His Very Personal Assistant. Кэрол Мортимер

      ‘But?’ Kit interjected guardedly, already stung by his comment about the cream linen suit she was wearing. Though the four dark suits that she usually wore to work were sensible, they were smart of their kind—and had been expensive too.

      ‘But they aren’t suitable for a summer weekend in the country,’ Marcus persisted unapologetically. ‘For instance, have you packed a bikini?’

      ‘Certainly not!’

      ‘Well, Desmond has a full-sized outdoor heated swimming pool. Plus a stable if you happen to ride—’

      ‘I don’t.’ Kit did her best to repress a shudder just at the thought of getting on a horse; they were truly magnificent creatures to look at—from a distance!—but too unpredictable for her taste. ‘I like to go for walks, though,’ she said lightly, starting to wonder if this weekend might not be fun, after all.

      ‘Then you’ll need a pair of walking boots, and so do I,’ Marcus informed her happily. ‘And a pair of jeans and some tops to relax in during the day, plus something a bit more glamorous for dinner in the evenings—’

      ‘Okay, okay.’ Kit held up her hands in self-defence. ‘I get the picture.’

      ‘Good.’ Marcus nodded his satisfaction. ‘Off you go and change, and repack your suitcase, then. I’ll just sit in here and look through your book collection while I’m waiting,’ he informed her arrogantly, before strolling into the sitting-room to do exactly that.

      Kit stared after him frustratedly. She might, as she said, get the picture, but how on earth was she supposed to keep up the prim Miss McGuire role wearing denims—or worse!—a bikini?

      CHAPTER THREE

      ‘THAT’S better!’ Marcus voiced his approval when Kit rejoined him in the sitting-room fifteen minutes later.

      Fifteen agonizing minutes later. Kit simply hadn’t known what to do for the best once she was in her bedroom. If she did as Marcus asked, and dressed and behaved as casually as he was himself, wasn’t that going to make a nonsense of the working relationship she had gone to such lengths to establish the last six months? But on the other hand, if she didn’t fulfil her role as his PA, Marcus wasn’t going to think she was of much use to him, and maybe he’d decide, as he obviously had with Angie Dwyer, that she wasn’t working out too well.

      Besides, as he had gone to great pains to point out, he had no designs upon her body!

      Not sure whether she felt relieved, chagrined, or just plain disappointed about that, Kit had taken a quick inventory of her wardrobe and had picked out the clothing she thought might do for the occasion, without compromising herself too much. From the look on Marcus’s face as he looked at her now in a black tee shirt and fashionable fitted black trousers, he obviously approved of the transformation.

      ‘At least,’ he said as he slowly stood up, ‘the clothes are. Can’t you do something with your hair?’ He glowered at the severe style she still wore. ‘And the glasses?’ he added with exasperation. ‘Desmond is going to think my taste has turned to the studious!’

      ‘As opposed to dumb blondes!’ Kit was stung into retorting, the colour swiftly entering her cheeks as Marcus turned to look at her beneath lowered lids. ‘I’m so sorry!’ she gasped. ‘I really shouldn’t have said that. I just—You were being extremely personal about me, and so—’

      ‘You felt the freedom to be extremely personal about me, in return,’ Marcus drawled.

      She grimaced. ‘Yes.’

      ‘Fair enough,’ he agreed.

      Her eyes widened in surprise. She had expected a verbal setting-down, if nothing else. ‘It is?’

      ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘Although I wouldn’t advise you to do it too often!’

      Kit stared at him for several seconds, and then she gave a laugh as she saw the glint in his dark blue eyes.

      Marcus tilted his head as he looked at her consideringly. ‘Is that really how you see the women I’ve been involved with?’ he asked quizzically.

      In truth, yes. Oh, they were beautiful enough, but Kit very much doubted that their conversation had run to much more than fashion and social chit chat. Not exactly scintillating to a man of Marcus’s intelligence. Although she very much doubted it was intellect that had attracted him to them!

      ‘Perhaps,’ she answered noncommittally. ‘Although I really don’t know them well enough to comment, do I?’

      ‘That doesn’t seem to have stopped you doing exactly that, anyway,’ Marcus pointed out dryly.

      No, it hadn’t, had it? Kit realised, the colour once more in her cheeks. And it really wasn’t any of her business, was it…?

      She put up a self-conscious hand to her hair, aware that its vibrancy of colour was mostly muted by its severe style; that it glowed like flame when released, sometimes deeply red, sometimes that red hinting at gold, at other times just pure gold. As for discarding her glasses…!

      ‘Which brings us back to your hair,’ Marcus said firmly as he saw her nervous movement. ‘It looks like okay hair to me.’

      ‘It is,’ she confirmed awkwardly.

      ‘Then why not let it down for a change? Just your hair, Miss McGuire,’ he added as he recognized his choice of words could be misinterpreted. ‘And do you really need those glasses?’ He reached out as if to pluck them off her nose. ‘The lenses don’t look very strong to me—hey, I was only going to look at them!’ he protested as she swung away from his hand.

      ‘You might break them,’ she said stiltedly, reaching up herself to remove the glasses; she had her contacts with her, could put them in later. ‘I really only need them for reading,’ she excused, her face turned away as she put the glasses carefully into their case and into her handbag.

      ‘Miss McGuire…?’

      ‘Yes?’ she replied distractedly.

      ‘Would you mind looking at me when I talk to you?’

      ‘What—?’ She broke off as she turned and saw the look on Marcus’s face. He was staring at her, which sent the colour once more to flush her cheeks.

      And she knew what he would see too; eyes of deep gun-metal grey, but with the softness of velvet, her lashes long and dark, those eyes emphasizing her high cheekbones, the perfect bow of her lips.

      Marcus blinked. ‘Could you take down your hair, too?’ he pressed huskily.

      She gave an irritated groan. ‘Look, I really don’t think this is at all necessary—’

      ‘Please,’ he pushed gently.

      Kit shot him an uncertain glance before looking away again, reaching up to remove the pins from her hair, its straight, silky softness falling gently about her shoulders, the sunlight streaming in through the window giving it the texture of living flame.

      ‘There.’ She raised her chin as she looked at him, flicking her hair back over her shoulder as she did so. ‘Satisfied?’

      Marcus put a hand up to absently stroke the roughness of his chin as he continued to look at her with enigmatic eyes. ‘As a matter of fact—no, I’m far from satisfied!’ he replied. ‘What I am, though, is curious as to why you’ve been walking around my office the last six months masquerading as someone’s maiden aunt, when, in actual fact, you really look like this!’

      Kit continued to look at him with steady grey eyes. ‘Like what?’

      He looked ready to explode. ‘Like—like—’

      ‘Yes?’ she prompted curiously.

      ‘You know exactly what you look like, Miss McGuire,’ he bit out coldly. ‘What I want to know is why?’