Wishful Sinful (Rock Royalty Book 5) (2 page)

It was his sole purpose for taking time away from the office for a jaunt to Mexico. It was also why he wanted Honey by his side. She could call up pertinent facts and figures on the fly. That she was an excellent judge of character was an added bonus.

“Maybe you’ll get better acquainted with your admin.” Brody’s voice was sly. “Under the influence of sun, sand, and tequila you can make a totally different kind of connection.”

Walsh stared at the other man. “Why do you keep saying shit like that?”

“Alexa brought up the word ‘makeover’ and Cilla seems all for it. If they hear about Mexico, they’ll want to turn your second brain into a bikini-clad bombshell.”

Alarm bells were ringing in Walsh’s head. For two years he’d steadfastly managed to ignore everything about Honey besides her business skills

Except that scent
, a voice inside him said.
And her mouth.

He ignored the evil whisper. Every instinct he had told him becoming aware of her as a woman would take the two of them into territory that not only would destroy their professional relationship, but could wreak other kinds of damage as well.

He should know. He was an expert at blowing things up.

So yeah, he was going to continue thinking with his big head, not the little one.

“Makeover,” he muttered. “No way. Nothing better change.” It wasn’t panic that caused the uptick in his heart rate. It was determination.

Spandex, big blue eyes, Honey’s uncommon ire at him wasn’t going to knock him off balance either. This trip to Mexico would prove he still had control of himself. That he still had control of everything.

Honey Brooks tugged on the hem of her suit jacket to smooth out an errant wrinkle as the elevator climbed to the top floor of one of the two sleek office buildings on the business campus at 8000 Ocean Avenue.

Hauling in a breath, she held tight to her determination to put her work situation back to rights. How it had gotten so out-of-hand, she couldn’t precisely say, but she knew she had to shoulder most of the blame.

A resignation text! A resignation letter! A face-to-face confrontation in front of the assembled Rock Royalty, that gorgeous clan that usually made Honey feel like a humble tabby cat who’d strayed into a gathering of exotic animals.

The elevator swooshed open, revealing the reception area, its massive metal welcome desk, black leather visitor chairs, and pearlized gray paint giving off an industrial elegance. Her gaze was instantly drawn to the center wall where the logo and company name were displayed. In gleaming stainless steel it read MadSci, after Walsh’s childhood ambition of becoming a mad scientist. The sight of it never failed to make her smile. Even today, with her stomach unsettled and her nerves strung tight, she got a lift thinking of the dreaming boy who’d gone on to become a powerful businessman.

She passed through the doors behind the reception desk that led to the staff offices. Since it was well before business hours, she was unsurprised to find the area unoccupied and quiet—except for the low sounds of a man’s telephone conversation at the farthest end of the hall. That was unsurprising too.

She’d never beat Walsh to work. As usual, he was already ensconced at his desk. From her place in the hallway she could see his shoulders and dark head over his desk chair. He’d swiveled it to so he could gaze out his window as he spoke, most likely to someone on the East Coast.

Honey stayed where she was, taking the view in as well. The property at 8000 Ocean Avenue was on a bluff overlooking the Pacific, so from her vantage point she could see endless ocean until it seemed to be absorbed by the sky at the hazy horizon line. As a work location it was amazing, and she was foolish for having almost thrown it away.

The whole episode had been flighty and…and so very female of her.

Not that she could explain it in those terms to Walsh. He would look at her like she’d grown a second head—or maybe a keyboard might be more apt. Everybody said he considered her another convenient device in his life, like his laptop or his smartphone or his tablet.

That’s why she’d have to stick to logic when she outlined her reasons for not accompanying him to Mexico. Point out that someone should be in the States to handle any emergency that might come up in his lucrative PSE—personal safety equipment—business. There was a spy-gadget side, too, and who knew what might go wrong there? Even without a full-fledged crisis, she was the best person in his absence to smooth out any glitches.

It’s what she should have said when he’d told her about the trip on Friday. Instead, she’d just flat-out refused, and he’d acted as if he hadn’t heard her. Rattled, she’d gone into a panic and left early, sending her “I quit” text from her car.

