Chapter Two
The beautiful intruder had stunning green eyes and Trent saw the startled look in them change with quick intelligence as she got her bearings.
"Melinda?" she said innocently, blinking at him. "Sorry, I’m not Melinda. You must have the wrong office." And she turned to go, head in the air.
His flash of original anger faded, replaced by a sense of grudging admiration for her cheek. But he wasn’t about to let her get away with it. She brushed past him, leaving a trail of rose-flavored scent as she moved, but he reached out and took possession of her upper arm before she got out the door.
"Nice try," he said, pulling her back and speaking in a low voice very near her ear. "But not quite good enough."
She glanced up at him and he noted once again that she did look a lot like a certain Melinda Braden who had worked in this office with him for a couple of months. Where Melinda’s beauty had been all flash and no substance, this one had a softer, quieter charm; still, they looked very much alike. He had no doubt that had been Melinda’s file she had been reaching for. Most likely, she was cut from the same con-artist cloth.
"Who are you?" he demanded.
She hesitated, gaze flickering toward the doorway and escape. "I’m not accustomed to giving my name to strangers," she began, but he cut her off with a rude oath.
"I just caught you burglarizing my office."
"I was not burglarizing your office," she said indignantly, her eyes shining with offended innocence. "Now please let me go."
"Not so fast," he murmured, his gaze trailing down the graceful curve of her neck and back again.
Her eyes were wary, hiding any emotions behind a calm facade. The thick curls of her blond hair were rebelling against the professional twist she’d tried to tame them with and wiry strands were escaping all around her pretty face.
Despite everything, she had a look he liked. For just a moment, he almost felt as though a part of him yearned for something he saw in her. But that was pure fancy and he shrugged it away. Sentiments like that didn’t fit with his cynical view of relationships. "Yearning" was for chumps.
Still, he knew she was more his type than the women he was going to be meeting tonight at the cocktail party his mother had arranged. Margaret Payton wanted her son married and she was sparing no expense. She was also forcing him to deal with an endless string of eligible yet unappealing women and demanding he choose one to spend his life with. If only more of them looked like this one.
"I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to wait here while I contact Security." He reached for the telephone with his free hand. "I’m sure they’ll want to notify the police about an intruder in the building."
She caught her breath, her eyes luminous, visions of her job going down the drain creating nightmares in her head. "Please…please don’t."
He gazed at her coolly. "Give me a reason not to."
She hesitated and he shrugged and resumed punching in the number. Mercy wasn’t in the cards, no matter how much her soft curves and pretty face appealed to him.
