Читать книгу Taken by the Boss - Кэрол Мортимер - Страница 18

CHAPTER ELEVEN

‘GOOD weekend?’

Kit looked up at the sound of Lewis Grant’s voice. ‘Not particularly,’ she answered honestly.

‘Oh?’ He leant against the side of her desk, obviously in no hurry to go to his own office down the corridor.

She put aside the papers she had been working on for the last half an hour to give him her full attention. ‘Those sort of house parties aren’t really my scene.’

Lewis grinned understandingly. ‘Lots of glitz and glamour on the surface—and knives being wielded behind the backs!’

‘Something like that,’ she said noncommittally.

To be perfectly honest, she really wasn’t quite with it this bright and sunny Tuesday morning, was wishing herself anywhere but here.

Luckily, Marcus hadn’t arrived in the office yet. Kit usually arrived half an hour or so before he did so that she could deal with any urgent correspondence and put it on his desk.

Lewis chuckled. ‘I quite enjoy them, actually. But I can understand why some people wouldn’t,’ he sympathized.

Especially someone like her, Kit silently added. Prim Miss McGuire, the PA from No-Nonsenseville, was back in place this morning; after the intimacy that seemed to have developed between herself and Marcus over the weekend, she had thought it for the best. Not that she for a moment thought she would have Marcus chasing her around the desk at every opportunity; no, prim Miss McGuire was for her own protection—from her feelings towards Marcus!

‘It was okay.’ Kit returned her attention to Lewis.

‘Any success with Desmond Hayes?’ he enquired with interest.

‘Not particularly,’ she returned. ‘I’m really not being a lot of help this morning, am I?’

‘Probably tired after the weekend.’ Lewis smiled understandingly.

‘I still don’t understand why Marcus didn’t take me with him,’ he mused. ‘But there you are. I suppose—’

‘Don’t you have any work to do, Lewis?’ Marcus barked as he came into Kit’s office, dressed in one of the dark business suits and snowy white shirts he usually wore to work, briefcase in hand. ‘Kit,’ he added in tight acknowledgement.

‘M—Mr Maitland,’ she hastily corrected her initial slip of going to call him by his first name.

‘Come through to my office, will you?’ he instructed her curtly, his gaze cold as he looked at Lewis. ‘Anything I can do for you?’ he grated.

‘Nothing at all,’ the younger man said easily, not seeming too concerned by Marcus’s mood.

‘Then don’t let us keep you,’ Marcus responded, looking straight at Kit as he held his office door open.

Kit got up slowly to move across the room and enter Marcus’s office, very aware of his brooding presence as he closed the door behind them with a firm click.

She turned to look at him. ‘Don’t you think you were a little rude to Lewis just now?’

‘Was I?’ he replied unconcernedly. ‘I’m sure he’ll get over it.’ He placed his briefcase down beside his desk before sitting down in the high-backed leather chair behind it, resting his elbows on the desk as he looked at her over the top of the pyramid of his fingers. ‘Why the hell are you dressed like that again?’ he suddenly exclaimed.

Kit felt herself pale as she stared at him through her heavy, dark-rimmed glasses, her breath catching in her throat, in no doubt as to Marcus’s annoyance; his face was grim, a nerve pulsing in his jaw.

‘I thought it best,’ she offered, moistening her lips with the tip of her tongue.

‘And I thought I warned you about doing that,’ Marcus snapped, his gaze focused on her mouth now.

Kit instantly clamped her lips together, the colour flooding back into her cheeks as she remembered what had happened the last time she had moistened her lips in that way in front of Marcus.

‘Well?’ he prompted harshly.

She flinched at his attack. ‘Well, what…?’

He rose quickly to his feet, as if his mood was too big to be contained in a sitting position. ‘Exactly what sort of man do you think I am? Don’t answer that. The fact that you’re back to wearing that ridiculous disguise tells me exactly what you think of me!’

