His Secretary Mistress

Without conscious thought her lips parted, but instead of accepting her offer he drew back, his low murmur bringing her back to earth with a bump. Of course he wasn’t going to kiss her! He had drawn her into his arms simply to prevent her from slipping on the leaves, and was no doubt horrified to find himself pinioned to the tree. Shame scalded her, and she jerked away from him, her cheeks on fire, unable to meet his gaze, which she was certain would reflect his sardonic amusement.

‘We should head back. We’ve a busy afternoon ahead.’

Alex’s voice cut through her mental self-flagellation and she nodded wordlessly, wondering how he could sound so calm and in control. But then he hadn’t made a complete fool of himself, she reasoned miserably. If he had been setting her some sort of test she had failed spectacularly, but the idea that she might not have a job by the end of the day was almost a relief. She didn’t think she could cope with Alex Morrell on a long-term basis.

She trudged beside him on the walk back through the park, determined not to look at him or speak to him unless absolutely necessary, but he too seemed lost in his thoughts and disappeared into his inner sanctum as soon as they reached the office.

Jenna was tired and emotionally drained. Her shoulder, which had ached dully all morning, was now throbbing, but she ploughed on with her work, struggling to get to grips with an unfamiliar program on her computer. Twenty futile minutes later she conceded that she would have to ask for help, and spent another ten practising the right amount of cool uninterest in her tone.

Alex wasn’t working, as she’d assumed when she entered his office, but staring out over the magnificent view of London, and she wondered if he too had a penchant for daydreaming. Although from his stern expression it was not a pleasant dream. At her hesitant request for assistance he insisted on coming out to view her screen and she was achingly aware of his lean, hard body and the enticing scent of his aftershave as he leaned across her.

His instructions were concise, and when he had finished he eased back and rested a hand on her shoulder.

‘Ow!’ She could not prevent her cry of pain and he raised his eyebrows quizzically.

‘What’s the problem?’

‘Nothing. It’s just my shoulder. I think it must be bruised from this morning…’ She tailed to a halt under his intent stare and flushed. Did he still think she was lying? Her shoulder was in agony and she certainly wasn’t making it up.

‘You were injured this morning? Yet you didn’t think to mention it? As I remember, I asked you specifically if you’d been hurt.’

‘You didn’t even believe I’d been involved in an attack. As I remember you were being sarcastic, and I didn’t want to make a fuss—not after arriving an hour late.’

‘I would happily have believed you, had you shown any sign of distress,’ he bit out, fury with himself making his tone sharp. He prided himself on his sense of justice and fair play, and all day it had niggled him that he had written her off as unreliable when she had proved patently that she was not.

This close he could see the faint shadows beneath her eyes, her skin so translucent he could trace the fine blue veins beneath the surface. She was exquisitely beautiful, as delicate as a porcelain figurine, and he had to tear his gaze from her face before he gave in to the temptation to kiss her, as he had so nearly done in the park.

‘If your shoulder is still hurting five hours after the…’ he hesitated fractionally ‘…incident, then it must need medical attention. Undo your blouse so that I can take a look.’

Jenna blinked at him indignantly. ‘I’m not stripping off in the middle of the office!’

‘I’m merely suggesting that you unfasten the top couple of buttons.’ He gave her a withering look. ‘I have seen a woman’s naked shoulder before, and I promise I won’t be overcome with lust.’

Was that a deliberate taunt? she wondered. A reminder that he was aware of just how much she wanted him? His face was impassive, giving no clues to his thoughts, but he was a master of disguising his emotions and his features were set in the aloof expression he usually reserved for cross-questioning.

He was so arrogant, Jenna thought furiously, her temper suddenly white-hot. ‘Hold on a minute,’ she snapped. ‘This morning you didn’t believe a word about the “incident”—your word, not mine, and now suddenly you’re Dr Kildare! My shoulder’s bruised; I can move it quite well, so it’s not broken, and I’ll see to it when I get home.’

‘Fine. Get your jacket, we’ll go to Casualty.’

‘No!’ Her arms were folded across her chest; he wouldn’t have been surprised if she had stamped her foot in fury, and despite everything his lips twitched.

‘It’s your choice,’ he said equably. ‘Either I look at it or a doctor does. Take your pick.’

Her answer was to stalk into his office, her back rigid with outrage as she ripped apart the top buttons of her blouse and shrugged the material over her injured shoulder.

Already feeling bad, the sight of the huge purple bruise that covered her shoulder filled him with remorse. ‘What happened, exactly? Did someone hit you?’

