Passion From The Past

‘Don’t ask me to take it in, Laura,’ the other girl sighed impatiently. ‘I’m up to my eyes with this typing. And he can’t eat you,’ she added derisively.

‘He can try,’ Laura grimaced.

‘Go on in,’ Janice laughed. ‘If you let his coffee get cold he just might eat you at that!’

Laura swallowed hard, taking a deep breath before moving to knock on the inner office door. The abrupt ‘enter’ was not welcoming, and her hands shook as she picked the tray up to enter the room.

The two men inside instantly stopped talking, the one sitting in front of the desk rising politely to his feet, James Courtney remaining seated, obviously not considering his junior secretary worth the act of politeness. Laura eyed him nervously, finding him as daunting as she usually did, not sparing a glance in the other man’s direction. James Courtney looked back at her broodingly, not welcoming her interruption at all.

In his early sixties, James Courtney was nevertheless still an attractive man, his thick hair iron grey, his face ruggedly lined, the eyes a pale blue, his mouth set in its usual thin line. Laura couldn’t ever remember seeing him smile, although surely no one could be this grim all the time.

She looked down at the desk, searching for a space to put the tray down. There didn’t appear to be one.

‘Let me,’ a deep voice remarked from behind her, and the man moved forward to move some of the papers aside.

Laura gratefully put the heavy tray down, and turned to thank the man. The words caught and held in her throat, as she found herself looking at the most devastatingly handsome man she had ever seen in her young life, his slate grey eyes widening as she continued to stare at him.

But she couldn’t have looked away if her life had depended upon it, feeling almost mesmerised, caught in a spell she had no will or wish to break. This man was taller even than James Courtney, being at least a foot taller than her own five feet two inches. He was a man in his mid-thirties, with a lean ripcord body that oozed power and determination, his face even more powerful as he continued to meet her wide-eyed stare. His eyes seemed to be constantly changing colour, at one moment a light silver, at others almost black. His nose was long and straight, his mouth jutting out determinedly above the strong jaw, his skin deeply tanned. The dark suit fitted him perfectly, the snowy white shirt emphasising the deep tan on his face and strong, tapered hands.

Laura couldn’t ever remember noticing so much about one person on first sight before, finding herself fascinated by the deep cleft in his chin, the way his dark hair grew thickly over his collar, styled casually back from his face, the face she couldn’t look away from. It was as if time suddenly stood still, allowing her to look her fill of this man she felt captivated by. And she didn’t ever want to stop looking at him.

She knew it was stupid, knew that a man of the thirty-five-thirty-six she guessed him to be was probably married with a couple of children, that he wouldn’t be interested in her even if he weren’t married, and yet her attraction to him was so strong the rest of the world had ceased to exist.

But her silent admiration of him couldn’t last, she had known it couldn’t, and finally he was the one to break it.

‘Thank you, Miss—–?’ He looked at her enquiringly.

His voice was as fascinating as the rest of him, deep and husky, and she shivered with excitement as she wondered how it would feel to have such a man make love to her. She blushed scarlet at the intimacy of her thoughts, groaning inwardly as she realised how the tide of red colour would clash with her auburn hair.

Heavens, she must be making a prize idiot of herself, standing here goggle-eyed about a perfect stranger. ‘Jamieson,’ she supplied jerkily, cursing herself for the way her voice quivered.

‘Jamieson?’ he echoed softly.

‘I—er—Yes, sir,’ she licked her lips nervously, ‘Laura Jamieson.’

‘That will be all, Miss Jamieson.’ James Courtney spoke to her for the first time since she had entered the room, his voice curt.

She blushed anew. ‘Er—yes, sir.’ She turned to flee the room, aware that she had made more of a fool of herself in front of the older man than she usually did.

‘And tell your colleague to hurry with those notes,’ he snapped. ‘Dorothy doesn’t usually keep me waiting this length of time.’

‘Er—no, sir.’ Now she was sounding like the idiot she was acting! But James Courtney couldn’t know that Dorothy didn’t usually keep him waiting because she had Janice and herself do the typing for her.

