Michelle Celmer - At His Service - His 9-5 Secretary - The Billionaire Boss's Secretary Bride / The Secretary's Secret / Memo - Marry Me?

Something inside twisted, and he answered the feeling with an irritable growl deep in his throat. Enough. He needed some fresh air to clear his head. You couldn’t beat straightforward logic, and it hadn’t let him down in the past. Outside, with no distractions, he could think .

He took a deep breath and tried to relax, glancing at his watch. Another couple of hours before he needed to wake her and get going. He had to get himself sorted and back on track in that time.

He pulled on some clothes without bothering to shower first, leaving the room swiftly and making his way downstairs on silent feet. Once in the garden, he paused. His original intention had been to go for a walk, but sitting out here would do as well.

Breathing in the sharp, scented air, he walked to a wooden bench set at an angle to the dry-stone wall that surrounded the grounds. From there he had a perfect view of the house, which slumbered in the early-morning light. Somewhere close by a wood pigeon was cooing, a little rustle at the base of the wall telling him the tiny harvest mice he’d noticed a few times running up and down the old stone were about. No doubt there were myriad nests deep in the crevices, where generations of the enchantingly pretty creatures had been born. This whole place—the house, the garden, the surrounding countryside—spoke of permanence, he realised suddenly. Subconsciously, had that been one of the reasons which had attracted him to the property when he’d first seen it?

He frowned, not liking the idea. It didn’t fit into how he saw himself. Like everything else that had happened in the last twenty-four hours, it was acutely disturbing, in fact.

Gradually his revolving thoughts began to slow down as the peace of his surroundings took over. The sky lightened still more, garden birds beginning the job of hunting for breakfast, and the flock of sparrows that had residence in the privet hedge separating the swimming pool and tennis court from the rest of the garden squabbled raucously as they went about their business.

It was cold; he could see his breath fanning in a white cloud in front of him when he breathed out. But still he sat on in the burgeoning morning, his mind clearer than it had been for a long, long time.

He loved her. He’d loved her for months, but had been too damn stubborn to admit it to himself because it was the last thing he’d wanted or needed in his life. And now the laugh was on him, because even if he had declared himself she would have told him—gently and kindly, because that was Gina’s way—she was in love with someone else. Height of irony.

It was over an hour later that he rose to his feet, and with measured footsteps went into the house.

WHEN Gina awoke from an extremely decadent and satisfying dream featuring her, Harry and a bowl of whipped-chocolate ice-cream, it was to bright sunlight. She stretched as she opened heavy eyes, and then realised what had woken her as another knock sounded at the bedroom door: Harry’s alarm call.

Her voice husky with a mixture of sleep and remembered passion, she called, ‘It’s OK, I’m awake,’ and then squeaked with surprise with the door opened and Harry strode in carrying a tray.

He seemed unaware that she’d hastily dragged the duvet up to her chin, owing to the fact the robe had worked itself open and under her back, smiling as he said, ‘I didn’t know if you’re a tea or coffee girl, so I brought both.’

Her voice higher-pitched than usual, Gina said, ‘Either, thanks, but you needn’t have bothered.’

‘No bother.’

He placed the tray on the bedside cabinet and gazed at her from the advantage of being bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. He was very big and very dark in the pastel-coloured room, and his sheer magnetism detracted from the realisation that he wasn’t dressed in his normal suit and tie for a moment or two. When she could get her breath, Gina said carefully, ‘Are we taking the puppies and then coming back here?’ as she took in his black jeans and casual blue shirt.

He didn’t answer this directly. With a smile that turned the grey eyes smoky-warm, he said, ‘Drink your “either” and then come downstairs when you’re ready. There’s no rush.’

She stared at him. Something was different. Or was it just the casual clothes? Still clutching the duvet to her chest with one hand for all the world like a Victorian maiden, she brushed the hair out of her eyes with the other. ‘What time is it?’

He glanced at the gold watch on his wrist. ‘Eleven o’clock,’ he said calmly.

‘Eleven o’clock?’ She struggled into a sitting position, which wasn’t easy with the robe and the need to remain decent hampering her. ‘It can’t be. What about work?’

‘You don’t work, or at least not till Monday.’

‘I mean you .’

‘I decided to give work a miss today.’

‘You’ve never given work a miss in all the time I’ve known you,’ she said, astounded.

‘Then perhaps it’s high time I did.’

‘What about your father? And Susan? She’s still settling in, and—’

‘Will be fine. She’s that sort of woman,’ he said quietly.

Well, that was true at least. Unable to take in that half the day had gone already, Gina stared up at him. His eyes were dark, unblinking, as they watched her; his slightly uneven mouth curved in a wry smile that told her her bewilderment was plain on her face. She hoped her bout of crying the night before didn’t show in pink-rimmed eyes. Gathering her wits, she swallowed hard. ‘Are the puppies all right? You haven’t taken them already, have you?’

‘The puppies are fine,’ he said soothingly. ‘I had them out on the lawn for half an hour earlier. That was hectic,’ he added drily. ‘They can shoot off like exocet missiles when they want to.’

She wished she didn’t love him so much. Controlling her voice with some difficulty, Gina forced a smile as she said, ‘You should have woken me earlier to help.’

‘You needed your sleep.’

What did that mean—that the bags under her eyes could carry potatoes, or was he just being thoughtful? Deciding it was probably better she didn’t know, Gina wondered how long he was going to continue standing watching her. ‘Have you phoned the animal sanctuary?’

‘No,’ he said calmly.

She waited for him to elaborate and, when he didn’t, began to feel acutely uncomfortable. It was all right for him standing there, fully clothed and showered and shaved. She felt like something the cat wouldn’t bother to drag in.

His open-necked shirt showed the springy black hair of his chest, and his jeans were tight across the hips. The flagrant masculinity that was such a part of his attraction was even stronger today, and more than a little intimidating. Her mouth dry and her heart racing, she decided to take the bull by the horns. ‘I’ll see you downstairs in a little while, shall I?’ she said pointedly.

‘Violet-blue.’

‘Sorry?’

‘Your eyes are the colour of the wild violets that grow close to the stone wall in my garden,’ he said very softly. ‘Beautiful little flowers, tiny but exquisite. Much better than the cultivated variety.’

‘Oh.’ The sudden tightness in her chest made her voice a little husky when she said, ‘Thank you.’

‘My pleasure.’

He didn’t seem in any hurry to go. ‘I’ll be down shortly and we can take the puppies straight away, if you like. I know you must have things to do, and I need to get home and sort out the last of my things.’ Now he had to take the hint.

He gave her a long look. ‘I’m cooking a bacon flan and baked potatoes for lunch, or perhaps I should say brunch.’ His reproachful voice expressed disappointment at her ingratitude.