His Very Personal Assistant. Кэрол Мортимер

gave a heavy sigh. ‘Mr Maitland—’

      ‘Marcus,’ he reminded her firmly. ‘Is Kit short for something else?’ he mused. ‘Kitty or Kathryn, something like that?’

      ‘It’s short for Kit,’ she told him woodenly. ‘Plain and simple Kit.’

      ‘Okay.’ He shrugged broad shoulders. ‘You were going to say something before we got into this discussion about names…?’

      ‘Before you got into the discussion about names,’ she corrected flatly. ‘And I was just going to apologize—’ once again! ‘—for my remarks about your personal life. They were rude, and intrusive, and altogether—’

      ‘True,’ he finished happily. ‘But I’m sure it isn’t too late for my tastes to change—to tall, outspoken redheads, for instance.’

      Kit was almost afraid to look at him now, sure he was just teasing her to get his own back for her earlier remarks—but at the same time she wasn’t sure of any such thing!

      It was difficult to tell what he was thinking from the blandness of his expression. Deliberately so? Probably, she acknowledged heavily. One thing she had learnt over the last couple of days: Marcus had a wicked sense of humour when he chose to exert it.

      ‘Very funny,’ she scorned, choosing to err on the side of caution. ‘Do you have any idea who any of the other guests will be this weekend?’ She deliberately changed the subject onto something less personal. And disturbing!

      ‘The usual hangers-on and social bores a man like Desmond Hayes attracts, I suppose. Never mind, Kit, we’ll have each other for company.’

      Now she knew he was deliberately teasing her. Because he knew she found him attractive? Because he had guessed that, against all the warnings, she had fallen into the trap of being half in love with him? That would be just too awful! Well, in this case, lack of interest was the best form of defence…

      ‘How nice.’ She made her reply deliberately saccharine-sweet.

      Marcus gave an appreciative laugh. ‘Well, I can assure you, Kit, I’m certainly not expecting to be bored!’

      While he kept teasing her like this, no, she didn’t expect that he would be…

      She gave a weary yawn. ‘I’m feeling rather tired. Would you mind if I had a short nap before we arrive?’ Not waiting for his reply, she settled herself down in her seat and closed her eyes.

      Shutting out his image along with it.

      But not her full awareness of him. Of the lean strength of his hands as he drove with such easy assurance. Or, the sprinkling of dark hair that ran the length of his arms. And further. The determination of his jaw. The full sensuality of his lips. The dark blue of his eyes. The way those eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled or laughed. The potent, slightly elusive smell of his aftershave.

      Face it, Kit, she told herself derisively; you stand about as much chance of relaxing around Marcus Maitland, of really going to sleep, as you do sitting next to a tiger poised to spring!

      But that didn’t stop her giving every appearance of dozing during the rest of the journey, only making a pretence of waking as Marcus touched her arm lightly and told her that they had arrived.

      ‘You had a good nap,’ he told her admiringly as he brought the Jaguar to a stop on the gravel driveway in front of what looked like once having been a stately home. Huge pillars supported its entranceway, the stonework old and mellowed. Noise seemed to flow from every open window as the two of them stepped out onto the gravel driveway, where there were a dozen or so other cars already parked outside.

      ‘“Come and spend a peaceful weekend in the country” was how Desmond described it to me!’ Marcus gave a hint of his distaste for the loud music and chatter as he moved to get their bags from the boot of the car.

      Although not normally one for crowds of people on a superficial basis, Kit found herself smiling, quite happy to make this weekend the exception; the more people there were around them, the less likely she was to be so aware of Marcus. Or to spend too much time alone with him.

      ‘It sounds like fun,’ she responded lightly.

      Marcus gave a disgusted snort, leading the way up the stone steps that fronted the house. Its massive front door was thrown open and the large entrance hall inside was filled with what looked like dozens of people.

      ‘Are you sure you have the right weekend?’ Kit questioned of Marcus.

      ‘I’m sure,’ he replied grimly. ‘You—’

      ‘Kit? Hey, Kit, is that really you?’ called out a familiar voice.

      A voice that made her freeze in her tracks and caused the smile to fade from her lips as she looked frantically around the entrance hall for its source.

      And then she saw him, making his way purposefully towards her, a smile of amused recognition on his overconfident, too-handsome face.

      Mike Reynolds.

      Her ex-boss from hell.

      But he wasn’t the sole reason her cheeks paled and her breathing seemed to stop. There was also another person whom she could see standing a short distance behind Mike Reynolds. Someone Kit wanted to see even less than she did Mike!

      Catherine Grainger…