His Darling Valentine. Carole Mortimer
February is the traditional month of love, when Cupid gets busy. So here is a timely short Valentine's treat. Curl up on the sofa, make a mug of something soothing, maybe have just a little chocolate nearby and take a break with one of our favourite writers, Carole Mortimer!
His Darling Valentine
Carole Mortimer
CHAPTER ONE
WHAT the—!
In the process of stepping out of her own front doorway, Tazzy came to an abrupt halt, instead staring down wide-eyed at the tiny kitten that sat in a basket on the doorstep.
Where on earth had it come from? More to the point, what was it doing here?
Well, one thing was for certain, it hadn’t arrived here of its own volition; a stray kitten did not come complete with basket, bowl, and sachets of food. Or with a red ribbon tied in a neat bow about its tiny neck!
Tazzy bent down to look at the ball of grey fluff, suddenly finding herself the focus of startled blue eyes as it became aware of her presence.
‘Hey, it’s okay,’ she soothed as the tiny thing leapt to its feet in surprise, holding out her hand—for it to either lick or scratch, depending on whether it saw her as friend or foe.
While it made up its mind, Tazzy took the opportunity to glance up and down the street. As expected, at seven-thirty in the morning, it was totally deserted. The lights were on in several of the houses, but all the cars were still in the driveways. Only Tazzy, it seemed, with her innate sense of responsibility, left the house at seven-thirty in the morning in order to be at her desk by eight-fifteen. There was certainly no one visible who could possibly have delivered the kitten to her doorstep.
She gave a start of surprise herself as she felt the moist rasp of a minute tongue on the back of her hand, the kitten jumping back too at this sudden movement.
‘We could go on like this all morning.’ She laughed, reaching out to pick the kitten up, absolutely enchanted by the way the little ball of fur, its face looking at her so trustingly, fitted neatly into the palm of her hand.
But even as Tazzy acknowledged that she noticed the small white card attached to the red ribbon. ‘To Anastasia. With love’, the card read.
How very peculiar. No one ever called her by her full name of Anastasia, in fact most people weren’t even aware that was her actual name. And why on earth would someone give her a kitten, with or without love? Christmas had been and gone, and her birthday wasn’t until August.
Not that it mattered why someone had thought she would appreciate having a pet, she simply couldn’t keep the kitten. She was Personal Assistant to Ross Valentine, a computer software troubleshooter of unparalleled skill. His business took him all over the world, and Tazzy usually accompanied Ross on those trips, which didn’t allow for attachments of any kind.
Talking of which, what was she going to do with the kitten today while she was at work?
The frown deepened between clear green eyes. She might not be able to keep it, but she couldn’t just leave the poor little thing out here in the cold, either; it might wander off and get itself lost, or worse—run over. And she certainly couldn’t take it with her—she could already imagine the look of surprise on Ross’s face if she were to arrive at his house, their place of work as well as Ross’s home, with the kitten in tow!
She really didn’t have any choice; she would just have to make it comfortable in the kitchen until she returned later, when she could turn her mind to finding somewhere—or someone—who would take the kitten off her hands.
‘I’m sorry, but that’s just the way it is,’ she told the kitten ruefully as it continued to look up at her with those trusting blue eyes.
It took her a few minutes to take off the bow, to make the kitchen safe and put out food for the tiny creature, by which time, she realized agitatedly, she was going to be late into work this morning.
The traffic, usually minimal at that early hour, was already starting to build up by the time she finally got on the road, Tazzy’s tension building along with it.
Consequently, she was not her usual calm, collected self when she finally made it into her office at eight-thirty. Her agitation deepened as she found Ross Valentine already standing beside her desk, a pile of her carefully logged files in his hand, files Tazzy knew from experience would no longer be in any sort of order. Served her right for being late, she inwardly remonstrated with herself.
Being a computer expert, Ross had pooh-poohed the fact that she kept everything on paper as well as on disk, but as her system had saved him work on several occasions when his computer had crashed, he had stopped mentioning how antiquated her own system was.
Ross raised dark brows now over eyes the colour of sherry. ‘Dare I say that you’re looking less than your usual unflustered self this morning, Miss Darling?’ he mocked, those brows shooting up even further as Tazzy, her cheeks flushed, scowled at him in reply. ‘Perhaps not,’ he muttered under his breath.
Tazzy wordlessly took down the hanger from behind the door, carefully hanging her outer coat on it before replacing it neatly back on the hook. She smoothed back the neat chignon of her copper-coloured hair before moving to switch on the coffee percolator that stood on top of one of the filing cabinets, using the normality of her usual morning routine to try to bring some calm to her day, totally thrown by the fact that Ross had appeared in her office before her.
The day had not started well, with the mysterious arrival of that kitten on her doorstep—and being late for work certainly didn’t improve matters!
Ross Valentine watched her as she moved efficiently about the room, preparing a coffee tray for him and a separate cup for herself. ‘Tell me, Miss Darling, how long have you worked for me now?’ he asked, arms folded across the muscled width of his chest.
Tazzy turned to give him a puzzled frown. ‘I don’t understand—’
‘Just answer the question, hmm?’ he encouraged lightly.
‘I believe it’s eighteen months, Mr Valentine,’ she said smartly.
Eighteen months, one week, and half an hour, to be exact. And she had been in love with this man, it seemed, for every minute of that time!
She loved the way his dark hair was inclined to curl slightly if he forgot to get it cut—which was often!—the deep sherry-brown of his eyes, eyes that became incredibly warm when he smiled. His high cheekbones gave him a slightly foreign appearance, his nose was long and aristocratic, and his sensual mouth was wide above the squareness of his jaw. His body was athletically slim, and as for his hands—! More than once she had sat and daydreamed about what it would feel like to have those long, slender hands move caressingly over her body …
She loved his sense of humour too, the closeness he had maintained with his parents, despite having lived in this house on his own, apart from the housekeeper, the last ten years. Sylvia and Nigel Valentine were frequent visitors to the house Ross used to work in as well as live in, two rooms that overlooked the back garden having been converted into offices for both Ross and Tazzy.
Having been orphaned at five years old herself, and brought up by an elderly maiden aunt who had died five years ago when Tazzy was twenty, she rather envied Ross his warm family life.
But none of her thoughts or love for this man showed in her expression now as she continued to look at him enquiringly.
Ross nodded. ‘And in all of that time how many times have you failed to be seated at your desk by eight-fifteen in the morning?’
She eyed him warily. ‘Just this morning,’ she finally replied,