Undone by His Touch

How did he know she was there? She hadn’t made a sound. The hairs rose on the back of her neck at the idea he’d somehow sensed her presence.

‘Not long. I was about to knock but I didn’t want to interrupt your conversation.’

His mouth firmed and his nostrils flared as if with impatience. ‘In future make your presence known immediately. Given my … impairment, I like to know when I’m not alone.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Especially when I’m discussing business. I have a particularly delicate negotiation underway at the moment and I prefer to keep the details private. Understood?’

Chloe’s mouth pursed, holding in indignation. Did he think her a potential corporate spy?

‘Of course.’ Stung at his assumption she’d tried to eavesdrop, Chloe hastened to explain herself. ‘I came to find out if you’d like lunch soon.’

His mouth twisted. ‘What have you got planned for me? No, let me guess—coddled eggs and toast. Or soup. Soup is always good.’

Chloe frowned, her mind racing through the contents of the pantry and what she could make quickly from scratch.

‘If you like soup I could manage that.’

‘I don’t like,’ he growled, pacing towards her, close enough to block her view of the room and fill her senses with his presence. ‘I’m sick of bland food and being fussed over. The housekeeper the agency sent in your absence thought I needed cosseting to build my strength. If she’d had her way I’d have lived on omelettes and junket.’ He shook his head, lifting a hand to rub his stubbled chin.

Unwillingly Chloe’s eyes followed the movement, noting the hard, intriguing angle of his jaw and the line of his powerful throat. A faint citrus scent teased her nostrils and she wondered if he’d lathered himself with lemon soap in the shower. She swallowed. He hadn’t buttoned his shirt. It hung loose, revealing glimpses of taut golden skin and a smattering of dark hair.

Her breath stilled as she recalled him emerging from the pool: naked, wet and virile. Her mouth dried.

Horrified to find her gaze following a narrow line of dark hair to the top of his faded jeans, Chloe yanked her attention back to his face, her cheeks glowing.

Anyone less in need of building up she had yet to meet. He was all hard-muscled energy and husky, powerful lines. She’d never met a man so vibrantly alive. So confrontingly masculine. Her stomach gave a strange little shimmy just being close to him.

‘I hadn’t thought in terms of … building up your strength.’ Again her gaze strayed and she firmly yanked it back to his face.

Despite her embarrassment, amusement rose at the idea of trying to cosset this man like a child. The previous housekeeper must have had her work cut out trying to feed him invalid food. Had she really tried to serve him junket? Chloe wouldn’t have dared.

‘What was that?’ His brows arrowed down ferociously as if he’d heard the laugh she stifled.

‘Nothing, Mr Carstairs.’ She paused. ‘I’d planned chicken tikka-masala burgers with cucumber raita and lime pickle for lunch. But if that doesn’t suit …’

‘It suits perfectly. Suddenly I’m ravenous.’ For a moment the shadow of a grin hovered on his lips and Chloe had a shocking glimpse of how irresistible he must be in good humour.

If ever he was in good humour.

‘Clever too,’ he drawled. ‘Far easier for a blind man to handle.’

That observation, the little sting in the tail, robbed his earlier praise of warmth and left her deflated.

Was there anything wrong in trying to take his limitations into consideration? To realise it must be difficult chasing unseen food around a plate?

He made her consideration seem like condescension.

Her boss was frank to the point of rudeness, bad-tempered and graceless. He was nothing like his charmer of a brother.

A shiver whispered down her spine and she stiffened.

Chloe knew which brother she’d rather deal with. Declan Carstairs might be arrogant but …

‘I’ll have it ready in half an hour, then.’

‘Good.’ He turned away, took three uneven paces and put his hand down to the corner of the desk as if to reassure himself he was in the right place. It was a subtle move she wouldn’t have noticed except that her brain was busy cataloguing everything about him.

Instantly she felt a pang of sympathy. How hard it must be for an active man to adjust to a world he couldn’t see.

Perhaps his temper was understandable.

‘Before you go, Ms Daniels.’ She paused in the act of turning away. ‘Tell me, you did sign a confidentiality clause with your contract of employment, didn’t you?’

‘I did.’

‘Then you know the severe penalties for revealing private information about anything you see or hear in the course of your work.’

Chloe drew a deep breath, telling herself he was within his rights to check, just as he’d been to insist she sign such a clause before working for him. It had nothing to do with her personal integrity.

‘I understand that.’ Nevertheless her fingers curled tight.

‘Good. Keep it in mind. Because I’d have no hesitation in suing an employee who betrayed my trust if, for instance details of this current deal, or personal information about my life, were to appear in the press.’

Chloe’s hackles rose. Did he distrust all his employees on principle or just her?

That fragile stirring of sympathy withered, replaced by a belligerent determination to keep out of Declan Carstairs’ way. She didn’t need to listen to his provocation. She had enough on her plate with worry about Ted’s health and meeting the cost of his rehabilitation.

‘I’ve worked for celebrities in the past, Mr Carstairs. People hounded by the paparazzi every time they stepped outside.’ Her tone, more frigid than cool, implied they were far more newsworthy than he, despite the fact he was one of the country’s richest men. ‘None of them ever had complaints about my discretion.’

‘Really?’ One dark eyebrow arched provocatively.

‘Really. Now, if you’ll excuse me, Mr Carstairs, I’ll get on with lunch.’

Chloe immersed herself in the routine of keeping the house in tip-top condition. A magnificent sprawling place, it dated from the nineteenth century. Her favourite feature was the wide veranda with its vista of manicured gardens. The gardens led to the cliff edge that dropped sheer to the blue-green valley, which spread into the distance.

Built at a time when a rich man included a ballroom in his country retreat, the place was a pleasure to work in. Especially as a wing had been added with a modern kitchen and housekeeper’s suite.

She loved the gracious old home and didn’t mind that it took a lot to maintain. That gave her reason to avoid the corner study where Declan Carstairs spent his time.

Occasionally as she crossed the lobby she heard his rich baritone on the phone or chatting to his PA, David Sarkesian, who’d returned from Sydney. The sound of her employer’s deep voice made her quicken her pace lest he accuse her of eavesdropping for saleable gossip.

That insinuation still burned.

As did the suspicion that she enjoyed listening to the smooth rhythms of his voice for too much. The tingling awareness she felt in Declan Carstairs’ presence disturbed her. It reminded her that, contrary to everything she’d learned in the last six years, her libido hadn’t died with Mark.

She wished it had. She didn’t need that hot, edgy sensation low in her stomach when Declan touched her hand reaching for a plate. Or the breathless anticipation that caught her lungs when he spoke to her.