Читать книгу Snowbound Seduction: A Night of No Return / To Claim His Heir by Christmas / I'll Be Yours for Christmas - Sarah Morgan, Samantha Hunter - Страница 9

CHAPTER THREE

LUCAS stood under the shower while needles of icy water stung his skin. He was undoubtedly drunk but, instead of being numbed, his senses appeared heightened. He was having thoughts he absolutely should not be having and he blamed that on the champagne. Thank goodness Emma had walked out when she had, otherwise he might have been tempted to seek an entirely different form of oblivion.

He gave a growl of self-disgust.

Since when had he imagined his PA naked? Never. Not once. But suddenly he found himself tormented by thoughts of dark, shiny hair. He’d wanted to yank out that damn clip and let it tumble free. He’d wanted to sink his hands into it and drown in the softness. He’d wanted to twist it around his fingers and hold her captive while he drank from that soft, innocent mouth to see if she were the cure he’d been looking for.

And he shouldn’t want any of those things.

Cursing softly, he leaned his shoulders against the cool tiles, closed his eyes and let the water slide over his head.

He shouldn’t want to touch her hair and he definitely shouldn’t be thinking about kissing that mouth. Emma worked for him and he wanted her to continue to work for him. And there was no cure for what he was feeling.

It had been a rocky road finding someone suitable to fill the role of his personal assistant—a role that required a multitude of skills. Before Emma he’d had a series of giggling girls for whom work was nothing more than a way to fund their social life. He’d had girls who were overawed by him, girls whose only reason for working late was the wistful hope that their relationship with him might turn into something more intimate. He’d had a male PA who had sadly struggled with the sheer volume of simultaneous projects he’d been expected to handle and an older woman who was a grandmother four times over, but she hadn’t had the stamina to handle the heavy workload and had resigned after a month.

And then he’d discovered Emma. Emma, with her serious brown eyes and her astonishing ability to juggle any number of projects at the same time without complaint. Emma, who never worked with one eye on the clock and had an admirable way of soothing the most frayed of tempers. She was the ultimate professional and it was that dedication to her job, her understanding of the importance of attention to detail, that had brought her out here tonight.

She was a gem.

And he’d shouted at her. And worse, he’d scared her.

His head spinning, Lucas swore under his breath and wondered if he’d remember to send her flowers when he was sober. The irony was, he never sent a woman flowers. Emma did it for him. But he’d have to do something because the last thing he wanted was for her to resign.

Hopefully they would both be able to ignore that single moment when their view of each other had changed and re-establish the normal parameters of their relationship.

Switching off the shower, he grabbed a towel.

He dried himself briefly and then tried to tie the towel around his waist but his fingers were clumsy and uncoordinated so in the end he gave up and dropped the towel on the floor with a frustrated laugh directed towards himself. Too drunk to secure a towel, apparently, but not drunk enough to forget.

Never drunk enough to forget.

The pain was lodged under his ribs like shrapnel that couldn’t be removed. Nothing eased the ache.

Surprised that he could still walk in a straight line, he returned to the bedroom and stopped dead because Emma was standing there.

For a moment he assumed that she was nothing more than a vivid image conjured by an intoxicating mixture of champagne, wishful thinking and inappropriate thoughts.

And then he heard a soft sound escape from her throat.

Her shocked eyes slid down his naked body and widened.

‘Oh my God—’ With a gurgle of horror she slapped her hand over her eyes and turned her head away. ‘Sorry! I’m so sorry. I... What are you doing walking around naked? I can’t believe you just...and I...’ She broke off, hideously embarrassed, and it was that embarrassment that penetrated his fuzzy brain.

Not an image, he thought. An image wouldn’t turn scarlet and have her hands over her eyes.

And he didn’t trust himself to move because suddenly all he wanted to do was give in to that most primitive part of himself, throw her down on the bed and explore a different way of getting through this one night. He wanted her to be the heat that melted the chill inside him. He wanted her warmth and all that was real about her. Instead of being surrounded by ghosts, he wanted human contact. Flesh and blood. Emma.

Hands clenched by his sides, he channelled all his power and strength into standing still. ‘I thought you’d left.’

‘No! I just went downstairs to tidy up and give you some space and—’ Her hand still over her eyes, she snatched in a breath. ‘Are you decent yet?’

