Читать книгу His Very Personal Assistant - Кэрол Мортимер, Кэрол Мортимер - Страница 8

‘THAT’S better!’ Marcus voiced his approval when Kit rejoined him in the sitting-room fifteen minutes later.

Fifteen agonizing minutes later. Kit simply hadn’t known what to do for the best once she was in her bedroom. If she did as Marcus asked, and dressed and behaved as casually as he was himself, wasn’t that going to make a nonsense of the working relationship she had gone to such lengths to establish the last six months? But on the other hand, if she didn’t fulfil her role as his PA, Marcus wasn’t going to think she was of much use to him, and maybe he’d decide, as he obviously had with Angie Dwyer, that she wasn’t working out too well.

Besides, as he had gone to great pains to point out, he had no designs upon her body!

Not sure whether she felt relieved, chagrined, or just plain disappointed about that, Kit had taken a quick inventory of her wardrobe and had picked out the clothing she thought might do for the occasion, without compromising herself too much. From the look on Marcus’s face as he looked at her now in a black tee shirt and fashionable fitted black trousers, he obviously approved of the transformation.

‘At least,’ he said as he slowly stood up, ‘the clothes are. Can’t you do something with your hair?’ He glowered at the severe style she still wore. ‘And the glasses?’ he added with exasperation. ‘Desmond is going to think my taste has turned to the studious!’

‘As opposed to dumb blondes!’ Kit was stung into retorting, the colour swiftly entering her cheeks as Marcus turned to look at her beneath lowered lids. ‘I’m so sorry!’ she gasped. ‘I really shouldn’t have said that. I just—You were being extremely personal about me, and so—’

‘You felt the freedom to be extremely personal about me, in return,’ Marcus drawled.

She grimaced. ‘Yes.’

‘Fair enough,’ he agreed.

Her eyes widened in surprise. She had expected a verbal setting-down, if nothing else. ‘It is?’

‘Of course,’ he said. ‘Although I wouldn’t advise you to do it too often!’

Kit stared at him for several seconds, and then she gave a laugh as she saw the glint in his dark blue eyes.

Marcus tilted his head as he looked at her consideringly. ‘Is that really how you see the women I’ve been involved with?’ he asked quizzically.

In truth, yes. Oh, they were beautiful enough, but Kit very much doubted that their conversation had run to much more than fashion and social chit chat. Not exactly scintillating to a man of Marcus’s intelligence. Although she very much doubted it was intellect that had attracted him to them!

‘Perhaps,’ she answered noncommittally. ‘Although I really don’t know them well enough to comment, do I?’

‘That doesn’t seem to have stopped you doing exactly that, anyway,’ Marcus pointed out dryly.

No, it hadn’t, had it? Kit realised, the colour once more in her cheeks. And it really wasn’t any of her business, was it…?

She put up a self-conscious hand to her hair, aware that its vibrancy of colour was mostly muted by its severe style; that it glowed like flame when released, sometimes deeply red, sometimes that red hinting at gold, at other times just pure gold. As for discarding her glasses…!

‘Which brings us back to your hair,’ Marcus said firmly as he saw her nervous movement. ‘It looks like okay hair to me.’

‘It is,’ she confirmed awkwardly.

‘Then why not let it down for a change? Just your hair, Miss McGuire,’ he added as he recognized his choice of words could be misinterpreted. ‘And do you really need those glasses?’ He reached out as if to pluck them off her nose. ‘The lenses don’t look very strong to me—hey, I was only going to look at them!’ he protested as she swung away from his hand.

‘You might break them,’ she said stiltedly, reaching up herself to remove the glasses; she had her contacts with her, could put them in later. ‘I really only need them for reading,’ she excused, her face turned away as she put the glasses carefully into their case and into her handbag.

‘Miss McGuire…?’

‘Yes?’ she replied distractedly.

‘Would you mind looking at me when I talk to you?’

‘What—?’ She broke off as she turned and saw the look on Marcus’s face. He was staring at her, which sent the colour once more to flush her cheeks.

And she knew what he would see too; eyes of deep gun-metal grey, but with the softness of velvet, her lashes long and dark, those eyes emphasizing her high cheekbones, the perfect bow of her lips.

