When Lightning Strikes Twice by Barbara Boswell Read Free Book Online Page A

curves of her hips, turning the release into an intimate and possessive caress.
    Rachel quickly stepped aside, but Quint was already moving away from her. She watched him stride to the window and stop in front of it to stare out, his back to her. Compulsively, her gaze swept the long, strong length of him, lingering on the nape of his neck, where his thick dark hair was cut bristly short. She studied the width of his shoulders, his broad strong back, abruptly averting her eyes from a downward perusal.
    Her nerves were tingling, her pulses were in overdrive, and her knees felt weak. She walked shakily to the nearest chair and sank down into it.
She had been in his arms!
And she was still reeling from the forceful sexual tension that had vibrated between them.
    Silence fell, so heavy and charged that Rachel knew she had to break it. Otherwise, she would sit here and obsess about the feel of his hard body next to hers, about the unfamiliar but thrilling sensations his nearness had evoked within her. She felt dizzy and defenseless and more off-balance than she’d ever been in her entire well-ordered, controlled life.
    “I—I guess I didn’t realize how close to the High Speed Line this office actually is,” she mumbled.
    Inwardly, she groaned at the remark, which was nothing short of inane. This was a well-paid, functioning attorney? She cringed, waiting for Quint to annihilate her with a choice bit of sarcasm. Ruefully, Rachel decided she deserved it.
    Instead, he seized upon her feeble comment and picked up the conversational ball, his tone—grateful?
    “Yeah, we’re really close to the High Speed Line down here. Any closer, and we’d be on the track itself. My father boasted to me about the low rent he paid for his office space, and when I saw the place, I guessed why. Then the train went by and I
knew
why.”
    “Maybe the landlord should pay
you
.” Rachel attempteda little joke, but glancing around, she wondered if it wasn’t a statement of truth.
    The office was singularly unattractive, with peeling dull gray paint on the walls, ugly institutional furniture, and aging linoleum floors. Every frame hung on the walls was crooked, adding a peculiar lopsided feel. And to top it all off, this eyesore came equipped with sound effects. Twice an hour it sounded as if a runaway train was crashing through the office.
    “There’s no getting around the fact that this place is a dump,” Quint said bluntly.
    “I—didn’t say that.”
    “Because you were being polite. Thank you.”
    Clearly, she wasn’t the only one being polite. Rachel fiddled with the leather strap of her watchband, carefully keeping her eyes averted from him though she was achingly aware of his exact location in the office.
    They were both being so cordial, it would’ve been funny under any other circumstances. But neither one was laughing.
    She willed her breathing to return to a normal rhythm but didn’t have much luck. If someone were to enter the office and see her gulping for air, it might be assumed that she’d been running laps around the building. Surely, nobody would ever guess that Quint Cormack had held her in his arms, that she’d felt his body crucially hardening against her while she grew moist and soft, as though anticipating …
    The sound of a double beep made her jump in her chair. Quint snatched up the receiver of his telephone. “Helen, I told you to hold my calls,” he snapped.
    Rachel noted with a certain satisfaction that Quint’s usual laconic air was missing, replaced by a noticeable tension bordering on—uptight? Fascinated, she stared at him. Was it her imagination or had a flush of color stained his neck?
    Quint looked up and saw her watching him. As her gaze became more intent, he suffered an abrupt loss of coordination,fumbling and accidentally pressing the button for his speaker phone.
    Helen’s voice was broadcasted into the office.
    “I know what you said.” Helen was not at all apologetic for her intrusion.