She frowned at him, but let it slide. “Come on, let’s head in. I scoped out a few booths I think we should take a look at.”
Following her into the market, he saw a long line of stalls bursting with colorful blooms. Though he could identify the odd rose or tulip, beyond that he was lost.
“I don’t suppose they have a map or something,” he mused.
“What, you want an app that will direct you to the exact right stall we’re searching for? Siri, lead me to peonies.”
“Who needs Siri when I have you?”
She tossed him a smile over her shoulder. “Truer words have never been spoken.” She pulled out a sheet of paper from her bag then handed it to him.
“English garden roses, dahlias, and ranunculuses.” He frowned. “Ranunculi?”
“Don’t know, don’t care,” she said, pressing against his side to study the sheet. The scent of lavender wafted from her hair, making it far harder for him to think than it should have. “I did some research last night. These are the flowers that look somewhat similar to peonies but actually grow this time of year.”
He blinked. “You did that?” He hadn’t even had time to think twice about this expedition.
She looked up at him, obviously attempting to drown him in the dark depths of her eyes. “I’d do anything for you.” His mouth went dry before she added, “And Jenny, of course. I’m just as committed as you are to making this wedding perfect. If that requires a little more research, so be it.”
What else had he expected from his ever-perfect assistant? Allison had come today with her mind on their mission. The least he could do was get his out of the gutter.
Come on, King. You’re better than this, he scolded himself. Time to step up to the task.
And stop the inappropriate thoughts dancing through his mind.
…
Why is he looking at me like that? Allison turned away, breaking eye contact.
“Thank you,” he said. “For the extra work.”
“Uh, you’re welcome. Come on, let’s check out stall number one.” Normally she’d wrap a hand around his arm to guide him where they needed to be, but today she kept her hands by her sides. Why did she feel so off kilter?
Was it the clothes? She ran a hand over her jeans. It had taken her an embarrassingly long time to get dressed today. Her first instinct had been to reach for one of the suits that filled her closet, but then she’d realized how strange it would be to show up at a morning market dressed for the office.
Then had come the endless debate of jeans versus skirts. Running shoes or boots. Collared shirt or T-shirt.
A decision that wouldn’t have caused her much stress a week ago suddenly seemed far too important.
All because of that damned gazebo.
She’d spent the last few days trying to avoid thinking about it. And Darian certainly hadn’t brought it up.
Not that his silence on the subject bothers you. Right?
Gillian’s words had wormed their way into her head. Any other woman would take advantage of any opportunity Darian offered. He was an attractive man, both inside and out. And she had a ticking clock. Yes, that kiss might have forever changed their relationship, but in the grand scheme of things, did it matter? It’s not like Darian would keep her on speed dial once she quit. She’d lose him either way.
Which meant there was very little to keep her from acting on desires she’d tried so hard to suppress.
“These aren’t on the list, but they are rather nice,” Darian said, reaching out to run his finger over the delicate petal of a purple flower.
She watched him move, imagining those fingers brushing along her skin with equal care. Darian wasn’t a relationship sort of man, but she’d known that going in. There were no illusions about what could or couldn’t happen with him. And really, fun, casual sex might be just what she needed.
Gillian was right. She was in a rut, and sleeping with her sexy boss seemed like one hell of a way to get out of it. After all, he’d appeared in more than a few naughty dreams over the years, though she’d deny it to her grave.
Unfortunately, Darian seemed immune to the wedding cheer and romance that had surrounded them for the last week. If there really had been a moment in the gazebo, it might just have been a fluke. One he was trying to put behind them.
Which left her with a decision. Accept that some fantasies were best kept behind locked doors and out of sight.
Or do something about it.
The thought sent butterflies rioting through her stomach. Hell, maybe if she made a move and he turned her down, it’d be easier to get her dismissal. He might want rid of her as fast as possible.
The thought wasn’t as comforting as it should have been.
“These are pretty,” she said, moving on to the next stall.
He leaned over her shoulder to see what she’d selected. “Too yellow,” he replied.
“They’d brighten up the reception hall,” she argued, looking over her shoulder.
Only to find his mouth a breath from hers.
Darian straightened so fast one would think she’d electrocuted him.
“Not yellow,” was all he said as he walked away toward another seller.
Allison watched him move away from her, the butterflies dying in her stomach. Her fantasies had all been premised on the idea that Darian would sleep with anyone so long as they made no relationship demands of him. But what if that rule didn’t include her? Yes, she’d be leaving soon, but until she did, she’d have to suffer the soul-crushing humiliation of knowing he’d fall into bed with anyone but her.
Bars were full of strangers hoping for one night stands. If she needed a man in her bed that badly she’d be better of propositioning one of them. She could get out of her rut and wouldn’t put either of them in an embarrassing situation. A far safer option, even if it cast a cloud over her flower filled morning.
Be his perfect assistant, she admonished herself. Keep any desires you’d be embarrassed to explain to a child to yourself.
“So far I’m not seeing anything on your list,” he told her when she caught up to him. “We might be out of luck.”
“We’re only halfway through. I’m sure someone will have something we can use.”
“Ever the optimist.”
A wry smile twisted her lips. On the contrary, she was usually the one pulling his ideas back down to earth. Darian was the shining golden boy who could make money out of nothing. She was the practical shadow that figured out ways to carry out the more boring steps of his vision.
“I suppose we could come back next Saturday, though I know it’d be asking a lot,” he said.
“Does that mean I’d get another dinner out of the deal?”
His eyes flashed to hers before he glanced away. “Sure.”
She paused as he moved farther down the stalls. Dinner was on, then? He hadn’t breathed a word of it since their car ride to Sahra. She’d half expected him to forget, but then again, not much slipped Darian’s mind unless it was deliberately forgotten.
“Ali.”
Her head swung up, orienting toward her name. Darian waved at her, his arm stretched high over the heads of their fellow flower shoppers.
Threading her way through the crowd, she quickly crossed the distance to him.