Temporary Boss, Permanent Mistress. Kate Hardy

yes,’ she said with a smile.

      ‘Shouldn’t I help you with something, first?’ Lydia asked.

      ‘You already are. You’re keeping the children happy,’ Elisabet said.

      Lydia took a piece of paper, then drew the outline of a butterfly for Kristin. She picked up a pink pencil and drew a simple curved shape inside the outline, colouring it in, then offered the pencil to the little girl. Kristin took it shyly, and drew a shape herself; once Lydia was sure that the little girl was happy, she showed Morten how to draw a simple outline of a cat. The little boy copied it haltingly.

      ‘Very good,’ she said, clapping.

      He beamed at her, and drew a second cat, this time with more confidence, then a third; he called out to his mother, who came to inspect it and praised him.

      ‘I envy you. I’m not so good at art—I can barely draw a straight line with a ruler,’ Elisabet confessed. ‘I hate it if they sign me up to do arty things for Julemessa—the nursery fundraising Christmas fair.’

      ‘But you,’ Lydia said, gesturing to the beautiful ring cake filled with fruit and cream that stood on the worktop, ‘can make wonderful cakes. Which I can’t. They go flat as a pancake—so I cheat and buy them at the baker’s.’

      ‘Just like I cheat and make Nils do the painting,’ Elisabet confided with a smile.

      ‘Would you like me to sketch the children for you?’ Lydia asked.

      ‘Very much,’ Elisabet said.

      Lydia needed no second invitation. She took her pencils and sketchbook from her handbag, and began to draw.

      Jake had followed Nils into the kitchen from the door at the other end of the room, and stood there in silence, watching Lydia as she sketched; she looked completely at home, chatting to Elisabet and stopping what she was doing every so often to help one of the children.

      He could imagine her like that with children of her own, kind and patient and supportive, and the hollow in his stomach filled with bile. Yet another reason why he had no right to start any kind of relationship with Lydia: children were absolutely not on his agenda, not any more.

      And how hard it was, to smile and be polite and pretend that everything was just fine. Still, he ought to be used to it, by now. He’d managed it before. He’d manage it tonight. He forced himself to walk casually over towards Lydia and glanced over her shoulder.

      He’d thought her cloud pictures on the plane were good, but these were fabulous. With a few deft strokes of her pencil, she’d really captured both children: Kristin, concentrating on her butterfly, and Morten’s expression as it changed from effort to triumph as he realised he’d managed to draw a cat just the way she’d taught him.

      ‘You’re very talented.’

      ‘Thank you.’

      Though Jake noticed that she kept a tight hold of her sketchbook as she removed the pages with the sketches of the children, then stuffed it back in her handbag without offering to let anyone look through it. So she was as unconfident about her talent as she was about her work as a lawyer? Someone must really have done a number on her, in the past.

      Nils and Elisabet were both delighted with the sketches. Nils took the children up to bed and read them a story, while Elisabeth ushered them into the dining room and brought the first course in.

      Dinner was fine: good food and good conversation, with Nils and Elisabet suggesting places in Oslo that Lydia really ought to see before she returned to England. The opera house, a night-time walk along the Akerselva river, the sculptures in Vigeland park and the Viking ships in the museum.

      Lydia seemed to blossom in their company, opening up about her favourite places to sketch in London. And Jake realised just how pretty she was: her dark eyes sparkled, her face was animated, and the candlelight brought out the copper and gold lights in her hair.

      He had to force himself to stop staring at her mouth.

      And every so often he caught her eye and saw the colour bloom on her cheeks.

      She worked for him, he reminded himself. And he wasn’t in a position to offer her anything more than a fling. He needed to get himself back under control.

      And yet…he’d noticed that she was looking at him, too.

      So he wasn’t alone in this crazy attraction. Maybe she was wondering the same thing as he was. What it would be like to touch her skin; how it would feel to kiss her.

      At the end of the evening, he thanked Nils and Elisabet for their hospitality, but when he climbed into the taxi beside Lydia he fell silent.

      It would be so easy to ask her…

      But that would be taking unfair advantage of the situation. Plus, if he’d misread the signs, it would be way too awkward at work tomorrow. This deal was too important to jeopardise.

      And for the life of him he couldn’t think of a neutral topic of conversation. All he could think of was how much he wanted to cradle that beautiful heart-shaped face in his hands and touch his mouth to hers, coax her into responding. A sweet, slow kiss that would deepen and deepen and end up with his body driving into hers.

      He could hardly say that, could he?

      ‘Did I do something wrong?’ Lydia asked eventually.

      ‘Wrong?’ He didn’t follow.

      ‘You’re a bit, um, quiet.’ She dragged in a breath. ‘Look, if I made a faux pas tonight, I’d appreciate knowing what it was, so I don’t repeat it.’

      ‘No, you’re fine—it’s not you.’ It was definitely him. Not that he intended to tell her what was in his head. ‘I guess I’m a bit tired.’ He lifted one shoulder. ‘Every time my mother sees me, she nags me about working too hard.’

      ‘Maybe she has a point,’ Lydia said.

      ‘I’m fine.’ To his relief, the taxi arrived at the hotel. He paid the fare, then walked in to the hotel foyer with her. ‘I was planning to go for a swim tomorrow morning before breakfast in my room. We’re due in the office at eight, so I’ll call for you at quarter to.’

      He didn’t quite catch her expression before she masked it, and after he’d seen her safely to her room and opened his own door, he was still thinking about it. Had it been relief that he didn’t expect her to spend every waking minute of the day with him?

      Or had it been disappointment?

      ‘Get a grip,’ he told himself crossly, and headed for a cold shower. Hopefully the temperature would knock some sense back into his head.