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and crosses his arms over his very manly chest, and I’m not sure if I should be embarrassed or pleased, because it’s obvious that he likes what he sees.
    “Need any help?” He grins, and I realize that I am still standing here half dressed and making no move to finish donning my new pantyhose.
    “Pantyhose can be such a pain, don’t you think? I prefer stockings.”
    Does he, indeed? I make a mental note of this to file away for future reference. He’s definitely interested. I would have to be blind not to notice the way he is eating me with his eyes.
    “Er, did you want anything in particular?” I ask.
    Like me, for instance? On the desk? Now? But obviously I don’t say that.
    “Maybe later.”
    This man is flirting with me. At least I think he’s flirting with me. Y-e-s!
    “The limousines are here. Everyone is downstairs. I thought you’d got lost so I came to find you.”
    He came to look for me? For me in particular? Better and better. He noticed I wasn’t with everyone else. Y-e-s! This is excellent.
    “Oh, good,” I say, mentally kicking myself for sounding like an idiot, as I pull up the pantyhose and smooth down my skirt, in what I think is a very slick, matter-of-fact motion. “That was very thoughtful of you.”
    Yuck. Can I really not find anything more scintillating to say? I have an English degree, for God’s sake. Surely I can put together a couple of relatively coherent sentences?
    “All finished?” He raises a Sean Connery eyebrow at me and I have to brush past him to get through the door, because he makes no move to get out of my way.
    “Nice panties,” he breathes in my ear as I pass, and I can barely stop myself from shuddering with sexual heat.
    “Thank you,” I tell him, primly, because it’s not good to sound too eager. And then, because I can’t resist, “It took me ages to choose just the right ones this morning.”
    I feel his eyes on me as we walk down the hall to the elevator. They are burning into my back. I imagine them watching my ass, so I immediately sashay in what I hope is an alluring fashion.
    “Shall I press the button?” he innocently asks as we get into the elevator, and I blush, because there is no way I can possibly miss his meaning.
    “I miss this,” he says, as he presses G.
    I have no idea what he means. Sex? He misses sex? Oh, I can certainly help him out with this. I instantly have this very erotic image of Adam pressing my G. Ooh.
    “Riding together in the elevator.”
    Oh, not sex. He misses me in the elevator! He did notice, then. Yes! All was not in vain, after all. All that time I thought he didn’t see me, he was watching me, waiting for the right moment…
    “You don’t call, you don’t write…” he tells me, leaning right in toward me, and I can’t help a girly giggle.
    “Actually, I came to find you so that we could talk,” he tells me, taking a step back as the elevator doors open. “We’re going to be working very closely together. I’m taking over from Johnny Cray.”
    Oh, this day just gets better and better. It’s like winning the love lottery. Although everyone thought Grady Thomas would get promoted…
    “Adam Blakestock,” he says, holding out his hand.
    Like I don’t already know this? I know rather a lot more about you, Adam Blakestock, than you think (thanks to Tracey in Human Resources). But I don’t say this, of course. I just stand there like a goldfish opening and closing my mouth before I remember that he’s still waiting for me to shake his hand.
    “I’m—” I hold out my hand.
    “Emmeline Beaufort Taylor,” he finishes for me, looking right into my eyes as he takes my hand in a much warmer way than boss/secretary requires.
    “But everyone calls you Emma. I think I’ll call you Emmeline. Goes with the sexy English accent,” he says, and winks at me in a way that suggests “later.”
    He’s my boss. And he knows my name. (Although I’m not very fond of Emmeline, it’s really sweet he wants to