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true eye color too. So that
wouldn’t ring any bells. And of course her tanned, scrubbed-clean face wasn’t
the perfectly made-up pale it had been that night either.
    He probably wouldn’t have remembered her even if she had looked exactly the same. The night had undoubtedly not made the same impression
on somebody like him as it had on her. Maybe that was what she was mad about.
    She hated to think she really could not keep her
temper for one short tour, which unfortunately now seemed to be morphing into a
slumber party. She knew she was lousy at sucking up, but she could be civil
when the occasion demanded it. And this was one occasion that sure had demanded
it.
    She’d screwed up royally.
    She ran a hand through her short curly hair, shoving it out
of her face now that the hat was no longer in place to do so. He stared at her
as if she was a bug he was about to step on, but at least without the slightest
bit of recognition. And she was. As insignificant to him as a bug he could step
on. But she’d be the one who’d be squashed if he did.
    If he fired her, who knew how long it’d take her to get a
space on another rig with another company? She was good, but her whole career,
her whole life in fact, had been with Transcoastal. Not that that would make a
damn bit of difference to Reynolds and his cronies if they wanted to “reduce
the workforce” as they so euphemistically called it. But it made a difference
to her. And it made a difference to her father, who was still loyal to the
company he’d slaved thirty years for, even after being unceremoniously fired.
    Clutching her hat with both hands, she knew what she had to
do. “I’m sorry, Mr. Reynolds. I didn’t mean to sound so disrespectful. Mick was
right about us being rough around the edges out here. You’re the boss. We all
know that and you won’t have any trouble from me.”
    He continued to stare at her and then his eyes flicked down.
Shit, he wasn’t going to insist she take the jumpsuit off too, was he? She had
just the briefest tee and shorts on underneath. He was probably the kind of guy
who remembered a body better than a face.
    A knock at the open door took their attention. “Everything
all right?” Mick asked, holding a steaming cup out to Reynolds. “I thought you
could use some coffee before you get started.”
    Reynolds took it. “Thanks.” After a sip, he glanced at her.
“We’re fine. I’m going to bunk in here with Miss Donald.”
    Mick turned a panicked face to her and she shrugged.
     
    Michael had only been half-needling Miss Donald by
threatening to bunk with her. Hell, he hadn’t even been certain he was going to
stay the night on the rig. But now that he had seen her, he found himself very
serious indeed.
    Which just did not happen. Michael Reynolds did not date
employees. No matter what. Had never even contemplated it, no matter how lovely
the woman. Miss Prentiss, his assistant, was a prime example. Besides being
calm and efficient, Miss Prentiss was a plush, polished brunette whom Michael’s
friends were always hitting on whenever they visited him in the office. But
he’d never even entertained the notion of making overtures to Miss Prentiss.
Workplace sex was…messy. And in any event, unnecessary. He got all the sex he
needed outside the office. And he most certainly didn’t need the hassle.
    But here disrespectful, resentful Miss Donald took off her
hard hat and revealed that tousled head of golden curls and the tanned, perfect
set of her cheeks, and he was suddenly contemplating messy indeed. She looked
familiar as well, but he supposed that merely meant he liked a certain type.
Classic bone structure, flawless skin, wide sensual lips.
    He found himself more annoyed by how lovely she was than he
had been when she mouthed off to him. He took another sip of the too-hot
coffee, burning his tongue. Maybe that would help. Or maybe a tour of the oil
rig, what he was supposed to be here for anyway, would help. He set the