Back In The Boss's Bed. Sharon Kendrick
Чтение книги онлайн.
Читать онлайн книгу Back In The Boss's Bed - Sharon Kendrick страница 8
Название: Back In The Boss's Bed
Автор: Sharon Kendrick
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Современная зарубежная литература
isbn: 9781408941331
isbn:
Racked with self-doubt, she stared out at the summer garden—at the splashed colour spectrum of the roses and the bright blue spears of delphinium. What else could match a view like that? Certainly nothing that London could offer.
She had come back to live in the country for everything that view represented—a pace of life which was so much more relaxed than the hurly-burly of the city. Here, values seemed more grounded and there was time to do the things she enjoyed. Simple pleasures, far removed from the smoke-filled clatter of City bars. She rode her horse, played tennis and mixed with a set of people with similar tastes and passions.
No, maybe passion was the wrong word. Passion meant strong and uncontrollable emotion and Kiloran could certainly never have been accused of that.
Hers had been an uncertain childhood and her mother’s moods capricious as she had sought happiness in the arms of a series of men until she had finally hit the jackpot and married her millionaire. Kiloran, in contrast, had strived for nothing more ambitious than balance, vowing never to go the way of her mother and look for happiness in someone else. She would find it within herself. She wanted nothing more than safety and security. Of knowing that she could survive on her own.
But a life which had seemed safe and predictable now looked anything but, and not just because the business was threatened. No, Adam Black had stormed into her life like a rampaging hurricane and, just like land left in the wake of a hurricane, she now felt distinctly flattened.
And distinctly disorientated.
In his London apartment, Adam stood beneath the jets of the shower and rubbed soap into his long, tanned legs, feeling the water beating warm and strong against him as it cascaded over his hair-roughened skin. He had been trying to wash away the memory of Kiloran Lacey and her pink and white beauty, telling himself that an unwilling sexual attraction was no basis for a close working relationship with the woman. But what choice did he have? He hadn’t been expecting to be bowled over by that cool, insouciant air—it had just hit him out of the blue.
It hadn’t happened like that for a long time—actually, never quite like that before—and never with anyone he worked with. She was off limits, he told himself. Strictly off limits.
He rubbed soap into firm, hard muscles but the physical contact only awakened feelings he would prefer to be subdued and, abruptly, he terminated the shower and roughly towelled himself dry. He slung on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt and flicked the message button on his answering machine, where the message light flashed the number eight onto the small screen.
Eight messages. He frowned. Had he really given his number out to that many people or had word just got around? He had only been back in England a month and yet already it seemed that he was in demand as the ‘must-have’ guest at every party. Single men were as rare as virgins, he thought wryly.
But he was tempted by none of the invitations on offer as the machine beeped and whirred its way through the tape. He didn’t want to be teamed up with a gorgeous accessory of a woman who would look at him and his lifestyle and wonder why he wasn’t married and immediately set about righting that.
Nor have to fend off the attentions of the hostess who was invariably feeling jaded with marriage and on the lookout for a quick fix of sexual excitement.
And it seemed that dissatisfaction went hand in hand with affluence. Once, affluence had seemed like the answer to everything, but maybe that was because when you didn’t have something you strove and strove until you did. Or, at least, he did. And then when you got it—what then?
Another challenge, he guessed. Something like Lacey’s. A little, old-fashioned ship, bobbing around on the pirate-infested sea of big business.
He gave a slow smile, enjoying the analogy, even if Kiloran Lacey somehow and distractingly got into the picture, tied to some mast with the waves plastering her clothes to her body.
He groaned as he felt the unwelcome throb of desire and, annoyed with himself, picked up the phone on the first ring instead of letting it go directly to the answering machine.
‘Adam?’ came a breathless, eager voice. ‘It’s Carolyn.’
It took a moment to fit the face to the voice and when he did, he nodded. She was beautiful and amusing enough to take to the theatre with him, surely? ‘Carolyn,’ he murmured. ‘Good to hear you.’
While the Lacey factory lay on the outskirts of the small, nearby town, the administration block had been built by Kiloran’s great-grandfather within the grounds of the mansion itself. He had been a man ahead of his time in more ways than one and he had wanted to see as much of his children growing up as possible.
Kiloran had always enjoyed the easy access between work and home, but when she walked into her office on Monday morning to find a horribly familiar figure sitting at her desk she felt as though she were being invaded on all fronts.
Long legs were stretched out in front of him, the soft fabric of his suit stretching over the hard muscle of his thighs, and she found herself thinking how broad his shoulders were when viewed from this angle.
The jet-dark head was lifted and the face which was raised to greet the sound of her entering could by no stretch of the imagination be described as welcoming, but that didn’t stop her heart missing a beat.
Kiloran swallowed. ‘Good morning, Adam,’ she said carefully. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘What does it look like?’ he questioned coolly. ‘Working.’ He gave a pointed look at the expensive gold timepiece which gleamed discreetly above an immaculate white cuff. ‘What’s this?’ he questioned sardonically. ‘Your half-day?’
She felt so unsettled at seeing him, particularly seeing him sitting looking so arrogantly territorial, that she immediately went on the defensive. ‘It’s nine o’clock,’ she answered. ‘The time when most normal people start working.’
He put down his pen with a clatter. ‘These are not normal times, Kiloran,’ he returned. ‘I thought you realised that! And, besides, I’m always at my desk by seven-thirty.’
Well, bully for you, she thought. ‘How did you get here?’
‘I flew.’
‘Seriously?’
He gave a click of irritation. ‘Of course I didn’t—the nearest airfield is miles away. That was what was known as irony, Kiloran.’ Though he doubted whether she would know irony if it got up and performed a little dance for her. ‘I drove.’
‘This morning?’
‘Very early this morning.’
It must have been virtually daybreak when he had started out—because even when the roads were empty, the journey still took two hours from London. That would probably account for the smudges of faint blue shadows beneath those magnificent eyes. Or had he spent his weekend engaged in pursuits which would guarantee a lack of sleep? Probably, if the newspapers were to be believed.
She СКАЧАТЬ