Marcus blinked. ‘Could you take down your hair, too?’ he pressed huskily.

She gave an irritated groan. ‘Look, I really don’t think this is at all necessary—’

‘Please,’ he pushed gently.

Kit shot him an uncertain glance before looking away again, reaching up to remove the pins from her hair, its straight, silky softness falling gently about her shoulders, the sunlight streaming in through the window giving it the texture of living flame.

‘There.’ She raised her chin as she looked at him, flicking her hair back over her shoulder as she did so. ‘Satisfied?’

Marcus put a hand up to absently stroke the roughness of his chin as he continued to look at her with enigmatic eyes. ‘As a matter of fact—no, I’m far from satisfied!’ he replied. ‘What I am, though, is curious as to why you’ve been walking around my office the last six months masquerading as someone’s maiden aunt, when, in actual fact, you really look like this!’

Kit continued to look at him with steady grey eyes. ‘Like what?’

He looked ready to explode. ‘Like—like—’

‘Yes?’ she prompted curiously.

‘You know exactly what you look like, Miss McGuire,’ he bit out coldly. ‘What I want to know is why?’

She avoided meeting his gaze. ‘If you really must know—’

‘Oh, I think I really must,’ he assured sarcastically.

Kit took a deep breath. ‘My previous boss thought it part of my job description to go to bed with him. And after Angie Dwyer’s comments about you, I—well, I thought it best not to draw attention to—to my femininity,’ she concluded awkwardly.

‘In other words, you didn’t draw my attention to it!’ Marcus rasped furiously. ‘Damn it, have I so much as looked at you in a way that could be called personal in the last six months?’

‘No,’ she acknowledged with a pained grimace, knowing his anger was justified.

‘You—I—oh, to hell with this,’ he suddenly said impatiently. ‘If you’re ready, let’s just go, shall we?’ He turned on his heel and walked out of her apartment.

Kit breathed a sigh of relief at being released from his domineering company for a couple of minutes at least, the tension relaxing from her shoulders. Marcus obviously wasn’t a happy man at what he saw to be her transition from moth into butterfly, or the reason for it. As she had known he wouldn’t be…

Oh, well. She gave a philosophical shrug of her shoulders as she picked up her bag and followed him out to his car; he had asked for it, hadn’t he? He could hardly sack her just because she had turned out to be more attractive without her hair confined and not wearing her glasses than he had actually bargained for!

‘Where, exactly, are we going?’ she asked after ten minutes of silent driving on Marcus’s part—and, she admitted, a certain amount of discomfort on hers!

‘Worcestershire,’ he supplied economically.

‘Really?’ She brightened. ‘I’ve never been there, but I believe it’s supposed to be a very pretty county—’

‘Would you mind not chattering?’ Marcus cut in hardly. ‘I need to concentrate while I’m driving.’

He needed to learn some manners too—but somehow Kit didn’t think he would appreciate having her point that out to him!

But if he didn’t want to talk, she was quite happy to look out the window at the countryside as they left London far behind them, the Jaguar sports car Marcus drove quickly eating up the miles.

She’d had all too few opportunities to get out of London since selling her car six months ago, driving and parking in the city simply weren’t worth the nightmare. Her parents lived in Cornwall, and it was easier to get on the train when she went to see them than it was to struggle through all the tourist traffic that constantly clogged the roads down there.

‘Okay, I apologize for my brusqueness,’ Marcus said suddenly beside her, startling her out of her reverie.

Kit tilted her chin up as she looked at him. ‘Which time?’

His hands tightened on the steering wheel as he glanced back at her.

‘Both times,’ he acknowledged. ‘I admit, I was initially a little—startled, by the change in your appearance—even more so by the reason for the subterfuge in the first place.’ He looked darkly at the road ahead. ‘Talk if you want to,’ he commanded.

Kit continued to watch him for several long seconds, finding that, now he had invited her to talk, she actually had nothing to say!

‘Well?’ he persisted tersely at her continued silence.

She gave a rueful laugh. ‘Isn’t it strange, that when someone invites you to talk, there’s really nothing to talk about? But if I think of anything, I’ll certainly say it,’ she amended hastily at the frown line remaining between his eyes.

