The Passionate Mistake Read online

  Anyway, his door was wide open in what was tantamount to welcome. He probably wanted to be interrupted with some interesting news. She bounced over and stuck her head through the doorway with her best ingenuous schoolgirl impersonation. But he was totally absorbed in whatever he was doing so she stole the chance to stand and check him out.

  He was just so damned sexy; all dark hair and broad shoulders and so masculine. And that habit he had of focused attention was riveting. It made a woman wonder what it would be like to have that formidable intellect and masculine power totally focused on her.

  It made Cathy quiver, actually. Made her want to curl up in his lap and ask for a stroke. She sighed lustfully, and he looked up.

  “Yes?”

  “Hiya. I just have something to show you on your timetabling software, if you have a minute. I’ve got an idea for a new feature. Can I show you?”

  “Good timing. I’ve just finished this so I do have a minute.”

  “Great. If you just go into the H directory,” she hurried across the floor to stand beside his shoulder, feeling that same thrill of awareness as always, and trying to ignore it, “and open the folder marked ‘Décor’. Just there,” she indicated it on the screen, and he selected it. “I’ve taken the base timetable and I’ve added some options for color coding days or specific times on the schedule. But I wasn’t thinking just block colors. I was thinking more something like this. Here, if I can just call it down?”

  He shifted over to give her space, then changed his mind and vacated his chair, offering it to her. She took it without hesitation, her thighs feeling the warm spot he had left on the fabric, a quiver travelling up her spine at the odd intimacy of it.

  She forced herself to focus, to shuffle the chair forward to the desk and get comfortable as if she hadn’t experience that disorientating thrill.

  “Thanks. Now I don’t know if you’ve heard of . . . er . . . of . . .” she’d lost her train of thought. “Um . . . scrapbooking, but it’s quite a fad amongst a certain, large group of women. Basically it’s all about prettying up photo spreads and journals with bits and pieces of pretty paper and doodads.” She fell into a more comfortable rhythm as she got going. “It’s not really my thing but my sister is crazy for it. Anyway, I thought of offering a selection of themes, with coordinating colors, patterns and details, so the user can customize it and make it pretty with just a few clicks.”

  On the sample she had opened, she demonstrated the features she was describing, enjoying the impact they made. She thought it impressive, even as a rough guideline to what might eventually be achieved.

  “See, you can do the background like this, and then this detailing so it looks like it’s held together with pieces of ribbon. Or click here and it becomes string. And add a tag like this, or gems, or whatever. I mean these are just some basic options so I could show you, but there’s an infinite variety. You could go really mad with it if you wanted.

  “It would create a more loyal base of users, because they’d fall in love with it and not want to switch to anything else. You let people do artwork on your software and they really take ownership, you know? And you’d get more word-of-mouth sales because women would like to show their friends what they’ve created. They can even print off the image of their schedule and keep it like a journal, but so quick and easy to put together they can do it even if they’re really busy; or if they don’t want to have their personal space completely dominated by actual, physical scrapbooking stuff.”

  She paused to let him speak, expecting the praise she was coming to enjoy and value from him; he who had turned out to be such an intelligent, discerning spectator to her efforts. She wasn’t disappointed.

  “Hey, Cathy, this is really brilliant! I love it. We are going to run with this. Do you want to stay in control, or do you want me to hand it off to the design boffins?” As always he leapt straight from the idea to the details of implementation, his thinking moving in the swift leaps that saw projects pushed through the company with such dizzying speed.

  “Oh, hand it off. I don’t know what I’m doing when it comes to the actual nitty gritty of it. Like, selecting the coordinating colors and so on. Give it to someone who’ll make a proper job of it.” She wasn’t possessive. She knew her limits, and she wouldn’t cripple an idea by tying it to the wrong person, though she appreciated the respect for her inspiration that lead him to make the offer.

  “Show me what you did to create the overlays.”

