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‘Do what?’
‘That look of magnificent disdain. As if I’d crawled out from under a slimy stone. Very crushing. Very blonde. Why didn’t you look at Fleet like that, instead of letting him paw you all over the floor?’
‘Maybe because I liked what he was doing,’ she shot back.
‘It certainly didn’t look that way. He wouldn’t have used such crude tactics if he knew you were willing. You were so busy keeping track of his hands, you didn’t seem to notice that he was bulldozing you towards a dark corner.’
He must have been watching her for some time without her realising it. Even though they were in public it seemed like a disturbing violation of her privacy. ‘I was handling it—’
‘You were putting up with it. Quite a different thing. You were being far too polite, Harriet. You should have screamed, or slapped his face.’
Her name on his tongue almost distracted her from her annoyance. The aspiration was soft, the stress on the first syllable a deep purr, trailing off to a tiny click on the final consonant that caressed her with its haunting familiarity. ‘Thank you, but I don’t need your advice—’
‘You need it; you just don’t want it—’
‘Don’t presume to tell me what I want!’ she flared. ‘You don’t know anything about it. I’m not under your jurisdiction here, you know. Outside working hours, Mr Fox, I’m just as much a free citizen as you are.’
‘I think you’d better call me Marcus, don’t you? Over the next couple of weeks you’re going to be almost one of the family. Referring to me as Mr Fox in front of my daughter would be awkward for both of you—and Nicola might see it as an indication of your lack of authority. Far better for you to wield the subtle advantage of being on first-name terms with me.’
Her recoil was automatic. ‘One of the family’? She looked up at him, shaking her head vehemently. ‘Oh, I couldn’t…’
‘Why not?’
She floundered. ‘Well, I—It wouldn’t be—’
‘Proper?’ he supplied helpfully, steering her around the couple passionately kissi
ng in the centre of the dance-floor. ‘Of course; I understand completely. Very sensible of you to avoid any suggestion of impropriety. You have your own personal standards to uphold, and very worthy they are too. I don’t blame you for worrying about what other people might think of your relaxation of your unwritten rules. A lady must protect her reputation, after all—’
‘Not if she’s building herself a brand-new one—Marcus,’ she blazed, goaded to the limit by his kind understanding of her boring old self. ‘What other people think is their own problem!’
‘Precisely my view—Harriet,’ he agreed, so smoothly that she arched her back to glare up at him and realised from his smug expression that she had just been skilfully manipulated. ‘Now that we’ve got rid of that formality, perhaps we might be able to get to know each other a little better.’
At his innocuous comment a bloom of perspiration inexplicably mantled her skin and her hand suddenly felt slippery in his. Brief, unformed images danced before her eyes and she fought back a wave of smothering anxiety.
She looked away, unable to sustain her intent blue gaze, and laughed nervously. ‘Perhaps, but I doubt it. We move in different circles. Yours is very much more formal…’
‘Only sometimes. I’m dressed the way I am because we’ve just come from a first-night performance of the NZSO at the Aotea Centre.’
‘We?’ She tensed. Of course, he wouldn’t be here alone…
‘I had dinner and went to the concert with several friends. We have a table over there.’ He gestured with an inclination of his head. Harriet followed the line of his sight and made a clumsy misstep as she recognised one of the figures seated at the edge of the dance-floor. The woman was frowning in their direction.
‘You’re here with Miss Foster,’ she realised hollowly.
Marcus cushioned her slight stumble and a swirl of gold mesh wrapped itself briefly around the black fabric at his calf. He paused to allow its momentum to carry it free again, the hand on her back moving down to support her centre of gravity with a firmer pressure as he resumed his rhythm.
‘Not as such, no. As I said, a group of friends had arranged to go to a charity dinner and then to the concert,’ he said. ‘Lynne happened to be one of them.’
‘I’ll bet she did,’ muttered Harriet under her breath, remembering the way she had had her nose discreetly rubbed in the fact that they were dining together. A surge of rebellion coursed through her and she looked across and waggled her fingers over his shoulder at the haughty beauty watching them.
‘That was uncalled for,’ he murmured without looking down.
‘I was just saying hello,’ said Harriet innocently, smiling secretly to herself.
‘You were taunting her.’
‘I caught her eye. It would have been rude to ignore her,’ she protested. ‘All I did was wave.’
