Chantelle Shaw - His Secretary Mistress

‘Over here—come on!’ With the shower showing no sign of abating Alex caught hold of her arm, and together they scrambled for the protection of one of the few trees that still retained its leaves.

As they ran, Jenna skidded on the wet leaves underfoot and fell bodily against Alex, who braced himself against the tree trunk, taking her weight on his chest.

‘I’m sorry.’ Her hair had come loose again, and she stared up at him through a tangle of amber silk, the laughter dying in her throat as she caught the unguarded look in his eyes.

‘This is becoming a habit,’ he murmured, stroking her hair back from her face. ‘A very pleasant habit, I might add.’

Was he was going to kiss her? she wondered, with the tiny part of her brain still capable of thought. His dark head lowered, seemingly in slow motion, and she felt the warmth of his breath on her cheek, could see the fine laughter lines that crinkled the corners of his eyes. Already that sensual mouth was hovering millimetres from hers, and she couldn’t deny the heady excitement that swept over her. She was desperate to feel him, skin on skin.

Was it some kind of test? she wondered numbly. Margaret had said that one of the previous secretaries had been deemed unsuitable because she’d made her attraction to Alex obvious. Standing in his arms, virtually begging for him to kiss her, was being more than just obvious, but she seemed to have no control over her body. She was stunned by her reaction to him; common sense seemed to have deserted her.

Without conscious thought her lips parted, but instead of accepting her offer he drew back, his low murmur bringing her back to earth with a bump. Of course he wasn’t going to kiss her! He had drawn her into his arms simply to prevent her from slipping on the leaves, and was no doubt horrified to find himself pinioned to the tree. Shame scalded her, and she jerked away from him, her cheeks on fire, unable to meet his gaze, which she was certain would reflect his sardonic amusement.

‘We should head back. We’ve a busy afternoon ahead.’

Alex’s voice cut through her mental self-flagellation and she nodded wordlessly, wondering how he could sound so calm and in control. But then he hadn’t made a complete fool of himself, she reasoned miserably. If he had been setting her some sort of test she had failed spectacularly, but the idea that she might not have a job by the end of the day was almost a relief. She didn’t think she could cope with Alex Morrell on a long-term basis.

She trudged beside him on the walk back through the park, determined not to look at him or speak to him unless absolutely necessary, but he too seemed lost in his thoughts and disappeared into his inner sanctum as soon as they reached the office.

Jenna was tired and emotionally drained. Her shoulder, which had ached dully all morning, was now throbbing, but she ploughed on with her work, struggling to get to grips with an unfamiliar program on her computer. Twenty futile minutes later she conceded that she would have to ask for help, and spent another ten practising the right amount of cool uninterest in her tone.

Alex wasn’t working, as she’d assumed when she entered his office, but staring out over the magnificent view of London, and she wondered if he too had a penchant for daydreaming. Although from his stern expression it was not a pleasant dream. At her hesitant request for assistance he insisted on coming out to view her screen and she was achingly aware of his lean, hard body and the enticing scent of his aftershave as he leaned across her.

His instructions were concise, and when he had finished he eased back and rested a hand on her shoulder.

‘Ow!’ She could not prevent her cry of pain and he raised his eyebrows quizzically.

‘What’s the problem?’

‘Nothing. It’s just my shoulder. I think it must be bruised from this morning…’ She tailed to a halt under his intent stare and flushed. Did he still think she was lying? Her shoulder was in agony and she certainly wasn’t making it up.

‘You were injured this morning? Yet you didn’t think to mention it? As I remember, I asked you specifically if you’d been hurt.’

‘You didn’t even believe I’d been involved in an attack. As I remember you were being sarcastic, and I didn’t want to make a fuss—not after arriving an hour late.’

‘I would happily have believed you, had you shown any sign of distress,’ he bit out, fury with himself making his tone sharp. He prided himself on his sense of justice and fair play, and all day it had niggled him that he had written her off as unreliable when she had proved patently that she was not.

This close he could see the faint shadows beneath her eyes, her skin so translucent he could trace the fine blue veins beneath the surface. She was exquisitely beautiful, as delicate as a porcelain figurine, and he had to tear his gaze from her face before he gave in to the temptation to kiss her, as he had so nearly done in the park.

‘If your shoulder is still hurting five hours after the…’ he hesitated fractionally ‘…incident, then it must need medical attention. Undo your blouse so that I can take a look.’

Jenna blinked at him indignantly. ‘I’m not stripping off in the middle of the office!’

‘I’m merely suggesting that you unfasten the top couple of buttons.’ He gave her a withering look. ‘I have seen a woman’s naked shoulder before, and I promise I won’t be overcome with lust.’

Was that a deliberate taunt? she wondered. A reminder that he was aware of just how much she wanted him? His face was impassive, giving no clues to his thoughts, but he was a master of disguising his emotions and his features were set in the aloof expression he usually reserved for cross-questioning.

He was so arrogant, Jenna thought furiously, her temper suddenly white-hot. ‘Hold on a minute,’ she snapped. ‘This morning you didn’t believe a word about the “incident”—your word, not mine, and now suddenly you’re Dr Kildare! My shoulder’s bruised; I can move it quite well, so it’s not broken, and I’ll see to it when I get home.’

‘Fine. Get your jacket, we’ll go to Casualty.’

‘No!’ Her arms were folded across her chest; he wouldn’t have been surprised if she had stamped her foot in fury, and despite everything his lips twitched.

‘It’s your choice,’ he said equably. ‘Either I look at it or a doctor does. Take your pick.’

Her answer was to stalk into his office, her back rigid with outrage as she ripped apart the top buttons of her blouse and shrugged the material over her injured shoulder.

Already feeling bad, the sight of the huge purple bruise that covered her shoulder filled him with remorse. ‘What happened, exactly? Did someone hit you?’

Jenna shook her head. ‘He didn’t attack me at all. As I was walking along a cyclist suddenly rode onto the pavement and snatched the handbag from the woman in front of me. I ran to help and he pushed me against a concrete bollard. But I managed to save the bag,’ she added brightly.

‘You bloody idiot; he might have had a weapon. What would you have done if he’d pulled out a knife? What are you, anyway? All of five feet nothing and you think you’re a one-woman army!’

‘I didn’t think. I saw the attack and I lost my temper, okay?’ In her frustration Jenna swung round to face him, remembering belatedly her open blouse and the expanse of lilac lace bra on display.

Since her parents and her brother had emigrated to New Zealand, to be near her sister, birthday and Christmas presents had been defined by their ease of packing—and she owned drawers full of pretty lingerie. This lilac bra was of such sheer lace it was almost transparent, and to her horror she felt her nipples harden, the dark peaks plainly visible through the material.