‘For God’s sake, Emma, stop overreacting.’ Tension made his voice rougher than he intended. ‘You must have seen a naked man before.’ Jamie, he thought bitterly. She’d seen Jamie.

‘You’re my boss—’ her voice was muffled ‘—I don’t think of you as a man. Or at least I didn’t until... Please can you just get dressed or something? This is not good.’

In other circumstances he might have smiled at her confusion, but a smile was nowhere near his grasp. Instead he walked into the small anteroom he used as a dressing room and grabbed a robe. Any benefit derived from the cold shower had been instantly wiped out by the sight of her. Raw lust mixed uncomfortably with the knowledge that this was one woman he couldn’t have.

He needed to switch it off. He had to switch it off.

However much he’d drunk, this was not going to happen. She was the last woman in the world he wanted to see as—well, as a woman.

Dragging his hand through his wet hair, he prowled back into the room. ‘I presume you came back to tell me you’re snowed in?’

‘I have no idea if I’m snowed in. I haven’t tried to leave.’ Her hand was still over her eyes and Lucas sighed and knotted the cord around his robe firmly. Then he closed his hands over her wrists and tugged firmly at her hands. She kept her eyes screwed tightly shut. ‘Really, I don’t want to—’

‘I’m decent.’ At least on the outside. His thoughts were far from decent but as long as she couldn’t read minds, everything would be fine. Trying to ignore the warmth and softness of her skin against his palms, he let go of her wrists and stepped back for no other reason than the fact he knew he wasn’t sober enough to make good decisions. Distance, he thought. All he had to do was keep his distance. ‘If you’re not snowed in, why are you still here? You left half an hour ago.’

‘I told you, I was clearing up all those balloons and things. I assumed you didn’t want them. And I was worried about you.’ Cautiously, she half opened her eyes and when she saw the robe she relaxed and opened them properly. ‘I was worried that you’d carry on drinking your way through all that champagne, fall face down in the fire and die a hideous death.’

‘Worrying about your job again?’

‘Of course.’ Avoiding his gaze, she pushed strands of damp hair away from her face. ‘And possibly my conscience. I want to be able to sleep at night.’

Distracted by all that lush, dark hair, Lucas found it hard to keep his mind focused. ‘Maybe I’m more drunk than I think I am, but why would that be on your conscience?’

‘Because I would have been the last person to see you alive.’ Wrapping her arms around herself, she gave a little shrug and backed towards the staircase. ‘But if you’re sober enough to take a shower without drowning, I expect you’re safe to be left so...I’ll just go.’

He was used to her being brisk and confident in all things. He’d never seen her like this. ‘Why aren’t you looking at me?’

‘Because I still haven’t recovered from the shock of the last time I looked at you. Seeing your boss naked isn’t something that happens every day of the week.’ She was stammering and flustered. ‘I may need therapy. And this time I really am going.’ She felt for the handrail at the top of the spiral staircase, her gaze everywhere except on him even though his robe was firmly secured around his waist.

Her unsophisticated response simply fuelled his libido and he felt a rush of frustration because what he had to do was in direct conflict with what he wanted to do. ‘You’re not going anywhere, Emma.’ He watched as her pale throat moved as she swallowed hard.

‘Yes, I am. You’re obviously fine to be left so—’

‘When did you last look outside?’

The tension in the air built around them. It didn’t help that the turret bedroom was designed for seduction with its huge four-poster bed, flickering fire and windows that gave a perfect view of the estate. The snow reflected the moon and sent a ghostly silver light over the wood and the lake, producing a view that was both ethereal and romantic.

The irony was that he never had seduced a woman here. With the exception of Tara’s impromptu, unwanted visit earlier, no woman had ever visited him at Chigworth.

But Emma was here now, and she was clearly regretting her earlier decision to stay around.

‘It will be fine,’ she said firmly. ‘I’m good in the snow. If I drive carefully I’ll be able to get to the end of the road. The gritting lorries were already working on the motorway so I shouldn’t have any trouble getting home once I get to the main roads.’

‘And do you know how far it is to the main roads from here? Even if you make it out of the estate, which I doubt that you would, you have five miles of country roads that are always low on the priority list for whoever decides which part of our little island is gritted in bad weather.’

