At His Service: His 9-5 Secretary

She stared at him. Something was different. Or was it just the casual clothes? Still clutching the duvet to her chest with one hand for all the world like a Victorian maiden, she brushed the hair out of her eyes with the other. ‘What time is it?’

He glanced at the gold watch on his wrist. ‘Eleven o’clock,’ he said calmly.

‘Eleven o’clock?’ She struggled into a sitting position, which wasn’t easy with the robe and the need to remain decent hampering her. ‘It can’t be. What about work?’

‘You don’t work, or at least not till Monday.’

‘I mean you.’

‘I decided to give work a miss today.’

‘You’ve never given work a miss in all the time I’ve known you,’ she said, astounded.

‘Then perhaps it’s high time I did.’

‘What about your father? And Susan? She’s still settling in, and—’

‘Will be fine. She’s that sort of woman,’ he said quietly.

Well, that was true at least. Unable to take in that half the day had gone already, Gina stared up at him. His eyes were dark, unblinking, as they watched her; his slightly uneven mouth curved in a wry smile that told her her bewilderment was plain on her face. She hoped her bout of crying the night before didn’t show in pink-rimmed eyes. Gathering her wits, she swallowed hard. ‘Are the puppies all right? You haven’t taken them already, have you?’

‘The puppies are fine,’ he said soothingly. ‘I had them out on the lawn for half an hour earlier. That was hectic,’ he added drily. ‘They can shoot off like exocet missiles when they want to.’

She wished she didn’t love him so much. Controlling her voice with some difficulty, Gina forced a smile as she said, ‘You should have woken me earlier to help.’

‘You needed your sleep.’

What did that mean—that the bags under her eyes could carry potatoes, or was he just being thoughtful? Deciding it was probably better she didn’t know, Gina wondered how long he was going to continue standing watching her. ‘Have you phoned the animal sanctuary?’

‘No,’ he said calmly.

She waited for him to elaborate and, when he didn’t, began to feel acutely uncomfortable. It was all right for him standing there, fully clothed and showered and shaved. She felt like something the cat wouldn’t bother to drag in.

His open-necked shirt showed the springy black hair of his chest, and his jeans were tight across the hips. The flagrant masculinity that was such a part of his attraction was even stronger today, and more than a little intimidating. Her mouth dry and her heart racing, she decided to take the bull by the horns. ‘I’ll see you downstairs in a little while, shall I?’ she said pointedly.

‘Violet-blue.’

‘Sorry?’

‘Your eyes are the colour of the wild violets that grow close to the stone wall in my garden,’ he said very softly. ‘Beautiful little flowers, tiny but exquisite. Much better than the cultivated variety.’

‘Oh.’ The sudden tightness in her chest made her voice a little husky when she said, ‘Thank you.’

‘My pleasure.’

He didn’t seem in any hurry to go. ‘I’ll be down shortly and we can take the puppies straight away, if you like. I know you must have things to do, and I need to get home and sort out the last of my things.’ Now he had to take the hint.

He gave her a long look. ‘I’m cooking a bacon flan and baked potatoes for lunch, or perhaps I should say brunch.’ His reproachful voice expressed disappointment at her ingratitude.

‘Are you?’

He seemed surprised by her astonishment. ‘Of course. You didn’t think I’d send you home without feeding you, surely?’

He made her sound like a stray dog that had landed on his doorstep—four of which were already occupying his utility room. ‘I just thought you’d want the puppies off your hands as soon as possible,’ Gina said carefully, wondering when he’d become so touchy.

His frown smoothed to a quizzical ruffle that did the strangest things to her breathing. ‘Oh, I see. So you’re not in a mad rush to get away, then?’

‘Considering it’s eleven o’clock in the morning, if I was I’ve failed miserably, wouldn’t you say?’ Gina said a little tartly.

He smiled. ‘You didn’t have anyone calling round first thing, I hope?’

She thought about Janice in the flat below. Until this very moment she had forgotten she’d promised to cook Janice breakfast before she went on her shift at the local hospital, where she worked as a nurse. It was to have been a goodbye-and-we’ll-keep-in-touch meal and, because of the shift Janice was on this month, breakfast had been the most appropriate time. Blow and double blow. She hated to let people down. The trouble was when she was in Harry’s company the rest of the world faded into the background. ‘I did, actually.’ She felt awful now. ‘But I can put that right later.’

