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‘Hello, Ashley,’ he said softly.
Ashley drew a deep breath. What would a secretary say to her boss if he hadn’t kissed her? ‘Jack! Hello. Nice to see you!’
There was a pause and, briefly, his eyes narrowed. ‘You’re working very late tonight.’
‘Oh, it’s only just gone six and I thought I’d crack on with it,’ she said cheerfully. ‘There’s a lot which needs to be done—you made
masses of changes in the middle section, the bit where they ambush the enemy camp.’
‘How very diligent you are,’ he observed drily.
‘That’s what you pay me for, remember?’
‘Yes. Of course.’ Another pause. ‘I’d quite forgotten.’
Ashley hid her hurt behind an impassive smile even though she could feel the tell-tale steal of colour into her cheeks. Now she wanted to be anywhere but here—a million miles from that searching black stare. But she had to show him she didn’t care. That she had put their stolen kiss behind her and she wasn’t going to refer to it ever again. Their boss and employee relationship was back to where it should have been all along—on a purely professional footing. He had come close to seducing her that day on the moors, and she had had a lucky escape—because it seemed that there were other women all ready and willing to take her place. She would just never give him the satisfaction of knowing how much he had hurt her.
‘Did you have a good time in London?’ she questioned politely.
He made an impatient little sound beneath his breath as all his pent-up desire for her began to spiral up, astonished to find that his hunger for her hadn’t abated—despite his determination that it should. Despite the fact that she had pushed him away and that deep down he kept telling himself that it had been the best possible outcome for everyone. But knowing that did nothing to quieten the insistent thudding of his heart—or the sudden jerk of lust at his groin. His gaze swept over her face, taking in the unadorned eyelashes and the bare lips. ‘You look pale.’
‘I do?’
‘Very pale. Pale as chalk. Are you… okay?’
It was a veiled question and she quietened down the terrible urge to flare at him. To tell him that no, of course she wasn’t okay. He had walked away from her as if she meant nothing and then replaced her with those giggling women she’d just heard arriving. But jealousy had no valid place in her life—even if their relationship had merited such feelings. Jealousy only ever harmed the person who expressed it. There was absolutely no point feeling jealous about a man like Jack. He operated in a different world—a different universe. Resolutely, she shook her head. ‘No. Nothing’s wrong.’
‘No?’ He put his head to one side and regarded her—a sudden mischief playing in his eyes. ‘Did you miss me?’
Ashley bit her lip. That was so unfair. The question was as inappropriate as it was provocative and surely it was designed to embarrass both of them. Swallowing down the sadness and regret which had risen in her throat, she prayed her expression wouldn’t give the game away. But what could she say other than a variation of the truth when Jack was perceptive enough to read an outright lie in her eyes? And she’d look an even bigger fool if he thought she was sulking about what had happened. ‘The house was very quiet without you,’ she said truthfully.
‘Not a commendation I’ve ever been given before,’ he commented. ‘So is that a yes, or a no?’
‘Maybe it’s a mixture of both.’
‘Oh, Ashley—how brutally you wound with your distinctive brand of honesty.’ He gave a brief smile before his gaze flicked over the desk and looked at the neat pages of typescript. ‘Leave that now. It’ll be time for dinner soon.’
‘But you’ve brought… friends with you, I understand?’
‘Christine’s been gossiping again, I suppose—or was it one of the cleaners?’
‘Actually, I heard you all arriving.’
‘Of course you did.’ Thoughtfully, he noted the dejected slump of her shoulders. ‘You’ll join us, of course.’
‘No, really. I couldn’t. I’ll—’
‘You’ll what?’ he interrupted mockingly. ‘Eat a sandwich in the solitude of your room? Or creep into the kitchen and consume the leftovers while we’re drinking our coffee by the fireside?’
Did this mean she was to be brought out as an example of provincial entertainment to amuse his sophisticated London friends? she wondered. Or was he extracting some cruel form of punishment because she’d turned him down the other day? Silently, her eyes pleaded with him not to continue—but his expression didn’t alter.
‘We’ll see you down here at eight,’ he said.
‘Is that an order?’
‘Yes, it’s an order.’ His black eyes met hers. ‘You respond very well to direction, I’ve found.’
‘And what if I told you that I’m not very hungry?’
