legs. The black silk sheet was pushed back to his waist now to reveal the strength of his chest and arms, the thick dark hair disappearing in a vee past his navel and down.

Her gaze returned quickly to his face. It was a strong, powerful face even in sleep, a wide intelligent forehead, widely defined eyebrows, beneath the long-lashed lids were eyes of a piercing grey, a long straight nose, firm uncompromising mouth, and a jaw that was firm as he slept. He was one of the most attractive men she had ever seen, or was ever likely to see, and she had spent most of the evening here in this bed with him, the first man to make love to her since her separation from her husband eight months ago.

But why did it have to be Adam Faulkner, rich industrialist, sixteen years her senior at thirty-nine, and her most recent client with the interior designing company she worked for!

She had gone to work so innocently this morning, had got out of bed at her usual seven-thirty, fed the fish and cat, warned the cat not to eat the fish while she was out all day, got her usual breakfast of dry toast and black coffee, both of which she consumed on her way to the shower as she usually did, applied the light make-up to her heart-shaped face and ever-sparkling green eyes, styled her feathered red-brown hair into its usual mass of uncontrolled lengths to her shoulders before donning the tailored blue suit and lighter blue blouse that made her hair look more red than brown, the white camisole beneath the blouse clearly the only covering to her unconfined breasts.

She had gone down to the underground car-park to her delapidated VW, sworn at it for the usual ten minutes before it deigned to start. She had then emerged out into the usual helter-skelter of traffic that was London in the rush-hour, dodging the other seasoned drivers as she drove to her office at Stevenson Interiors, cursing the fact that she needed to take the car at all, but the reliable London underground system went nowhere near her flat or the office. Yes, it had been a pretty usual day up to that point in time.

Her breathless entrance on to the sixth floor that housed the employees of Stevenson Interiors, after being stuck in the lift for fifteen minutes was also usual; the lift broke down at least once a week, and Leonie was usually in it when it did. It would have been unusual if she weren’t!

‘The lift again?’ Betty, the young, attractive receptionist, asked ruefully.

‘Yes,’ her sigh was resigned. ‘One of these days I’m going to fool it and take the stairs.’

‘All twelve flights?’ Betty’s eyes widened.

Leonie grimaced, running controlling fingers through her flyaway hair. ‘That would be a little drastic, wouldn’t it?’ she conceded wryly.

Betty handed her her messages. ‘In your state of physical unfitness it could be suicide!’

‘Thanks!’ She skimmed through the pieces of paper she had been given, dismissing all of them as unimportant before pushing them into her navy blue clutch-bag. ‘What’s on the agenda for today?’ she looked at Betty with her usual open expression.

‘The staff meeting at nine o’clock?’

‘Nine——! Oh Lord,’ Leonie groaned, already fifteen minutes late for the meeting David had warned all employees not to be late for. ‘Maybe if I just crept into the back of the room…?’ she said hopefully.

‘David would notice you if you crept in on your hands and knees and stood hidden for the whole meeting,’ Betty told her derisively.

The other woman was right, of course. David had picked her out for his individual attention from the moment he had employed her six months ago, and although she occasionally agreed to have dinner with him she made sure it was only occasionally, not wanting any serious involvement, even if David was one of the nicest men she had ever known. An unsuccessful marriage had a way of souring you to the idea of another permanent relationship. Besides, David had little patience with the way things just seemed to happen to her, believing she should be able to have some control over the accidents that just seemed to occur whenever she was around. She remembered another man, her husband, who had also found these accidents irritating, and she didn’t need that criticism in her life a second time. She could handle these ‘incidents’ left to her own devices, she didn’t need some man, no matter how nice he was, constantly criticising her.

‘I’ll creep in anyway.’ She narrowly missed walking into the pot-plant that seemed to be following her about the room. ‘What do you feed this on?’ She looked up at the huge tree-like plant in horror. ‘It’s taking over reception, if not the world!’

‘A little love and conversation do seem to have done the trick,’ Betty acknowledged proudly. ‘Now shouldn’t you be getting to the staff meeting?’

