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‘Because work is the only thing that matters to you.’
Lucas stared at her for a long moment. Then he turned and threw the log he was holding onto the fire. The flames licked at it greedily, consuming it and delivering a sudden flare of heat.
He couldn’t blame her for thinking that, could he?
She had no idea.
And that was a good thing. The last thing he was looking for was sympathy or understanding.
‘You shouldn’t be here, Emma.’
‘But I am here. And I might be able to help.’ She stood, straight and tall. Honest. Straightforward. A woman with a heart, innocent of how dark the world could be.
He made a point of avoiding women like her. Innocence had no place in his life. He was not a good guardian of innocence. Even thinking about it made his palms begin to sweat. ‘You can’t help.’ Their relationship had always been strictly professional. For Lucas, business and pleasure didn’t mix. He’d thought she felt the same way.
‘Are you upset about Tara? Is that what’s wrong? This isn’t like you. In all the time I’ve worked for you I’ve never seen you remotely emotional about a woman. I’ve come to the conclusion that they’re no more than an accessory to you. A bit like your cufflinks. You wear different ones, depending on the occasion.’
It was such a perceptive comment that had he not been struggling with his black mood, he might have laughed. He certainly would have been impressed. As it was, he just wanted her gone and if she was going to ignore his request for her to leave then it was time to employ other methods.
‘Maybe it is like me. Maybe you don’t know what I’m like. Maybe you don’t know me at all.’ Lucas prowled over to her, watching as she registered the threat in his tone. And because he was watching, because he was experienced, he sensed she was struggling not to step back.
‘Don’t intimidate me. I’m trying to help, Lucas.’
‘And I don’t want help. Not yours. Not anyone’s.’ If nothing else would work, then this would. Telling himself that he was doing her a favour, he flattened her back against the exposed brick of the wall. Her shallow breathing was the only sound in the room apart from the occasional crackle from the blazing fire. Next to them a window looked down at moonlit snow but his attention was on the soft curve of her mouth. Her hair smelled of flowers and wood smoke.
His body stirred, his response to her primitive, powerful and entirely inappropriate.
Her eyes were fixed on him, wide and shocked.
And he couldn’t blame her for that. He was shocked too. Shocked by the concentrated rush of raw desire that ripped through him, shocked by the degree of control he had to exert over himself to prevent himself from doing what he was suddenly burning to do.
In a few brief seconds the nature of their relationship had shifted. Here, outside the glass walls of his office, the barrier had lowered.
Not boss and employee.
Man and woman.
He hadn’t expected that. He certainly didn’t want it. Not tonight and not with this woman.
It was the drink, he thought. Damn the drink, because he didn’t want that barrier lowered. Not just because that was a line he never crossed with someone who worked for him, but because he knew that what he had to give wasn’t what she would want.
Not trusting himself to be this close to her, he was about to step back when she pushed at his chest and escaped from his grasp. ‘I’ll leave you to sober up.’
She seemed as brisk and efficient as ever, but Lucas knew that she wasn’t. He heard the shake in her voice and saw the way her hands clutched at her wet coat as if she were trying to hold herself together.
He’d unsettled her.
Maybe he’d even scared her a little.
And that had been his intention, hadn’t it? He’d wanted her to walk away.
So why, in those few tense seconds as she stalked towards the door, did he find himself noticing things he hadn’t noticed before? Like the fact that her hair was the same rich glossy brown as the wood panelling in the tower bedroom and that she was one of the only women he knew who was still capable of blushing.
He found himself wondering about Jamie, the man she was rushing home to.
All he knew about the guy was that she’d been with him for the whole time she’d worked for him. Two years. And that confirmed everything he already knew about her.
Emma believed in love.
And with that thought he reached for another bottle of champagne.
For the second time that evening, Emma stomped down the stairs into the main hallway. The only difference was that this time she was shaking. Her knees shook, her fingers shook. Even her stomach shook.
From the first day she’d taken the job, she’d tried not to think of Lucas Jackson as a man. He was her boss. Her employer. Someone who paid her salary. Of course she couldn’t help but be aware of his appeal to women because she fielded his calls—and she fielded a lot—but somehow she’d managed to view his sex appeal in a detached way, a bit like admiring a valuable painting in a gallery that you knew you’d never be able to hang on your own wall.
And then suddenly, out of nowhere, had come this rush of sexual awareness that she absolutely didn’t want to feel. She was happy with her life. Happy doing her job and going home to Jamie. She didn’t want to jeopardize any of that. She couldn’t afford to jeopardize any of that. Especially not for a rude, totally selfish human being like Lucas Jackson.