Marcus gave a small smile. ‘I’m gratified to hear it!’

‘No, you aren’t,’ she said with certainty. ‘And I’m really quite happy just looking out of the window,’ she assured him. ‘It’s easy to forget, living in London, just how beautiful England really is.’

‘Yes,’ he answered shortly. ‘Tell me a little about yourself, Miss McGuire,’ he invited. ‘I ought to know something about the woman I’m spending the weekend with, don’t you think?’

‘I suppose,’ she acknowledged reluctantly, not sure how much she wanted this man to know about her. Always a private person, she now found it more important than ever to keep personal information to a minimum—considering this man’s connections…

‘You suppose?’ he echoed slightly incredulously. ‘Miss McGuire, I’m not asking for intimate details; just a general outline will do! Things like parents and siblings; after all, your résumé has already told me about your previous employment, educational qualifications and marital status!’

‘Oh, good,’ she said sarcastically. ‘Well, I have two parents: a mother and a father—’

‘I’m glad to hear it!’ he drawled with derisive patience, ‘why is it I get the feeling you really don’t want to talk about your private life?’

‘Probably because I don’t,’ she answered candidly. ‘But I’m quite happy for you to tell me about yours, if you feel so inclined?’ She looked at him expectantly.

He flicked her another glance with those deep blue eyes. ‘You know, I think you might be a lot less trouble as the supremely efficient Miss McGuire; she tends not to answer back!’

Kit grinned self-consciously. ‘Sorry.’

‘No, you’re not. And, for the record, I have a mother and a father, too,’ he continued wryly.

‘Well, at least we have that much in common, Mr Maitland—’

‘Marcus,’ he insisted. ‘I think that might sound a little less—formal, for the benefit of this weekend, don’t you?’ He raised mocking brows.

She hesitated for a moment. ‘You know, I really don’t think you thought the consequences of this weekend through enough before deciding on your plan of action—’

‘You don’t?’ His brows rose higher.

‘No, I don’t.’ Kit turned fully in her seat to look at him. ‘For one thing,’ she continued determinedly as he would have interrupted, ‘how are we supposed to go back to being Mr Maitland and Miss McGuire when we return to the office on Monday morning? And for another—’

‘Tuesday morning,’ Marcus corrected. ‘We aren’t leaving until Monday afternoon,’ he explained as she looked at him enquiringly.

So now, attracted to him as she was, she had three torturous days in his company instead of two!

Great!

‘But you’re right about the Miss McGuire bit,’ Marcus continued thoughtfully. ‘Looking at you now, I’m not sure I will ever be able to think of you in that guise ever again!’

Hadn’t she tried to tell him that—?

‘Or for you to return to that coolly efficient role, either,’ he said pointedly.

Kit winced as she inwardly acknowledged that her change in appearance had also resulted in certain subtle—and some not so subtle!—differences in her personality. Dressed in her casual clothes, her hair loose, and no heavy-framed glasses, she certainly felt, and behaved, differently from the coolly capable Miss McGuire!

‘All in all—Kit,’ he paused briefly before deliberately using her first name, ‘I have a feeling that being away on business with you is going to be altogether a completely different experience to going away with Lewis!’

That was what she was afraid of!

Marcus glanced at her, chuckling huskily as he saw the woebegone expression on her face. ‘Cheer up, Kit,’ he encouraged. ‘What’s the worst that could happen?’

Attracted to him as she was, feeling about him the way that she did, she would rather not think about that, either!

‘After all,’ Marcus went on lightly, completely relaxed now as he drove effortlessly along the country roads, ‘you’re going to be chaperoned by several other guests. And don’t forget, my taste runs to dumb blondes.’

She gave a pained groan. ‘I wish that I had never made that remark!’

Marcus was grinning, obviously enjoying her discomfort now. ‘Well, it’s a sure fact you aren’t blonde.’ He gave her hair an admiring glance. ‘And I can personally vouch for the fact that you aren’t dumb, either!’

She gave a heavy sigh. ‘Mr Maitland—’

‘Marcus,’ he reminded her firmly. ‘Is Kit short for something else?’ he mused. ‘Kitty or Kathryn, something like that?’