David’s office was crowded to capacity as she squeezed into the back of the room, but nevertheless his reproachful gaze spotted her instantly, although he didn’t falter in his flow of how well the company was doing, of how good new contracts were coming their way every day.

Leonie yawned boredly, wishing she had been stuck in the lift even longer than she had been, receiving another censorious glare from David as she did, plastering a look of interest on to her face that she had perfected during her marriage, while her thoughts wandered to the Harrison lounge she had just completed, as pleased with the result as the elderly couple had been. She always felt a sense of immense satisfaction whenever she completed a job, knew she was good at what she did, that she was at last a success at something. Although some people would have her believe differently.

‘Leonie, did you hear me?’

She looked up with a start at David’s impatiently spoken question, blushing guiltily as she realised she was the cynosure of all eyes. ‘Er——’

‘Steady,’ Gary warned as he stood at her side, deftly catching the papers she had knocked off the top of the filing cabinet as she jumped guiltily, grateful to the man who had taken her under his experienced wing from the day she came to work here.

Her blush deepened at the sympathetic ripple of laughter that filled the room; everyone knew of her habit of knocking and walking into things. ‘Of course I heard you, David,’ she answered awkwardly, her gaze guilelessly innocent as she looked at him steadily.

‘Then you don’t mind staying for a few minutes after the others have gone back to their offices?’ he took pity on her, knowing very well that she hadn’t been listening to a word he said.

‘Er—no, of course not,’ she replaced the papers on the filing cabinet that Gary had caught for her, wondering what she was guilty of now, feeling like the disobedient child that had been asked to stay in after school. It couldn’t be her lack of attention to what was being said that was at fault, she never did that anyway, and David knew it.

She moved to sit on the edge of his desk as the others filed out to go back to work. ‘Good meeting, David,’ she complimented brightly.

‘And how would you know one way or the other?’ he sighed, looking up at her, a tall loose-limbed man with wild blond hair that refused to be tamed despite being kept cut close to his head, the rest of his appearance neat to precision point. He was only twenty-eight, had built his interior designing business up from a two-room, three-man operation to the point where he had a dozen people working for him. And Leonie knew she was lucky to be one of them, that Stevenson Interiors was one of the most successful businesses in its field, and that it was all due to David’s drive and initiative.

She grimaced. ‘Would it help if I were to say I’m sorry?’ she cajoled.

‘You always are,’ David said without rancour. ‘I wanted to talk to you about Thompson Electronics.’

A frown marred her creamy brow. ‘Has something gone wrong? I thought they were pleased with the work I did for them. I don’t understand——’

‘Calm down, Leonie,’ he ordered impatiently at her impassioned outburst. ‘They were pleased, they are pleased, which is why the new President of the company wants you to personally design the decor for his own office suit.’

‘He does?’ she gasped.

‘Don’t look so surprised,’ David mocked. ‘It was a good piece of work. Even I would never have thought of using that particular shade of pink—indeed any shade of pink, in a group of offices.’

‘It was the brown that off-set the femininity of it. You see I had——’

‘You don’t have to convince me of anything, Leonie,’ he drawled. ‘Or them either. You just have to get yourself over there at four o’clock this afternoon to discuss the details.’

She was still relatively new at her job, and tried to make every design she did a work of art, something personal; she was more than pleased to know that someone else had seen and appreciated some of her completed work enough to ask for her personally. It was the first time it had happened.

‘Mrs Carlson will be expecting you,’ David continued. ‘She phoned and made the appointment first thing this morning. And she’ll introduce you to the President then.’

‘Ronald Reagan?’

He gave a patiently humouring sigh. ‘Where do you get your sense of humour from?

She grinned at him. ‘It’s what keeps my world going.’

David frowned at the underlying seriousness beneath her words. Except for the friendly, and often loony facade she presented to everyone here, he knew little about the real Leonie Grant. Her employee’s file said she had been married but was now separated from her husband, but she never spoke of the marriage or the man she had been married to, her openness often seeming to hide a wealth of pain and disillusionment.