Sexy eyes, a great body and a brilliant mind didn’t make up for serious deficiencies in his personality. He didn’t care about anyone. And that, she told herself firmly, was not an attractive trait.
And she was well aware that the incident back in the cosy turret bedroom had been about control, not chemistry.
He’d been trying to unsettle her. Trying to get her to back off. Well, that was fine. She’d backed off, hadn’t she?
But she wasn’t leaving. There was no way she could leave another human being in that state.
Trying to forget the way he’d looked at her as he’d pinned her to the wall, Emma reached the bottom of the stairs and stared at the decorations, so tacky and out of place in the elegant hallway. Something about the surprise party had upset him. Or maybe he’d been upset before he’d arrived home. Whichever, it was the first time she’d ever seen him drunk.
Deciding that the decorations were presumably as unwelcome as the party, she set about removing them. As she liberated a streamer that had been twisted around the ornate frame of a painting, a memory came at her from nowhere.
It wasn’t the first time she’d seen him drunk, was it? It was the second time. And the first time would have been—when? Trying to remember, she twisted the streamer between her fingers. There had been snow on the ground then too. It would have been around the same time of year as this.
Last year.
She’d worked late and assumed she was on her own in the building apart from Security, but when she’d walked into his office Lucas had been there, sprawled on the sofa with an empty bottle of whisky next to him.
He’d been asleep and she hadn’t woken him.
Instead, she’d covered him with a blanket and checked on him a few times while she quietly got on with her work.
He probably didn’t even know who had put the blanket there. Either way, neither of them had ever referred to it.
Reaching up, she removed the rest of the streamers and the balloons.
It had been exactly this week. It might even have been the same date. She remembered because it was the same time that she took her holiday every year.
She stood, holding a bouquet of unwanted festivity as she thought it through.
Was it a coincidence that he was drunk again? Yes, probably. It was a busy time and everyone was entitled to let their hair down from time to time. Even the ruthlessly focused Lucas.
Emma clenched her jaw and stabbed the balloons with her car keys until they popped. It was none of her business.
But what if it wasn’t coincidence that he’d chosen to drink alone on the same night last year? What if it wasn’t coincidence that a man who forgot nothing chose this night to forget important documents?
She gathered up the last of the streamers until the only remaining evidence of the unwanted party was the uncut cake and the empty glasses.
With a murmur of frustration, she glanced over her shoulder towards the stairs.
This was one of those situations where she couldn’t win. If she left she’d worry and if she stayed she ran the risk of being shouted at again. Or worse.
Her cheeks heated. What if he thought she’d stayed for a different reason? She wasn’t stupid enough to think he hadn’t noticed the way she’d reacted to him earlier. Lucas Jackson had far too much experience with women not to have noticed. Her only hope was that he was too drunk to remember. That, by morning, the single breathless moment when she’d forgotten to think of him as her boss would have been drowned out by other more important memories. And if he did happen to remember it, with luck he’d dismiss it as a figment of his imagination. A memory spun by alcohol, not reality. Her own behaviour would support that belief because at work she was always careful never, ever to stray into the realms of personal.
Looking out of the window, she saw that the snow was still falling.
She’d stay another half an hour, she decided. She’d check on him one more time, hopefully without him even noticing her, just as she’d done the last time. And then she’d leave him to his snowy solitude.
CHAPTER THREE
LUCAS stood under the shower while needles of icy water stung his skin. He was undoubtedly drunk but, instead of being numbed, his senses appeared heightened. He was having thoughts he absolutely should not be having and he blamed that on the champagne. Thank goodness Emma had walked out when she had, otherwise he might have been tempted to seek an entirely different form of oblivion.
He gave a growl of self-disgust.
Since when had he imagined his PA naked? Never. Not once. But suddenly he found himself tormented by thoughts of dark, shiny hair. He’d wanted to yank out that damn clip and let it tumble free. He’d wanted to sink his hands into it and drown in the softness. He’d wanted to twist it around his fingers and hold her captive while he drank from that soft, innocent mouth to see if she were the cure he’d been looking for.
And he shouldn’t want any of those things.
Cursing softly, he leaned his shoulders against the cool tiles, closed his eyes and let the water slide over his head.
He shouldn’t want to touch her hair and he definitely shouldn’t be thinking about kissing that mouth. Emma worked for him and he wanted her to continue to work for him. And there was no cure for what he was feeling.
It had been a rocky road finding someone suitable to fill the role of his personal assistant—a role that required a multitude of skills. Before Emma he’d had a series of giggling girls for whom work was nothing more than a way to fund their social life. He’d had girls who were overawed by him, girls whose only reason for working late was the wistful hope that their relationship with him might turn into something more intimate. He’d had a male PA who had sadly struggled with the sheer volume of simultaneous projects he’d been expected to handle and an older woman who was a grandmother four times over, but she hadn’t had the stamina to handle the heavy workload and had resigned after a month.
