A Soul Ensnared

Eight

There was a man in her office when she arrived. He stood over her desk, holding part of the Events' Calendar in one hand, her draft of the biannual newsletter in the other. The engrossed expression on his face didn't allow him to register her entrance, but the shock of someone intruding in her personal space, after everything that had just happened, ignited the simmering anger she tightly clutched inside her chest. She raged against feelings of violation, on so many levels. First Bernice, then Brent, now this man.

"Who are you, and why are you in my office?" she blurted out, indignation laced in every word. The rational part of her brain wondered if this was a Club member who'd come to ask a question. She didn't like the thought of just anyone rooting through her files, digging through the private workings of her mind, but she did make a point to tell every member that she maintained an open door policy. "Please put down my files," she snapped without thinking, reaching for the papers in his hand as she strode across the room.

His head jerked up in surprise. A pair of deep brown eyes, surrounded by wire-rimmed spectacles, gazed back at her. She took in his features through her discontented haze, noticing a closely cropped beard that outlined a pleasingly handsome face. "Ah," he said, placing the contents in his hand back on her desk and shuffling them into neat, but separate, piles. He removed his glasses, tucking them into the pocket of a windowpaned gray suit. "You must be Sonya Lancaster. Public Events and Member Relations Coordinator. I've heard so much about you." He stepped around her desk with smooth grace, moving toward her, a large, outstretched hand reaching to engulf hers.

She took it, allowing unbidden warmth to leak its way up her arm. Wariness filled the surface of her almond-shaped eyes as she acknowledged, "Yes. I'm Ms. Lancaster."

"I'm Noah. Noah Klein. Mrs. Elliot has asked me here to oversee the development of a new program to expand and possibly redevelop the course over the next four years."

"In my office?" Sonya blurted, unable to process anything beyond what she'd just learned in the lobby.

He laughed, a deep, joyful sound, and clasped his free hand over their still joined hands. The contact sent a bolt of electricity through Sonya, clearing her mind, making her jerk away with abrupt surprise.

"I'm sorry," she murmured, holding the affected hand against her chest. "I must have picked up static cling on my walk down the hall." A tiny pulse tingled its way across her forearm. Somehow, the sensation worked to unnerve her more than the realization that Brent might be cheating on her. She put her hands to her temples and shook her head. When she looked up, he was still there, but larger this time, if that was even possible. He overloaded her senses, filling the room with his presence. She took a steadying breath. "I'm sorry. Who did you say you were?"

His eyes bored into hers, a look of concern forcing thick eyebrows together. "Do you need to sit down, Ms. Lancaster? This is the first time I've met you, but you look like you might faint."

"I'm fine," she said, waving off his query with an agitated jerk of the hand. "I can't remember eating today. I've been trying to meet my deadlines. I may be a tad light-headed, but it should pass." She looked back up at him, boring amber eyes into his. There was an intensity in the rich, brown depths that caused her breath to catch.

What the hell is wrong with you, Sonya? Get it together. She forced a quick cough, turning her head to look toward the wall, the desk, the computer screens. His eyes were her undoing. "You, ... you said you were going to oversee a project at the Club? Does that mean you're going to be working for us? Are you contracting your services, Mr. Klein?" Thank you, Lord, for letting me remember his damned name, she thought, feeling more than a little out of sorts. A frenetic energy seemed to pulse through her, and she breathed shallowly, trying to stomp it out.