But it never showed, and Leonie found as much humour in her clumsiness as everyone else did, able to laugh at herself and the things that happened to her.

His mouth quirked into a smile. ‘I have to admit that when Mrs Carlson said the President would expect you at four o’clock the same thought crossed my mind!’

‘Naughty, David,’ she shook her head reprovingly, her eyes glowing deeply green.

For a moment they shared a smile of mutual humour, and then David shook his head ruefully. ‘Try not to be late for the meeting,’ he advised. ‘From the way Mrs Carlson was acting he sounds pretty awesome.’

Leonie grimaced. ‘Are you sure you want to send me, I could walk in, trip over a matchstick, and end up sliding across his desk into his lap!’

‘He asked for you specifically.’ But David frowned as he mentally envisaged the scene she had just described. ‘I’ll take the risk,’ he said without enthusiasm.

‘Sure?’

‘No,’ he answered with complete honesty. ‘But short of lying to the man I don’t know what else I can do. Just try not to be late,’ he warned again.

And she did try, she tried very hard, but it seemed the fates were against her from the start. She caught her tights on the door as she got into her VW, drove around for another ten minutes trying to find somewhere to park so she could buy some new ones, getting back to the car just in time to personally accept her parking ticket from the traffic warden, making a mad dash to find somewhere to change her tights, laddering that pair too in her haste, although it was high enough up her leg not to show. By this time she in no way resembled the coolly smart young woman who had left Stevenson Interiors in plenty of time to reach Thompson Electronics by four o’clock. It was already five to four, and she was hot and sticky from her exertions with the tights, her make-up needing some repair, her hair having lost its glowing bounce in the heat of the day. She was already going to be a few minutes late; taking time to refresh her make-up and brush her hair wasn’t going to make that much difference now.

It was ten minutes past four when she entered the Thompson building, her slim briefcase in her hand, and except for the fact that she was late, looking like a self-contained young executive. Ten minutes wasn’t so bad, she could blame that on the traffic. She certainly didn’t intend going into the story of the ripped tights as her excuse, or the parking ticket either! It was——

Oh no, she just didn’t believe this, it couldn’t be happening to her! But she knew that it was as the smooth-running lift made a terrible grinding noise and shuddered to a halt somewhere between the eighth and ninth floors. She was stuck in a lift for the second time that day! And as usual she was alone. She was always alone when the damned things broke down, never had anyone to help calm the panic that she felt. This was a large lift, not like the one at Stevenson Interiors, but she would still rather be on the other side of those steel doors. Oh well, at least the floor was carpeted if she had to spend any amount of time here, so she could be comfortable. But it wasn’t likely that she would be here for long, this was a big and busy building, someone was sure to realise sooner or later that one of the lifts was stuck between floors. And she hoped it was sooner!

She sank to the floor after pressing the emergency button, knowing from experience that people rarely took notice of that bell. God, what a day it had been, worse than her usual string of mishaps. If she didn’t know better she would think——But no, she wouldn’t even think about him. God, this was a hell of a place to start thinking of the disastrous effect her husband had had on her, his disapproval of almost everything she did making her more nervous, and consequently more klutzy, than ever.

She determinedly opened her briefcase, going through the fabric book she had brought with her, wondering what sort of colour scheme the President of the company would favour. She had thought of a few ideas, but basically she just wanted to hear what his tastes were.

She became so engrossed in matching paints and fabrics, the books strewn over the floor, that for some time she managed to forget she was marooned in a lift eight-and-a-half floors up. It was almost five-thirty when she heard the sound of banging from above, a voice that sounded strangely hollow calling down that the lift would be working shortly.

Leonie stood up, her legs stiff from where she had been sitting on the floor for over an hour, losing her balance as the lift began moving almost immediately, jerking for several feet before moving smoothly, Leonie flung about in the confined space, falling to the ground in a sprawled heap as it shuddered to a halt and the door miraculously creaked slowly open.

