Undone by His Touch. Annie West

she’d expected a glimmer of friendliness she was disappointed.

      The way he stood, staring, no answering smile or nod, should have unnerved her. But Chloe was used to standing up for herself, proving herself again and again. Her self-confidence had been forged in a hard school.

      She met his gaze squarely, trying to read his face.

      Most people gave non-verbal clues to their thoughts. Not Declan Carstairs. Maybe that was how he’d taken his inherited fortune and turned it into something astronomical—by playing his cards close to his chest.

      Yet this was something more. Was that disapproval she read in his set jaw and tense mouth? Anger, even?

      Her skin tightened as she recalled standing frozen, eyes glued to his naked form, well after she’d realised who he was. There’d been a distinct element of appreciation as her gaze had slid over his virile form.

      Had he caught her staring? Heat washed her throat and cheeks.

      ‘I’m sorry for interrupting you just now. I hadn’t realised you were here in the pool.’

       Or that you were naked.

      ‘Mr Sarkesian left a message saying you’d both be working in your study this morning and he’d brief me after that. I’d never intentionally …’

      A dismissive gesture silenced her. ‘David had to leave on unexpected business.’ He paused and she had the impression of tension clamping his big frame rigid. ‘Was there anything else?’

      ‘No, nothing.’ She’d been waiting for him. ‘I’ll just take these to the pool house. Unless there’s anything I can get you?’

      He shook his head. Chloe fought not to notice the way tiny droplets of water eased over his shoulders to track down across the solid musculature of his chest.

      Her mouth dried and the heat in her face notched up to scorching.

      She was doing it again!

      She didn’t ogle attractive men. Yet the sight of her boss’s half-naked body and don’t-mess-with-me jaw conjured feelings Chloe had all but forgotten. How could it be?

      Even the dreadful scar seemed to accentuate the earthy sexuality and power of his strong-boned face.

      Inwardly she cringed, hoping he was oblivious to her thoughts tumbling out of control.

      That black eyebrow climbed again. ‘Well. What are you waiting for, Ms Daniels? Don’t let me keep you from work.’

      That was what he paid her for. She had no trouble reading his dismissive tone.

      ‘Of course, Mr Carstairs.’ Chloe tamped down annoyance and embarrassment as she turned away. She kept her pace even and her shoulders back, projecting a calm she was far from feeling.

      Yet she reeled in shock. First had been the horror of thinking the man who haunted her nightmares had returned. Then there’d been that rush of relief, so strong she’d trembled with it. And finally the punch-to-the-gut reaction to Declan Carstairs.

      Despite the scarring, he had the body of a male pin-up. More than that his sheer, sizzling intensity resonated like a force field, sucking the air from her lungs.

      She was horrified to register a jiggle of response in that secret hollow place deep within. It had been years since she’d felt sexual awareness. On the contrary, she’d been accused of chilling indifference, of being an ice princess.

      The recollection twisted her lips. She’d promised herself never to dwell on that again.

      Now to feel a spark of attraction for her boss? Impossible!

      In twenty-seven years there’d only been Mark, just one man to make her feel the blaze of desire. It was unthinkable that Declan Carstairs, rich, ruthless and disapproving, should re-ignite such feelings.

      Pursing her lips, Chloe set about stripping the pool house of used towels.

      Halfway back to the house, the sound of shattering glass made her spin towards the pergola.

      Declan Carstairs stood, frozen in tableau, one arm stretched towards the table. On the ground before him lay the splintered remnants of a glass.

      Curiously it was his stillness that snared her gaze rather than the broken glass so dangerously close to the pool. Too late she caught herself staring at those broad, straight shoulders a little too avidly.

      ‘It’s all right, Mr Carstairs, don’t you bother with it. I’ll fetch a brush and pan.’ Chloe hurried back to the laundry, dumped the towels and scooped up her equipment.

      Strangely, on her return he hadn’t moved, as if he was waiting to make sure she did the job properly.

      She’d worked for wealthy people before, some demanding and others so relaxed they barely noticed what went on around them. None would have questioned her ability to do such a simple task. Yet his stillness and the furrow of concentration on his brow told her he had other ideas.

      Chloe crouched before him, brushing up the shards.

      ‘I’ll just be a moment.’ Yet her usually brisk movements seemed slow, her limbs heavy as his silent presence loomed close. Deliberately she turned from the sight of those strong sinewed feet planted wide on the flagstones.

      Ridiculous that even the man’s naked feet looked sexy. He disapproved of her, was checking on her. She didn’t want to feel anything for him.

      ‘Thank you, Ms Daniels.’

      Chloe bit down on a bubble of laughter. Such formality when her mind buzzed with unsettling images of his bare body. Just as well he couldn’t read her thoughts.

      If only he’d move and leave her to get on with this.

      Thinning her lips, she concentrated on locating shards that had spread further than the rest. ‘I think that’s almost—No! Watch out!’

      Too late she saw his heel come down on a splinter as he turned.

      A single, low oath blasted from his lips as bright scarlet bloomed and spread across the flagstones.

      ‘Wait, there’s another one.’

      Chloe scuttled across to pick up the shard. ‘There, that’s all. You can move to the chair now.’

      Above her he stood still as a bronze god, though in the silence she heard the hiss of his indrawn breath. Blood streamed from the gash at his heel.

      Finally he spoke. ‘Perhaps you’d help me, Ms Daniels.’

      Frowning, she got to her feet, put the brush and pan aside and moved closer. What did he want her to do? Surely he had the strength to hop the short distance to the chair?

      ‘You want me to support you?’

      Something like anger flashed across his face and his nostrils flared. ‘Nothing so dramatic.’ He spoke through gritted teeth. ‘Just give me your hand.’

      Bewildered, Chloe complied, slipping her hand into his, absorbing the heat and sensation of hard strength surrounding her work-roughened fingers. She registered the ridges of scar tissue across his palm. A shiver of sensation skated up her arm and shoulder, raising the fine hairs on her nape.

      She ignored it and looked into his face. This close she read the tiny lines bracketing his mouth as if he spent more time compressing his lips than smiling.

      His features were stiff and the scar stood lividly on his taut cheek. Fierce energy hummed through him and into her, like a power source without a safety valve, inexorably rising. Tension twisted as she waited for him to speak.

      Her eyes were at the level of his mouth and she watched, fascinated, as his sensuously sculpted lips thinned into a pained line.

      ‘You need to sit down so I can get the glass out. It won’t hurt so much then.’

      His bark of laughter, rough and