What she thought of him? It was herself, the love she felt towards him, that she was trying to protect!

‘I don’t see how,’ she said wearily.

‘No?’ He moved out from behind his desk to pace the room restlessly. ‘I think I should warn you that I don’t care for being put in the same category as your last boss!’

‘Mike Reynolds…?’ Kit repeated dazedly. ‘But I—’ She broke off, frowning across at Marcus now. ‘I never for a moment thought that you were in the least like him…’ But she could hardly explain that it was herself she was trying to protect by once again becoming Prim Miss McGuire from No-Nonsenseville!

‘Oh, give me a break, Kit,’ Marcus came back. ‘You’ve already told me exactly why you started wearing those ridiculous glasses and unflattering clothes. The fact that you’re back to wearing them today implies you still think you need some sort of protection from my obviously unwanted advances!’

What would he say if she were to tell him that what she really wanted to do—not just now, but all the time!—was throw herself into his arms and have him make love to her? Here. Now.

‘And just when did you intend telling me about your father?’ Marcus continued.

Kit blinked at this sudden change of subject. ‘My father…?’

Marcus nodded tersely. ‘Your father is Tom McGuire!’ he accused.

‘I know who he is,’ she answered levelly.

‘So do I—now.’

Kit looked at him curiously. ‘How do you know?’

Marcus’s mouth twisted self-derisively. ‘Because I have one of his paintings hanging on my apartment wall. I sat there in my apartment all weekend—’

‘We didn’t come back to town until Saturday afternoon,’ Kit reminded him.

Marcus gave her a scathing look. ‘I sat there all weekend,’ he repeated, ‘when I suddenly realised that the painting I was staring at was by Tom McGuire. It was just too much of a coincidence for it not to have been painted by your father!’

Kit didn’t even attempt to deny the connection—how could she? ‘His paintings are considered a very sound investment nowadays—’

‘I didn’t buy the painting as an investment!’ he replied. ‘I’ve owned it for twelve or thirteen years now.’

She nodded. ‘It’s only the last ten years he’s suddenly become quite famous—’

‘Quite famous!’ Marcus echoed with an incredulous note in his voice. ‘Each of his paintings are worth thousands of pounds!’

‘And do you know how old he was when he suddenly became famous?’ she returned exasperatedly. ‘Sixty-two,’ she continued without waiting for him to answer. ‘Before that he and my mother lived on the little they could make selling the odd painting and some of the vegetables my mother grows—in—in their huge—garden.’ Her voice began to falter as the façade she had kept up so far this morning slowly began to crumble and disintegrate. ‘It was a—a happy life,’ she defended huskily. ‘But it certainly wasn’t—wasn’t—’ She simply couldn’t go on any more, her throat clogged with the tears she was trying so hard not to shed.

She had tried so hard to appear normal this morning, to come to work as normal, to sit at her desk as normal, even to carry out this ridiculous conversation with Marcus as normal—when in reality her whole world felt as if it were falling apart. Every certainty, every stability in her life, suddenly no longer seemed that way…

* * *

She had travelled down to Cornwall on Saturday, totally ignorant of the bombshell that was about to be dropped on her.

‘Kit!’ her mother cried out excitedly, absolutely thrilled to see her getting out of the taxi, running over to hug her, and then promptly bursting into tears.

‘Hey…’ Kit said gently once she had paid off the taxi, looking affectionately at her tall, slender, still-beautiful mother.

Heather McGuire had been a noted beauty in her youth, with her long auburn hair and classical features. She was still a very striking woman.

She linked her arm with Kit’s as the two of them strolled over to the cottage. ‘I’m just so pleased to see you.’ She beamed. ‘Your father will be too,’ she added with certainty.

And he was, taking Kit up in his arms and hugging her.

He was tall and handsome, his hair and beard snowy white now; his blue eyes twinkled at her merrily as he said, ‘You’re looking lovelier than ever, Kit; new boyfriend?’

‘No,’ she laughingly denied.