‘It’s short for Kit,’ she told him woodenly. ‘Plain and simple Kit.’

‘Okay.’ He shrugged broad shoulders. ‘You were going to say something before we got into this discussion about names…?’

‘Before you got into the discussion about names,’ she corrected flatly. ‘And I was just going to apologize—’ once again! ‘—for my remarks about your personal life. They were rude, and intrusive, and altogether—’

‘True,’ he finished happily. ‘But I’m sure it isn’t too late for my tastes to change—to tall, outspoken redheads, for instance.’

Kit was almost afraid to look at him now, sure he was just teasing her to get his own back for her earlier remarks—but at the same time she wasn’t sure of any such thing!

It was difficult to tell what he was thinking from the blandness of his expression. Deliberately so? Probably, she acknowledged heavily. One thing she had learnt over the last couple of days: Marcus had a wicked sense of humour when he chose to exert it.

‘Very funny,’ she scorned, choosing to err on the side of caution. ‘Do you have any idea who any of the other guests will be this weekend?’ She deliberately changed the subject onto something less personal. And disturbing!

‘The usual hangers-on and social bores a man like Desmond Hayes attracts, I suppose. Never mind, Kit, we’ll have each other for company.’

Now she knew he was deliberately teasing her. Because he knew she found him attractive? Because he had guessed that, against all the warnings, she had fallen into the trap of being half in love with him? That would be just too awful! Well, in this case, lack of interest was the best form of defence…

‘How nice.’ She made her reply deliberately saccharine-sweet.

Marcus gave an appreciative laugh. ‘Well, I can assure you, Kit, I’m certainly not expecting to be bored!’

While he kept teasing her like this, no, she didn’t expect that he would be…

She gave a weary yawn. ‘I’m feeling rather tired. Would you mind if I had a short nap before we arrive?’ Not waiting for his reply, she settled herself down in her seat and closed her eyes.

Shutting out his image along with it.

But not her full awareness of him. Of the lean strength of his hands as he drove with such easy assurance. Or, the sprinkling of dark hair that ran the length of his arms. And further. The determination of his jaw. The full sensuality of his lips. The dark blue of his eyes. The way those eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled or laughed. The potent, slightly elusive smell of his aftershave.

Face it, Kit, she told herself derisively; you stand about as much chance of relaxing around Marcus Maitland, of really going to sleep, as you do sitting next to a tiger poised to spring!

But that didn’t stop her giving every appearance of dozing during the rest of the journey, only making a pretence of waking as Marcus touched her arm lightly and told her that they had arrived.

‘You had a good nap,’ he told her admiringly as he brought the Jaguar to a stop on the gravel driveway in front of what looked like once having been a stately home. Huge pillars supported its entranceway, the stonework old and mellowed. Noise seemed to flow from every open window as the two of them stepped out onto the gravel driveway, where there were a dozen or so other cars already parked outside.

‘“Come and spend a peaceful weekend in the country” was how Desmond described it to me!’ Marcus gave a hint of his distaste for the loud music and chatter as he moved to get their bags from the boot of the car.

Although not normally one for crowds of people on a superficial basis, Kit found herself smiling, quite happy to make this weekend the exception; the more people there were around them, the less likely she was to be so aware of Marcus. Or to spend too much time alone with him.

‘It sounds like fun,’ she responded lightly.

Marcus gave a disgusted snort, leading the way up the stone steps that fronted the house. Its massive front door was thrown open and the large entrance hall inside was filled with what looked like dozens of people.

‘Are you sure you have the right weekend?’ Kit questioned of Marcus.

‘I’m sure,’ he replied grimly. ‘You—’

‘Kit? Hey, Kit, is that really you?’ called out a familiar voice.

A voice that made her freeze in her tracks and caused the smile to fade from her lips as she looked frantically around the entrance hall for its source.

And then she saw him, making his way purposefully towards her, a smile of amused recognition on his overconfident, too-handsome face.

Mike Reynolds.

Her ex-boss from hell.

But he wasn’t the sole reason her cheeks paled and her breathing seemed to stop. There was also another person whom she could see standing a short distance behind Mike Reynolds. Someone Kit wanted to see even less than she did Mike!

Catherine Grainger…