[BookStrand Contemporary Romance, HEA]
As an undercover insurance fraud investigator working with the local authorities, Matthew Bourke aka Manny Baker’s job is to build a case against the suspect, Gilbert Grayson. He cultivates Heather Graham, Grayson’s secretary, anticipating she will prove to be a valuable source as well as a pleasing diversion. What Manny doesn’t anticipate is that he’ll fall hard for Heather, just as she falls for him. He gives into the attraction, unable to wait until the investigation is over, when he plans to tell Heather the truth and ask for her understanding.
Manny seduces her. Accidentally finding out Manny isn’t who he says he is, Heather retreats and inadvertently tips off Grayson. The man has already killed once to cover his tracks, and her boss needs something from his secretary, something Heather doesn’t know she has. Manny searches for the love of his life, desperate to protect her and be her everything.
A BookStrand Mainstream Romance
“I have an eleven o’clock appointment with Mr. Grayson. Matthew Bourke.” Holy crap, how did he manage to get through the door and across the room to her desk without her noticing? He hadn’t made a sound, or even pushed air ahead of him. The document she was typing wasn’t all that interesting. She hadn’t been concentrating that hard. And he was a big guy, not a small, sneaky sort of guy who might have slunk in. He took up a lot of space. And she was sounding like a ditzy blonde right inside her own head.
Heather Graham checked out Matthew Bourke’s ruggedly handsome features. His eyes were set deeply beneath dark brows, the black lashes surrounding milk chocolate eyes thicker and longer than any man’s had a right to be. She loved chocolate. His nose made a statement—Heather had a theory about noses. She thought they reflected a person’s character. His was an uncompromising blade, and sported a bump on the bridge, suggesting an unscheduled impact with an unforgiving object. That would make him determined and dominant, not easily swayed. Matthew’s mouth softened his look, the lips perfectly chiselled, sculpted yet soft and perfectly opposite to…
“Miss? My appointment?”
She blinked. And blinked again. Son of a bitch. The hottest man in her recent experience was standing not three feet from her and she’d been off in la-la land. She regrouped. What the hell was wrong with her? Asked and answered. Hot. Hotter. Hottest.
“Of course.” Cutting her eyes to the computer screen Heather unobtrusively tapped a key. Matthew Bourke. Eleven o’clock. Stitching what she sincerely hoped was a professional smile on her lips, she nodded toward a chair set against the far wall of her office. “Please take a seat, Mr. Bourke. Mr. Grayson will be ready to see you in a minute.”
His back view was nearly as nice as his front. She took the opportunity to thoroughly check Matthew Bourke out, ensuring when he turned around to take his seat she was apparently engrossed in her computer screen. As was her wont, she catalogued her thoughts. It was how she came up with her best designs. Tall, dark and handsome. Dark-brown hair, sable brown. Those chocolate eyes. Cheekbones to die for. Perfect mouth. Broad shoulders. Built. Nice ass. Really nice ass. Dresses well. Sexy voice. Sighs loudly. She closed the document, declining the prompt to save it. What would she save it under? Hot Guy at Eleven O’clock? Eye Candy for Any Home? Heather suppressed a smile and checked the time.
Pushing her chair back, she stood to lead the way to her boss’s office and announce Hot Guy. Mr. Bourke watched her, just as he’d watched her type, intently. He seemed very aware of his surroundings and his gaze hadn’t made her feel uncomfortable. Not really. Heather wasn’t vain enough to think she was worthy of his attention. A man like Mr. Bourke could have any raving beauty crossing his path. She positively ogled him earlier, to his amused recognition and her subsequent embarrassment, but a cat could look at a king. There was her mother’s influence again, those eccentric quotes attached to her DNA right along with the programming for her hair and eye color. And her small breasts.
Tapping on Mr. Grayson’s door, opening it slightly at the sound of his muffled voice, she poked her head inside. She announced the arrival of his appointment, using Matthew Bourke’s proper name, smiling inside. As she turned around to invite Mr. Bourke to enter he was no more than six inches away from her and her inner smile froze. How did he do that? He was so close she could smell him, a heady bouquet of sandalwood, spice, and male. Heather fought against closing her eyes and inhaling like some fool from a laundry detergent commercial. Her sense of humor was irreverent at best, but even she couldn’t laugh at the way she felt in that very moment.
Stepping backward, invading Mr. Grayson’s sanctum, she did a little stutter step in dismay, feeling her boss’s annoyed stare pierce her. Heather was rarely allowed in there. Nervousness made her fumble for words, a failing virtually unknown. If she’d saved Mr. Bourke’s document she might have added disconcerting, annoying, pushy. Even great-looking guys had their foibles. He eased past her, the very heat of him evident, giving her a smile to make her girly parts tingle. Maybe not annoying. Heather stepped out, carefully avoiding Mr. Grayson’s eyes, and shut the door quietly.