He arched white brows. ‘Still hankering after that handsome boss of yours?’

‘For all the good it’s doing me,’ she confessed, knowing she never had been able to keep secrets from her father.

‘Come along in and let’s all have a glass of wine before dinner,’ her mother suggested happily, her tears dried now.

Kit hung back as her mother went off to get the glasses for their wine, looking concernedly at her father. ‘What’s wrong with Mummy?’

‘Wrong?’

‘Wrong,’ Kit insisted, very aware of the fact that her father’s voice sounded forced, that his eyes weren’t quite meeting hers, or in fact twinkling any more.

‘Why, nothing, darling—’

‘Daddy,’ she rebuked gently. ‘I’m not a child any more, you know.’

‘I do know.’ He sighed wistfully. ‘Long gone are the days when I could—’

‘Daddy, please,’ she encouraged, definitely knowing there was something wrong now from the way he was prevaricating.

Not that her mother wasn’t always overjoyed to see her; she just didn’t usually cry over it, had accepted long ago that Kit worked and lived in London, that she would come down every four to six weeks to see them. It had, in fact, only been three weeks since she’d last visited, so her mother’s emotional outburst just now seemed totally out of character.

Her father hugged her to his side. ‘We’ll discuss it over dinner, all right, Pumpkin?’ he told her gruffly.

No, it wasn’t all right, but she knew her father too well to try and push him; he would explain when he was ready and not before.

And he had explained, both he and her mother…

But it wasn’t an explanation she intended sharing with Marcus now, here in his office.

His anger this morning was one thing, something, she could deal with; his sympathy would be something else entirely!

‘Which painting is it?’ she asked, recovering her composure.

‘“Tempest”,’ Marcus revealed. ‘The young girl on the rocks? It’s you, isn’t it?’

‘Yes,’ she confirmed, knowing exactly which painting he was referring to, of a young girl, red hair swirling behind her, as she sat on the rocks looking out at a storm-tossed sea.

Kit had been thirteen when her father had painted her, no longer a child, but not quite a woman yet, either. That winter, some days she had been so angry with herself, the world, everything, that her only escape had been to go to the beach near their cottage, sit on the rocks, uncaring of how wet she became, and just allow herself to become a part of the stormy sea.

Her father had seen her there one day and captured her on canvas.

And it was incredible to think that Marcus had owned that particular painting for all this time…!

She gave a warm smile. ‘It’s probably now worth a hundred times what you paid for it.’

Intensity flared in the dark depths of Marcus’s eyes. ‘I have no intention of selling it.’

‘It’s a very sound investment.’

‘I told you, I didn’t buy it as an investment!’ he came back impatiently.

‘I was only—’

‘Kit, I know what you were “only”,’ he cut in forcefully. ‘And I don’t appreciate it!’

Kit could see that he didn’t. But if she were to have any pride left at all she had to try and keep up the barriers between them. And if that meant alienating Marcus, then that was what she would have to do.

Besides, she had other, much more pressing things to think about at the moment…

She met his gaze unblinkingly. ‘I’m not sure this is the right moment to ask this—but do you think I could have a little longer for lunch today?’

‘A little longer—!’ Marcus looked momentarily nonplussed by this sudden change of subject, and then his gaze narrowed speculatively. ‘Why?’

Her eyes widened. ‘I don’t think that is any of your business,’ she told him stiffly. ‘Of course, if it’s going to interfere with anything here, then I—’

‘It isn’t,’ he responded flatly. ‘As it happens Lewis and I have to go to a meeting early this afternoon. I merely wondered if you were seeing someone for lunch.’

Kit felt perplexed now. This was the first she’d heard of any meeting arranged for this afternoon. ‘Again, I don’t really think that is any of your business…’

‘You’re asking me for extra time off—’

‘I’ll work later this evening to make up for it!’ she came back heatedly, hands clenched at her sides. The extended lunch break she was requesting really wasn’t up for negotiation—it was too important for that!