‘Well, I’ll give it a try anyway.’

‘I may be drunk,’ Lucas drawled, ‘but I’m not so drunk that I can’t recognise a truly bad idea when I see it. Call me selfish, but I don’t want to spend the rest of tonight trying to locate your frozen corpse. Nor do I want to find myself recruiting a new PA. I can’t stand the interview process.’

Her lips twitched as she tried to hold back a smile. ‘It’s all about you, isn’t it?’

‘Absolutely. I’m the most selfish bastard you’ll ever meet, you know that.’ So don’t look at me with those soft brown eyes. Don’t show me that you care.

But she’d already done that, hadn’t she? The moment she’d discovered that he hadn’t wanted a party, she’d set about quietly removing the evidence.

Hands clasped in front of her, she stared at the floor. ‘I was stupid, wasn’t I, coming here in the first place.’

‘Not stupid, no.’ Because he could barely keep his hands off her, Lucas strolled over to the fire and kept his back to her. ‘You were dedicated. Professional. Which is no more than I would have expected from you. It’s just unfortunate that you chose tonight.’ He didn’t state the obvious. That if it hadn’t been for what this night did to his mind, he wouldn’t have forgotten the damn file in the first place.

‘Lucas—’

‘This is what we’re going to do.’ Taking control, he turned, interrupting her before she could ask the question he knew she was going to ask. The question about why exactly this night was so painful for him. ‘You are wet, cold and, presumably, very tired. I’m going down to the kitchen to make us some soup and while I do that you are going to have a hot bath or shower—whichever—and then help yourself to whatever clothes take your fancy from my dressing room. Nothing will fit, but you’re a practical enough person to improvise, I’m sure. We’ll hang yours up and they’ll be dry in the morning.’

‘Lucas, I can’t—’

‘I’m going to light a fire in one of the other bedrooms, then it will be warm once you’re ready to sleep.’ Without looking at her, he strode towards the staircase, keeping his hands to himself. ‘There are plenty of warm towels in the bathroom. Help yourself.’

* * *

She should have argued, but one glance through the pretty arched window convinced her that he was right. In the half hour she’d spent clearing up downstairs, killing time until she could check on him again, it seemed as if half a ton of fresh snow had fallen. It glistened in the moonlight, a sparkly, silvery deathtrap. The decision whether or not to stay was out of her hands. She wasn’t going to be going home any time soon. She was stuck here with a man who clearly didn’t want her around when all she wanted was to be home with Jamie.

What she should have done was leave when it had been possible to do so, instead of putting him in a position where he had no choice but to offer her accommodation. And if there were other feelings sloshing around inside her, then she chose to ignore them, just as she was trying to ignore the recurring images of that one dangerous glimpse of him naked.

It was a shame he wasn’t flabby, she thought gloomily. A seriously out of shape boss would have been so much easier to forget than a boss with rock-hard abs and—

Emma squeezed her eyes shut and reminded herself that a luscious body didn’t maketh a man.

And there was no point in going back over what she could have done or should have done because she was stuck here now so she just had to make it work.

Resigned to the inevitable, she started by calling Jamie to tell him she wouldn’t be home. It was a call she dreaded making and she breathed a sigh of relief when the phone went to voicemail.After she’d left a brief message explaining the facts and promising to call the next morning once she’d had a chance to check the weather and road conditions, she eased off her soaking-wet shoes and put them close to the fire to dry off.

Shivering now, she realised just how wet she was. Shrugging off her coat, she draped it over the back of the chair, checking it was far enough away from the fire to be safe from sparks. Then she walked towards the bathroom.

She was far too cold to argue with his suggestion that she have a hot bath. She needed to warm up and change into dry clothes.

Despite the age of the castle, the bathroom was the last word in luxury and Emma gave a moan of pleasure as she slid her freezing cold limbs into the warm, scented water. She never did this. She usually took a shower because it was faster. Everything in her life was dictated by speed and efficiency. Her life was such a crazy whirl that it was all about racing on to the next thing on her list, never about just enjoying a moment of self-indulgence. But she enjoyed it now, so tired after her week at work that she didn’t dare allow herself to lie back and close her eyes for long in case she slept.