And then he’d discovered Emma. Emma, with her serious brown eyes and her astonishing ability to juggle any number of projects at the same time without complaint. Emma, who never worked with one eye on the clock and had an admirable way of soothing the most frayed of tempers. She was the ultimate professional and it was that dedication to her job, her understanding of the importance of attention to detail, that had brought her out here tonight.
She was a gem.
And he’d shouted at her. And worse, he’d scared her.
His head spinning, Lucas swore under his breath and wondered if he’d remember to send her flowers when he was sober. The irony was, he never sent a woman flowers. Emma did it for him. But he’d have to do something because the last thing he wanted was for her to resign.
Hopefully they would both be able to ignore that single moment when their view of each other had changed and re-establish the normal parameters of their relationship.
Switching off the shower, he grabbed a towel.
He dried himself briefly and then tried to tie the towel around his waist but his fingers were clumsy and uncoordinated so in the end he gave up and dropped the towel on the floor with a frustrated laugh directed towards himself. Too drunk to secure a towel, apparently, but not drunk enough to forget.
Never drunk enough to forget.
The pain was lodged under his ribs like shrapnel that couldn’t be removed. Nothing eased the ache.
Surprised that he could still walk in a straight line, he returned to the bedroom and stopped dead because Emma was standing there.
For a moment he assumed that she was nothing more than a vivid image conjured by an intoxicating mixture of champagne, wishful thinking and inappropriate thoughts.
And then he heard a soft sound escape from her throat.
Her shocked eyes slid down his naked body and widened.
‘Oh my God—’ With a gurgle of horror she slapped her hand over her eyes and turned her head away. ‘Sorry! I’m so sorry. I … What are you doing walking around naked? I can’t believe you just … and I …’ She broke off, hideously embarrassed, and it was that embarrassment that penetrated his fuzzy brain.
Not an image, he thought. An image wouldn’t turn scarlet and have her hands over her eyes.
And he didn’t trust himself to move because suddenly all he wanted to do was give in to that most primitive part of himself, throw her down on the bed and explore a different way of getting through this one night. He wanted her to be the heat that melted the chill inside him. He wanted her warmth and all that was real about her. Instead of being surrounded by ghosts, he wanted human contact. Flesh and blood. Emma.
Hands clenched by his sides, he channelled all his power and strength into standing still. ‘I thought you’d left.’
‘No! I just went downstairs to tidy up and give you some space and—’ Her hand still over her eyes, she snatched in a breath. ‘Are you decent yet?’
‘For God’s sake, Emma, stop overreacting.’ Tension made his voice rougher than he intended. ‘You must have seen a naked man before.’ Jamie, he thought bitterly. She’d seen Jamie.
‘You’re my boss—’ her voice was muffled ‘—I don’t think of you as a man. Or at least I didn’t until … Please can you just get dressed or something? This is not good.’
In other circumstances he might have smiled at her confusion, but a smile was nowhere near his grasp. Instead he walked into the small anteroom he used as a dressing room and grabbed a robe. Any benefit derived from the cold shower had been instantly wiped out by the sight of her. Raw lust mixed uncomfortably with the knowledge that this was one woman he couldn’t have.
He needed to switch it off. He had to switch it off.
However much he’d drunk, this was not going to happen. She was the last woman in the world he wanted to see as—well, as a woman.
Dragging his hand through his wet hair, he prowled back into the room. ‘I presume you came back to tell me you’re snowed in?’
‘I have no idea if I’m snowed in. I haven’t tried to leave.’ Her hand was still over her eyes and Lucas sighed and knotted the cord around his robe firmly. Then he closed his hands over her wrists and tugged firmly at her hands. She kept her eyes screwed tightly shut. ‘Really, I don’t want to—’
‘I’m decent.’ At least on the outside. His thoughts were far from decent but as long as she couldn’t read minds, everything would be fine. Trying to ignore the warmth and softness of her skin against his palms, he let go of her wrists and stepped back for no other reason than the fact he knew he wasn’t sober enough to make good decisions. Distance, he thought. All he had to do was keep his distance. ‘If you’re not snowed in, why are you still here? You left half an hour ago.’
‘I told you, I was clearing up all those balloons and things. I assumed you didn’t want them. And I was worried about you.’ Cautiously, she half opened her eyes and when she saw the robe she relaxed and opened them properly. ‘I was worried that you’d carry on drinking your way through all that champagne, fall face down in the fire and die a hideous death.’
‘Worrying about your job again?’
