hung heavy and aching under the stare. Her nipples pressed against the lacy material and she had to force herself not to surrender to the terrible, crazy thought of what it would feel like to have Ross touch them, with more than just his eyes.
What the hell was happening to her? Not even Ellis had ever awakened this depth of arousal in her. True, her body had willingly responded to his when he had made that first pass in the semi-darkness of his office, and true, over the ensuing weeks she had enjoyed their stolen caresses, the husky timbre of his voice as he had explored her body with his hands, sometimes at the most inappropriate moments, but what she felt now was so intense that she almost caught her breath.
She had thought that her fling with Ellis had been an aberration, a temporary insanity. Certainly one of the nice things about Martin was that he hadn’t pushed her into sex. They were both content to kiss, but he had not frantically tried to get her into bed, and that had been a relief. Desire was no basis for a long-term relationship. She had found that out the hard way.
‘I think I’ve got that,’ she said coolly, moving back around to her chair and not looking at him.
He was still smiling in a way that made her want to hit him, and eventually she said crisply, ‘And by the way, I still have that Haynes report to do. I had to phone around several people to get the information you wanted and some of them weren’t in when I called. I should have it ready and on your desk by this afternoon.’
‘Very enterprising,’ he said silkily. ‘What would I do without you?’
‘Find someone else, I expect,’ Abigail returned neutrally.
‘Easier said than done. But stupid speculating over a problem that doesn’t exist, isn’t it?’
She didn’t say anything. She was remembering Martin’s desire to start a family and the adjunct that when they did so she would leave work. At the time—and it had only been mentioned once—she had given it little thought, not wanting to immerse herself in details such as those when they weren’t even married yet.
‘Or does it?’ he asked softly, reading her expression, and she went red. When she wasn’t careful, when she wasn’t guarding her expression, this man could see right through her, to what she was thinking. A dangerous skill. ‘Married women usually lose interest in their jobs,’ he murmured, picking up his fountain pen and thoughtfully twirling it with his long fingers. ‘Their honeymoon seems to scramble their brains and they come back with their heads still in the clouds and their minds on children and nappies. You seem to have your head screwed on all right at the moment, despite the tired eyes and the late arrival yesterday, but——’ he looked at her ‘-—your lover strikes me as the sort of man who can’t wait to get the little woman behind the kitchen sink. Am I right?’
ABIGAIL’S hand was still poised over her notepad. It was beginning to ache, and she lowered it.
The hard cold sunshine streamed in through the large glass panes and threw Ross’s face into disturbing shadow so that she found it difficult to read his expression. Was he merely expressing curiosity or was he really worried that she was about to stack her papers neatly together on her desk and take her leave?
‘I don’t know what gives you that idea,’ she stammered, and he stopped twirling the fountain pen in his fingers, putting it on the desk so that he could lean back in his chair, looking at her through his lashes.
‘Isn’t he?’ he asked by way of response, and she felt like a butterfly pinned against the wall.
‘These letters,’ she suggested coaxingly, in an attempt to change the conversation, and his lips twisted into a crooked smile,
‘Won’t work, Abby,’ he said softly, and she felt herself begin to bristle from head to toe. She didn’t have to sit here and be cross-examined! Explaining her personal life to him wasn’t part of her secretarial duties. She hadn’t asked him to turn up on her doorstep the evening before, but he had anyway, and now he was acting as though the brief visit entitled him to make sweeping statements on her relationship with Martin. It was ludicrous!
‘I understand that you might be worried about my leaving this job when I get married——’ she began, and be cut in in a voice that took her by surprise,
‘When? Has a date been set?’
‘No, but engagements normally lead to weddings, don’t they?’ she said in a dulcet voice.
His jaw hardened, and he stood up, walking to the window to stare down. She could see the reflection of his face on the glass, the stiff line of his back. She saw it all with a sense of dismayed fascination.
‘Of course he’s not suited to you at all,’ he informed her, not turning around, and she stood up, the notepad dropping to the ground. Her hands were trembling and she couldn’t believe her ears.
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘You heard me.’ He swung around to face her and his black, brilliant eyes swept over her from head to toe. ‘If you marry that boy you’ll be making the biggest mistake in your life.’
‘He is not a boy!’ was all she could find to say to that, which sounded utterly inadequate.
‘He’s way too pale, insignificant for you. You’d be bored to death within a year.’
‘I don’t believe that I’m hearing this! I don’t think I asked for your opinion!’
‘No, but you should be grateful for it. I’m saving you a lifetime of regret.’
He sat back down in the black chair, for all the world as though nothing had happened, as though he hadn’t just behaved in the most arrogant, high-handed manner conceivable. She looked at him furiously.
‘Oh, sit down,’ he told her impatiently, and she made a choking sound. ‘We have work to do, have you forgotten?’
‘How dare you tell me how to run my life?’ she bit out, sitting down with her hands pressed into her lap. ‘What gives you the right?’
‘I’m not telling you how to run your life,’ he grated, ‘I’m merely offering you advice.’
‘When I want advice, I’ll ask for it. Thank you!’
He shrugged in a gesture of dismissal, as though ready to move on to something else now that he had voiced his uninvited opinions, and she picked up the notepad from the floor, very tempted to hurl it at him.
‘Right,’ be said, staring down at the papers in front of him, and before she could utter another syllable he began dictating, his voice hard and rapid, the words flowing easily as he flicked through the stack of paperwork.
‘You don’t even know him,’ Abigail said through gritted teeth, when there was a pause before he moved on to the next document, and he said easily, expecting her to return to the subject,
‘I know enough. Don’t tell me that you’d be content to play the suburban housewife with a weekly allowance and a handful of screaming children.’
‘Lots of women do.’
‘But not you. You have an inner fire, Abigail. It’s there lurking-just beneath the calm surface.’
‘Thank you, Dr Anderson, for that valuable piece of insight. When can I expect your bill?’
He laughed. ‘Point proved. I don’t see that acid sense of humour going down at all well with the boyfriend.’
‘His name is Martin. And you’re never wrong, are you?’
‘I try not to make a habit of it.’ He began on the second letter and she stared down at the notepad, copying quickly as he spoke while her mind furiously tried to grapple with what he had just told her. Of course he didn’t know Martin, didn’t