She could feel the anger burning in the same way here, the urge to fight and win, to take him down and teach him his place in her world. That’s ridiculous. He doesn’t even do martial arts.
But it wasn’t about sports or sparring. She was just angry.
Angry at herself?
The twinges of attraction, the dirty way he looked at her, it all added up to something that shouldn’t be. How could she want to like him, let alone be attracted to him? Everything about him was reprehensible to her and stood against her values and the way she tried to live her life, with integrity and respect for life and individual autonomy. And it wasn’t as though she had some kind of subconscious fetish for disrespect; she’d been catcalled and propositioned plenty of times, and there’d been no turn-on in it, no flutter of appeal, just a sort of scornful distaste. But she kept thinking about how he’d looked at her mouth as she’d eaten the doughnut. How he’d flushed and closed himself off when asked why he was working in an office. How he’d never once presumed on his fame to ingratiate himself with her. Hell, he’d introduced himself as Eamonn, not Easy.
Easy. He sure acted like he’d be easy to get into bed. Flirt.
That ought to gross her out, repel her. Why didn’t it? Ugh.
So when Eamonn popped into her office, she snapped, “Even if it’s open, you can still knock on the frame before walking in, you know.”
“Right,” he said, with a what got your panties in a knot expression on his face. “So I got a hold of that chick Jessalyn at Champagne Cascades.”
“Did she say why she didn’t bother to return my call or email yesterday?” Nell didn’t even bother to correct his use of chick, though she did raise a disapproving eyebrow.
“She wasn’t feeling good yesterday. She didn’t say exactly but I’m thinking it’s woman stuff, you know? She says she was at work but had a hard time getting much done.”
“She really unbuttoned for you, didn’t she?” The moment she said it, Nell knew her choice of words was a mistake. But it burned her that the unknown Jessalyn had taken his call when she’d been ignored the day before.
Eamonn laughed. “I wouldn’t say unbuttoned, gorgeous — that’s what I want you to do for me. I can’t help it that women like to talk to me. Anyway, if it works… I got the paper inventory figures from her and forwarded them to you. Good?”
“Thanks. Could you stop calling me that, though?”
“Why? You are gorgeous. You’ve got heavenly tits and—”
Nell growled, actually growled, in frustration. “We’re in an office. I’m technically your supervisor. Your uncle is my boss and I don’t need him walking by and hearing that — I really, really, absolutely don’t need him to be thinking about my personal attributes in any way. Okay?”
Eamonn shook his head. “Uncle Tommy’s married, he’d never… well, okay, yeah, that’d be weird.”
An awkward silence settled between them. You think I have nice breasts? The question burned on Nell’s tongue, tempting her, but there was no way she’d ask such a ridiculous thing.
He watched her, considering, a half-smile on his lips. “Yes,” he said.
“I was not thinking about—”
“Of course you were, and you do. But I won’t refer to your tits in the office again. Nell.” The way he said her name made her think that maybe he was getting it, that he could see the difference between an office and backstage, and that he understood the differences, the things you could say there and not here.
“Thanks,” she said, and she didn’t know if she was thanking him for using her name, or for the compliment he’d given her. Easy from Smidge. Bass player, rock star, sex god. Given all the females he must have known, the array of chests available for him to sample, his commendation meant a lot to her. Not that she’d let herself care. Her body was strong and muscular and solid, perfect for a fighter, a competitor. “Thanks for getting me those numbers from Champagne. I need to get the order in before the paper supplier closes.”
“I’m off, then. See you tomorrow.” And he was gone.
I should make him stay until the clock hits five, Nell thought. But he was Tommy’s nephew, so she suspected the usual Wildforest regulations didn’t apply to him.
The first sign of anything wrong came with a phone call. Someone from booking and customer service pinged Nell on the intercom line. “Got a hot top on line four calling from Champagne Cascades. Goes beyond what we can handle in booking. Will you take it?”
“Saying no isn’t a choice, is it? Sure.” Nell sighed, looking at the button for line four, flashing red, on hold. Coping with an angry guest was never fun, but it was part of dealing with resort properties and their temporary residents — people paid for pleasant vacations, after all, and tended to get bent out of shape when little things didn’t go their way. She took a sip of tea and hit the button to take the call. “Hi there, this is Nell Whelan, property supervisor for Champagne Cascades. I understand there’s a problem?”
“Well, yeah. Been standing here forty minutes waiting to get our keys, but your office is closed up tight and there’s no sign of when someone will be coming or anything.”
“You’re saying that you’re at Champagne Cascades now, and there’s no one in the office there to book you in and give you keys?”
“Yes. We’ve been waiting forty minutes. Ridiculous! There’s not even a sign on the door saying when they’ll be back.”
Nell brought up the booking system on her computer. “Could I get your name, ma’am? I just want to check and make sure we were expecting you.” She spoke slowly, pitching her voice quietly, aiming for a calm and respectful tone that would help the
