At His Service: His 9-5 Secretary. Michelle Celmer
utility room.
Considering she’d been a stranger to them a few short hours ago, the puppies gave her a rapturous welcome when she padded into the utility room, tumbling over each other in an effort to reach her. Laughing despite her tiredness, she changed the top layer of newspaper, where they’d obligingly done their duties, and then prepared some more food which they polished off in record time.
‘You were hungry.’ She looked down at them as they moved round the now-empty saucer, small pink tongues still licking for traces of food.
The smallest puppy made her way over to her, beginning to nibble at her toes as the others scrabbled round for attention. ‘You want some fuss, is that it?’ Curling up on the wad of towelling Harry had put down, Gina allowed the four little warm bodies to make their way on to her lap. ‘Missing Mum and home, I suppose,’ she murmured as she stroked their furry heads. ‘Although, if you did but know it, you’re far better off here. Who knows what would have happened to you if Harry hadn’t noticed that box?’
‘It’s ten to four.’
Harry’s voice from the doorway brought her head jerking up so fast, she heard her neck crack. He was standing leaning against the wall; she didn’t know how long he’d been watching her.
‘I know.’ Her mouth had gone dry. He was dressed in dark pyjama-bottoms and a black-cotton robe which was hanging loose. His thickly muscled chest was black with body hair, and his hair was tousled and falling over his brow. He looked … magnificent. ‘It was the puppies,’ she mumbled feverishly. ‘They were crying. They were hungry.’
‘You should have ignored them.’
‘I couldn’t.’ The virile masculinity just feet away reminded her she was stark naked under her robe. She wanted to tighten the belt, but with her arms full of puppies she couldn’t. ‘Anyway, you came down too, I wasn’t the only one.’
‘True.’
He didn’t elaborate as to whether she had disturbed him or he’d been awake anyway. She was aware he was looking at her with unconcealed scrutiny, and she wished she’d taken the time to at least brush her hair. She’d scrubbed at her face before she had gone to sleep in an effort to remove the last of the make-up her tears hadn’t washed away; she bet her nose was shining like Rudolph’s. When the smallest puppy made a valiant attempt to bury herself inside the top of her robe, thereby causing it to gape a little, Gina hastily tipped the four of them off her lap and pulled the belt tight.
Carefully rising to her feet, she said nervously, ‘I’m sorry if I woke you.’
‘You didn’t.’
She expected him to move from the doorway as she approached, and when he didn’t she stopped a foot or so away, praying the trembling deep inside wasn’t visible.
‘You’ve washed your face,’ he said slowly.
‘Yes.’ She didn’t need to be reminded of what she must look like.
‘I can see your freckles better,’ he observed, as though that had been the whole point of the exercise.
She wrinkled her nose. ‘Don’t remind me.’
‘I like freckles, especially with blue eyes and reddish-gold hair.’
‘Titian,’ she corrected automatically, glad he hadn’t said ‘ginger’.
‘Titian,’ he repeated softly. ‘But your eyelashes are dark brown. And thick.’
She’d always been glad about that. It was one of the few things about herself she liked. She tried to think of something to say, something witty and light, and failed utterly. It was the look on his face. He was staring at her as though she was a woman. Which she was, of course. It was just that he had never noticed before.
But this was Harry. The warning screamed through her head. Harry, the self-determining. Harry, the mother and father of non-involvement. Harry, who didn’t want a woman in his life other than to take care of his sexual needs. And that was what was happening right now, or would happen if she let it. She loved him too much to become just another notch on his bedpost. She wouldn’t be able to stand it when he dropped her off later in the morning with a cheery wave and a casual goodbye. Because that’s what he’d do.
Lowering her head, she tightened the belt of her robe still more. ‘Fancy a cup of tea?’ she said, hearing herself with a touch of hysteria. Tea. Tea?
There was a brief pause, and then his voice came cool and easy. ‘If there’s toast to go with it. I’m starving.’
So was she, but not for tea and toast. But she’d had her chance and blown it, she thought with burning regret.
The puppies had settled down again, all but the smallest, who now had her two front paws scrabbling at the wood barrier as she whimpered pitifully. Glad of the diversion, Gina retraced her footsteps and lifted the little scrap into her arms, whereupon the puppy immediately snuggled against her and shut its eyes.
‘What?’ she challenged as she caught Harry’s eyes. ‘The poor little thing’s due some cuddles after all she’s been through.’ She was also a welcome third-party if they were going to indulge in tea and toast.
‘Will you spoil your children, too?’ he murmured smokily, amusement colouring his voice.
‘With cuddles, if they’re frightened or upset?’ she said tartly, ignoring the pang her heart gave. She would never have children because they couldn’t be Harry’s. ‘Absolutely.’
Once in the kitchen with the puppy cradled against her chest, she didn’t try to clamber onto a stool, but stood and watched him as he filled the kettle and then placed two slices of bread in the toaster. ‘Mind if I go through to the sitting room?’ she asked as casually as she could. ‘My feet are cold on these tiles.’
‘Be my guest. I’ll bring the tray through in a minute or two.’
There was a dark stubble on his chin. He was as unlike the perfectly groomed, smooth operator of daylight hours as the man in the moon. And a hundred times more dangerous.
Tingling with something she didn’t want to put a name to, Gina made her way to the sitting room and chose a big, plumpy chair to curl up in, carefully positioning her feet under her and making sure the robe was discreetly in place. The puppy stirred briefly and then settled itself again as Gina gently stroked the plump little body. She gazed down at the sleeping animal, a sense of surrealism taking hold.
How on earth had she come to be in this position? Practically naked—apart from one piece of cloth—in Harry’s house at four o’clock in the morning, with him equally partially clothed making tea and toast in the kitchen? Worse, with her hair probably resembling a bird’s nest, and her face all shiny and devoid of even the tiniest touch of make-up. Even in her wildest dreams—and there had been more than a few where Harry was concerned—she wouldn’t have been able to come up with this scenario.
She’d had fantasies, more than she could remember, but they had all featured her perfectly made up and looking ravishing, and Harry suddenly realizing the error of his ways and falling at her feet in adoration before whisking her off to bed. After that, it had been roses round the door and a ring the size of a golf ball.
She sighed. Impossible dreams. Impossible happy-ever-after. Impossible man. Still, at least the ‘roses round the door’ bit was in place. She smiled ruefully. And this was one hundred per cent the sort of house made for a family—babies, children. Harry’s babies. She shut her eyes, her heart actually paining her.
Harry had made it clear he would never consider matrimony again, let alone becoming a father. He was now a ruthless bachelor, married to freedom, and only dating women who were happy to embrace their temporary place in his life gracefully. A wife and babies didn’t come into the equation anywhere. Perhaps it was a blessing she wasn’t his type. If he had fancied her she wouldn’t have been able to resist for long, and a brief affair would have left her in a worse emotional mess