Leigh Michaels - Taken by the Boss - His Very Personal Assistant / In the Banker's Bed / The Takeover Bid

‘Yes,’ she agreed, knowing that one of them had to make a move. But also realising that neither of them seemed to want to do that. ‘I have to catch my train,’ she reminded Marcus firmly, giving him a quick smile before turning to run lightly up the stairs to open the door to her apartment building, determined not to look back, knowing it could be her undoing if she did.

All the time feeling as if she were leaving the biggest part of her standing outside on the pavement…

CHAPTER ELEVEN

‘GOOD weekend?’

Kit looked up at the sound of Lewis Grant’s voice. ‘Not particularly,’ she answered honestly.

‘Oh?’ He leant against the side of her desk, obviously in no hurry to go to his own office down the corridor.

She put aside the papers she had been working on for the last half an hour to give him her full attention. ‘Those sort of house parties aren’t really my scene.’

Lewis grinned understandingly. ‘Lots of glitz and glamour on the surface—and knives being wielded behind the backs!’

‘Something like that,’ she said noncommittally.

To be perfectly honest, she really wasn’t quite with it this bright and sunny Tuesday morning, was wishing herself anywhere but here.

Luckily, Marcus hadn’t arrived in the office yet. Kit usually arrived half an hour or so before he did so that she could deal with any urgent correspondence and put it on his desk.

Lewis chuckled. ‘I quite enjoy them, actually. But I can understand why some people wouldn’t,’ he sympathized.

Especially someone like her, Kit silently added. Prim Miss McGuire, the PA from No-Nonsenseville, was back in place this morning; after the intimacy that seemed to have developed between herself and Marcus over the weekend, she had thought it for the best. Not that she for a moment thought she would have Marcus chasing her around the desk at every opportunity; no, prim Miss McGuire was for her own protection—from her feelings towards Marcus!

‘It was okay.’ Kit returned her attention to Lewis.

‘Any success with Desmond Hayes?’ he enquired with interest.

‘Not particularly,’ she returned. ‘I’m really not being a lot of help this morning, am I?’

‘Probably tired after the weekend.’ Lewis smiled understandingly.

‘I still don’t understand why Marcus didn’t take me with him,’ he mused. ‘But there you are. I suppose—’

‘Don’t you have any work to do, Lewis?’ Marcus barked as he came into Kit’s office, dressed in one of the dark business suits and snowy white shirts he usually wore to work, briefcase in hand. ‘Kit,’ he added in tight acknowledgement.

‘M—Mr Maitland,’ she hastily corrected her initial slip of going to call him by his first name.

‘Come through to my office, will you?’ he instructed her curtly, his gaze cold as he looked at Lewis. ‘Anything I can do for you?’ he grated.

‘Nothing at all,’ the younger man said easily, not seeming too concerned by Marcus’s mood.

‘Then don’t let us keep you,’ Marcus responded, looking straight at Kit as he held his office door open.

Kit got up slowly to move across the room and enter Marcus’s office, very aware of his brooding presence as he closed the door behind them with a firm click.

She turned to look at him. ‘Don’t you think you were a little rude to Lewis just now?’

‘Was I?’ he replied unconcernedly. ‘I’m sure he’ll get over it.’ He placed his briefcase down beside his desk before sitting down in the high-backed leather chair behind it, resting his elbows on the desk as he looked at her over the top of the pyramid of his fingers. ‘Why the hell are you dressed like that again?’ he suddenly exclaimed.

Kit felt herself pale as she stared at him through her heavy, dark-rimmed glasses, her breath catching in her throat, in no doubt as to Marcus’s annoyance; his face was grim, a nerve pulsing in his jaw.

‘I thought it best,’ she offered, moistening her lips with the tip of her tongue.

‘And I thought I warned you about doing that,’ Marcus snapped, his gaze focused on her mouth now.

Kit instantly clamped her lips together, the colour flooding back into her cheeks as she remembered what had happened the last time she had moistened her lips in that way in front of Marcus.

‘Well?’ he prompted harshly.

She flinched at his attack. ‘Well, what…?’

He rose quickly to his feet, as if his mood was too big to be contained in a sitting position. ‘Exactly what sort of man do you think I am? Don’t answer that. The fact that you’re back to wearing that ridiculous disguise tells me exactly what you think of me!’

What she thought of him? It was herself, the love she felt towards him, that she was trying to protect!

‘I don’t see how,’ she said wearily.

‘No?’ He moved out from behind his desk to pace the room restlessly. ‘I think I should warn you that I don’t care for being put in the same category as your last boss!’

‘Mike Reynolds…?’ Kit repeated dazedly. ‘But I—’ She broke off, frowning across at Marcus now. ‘I never for a moment thought that you were in the least like him…’ But she could hardly explain that it was herself she was trying to protect by once again becoming Prim Miss McGuire from No-Nonsenseville!

‘Oh, give me a break, Kit,’ Marcus came back. ‘You’ve already told me exactly why you started wearing those ridiculous glasses and unflattering clothes. The fact that you’re back to wearing them today implies you still think you need some sort of protection from my obviously unwanted advances!’

What would he say if she were to tell him that what she really wanted to do—not just now, but all the time!—was throw herself into his arms and have him make love to her? Here. Now.

‘And just when did you intend telling me about your father?’ Marcus continued.

Kit blinked at this sudden change of subject. ‘My father…?’

Marcus nodded tersely. ‘Your father is Tom McGuire!’ he accused.

‘I know who he is,’ she answered levelly.

‘So do I—now.’

Kit looked at him curiously. ‘How do you know?’

Marcus’s mouth twisted self-derisively. ‘Because I have one of his paintings hanging on my apartment wall. I sat there in my apartment all weekend—’

‘We didn’t come back to town until Saturday afternoon,’ Kit reminded him.

Marcus gave her a scathing look. ‘I sat there all weekend,’ he repeated, ‘when I suddenly realised that the painting I was staring at was by Tom McGuire. It was just too much of a coincidence for it not to have been painted by your father!’

Kit didn’t even attempt to deny the connection—how could she? ‘His paintings are considered a very sound investment nowadays—’

‘I didn’t buy the painting as an investment!’ he replied. ‘I’ve owned it for twelve or thirteen years now.’

She nodded. ‘It’s only the last ten years he’s suddenly become quite famous—’

‘Quite famous!’ Marcus echoed with an incredulous note in his voice. ‘Each of his paintings are worth thousands of pounds!’

‘And do you know how old he was when he suddenly became famous?’ she returned exasperatedly. ‘Sixty-two,’ she continued without waiting for him to answer. ‘Before that he and my mother lived on the little they could make selling the odd painting and some of the vegetables my mother grows—in—in their huge—garden.’ Her voice began to falter as the façade she had kept up so far this morning slowly began to crumble and disintegrate. ‘It was a—a happy life,’ she defended huskily. ‘But it certainly wasn’t—wasn’t—’ She simply couldn’t go on any more, her throat clogged with the tears she was trying so hard not to shed.