Argh!
Completely unprofessional.

Something she wanted to rectify immediately—while still not giving in on the trip.

Because at the notion of accompanying Walsh to a romantic beachside resort, her belly shriveled to the size of a walnut, and every cell in her body advised her in the loudest, strictest terms that the idea was a very bad one.

As if he could hear those cells shouting himself, Walsh abruptly swung his chair around.

From twenty feet away, she jolted as his dark gaze touched her. He was a big, beautiful man, with broad shoulders and thick hair that he ran his hands through in times of stress. His eyes were keen, and she thought they always saw everything—except for the fact that she was a woman, of course. He’d never acted the least bit inappropriate with her.

So her concern about the Mexico trip was all on her side.

Now one of his brows quirked up, and she quickly mimicked bringing a coffee cup to her lips.
Want one?
she mouthed. At his brisk nod, she escaped.

With Walsh still involved in his phone call, it wouldn’t hurt to start the morning with a chat with her friend Melody. By now that woman would have the coffee cart on the first floor up and running.

Dark-haired Melody, dressed in leggings topped with a colorful striped tunic, glanced up as Honey approached. From stacking cookies in their plastic case, she immediately shifted to the espresso machine. “Latté?”

Honey nodded. “And a large regular for Walsh when I head back upstairs.”

As the other woman steamed the milk she sent Honey another look. “Did you have a nice weekend?”

When I wasn’t stewing about the mess I’d made at work.
“I wore the workout clothes you gave me for my birthday to spin class Friday—and received several compliments.”

Melody beamed. “Then you should take me up on my offer to be your personal shopper. You get lost in all those dark and dull colors. You want people to
look
at you.”

Tugging on her black jacket, Honey frowned. “No, I don’t.” Especially at work. There she wanted people—ahem, Walsh—to notice the good job she was doing, not the kind of fashion statement she was making. “And anyway, you know I loathe shopping.”

“It’s something I just don’t understand,” Melody said, passing over a steaming paper cup.

“Maybe I’m missing a gene or something.” Honey sipped her latté.

“I almost believe that,” Melody said, “seeing how you’re immune to that hunky boss of yours.”

The heat crawling up Honey’s neck must be due to the coffee. She avoided answering by taking another swallow.

“I tried to start a flirtation with him myself last week,” the other woman continued.

“You’re married to Mark.” Honey heard the shock in her own voice. “You love Mark!”

“I didn’t say I tried to start an
affair
,” Melody said, wiping down the counter. “But what woman can’t resist chatting up a man who has those looks?”

Honey sighed. “See, I don’t know how to do that.”

“Flirt? You want to flirt with Walsh?”

“
No
.” They’d had a new hire last year, a topnotch female engineer, which all the firms were eager to employ. The woman had developed a thing for Walsh right away. Her skirts had skewed shorter by the day, she’d had an inordinate amount of questions for the boss, and Honey had to figure he’d finally shut down her hopes, because she’d resigned after less than two months on the job. From Walsh’s grim expression, she’d known the episode hadn’t been a pleasant one.

No way was Walsh interested in a workplace romance.

Not that he looked at her in that manner. Not that he’d
ever
look at her in that manner.

Not that she wanted him to.

Another flush of heat rushed up her neck.

“So…” she said to Melody. “Can we talk about something else?” Flirting and romance were topics she liked to avoid. While there’d been a man or two in her life, she hadn’t been any better with them than she was at picking separates that coordinated. Her aptitude at finding a match was definitely lacking, and discussing it wasn’t going to make her day any better.

“Sure,” her friend said. “What’s the latest with the family drama-rama?”

It wasn’t a cheerier subject, but she grabbed it anyway. “My parents are still in the midst of their contentious divorce, and my twin brother and sister are dealing with the repercussions of their unwise choices.” She let out another sigh. Her teenage sister had been dazzled by an edgy, older guy and ended up giving him information that allowed him to steal from Payne Colson’s business—all because Honey had gotten her siblings an afterschool job at his car salvage business.

Guilt gave her a hefty pinch. “Payne has let them keep working there, believe it or not.”