The first thing Leonie saw from her floor-level view was a pair of well-shod feet, the man’s black shoes made of a soft leather, a meticulous crease down the centre of the grey trouser legs. Before she could raise her gaze any further Mrs Carlson was rushing into the lift to help her to her feet, the black shoes and grey-covered legs turning away.

‘Bring her into my office as soon as you’ve helped her tidy up,’ ordered a curt male voice.

Leonie turned sharply to look at the man as the other woman fussed around her, but all she saw was the back of the man’s head as he entered a room at the end of the corridor.

‘Have you been in here long?’ The middle-aged woman helped her pick up her sample books from the floor, a tall capable woman who had been secretary to the last President of the company for over twenty years. Leonie had met her when she worked here last, and although the other woman tried to be distant and authoritative, her warm brown eyes belied the role.

Leonie liked the other woman, but she wasn’t sure she liked anyone seeing her sprawled on the floor in that undignified way. ‘An hour or so,’ she dismissed distractedly, pushing the books into her briefcase, anxious to get out of the lift.

Stella Carlson followed her out into the corridor. ‘In all the years I’ve worked here I’ve never known any of the lifts break down before,’ she shook her head.

Leonie grimaced, brushing her skirt down. ‘I have a strange effect on lifts.’

‘Really?’ the other woman frowned. ‘Well as long as you’re all right now…?’

‘Fine,’ she nodded dismissively. ‘I’m too late for my meeting, so perhaps you could explain the reason for my delay to your boss and I could make another appointment for tomorrow?’

‘Didn’t you hear, you’re to go in as soon as you feel able to.’

She thought of the man with the black shoes and grey trousers. ‘That was the new President of the company?’ she dreaded the answer, although she knew what it was going to be.

‘Yes,’ Mrs Carlson confirmed.

Oh David, Leonie mentally groaned, I didn’t trip and slide across his desk into his lap, but I did lie sprawled at his feet on the floor of a lift that never broke down! David would never understand, things like this just didn’t happen to him. They didn’t happen to any normal person!

‘Now seems as good a time as any,’ she said dully, knowing her dignity was past redemption. ‘I’m sure I’ve delayed you long enough already.’

‘Not at all,’ the other woman assured her as they walked side by side down the corridor. ‘Things have been a little—hectic, here the last few weeks.’

The new boss was obviously giving the employees a shake-up, Leonie thought ruefully, her humour leaving her as she realised she would probably be in for the same treatment. After all, if she hadn’t been ten minutes late in the first place she wouldn’t have been in the lift when it broke down. Or would she? As she had told Mrs Carlson, she had a strange effect on lifts. She had a strange effect on most inanimate objects, things just seemed to happen to them whenever she was around.

She smoothed her skirt down as Mrs Carlson knocked on the office door, unaware of the fact that her hair was sadly in need of brushing after her fall, that the fullness of her mouth was bare of lipgloss where she had chewed on her lips as she looked through the sample books. Not that she would have worried too much about it if she had known; she couldn’t possibly make a worse impression than she had as she grovelled about the lift floor!

Mrs Carlson opened the door after the terse instruction from within for them to enter. ‘Miss Grant, sir,’ she introduced quietly.

Leonie stared at the man seated behind the desk, the man that belonged to the black shoes and grey legs, the rest of the dark grey suit as impressive, the waistcoat taut across his flat stomach, the tailored material of the jacket stretched across widely powerful shoulders, the white shirt beneath the suit making his skin look very dark.

But it was his face that held her attention, a harshly attractive face, his chin firm and square, the sensuality of his mouth firmly controlled, his nose long and straight, ice-grey eyes narrowed on her beneath darkly jutting brows, silver threading the darkness of his hair at his temples and over his ears. Anyone who was in the least familiar with the businessworld would recognise Adam Faulkner from his photographs in the newspapers, one of the most successful—and richest—men in England today. He was also——

‘Miss Grant,’ he stood up in fluid movements, the coldness instantly gone from his eyes, his voice warm and friendly, his hand enveloping hers in a grip that was pleasantly warm, not too firm and not too loose; the exactly right handshake for a businessman to instil confidence in the person he was dealing with.

