At His Service: His 9-5 Secretary. Michelle Celmer

she protested quietly.

      ‘You didn’t have to. You had a funny look on your face.’

      Her face cleared of all expression. ‘I can’t help my face,’ she said with a weak smile. ‘So you’re a new-age man, then?’

      ‘Ah, now that’s a different question. I only said having a child should be a mutual undertaking, not that I’d consider it for myself.’

      She nodded. ‘No, of course not. You’re strictly autonomous. You take what you want when you want, and then move on.’

      He’d been in the process of handing a mug of milk to her, and for a moment his body stilled before carrying on. ‘Is that how you see me?’ he asked very quietly, a surge of emotion warning him he needed to control his temper.

      She stared at him, her eyes unreadable. ‘That’s the picture you’ve presented to me.’

      ‘I don’t think so.’

      Shrugging, she said, ‘Perhaps you should listen to yourself some time, Harry.’

      ‘I don’t need to, damn it. I know what I am and how I think.’ Or he had, up till this evening. Glaring at her, he growled, ‘I’m not some sort of conscienceless stud, Gina.’

      ‘That’s fine, then,’ she said flatly, her expression inscrutable.

      He didn’t know if he wanted to shake her or kiss her, he thought rawly, fighting down an anger he would never have acknowledged had its roots in hurt. ‘We’ve known each other for twelve months, and for most of that time we’ve met every working day. We’ve talked and laughed and shared about our lives, and you can honestly say you see me like that?’ he asked intensely.

      She hesitated, putting down her mug and letting her eyelashes sweep down over her eyes for some moments, before she looked at him again. Her voice soft, she said, ‘I don’t want to make you angry, Harry, but I think most of the sharing—at least regarding past history—came from me. And that’s fine, I wouldn’t want to force a confidence from anyone, but you didn’t really give anything of yourself. And before you fire off at me, think about it.’

      He sat back on his stool, genuinely amazed.

      ‘You’re a very private man, and after what you told me about Anna and everything I can understand why you don’t want to be involved with anyone. But …’ She cleared her throat. ‘Sex doesn’t equate to much the way you view it. Fact.’

      He stated the obvious. ‘The women I take to bed know the score.’

      ‘Yes, I know. You’ve already explained that.’

      Silence hung between them like a pulsing entity. He was aware his body was taut with the effort to appear relaxed and unconcerned, and suddenly he threw pretense to one side and said simply, ‘I don’t like the way you see me, Gina.’

      Something in her face changed, and her voice was throaty when she murmured, ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said all that. Your life is your own, and I’ve got no right to criticise one way or the other.’

      Was she thinking of this man and the mess she’d made of her own life? So swiftly that it surprised him, his anger was gone, replaced with a desire to comfort her. ‘You’re probably closer to me than anyone else on earth,’ he said quietly. ‘So of course you have the right to state your opinion.’

      He saw her face contract as though with pain, and felt a growing fury towards the unknown man who had broken her heart, and a surge of protectiveness. ‘You’re too good for him, you know that, don’t you?’

      ‘What?’

      Her eyes widened in confusion, and he saw she hadn’t followed him. Slightly embarrassed, he said gently, ‘You’ll meet someone, Gina, and all this will be like a bad dream.’

      Her pent-up breath escaped in a little sigh. Shaking her head, she whispered, ‘I’m not banking on it. You didn’t meet someone else. And anyway, we were talking about you, not me.’ She drained the last of her milk and slid off the stool, wisps of hair about her cheeks, and smudges of tiredness staining the pale skin beneath the dark pools of her eyes. ‘Could you show me my room?’

      A shiver of desire flickered through his blood. He wanted her. More badly than he had wanted any woman. Possibly because he had waited longer for her than anyone else. But, no, it wasn’t just that. If it had been just that it would have been easily dealt with. But this was Gina. He not only wanted her but he—His mind came to an abrupt stop, a door slamming shut. He liked her, he finished silently. As a friend. And you didn’t take friends to bed.

      He stood up, managing a creditable smile. ‘Sure.’

      When they reached the stairs Harry stood aside for her to precede him, his eyes on her very nicely rounded bottom as he followed her to the landing. By the time they reached her room, he was deep in the grip of an erotic fantasy that was causing problems with a certain part of his anatomy.

      ‘It’s lovely.’ Gina glanced round the room after he had opened the door and waved her through. She turned, smiling politely. ‘Goodnight, then.’

      Struggling with his self-induced state of arousal, Harry said thickly, ‘Goodnight, Gina. You’ll find towels and toiletries and so on in the en suite; Mrs Rothman likes to keep everything ready just in case. I’ll give you a knock twenty minutes or so before breakfast, OK?’

      ‘Thank you.’ She hesitated, and then said in a rush, ‘And thank you for offering me a bed for the night. I didn’t sound very grateful down there, did I?’

      ‘Why should you? It’s you doing me the favour, not the other way round.’ Actually he was doing her a massive favour in keeping her from the love rat, but she’d never see it even if he came clean. He watched her rub her small, cute nose, something she did when she was uncertain or wary. He realised there were lots of little things he knew about her.

      ‘Well, thanks anyway,’ she repeated.

      She was clearly waiting for him to go, so why did he feel glued to the spot? Softly, he said, ‘Sleep well, Gina.’ And, even knowing it was a mistake, he bent forward and brushed her lips with his.

      As kisses went it was fleeting, but the scent of her, the softness of her half-parted lips, produced a reaction that rocked him to his core. Desire, primitive and raw, shot through him and it took all of his control to turn away and walk towards the stairs. He heard the door close as he reached them, and stopped, closing his eyes and resting one hand on the banister as he drew in a hard, shaky breath.

      Crazy. Everything about tonight was crazy. Crazy conversations. Crazy feelings. Crazy situation.

      It would be different in the morning, in the cold, bright light of day. He opened his eyes, his face hardening. It would have to be.

      CHAPTER FIVE

      GINA didn’t know when she became aware that the sound in her dream was actually real. She lay in a state of muzzy half-awareness for a while, unable to come round fully, and then sat up in bed as reality hit. She was in Harry’s home, in his bed. Well, not in his bed, but in one of his beds.

      Switching on the bedside lamp, she reached for her watch which she’d placed on the little cabinet earlier. Half-past three. And she knew she’d still been awake at three o’clock. She’d probably only had twenty minutes of sleep; no wonder she felt so out of it.

      It was the puppies. The sound that had woken her was still there, a distant whining and yelping, and now she tiredly brushed the hair out of her eyes and reached for the towelling robe she’d found on the back of the en suite door. She’d have to go and see what was the matter. Harry was probably a typical man; once he was asleep nothing short of an earthquake would stir him. Her father could sleep through anything.

      She sat on the edge of the bed for a few moments once she’d pulled the robe on, feeling distinctly light-headed. Probably due to the storm of weeping that