Jenna shook her head. ‘He didn’t attack me at all. As I was walking along a cyclist suddenly rode onto the pavement and snatched the handbag from the woman in front of me. I ran to help and he pushed me against a concrete bollard. But I managed to save the bag,’ she added brightly.

‘You bloody idiot; he might have had a weapon. What would you have done if he’d pulled out a knife? What are you, anyway? All of five feet nothing and you think you’re a one-woman army!’

‘I didn’t think. I saw the attack and I lost my temper, okay?’ In her frustration Jenna swung round to face him, remembering belatedly her open blouse and the expanse of lilac lace bra on display.

Since her parents and her brother had emigrated to New Zealand, to be near her sister, birthday and Christmas presents had been defined by their ease of packing—and she owned drawers full of pretty lingerie. This lilac bra was of such sheer lace it was almost transparent, and to her horror she felt her nipples harden, the dark peaks plainly visible through the material.

With a yelp she swung back and scrabbled with the buttons. ‘Why should you care anyway?’ she threw at him, and he stilled, his gaze intent as he turned her back to face him.

‘You’ve fastened the buttons wrong,’ he murmured, his fingers feather-light against the swell of her breasts as he corrected them. ‘I think that hot temper of yours might lead you into real trouble some day, Jenna Deane. You seem to be a cauldron of wild emotions just waiting to boil over.’

His voice was suddenly as deep and soft as crushed velvet, and she felt a burning sensation behind her eyelids. He towered over her, so big, yet suddenly so gentle, and she fought the urge to throw herself against his chest and burst into tears.

‘Hello, I’m back at last.’ Margaret Rivers popped her head round the door of the office, patently unaware of the crackling tension between its occupants, and beamed as she spied Jenna. ‘Mrs Deane—Jenna—I knew you wouldn’t let us down. How’s your first day been?’

She disappeared for a second, long enough for Alex’s eyebrows to shoot upwards, his puzzlement obvious.

‘Mrs Deane?’ he queried, but Margaret was back, waving Jenna’s handbag.

‘Your mobile has rung several times, dear. Perhaps it’s important.’

Jenna stared at the older woman blankly and then scrabbled in her bag for her phone. She recognised the number of the caller and her expression softened. Her younger brother Chris was travelling from New Zealand and had been backpacking through Europe, he must have arrived in England sooner than planned. Suddenly everything faded into insignificance; she hadn’t seen her brother for two years and had missed him and the rest of her family desperately since they had emigrated.

‘Chris, darling, I can’t wait to see you.’ There was no disguising the pleasure in her voice, the soft glow of love in her eyes, and Alex stared at her for a moment before turning to Margaret, impeccable manners demanding that he give Jenna privacy to take her call. But inside he was seething.

Jenna finished her conversation with Chris, explaining that she had left the key to her house with her neighbours and urging him to make himself at home. She would be back as soon as possible, she promised, glowing with excitement as she replaced her phone. But when she looked up she discovered that Margaret was no longer in the office and she was alone with a grim-faced Alex Morrell.

‘Out of interest,’ he drawled, his voice deceptively soft, ‘when were you going to mention Chris?’

Jenna gave a puzzled frown. Why was it necessary for her to mention her brother at all?

‘That is your husband’s name I assume? Chris?’

He was studying her with his piercing blue eyes and the moment she met his gaze she felt herself blush. How was she going to manage working for him when she couldn’t even look at him? she thought despairingly. The worst of it was he knew the effect he had on her, and presumably found it amusing. It was so humiliating. She shuddered at the idea of being known as the secretary with an outsized crush on her boss and her chin came up. She could imagine his pitying expression if she admitted that she had been divorced after just one miserable year of marriage. It would only reinforce his belief that she was a desperate man-hunter.

‘Yes, Chris is my husband,’ she lied. ‘I assumed you knew I was married. It’s not a secret; my agency details state that I’m Mrs Deane.’

‘In that case, just what were you playing at in the park?’ He glared at her across the room, his eyes as dark and fathomless as pools of ink although his icy disdain was obvious. ‘Of course I didn’t know. I’m not in the habit of making a pass at my married staff.’

Or any of his staff, for that matter, he added silently. He had always been scrupulous about keeping his work and private life separate, and was furious with himself for a serious lack of judgement. He was furious with her too, ostensibly for not being straight with him. But if he was being honest, he acknowledged grimly, he hated the idea that she had a husband.

‘I wasn’t playing at anything. I don’t know what you mean,’ she snapped, outrage and embarrassment stoking her temper.

‘Oh, come on. You were issuing me with a very definite invitation in the park. I’d love to be a fly on the wall when your husband asks you about your day,’ he continued sarcastically, ignoring her furious gasp of denial. ‘Will you mention that you want your boss? Or do you prefer to keep the poor sod in the dark about your extracurricular activities?’