Besides, in the last six months she hadn’t been off sick once, had never asked for any time off other than her allowed holiday. As far as she was concerned Marcus was being totally unreasonable.

‘That won’t be necessary,’ he told her icily.

It might not be necessary, but she was going to do it anyway. No matter what the outcome of her lunchtime appointment…

It wasn’t a meeting she was looking forward to, and that was without Marcus being so difficult about it.

‘Kit?’ Marcus’s voice softened slightly, his gaze searching now on the paleness of her face.

She swallowed hard, straightening defensively. ‘Will that be all, Mr Maitland?’

‘No, it will not be all, damn it!’ he barked once more, taking a determined step towards her to grasp her by her upper arms, once again taking in her businesslike appearance with obvious displeasure. ‘You look totally ridiculous in that get-up.’

Her mouth tightened at his deliberately insulting tone. ‘Thank you!’

‘You know very well what I mean!’

‘Do I?’ Kit eyed him challengingly, very aware that she was playing with fire, but unable, at that moment—later might be a different matter!—to resist.

Besides, the mere touch of his hands, even when he was bad-tempered like this, had rekindled her yearning to be in his arms, to know the thrill of his lips on hers, to lose herself in the passion the two of them seemed to ignite in each other.

Some of that yearning must have shown in her eyes, because Marcus, giving a groan low in this throat, bent his head and his lips moved to possess hers.

Kit returned the kiss as all of the emotions of the last few days washed over her, losing herself in the fierceness of the desire that flared so intensely between them. Marcus’s arms were about her now as he moulded the length of her body against his, making her fully aware of his arousal.

He felt so good to touch, his back hard and muscled against her restlessly caressing hands beneath his suit jacket, his warmth heating her body, her breasts aching heavily, her nipples hard and ultra-sensitive against his chest.

She had been waiting for this man all her life, it seemed; that young girl on the rocks in her father’s painting, who’d dreamed of the man she might one day fall in love with, who during the years since had waited for that man to appear—only to have him do so now, in the guise of Marcus Maitland.

How she loved this man! How she longed to just lie down beside him and make love with him, to become lost in the—

Kit looked up at Marcus unseeing as she suddenly found herself thrust away from him. ‘What—?’

‘Come in!’ Marcus called out, his gaze not leaving hers.

Someone—Lewis, it seemed as the other man opened the door and entered the office—had knocked on the door, a knock Kit hadn’t heard in her total awareness of Marcus. Her cheeks blushed scarlet as she saw the knowing look harden Marcus’s eyes.

‘I have the papers here I thought you should look at,’ Lewis told Marcus slowly, obviously sensing the tension in the room as he looked at the two of them questioningly. ‘But if you’re busy, I can always come back later…?’ He seemed aware that he had interrupted something—although, hopefully, not actually what that was!

‘I was just leaving, anyway,’ Kit assured him, deliberately avoiding meeting Marcus’s eyes as she turned away.

‘Kit…?’ he called out as she reached the open door.

She stiffened, turning slowly back to look at him, wishing he would just let her escape.

‘That extended lunch break you requested…’

‘Yes?’ she replied warily, very aware of Lewis as he studied the papers in his hand in an effort to try looking as if he weren’t listening to their conversation.

‘It’s fine with me,’ Marcus told her.

She drew in a sharp breath, wanting to make a cutting reply back, but unwilling to add to Lewis’s curiosity by doing so. ‘Thank you,’ she accepted tersely, at last able to escape to the relative sanctuary of her own office.

She had known it was going to be difficult to come in today and just continue working with Marcus, as if nothing had changed between them over the weekend. That was one of the reasons—despite what Marcus might have thought!—she had returned to her guise as efficient, prim Miss McGuire. But the fact that Marcus had kissed her in the way that he had showed he had no intention of forgetting the intimacy they had shared over the weekend. How much longer, Kit wondered miserably, would she be able to continue working for him…?