At His Service: His 9-5 Secretary. Michelle Celmer

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СКАЧАТЬ watching him with disbelieving eyes. And this was a crazy conversation. He wasn’t even sure how it had come about. Why did Gina’s opinion about their relationship matter so much, anyway? ‘I know you have two sisters, a best friend called Erica, and that you walk your parents’ dog to keep fit, for instance. OK?’ Even to himself he sounded petulant.

      ‘Those are head facts. Not heart facts.’

      ‘I’m sorry?’ he said, his temper rising.

      She gave what sounded like a weary sigh and ate another mouthful of food. ‘Think about it,’ was all she said.

      He ate his warm-bread salad without tasting it. There had been undercurrents in their friendship from day one—and it was a friendship, whatever she said—but there she was, as cool as a cucumber, stating they were merely work colleagues. Damn it, he knew there was a spark there, even if neither of them had done anything about it. And the reason he’d held his hand had been for her sake. An act of consideration on his part.

      He speared a piece of pepper with unnecessary violence, feeling extremely hard done by. He had known she wasn’t the type of woman to have a meaningless affair, and because he couldn’t offer anything permanent he’d kept things light and casual. But that didn’t mean there wasn’t something real between them.

      The waitress appeared as soon as they had finished and whisked their plates away, whereupon Gina immediately stood up, reaching for her handbag as she did so. ‘I’m just going to powder my nose,’ she said brightly.

      He had risen to his feet and now he nodded, sitting down again, watching her make her way to the back of the small restaurant and open the door marked Ladies.

      He had thought he knew her, but she had proved him wrong. His frown deepened. The woman who had sat there and blatantly told him he could stick their friendship—or as good as—was not the Gina of nine-to-five. In fact, she was a stranger. A beautiful, soft, honey-skinned stranger, admittedly, with eyes that could be uncertain and vulnerable one moment and fiery, to match the hair—the next. But a stranger nonetheless. And he didn’t understand it.

      Harry finished his glass of wine but resisted pouring himself another as he was driving, instead reaching for the bottle of sparkling mineral-water he’d ordered along with the wine.

      He had imagined there was a … buzz between them, and all the time she’d probably been carrying on with someone else. Of course she’d been entitled to; he’d had one or two, maybe three—but very short-lived—relationships in the last twelve months. But it was different for her. And then he grimaced at the hypocrisy, scowling in self-contempt. Damn it, she’d caught him on the raw, and he didn’t know which end of him was up. Which only confirmed a million times over he had been absolutely right not to get involved with Gina. She was trouble. In spite of the air of gentle, warm voluptuousness that had a man dreaming he could drown in the depths of her—or perhaps because of it—she was trouble.

      Swilling back the water, he made himself relax his limbs. It was ridiculous to get het up like this. She was leaving Yorkshire at the weekend, and that would be that. His mouth tightened. And Susan Richards had made it very plain she was up for a bit of fun with no strings attached. His perfect kind of woman, in fact.

      His scowl deepened. When he replaced the empty glass on the table, it was with such force he was fortunate it didn’t shatter.

      CHAPTER THREE

      WHATEVER had possessed her? Why had she challenged him like that? Gina stood, staring at her flushed reflection in the spotted little mirror in the ladies’ cloakroom, mentally groaning. He had looked absolutely amazed, and no wonder.

      Grabbing her bag, she hunted for her lip gloss and then stood with it in her hand, still staring vacantly. It had been his attitude that had done it. It had brought out the devil in her, and the temper that went with the hair. When she and her two sisters had been growing up, her father had repeatedly warned them about the folly of speaking first and thinking later—often lamenting the fact that he was the only male in a household of four red-haired women, while he’d been about it.

      ‘A homebody.’ And, ‘you’re bound to meet someone in London.’ How patronising could you get? And why shouldn’t she be a career woman, anyway? It wasn’t only scrawny blondes like Susan Richards who had the monopoly on such things.

      Suddenly she slumped, her eyes misty. She had behaved badly out there, and if she was being honest with herself it was because the sight of Harry and Susan had acted like salt on a raw wound.

      Dabbing her eyes with a tissue, she sniffed loudly and then repaired her make-up. This was all her own fault—she should never have come out to dinner with him. She had known it was foolish, worse than foolish, but she had done it anyway. Harry couldn’t help being Harry. Being so drop-dead gorgeous, he was always going to have women panting after him, but at least after tonight she wouldn’t have to watch it any longer.

      The lurch her heart gave made her smudge the lip gloss down her chin. She stopped what she was doing and held herself round the middle, swaying back and forth a number of times, until the door opening brought her up straight.

      A tall matronly looking woman entered, nodding and smiling at her before entering the one cubicle the tiny room held.

      Gina wished she was old, or at least old enough for this to be past history. She wished she didn’t love him so much. And more than anything she wished she wasn’t so sure that she would never meet anyone who could stir her heart like Harry, which meant she wasn’t likely to get the husband and children she’d always imagined herself having. She bit hard on her lip, her eyes cloudy. Harry was right. She was a homebody. And because of him she was being forced down a road she had never seen herself walking.

      It was all his fault. She glared at her reflection, wiping her streaked chin, and then packing her make-up away. He was so content with his lot, so happy, so completely self-satisfied. The rat.

      Taking a deep breath, she told herself to get a grip. He was buying her dinner, hardly a crime. And the watch was beautiful, made even more so by the fact he had noticed she wasn’t wearing her old one. It had been kind of him to round off her time at Breedon & Son by taking her out, when all was said and done. So … no more griping. Get yourself in there and be bright and sparkling, and leave him with a smile when the time comes.

      When Gina walked back into the dining area the sight of him caused her breath to catch in her throat, but then it always did. Which was at best annoying and worst embarrassing—like the time she had been eating a hot sausage-roll in the work canteen and had choked, until Natalie had slapped her on the back so hard she’d thought her spine had snapped in two.

      She arrived at the table just as the waitress brought their main course, which was good timing. She could bury herself in the food to some extent, she thought, sliding into her seat and returning his smile. At least he was smiling now. He’d looked thoroughly irritated with her when she had left, and she couldn’t altogether blame him.

      ‘More wine?’ He was refilling her glass as he spoke, and Gina didn’t protest. She needed something to help her get through the evening without making a complete fool of herself, and in the absence of anything else alcohol would do. Although, that was flawed thinking, she told herself in the next moment. The wine was more likely to prompt her to do or say something silly.

      Warning herself to go steady, she took a small sip and then tried the tagliatelle. It was delicious. The best she had ever tasted. Deciding that she was definitely a girl who СКАЧАТЬ