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

‘Are you?’

He seemed surprised by her astonishment. ‘Of course. You didn’t think I’d send you home without feeding you, surely?’

He made her sound like a stray dog that had landed on his doorstep—four of which were already occupying his utility room. ‘I just thought you’d want the puppies off your hands as soon as possible,’ Gina said carefully, wondering when he’d become so touchy.

His frown smoothed to a quizzical ruffle that did the strangest things to her breathing. ‘Oh, I see. So you’re not in a mad rush to get away, then?’

‘Considering it’s eleven o’clock in the morning, if I was I’ve failed miserably, wouldn’t you say?’ Gina said a little tartly.

He smiled. ‘You didn’t have anyone calling round first thing, I hope?’

She thought about Janice in the flat below. Until this very moment she had forgotten she’d promised to cook Janice breakfast before she went on her shift at the local hospital, where she worked as a nurse. It was to have been a goodbye-and-we’ll-keep-in-touch meal and, because of the shift Janice was on this month, breakfast had been the most appropriate time. Blow and double blow. She hated to let people down. The trouble was when she was in Harry’s company the rest of the world faded into the background. ‘I did, actually.’ She felt awful now. ‘But I can put that right later.’

A thick black eyebrow lifted. ‘I’m sorry.’

He didn’t sound sorry. In fact for some reason he seemed put out, if the look on his face was anything to go by. ‘It doesn’t matter.’ Just go, go .

Harry didn’t go. His mouth had thinned, accentuating its uneven curve, and his gaze was hard when he said, ‘It never pays to let someone walk all over you, you know.’

She stared at him. ‘No, I suppose it doesn’t,’ she agreed bewilderedly.

‘And a clean break should be just that—a clean break.’

Had she missed something here? ‘I’m sorry, Harry, but I don’t follow.’

‘It was him, this guy who’s effectively told you thanks but no thanks, who was calling round, wasn’t it? Hell, can’t you see him for what he is, Gina? He knows how you feel about him and why you’re leaving, and yet he calls round to … what? Why was he calling round?’

Gina tried not to gape. For a moment her brain whirled, and then she forced her face into an indignant expression. ‘A friend of mine who lives in the flat below, a female friend, was coming for breakfast,’ she said haughtily. ‘OK? So, whatever your overactive little mind has come up with, it’s wrong.’

It took a second or two for the outrage to be replaced by a sheepish expression that immediately melted Gina’s heart—not that she would have revealed it for all the tea in China. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I put two and two together and made—’

‘Going on a hundred? Yes, that much was perfectly clear.’ She ought to be furious at the assumption she was giving house room—or, perhaps more accurately, bedroom—to her supposed lover. But his concern for her—and she didn’t flatter herself it was anything but the friendly concern he’d spoken of before—warmed her aching heart. Harry had had lots of women in his life, he didn’t try to pretend otherwise, but she doubted if he would have been so genuinely solicitous for the females who flitted in and out of his bed at regular intervals. And he certainly wouldn’t have referred to them as friends. Perhaps she ought to be grateful for small mercies? She was distinct and different to the rest, in some small way, at least.

‘I jumped to an erroneous conclusion, and I should have known better.’

He could do the gracious-apology thing really well, Gina thought, as she watched a slow smile spread over his handsome face.

‘You’re not the sort of woman to have second thoughts once you’ve made up your mind about something, or to say one thing and mean another.’

Oh boy, little did he know. ‘Quite,’ she said firmly.

‘I’ll leave you to get dressed,’ he said with silky gentleness. ‘Brunch will be ready in about twenty minutes.’

When the door closed behind him, Gina continued to lie in complete immobility for another moment or two. Then she flung back the duvet, swinging her legs out of bed and wrapping the robe back round her, before padding to the bathroom. There she scrutinised herself in the mirror and groaned softly. Dark smudges under eyes that definitely bore evidence of the weeping of the night before. And her hair! Why did her hair always decide to party during the night? At uni she’d shared with girls who’d gone to bed sleek and immaculate, and woken up sleep and immaculate. Or, at the most, slightly tousled.

Fifteen minutes later the mirror told her she’d transformed herself into someone who wouldn’t frighten little children.

She had washed her hair and rubbed it as dry as she could before bundling it into a high ponytail at the back of her head. The essentials she always took to work in her bag—moisturiser, mascara, eye-shadow and lip gloss—had done their work and made her feel human again. Just.

She’d had the foresight to wash her panties through before going to bed and drape them over the radiator in her room—she did so hope Harry hadn’t noticed the skimpy piece of black lace—and, armed with the knowledge she was clean and fresh, she took a deep breath and opened the bedroom door.

Brunch with Harry. The last meal she would ever eat with him, she thought a trifle dramatically, but without making any apology for it. She felt dramatic. In fact she felt a whole host of emotions surging in her breast, none of which were uplifting.

Once downstairs she paused in the hall. Sunlight was slanting in through the window on to the ancient floorboards, causing a timelessness that was enchanting. The whole cottage was enchanting. She could imagine what it would be like in the height of summer, with the outside of the house engulfed in roses and honeysuckle and jasmine. Violet dusks, the fragrance of burning leaves drifting in the warm air, dark-velvet skies pierced with stars, and overall a sense of whispering stillness. Did he sit on the verandah on such evenings, a glass of wine in his hand and his eyes wandering over the shadows, sombre and broodingly alone?

The image wrenched her heart and she mentally shook herself. It was far more likely the current blonde would be sitting on his lap or as near to him as she could get, no doubt anticipating the night ahead with some relish, she told herself caustically. And who could blame her?

A slight movement at the end of the hall brought her head swinging to see Harry standing watching her. ‘I thought we’d eat in the breakfast room, OK? It’s less formal than the dining room, but a bit more comfortable than perching at the breakfast bar in the kitchen.’

Gina nodded, quickly arranging her face into a smile as she walked towards him. ‘Can I do anything to help?’

‘Carry the salad through? I’ll bring the other dishes.’

The breakfast room was situated off the kitchen and was quite small but charming, with wooden shutters at the leaded windows, and an old, gnarled table and chairs in the centre of the room. The only other furniture consisted of an equally old dresser on which brightly blue-and-red-patterned crockery sat, a bowl of flowering hyacinths on the deepset window sill filling the room with their sweet perfume.

After looking in on the puppies, who were all sound asleep, Gina seated herself as Harry said, ‘Red or white wine? Or there’s sparkling mineral water or orange-and-mango juice, if you’d prefer?’

‘Fizzy water, please.’

She watched him as he poured her a glass, and then one for himself, after which he served her a portion of the flan and she helped herself to a baked potato and some salad.