But why he should waste his time on such a gesture with her was beyond her, she was——

‘I hope your unfortunate delay in our lift hasn’t disturbed you too much,’ he continued smoothly, releasing her hand slowly, leaving the imprint of his touch against her flesh.

Leonie was stunned at his obvious concern. ‘I—I have that effect on lifts,’ she mumbled the same lame excuse she had given Mrs Carlson, conscious of the other woman still standing in the room with them.

Dark brows rose questioningly. ‘That sort of thing happens to you often?’

Colour heightened her cheeks. ‘Yes,’ she bit out. ‘Look, I don’t think——’

‘Don’t worry, I’m not expecting you to conduct our business meeting after your ordeal in the lift,’ he assured her. ‘I suggest we make another appointment for tomorrow,’ he looked at Mrs Carlson for confirmation. ‘Some time in the afternoon,’ he instructed as she left the room to consult his appointment book.

‘Please, I——’

‘Please sit down, Miss Grant,’ Adam Faulkner instructed when he saw how pale she had become. ‘Let me get you a drink. Would you like tea or coffee, or perhaps something stronger?’ He pressed a button on his desk to reveal an extensive array of drinks in the cabinet situated behind Leonie.

Leonie just kept staring at him, too numb to even answer.

‘Something stronger, I think,’ he nodded derisively at her lack of response, striding across the room to pour her some whisky into a glass. ‘Drink it down,’ he instructed her firmly as she made no effort to take the glass from his lean fingers.

She took the glass, swallowing without tasting, reaction definitely setting in.

Adam Faulkner moved to sit on the edge of his desk in front of her, dangerously close, the warmth of his maleness seeming to reach out and engulf her. ‘Terrible experience, getting caught in a stationary lift.’ He took the empty glass from her unresisting fingers, seeming satisfied that she had drunk it as instructed. ‘I’ve been caught in several myself in the past,’ he added dryly. ‘Although not lately.’

‘It’s my second time today,’ Leonie mumbled dully, feeling the alcohol in her bloodsteam, remembering too late that she hadn’t had any lunch, that the piece of dry toast she had eaten for breakfast wasn’t enough to stop the effect the whisky was having on her. That was all she needed to complete her day, to be roaring drunk in front of this man! ‘The one at work has always been unreliable,’ she added in defence of her clumsiness in getting stuck in two lifts that had broken down.

‘Maybe you have too much electricity in your body,’ Adam Faulkner suggested softly. ‘And it has an adverse effect on other electrical things.’

She looked up at him sharply, and then wished she hadn’t as a wave of dizziness swept over her. She was going to get up out of this chair to make a dignified exit and fall fiat on her face, just to prove what an idiot she was! If this man weren’t already aware of that!

‘Maybe,’ she nodded, swallowing in an effort to clear her head, having a terrible urge to start giggling. In one part of her brain she could logically reason that she had little to giggle about, and in another she just wanted to start laughing and never stop. There was so much about this situation that was funny.

‘Miss Grant?’

She frowned up at him. ‘Why do you keep calling me that?’

He shrugged. ‘It’s your name, isn’t it?’

‘Leonie Grant, yes,’ she nodded in exaggerated movements. ‘I—Hic. I—Hic. Oh no,’ she groaned her humiliation as her loud hiccups filled the room. She really was making a fool out of herself—more so than usual, if that were possible! She should never have got out of bed today, should have buried her head beneath the bedclothes and stayed there until fate decided to be kind to her again. If it ever did, she groaned as she hiccuped again.

‘Maybe the whisky was a bad idea,’ Adam said in amusement, going over to the bar to pour her a glass of water.

Leonie gave him a look that spoke volumes before swallowing the water, almost choking as a hiccup caught her mid-swallow, spitting water everywhere, including over one black leather shoe as Adam Faulkner’s leg swung in front of her as he once again sat on the edge of his desk. ‘Oh dear,’ she began to mop at the shoe with a tissue from her bag, becoming even more agitated when several pieces of the tissue stuck to the wet surface.

