Читать книгу The Billionaire Boss's Secretary Bride - HELEN BROOKS, Helen Brooks - Страница 8

WHY had he done this? Why had he invited her out to dinner tonight? He hadn’t intended to. He’d meant their goodbye to be friendly, swift and final, and definitely with a third party present.

As Harry slid into the car, he glanced at Gina for a second. He was, by virtue of his genetic background and upbringing, a very rational man. ‘Cold’ had even been the word used by former girlfriends on occasion, but that had been after he had firmly disabused them of the idea that their relationship had any chance of becoming permanent.

He knew exactly what he wanted out of life. Since Anna. And, because the knowledge had been forged in the furnace, it was not negotiable—Independence. Following his own star, with no tentacles of responsibility to prevent him doing so. Companionship and sex along the way, of course, good times with women who knew the score. But nothing that came with strings and ties and required sacrifices he wasn’t willing to make.

He’d left university with a first in business studies, gaining experience in a couple of jobs, before landing the big one in the States where he’d moved to the top of the ladder after acquiring a postgraduate degree, Master of Business Administration. He had enjoyed working for that, although with his job it had meant regular twenty-hour days. But that had been fine. It had happened after Anna, and anything which had enabled him to go to bed too dog-tired to think had been OK by him.

‘Is it far?’

The soft voice at the side of him brought his head turning. ‘Just a couple of miles,’ he said evenly, swinging the car out of the drive onto the quiet tree-lined lane beyond. ‘It’s only a very small place, by the way, nothing grand, but the food is excellent. Roberto has the knack of turning the most simple dish into something special. The first time I saw a warm-bread salad with roasted red peppers on the menu, I thought it a fairly basic starter. Big mistake. It came with capers and anchovies and fresh basil, and a whole host of other ingredients, that made it out of this world.’

‘You’re making my mouth water.’

Harry smiled. ‘Do I take it you’re someone who lives to eat, rather than eats to live?’

His swift glance saw her wrinkle her little nose. ‘Can’t you tell?’ she said a trifle flatly.

His smile vanished. He didn’t know what it was about this gentle, ginger-haired woman that had attracted him from day one, but her softly rounded, somewhat voluptuous curves were part of it. ‘Your figure’s fine,’ he said firmly.

‘Thank you.’

‘I mean it. There are far too many women these days who don’t actually look like women. Lettuce leaves are great for rabbits, but there’s where they should stop. I hate to see a woman nibbling on a stick of celery all evening, and drinking mineral water, while insisting she’s full to bursting.’

He’d just pulled up before turning on to the main road, and in the shadowed confines of the car he caught her glance of disbelief. ‘What?’ he said, turning to face her.

‘You might say that, but I bet the women you date are all stick insects.’

He opened his mouth to deny it before the uncomfortable truth hit. To anyone on the outside looking in, it would appear Gina was spot on-target. He did tend to date trim, svelte types. Why? He pulled on to the main road, his very able and intelligent mind dissecting the matter.

Because he’d found by experience that women who were obsessed with their figures, and appearance, and street cred, tended to be on the insular side—especially when they were also career minded, as he made sure all his girlfriends were. Less inclined towards cosy twosomes at home, and more likely to favour a date involving dinner and dancing, or the theatre, where they could see and be seen. Women with their own, forged-in-steel goals who weren’t looking for happy-ever-after but good conversation, good company and entertainment, and good sex. He’d made the odd mistake, of course, but mostly he tended to get it right.

In fact, if he thought about it, one criterion for dating a woman more than a couple of times was her level of self-interest. He grimaced mentally. Which made him…what? He decided not to follow that train of thought, but it confirmed he’d been crazy to take Gina out tonight, even on the basis of friendship.

Realising he hadn’t given her any reply, he ducked the issue by saying self-righteously, ‘Anorexia is becoming an ever-increasing problem these days, and no one in their right mind can say those women, young girls some of them, look attractive.’

‘I suppose not.’

They drove in silence for the rest of the short journey. When he finally pulled into Roberto’s tiny car-park, he saw Gina looking about her. The restaurant was situated on the edge of a typical Yorkshire market-town, but in the darkness it appeared more secluded than it was. In the muted lighting from the couple of lamps in the car park, her hair gleamed like strands of copper. He wondered what she would say if he asked her to loosen it from the upswept bun she usually favoured for work. He’d seen it down a couple of times, and it was beautiful.