A thick black eyebrow lifted. ‘I’m sorry.’

He didn’t sound sorry. In fact for some reason he seemed put out, if the look on his face was anything to go by. ‘It doesn’t matter.’ Just go, go.

Harry didn’t go. His mouth had thinned, accentuating its uneven curve, and his gaze was hard when he said, ‘It never pays to let someone walk all over you, you know.’

She stared at him. ‘No, I suppose it doesn’t,’ she agreed bewilderedly.

‘And a clean break should be just that—a clean break.’

Had she missed something here? ‘I’m sorry, Harry, but I don’t follow.’

‘It was him, this guy who’s effectively told you thanks but no thanks, who was calling round, wasn’t it? Hell, can’t you see him for what he is, Gina? He knows how you feel about him and why you’re leaving, and yet he calls round to … what? Why was he calling round?’

Gina tried not to gape. For a moment her brain whirled, and then she forced her face into an indignant expression. ‘A friend of mine who lives in the flat below, a female friend, was coming for breakfast,’ she said haughtily. ‘OK? So, whatever your overactive little mind has come up with, it’s wrong.’

It took a second or two for the outrage to be replaced by a sheepish expression that immediately melted Gina’s heart—not that she would have revealed it for all the tea in China. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I put two and two together and made—’

‘Going on a hundred? Yes, that much was perfectly clear.’ She ought to be furious at the assumption she was giving house room—or, perhaps more accurately, bedroom—to her supposed lover. But his concern for her—and she didn’t flatter herself it was anything but the friendly concern he’d spoken of before—warmed her aching heart. Harry had had lots of women in his life, he didn’t try to pretend otherwise, but she doubted if he would have been so genuinely solicitous for the females who flitted in and out of his bed at regular intervals. And he certainly wouldn’t have referred to them as friends. Perhaps she ought to be grateful for small mercies? She was distinct and different to the rest, in some small way, at least.

‘I jumped to an erroneous conclusion, and I should have known better.’

He could do the gracious-apology thing really well, Gina thought, as she watched a slow smile spread over his handsome face.

‘You’re not the sort of woman to have second thoughts once you’ve made up your mind about something, or to say one thing and mean another.’

Oh boy, little did he know. ‘Quite,’ she said firmly.

‘I’ll leave you to get dressed,’ he said with silky gentleness. ‘Brunch will be ready in about twenty minutes.’

When the door closed behind him, Gina continued to lie in complete immobility for another moment or two. Then she flung back the duvet, swinging her legs out of bed and wrapping the robe back round her, before padding to the bathroom. There she scrutinised herself in the mirror and groaned softly. Dark smudges under eyes that definitely bore evidence of the weeping of the night before. And her hair! Why did her hair always decide to party during the night? At uni she’d shared with girls who’d gone to bed sleek and immaculate, and woken up sleep and immaculate. Or, at the most, slightly tousled.

Fifteen minutes later the mirror told her she’d transformed herself into someone who wouldn’t frighten little children.

She had washed her hair and rubbed it as dry as she could before bundling it into a high ponytail at the back of her head. The essentials she always took to work in her bag—moisturiser, mascara, eye-shadow and lip gloss—had done their work and made her feel human again. Just.

She’d had the foresight to wash her panties through before going to bed and drape them over the radiator in her room—she did so hope Harry hadn’t noticed the skimpy piece of black lace—and, armed with the knowledge she was clean and fresh, she took a deep breath and opened the bedroom door.

Brunch with Harry. The last meal she would ever eat with him, she thought a trifle dramatically, but without making any apology for it. She felt dramatic. In fact she felt a whole host of emotions surging in her breast, none of which were uplifting.

Once downstairs she paused in the hall. Sunlight was slanting in through the window on to the ancient floorboards, causing a timelessness that was enchanting. The whole cottage was enchanting. She could imagine what it would be like in the height of summer, with the outside of the house engulfed in roses and honeysuckle and jasmine. Violet dusks, the fragrance of burning leaves drifting in the warm air, dark-velvet skies pierced with stars, and overall a sense of whispering stillness. Did he sit on the verandah on such evenings, a glass of wine in his hand and his eyes wandering over the shadows, sombre and broodingly alone?