‘Of course.’ Avoiding his gaze, she pushed strands of damp hair away from her face. ‘And possibly my conscience. I want to be able to sleep at night.’
Distracted by all that lush, dark hair, Lucas found it hard to keep his mind focused. ‘Maybe I’m more drunk than I think I am, but why would that be on your conscience?’
‘Because I would have been the last person to see you alive.’ Wrapping her arms around herself, she gave a little shrug and backed towards the staircase. ‘But if you’re sober enough to take a shower without drowning, I expect you’re safe to be left so … I’ll just go.’
He was used to her being brisk and confident in all things. He’d never seen her like this. ‘Why aren’t you looking at me?’
‘Because I still haven’t recovered from the shock of the last time I looked at you. Seeing your boss naked isn’t something that happens every day of the week.’ She was stammering and flustered. ‘I may need therapy. And this time I really am going.’ She felt for the handrail at the top of the spiral staircase, her gaze everywhere except on him even though his robe was firmly secured around his waist.
Her unsophisticated response simply fuelled his libido and he felt a rush of frustration because what he had to do was in direct conflict with what he wanted to do. ‘You’re not going anywhere, Emma.’ He watched as her pale throat moved as she swallowed hard.
‘Yes, I am. You’re obviously fine to be left so—’
‘When did you last look outside?’
The tension in the air built around them. It didn’t help that the turret bedroom was designed for seduction with its huge four-poster bed, flickering fire and windows that gave a perfect view of the estate. The snow reflected the moon and sent a ghostly silver light over the wood and the lake, producing a view that was both ethereal and romantic.
The irony was that he never had seduced a woman here. With the exception of Tara’s impromptu, unwanted visit earlier, no woman had ever visited him at Chigworth.
But Emma was here now, and she was clearly regretting her earlier decision to stay around.
‘It will be fine,’ she said firmly. ‘I’m good in the snow. If I drive carefully I’ll be able to get to the end of the road. The gritting lorries were already working on the motorway so I shouldn’t have any trouble getting home once I get to the main roads.’
‘And do you know how far it is to the main roads from here? Even if you make it out of the estate, which I doubt that you would, you have five miles of country roads that are always low on the priority list for whoever decides which part of our little island is gritted in bad weather.’
‘Well, I’ll give it a try anyway.’
‘I may be drunk,’ Lucas drawled, ‘but I’m not so drunk that I can’t recognise a truly bad idea when I see it. Call me selfish, but I don’t want to spend the rest of tonight trying to locate your frozen corpse. Nor do I want to find myself recruiting a new PA. I can’t stand the interview process.’
Her lips twitched as she tried to hold back a smile. ‘It’s all about you, isn’t it?’
‘Absolutely. I’m the most selfish bastard you’ll ever meet, you know that.’ So don’t look at me with those soft brown eyes. Don’t show me that you care.
But she’d already done that, hadn’t she? The moment she’d discovered that he hadn’t wanted a party, she’d set about quietly removing the evidence.
Hands clasped in front of her, she stared at the floor. ‘I was stupid, wasn’t I, coming here in the first place.’
‘Not stupid, no.’ Because he could barely keep his hands off her, Lucas strolled over to the fire and kept his back to her. ‘You were dedicated. Professional. Which is no more than I would have expected from you. It’s just unfortunate that you chose tonight.’ He didn’t state the obvious. That if it hadn’t been for what this night did to his mind, he wouldn’t have forgotten the damn file in the first place.
‘Lucas—’
‘This is what we’re going to do.’ Taking control, he turned, interrupting her before she could ask the question he knew she was going to ask. The question about why exactly this night was so painful for him. ‘You are wet, cold and, presumably, very tired. I’m going down to the kitchen to make us some soup and while I do that you are going to have a hot bath or shower—whichever—and then help yourself to whatever clothes take your fancy from my dressing room. Nothing will fit, but you’re a practical enough person to improvise, I’m sure. We’ll hang yours up and they’ll be dry in the morning.’
‘Lucas, I can’t—’
‘I’m going to light a fire in one of the other bedrooms, then it will be warm once you’re ready to sleep.’ Without looking at her, he strode towards the staircase, keeping his hands to himself. ‘There are plenty of warm towels in the bathroom. Help yourself.’
She should have argued, but one glance through the pretty arched window convinced her that he was right. In the half hour she’d spent clearing up downstairs, killing time until she could check on him again, it seemed as if half a ton of fresh snow had fallen. It glistened in the moonlight, a sparkly, silvery deathtrap. The decision whether or not to stay was out of her hands. She wasn’t going to be going home any time soon. She was stuck here with a man who clearly didn’t want her around when all she wanted was to be home with Jamie.
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