Jenna drummed her fingers on the desk and fought to keep a lid on her temper. ‘Naturally I won’t refer to an incident that I found to be frankly embarrassing.’

‘Embarrassing! Oh, I see—you’re suggesting that your boss placed you in an awkward situation? Why don’t you have done with it and report me for sexual harassment?’

‘Don’t be ridiculous; I’m just trying to say that you obviously read something into the situation that wasn’t there. You’re very nice,’ she said placatingly, ‘but I certainly wasn’t flirting with you. I’m a happily married woman.’

‘I suppose you’re now going to tell me that you’re intending to produce a brood of little Deanes too?’ he said through gritted teeth. Her description of him as ‘nice’ stung; he had never been called nice in his life, and his male pride was outraged at her implication that he was middle-aged and past it.

‘God, no.’ Jenna gave a brittle laugh and crossed her fingers behind her back. Somehow she had managed to insult him, and he was looking for a reason to dismiss her and demand that the agency send a replacement. If she admitted that she had a pre-school child she would be out of the job that was hopefully going to turn her life around. The agency would be distinctly unimpressed to learn that she had only survived one day with their most prestigious client, and would be in no hurry to find her other work, but everything depended on her ability to earn a high salary. ‘I’m a committed career woman,’ she informed him coolly. ‘Children don’t feature on my agenda.’

Alex stared at her, his expression giving nothing away—certainly not his inexplicable feeling of disappointment at her words. What was the matter with him? Maybe he was having a mid-life crisis, he thought irritably as he banished the picture of a rosy-cheeked child with hair like spun gold from his mind. He didn’t even like children particularly, and it should have come as a great relief that his new secretary had no maternal urges.

The silence in the room seemed to stretch interminably, and the tap on the door caused Jenna to jump. Her eyes narrowed as she stared at Katrin, some sixth sense warning her that the other woman had been listening in on the conversation.

‘The police have come for Mrs. Deane,’ Katrin announced with understated calm.

‘Excellent. On top of everything, I’ve employed the Boston Strangler.’

That was it, Jenna decided. She would rather sell her body than work one more minute for Alex Morrell. But there was no time to inform him of the fact. Two burly police officers were already towering over her, and although she knew she was the victim of a crime rather than its perpetrator, she swallowed nervously.

Despite their indomitable presence, the policemen were surprisingly gentle as they questioned her about the mugging she had witnessed, pointing out that it had been unwise to tackle the cyclist, who might have been carrying a weapon.

‘A knife, a gun—you just don’t know these days, Mrs Deane. It’s not worth risking your life for a few valuables.’

‘Absolutely,’ Alex concurred, and received a venomous glare for his pains.

‘I’d make an appointment with your GP to get that shoulder checked out,’ one officer suggested as they stood to leave, and Jenna gave her smiling assurance that she would do so, mentally adding the white lie to the various other untruths she had uttered that day. She prided herself on her honesty, yet one day of working for Alex Morrell and she had turned fibbing into an art form.

Alex escorted the policemen out of the office and she sank into a chair feeling utterly drained. Her face was pale with misery when he returned. This latest disruption to his day was no doubt the last straw; he would never keep her on now.

‘I suppose you want me to leave,’ she murmured, and he spared her a brief glance before turning his attention to his computer screen.

‘Excellent idea. Go and collect your things.’

As she struggled to push her aching arm into her jacket she debated going back into his office to admit the truth—that far from being happily married and childless she was a single mother, struggling to juggle a career and care for an almost four-year-old—but it all seemed too complicated and she just wanted to go home.

‘Goodbye.’

The voice from the doorway was curiously deflated, and Alex felt compassion snag his heart as he studied the small, forlorn figure. ‘I’m coming with you,’ he said calmly, and something flared in her eyes.

‘You don’t need to see me off the premises. I feel humiliated enough that everyone knows I was interviewed by the police.’

‘Never mind what anyone else thinks,’ he replied cheerfully, and that just about summed him up, she decided. He was confident to the point of arrogance—but then he was the boss; he didn’t have to care what anyone else thought.

She half expected him to frogmarch her out of the office block, but when the lift came to a halt she discovered that they were in an underground car park.

‘My car’s over there.’ He was already leading the way to a silver Bentley, and as they approached a uniformed chauffeur sprung out and held open the door.

‘There’s no need for all this. I’ve got a return train ticket,’ she said faintly as she sank into the supple leather upholstery. ‘Just drop me at the station.’

Alex ignored her and leaned forward to speak into the intercom. ‘Harley Street, please, Barton.’

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