Melody shrugged. “Teens need second chances. I did my share of stupid stunts.”

Intellectually, Honey agreed. But she wished all of it had never happened. Though Walsh wasn’t related by blood to Payne, for all intents and purposes they were brothers. So her siblings had done damage to one of his. Her sister Lucy’s boyfriend had stolen from Payne’s business, and Lucy’s twin, Jeb, had sprayed “graffiti” on the yard’s metal entrance sign to deflect suspicion. He’d been caught, the truth had come out, and Honey couldn’t help feeling responsible.

On top of that, now she’d messed up at her job as well—the job she’d better get back to.

“I guess I’ll take that coffee for Walsh now.”

It was time to face the man and make him see—through rational, sensible dialogue—that he was better off leaving her at home the weekend after next.

In the MadSci offices, he was still on that call or maybe on to another. She slipped his cup onto his desk and then turned to her own, where she stowed her purse and flipped on her computer. The rest of the staff had yet to arrive, so she used the relative quiet to jot a few notes for herself on a pad.

Realizing she was down to the last sheet, she moved to the supplies closet located inside the designated lunchroom space. The shelves were a jumbled mess, she discovered. Engineers might have orderly brains, but they weren’t much for physical tidiness.

“There you are,” a low voice said.

Honey nearly jumped from her skin. Spinning, she faced Walsh, who loomed in the doorway, his hands braced on the jamb.

“I thought you might have run out on me again.”

She swallowed. “I wouldn’t do that.”

He quirked a brow. “So you’re in here hiding instead?”

“I’m not hiding.” Honey pressed her hand over her unsteady heart. Walsh looked so
big
standing there. The other scientists, engineers, and IT types at the firm came to work in nerd-casual, but today Walsh was decked out in his usual tailored slacks, tie, and dress shirt rolled neatly up to his elbows. His suit jacket was hung, she knew, on a padded hanger behind his office door, but even without it he appeared all-business.

“I came for a scratch pad. I stayed to straighten up.” She gestured at the messy shelves, but nerves made her arm go wild, and she actually knocked a stack of pads and an open box of pens to the floor.

Mortified, Honey felt her face heat, and she instantly bent to gather the scattered items. Walsh crouched too, and when she glanced up, his eyes were on her and he was close. So close, she could smell laundry soap and his shampoo.

Too close.

“You’re not wearing glasses,” he said softly.

Her face burned. She wasn’t wearing glasses because she’d broken them during that silly scene at Payne’s house. And she didn’t have a spare pair because the fact was, she really didn’t need glasses. They were the slightest of corrections, and if she was honest, mostly used as armor between herself and…

Her boss.

While she enjoyed looking at him, she had never wanted him to look back, afraid of what reaction she might have—surely she’d make a fool of herself—if something came into his eyes like…

Oh, God. Like she saw right now.

Walsh was looking at her like she was a woman.

No! No, that couldn’t be, could it? They’d worked closely for two years, and he’d never before had that warm light in his gaze. It flicked over her now, sensitizing her skin and making it prickle.

Perhaps she was coming down with something.

A crush on your boss.

The thought caused her to clutch the pads to her chest and rise to her feet. She needed out of this enclosed space. Away from his disturbing presence. Where she could avoid the uncomfortable truth.

Walsh rose, too, the pens clutched in one big hand.

He had such long, strong-looking fingers.

Wrenching her gaze from them, she shoved the pads of paper onto the shelf. Then her boss stepped up behind her. She could feel the heat of his body all along her back. Inhaling a careful breath, Honey struggled to ignore the delicious feeling of being feminine and small in comparison to his taller, rugged presence.

When he dumped the pens in their container beside the paper, she stared at his arm, muscled and sprinkled with dark hair. Task accomplished, he braced his palm on the shelving, effectively caging her in.

“Honey,” he murmured.

She should have changed her name, she thought, and not for the first time. To Hortense or Hildegard or Hazel. It was cruel of her parents to give her this one, which was too easily misconstrued as an endearment.

“You’re going on the trip with me, right?” Walsh continued in that same hushed tone.