She closed her eyes, wishing the scene would evaporate, that she would find it had all been a bad dream. But when she opened her eyes again the black shoe dotted with delicate yellow tissue was still there, and the man wearing the shoe was beginning to chuckle. Leonie looked up at him dazedly, liking the warmth in his eyes, the way they crinkled at the corners as he laughed, a dimple appearing in one lean cheek, his teeth very white and even against his tanned skin.

Mrs Carlson entered the room after the briefest knock, breaking the moment of intimacy. ‘I’ve checked your appointment book, Mr Faulkner, and you’re free at twelve o’clock or three o’clock.’

‘Twelve o’clock, I think,’ he still smiled. ‘Then Miss Grant and I can go out to lunch afterwards.’

‘Oh but I——’

‘Book a table, would you? He cut across Leonie’s protest, smiling at his secretary, much to her obvious surprise. ‘My usual place. And you may as well leave for the evening now, Miss Grant and I are just going to dinner.’

‘Er—yes, Mr Faulkner.’ The older woman gave Leonie a curious look, seeming to give a mental shrug before leaving the room.

‘She’s wondering why you could possibly want to take me to dinner,’ Leonie sighed, wondering the same thing herself. But at least the suggestion had stopped her hiccups!

Adam stood up after dusting the tissue from his shoe. ‘It’s the least I can do after your ordeal in the lift.’

‘But that was my fault——’

‘Nonsense,’ he humoured.

Leonie blinked at the determination in his face. ‘Why should you want to take me out to dinner?’

‘Miss Grant——’

‘Will you stop calling me that!’

‘Would you prefer Leonie?’ he queried softly, locking his desk drawers and picking up his briefcase in preparation for leaving for the evening.

‘Yes,’ she snapped.

‘Then you must call me Adam,’ he invited huskily.

‘I’m well aware of your name,’ she bit out impatiently. The whisky may have gone to her head but she wasn’t that drunk! And she had no idea why this man should want to take her out to dinner, they——

‘Then please use it,’ he urged, as his hand on her elbow brought her to her feet.

Leonie swayed slightly, falling against him, flinching away from the hard warmth of his body. ‘Please, I don’t want to go out to dinner,’ she protested as he propelled her from the room at his side, the top floor of the building strangely in silence, Mrs Carlson having followed his instruction and left for the evening, the other employees having left some time ago.

Adam didn’t release her arm. ‘When did you last eat?’ he asked pointedly as she swayed again.

‘I had some toast for breakfast this morning. I need to diet,’ she defended heatedly as the grey eyes looked her over disapprovingly.

‘You’re too thin,’ he stated bluntly.

‘I’m a size ten,’ she told him proudly.

‘Definitely too thin,’ he repeated arrogantly. ‘I happen to be one of those men who prefers his woman to have some meat on her bones.’

His woman? His woman! Just who did he think he was? ‘I happen to like being thin,’ she told him irritably.

He arched dark brows. ‘Do you also like starving to death?’ he drawled.

It was her weakness for good food that had pushed her up to a size fourteen in the past, and she had no intention of giving in to that weakness again, not when it had taken so much effort to lose the excess weight. ‘I’ll survive,’ she muttered.

‘Will you be okay in the lift now that it’s working properly?’ Adam asked as the lift doors opened to them invitingly.

‘I’ll be fine,’ she dismissed his concern. ‘Although the way today is going so far it could break down on us again,’ she said ruefully.

Adam smiled down at her as they were confined in the lift together. ‘I can’t think of anyone I would rather be stuck in the lift with,’ he said throatily.

Leonie gave him a sharp look, expecting sarcasm but finding only warm invitation in the dark grey eyes. He was flirting with her, actually flirting with her!

‘Pity,’ he drawled as they arrived safely on the ground floor, stepping into the carpeted reception area, nodding to the man on night security, guiding Leonie to the parking area, opening the passenger door of the sporty BMW for her, the top to the pale blue car back in the heat of the day. He took her briefcase from her and threw it in the back with his own before climbing in next to her, starting the engine with a roar. ‘Would you like the top up or down?’ he enquired politely.