The Boss's Forbidden Secretary. Lee Wilkinson

if we happen to be in Scotland at the same time, she makes a point of calling to see me when she’s visiting her father.’

      It smacked of turning the screw, and Cathy frowned, hardly able to believe that any woman could treat him that way.

      Seeing her frown, and misinterpreting it, he apologized quickly, ‘I’m sorry. Maybe I shouldn’t have got on to such a personal topic, but I wondered if you were perhaps travelling up to join someone?’

      Instinctively sure that this man was special, she hesitated, momentarily tempted to try and explain about Carl and the deception she had reluctantly agreed to take part in.

      Though, as Carl had frequently pointed out since he had first broached the scheme, it was an innocent enough deception and would do no one any harm. And it would only be necessary until he’d been able to prove his worth.

      ‘I have exactly the qualifications the Bowans are looking for,’ he had told her, ‘but they were adamant that they would only employ a married couple.’

      Then with a sigh he had said, ‘Everything would have been fine if Katie hadn’t walked out on me and we’d got married as planned. But as it is I badly need your help. And honestly, Sis, it won’t be too bad. All we need to do is get on with our respective jobs and pretend to be husband and wife.’

      However, intrinsically honest, Cathy was far from happy, and had it been anyone other than her beloved younger brother she would have refused point-blank to be a part of it.

      As it was—with his life in ruins after the woman he loved had run off with his best friend—Cathy had found it impossible to deny him the chance to do what he’d always wanted to do.

      But her heart sank at the thought of trying to explain all that to Ross Dalgowan…

      And after promising Carl she wouldn’t breath a word to a soul, how could she?

      Turning her back on temptation, she shook her head. ‘Not really.’

      Her companion seemed satisfied, but, far from happy, she felt the colour rise in her cheeks and hoped he would put it down to the heat of the fire.

      CHAPTER TWO

      ROSS helped them both to more whisky, then, taking Cathy by surprise, observed, ‘You have the most beautiful and fascinating eyes.’

      With a self-deprecating smile, he added, ‘But I’m afraid I’m telling you something you already know.’

      Cathy had often wished that her eyes were the same deep blue as Carl’s, and her voice was a little unsteady as she admitted, ‘I’ve always considered that they were no particular colour, just nondescript.’

      ‘Far from it. Not only are they a lovely shape, but they seem to change colour with the light, as opals do. A moment ago they looked blue, now they look green and gold, like an April day.’

      She might have thought he was merely chatting her up, but he spoke quietly, thoughtfully, as if he meant exactly what he said.

      Watching her blush deepen, he said contritely, ‘But now I’ve embarrassed you.’ Then, smoothly changing tack, he asked, ‘Are you London born and bred?’

      ‘No, both my brother and I were born in Kent. We only moved to London when my parents—my father was a doctor and my mother a physiotherapist—got posts at one of the London hospitals.’

      ‘I see. Are either you or your brother in the medical profession?’

      ‘My brother trained as a physiotherapist, and I had hoped to be a doctor.’

      Reaching to put a couple of fresh logs on the fire, he probed, ‘Hoped to be?’

      ‘I left school just before I was eighteen, when both my parents were killed in a plane crash.’

      ‘You and your brother weren’t involved in the crash?’

      She shook her head. ‘No. To celebrate twenty years together they decided to go on a second honeymoon.’ Though she did her best to speak dispassionately, even after almost seven years the sense of loss still showed.

      ‘Is your brother older than you?’

      She shook her head. ‘No, a year younger.’

      ‘That must have been tough,’ he said simply, but his face held compassion, as if he understood.

      ‘It was for a while, but we managed.’

      Seeing that talking about it made her sad, he let the subject drop, asking instead, ‘Have you been to the Cairngorms before?’

      ‘No, but I’ve always wanted to. I love mountains.’

      ‘It’s a beautiful area,’ he agreed, ‘but, apart from on the fringes, relatively isolated. There are no roads in the heartland, I’m pleased to say, so it’s best seen on foot, on horseback or on skis…’

      For a while he talked about Scotland, and his low, pleasant voice, combined with the meal she had just eaten, the warmth and the unaccustomed whisky, made her feel sleepy and contented.

      She was just stifling a yawn when he asked, ‘Getting tired? If you want me to leave so you can go to bed…?’

      Feeling bereft at the thought of him going, she denied, ‘No, no…I’m not really tired. It’s just the warmth of the fire…’

      ‘Well, when you do want me to go, don’t hesitate to say so.’

      While the logs sparked and crackled and the blizzard raged outside, they talked idly, casually. But beneath the surface an unspoken, yet much deeper kind of communication was taking place.

      Eventually, with evident reluctance, Ross rose to his feet, and remarked, ‘You’ve still got a fairly long drive tomorrow, so I really must go and let you get some sleep…’

      Since her divorce, hurt and bitterly disillusioned, Cathy had steered clear of men, freezing off any that had shown the slightest desire to get too intimate.

      But now the thought of Ross Dalgowan leaving made her heart sink, and she faced the fact that, though she knew virtually nothing about him, she wanted him to stay.

      Taking a deep breath, she said, ‘Oh, but I should feel guilty if you were uncomfortable when there’s more room here than I need.’

      ‘There’s absolutely no reason for you to feel guilty. Where I sleep really isn’t a problem. I’ve no objection to stretching out on one of the couches in the lounge.’

      ‘They’re much too short,’ she pointed out a shade breathlessly, ‘and you would have no privacy.’

      Already he knew that this woman was different, special—not the kind he could lightly walk away from—and, remembering his decision to avoid emotional entanglements, he knew he should go. But very tempted to stay, to see what came of it, he hesitated.

      Seeing that hesitation, she went on in a rush, ‘The bunk beds don’t look particularly inviting, but if you want stay in the suite—which you can do with pleasure—at least you’ll be able to shower and take off your clothes.’

      ‘The thought of not having to sleep in my clothes makes your offer practically irresistible,’ he told her with a grin.

      ‘Then stay.’

      ‘Well, if you’re sure?’

      ‘I’m sure.’ To leave no doubt in his mind, she added, ‘The bathroom’s yours when you want it.’

      Shaking his head, he told her, ‘Ladies first.’

      While Cathy found her toilet bag and night things, he resumed his seat by the fire.

      When she had showered, wearing a plastic cap to keep her hair dry, she cleaned her teeth and put on her nightdress.

      Looking in the mirror while she removed the pins from her thick coil of fair hair and brushed