Page 2 of Personal Research

A window whizzed by on her screen, catching her attention. What the hell?

Then she heard the telltale sound of the printer. Her head jerked toward the noise so fast her neck cracked.

Well, look at that. The printer was working. Score one for Tall, Dark and Sinful. Pages were spitting out, so fast that the tray overflowed and half of them ended up on the floor. But never fear, printer repair man bent over to collect them for her.

What a nice guy. And now he was reading them…

Thatfinally snapped her out of her stupor. “Wait, wait!” Elena shoved out of her chair and skidded around her desk, praying she didn’t trip during her flight. Her vision hazed as she rushed toward the man in question, but she still saw his lips tilt upward as he shifted through the sheaf of papers.

Dear God, he was reading her writing—her extremelyprovocativewriting—and he was smiling.

Her chest clutched with panic. Thanks to their shitty network printers, he spent a lot of time at the offices of McGinty, Haylor & Smith, centrally located in Kensington Square, NY’s busy business district—especially lately.

He could turn her in to her boss. He could tell her coworkers, several of whom she’d seen him in conversation with before, though she guessed he didn't speak much English.

Or he could lean in to whisper as she finally reached him, “Bella, is this is yours?”

Okay, so he spoke English. Wrong again. So much for assuming someone quiet and watchful and so seemingly Italian she could picture him on a gondola in Venice must speak a foreign tongue.

And speaking of tongues…

She swallowed. Enough thoughts about his tongue, and what it could do to her body. Like flick against her swollen clit while she writhed beneath him and begged him to take her…

“Bella?” He peered down at her, crowding her with his body until her breathing hitched.

He smelled really good, like exquisite cuisine. Olive oil and rich spices and maybe a hint of warm yeasty bread. And she had to be sublimating, because there was no way the printer guy smelled like dinner. “Are you okay?”

Bella?Oh yeah, Italian, all right. With those exotic seemingly iris-less dark eyes, wavy black hair flecked with gold and the burnished Mediterranean brown of his skin that had been an easy guess. But she hadn’t imagined how his breath would warm her cheek—at least he wasn’ttoomuch taller than her own height, or she’d feel completely overwhelmed by him physically—or the way his voice would caress every syllable he spoke.

Her nipples pebbled as she stared up into his arresting face.Speak, Bella.

Wait, what? Bella wasn’t her name.Speak, Elena.

“I’m sorry. I know the printer’s jammed. It was an accident. This is, uh, my friend's story. She’s a writer. She’s got a virus.”

As he smiled, she added hurriedly, “Not that kind of virus. A computer one. You know, a Trojan.” Or whatever they were named now.

He nodded without offering her the pile of papers. Her palm faintly itched with the need to snatch them away. “I’ve heard of Trojans, Bella.” If that wasn’t bad enough, he suggestively wiggled his slashing black brows.

“That’s not my name.” When he only shrugged, she rushed ahead. “Can I have them, please? My papers? I need to fax them. She needs them right now.”

“You accidentally printed them, but she needs them right now?”

“Well, what happened is?—”

“No problem.” He smiled, revealing straight white teeth and just the hint of a cleft in his chin. So sexy.

Why did the printer guy have to be sexy? Weren’t they supposed to disappear into their environment, like furniture?

Like you, Elena?

She frowned as his smile widened. She had the oddest sensation he could see right into her brain, and that wasn’t exactly comforting. “I see, Bella, big rush. Some things will not wait.” He reached down and opened her fisted hand, slipping the papers between her fingers. His hot gaze roamed her face a moment before he turned back to the printer.

She let out a breath that burned her chest on its way out. Thank God. She’d weathered the crisis. Not well, perhaps, but she’d survived without blushing profusely or breaking out into a sweat.

Just as she was about to scurry back to her cubicle like the chastised sex bunny she was, she remembered her manners. “Thank you.”

“No, Bella, thank you.” His eyes sparkled. “I’ve not read anything I’ve enjoyed more in quite a while.”

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