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Philippa was just about to reply when she heard the click of the outer door. She froze in Hank’s arms, feeling him tense, her body quivering as Scott’s ice-cold tones filled the tense silence. ‘I’m sorry if I’m intruding, but this does happen to be my office.’
His voice dripped sarcasm, and Philippa longed to be able to turn and face him, but her face was still wet from her tears, and she felt far too vulnerable to expose herself to his probing, lacerating gaze. ‘I came back to ask you to check with Mrs Robinson and make sure that rooms will be ready for Sir Nigel and the Sheikh. And. Hank,’ Philippa felt the muscles of Hank’s arms coil, ‘I’d appreciate it if you’d try to restrict your personal activities to your own time.’
Not a word to her, Philippa thought shakily, when the door slammed behind him. Not a single word. ‘Sorry about that,’ Hank grimaced.
‘I shouldn’t worry about it.’ She sounded tired and dispirited and Hank looked at her enquiringly. ‘It’s my fault, I shouldn’t have given way like that.’
‘Umm, if that was a sample of what you’ve been having to put up with I’m surprised you didn’t “give way” sooner.… Want to tell me about it?’
Philippa shook her head, thankful when Hank accepted without trying to push her into confiding in him. It couldn’t go on. She had to see Scott; to make him see that for all their sakes he must let her go. He was going for a swim Hank had said, and before she could change her mind, Philippa gathered up all her courage and followed him.
The sound of her approach was muffled by his swift progress through the water. He swam well, a fast overarm crawl that sliced through the water, his back brown and tautly muscled, sleek and firm. Her heart lurched and threatened to stop beating. She waited at the bottom end of the pool, as he came towards her. For a moment she thought he intended to ignore her, but then he stopped, grasping the bar, pushing his wet hair back off his forehead, as he looked up at her.
‘What’s the matter? Hank not willing to play substitute after all?’ he taunted.
‘Scott I want to talk to you about Simon. He’s… he’s becoming too attached to you, and you…’ she made a small noise of mingled anguish and despair in the back of her throat. ‘You do nothing to discourage him. I know you want to hurt me and why, but surely not Simon.
‘And he is what you came here to talk to me about is he? Are you sure this wasn’t what you came for?’ He hauled himself out of the pool, his arms binding her. She just had time to grasp the fact that he was totally nude, his body lithely powerful, silk muscles beneath satin skin, and then his mouth clamped fiercely on her own, the heat and damp of his body seeping through her thin clothes, stealing away her resistance, her senses seduced by the proximity of him.
‘Scott!’ Somehow she managed to pull free of him, turning blindly towards the door, running towards it when he called after her, panic sending the adrenalin pumping through her veins. Dear God, how could he treat her so contemptuously, using her as though she were some sort of disposable inanimate object? Pain seared every nerve ending, her body quivering with it; with the torment of wanting him, loving him, knowing how easily she could have given way to him, drowning in her need for him, while all he wanted was a moment’s physical satisfaction and the pleasure of baiting her.
CHAPTER EIGHT
‘WHAT time did Sir Nigel say they would arrive?’ Scott glanced automatically at his watch, the brief gesture revealing the dark fine hair of his forearm, making him oddly vulnerable. Philippa knew how concerned he was that all would go well with this visit; how important it could be for the future of his company.
‘Four o’clock,’ she told him. ‘Over an hour yet. You’ll like Sir Nigel, he’s…’
‘How do you work that one out? On the premise that we both share a common interest? That we’re both ex-lovers of yours?’
She tried not to let him see how much his taunts got to her. ‘That isn’t true. Sir Nigel was simply my employer.’
‘Do you expect me to believe that?’ he demanded scornfully. ‘You must have telephoned him and asked him to get Sheikh Raschid down here, otherwise why would he be doing this? I suppose you looked upon it as a way of making amends, seeing as it was your son who managed to destroy any chance I had of getting the Laine contract.’
‘Not any chance, surely,’ Philippa rejoined nastily, ‘You could always have given Cara what she wanted.… Or was marriage too high a price to pay?’
His mouth tightened angrily, ‘You…’
‘What’s the matter, Scott? Or don’t you like getting back what you’re so fond of dishing out? I didn’t have anything to do with Sir Nigel telling Sheikh Raschid about your new computer.’ How could she explain to him her ex-employer’s intrinsic desire to help his fellow man? Sir Nigel was one of the nicest people she had ever met; almost too nice to be the head of a multi-million pound business empire. ‘He’d read about your computer long before I ever came to work for you.’
He didn’t answer.
‘Scott, when are you going to let me go?’ she asked despairingly, suddenly tired of fencing with him. ‘Simon.…’
‘I’ll let you go just as soon as I can afford to, Philippa. As secretaries go, you come pretty cheap.’ She flinched under the h
idden barb in his words. ‘And if I don’t get this contract.…’
‘But if you do, will you let me go?’
His eyes flickered over her face, reading and assessing it, probing every feature until she felt he could almost see into her most private thoughts. ‘Why are you so anxious to leave?’ he asked softly. ‘After all what more could you ask? Geoff so close at hand.…’
‘You know why I want to leave. I’ve already told you. I’m worried about Simon.’ She gnawed angrily on her lower lip. ‘He’s becoming far too attached to you, Scott, and you… you don’t do anything to discourage him.’
‘Meaning that you think I’m actively encouraging him? I like him, Philippa, I feel sorry for him as well. It’s plain that he wants and needs a father.’
Her fingers curled into her palms in sudden anguish, ‘Who told him who his father is?’ He asked the question quickly, catching her off-guard. ‘I… put his name on Simon’s birth certificate and he found it. Simon knows… that is, he understands.…’
‘What? That his mother was just a brief pastime to his father and that he was conceived because of it? Is that what he “knows” and “understands”, Philippa?’