The image wrenched her heart and she mentally shook herself. It was far more likely the current blonde would be sitting on his lap or as near to him as she could get, no doubt anticipating the night ahead with some relish, she told herself caustically. And who could blame her?

A slight movement at the end of the hall brought her head swinging to see Harry standing watching her. ‘I thought we’d eat in the breakfast room, OK? It’s less formal than the dining room, but a bit more comfortable than perching at the breakfast bar in the kitchen.’

Gina nodded, quickly arranging her face into a smile as she walked towards him. ‘Can I do anything to help?’

‘Carry the salad through? I’ll bring the other dishes.’

The breakfast room was situated off the kitchen and was quite small but charming, with wooden shutters at the leaded windows, and an old, gnarled table and chairs in the centre of the room. The only other furniture consisted of an equally old dresser on which brightly blue-and-red-patterned crockery sat, a bowl of flowering hyacinths on the deepset window sill filling the room with their sweet perfume.

After looking in on the puppies, who were all sound asleep, Gina seated herself as Harry said, ‘Red or white wine? Or there’s sparkling mineral water or orange-and-mango juice, if you’d prefer?’

‘Fizzy water, please.’

She watched him as he poured her a glass, and then one for himself, after which he served her a portion of the flan and she helped herself to a baked potato and some salad.

The breakfast room was cosy, too cosy. Gina hadn’t reckoned on them sitting so close. There was a small nick on the hard, square jaw where he’d cut himself shaving, and her body registered it with every cell. Clearing her throat, she looked at her plate as she said, ‘This—this looks lovely, Harry.’

‘Thank you,’ he said gravely.

‘Did—did you make the flan yourself?’ For goodness’ sake, stop stammering. What’s the matter with you, girl? She wanted to close her eyes and sink through the floor.

He nodded lazily, taking a sip of his drink before he said, ‘I told you, I like cooking. There are those who’ve said they haven’t lived until they’ve tasted my chunky borsch.’

She glanced at him to see if he was joking, but he appeared perfectly serious. Taking him at face value, she said primly, ‘I’m sorry, but I don’t know what that is.’

‘No?’

He grinned at her, his eyes warm, and his mouth doing the uneven thing that always turned her insides to melted marshmallow. She was used to banter with Harry, mild flirting and harmless innuendo. It was part of office life, and meant nothing. It was altogether different when sitting at his table in cosy intimacy. ‘No,’ she said flatly, her voice at odds with the army of butterflies in her stomach.

‘Well, I make mine with smoky bacon and red peppers and celery, so it has a sweet-and-sour flavour. You put cabbage, potato, bacon, tomatoes, carrots, onion and a few other things in a pan and simmer for forty minutes or so before adding beetroot, sugar and vinegar and simmering some more. Serve with fresh herbs and soured cream.’

His eyes had focused on her mouth as he had been speaking, and something in their smoky depths brought warm colour to Gina’s cheeks. She’d never have dreamt talking cookery could be so sexy.

‘It’s a nice dish on cold winter evenings, curled up in front of a log fire. You ought to try it some time.’

She swallowed. Curled up on a rug in front of a roaring fire with Harry would be food enough. ‘I don’t think my new life in London will feature many log fires.’

‘Shame. You seem a chunky-borsch-and-log-fire girl to me.

Her eyebrows lifted on a careful inhalation. Play the game, she told herself. Keep it casual and funny. ‘I’ll just have to make do with caviar and glitzy nightclubs instead,’ she said lightly. ‘As befits a city girl.’

He regarded her across the table, but she couldn’t read what was going on behind the grey eyes. ‘Nope, don’t see it,’ he said at last. ‘Sorry.’

‘You don’t think there’ll be men queueing to buy me caviar and champagne and take me to all the best places?’ she asked with mock annoyance.

‘I didn’t say that.’

Suddenly in the space of a heartbeat the atmosphere had tightened and shifted; there was no teasing in his voice or eyes now, but only an intent kind of urgency which took her aback.

He leaned forward, his face close and his eyes glinting. ‘There’ll be men, Gina. Plenty, I should think. But I don’t think they will be what you need.’

