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‘Your stepfather.’ Unexpectedly he smiled at her.
‘Yes, it’s a joke between us that he’s always been my favourite man.’
‘Always?’ The question was lightly delivered, but for some reason it made her flush. ‘Hasn’t there been anyone in your life who’s tempted you to change your mind?’
Debra gulped, her thoughts chaotic. In another man she might almost have suspected that the question cloaked a personal interest in her answer, but she hastily suppressed such a thought and answered lightly, ‘Not so far.’
‘Do your parents live locally?’
The mundanity of the question relaxed her taut muscles slightly.
‘Sort of. They live in Tarford. It’s about twenty miles away. Leigh, my stepsister, lives there as well. She moved there after her divorce. She wanted the girls to be close to their grandparents.’ ‘Leigh?’ Marsh questioned, and then nodded. ‘Ah, yes. The detective agency. An unusual career for a woman.’
‘Leigh and her partner felt there was a need... that other women would find it easier to consult a woman,’ Debra told him slightly defensively.
‘I wasn’t criticising,’ Marsh told her mildly. ‘I was just curious. And it was your stepsister you were standing in for when you and I—’
‘Yes,’ Debra interrupted him quickly. She still felt so uncomfortable about what had happened.
‘I suppose you must have thought when Lynn arrived with those papers for me that she and I...’ He stopped, and then told her wryly, ‘She works at the London office and she was bringing me some documents I needed.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Debra told him unhappily, and then added impulsively, ‘I wish the whole thing had never happened.’
‘Do you?’
The way he said it made her swing round. He was looking directly at her, his attention focused on her mouth.
Her pulse-rate ricocheted. She was gripped by a thrill of sharp sensation, a mixture of exhilaration and disbelief that shocked her body as intensely as though she had received a sudden burst of adrenalin.
Helplessly she looked back at him, knowing that her pupils were dilating, that her mouth was softening, her lips parting; knowing that he must be as aware as she was herself of all the small sensual signals her body was giving him, but either unable or unwilling to do anything to conceal them.
‘I don’t,’ he told her softly. ‘Not all of it.’ He paused, and then continued, ‘Look, there are a couple of points about Eric Smethurst’s affairs I wanted to go over with you. I was wondering if we could have a drink after work. I’d suggest dinner, but I’m seeing a client later.’
Almost choking on her disappointment, Debra shook her head.
‘I’m sorry, I can’t,’ she told him. ‘Not tonight.’ She held her breath, praying that he would suggest another evening, but to her disappointment he merely said calmly, ‘Never mind.’ For far too long after he had gone Debra sat staring tensely into space.
Had she completely misread the situation? Had he been deliberately flirting with her, or had she simply imagined it? Had he been referring to the kiss they had shared when he said that he did not want to forget ‘all of it’, or had that simply been wishful thinking on her part?
And when he had suggested they discussed Eric’s tax problems after work over a drink, had it been because he wanted to spend time with her, or had it simply been an ordinary, mundane way of extendi
ng office hours? After all, it was hardly unusual for two colleagues to meet to discuss work over a drink.
But if he had wanted to see her for more personal reasons, was that what she wanted?
Physically she felt a compulsion towards him, a desire... a need she could neither explain nor ignore. But did she actually want him to recognise that desire or to reciprocate it?
She moved uneasily in her chair. One day she hoped that she would meet someone... a man for whom she felt the kind of deep, steady, mature love which she felt was essential for the kind of relationship she wanted; a relationship founded on mutual respect and liking, on shared interests and humour; on shared goals; but she had never envisaged a place in that relationship for the kind of high-voltage and far too intense sexual clamouring of her body and senses that she experienced when she was with Marsh.
That kind of high-risk physically based relationship was the last thing she wanted in her life. She had witnessed its effects on others, seen how all-consuming it could be, how potentially destructive, exhausting the emotions of its victims, burning them out until there was nothing left.
Leigh and Paul had had that kind of relationship. Leigh had never made any secret of the fact that sex was the prime motivating force between them. She had even, she had once told Debra, gone on wanting Paul sexually long, long after she had known that their relationship had nothing left in it of love.
‘I don’t love him,’ she had said. ‘But, God help me, I still want him,’ and Debra had heard the self-loathing in her voice and had shivered a little at the sound of it, promising herself that she would never fall into the same trap.
And she hadn’t done. Until now!
If she gave in to her desire for Marsh, if she encouraged it and he reciprocated, what would happen?
