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

‘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.

She had tried so hard to appear normal this morning, to come to work as normal, to sit at her desk as normal, even to carry out this ridiculous conversation with Marcus as normal—when in reality her whole world felt as if it were falling apart. Every certainty, every stability in her life, suddenly no longer seemed that way…

* * *

She had travelled down to Cornwall on Saturday, totally ignorant of the bombshell that was about to be dropped on her.

‘Kit!’ her mother cried out excitedly, absolutely thrilled to see her getting out of the taxi, running over to hug her, and then promptly bursting into tears.

‘Hey…’ Kit said gently once she had paid off the taxi, looking affectionately at her tall, slender, still-beautiful mother.

Heather McGuire had been a noted beauty in her youth, with her long auburn hair and classical features. She was still a very striking woman.

She linked her arm with Kit’s as the two of them strolled over to the cottage. ‘I’m just so pleased to see you.’ She beamed. ‘Your father will be too,’ she added with certainty.

And he was, taking Kit up in his arms and hugging her.

He was tall and handsome, his hair and beard snowy white now; his blue eyes twinkled at her merrily as he said, ‘You’re looking lovelier than ever, Kit; new boyfriend?’

‘No,’ she laughingly denied.

He arched white brows. ‘Still hankering after that handsome boss of yours?’

‘For all the good it’s doing me,’ she confessed, knowing she never had been able to keep secrets from her father.

‘Come along in and let’s all have a glass of wine before dinner,’ her mother suggested happily, her tears dried now.

Kit hung back as her mother went off to get the glasses for their wine, looking concernedly at her father. ‘What’s wrong with Mummy?’

‘Wrong?’