She could have stayed there for ever, but in the end stayed just long enough to thaw her frozen limbs. Then she let her hair down and lathered it clean, feeling the hot water stinging her scalp as she rinsed away the evidence of her fall in the snow.

It felt blissful to be clean and warm. Only the knowledge that if she didn’t reappear he’d come looking for her was enough to eject her from the water. Grabbing two towels, Emma dried herself with one and then wrapped the other around her head. Then she popped her head round the door. Relieved that there was still no sign of him, she walked into his dressing room wondering what on earth she was likely to find to wear. A sweater would be fine, she thought. Or a shirt of some sort to sleep in. Anything, really, as long as it was decent.

Ignoring the rows of suits, she instead selected a white shirt. It would be much too big for her but she could just roll up the arms. Now all she needed was to find something to wear on her bottom half so that she didn’t freeze to death or expose herself. Didn’t the man own sweatpants or something? Pyjamas?

Deciding that everything on the rails was too formal, she instead focused on the drawers. Opening the top one, she found socks. Deciding that socks might be useful, she pulled out a pair and then opened the next drawer.

But Lucas Jackson didn’t appear to own either pyjamas or anything suitably casual and she was just about to give up on the final drawer when her fingers brushed against something hard. Shifting aside the neatly folded T-shirt, she saw a photograph in an antique silver frame.

Wondering why a photograph would be buried in the bottom of a drawer, she picked it up. As she stared at the faces in the picture, she held her breath.

This photograph hadn’t been buried by accident, she thought numbly. It hadn’t tumbled there or been stowed away in a moment of de-cluttering. It had been hidden there intentionally by someone who couldn’t bear to look at it, but equally couldn’t bear to part with it. For some reason she didn’t yet understand, that image represented pain.

‘Emma?’ Lucas’s voice came from outside the bedroom and she jumped guiltily. Whether or not she would have replaced the photograph she didn’t have a chance to find out because one minute she was alone with his secrets and the next he was standing in the doorway, witnessing her trespass into a private part of his life that he’d clearly labelled ‘no admittance’.

His eyes flickered to the frame in her hands and the change in him was instantaneous. The colour literally drained from his face, the sudden pallor emphasising the dark shadows that lurked in his eyes. And she knew immediately that what she held in her hands held the clue to the source of those shadows. Across that narrow distance she felt his agony and she wanted to offer comfort but how could she when she didn’t even know what she was offering comfort for? And how could she discuss something this personal with someone who didn’t encourage personal? The nature of their relationship would be for ever shifted.

But it already was, she thought. Even if she said nothing, she knew now that Lucas did have a personal life. That he was so much more than the man she’d thought she knew.

And this was worse, far worse, than seeing him naked, she realised. This was more intimate. More intrusive. And he obviously thought so too because there was no sign now of the indifference with which he’d treated her unexpected appearance in his bedroom. No trace of amusement in those cold blue eyes. His unsmiling gaze travelled from the towel tied around her head to the towel wrapped around her body and Emma lifted her hand instinctively to the knot, even though she knew it was tied firm.

‘I...I was just looking for something to wear. I didn’t mean to pry.’ Feeling the heat pour into her cheeks, she slid the photograph back where she’d found it. But it was too late, of course. The damage was done and it couldn’t be undone. ‘I’m sorry.’ The words left her in a stumbled rush. ‘I didn’t know it was there. You told me to help myself to clothes and that was what I did, and...maybe I shouldn’t have looked at it, but I didn’t know it was significant until I looked and—’ She broke off, waiting for him to speak, but he said nothing.

He was as cold and inhospitable as the snow and ice clinging to the trees outside, his emotions as frozen as the moat.

And Emma had no idea what she was supposed to do now. What to say. So in the end she just said the obvious thing. ‘You have a daughter.’ Her voice was barely audible. ‘And she looks exactly like you.’ And the moment she said it, she knew that the obvious thing had been the wrong thing.

The silence stretched for so long she was about to mumble an apology when he finally spoke.

‘I had a daughter.’ This time his tone wasn’t harsh or angry. In fact it was oddly flat, as if all the emotion had drained out of him. ‘She died, four years ago tonight, and it was my fault. She died because of me.’