Sharon Kendrick Collection. Sharon Kendrick
as the nipples of her tiny breasts sprang into glorious life beneath the sweater she wore. Almost as if they were reaching out to touch him.
He leaned over the bed and scooped up an armful of ski clothes. ‘I’ll pack these away,’ he groaned. ‘And then I’ll think about throwing together some supper.’
Guy’s idea of ‘throwing together some supper’ was not what Sabrina understood by the term. For a start, the contents of his fridge could have kept the most dedicated hedonist going for at least a week. Sabrina could see fancy chocolates, champagne and enough different cheeses to stock a delicatessen.
‘Do you like smoked salmon?’ he asked.
‘Er, love it.’
He looked up at her, and frowned. ‘Well, do you or don’t you?’
‘I said yes, didn’t I?’
‘You sounded unsure.’ He gave a little click of irritation. ‘Look, Sabrina, let’s just get a couple of things straight, shall we? I don’t want you agreeing with me for the sake of it—just because it’s my flat.’
‘OK,’ she agreed. ‘And while we’re on the subject of house rules—’
‘Rules?’ he interrupted, with a sardonic elevation of his dark brows. ‘Goodness me, how very schoolmistressy of you! Are we talking firm and unbending rules, I wonder, or very, very flexible ones?’
Sabrina felt a mixture of fury and frustration as she stared into eyes which mocked her. He could stop that right now! ‘Oh, do, please, spare me the innuendo!’ she snapped.
Guy gave a reluctant smile. Had he actually been worried that all the fire had gone out of her? Not all of it, no. ‘OK,’ he said slowly.
‘I meant rules about things like paying you rent—’
‘The rent doesn’t matter.’
‘It does matter,’ said Sabrina stubbornly. ‘I can’t stay here for nothing—and before you tell me that you can afford it—’
‘You know very well I can—’
‘That’s not the point.’
‘Then just what is the point?’ said Guy steadily, hooking his thumbs into the waistband of his jeans.
The movement distracted her, and suddenly she found his proximity disturbing. More than disturbing. Had she really thought that she would just be able to ignore that blatant sex appeal? ‘I’d just like to make a contribution while I’m here.’
Their eyes met.
‘Oh?’ questioned Guy softly.
She saw the swift darkening of his eyes. ‘I’ll contribute food,’ she told him shakily.
‘Food?’ Guy queried dazedly.
‘Towards the running of the household,’ she elaborated.
‘Yeah,’ he agreed distractedly. ‘Whatever you say, Sabrina.’
SABRINA was woken by a banging on the door, and her eyes flickered open for a few dazed moments before reality clicked in from unconsciousness. Her gaze drifted upwards. A high ceiling. A beautiful flat. Guy’s flat.
‘Sabrina!’
Guy’s voice!
‘What is it?’ she answered groggily.
‘Are you awake?’
‘I am now.’ She yawned and picked up her wristwatch, which was lying on the locker. Six-thirty? What time did he call this? She had never been the best early morning person in the world. Still in the warm haze of sleep, she felt too lazy to be inhibited.
‘Why have you woken me up?’ She yawned again.
‘I wondered why you weren’t up. Did you set your alarm? We don’t want you to be late on your first day, now, do we, Sabrina?’
That teasing little lilt set her senses fizzing. ‘Of course I set my alarm! I don’t have to be at work until nine!’
‘That late?’ he drawled. ‘I’ll have been at my desk for at least two hours by then.’
‘I’ll have a medal minted for you, Guy!’
He sounded amused. ‘I’m just off now—you’d better come out while I show you how the security system works.’
Sabrina was out of bed and pulling a face at her tousled reflection in an instant. She raked a brush through the unruly locks, pulled on her dressing gown and opened the door.
He was wearing the most beautiful dark pinstriped suit with a matching waistcoat and pure silk tie. The snowy shirt emphasised the blackness of his hair, the faint tan of his skin and the almost indecent length of his legs.
Sabrina couldn’t stop her heart from racing at just the sight of him—but it was with pure delight rather than desire, as if seeing Guy in the morning was the most perfect way to start a day. Even though her fingers flew automatically to her chest to clutch together the gaping blue satin of the robe.
Guy didn’t miss the movement, nor the tantalising glimpse of pale breast it obscured. He swallowed. ‘Let me show you how to set the alarm.’
‘Right.’ Sabrina tried to listen carefully to what he was saying, but it wasn’t easy. It seemed bizarre, crazy, stupid—tantalising—for her to be standing half-naked beside him, concentrating fiercely on which numbers his fingers were punching out on the alarm system and not on the delicious lemon and musk scent which drifted from his skin.
‘Now, this key,’ he told her, deliberately leaning a little bit away from her, because it was more than distracting being this close to the butting little swell of her breasts as they jutted against the slippery satin of her robe, ‘is for this lock here. The longer, thicker key…’ Oh, God, he thought despairingly, what was she doing to him? ‘That locks here.’ He swallowed. ‘Got that?’
‘Could you show me again?’ She had hardly heard a thing he was saying, and she wished he would just go. But the last thing she needed was for all his expensive paintings and books and furniture to suddenly ‘walk’—just because she hadn’t had the sense to lock up properly.
‘Do you want me to write it down for you, step by step?’ he questioned sarcastically.
‘That won’t be necessary!’
This time she listened as if her life depended on it.
‘Understand now?’
‘Perfectly, thank you very much.’
He shot a glance at his watch and gave a small click of irritation. ‘You’ve made me late now. I haven’t been late in years.’
‘Well, you could have shown me all this last night, couldn’t you?’
Yeah, he supposed he could have done—it was just that they had opened a bottle of wine during dinner and had then sat and finished it in the sitting room. Bad idea. And Sabrina had kicked her shoes off in front of the fire, perfectly innocuously, but Guy had been riveted by the sight of those spectacularly slender ankles and had found it difficult to tear his eyes away from them. He had never quite understood why the Victorians had considered the ankle such an erogenous zone, but last night the reason had suddenly hit him in a moment of pulse-hammering insight.
He usually did paperwork on Sunday evenings, but last night it had lain neglected. And now he was late.
He glowered. ‘I’ll be home around seven.’
She looked at him expectantly. ‘Will you be eating supper? Or going out?’
He