Rock Hard (Rock Kiss #2)(19)

They worked throughout the just under two-hour-long flight, landed, and went straight into unannounced site visits to a number of the boutiques before making their way to the restaurant she’d booked for the lunch meeting. The hotel managers, when they arrived, proved uniformly intelligent and financially savvy, but in the end, Gabriel got exactly what he wanted, his charisma potent.

“Looks like we have two hours to spare,” he said afterward. “Come along, Ms. Baird, you can help me choose a gift for a beautiful woman I know.”

Charlotte couldn’t think of anything worse. “I’m sure you have excellent taste, Mr. Bishop.”

“I insist.”

That was how she found herself traipsing from one high-end jewelry boutique to another. She pointed out items just to end the whole excruciating exercise, but he wasn’t satisfied. In the end, he bought the only piece she’d truly loved. It was her own fault: she’d been sneaking a photo of the delicate, one-of-a-kind bracelet when he’d caught her.

And now, she thought as she collapsed into her bed that night, he’d give the exquisite piece to some woman who probably wouldn’t appreciate the delicate artistry of it. Punching her pillow into shape, she glared her way into sleep. Her mood wasn’t much better the next morning.

Having arrived at the office before Gabriel returned from his run, she’d just made herself a cup of coffee and taken a seat when he came in. He looked as rawly sexy as he always did. He even smelled good, and that should’ve been impossible. The scent of clean sweat over warm skin worked where Gabriel Bishop was concerned. Charlotte didn’t think any woman would push him away if he hauled her close for a kiss right now.

“Morning, Ms. Baird.”

“Morning, Mr. Bishop.” At least she could speak now in his near-naked presence.

Grabbing what he needed for the shower, he pushed a hand through his sweat-damp hair and turned at the glass doors. “Ms. Baird.”

Charlotte jerked her eyes guiltily up from his thighs, face red. Thankfully, he was scowling at something on his phone, which he must’ve picked up from the office since she knew his run was the one time of day when he made himself unreachable. As a stress-relief measure, she approved. The fact she got to start her day by seeing him sweaty and hot and in running shorts? A bonus.

“I’m sending you an address,” he said now. “Have a dozen roses delivered.”

Her happy mood dived. “What color?”

“Red, of course.”

For once, she didn’t watch him leave, didn’t give in to the temptation to sneak a glimpse of the seriously built male who was her boss. Instead, she checked her e-mail to see who was about to receive a dozen red roses from Gabriel Bishop—likely the same woman to whom he’d given the bracelet.

Fabiana Flores.

Charlotte would’ve had to have lived under a rock for the past week not to recognize the name of the glamorous model with the bee-stung lips who was in the country for a perfume launch. As she contacted a florist to place the order, she told herself not to be surprised. Athletes and models—it was a predictable combination. And why not? Both took care of their bodies, were often of heights that complemented one another—

“Stop obsessing, Charlotte.” After all, fantasies about him aside, it wasn’t as if she’d entertained any serious hopes of Gabriel looking in her direction. In fact, she couldn’t think of anything worse: the brutal truth was that she’d most likely panic, fear clutching her throat and stealing the air from her lungs, and it would wreck everything.

It hurt to admit that, admit her deficiencies so bluntly, but Charlotte had stopped lying to herself the day she’d broken things off with Richard. Lies and false hope only ever led to pain and betrayal.

Gabriel Bishop was simply out of her league.





9


THE MOUSE GROWLS





TWO AND A HALF MONTHS later, and Charlotte had sent countless bouquets of red roses on Gabriel’s behalf, each one to a different woman. Models, actresses, television anchors, two doctors, a long-haul commercial pilot, three fellow CEOs, and a chef. The chef returned the roses with their heads lopped off.

Seeing the beheaded stems when she took the open box into his office, Gabriel winced. “You see why a second date would’ve been a bad idea, don’t you, Ms. Baird?”

Charlotte didn’t know why she said what she did when she’d been the perfect personal assistant for so many weeks, discreet and efficient and invisible except when he needed her. Well, okay, there had been that incident with the muffin, but he’d driven her to it, so it didn’t count.

She couldn’t explain today’s response as easily. Maybe it was the sad, beheaded roses. She felt an acute sympathy for the angry chef, for all the red-rose women. Or perhaps it was the fact the florist now knew her by name, saying, “The usual?” when Charlotte called.

There was only so much a PA could take.

“It appears, Mr. Bishop,” she said from her standing position on the other side of his desk, “that you don’t believe in second dates at all.” The parade of stunning women in his life was endless—and no face was ever repeated.

One date and they were out.

Leaning back in the black leather of his executive chair, arms folded behind his head and the fine gray cotton of his shirt stretched across the defined ridges and valleys of his chest, Gabriel grinned. It was as devastating as usual, but Charlotte had learned to deal with the dip in her stomach that was her response to her boss’s smile. Unfortunately for her, her susceptibility to him had increased rather than decreased in the time they’d worked together.