Stupid. He brushed the notion away ruthlessly. This was dinner. Nothing else.

He slid out of the car, walking round the bonnet and then opening Gina’s door and helping her out. The air smelt of the burgeoning vegetation, and somewhere close by a blackbird sang two or three flute-like notes—probably disturbed by the car and lights—before falling silent again. He watched as she drew in a lungful of air, her eyes closed. Opening them, she said softly. ‘I shall miss this in London.’

‘Don’t go, then.’ He hadn’t meant to say it.

‘I have to.’ Her lashes flickered.

‘Why?’

‘I start my new job on Monday—I’ve got a flat, everything. I couldn’t let people down.’

He suddenly knew why he had asked her out to dinner. He hadn’t believed she would actually leave Breedon & Son when it came to the crunch. He hadn’t prepared himself for her disappearing out of his life. There had been so much talk among Natalie and the other employees of Gina changing her mind at the last minute, and he’d found it expedient to believe it. He should have known that once she had committed to something she wouldn’t turn back.

‘No, I guess you couldn’t.’ At six feet, he topped her by five or six inches, and as he gazed down at her he caught the scent of her perfume, something warm and silky that reminded him of magnolia flowers. The jump his senses gave provided a warning shot across the bows. ‘Let’s go in,’ he said coolly. ‘I’m starving.’

Once Roberto had finished fussing over them, and they were seated at a table for two with menus in front of them and a bottle of wine on order, Harry took himself in hand. This was her last day at Breedon & Son, and it was true that she had been a lifesaver when he’d returned so suddenly to the UK—that was why he’d offered to take her out tonight. Nothing else. And of course he’d miss her. You couldn’t work closely with someone umpteen hours a day, share the odd coffee break and lunch and learn about her life and so on, without missing her when she was gone. It was as simple as that.

‘I think I’m going to try that warm-bread salad you mentioned for starters.’ She stared at him, her blue eyes dark in the paleness of her skin. ‘And maybe the tagliatelle to follow?’

‘Good choice.’ He nodded. ‘I’ll join you.’

Once Roberto had returned with the wine and taken their order, he settled back in his seat and raised his glass in a toast. ‘To you and your new life in the great, big city,’ he said, purposely injecting a teasing note into his voice. ‘May you be protected from all the prowling wolves who might try to gobble you up.’

She laughed. ‘I don’t somehow think they’ll be queueing for the privilege.’

He’d noticed this before, her tendency towards self-deprecation. ‘From where I’m sitting, it’s a very real possibility,’ he said quietly.

Her voice a little uncertain, she said, ‘Thank you. You’re very gallant.’

‘I like to think so, but in this case I am speaking the truth.’ He leant forward slightly, not hiding his curiosity as he said, ‘You don’t rate yourself much, do you, Gina? Why is that—or is that too personal a question?’

He liked it that she could blush. He’d thought it a lost art before he had met her.

She shrugged. ‘Legacy of being the ugly duckling of the family, I suppose,’ she said quietly. ‘My two older sisters inherited the red hair, but theirs is true chestnut, and they don’t have freckles. Added to which it was me who had to have the brace on my teeth and see a doctor about acne.’

His eyes wandered over the flawlessly creamy skin, flawless except for the freckles, but he liked those. And her teeth were small, white and even. ‘Your dentist and doctor are to be congratulated on their part in assisting the swan to emerge. You’re a very lovely woman, even if you don’t realise it.’

The blush grew deeper. He watched it with fascination. When she looked ready to explode, he said, ‘I seem to remember both your sisters are married, aren’t they?’ It was more to change the subject and alleviate her distress than because he cared two hoots about them.

She nodded, and her hair reflected a hundred different shades of gold and copper as she moved. ‘Bryony has a little boy of three, and Margaret two girls of five and eight, so I’m an aunt three times over. They’re all great kids.’

Something in her voice prompted him to say, ‘You obviously are very fond of them.’

‘Of course.’

There was no ‘of course’ about it. He knew several women who couldn’t seem to stand their own children, let alone anyone else’s. ‘Do you see yourself settling down and having a family one day?’

A shadow passed over her face. ‘Maybe.’

‘Maybe?’

She smiled, but he could see it was a little shaky. Her mouth was soft, vulnerable. Muscles knotted in his stomach.

