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I couldn’t find the goddamn intern.
It had been my primary objective for the better part of an hour, the idea she’d inspired rolling around in my thoughts, waiting to meet hers.
The Medici article had sunk into my mind like a shovel into fresh earth, the kind that began writing itself as I ate standing at my kitchen island and when I ran my thoughts down on my treadmill. It was the best kind of idea, one that had been inspired by her, by her research and work, and I had more for her. If I could find her.
I had already circled the office twice and trekked to the Lehmann Library. I’d even ridden the elevator up and down twice, just in case I’d catch her there, as it seemed to be a fixed point for us. What was most ridiculous about my agitation was that I had no idea when she was supposed to come in, so I had nothing to gauge her truancy or my expectations by. And when I’d asked Bianca what time the intern usually came in, she’d looked at me like my forehead had opened up to expose a third eye.
That damnable idea wouldn’t shut up, and I’d decided—I would write the article with the intern’s help. I could reassign her, place her somewhere her work would be appreciated. Vainly, I’d mentioned Medici and some of my ramblings to Bianca in the hopes that she’d brainstorm with me, but she’d only listened politely while her gaze occasionally drifted to her computer screen and whatever was waiting for her there.
But the intern would listen, if I could find her. And get her to sit still. If she’d fucking get here, already.
I glanced at my watch as I headed back to my office. Annoyance fired at the late hour and lost time, cursing her as if she were to blame for not being accessible exactly when and where I wanted her.
When I looked up, my feet took root, stopping me mid-stride at the sight of the intern at the end of the hallway.
It was as if I’d conjured her, as if she’d been placed there at my feet, by my order. And the vision drew the breath from my lungs in a moment that stretched out between us like a rubber band.
She was tall—so exquisitely tall—her body a long, elegant line, mostly comprised of legs. They were glorious legs, the longest legs I’d ever laid eyes on, moving her toward me with smooth grace. The narrow circle of her waist was accentuated by the waistband of midnight blue pants, and her blouse hugged her breasts, the V-neck like an arrow, drawing my gaze down the everlasting length of her body.
And then I met her eyes.
They were confident and assured, but touched at the corners with flickering uncertainty, lined with kohl and bigger, wider than I remembered. The creamy porcelain of her skin glowed luminescent, her jaw and chin so delicate, they might break in the wrong hands, in the wrong palm.
But it was her lips that summoned me, commanded me without a word, a deep shade of crimson spotlighting their bewitching shape; narrow on her face but ample and alluring, her top lip as thick and luscious as the bottom. I envisioned them parting to whisper my name.
I imagined those lips doing a great number of things in that moment.
And then, her lips did part, stretching into a small O, her eyes flashing open as she pitched forward.
She was in my arms before she could make a sound, her warm, soft body pressed against my cold, hard one. Her hands gripped my biceps. Mine slipped around her slender waist and held fast.
The intern—could it really be her?—looked up at me, her cheeks smudged with a rosy blush. Her eyes weren’t brown after all, but a deep, steely shade of blue and green, the change in pigment so slight, they combined to form a sheet of color that reminded me of slate, a depth of blue-gray that defied logic.
“I…” she breathed, her eyes lighting with fear and embarrassment, and I found myself smiling with the slightest tilt of my lips.
“Glad I caught you,” I said, setting her to rights, loathe to let her go.