His Very Personal Assistant

She grimaced. ‘Yes.’

‘Fair enough,’ he agreed.

Her eyes widened in surprise. She had expected a verbal setting-down, if nothing else. ‘It is?’

‘Of course,’ he said. ‘Although I wouldn’t advise you to do it too often!’

Kit stared at him for several seconds, and then she gave a laugh as she saw the glint in his dark blue eyes.

Marcus tilted his head as he looked at her consideringly. ‘Is that really how you see the women I’ve been involved with?’ he asked quizzically.

In truth, yes. Oh, they were beautiful enough, but Kit very much doubted that their conversation had run to much more than fashion and social chit chat. Not exactly scintillating to a man of Marcus’s intelligence. Although she very much doubted it was intellect that had attracted him to them!

‘Perhaps,’ she answered noncommittally. ‘Although I really don’t know them well enough to comment, do I?’

‘That doesn’t seem to have stopped you doing exactly that, anyway,’ Marcus pointed out dryly.

No, it hadn’t, had it? Kit realised, the colour once more in her cheeks. And it really wasn’t any of her business, was it…?

She put up a self-conscious hand to her hair, aware that its vibrancy of colour was mostly muted by its severe style; that it glowed like flame when released, sometimes deeply red, sometimes that red hinting at gold, at other times just pure gold. As for discarding her glasses…!

‘Which brings us back to your hair,’ Marcus said firmly as he saw her nervous movement. ‘It looks like okay hair to me.’

‘It is,’ she confirmed awkwardly.

‘Then why not let it down for a change? Just your hair, Miss McGuire,’ he added as he recognized his choice of words could be misinterpreted. ‘And do you really need those glasses?’ He reached out as if to pluck them off her nose. ‘The lenses don’t look very strong to me—hey, I was only going to look at them!’ he protested as she swung away from his hand.

‘You might break them,’ she said stiltedly, reaching up herself to remove the glasses; she had her contacts with her, could put them in later. ‘I really only need them for reading,’ she excused, her face turned away as she put the glasses carefully into their case and into her handbag.

‘Miss McGuire…?’

‘Yes?’ she replied distractedly.

‘Would you mind looking at me when I talk to you?’

‘What—?’ She broke off as she turned and saw the look on Marcus’s face. He was staring at her, which sent the colour once more to flush her cheeks.

And she knew what he would see too; eyes of deep gun-metal grey, but with the softness of velvet, her lashes long and dark, those eyes emphasizing her high cheekbones, the perfect bow of her lips.

Marcus blinked. ‘Could you take down your hair, too?’ he pressed huskily.

She gave an irritated groan. ‘Look, I really don’t think this is at all necessary—’

‘Please,’ he pushed gently.

Kit shot him an uncertain glance before looking away again, reaching up to remove the pins from her hair, its straight, silky softness falling gently about her shoulders, the sunlight streaming in through the window giving it the texture of living flame.

‘There.’ She raised her chin as she looked at him, flicking her hair back over her shoulder as she did so. ‘Satisfied?’

Marcus put a hand up to absently stroke the roughness of his chin as he continued to look at her with enigmatic eyes. ‘As a matter of fact—no, I’m far from satisfied!’ he replied. ‘What I am, though, is curious as to why you’ve been walking around my office the last six months masquerading as someone’s maiden aunt, when, in actual fact, you really look like this!’

Kit continued to look at him with steady grey eyes. ‘Like what?’

He looked ready to explode. ‘Like—like—’

‘Yes?’ she prompted curiously.

‘You know exactly what you look like, Miss McGuire,’ he bit out coldly. ‘What I want to know is why?’

She avoided meeting his gaze. ‘If you really must know—’

‘Oh, I think I really must,’ he assured sarcastically.

Kit took a deep breath. ‘My previous boss thought it part of my job description to go to bed with him. And after Angie Dwyer’s comments about you, I—well, I thought it best not to draw attention to—to my femininity,’ she concluded awkwardly.

‘In other words, you didn’t draw my attention to it!’ Marcus rasped furiously. ‘Damn it, have I so much as looked at you in a way that could be called personal in the last six months?’

‘No,’ she acknowledged with a pained grimace, knowing his anger was justified.

‘You—I—oh, to hell with this,’ he suddenly said impatiently. ‘If you’re ready, let’s just go, shall we?’ He turned on his heel and walked out of her apartment.

Kit breathed a sigh of relief at being released from his domineering company for a couple of minutes at least, the tension relaxing from her shoulders. Marcus obviously wasn’t a happy man at what he saw to be her transition from moth into butterfly, or the reason for it. As she had known he wouldn’t be…

Oh, well. She gave a philosophical shrug of her shoulders as she picked up her bag and followed him out to his car; he had asked for it, hadn’t he? He could hardly sack her just because she had turned out to be more attractive without her hair confined and not wearing her glasses than he had actually bargained for!

‘Where, exactly, are we going?’ she asked after ten minutes of silent driving on Marcus’s part—and, she admitted, a certain amount of discomfort on hers!

‘Worcestershire,’ he supplied economically.

‘Really?’ She brightened. ‘I’ve never been there, but I believe it’s supposed to be a very pretty county—’

‘Would you mind not chattering?’ Marcus cut in hardly. ‘I need to concentrate while I’m driving.’

He needed to learn some manners too—but somehow Kit didn’t think he would appreciate having her point that out to him!

But if he didn’t want to talk, she was quite happy to look out the window at the countryside as they left London far behind them, the Jaguar sports car Marcus drove quickly eating up the miles.

She’d had all too few opportunities to get out of London since selling her car six months ago, driving and parking in the city simply weren’t worth the nightmare. Her parents lived in Cornwall, and it was easier to get on the train when she went to see them than it was to struggle through all the tourist traffic that constantly clogged the roads down there.

‘Okay, I apologize for my brusqueness,’ Marcus said suddenly beside her, startling her out of her reverie.

Kit tilted her chin up as she looked at him. ‘Which time?’

His hands tightened on the steering wheel as he glanced back at her.

‘Both times,’ he acknowledged. ‘I admit, I was initially a little—startled, by the change in your appearance—even more so by the reason for the subterfuge in the first place.’ He looked darkly at the road ahead. ‘Talk if you want to,’ he commanded.

Kit continued to watch him for several long seconds, finding that, now he had invited her to talk, she actually had nothing to say!