She liked Dorothy immensely, and found the older woman kind and helpful, the three of them working very well together in their spacious office. As James Courtney’s personal secretary it was only right that she should pass on the more mundane task of typing to her juniors, her other duties time consuming enough.

She hurried from the room, aware that the two men had already dismissed her from their minds as they resumed their conversation. She closed the door behind her with a sigh, realising that she was trembling, her hands shaking almost incontrollably. That man, a man whose name she didn’t even know, had affected her more deeply than any person she had ever met.

Janice looked up from her typing. ‘All right, love?’ she asked concernedly. ‘You’re looking a little pale—you aren’t coming down with the ‘flu too, are you? I’ve heard the whole company is getting it.’

‘I—No, I—I feel fine.’ She moved to the seat behind her desk. ‘That man—the man with Mr Courtney, who is he?’

Janice shrugged. ‘One of the board members, I suppose. At the end of the meeting Mr Courtney just said coffee for two in his office, I couldn’t tell you who was going to be with him. What does he look like? I should be able to tell you his name if you describe him to me.’ She grimaced. ‘Most of them are distinguishable.’

That strong, arrogant face instantly came back into her mind, each sharp angle, each hard feature vividly imprinted in her memory—and her heart?

She pushed that disturbing thought to the back of her mind. She had made enough of a fool of herself for one day without imagining that mind-shattering attraction she had experienced was love. Love came slowly, with familiarity, not in a fraction of a second, and not with a complete stranger.

‘Well?’ Janice prompted, eager to get on with her work.

Laura forced herself to make the description rationally. ‘Very tall, dark, with grey eyes. Oh—and he has a deep tan, as if he’s just been on holiday.’

Janice smiled, nodding. ‘He has.’

‘He has?’

‘Mm,’ the other girl nodded again. ‘He got back the day before yesterday, from the Bahamas. The man you’ve just described is Gideon Maitland.’

Gideon—his name was Gideon. ‘Oh?’ She tried to sound casual in her interest, but knew she had failed when Janice smiled sympathetically.

‘Don’t worry,’ she consoled, ‘we’ve all been through it.’

‘Through what?’ Laura asked resentfully.

‘Falling in love with Gideon Maitland.’ Janice sighed. ‘Not that it got any of us anywhere. He just isn’t interested, not in the likes of us anyway.’

‘I’m not in love with him,’ Laura said indignantly. ‘I just—Well, he—I just wondered who he was. Does he work here? I’ve never seen him before.’ She would have remembered him if she had.

‘I told you, he’s been in the Bahamas. And he more than works here, he’s being groomed to take over as chairman when Mr Courtney retires next year.’

Laura couldn’t help her look of surprise. ‘Isn’t he a little young for that? Surely Mr McNee is next in seniority?’

‘Next in age, you mean,’ Janice grinned. ‘But Mr McNee isn’t Mr Courtney’s son-in-law, Gideon Maitland is.’

‘I didn’t know Mr Courtney had a daughter,’ Laura gasped. She hadn’t even realised he had been married, let alone that he had children. With this knowledge Gideon Maitland moved even farther out of her orbit—if he had ever entered it!

‘He doesn’t, not any more.’ Janice shrugged. ‘She died a couple of years ago.’

‘Oh, how terrible!’ Laura’s sympathy was sincere, even though a few seconds ago she hadn’t even known the other woman existed. It was always tragic to hear of a death, especially as the other woman couldn’t have been all that old, mid-thirties at most. She shook her head. ‘No wonder Mr Maitland isn’t interested in women.’

‘I didn’t say that,’ Janice snorted. ‘I just said he wasn’t interested in office girls. Now actresses are a different matter.’

Laura looked startled. ‘Actresses?’

‘Well, one actress in particular, actually. You’ve heard of Petra Wilde, haven’t you?’

A mental image of the sultry actress instantly sprang to mind. Tall, with hair the colour of ebony, her eyes the aquamarine of a clear sea, the other woman was spectacularly beautiful, admired as much for that perfect beauty as she was for her splendid acting.

‘When she won her Oscar last year,’ Janice related with relish. ‘Guess who was there with her?’