Passionate Fantasy. Sharon Kendrick

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      ‘CAN you take me to Dalkeith, please?’ Kitty mentioned the name of the well-known Perth suburb to the taxi-driver.

      He grinned. ‘No worries. Whereabouts?’

      ‘Jackland Parade.’ She gave the name of the street, and the driver gave a long, low whistle.

      ‘Millionaires’ row?’ he queried, and looked more closely at her as he handed in her two suitcases. ‘Hit the big time, have you, love?’

      Kitty flicked a thick ginger plait back over her shoulder. ‘I’ve got a job there,’ she told him.

      ‘Lucky you,’ he commented as he turned the key in the ignition.

      Lucky? Her hands were cold and clammy. The way she felt at the moment, she was lucky she hadn’t been committed to the nearest asylum to have her brain examined.

      In the week since her successful interview with Darius Speed, Kitty had had time to reflect on the wisdom of attempting her madcap scheme. The man with the quicksilver grey eyes had disturbed her in more ways than one, but mostly it had been her recognition of his keen intelligence which had filled her with dread.

      In the end it had been Caro who had talked away her fears, telling her that it would be simple. She could be in and out of there in a month, maybe a week if she was lucky, with the film-script in her hand, and the eternal gratitude of her friend.

      ‘But what if he suspects? Or, even worse, guesses why I’m there?’

      Caro had shrugged in her happy-go-lucky way. ‘How can he?’ she had quizzed. ‘You’ll be in the kitchen most of the time—you’ll hardly see him. He travels a lot, and while he’s away you find out the combination of his safe.’

      ‘How?’ Kitty had demanded, ever practical.

      Caro had smiled. ‘You’ll think of something.’

      ‘Will I?’

      ‘Of course you will! Honestly, Kitty, you’ll be fine!’

      But as the taxi waited outside electronic wrought-iron gates while a uniformed guard telephoned her name through to the house, Kitty felt like one of the Christians about to be fed to the lions. Even when they were given the all-clear, her nervousness showed no sign of abating.

      They drove up to the impressive-looking two-storey white building. The gardens were extensive and beautiful, displaying much of the lush tropical flora which Kitty knew abounded in the state of Western Australia. She could see trees with bright exotic blossoms of red and mauve, standing out brilliantly against the clear blue of the sky.

      She looked up at the house, her eyes registering its unpretentiousness—but, for all that, she knew that the property must be worth a cool half-million, at least.

      But, to her surprise, the front door opened immediately, and it was not some uniformed minion who came out but Darius Speed himself, running lightly down the steps with all the grace and stamina of the natural athlete.

      He was dressed in tennis whites: a short-sleeved T-shirt, slightly damp with sweat, and a pair of immaculate white shorts which came to mid-thigh, showing a long expanse of tanned and muscular leg. His hair was damp too, little tendrils dancing around the strong neck.

      She stared up at him, momentarily transfixed. The sun was behind him—and his eyes were full of a clear, bright light which rivalled its brilliance. He looked, she thought, like the very antithesis of a blond Greek god—with his dark hair and his shadowed, mysterious face in repose.

      But as he spoke her illusions fled. ‘Hello, Kitty,’ he said coolly. Then, as he saw her pull Out her purse and begin to open it, he shook his head. ‘I’ll get this,’ he said.

      She watched, while pretending not to, as he walked towards the car. He had bent down, and was grinning at something the taxi-driver had said. Kitty gulped in unwilling admiration. At that moment he looked so carefree and so relaxed—the very picture of health and strength—a man at the very peak of his vitality. She began to wonder how a woman might feel to have those strong brown arms around her waist, to feel that lean, hard body pressed against——

      ‘Such a pensive cook,’ came a soft voice beside her, and she snapped out of her reverie in horror to find Darius at her side, a heavy suitcase carried in either hand with ease. ‘And from the look on your face you were worrying about more than what equipment you’re going to find in my kitchen?’

      Hardly! And she certainly wasn’t going to tell him what she had been thinking! She fixed him with her sweetest smile. ‘I was imagining how you would react if my soufflé failed to rise,’ she lied quickly.

      His eyes glittered. ‘I allow everyone one mistake, Kitty—but only one. Come, I’ll show you inside.’

      She followed him up the marble steps. She must pull herself together—stop crediting him with powers of perception he couldn’t possibly have. He didn’t have the power to read her mind; he was just an ordinary man.

      No, she corrected herself silently, her eyes swinging automatically to watch the well-shaped line of his buttocks, revealed in all their muscular beauty in the white shorts. Not an ordinary man at all. He had something which would always mark him out in a crowd, and it wasn’t just the outstandingly good looks, or the superb physique, or even that cool, calculating mind. He seemed to radiate some inner strength, some steely quality at the very heart of him. He looked, she thought, more than a little apprehensively, as though he did not have one vulnerable bone in his entire body ...

      He led her into a large entrance hall. ‘Right,’ he said briskly. ‘That door over there is my study. I don’t care to be disturbed when I’m in there working. Not for any reason. Understand?’

      She nodded, her eyes still taking in the vastness of the hall.

      ‘The main sitting-room is next door to the diningroom and over there——’ he pointed ‘—is the kitchen. I’ll get Simon to show you over properly later, once you’ve had a chance to settle in. I’d show you myself, but right now I’m a little tied up.’

      At that moment, the door of another room opened and an incredibly pretty woman in her late twenties came out.

      This was obviously what was tying him up, thought Kitty. His tennis partner. And what a stunner!

      The woman was also wearing tennis whites—a short, pleated white skirt which showed off her long, evenly tanned legs. And, even though they had obviously just finished playing, she was clearly one of those women who didn’t sweat. She looked as cool as a cucumber, with not a hair of the shiny brown ponytail out of place, not the merest hint of a shiny nose, nor the tell-tale sign of smudged mascara. Even her lipstick had remained unspoiled. Kitty loved sport herself, but her pale complexion inevitably flushed pink within the first ten minutes of playing.

      Darius’s partner turned her big brown eyes towards him, her hundred-megawatt smile for him alone.

      He smiled back, his eyes crinkling at the corners. ‘I won’t be long,’ he said. ‘My new chef has just arrived. Kitty, this is Julia Davies. Julia—Kitty Goodman.’

      ‘Hi,’ grinned Julia. ‘Pleased to meet you.’

      She СКАЧАТЬ