The Sweetest Hours (Harlequin Superromance) by Cathryn Parry Page B

Don’t speak my name. Malcolm shook his head at her.
    The receptionist paused, her mouth pressing closed.
    Malcolm strode forward and clasped Kristin’s elbow. “Please,” he murmured. “Come inside with me.”
    “But...I’m making an appointment to see a Mr. MacDowall on Monday.”
    “Yes, I’ll help you with that.”
    She nodded and followed him without question. He steered her inside, past the row of cubicles.
    But the small conference room he’d had his eye on was occupied. He didn’t want to bring her to his office, because a nameplate was clearly posted on his door, indicating just who he was....
    Kristin slowed, staring at him, confusion sinking in. She stepped back. “George, what’s going on? I don’t understand.”
    “I just want to talk in private with you.”
    “But...Jay said you had nothing at all to do with Sage. That you work for a consulting firm in New York.”
    So many agreements had been made between Malcolm and Jay. The lies they’d agreed to tell had all been related to security. Malcolm smiled nervously at Kristin even as he glanced toward the other conference room—the bigger one, with all the windows.
    It appeared to be open. Maybe he could draw the blinds for privacy.
    “Er...we’ll discuss this in a moment,” he said.
    “Malcolm?” Their accounting assistant, a phone to her ear, beckoned to him from her desk. “Mr. McVicar is waiting for you in the boardroom. The call just came down from the fourth floor.”
    “Tell him I’m busy just now,” Malcolm said.
    He turned to Kristin, but her face had drained of color. She seemed to be breathing with difficulty. Her eyes were huge and glistening.
    “Malcolm?” she whispered. “You’re Malcolm? ”
    Oh, hell.
    “Er, technically,” he said.
    “ Why did you call yourself George?” she asked. “You lied to me. Why?”
    He couldn’t tell her the truth—not like this, not out here, with everyone gaping at them. “Kristin, please, let’s...”
    But she was blinking rapidly all of a sudden. She appeared to be swaying on her feet. He gripped her arm tighter.
    One of the support staff stopped before him in passing. “Mr. MacDowall, I found a shop that will copy the large drawings for you.” Without even glancing at Kristin, the busy assistant stretched out the two familiar, huge, blue schematics.
    He shook his head at her, incredulous that this was happening to him now.
    “You can take them with you to Byrne Glennie next week,” the assistant chirped. “Here they are.” She thrust them at him, pleased with herself.
    This was why Malcolm usually handled such tasks himself—privacy and discretion were extremely important.
    A strangled noise came from Kristin’s throat. She pulled her arm away from him.
    Malcolm put his hand to his head. He had no idea what to do.
    Nothing could have gone worse for him. Nothing.
    * * *
    T HOSE WERE HER BLUEPRINTS . She had made them, and not for him to steal. “What are you doing with my drawings?” Kristin demanded.
    “I...er... Kristin...” He took her arm again, but she shook him off.
    “Please, let me talk to you.” He held open the door of an empty conference room, and Kristin followed him inside only because she needed answers.
    Upset, still feeling the shock of the situation, she sank into a padded chair.
    He walked to the windows and closed the blinds as if it was more important to hide her from everyone than it was to explain to her why he was at Sage Family Products and why people were calling him Malcolm.
    “I thought you were helping us,” she said. “George.”
    “I was,” he muttered. “I am. Kristin, please, trust me.”
    He looked at her with panic etched on his face, and Kristin wanted to believe him, but how could she?
    Then the door opened, and a beautiful blonde woman poked her head inside.
    “Mr. MacDowall,” the woman said, “I’m sorry, but your uncle is calling down from the fourth floor for you.” She looked pointedly at Kristin. “Is everything