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‘Places to go?’
She scowled as she tried to think of somewhere suitably depraved. ‘Yes—like the pub.’ That was one of the first items on her ‘must do’ list. She had never been into the public bar of a hotel and had the outdated impression that they were smoke-filled dens of iniquity. ‘Surely you wouldn’t want your under-age daughter hanging around licensed premises with me? She might get arrested.’
Again she failed miserably to shock him. ‘If you can’t do without your daily tipple then you can have it at a licensed restaurant—I have no objection to you enjoying a drink with your lunch providing that you don’t do it to excess, and that Nicola sticks to non-alcoholic fare. As I said before, I’ll meet all the expenses involved—’
‘What if I order champagne with every meal?’ Harriet demanded wildly.
‘More than one bottle at a time would be considered excessive,’ he murmured.
Was he making a joke? Harriet eyed his unsmiling face warily. He returned her look blandly, but there was a certain implacable set to his wide mouth which made her realise that however much she squirmed he had no intention of letting her wriggle off his firmly baited hook.
‘What if I just flat out refused?’ she queried defiantly.
‘Then I would suggest that you go away and read the small print on your employment contract before making a final decision.’
In the face of such a silken challenge Harriet was very nearly tempted. After all, her financial position was now such that she could afford to fling her resignation in his face on a mere matter of principle.
But something held her back. Maybe it was the calming influence of his cool, steady gaze, maybe it was the way his deep voice had gentled when he’d mentioned his rebellious daughter…or maybe she was just afraid of the frightening void which might open up in her life if she didn’t have her familiar job to go to every morning. A life of unrelieved frivolity could prove to be as much of a trap as one of unrelenting routine, especially to the inexperienced.
It wasn’t cowardice, Harriet told herself; it was a matter of taking control. She would leave when she was ready, and not a moment before.
‘I still say you’re making a mistake,’ she said haughtily, attempting to save a modicum of face. ‘Just remember, if anything goes wrong, I did try to talk you out of it.’
‘I never evade my responsibilities,’ he replied with a quietness that inspired a deep unease in her breast. It sounded unsettlingly as if he was making a vow.
‘Nor allow them to evade you,’ she sighed, wondering whether his darling daughter was as wilful as her father. Maybe she was an over-protected little madam who thought she had Daddy wrapped around her spoiled little finger.
A spark of something she couldn’t identify smouldered briefly in the blue eyes. ‘Quite. Now—’
He rose abruptly from his chair and, against the tinted window, he was suddenly a dark, shadowy figure sweeping across her dazzled vision. Harriet’s heart pulsed erratically in her ears and, even knowing that the width of the desk was between them, she instinctively shied away from his dominance, a slender heel catching against the chair-leg behind her as she did so, half wrenching her shoe from her foot and throwing her off balance.
She stumbled forward several steps, banging her hip as she ricocheted off the sharp corner of his desk. One windmilling hand clipped the eyepiece of the telescope and it teetered on its extended tripod. Harriet whipped around to clasp and steady it, letting out a small cry of pain as a bolt on one of the legs jammed into her knee.
‘What on earth—?’ Marcus Fox was there immediately, untangling her from the apparatus and setting them both upright.
‘I’m sorry,’ she gasped, hopping on one leg as she tried to refit her shoe.
He let go of the telescope to support her by her shoulders, half lifting her with easy strength to perch on the edge of his desk while she fumbled. ‘Little fool,’ he said
gruffly. ‘What are you wearing heels like that for around the office? You’re an accident waiting to happen.’
‘To stop people like you calling me little,’ she huffed. ‘And I…High heels make my legs look longer.’ It had sounded far more effective in the shoe-saleswoman’s plummy tones.
‘Your legs are quite long enough…particularly in that skirt.’ He touched her knee, making her gasp at the unexpected intimacy, but he was merely being as meticulous as usual. ‘I’m afraid you’ve laddered your pantihose rather badly. I hope you’ve got a spare pair tucked away to change into; you can’t go around all day looking like that.’
Harriet automatically lifted her leg to inspect the damage, and as she flexed her tender knee the run gained width and momentum, splitting audibly as it shot up under her skirt.
‘They’re not pantihose,’ she said absently, thinking gloomily that it didn’t take much to make expensive elegance look cheap and tacky. Maybe black hadn’t been such a flattering choice after all.
‘I beg your pardon?’
He hadn’t moved and Harriet was acutely aware that he was standing between her legs, the fabric of his dark trousers brushing against the sensitive skin of the insides of her knees. This time the threat posed by his proximity was unnervingly real. He was overpoweringly close, his warmth radiating through her like an invisible touch, his clean male scent creating a curious disorder in her senses. He made her feel both fragile and vulnerable and she panicked lest he detect her irrational fear, rashly seeking to repulse him with offensive brashness.
‘I said I’m not wearing pantihose. They’re stockings. See?’ She provocatively lifted her knee to press it against his hip, and flipped back her hem to reveal the lacetrimmed suspender that gripped the opaque band of her laddered stocking. A strip of smooth, naked thigh was also inadvertently revealed—a starkly erotic contrast to the black lingerie.
They were both still frozen by her unthinking audacity when the door to the office was suddenly flung open and a trio of vividly contrasting females sailed in, the leader of whom was already carolling gaily, ‘Yes, I know you didn’t want any interruptions but I told Miss Broadbent you’d make an exception for your mother-in-law, especially since I’m bringing you your darling daughter and your dear, sweet Lynne—’
There was a concerted feminine gasp as the group came to a ragged halt, and the honey-sweet voice curdled to an acid roar.
