At His Service: His 9-5 Secretary: The Billionaire Boss's Secretary Bride / The Secretary's Secret / Memo: Marry Me?. Michelle Celmer

      She wondered how she could retrieve her hand without it being a big deal, and decided she couldn’t. The trouble was, loving Harry as she did, wanting him, made any physical contact acutely painful in an exhilarating, pulsing kind of way. Stiffening her spine, she aimed to look at him levelly, face expressionless. ‘So you’re saying you intend to be around for some good time?’ Even more reason for her to get away, then. ‘Have you had a change of heart about taking over the firm too, when the time comes? Your father would like that.’

      ‘Whoa, there.’ He smiled, leaning back and letting go of her hand. She felt the loss in every pore. ‘I didn’t say that. To be truthful, I don’t see myself in Dad’s role, I never have. We’re two very different people. I’d like to steer towards business consultancy, something which will enable me to decide where and when I work. That way, if I want a few weeks off at any time, it’s no big deal. I pick and choose.’

      Gina stared at him doubtfully. ‘Could you afford to do that? And would enough people want you?’

      His eyes were deep pools of laughter. ‘If I had a problem with the size of my ego you’d be the perfect antidote. But, in answer to your question, I have enough contacts to succeed.’

      Independent to the last. Nothing had changed, not really. He might have decided to establish some kind of base in his life but he was still a free spirit, not willing to be answerable to anyone, even in his work life.

      Smothering her anguish with difficulty, Gina nodded. ‘Lucky you,’ she said as nonchalantly as she could manage. ‘It sounds the perfect scenario.’

      ‘I think so,’ he agreed. Taking another large bite of the flan, he chewed and swallowed before saying, ‘What do you think of my cooking expertise, then?’

      Surmising he’d had enough intense conversation for one day, she tried to match his lightness. ‘Marks out of ten?’ She tilted her head, as though considering. ‘Eight, nine, perhaps.’

      ‘Not the full quota?’ he asked in mock disappointment. ‘I can see you’re a very hard lady to impress.’

      ‘Absolutely.’ A shaft of sunlight was touching the ebony hair, slanting across the hard, tanned face and picking out the blue-and-red pattern on the plates. She wondered how you could love someone so much you ached and trembled with it and yet it didn’t show. ‘But you’ve won regarding the pooches. I’ll help this afternoon. For their sake, though,’ she added with what she thought was admirable casualness. ‘Not yours.’

      She’d expected some laughing words of thanks, or a teasing remark, along the lines that he knew she wouldn’t hold out against him and the puppies. Instead, his eyes stroking over her face, he said gently, ‘Thank you, Gina. You’re a very special lady.’

      Don’t. Don’t do tender. She could cope with almost anything else but that. The lump in her throat prevented speech, and she wasn’t going to risk her luck by trying to force the words past it. Instead she compromised with a bright smile.

      It seemed to satisfy him, if the warmth in his eyes was anything to go by. Feeling as though she was swimming against the tide and liable to drown at any moment, she applied herself to the food on her plate, even though each mouthful could have been sawdust for all the impact it made on her taste buds.

      CHAPTER EIGHT

      WHEN Gina and Harry left the house a couple of hours later the puppies were contained in a large robust pet-carrier Mrs Rothman had popped round just as they’d been finishing lunch. Snuggled on one of Harry’s jumpers on top of a layer of newspapers, they seemed perfectly happy gazing out of the wire front as they travelled to the veterinary surgery, apparently suffering no bad memories of their fateful car trip the day before.

      After a thorough examination the vet pronounced them fit and well, but declined to start their inoculation process for another two weeks. He also wryly wished Harry good luck.

      Gina and Harry came back armed with a mountain of feeding and drinking bowls, pet beds, rubber toys, puppy collars, leads, brushes, combs and special puppy-feed, and once home the utility room quickly resembled a pet shop. Gina stood, gazing around at all the paraphernalia, unaware her thoughts were mirrored on her face until Harry said drily, ‘No, I haven’t taken on more than I can handle.’

      ‘I didn’t say a word.’

      ‘You didn’t have to.’ He smiled. ‘I’m a big boy, Gina, or hadn’t you noticed?’

      She’d noticed all right. If anyone had noticed, she had.

      ‘And I’m more than capable of taking care of this little lot. I shall build a temporary pen in the garden for when they’re outdoors, like the vet suggested, and put some strategies in place, OK?’ He gestured at the book the vet had recommended—Your Dog from Puppyhood To Old Age—and which they had bought on the way home. ‘And I’ll read that from cover to cover tonight.’

      His enthusiasm melted her. Realising it was imperative she maintained her cool facade, she nodded. ‘Good, you’ll have to. And I hope Mrs Rothman’s pay rise is going to be a huge one.’

      He grinned. ‘Massive. Now, what are we going to call them?’ he asked cheerfully. ‘Any ideas?’

      ‘Call them?’ We?

      ‘You had as much to do with their rescue as I did. I’d like you to choose their names.’

      ‘I couldn’t.’ How could something so simple cause such pain? ‘They’re your dogs, Harry.’

      ‘And I’d like you to name them. Women are so much better at these sorts of things than men. I’m getting into the mental habit of referring to them as One, Two, Three and Four, and that’s no good. Don’t worry—I shan’t turn up in London with them in my arms, demanding you make an honest man out of me for the sake of the babies,’ he added, his grin widening. ‘You’re only naming them.’

      Not funny. She laughed obligingly, hating him and loving him in equal measure. He could talk about her being so far away with total unconcern now, apparently. Bully for him. Well, she could show she didn’t give a hoot either. ‘Well, it’s spring,’ she said slowly. ‘How about flower names? Daisy for the little one, Rosie for the biggest, and perhaps Poppy and Pansy for the middle two.’

      Harry eyed her in horror. ‘If you think I’m standing in the middle of a field shouting Pansy you’ve got another think coming,’ he said bluntly.

      ‘OK, perhaps not Pansy, then. How about Petunia?’

      ‘I don’t think so, for the same reason.’

      ‘Primrose?’

      ‘You’ve already got Rosie.’

      ‘Iris?’

      ‘The name of my mother’s best friend. She might take it personally.’

      ‘Violet?’ Gina was getting desperate.

      ‘Mrs Rothman’s christian name. I’d rather keep her on side, if you don’t mind.’

      ‘Oh, I don’t know.’ She glared at him. ‘I’ve named three out of the four, the last one you’ll have to think of.’

      ‘OK.’ He stood leaning against the wall, watching her with unfathomable grey eyes.

      His hair had been slightly ruffled by the spring breeze outside, and his black-leather jacket was slung over his shoulder. He looked good enough to eat.

      ‘I’ll take you home now, if you’re ready,’ he said calmly.

      It felt like a slap in the face. Somehow, and she wasn’t sure from where, Gina found the strength to nod casually and smile.

      She said goodbye to the puppies—who were curled up fast asleep in a heap in the corner, worn out by their afternoon excursion—as though her heart wasn’t breaking, and then fetched her