She couldn’t drag her eyes from his, and the moment hung between them like an unanswered question, but it was a question she’d never ask. It might open up something she would never be able to handle, she told herself frantically. This was just Harry being Harry. She was here, available and perhaps he fancied a change from his usual diet of cool, slender blondes. He didn’t have, and would never have, any interest in an ongoing relationship, probably not even in a lengthy fling. He’d made that perfectly clear yesterday, when he’d confided in her about Anna and his disastrous marriage.

Better to have loved and lost than never have loved at all? The little voice in her head was probing, insistent.

Not in this case. If she gave herself to him it would be heart, mind, soul and body, and when he walked away she’d never recover from it. Especially if it ended badly.

Forcing her gaze down to her plate again, she picked up her fork, hoping he wouldn’t notice the shakiness in her voice when she said, ‘I’ll just have to take each day as it comes, I guess.’

There was a pause, as though he was weighing his next words. She waited with a kind of breathless urgency while pretending to enjoy the flan.

When he said, ‘Including this one?’ she breathed out twice before lifting her eyes.

‘Meaning?’ she asked quietly, amazed she could sound so cool when there was an inferno inside.

‘I need your help.’

‘Oh?’ She nodded. ‘To take the puppies to the sanctuary? I’ve already said I’ll come with you.’ The inferno was out, deluged by stark reality. He was a rich, intelligent and hugely gorgeous man. Of course he wasn’t interested in her.

‘Not exactly.’ Another brief pause. ‘I’ve decided to keep them.’

‘What?’ She genuinely thought she’d misheard him. He couldn’t possibly have said what she thought he had said.

‘The puppies, I’m going to keep them.’ He ate a large chunk of flan with every appearance of enjoyment. ‘I already rang Mrs Rothman this morning to tell her she needn’t come in today because I was going to be around, and I asked her if she’d be prepared to extend her days from Monday to Friday, essentially to be here from ten to four each day, to take care of them for the large part of the time I’m away.’

‘And she said yes?’

‘On the proviso she could bring her own dogs any time her husband isn’t able to be home.’

‘But—’

‘What?’

‘Well, I hate to coin a phrase, but dogs are for life, not just for Christmas. You talked of travelling some more, moving abroad, no—no responsibilities.’ She stared at him, utterly in shock. This wasn’t the Harry she knew. ‘You can’t have them for a while and then dump them at some sanctuary or other in a year or two. That wouldn’t be fair. And four of them!’

Her voice had risen the more she’d spoken, and now she was aware of Harry settling back in his chair and surveying her over the top of his glass. ‘You don’t think much of me, do you?’ he drawled mildly.

If you only knew, she thought for the second time that morning.

‘I don’t intend to dump them, as you so graphically put it. Not in a year or two, not ever. The poor little scraps have gone down that road once, and once is enough for any poor mutt. I’ve decided to take them on, and that means for life. OK?’

Not OK. So not OK. Feeling the world had shifted on its axis, Gina tried again. ‘Harry, travelling or moving to another country is one thing, but something else entirely with four dogs in tow.’

‘I do actually know that.’

She ignored the edge to his voice. ‘I don’t think you do.’

‘I’ve decided to stay put, Gina.’

‘What?’ She blinked.

Her astonishment caused his anger to vanish like smoke, and now he grinned. ‘Don’t know me as well as you think you do, eh?’ There was immense satisfaction in his voice. ‘It’s not just a woman’s prerogative to change her mind. I’ve decided I’d go a long way before I found another house like this one, and it suits me. England suits me.’

‘But you said—’

‘Excuse me,’ he interrupted mildly, ‘But wasn’t it you who was saying this house was a beautiful empty shell?’

Her eyes met his. Touché, she thought with a mixture of irritation and gratification. Irritation that he always had an answer for everything, and gratification that her words had obviously registered. ‘I wasn’t recommending that you fill it with a pack of dogs.’

‘And I probably wouldn’t have considered it myself right at this moment in time, but for fate taking a hand,’ he admitted. ‘But the grounds are extensive, they say dogs are the best burglar deterrent there is, and I rather like the idea of keeping the four of them together after all that’s happened. I’ll give Mrs Rothman a hefty pay rise for the extra work they’ll involve until they’re house-trained and so on, and with her ever-increasing brood of grandchildren the money will come in handy.’

