An Unforgettable Man. PENNY JORDAN

her face flushing in a sudden surge of sexual heat so shocking and unexpected that it was several betraying seconds before she could respond to it and snatch her fingers from his, breaking the magnetic contact. She had not felt so physically aware of a man since—

      Fresh colour burned her face—caused by embarrassment this time—as she recognised what she was feeling and immediately tried to suppress it. Such an instant and overwhelming physical reaction to a man was totally out of character for her. She was normally very cautious, even wary with men in the sexual sense. Her libido was something she had never previously had any problem whatsoever in controlling. And Gideon Reynolds wasn’t even her kind of man, really. He was far too sexy, far too potently male; that raw, sexual energy he possessed was something she would have expected to repel her, reminding her as it did of her past and all the pain it held.

      Discomfort scorched her face as she tried to avoid looking directly at him. Thank heavens she still had her jacket on and he couldn’t see the betraying thrust of her breasts beneath it. It was crazy for her body to start reacting to him like this, impossible… She barely knew him… Didn’t like him… Had never been attracted to power, in any of its forms, and…

      ‘A gift from a man?’ she heard him questioning as he reached over to her to hand the locket back to her. ‘A man’, he had said, but ‘a lover’ was what he had meant, Courage recognised.

      ‘It… belonged to my mother… My father gave it to her…’ she told him jerkily, too dismayed by her reaction to him to preserve her normal reticence.

      ‘Well, it looks like you’re going to need a new chain for it… I doubt that this one can be repaired.’

      Courage flinched, and totally unexpectedly he reached out and touched the broken chain. She could feel his knuckles brushing against her throat, his thumb resting against the frantic pulse that raced there. Panic flooded through her. He was looking right at her, straight into her eyes, and there was no way that she could look away from him.

      Slowly his gaze dropped to her mouth and stayed there. The flesh of her lips felt unbearably hot, and so dry that she longed to touch them with her tongue, to soften and moisten them. She was breathing far too shallowly, panting almost, and beneath the fabric of her top she could feel the hard thrust of her nipples where the silk rasped as delicately against them as the tip of a lover’s tongue.

      Courage shuddered visibly, her eyes unwittingly betraying her, shocked at her own thoughts. She couldn’t move, say or do anything as she felt Gideon’s finger brush delicately against her skin, as though he was going to slide his hand against her throat. His thumbtip stroked the sensitive flesh behind her ear as he angled her head backwards, as if he would kiss her—his lips sensitising her mouth in the same way that his fingertips were sensitising her skin, his tongue-tip stroking over them, his lips then probing them, his teeth taking hungry, fierce lover’s bites at her mouth, devouring her, while his hands…

      ‘Your chain. If you leave it dangling there like that you’ll lose it…’

      Courage froze as she felt him move away from her and saw the golden glitter of her broken chain as he slid it through his fingers. Humiliation washed over her in a scarlet tide. What on earth had she been thinking? Had she totally taken leave of her senses?

      Thank God Gideon Reynolds couldn’t read her mind, see what she had been thinking and feeling. She felt almost sick with shock and disbelief. She had never been guilty of that kind of sexual fantasising before—not even about an imaginary lover, never mind a man who was all too real and very, very much too male for her cautious taste.

      It must be the shock of him offering her the loan; something to do with the relief of not having to worry so much about her grandmother any longer. Some kind of peculiar mental and physical reaction to the release of stress and anxiety. Hastily Courage seized on this explanation for her behaviour with shaky relief.

      Yes, that was it. Her body was just reacting to the release of all the recent tension and fear. That was all. That was all… And that would be all, she told herself firmly as Gideon Reynolds walked over to the door and held it open for her.

      ‘Until next week, then, and, in the interim, if there should be any problem Chris will—’

      ‘There won’t be any problems,’ Courage assured him firmly, determined to dispel any impression she might just have given him that she couldn’t be trusted to behave either professionally or competently.

      ‘I hope not.’

      Dulcet though his voice was, there was no mistaking his warning.

       CHAPTER THREE

      WHEN she had made that statement she had reckoned without a chef who had given his immediate notice and walked out within hours of her taking up her new post, Courage admitted grimly as the irate Italian refused to allow her to placate him and departed to pack his bags.

      The cause of his dissatisfaction was apparently a mixture of things, chief of which, so far as Courage could discern, was hurt pride at Gideon Reynolds’ apparent uninterest in allowing him to show off his culinary talents by never providing a sufficiently appreciative number of dinner guests.

      ‘I am master chef, but not once have I been allowed to show this. It is all single dinners, working lunches, healthy breakfasts. That is not what I spend ten years training for.’

      ‘But Alfonso, all that is going to change…’

      ‘It is too late,’ Alfonso had told her angrily. ‘I do not cook healthy breakfasts… working lunches… single dinners,’ he had recited with a contemptuous curl of his lips. ‘I am a chef… I create meals which are a work of art—a delight to the connoisseur’s taste-buds, a feast for the discerning.’

      Courage knew when she was fighting a losing battle.

      ‘No luck with Alfonso?’ Chris commiserated. ‘The boss isn’t going to be too pleased to come back and find him gone.’

      Courage had already decided that on a personal note she was never going to like Gideon’s PA, but professionally it was just as much her job to ensure that they could work well together as it was to find a replacement for Alfonso. And so she ignored the malicious pleasure which accompanied his comment.

      ‘You know why he’s bought this place, don’t you?’ Chris continued cynically, ignoring the fact that Courage had returned her attention to her own work and quite plainly did not wish to discuss the subject.

      ‘It’s obvious what he’s up to,’ Chris added contemptuously, when Courage refused to make any response. ‘They’re all the same, these self-made millionaire types. They all try to do it, don’t they, one way or another? Use their wealth to try and buy themselves a place in society. First the country house, then the attempts to buy or bribe their way into local society, followed by marriage to a suitably upper class and impoverished bride. It’s the classic way to do it, isn’t it? The final touch to their success, their entry ticket into the otherwise closed ranks of the upper classes. Not that it ever works. Oh, they think they’ve succeeded, but they are never properly accepted… not really.’

      As she heard the contemptuous satisfaction in his voice Courage’s resolve not to be drawn into conversation with him deserted her, and her eyes flashed angrily as she asked him coldly, ‘Don’t you think that sort of attitude is rather out of date these days—and out of place? Gideon is, after all, our employer.’

      ‘Oh, so that’s the way the wind’s blowing, is it?’ Chris countered mockingly. ‘Well, you’re wasting your time entertaining any hopes in that direction. Oh, you might make it as far as his bed,’ he told Courage nastily, ‘but if you were thinking of something more permanent-like a wedding-ring on your finger—you don’t stand a chance. You haven’t got the right background, don’t you see? Now if, for instance, you had a father or an uncle who was a member of the landed gentry or, even better, a member of the aristocracy,