No Need For Love. Sandra Marton

job, as good or better. But first, she would make absolutely certain that Grant MacLean knew she had his number—and that his conservative, very proper colleagues, Longworth, Hart and Holtz, knew it, too.

      The thought brought the first real smile of the day to her lips.

      

      Hannah had timed things so she’d be sure to arrive long before her employer did. That was why finding a stack of file folders beside her computer and a terse note instructing her to deal with them immediately was a bit disconcerting.

      ‘Miss Lewis,’ it read. ‘Extract all appropriate references to the French incorporation and have them on my desk by ten.’ It was sighed, as always, with the single name, ‘MacLean.’

      It was the sort of note he left her all the time, so commonplace that she almost began doing as directed. But then she stopped, folder in hand. She looked up quickly, half expecting to see him watching her from the doorway with, no doubt, a smug little smile on his face.

      But he wasn’t there. How could he be? She’d marched into his office and checked the minute she’d arrived, just to make sure. Still, she made a show of slapping down the folder, picking up the note, and ripping it to bits. Smiling disdainfully, she dropped the shredded paper into the wastebasket.

      ‘Take care of it yourself, MacLean,’ she said coolly.

      Then she turned on her computer, stabbed her glasses on to her nose, and set to work.

      Twenty minutes later, the laser printer spewed out a brief but pointed letter of resignation. Hannah was very pleased with it. It was concise and to the point, outlining what had happened last evening in crisp, no-nonsense terms. She would put a copy of it on the desk of each member of the firm before she went out of the door—which she would do in record time, for she had no intention whatsoever of giving Mr Grant MacLean more than an hour’s notice.

      She almost laughed when she thought of the note he’d left her. Let him extract his ‘appropriate references’ while he tried to explain her charges to Longworth, Hart and Holtz. Grant MacLean, eminent lawyer, was about to become Grant MacLean, tightrope walker. And if he lost his balance and fell, thanks to her, it was exactly what he deserved.

      ‘I take it you’ve gotten the information I require.’ The cool male voice made her jump. Hannah spun around, hand to her throat. MacLean was lounging in the doorway to her office, arms folded across his chest, a dark scowl on his face.

      ‘Mr MacLean!’ Mr MacLean? she thought, hearing herself. And said in a squeaky voice, too. Damn! That was hardly a good way to start.

      ‘Who did you expect?’

      ‘But—where did you come from?’ she said, much more calmly. ‘I checked your office...’

      ‘I was in the washroom.’

      Of course! He had a private lavatory; all the partners did. And he’d either tossed water on his face or showered—she could see little droplets glistening in his hair. He hadn’t shaved yet—there was a rough stubble on his face, just as there’d been last night when he’d kissed her. But the stubble didn’t feel rough at all. It had felt silken against her skin, silken and——

      ‘Should I have left you a note to that effect?’

      She blinked. He was glaring at her, his mouth set and stern. A flush rose and arced across her cheeks.

      ‘No,’ she said quickly, ‘No, of course not. I just—you startled me, that’s all.’

      What was she doing? First her thoughts had drifted in a way that made no sense whatsoever, and now she was stumbling all over herself in what sounded, even to her, like an apology.

      She drew herself up, her fingers clutching her notice of resignation even more tightly. All right. He’d caught her off guard. He was good at that. But that was no reason to retreat. It was important that she take the offensive here, that she be the one to——

      ‘I asked you a question, Hannah.’

      She stared at him. Her mind was blank.

      ‘What question?’

      His mouth twisted. ‘Have you found the information I requested?’ His gaze went to the file folders stacked on her desk. ‘I can see for myself that you haven’t.’

      Her glance followed his. ‘Well, no. I haven’t. But——’

      ‘I’ll need that information by one o’clock. I’ve an important meeting this evening, and I’ll want time to incorporate what you find into my notes.’

      ‘Yes, sir. I...’

      Hannah clamped her lips together. Yes, sir? Yes, sir? She took a deep breath.

      ‘What I mean is, yes, I understand. But——’

      ‘Good.’ He peered at his wristwatch, then swung on his heel and stepped back into his office. ‘Bring me what I need as soon as you have it. Until then, I don’t want to be disturbed.’

      ‘Wait a second——’

      The door slammed shut. She stood staring at it for a moment, and then she uttered a short, succinct word, marched towards it, and yanked it open.

      ‘Mr MacLean.’

      He looked up from his desk. ‘Hannah,’ he said irritably, ‘when I said I didn’t want to be disturbed, I meant it.’

      ‘Mr MacLean,’ she repeated, ‘about those files——’

      ‘Is there a problem?’

      Is there a problem? She wanted to laugh in his face. Instead, she nodded and gave him a cool smile.

      ‘Yes. There certainly is.’

      ‘I know they’re not very well organised.’ He frowned, capped his pen, and leaned forward, clasping his hands on his desk blotter. ‘My former assistant was in charge of such things, and I’m afraid she wasn’t very well organised.’

      ‘That’s not the point, Mr MacLean. The files aren’t——’

      ‘But then, I’m sure you’ve already figured that out for yourself, haven’t you?’

      Hannah looked at him. ‘Figured what out for myself?’ she asked helplessly.

      ‘That Mrs LaMott wasn’t the most qualified of paralegals.’ He sighed deeply and rubbed his hands over his face. ‘Hell, I’m sorry I’m such a bear this morning.’ He gave her a quick, easy smile, the sort she’d seen fewer than half a dozen times in almost as many months. ‘I guess I’m not at my best before my first cup of coffee.’

      Was that a reminder that she hadn’t put up the usual pot? Hannah’s expression grew cool.

      ‘How unfortunate.’

      MacLean nodded. ‘You’re right. It’s a bad habit-tone Mrs LaMott almost broke me of by making the worst cup of coffee this side of China. Nothing like the coffee you brew.’ He smiled again. ‘Nor was she ever as capable or efficient as you are.’

      Hannah stared at him. Did he really think he could gloss over what he’d done last night by patting her on the head as if she were a child? Next he’d be offering her a bribe to forget it all, only he wouldn’t call it a bribe, naturally, he’d call it a raise or a bonus——

      He frowned. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve made coffee just yet?’

      ‘No,’ Hannah said coldly, ‘I did not, and I’ve no intention of making any. In fact——’

      ‘That’s all right.’ He rose from his chair and strolled to the built-in bar across the room. ‘I drink too much of the stuff as it is,’ he said, opening the concealed miniature refrigerator and taking out a small bottle of chilled mineral water. He poured a glass, then looked at her, brows elevated. ‘Would you like some?’

      ‘No,’