Gina bit her lip. This was ridiculous. ‘Keep one or perhaps two, if you must,’ she said slowly, unable to believe he could have had such a radical change of heart regarding the future and his plans to travel. ‘But not all of them.’

‘Why not?’

She couldn’t very well say she didn’t believe him when he’d spoken of staying put. ‘Four times the amount of mess and trouble?’ she prevaricated.

‘Four times the amount of fun and pleasure.’

She frowned. ‘Four times the amount of squabbling and barking?’

‘Four times the amount of canine love.’

He waited for her to continue, one dark brow raised. Gina mentally conceded defeat. It was true the dogs would have a wonderful life here, with the huge garden and each other—doggy paradise—but … ‘Dogs shouldn’t be left alone all day.’

‘I thought I’d explained, they won’t be,’ he said with elaborate patience. ‘Weekends I’m home, I might even arrange things so I work from home some mornings, and Mrs Rothman will be around for most of the time I’m out.’ He seemed amused. ‘I thought you’d congratulate me for taking some responsibility after your scathing words yesterday.’

‘They weren’t scathing.’ She averted her gaze to the hyacinths. She supposed they had been.

‘No? I’d hate to be in the firing line if you really get the bit between your teeth, then.’

She should never have agreed to stay the night, Gina told herself miserably, every nerve in her body as tight as piano wire at the closeness of him. ‘Harry, you must do as you please,’ she said quietly after a few moments had ticked by. ‘This is nothing to do with me.’

‘I guess not,’ Harry said levelly. ‘It’s just that I’ve an appointment with the local vet this afternoon. I want him to look the puppies over and start their inoculations, if he thinks they’re old enough. I was going to ask you to stay long enough to help me with them. I thought you might help me choose some bedding, leads, collars, that sort of thing, and of course I need to pick up some food and so on.’

She stared at him, feeling slightly hysterical. Today was supposed to have been spent clearing out the flat of the last bits and pieces, ready to spring-clean it from top to bottom before the new occupants took over on Saturday. She’d arranged to leave work on Wednesday evening so she had two clear days to sort everything out. Now that was already severely curtailed, and he was asking her for more of her time. This was utterly unreasonable and the whole situation was surreal. Harry didn’t do permanence, dependability and personal responsibility, not where other people—or, rather, females—were concerned. But then these weren’t people, they were dogs.

‘Eat your food.’ His voice came quiet and steady. ‘I’ll take you home after lunch. I shouldn’t have asked.’

No, he shouldn’t. And she shouldn’t be considering his request for one second. She swallowed, her tongue stumbling over her words as she said, ‘Are you absolutely sure you want to keep them? Have you really considered what you’re taking on? It’ll mean twelve, thirteen years of commitment, maybe longer. Have you really changed your mind so completely from yesterday, Harry? I … I need to know.’

He looked back at her, and she was aware that a tiny detached part of her mind was thinking that the hard angles of his chiselled face and body made him look older than his thirty-three years. But then he had the sort of bone structure that was ageless; at fifty, sixty, he’d still probably give the impression of being in his forties.

He reached across and took her hand as though he had the perfect right to touch her, and she had to remind herself the gesture was an expression of the easy friendship he felt for her as a sharp tingle shot up her arm with the power of an electric shock. ‘I can understand your scepticism,’ he said softly, ‘But I mean every word, Gina. Perhaps there’s been a part of me hankering for a more settled existence for some time, I’m not sure, but our conversation yesterday, finding the puppies …’ He shrugged. ‘Something gelled over the last twenty-four hours. They’ll be company.’

She wondered how she could retrieve her hand without it being a big deal, and decided she couldn’t. The trouble was, loving Harry as she did, wanting him, made any physical contact acutely painful in an exhilarating, pulsing kind of way. Stiffening her spine, she aimed to look at him levelly, face expressionless. ‘So you’re saying you intend to be around for some good time?’ Even more reason for her to get away, then. ‘Have you had a change of heart about taking over the firm too, when the time comes? Your father would like that.’

‘Whoa, there.’ He smiled, leaning back and letting go of her hand. She felt the loss in every pore. ‘I didn’t say that. To be truthful, I don’t see myself in Dad’s role, I never have. We’re two very different people. I’d like to steer towards business consultancy, something which will enable me to decide where and when I work. That way, if I want a few weeks off at any time, it’s no big deal. I pick and choose.’