Mistress Against Her Will. Lee Wilkinson

gaze, she was forced to look away.

      There was a long thoughtful pause, then he said, ‘Tell me, do you usually wear glasses?’

      Ambushed by the unexpected question, she hesitated fractionally before saying as steadily as possible, ‘Why, yes.’

      ‘Strange. When I asked Mrs Rogers to describe you, she failed to mention them.’

      Leaning over, he lifted the glasses from Gail’s nose and squinted through them, before asking, ‘Why do you wear them?’

      ‘Why?’

      ‘Yes, why? As far as I can see, these are merely low-strength reading glasses.’

      Feeling her colour rise, she said nothing.

      He handed them back to her. ‘So you don’t wear glasses as a rule. You put them on especially for this interview.’

      Both were statements rather than questions, but her failure to dispute either was answer enough.

      ‘Why did you feel that was necessary?’

      Cursing the impulse that had made her put them on, she stammered, ‘Well I—I thought they would make me look more…efficient, more competent…’

      His green eyes glinted. ‘That reason hardly inspires confidence. It strongly suggests that you aren’t at all sure of yourself or your capabilities.’

      ‘I’m quite sure I’m capable of doing the job.’

      ‘Possibly you are, but lying to me is hardly the way to get it.’

      So she had failed.

      All she could feel for a moment or two was a sense of relief that she wouldn’t have to go through with something she had dreaded.

      Hard on the heels of that relief came a leaden feeling of failure as she realized just how angry and disappointed Paul would be.

      Then both those feelings were swamped by the urgent necessity to leave, to get away from Zane Lorenson’s clear-eyed scrutiny, his condemnation.

      Gathering up her bag, she thrust the glasses clumsily into it and jumped to her feet, babbling, ‘I’m sorry to have wasted your time…’

      He rose too and took a step towards her. At five feet six inches she was fairly tall for a woman, but at well over six feet he seemed to tower over her. ‘Don’t rush off.’

      Ignoring the quietly spoken order, she was about to head for the door when his lean fingers closed lightly round her wrist and kept her where she was. ‘I said don’t rush off.’

      He had said that same thing to her once before and she shuddered as, his touch burning into her like a brand, she made an effort to pull free.

      It was to no avail and, panic-stricken, recalling that past encounter and desperate to escape, she tried harder. ‘Please let me go.’

      Ignoring her plea, he put his free hand on her shoulder and pressed her back into the chair. Then, releasing her wrist, he stood over her.

      Her voice sounding high and frightened even to her own ears, she objected, ‘You’ve no right to keep me here against my will.’

      Clicking his tongue, he told her severely, ‘Now you’re being melodramatic.’

      His words were like a dash of cold water and, realizing the justice of his remark, she took a deep steadying breath and apologized shamefacedly. ‘I’m sorry. I really don’t know what’s got into me.’

      ‘I dare say the prospect of being interviewed made you nervous,’ he suggested with smooth mockery. Now, if you’re still interested in the job, there are one or two things you ought to know…

      ‘I expect my PA to be available for twenty-four hours a day if I think it’s necessary. That’s why I asked if you have any ties at home.

      ‘More importantly, I always give my PA my complete trust and in return I expect discretion and one hundred per cent loyalty…’

      His words made Gail feel hollow inside.

      ‘Because of the occasional long hours, I’m flexible with regard to the length and the number of holidays my PA takes, and the salary is generous…’

      He quoted a figure that made Gail blink and she found herself thinking, no wonder his previous PA had been reluctant to leave.

      ‘Oh, just one more thing. When we’re away from the office I like a friendly, informal working atmosphere with the use of first names.

      ‘Now, if you want it, the job is yours.’

      She didn’t. But the thought of Paul’s anger prevented her from saying so. If there was still a chance, he would want her to grab it with both hands.

      And, after the way Zane Lorenson had treated her, did she really care if he came a cropper? Wouldn’t she be justified in cheering if he could be brought to his knees?

      Yes, she would.

      But the truth was that she didn’t want to play any part in it. Didn’t want to have to work closely with a man who had turned her whole life upside down once before, and who, she was forced to admit, might well have the power to do so again.

      She had never met anyone else who had such an overwhelming effect on her. Just being with him was traumatic, turning the cool, competent woman she had become into a mass of nerves and making her feel like a gauche, insecure seventeen-year-old again.

      If she didn’t take the job, she knew Paul might never forgive her. But it was more than that—when it came to Zane Lorenson, Gail couldn’t say no.

      ‘Well?’ There was the merest hint of impatience in Zane’s voice.

      Still she hesitated. If she said no, she would be free and Paul need never know that she had had the chance and turned it down.

      Sorely tempted, she battled with her conscience. Her conscience won.

      There was no way she could deceive the man she loved and was going to marry. It would be like living a lie…

      Looking up and meeting Zane Lorenson’s green eyes was like walking into a plate glass window.

      She was still mentally reeling when he said silkily, ‘You seem to be having a great deal of difficulty deciding.’

      ‘Yes,’ she stammered. ‘Yes, I want it.’

      She saw what appeared to be a look of almost savage relief and satisfaction cross his face.

      It was gone instantly and she knew she must have been mistaken. He wouldn’t care one way or the other whether or not she took the job. If she didn’t take it, no doubt the next girl he interviewed would.

      ‘Very well,’ he said, his tone businesslike, ‘it’s yours for a three month trial period. I’ll let my secretary know what’s happening and get her to deal with all the details.

      ‘I understand from Mrs Rogers that you’re free to start at once?’

      She nodded, though in truth she didn’t want to start at all. The second the words, ‘Yes, I want it,’ had been spoken she had regretted them.

      ‘How did you get here?’

      Momentarily thrown, she echoed, ‘Get here?’

      ‘Did you come by bus? Tube?’

      After a brief hesitation, she answered, ‘Taxi.’

      ‘You have a current passport?’

      She frowned, unsure where this conversation was heading. ‘Yes.’

      ‘Good. How long will it take you to pack a bag?’

      ‘P-pack a bag? You mean to travel?’

      ‘My, but you’re quick,’ he said with a hint of sarcasm.