The Determined Husband. Lee Wilkinson

been more than kind.’

      He took her hand and tucked it under his arm. ‘I’ll see you up.’

      ‘But I live on the top floor and there’s no lift.’

      ‘Do I look that decrepit?’ he asked quizzically.

      ‘Of course not, but there really isn’t any need.’

      ‘Let me be the judge of that.’

      He accompanied her up the steps and, when she’d let herself in, followed her across the brown-linoleum-covered hall and up the five flights of stairs, where traces of the evening’s cooking smells—greens, onions, garlic, pastrami—still lingered on the hot, stale air.

      Turning to glance at him, she saw his nose wrinkle. ‘How on earth do you manage in a place like this?’ he asked with distaste.

      ‘It’s not really so bad,’ she defended the Brownstone. ‘In fact, I’m quite enjoying living here.’

      She refrained from adding that, when Keir was with her, it was as close to heaven as she was every likely to get.

      ‘Didn’t personnel give you any help?’ Martin questioned.

      ‘Yes. They went to a great deal of trouble.’

      ‘It doesn’t look like it to me. I’ll have to see if they can’t come up with something better.’

      ‘Prices in New York are high,’ she pointed out quietly. ‘I couldn’t afford anything better.’

      For a moment he looked angry and she realized that, when he’d set his mind on something, he wasn’t used to being thwarted.

      Then he shrugged and suggested with a smile, ‘In that case, you’ll have to try asking Cheryl for an increase in salary.’

      When they reached her door, Sera thanked him again. ‘I really am very grateful for everything.’

      His pale blue eyes on her face, he suggested, ‘In that case, there’s something you can do for me.’

      Watching her freeze, he told her crisply, ‘No, it’s not what you’re thinking. When I do take you to bed, the last thing I’ll be looking for is gratitude, believe me.’

      ‘I—I’m sorry,’ she stammered, feeling foolish. ‘What is it you want me to do?’

      ‘Tomorrow I’m having lunch with Ralph Kessler and his wife. It’s part social and part business. Cheryl, who usually joins me on these occasions, is tied up.

      ‘I need someone with me who’s intelligent enough to cope with the business side if they both want to talk business, and pleasant enough to carry off the social side if Mrs Kessler just wants to talk. In other words, I’d like you to act as my hostess.’

      ‘I’d be happy to,’ she agreed, still kicking herself for her previous blunder. Then hesitantly she said, ‘But I really haven’t anything suitable to wear.’

      He brushed that off as an excuse. ‘Don’t worry, wear anything. Oh, and don’t bother to go into the office in the morning. I’ll pick you up here at about eleven.’ Then coolly he said, ‘Goodnight, Sera.’

      ‘Goodnight,’ she answered and, in something of a daze, watched him turn and descend the stairs two at a time.

      She had been subconsciously on her guard, half expecting him to try to kiss her, her instincts telling her that, despite knowing about Keir, he had more than a boss/employee relationship in mind.

      But perhaps, lacking experience in such matters, she’d totally misread things?

      Then recalling his, ‘When I do take you to bed…’ she knew her instincts had been right.

      Well, it was only a business lunch she’d committed herself to and, from now on, she’d be doubly careful.

      While she took off her make-up and cleaned her teeth in the tiny cramped bathroom, she listened for any sounds of Keir returning, but heard nothing.

      When she finally donned her nightie and got into bed she left her light on, hoping that when he did come he would know she was awake, and knock.