  So she explained it to him at length, popping in and out of the HTML and enjoying his delight at her cleverness. He was standing so close occasionally she brushed up against him as she moved or gestured. Her skin tingled as if running with electricity, but she shut it out, trying to be professional.

  “. . . this and this in the program. See, like so,” and she had turned her head to check he was following where she indicated on the screen, and found him instead examining her mouth with a heated look that made her tingle and flush all the way to her toes.

  It surprised her but she didn’t hesitate. Impulse ruled. She knew what she wanted and if he wanted it to then she would go after it. Tilting her head to the right angle she moved sideways and kissed him. Not tentatively. Oh no. Not in Cathy character at all, her kiss was lush and wet and languorous; designed to tempt him.

  He flinched back, startled, but she didn’t allow the small move to break contact, and in the next moment he was kissing her back as hungrily as she could wish, thumb and forefinger tilting her chin to exactly the angle he wanted.

  The pressure of it pushed her back in the chair and her hands rose instinctively to grip his shirt, needing balance and something to steady her as the world spun around. The feel of his pectorals under her fingertips was delicious. He was warm and hard. Well defined. Arousing. His tongue stroked hers inside her mouth, slick and intimate. She moaned.

  He broke away and took two steps backwards, his eyes widened, chest rising and falling. There was shock and consternation on his face. They stared at each other, breathing hard.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice gone husky. “That wasn’t appropriate of me. Can I ask you to forget it happened?”

  “You didn’t do it. I kissed you. Remember?”

  “And I kissed you back. As I said, not appropriate.” He turned away to walk to the windows looking out to the atrium, thrusting his hands deeply into his pockets. She realized if anyone in the Platform Division had cared to look around their massive bank of monitors across the atrium at their boss they would have seen the two of them kissing. Yet another disadvantage of an open-plan office.

  “Look, don’t sweat it,” she said with a shrug, disgruntled that he could rock her world and then talk all properly about what was appropriate or not. He shouldn’t be able to think straight after that kiss. She sure wasn’t feeling steady. “It’s no big deal.”

  “It is a big deal. A manager can’t go around making advances on his staff members. It’s an abuse of power.” He said it flatly and she read self-condemnation in his tone, which was totally not the way she wanted this to go. She wanted a hot romp between the sheets with sexy Mike Summers and here he was getting all gloomy about it.

  “I made advances on you, so I guess if anyone abused their power it’s me. And it doesn’t have anything to do with our roles.”

  “That’s naïve,” he said without emphasis, a simple statement of fact. “Everything we do at work has to do with our roles. As well as everything we shouldn’t do. I’m sorry. I’d rather it hadn’t happened and it won’t happen again.”

  He gestured to the door, indicating she should go. “Thanks for showing me all that, Cathy. It’s great. Really impressive work. Now if you wouldn’t mind . . .?” He went to stand by the door, his hand on the handle, and as soon as she was through the doorway he closed the door – the first time he had done so other than for a private meeting.

  She glared at the door. She wasn’t used to being rejected. Honestly she couldn’t say she liked it. Nor
did she plan to let the matter lie. Oh sure, she’d never force a guy against his will, but she had received the message loud and clear he was acting from morality rather than an absence of desire. So fine. Was there a way she could get him to put morals aside and see her as a woman rather than an employee?

  She could immediately think of one, but it meant blowing her cover as Cathy.

  She caught her bottom lip between her teeth, rolling it a little back and forth as she hesitated, good sense, family duty and powerful lust all battling it out in her impulsive heart while Amanda the Dragon PA stared up at her with flinty suspicion.

  Oh screw it. The Cathy cover was redundant anyway. She wasn’t going to go through with the theft. She would wear the flak from her family. Dad would get over it. She would design something for him herself, and he could use it or not. But she wasn’t going to steal for him. Certainly not from Mike.

  Mike. Sexy Mike Summers. Who was about to get a lovely, lovely surprise.

