Bella Bucannon – A Bride For The Brooding Boss (страница 2)

* * *

The dinner dance after a charity Australian Rules football game organised by interstate universities and held here in Adelaide. Limited professional players were allowed and her parents insisted the whole family come over in support when her elder brother agreed to represent Victoria.

The noisy function seemed full of dressed-to-kill young women draped over garrulous muscular males, many of whom twitched and pulled at the collars of their suits. Though only two or three years separated her from most of them, at sixteen it was a chasm of maturity and poise. Unfamiliar with the football scene and jargon, she blushed and stammered when any of them spoke to her.

Escaping from the hot, crowed room, she found a secluded spot outside, at the end of the long balcony. Hidden by tall potted plants, she gazed over the river wishing she were in her hotel room, or home in Melbourne. Or anywhere bar here.

‘Hiding, huh? Don’t like dancing?’

The owner of the throaty voice—too much enthusiastic cheering?—was tall. Close. Much too close. The city lights behind him put his face in shadow.

She stepped back. The self-absorbed young men whose interests were limited to exercise, diet, sport, and the women these pursuits attracted held no appeal for her. Men like her brothers’ friends who teasingly came on to her then laughed off her protests. Never serious or threatening, merely feeding their already inflated egos. Shy and uncomfortable in crowds, with a tendency to blush, she was fair game.

‘I saw you slip out.’ She detected a faint trace of beer on his breath as he spoke. When he took a step nearer, causing her to stiffen, a fresh ocean aroma overrode the alcohol. Not drunk, perhaps a little tipsy.

‘We won, you should be celebrating. You do barrack for South Australia?’ Doubt crept into the last few words, the resonance telling her he’d be more mature, maybe by two or three years, than she was. So why seek her out when there were so many girls his age inside?

‘Y... Yes.’ How could one word be so hard to say? How come her throat dried up, and her pulse raced? And why did she lie when she didn’t care about the game at all?

He leant forward. ‘I did kick two goals even if I missed out on a medal. Surely I deserve a small prize.’

He was like all the others. Her disappointment sharpened her reply.

‘I’m sure you won’t be disappointed inside.’

‘But an elusive prize is much more rewarding, don’t you think?’

Before she could take in air to answer, he gently covered her lips with his.

And she hadn’t been able to take that breath. Hadn’t been able to move. Hadn’t been able to think of anything except the smooth movement of his mouth on hers.

The urge to return the kiss—have him deepen the kiss—had shaken her. Terrified her. The quick kisses from the boys she knew were just being friendly had been gentle, nice. Never emotionally shattering.

Why did she sigh? Why were her lips complying, pressing against his, striving to be in sync? Until the tip of his tongue flicked out seeking entry and she panicked.

Frantically pulling away, she fled past him to the safety of the packed ballroom and a seat behind her parents and other adults in a remote corner. As she drank ice-cold water to wet her dry throat, she realised all she could recall was a glimpse of stunning midnight-blue eyes as his head had jerked back into the light.

* * *

The same midnight-blue eyes that had fleetingly met hers a moment ago.

Why was she so certain? She just knew.

Would he recognise her? He’d had a drink or two and it had been dark. She finally had a reason to be thankful for her mother’s instructions to the hairdresser. Darker colouring with extensions woven into a fancy hairdo on top, plus salon make-up, had altered her appearance dramatically.

She’d been a naive teenager who’d panicked and run from an innocent kiss. He’d been an experienced young man who’d have known scores of willing women since.

Gratitude that she hadn’t seen his face flowed through her veins as she studied the man to whom she’d attributed so many different features over the years in her daydreams. If, along with those memorable eyes, she’d imagined high cheekbones, a square firm jaw and full lips, she doubted she’d have slept at all. Even his lashes were thicker and darker than she’d pictured.

She dipped her head whenever he looked at her, wasn’t ready for eye-to-eye contact. Forced steady breathing quelled her inner trembling.

