Page 2 of An Unexpected Match
Instead, she frowned at the austere reception area. She could detect nothing to differentiate it from any other office she’d been in, except for the bland paint, the blank walls with no art.
Color and lines and designs fascinated her. Maybe she ought to offer a few paintings to enhance the area.
She almost laughed at the image that produced. As if an expert hostage negotiator, an anti-infiltrating security engineer cared what she thought of the walls in his offices. For all she knew, he kept the walls bare for a reason.
It couldn’t have been a lack of money; his company‘s services were reported to be in high demand, despite costing a bundle. Patti had shared that information when telling her about the job posting.
The receptionist greeted Arden and immediately ushered her into an empty conference room.
“Mr. Ferguson will be right with you,” she said after offering Arden some coffee.
Arden declined the coffee and moved to sit in one of the chairs against the wall, leaving the chairs encircling the enormous oval table empty. The view from the windows faced east. Even though the Chesapeake Bay was blocks away, with a dozen other high-rise office buildings between, she looked in a vain hope to glimpse the water.
Two minutes later, a tall, dark-haired man strode in, carrying a folder. The air seemed suddenly charged. Arden blinked and tried a smile. Her heart began pounding.
“Arden Glover?” he asked, stopping just inside the door. “I’m Brendan Ferguson.”
He stood ramrod straight and topped her own five-feet-ten inches by a good half foot or more. His dark gray suit was superbly tailored, his pristine white shirt a crisp, clean contrast. The deep maroon tie gave the final fillip to power. He seemed to radiate energy.
She almost jumped up and snapped a salute. Gripping her purse, she resisted the urge, suspecting he might not find any humor in such an action.
“How do you do?” she replied, conscious of Patti’s advice.
His glance roamed quickly over her, then he dropped his gaze to the folder. Opening it as he walked slowly to the table, he scanned the page inside.
A lean, mean, fighting machineechoed in Arden’s mind as she watched him, her artist’s eye delighting in the lines and contrasts she saw. She could picture him as a pagan warrior. A fighter. Protector. Not wearing a suit, of course, but in leather, or animal skins, or little at all.
She suddenly itched to sketch the man. She’d pose him with a lance, or a sword, chest bare daring the enemy to do his worst, knowing he’d be victorious no matter what came his way.
The suit couldn’t hide the breadth of his shoulders, the long length of his legs. She glimpsed a well-toned form beneath his shirt when the suit jacket opened–rock-hard muscles she’d bet. Sculpting their shape, hiding nothing, she could bring his form to life in passionate detail.
The deep tan that darkened his skin went with the midnight black of his hair. Did he spend a good portion of his life outdoors? No office worker acquired such a dark hue. His eyes were gunmetal gray, cool and assessing. His lips were full, but held in a tight line.
What would soften them? Laughter, certainly. Passion?
What about when he kissed a woman, whispered sweet words of love in her ear?
Arden let her gaze dance over the strong contour before her. Deltoids, pecs and biceps were covered, but her imagination ran rampant. She bet they were toned and developed until she knew a quarter would bounce off if dropped. No, wait, that was for beds, tightly made beds that quarters bounced on.
Thinking of beds, she wondered what he’d look like in one stretched out beneath a light sheet. She suspected he eschewed clothing while sleeping. Was he tanned all over or only on his face? Would his chest be a lighter hue or that same rich teak? Did he sleep on his stomach or on his back? Did he sprawl over the entire bed or keep to one side?
Suddenly Arden realized the silence had gone on for quite some time. Too long. Raising her gaze in confusion, she saw he was staring at her. Had he said something? Asked her a question?
Read her mind?
Slowly, she tried a smile, but the flicker of heat deep inside startled her. Baffled her. What was going on? Just because he had a body that most men would envy, and every woman alive would drool over, was no reason for her to feel any specific attraction. She loved all forms of art.
And he could sure be considered a masterpiece, her mind whispered.
Her heart kicked hard against her chest.
Nerves. She really wanted this job.
Brendan Ferguson laid the folder on the conference table and leaned against the edge, crossing his arms across his chest, his gaze never wavering from her.
Her skin prickled, and her heart rate increased. Suddenly she felt deliciously feminine, as if in response to the call of a primal male.
Blinking, Arden drew in a sharp breath. She was here for a by-the-book interview, not to create fantasies about the man. She sat even straighter in her chair.