  Chapter Eight

  So she was too young, was she? Too young to know what she was doing when the boss took advantage of his position and hit on her. Helpless and naïve.

  As if.

  She was going to show him. She was going to show him exactly what a sweet, innocent thing she was. By the time she was done with him, naïve would be the last word he’d ever use to describe her.

  It took precisely five hours. Five hours to transform herself. First she washed the mousy brown dye out of her hair, following a strong shampoo with a host of calming products to soothe and smooth away any damage. She set it in large rollers to dry, and lavished her skin with her favorite exfoliating cream, then moisturizing facemask.

  A manicure and pedicure. Plucked eyebrows and curled eyelashes.

  The canvas was ready. Skillfully she added her usual subtle make-up, choosing the more intense effects suitable for the low light conditions of evening wear; dark, mysterious eyes, her light brown eyebrows also darker by several shades. And red lips, to match her dress.

  A red satin dress, figure-hugging, faithfully following her every curve; the sort of dress that would turn male heads of every age; With spaghetti straps that left her shoulders bare, showing her golden early-summer skin off to best advantage. The most expensive item in her wardrobe, because if a woman wanted to turn heads, it had better be in good taste.

  And it was.

  Just.

  Let him look at her in this dress, and then tell her she didn’t know exactly what she was doing.

  Dry now, her hair fell in loose waves to the middle of her back, the caramel blonde of it restored and gleaming. Her long fringe was swept back to disappear into the rest, a textured section against her temple, hardly noticeable. Casual hair, tousled, to give her that appealingly touchable look. She balanced it out with long earrings, a tiny waterfall of silver disks.

  As she drove along the waterfront she could feel the excitement mounting in her, the anticipation and desire. She was completely clear on what she wanted from Mike tonight, and she didn’t anticipate a refusal. He wanted her, she wanted him, they were both adults, what could be simpler than that?

  She was firmly seated in her feminine powers and she loved the sensation of control it gave her, after weeks of following orders and hiding herself. She was unstoppable, diamond and fire. She laughed out loud and let the warm evening air move her hair through the open car window. Oh yes, she was dangerous tonight. Dangerous and wonderful.

  The party location was less than ten minutes from her apartment, on the slopes of Orakei, overlooking the Waitemata Harbour. A rich suburb full of flashy mansions built since a bridge and causeway across the estuary had opened the beachfront to the wealthy several decades before. Long ranks of boats slept in the marina on the estuary, and the moonlight shone on the flat-calm waters.

  A beautiful evening. The Singhs must have ordered it especially for their party. They could certainly afford to pay for their weather. She had seen the specs on the bespoke software Mr Singh had ordered from DigiCom, and that sort of program didn’t come cheap. Rolling in it. It wouldn’t break the bank for them to host a single gatecrasher with little appetite for food.

  Last week she had stood at the corner of Mike’s desk, ignored, as he was invited to the occasion. She watched him hesitate, a minute flicker of his eyes towards her and away, then he accepted. The client had used the phrase, “everyone will be there,” and she assumed that meant she could sidle in without an invitation and no one would notice.

  She parked her humble car around the corner and walked the last few steps. From the noise – chamber music, loud conversation and laughter – she could tell the party was in full swing. She walked up the front stairs with her head high, assurance in every line of her body. Security was relaxed now, one beefy guy in a tux by the front door, and as almost always, she got by with a smile.

  Men and women clustered in talking, laughing, expensively-dressed groups. Wait staff circulated with canapés and trays of glasses. She snagged champagne from one, sipping cautiously. French, she was sure, though she had no idea which one. Delicious. She would limit herself to a single glass.

  When one was stalking big game, one needed a clear head.

  She circulated, walking with the maximum of poise, staying on the move so no one would delay her by trying to start a conversation. Within minutes she spotted him at the top of the stairs in a cozy seating arrangement with an excellent view of the room. He was speaking with a suited businessman. To her he looked bored, talking absently as he scanned the crowd. There was impatience in the set of his shoulders.