‘Settling down and having a family does carry the prerequisite of meeting the right man,’ she said, taking a sip of her wine.

‘You’re bound to meet someone in London.’

‘Why “bound to”?’

Her voice was sharper than he’d heard it before, and his eyes widened momentarily. He’d clearly said the wrong thing, although he couldn’t think how.

And then she said quickly, ‘Not everyone meets the right one, as I’m sure you’d agree, and personally I’d rather remain single than marry just to be with someone. I’m going to London with a view to furthering my career, and perhaps travelling a little, things like that.’

He stared at her. That wasn’t all of it. Had she had a love affair go wrong? Was she moving away because someone had hurt her, broken her heart? But she hadn’t said anything to him about a man in her life.

He caught at the feeling of anger, the sense that she had let him down in some way. Drawing on his considerable self-control, he said coolly, ‘I hadn’t got you down as a career woman, Gina?’

‘No?’ She glanced up from her wine glass and looked him full in the face, but he could read nothing from her expression when she said, ‘But then you don’t really know me, do you?’

He felt as though she had just slapped him round the face, even though her voice had been pleasant and calm. He thought he knew her. She had always been quite free in talking about herself, her family, her friends, although…His eyes narrowed. Come to think of it, she had never discussed her love life at all. He’d just assumed she didn’t have one, he supposed.

He felt a dart of self-disgust, and realised how much he had assumed. Trying to justify himself, he argued silently, no, it wasn’t altogether that. Because he didn’t like to talk about that side of his life, he hadn’t pressed her in that direction, that was all.

And the long hours she had put in ever since he had arrived? The devotion to the job, and to him and his father? Her readiness to be prepared to work overtime at the drop of a hat? The way—even when her workload had been huge and she’d been working flat out—she’d spare time to talk him through a procedure he wasn’t familiar with? He had taken it all for granted, looking back, in his arrogance having imagined Breedon & Son was all of her life. But why would it be? Looking like Gina did, why wouldn’t there have been a man in the background somewhere?

Collecting his racing thoughts, he said, ‘So, what’s your ultimate goal? Do you intend to stay in the capital for good, now you’ve made the break?’

She paused to think. He saw her tongue stroke her bottom lip for a moment, and his body responded, stirring to life. ‘I’m not sure.’ She raised her eyes. ‘Possibly. Like I said, I’d like to travel, and perhaps that could be incorporated into a job. That would be perfect.’

This was a new side to her. Disturbing. He’d been more than a little taken aback when she had announced her intention to leave shortly after the New Year; it hadn’t fitted into his overall picture of her. She was level-headed, reliable, a calm, balanced woman with both feet firmly on the ground. The very last person to suddenly announce they were leaving their home, job and friends to hightail it to the big city, in fact.

‘I see.’ He tried for nonchalance when he said, ‘You’re full of surprises, Gina Leighton. I had you down as more of a homebody, I guess. Someone who wouldn’t be happy if they were far away from where they were born.’

‘London isn’t exactly the ends of the earth.’

She lifted her chin as she spoke, and he said quickly, ‘Oh, don’t get me wrong. That wasn’t a criticism.’

‘Good.’ She sipped at her wine.

‘If anyone can understand the urge to travel, I can. It’s just that I saw you differently, more…’

‘Boring?’

‘Boring?’ He stared at her in genuine amazement. ‘Of course I never thought you were boring. How can you say that? I was going to say contented with what you had, where you were in life.’

‘You can be all that and still fancy a change,’ she said flatly, just as the waitress came with their warm-bread salads.

Once she’d gone, he reached across the table and touched Gina’s hand for one brief moment. ‘I didn’t mean to offend you,’ he said softly. ‘And I swear I’ve never thought of you as boring.’ Disconcerting, maybe. Definitely unsettling on occasion, like when he’d stolen a swift kiss at the Christmas party and the scent of her had stayed with him all evening. And, on the couple of instances she’d worn her hair down for work, he’d had to stuff his hands in his pockets all day to avoid the temptation to take a handful of the shining, silky mass and nuzzle his face into it. But boring? Never.

Gina shrugged. ‘It doesn’t matter one way or the other.’

She had moved her fingers out from under his almost as soon as they had rested on her hand, and it suggested she was still annoyed.