Matt Dalton’s mind ought to be totally focused on the information he was receiving. Instead his eyes kept straying to the brunette sitting rigid on her seat, politely ignoring him. The one who’d caused a tightening in his gut when he’d glanced up at her.

In an instant he’d noted the sweet curve of her cheek framed by shoulder-length light brown hair. If she hadn’t dropped her gaze, he’d also know the colour of her eyes.

Shoot! He asked the caller to repeat the last two figures. Blocking her out, he carefully wrote them down. After ending the call, he clipped all the pages together, and dropped them into a tray.

He could now concentrate on this woman, and her technical rather than physical attributes. Her employer’s high fees would be worth it if she found out what the heck had happened in the company’s computer system.

‘Ms Lauren Taylor?’ He pulled a new document forward.

She turned, and guarded brown eyes met his.

He immediately wished they hadn’t as a sharp pang of desire snapped through him and was instantly controlled. Women, regardless of shape, colouring or looks, were off his agenda for the foreseeable future. Probably longer. Betrayal made a man wary.

‘Yes.’ Hesitant with an undertone he didn’t understand.

He’d requested her services on a recommendation, without any consideration of appearance or demeanour, which for him were unimportant. The female colleagues he’d associated with overseas were well groomed, very smart, and always willing to offer their opinions. His equal on every corporate level.

Lauren Taylor was neatly dressed in a crisp white blouse under a light grey trouser suit, and wore little make-up. With her reputation, she ought to project confidence, yet he sensed apprehension. Was it a natural consequence of her temporary assignments or the confidentiality clause creating a desire to keep a distance from company employees?

No, this ran deeper, was more personal. He cleared his thoughts, telling himself his sole interest was in her technical skills, conveniently discounting his two reactions towards her.

‘I’m Matt Dalton. I contacted your employer because I’m told you’re one of the best computer problem investigators. My friend’s description. Was he exaggerating?’

A soft blush coloured her cheeks, and her eyes softened at the compliment. They were actually more hazel than brown with a hint of gold flecks, and framed by thick brown lashes. He growled internally at himself for again straying from his pressing predicament.

‘I don’t...I rarely fail.’ She made a slight twitch of her shoulders as if fortifying her self-assurance.

He gave a short huff. ‘Please don’t let this be one of the times you do. How much information were you sent?’

‘The email mentioned unexplained anomalies a regular audit failed to clarify.’

‘Two, one internal, one external. The detectable errors were fixed but no one could explain the glitches or whatever they are, and I need answers fast.’ Before his father’s condition became public and the roof caved in.

‘May I see the reports?’ Again timidity, which didn’t fit the profile he’d received, though to give her credit she didn’t look away.

‘In the top drawer of the desk you’ll be using along with a summary of our expectations, file titles et cetera. I assume you can remember passwords.’

She frowned, making him realise how condescending he sounded. Was he coming over as too harsh, overbearing? Her impression of him wouldn’t be good either.

‘Staff turnover has been high in the last two years, sometimes sudden with no changeover training. Recently I found out passwords had been written down and kept in unlocked drawers.’

She waited, and he had the feeling he was being blamed for some personal misdemeanour. He decided he’d divulged as much as she needed to know to start. Anything else necessary, she’d learn as the assessment progressed.

‘Most of the errors were from incorrectly entered data, exacerbated on occasion by amateur attempts to fix them. Apparently not too hard to find and correct if you know what you’re doing.’

‘But surely the accountant...?’ Her hands fluttered then her fingers linked and fell back into her lap. ‘Why weren’t they picked up at the time?’

Damn, she was smart. And nervous.

‘The long-term accountant left, and was replaced by a bookkeeper then another. Neither were very competent.’

Her eyes widened in surprise. For a second there was a faint elusive niggling deep in the recesses of his mind. As her lips parted he forestalled her words.

‘I’d like you to analyse from July 2014 up to the present date. Everything your employer requested is in the adjacent office. How soon can you start?’

Too abrupt again but it was imperative he find out what had been going on. The sooner the better. Four weeks ago, at his original inspection of his father’s company accounts, would have been best.