  Perhaps she had arrived just in time. It seemed he wasn’t enjoying himself.

  Judging her moment, she placed herself at the foot of the stairs, front and centre, as if by accident. Feet slightly spread, shoulders up and back, hand on hip in a posture that radiated confidence. She gazed to one side, as if inspecting the artwork on the wall nearby. But from the corner of her eye she watched him, and was certain she could pinpoint the moment he saw her. He leaned forward in his chair.

  Slowly, infinitely casually, she let her gaze sweep up the stairs and meet his, stop, and give him a leisurely inspection from head to toe. Then she tilted her head to one side and smiled straight at him as if she liked what she saw. Which she did.

  He smiled back, desire and anticipation a palpable spark in the depths of his eyes, the curl of his lip.

  She started up the stairs as if she had all the time on the world, knowing his – and other – eyes followed her every move with admiration. Looking neither left nor right she made a beeline for him.

  He never took his eyes off her.

  Oh yes, she loved this. To choose a man and claim him like it was her right. She had never been quite so overt about it before, quite so bold. But then her intention was he should recognize her and in that instant realize his image of Cathy was fatally impoverished, that she was in fact so much more. Not at all that sad, bad-tempered employee he must reject for her own good. Instead a strong woman who knew what she was doing and could choose what she wanted. And be chosen in turn by him.

  It was crystal clear in her mind. She was certain it would come to pass as she intended, so strong was her faith in herself and her power to win here, now, as her real self.

  Standing over him she surveyed him, letting him see the humor on her face at the intensity of the moment, but more, much more than that the weight of her feminine approval for him, bold and unmistakable.

  He held out his hand, offering to shake as one equal to another. She took it.

  “Mike Summers,” he said, and raised his eyebrows in enquiry.

  It was then she realized he didn’t recognize her. Not even close up.

  She could have laughed out loud. She could have said her own name and confounded him.

  But she didn’t. Seized by that old devil of impulse, she sat down in the vacant seat beside him, opposite the other businessman. “Pleased to meet you. Are you enjoying the party?”

  �
�Certainly. Renewing old acquaintances.” He tipped his glass in polite acknowledgement of his companion, who nodded and smiled stiffly. Kate read his expression as politeness masking annoyance at the interruption, and dismissed him from her mind. He had had his chance to interest Mike and now it was over.

  “Always delightful. I was somewhat bored, myself. Until just this moment.” The look she gave him was a caress. The other man cleared his throat and then murmured his excuses, standing and walking away. Kate felt again that rush of confidence in herself and her plans, to have Mike so swiftly and decidedly to herself. She smiled at him brilliantly.

  Mike blinked at her. She would have said he looked a little abashed, if she hadn’t seen him command a crowd of a hundred employees and receive unquestioning obedience. A man like that didn’t get flustered because a woman fluttered her eyelashes at him.

  He nodded, cleared his throat. “I’m glad you discovered something to entertain you.”

  “So am I. Do you know our hosts well?”

  “Quite well, yes. Long time clients. My company does some work for them.”

  “They have a lovely house,” she said, making polite conversation while she weighed up her exact approach. Since he hadn’t recognized her, she had choices to make about how she would frame her suggestion. She sorted through options, trying to guess if subtlety or more boldness was best.

  “I believe they’re very proud of it. How do you know them?”

  “Kate,” interjected a booming voice, and a moist, warm hand came to rest on her shoulder. Inwardly cursing the interruption she found a tight-lipped smile for the man standing over her. That was unfortunate. She would much have preferred to go unrecognized. What bad luck.

  Mr Trentham. One of her father’s best clients, she had spoken with him at work functions and conferences. She didn’t like him – he checked her out like a dog eyeing food on the table – but business was business, as Dad always said. Even here, pursuing her own personal goals, she wasn’t free of the chains of the family business.