‘It does.’ Irritated, his voice hardened. ‘We’re friends, aren’t we?’

‘We are—we were—work colleagues, first and foremost,’ came the dampening answer. ‘We were friendly, but that’s not the same as being friends.’

He stared at her. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were bright, and he couldn’t read a thing in her closed expression. He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt out of his depth when speaking to a woman, but it was happening now. Raking back a lock of hair from his forehead, he leant back in his seat, surveying her broodingly. ‘So, what’s your definition of friends?’

She ate a morsel of bread and pronounced it delicious, before she said, ‘Friends are there for you, right or wrong. You can have fun with them or cry with them. They know plenty about you, but stick in there with you nonetheless. They’re part of your life.’

He became aware he was frowning, and straightened his face. He felt monumentally insulted. ‘And none of that applies to us, apparently? Is that what you’re saying?’ he said evenly.

‘Well, does it?’ she asked matter-of-factly.

‘I think so.’

‘Harry, we’ve never met out of work, and know very little about each other.’

He shook his head stubbornly. ‘Don’t be silly, we know plenty about each other,’ he said firmly, his annoyance rising when she narrowed her eyes cynically. He was possessed by the very irrational desire to do or say something remarkable to shock her out of her complacency, something that hadn’t happened since he had been a thirteen-year-old schoolboy trying to impress the school beauty. But Delia Sherwood had been a walkover compared to the self-contained, quiet young woman watching him with disbelieving eyes. And this was a crazy conversation. He wasn’t even sure how it had come about. Why did Gina’s opinion about their relationship matter so much, anyway? ‘I know you have two sisters, a best friend called Erica, and that you walk your parents’ dog to keep fit, for instance. OK?’ Even to himself he sounded petulant.

‘Those are head facts. Not heart facts.’

‘I’m sorry?’ he said, his temper rising.

She gave what sounded like a weary sigh and ate another mouthful of food. ‘Think about it,’ was all she said.

He ate his warm-bread salad without tasting it. There had been undercurrents in their friendship from day one—and it was a friendship, whatever she said—but there she was, as cool as a cucumber, stating they were merely work colleagues. Damn it, he knew there was a spark there, even if neither of them had done anything about it. And the reason he’d held his hand had been for her sake. An act of consideration on his part.

He speared a piece of pepper with unnecessary violence, feeling extremely hard done by. He had known she wasn’t the type of woman to have a meaningless affair, and because he couldn’t offer anything permanent he’d kept things light and casual. But that didn’t mean there wasn’t something real between them.

The waitress appeared as soon as they had finished and whisked their plates away, whereupon Gina immediately stood up, reaching for her handbag as she did so. ‘I’m just going to powder my nose,’ she said brightly.

He had risen to his feet and now he nodded, sitting down again, watching her make her way to the back of the small restaurant and open the door marked Ladies.

He had thought he knew her, but she had proved him wrong. His frown deepened. The woman who had sat there and blatantly told him he could stick their friendship—or as good as—was not the Gina of nine-to-five. In fact, she was a stranger. A beautiful, soft, honey-skinned stranger, admittedly, with eyes that could be uncertain and vulnerable one moment and fiery, to match the hair—the next. But a stranger nonetheless. And he didn’t understand it.

Harry finished his glass of wine but resisted pouring himself another as he was driving, instead reaching for the bottle of sparkling mineral-water he’d ordered along with the wine.

He had imagined there was a…buzz between them, and all the time she’d probably been carrying on with someone else. Of course she’d been entitled to; he’d had one or two, maybe three—but very short-lived—relationships in the last twelve months. But it was different for her. And then he grimaced at the hypocrisy, scowling in self-contempt. Damn it, she’d caught him on the raw, and he didn’t know which end of him was up. Which only confirmed a million times over he had been absolutely right not to get involved with Gina. She was trouble. In spite of the air of gentle, warm voluptuousness that had a man dreaming he could drown in the depths of her—or perhaps because of it—she was trouble.

Swilling back the water, he made himself relax his limbs. It was ridiculous to get het up like this. She was leaving Yorkshire at the weekend, and that would be that. His mouth tightened. And Susan Richards had made it very plain she was up for a bit of fun with no strings attached. His perfect kind of woman, in fact.

His scowl deepened. When he replaced the empty glass on the table, it was with such force he was fortunate it didn’t shatter.