in her eyes that didn’t quite mesh with this vision of alluring temptress. Was it fear, embarrassment? The shy tilt of her head and the downward curve of her shoulders made him think of a little girl pushed into the stage’s limelight by an overly ambitious parent. This woman had the body of a sultry seductress and the mien of a vulnerable child.
‘What on earth are you doing?’ Henry yelled.
His voice sent her slumping against the door frame like a puppet whose strings had been cut. But, almost instantly, her eyes flew to Mitch and she suddenly jerked again to terrified life.
‘Oh, my gosh,’ she moaned, and stared at Mitch in absolute horror. She clasped her hands to her chest. ‘Oh, no! Oh, no!’ she cried.
Her arm shot out and the door slammed in their faces.
CHAPTER TWO
‘GRACE! What has got into you?’
Grace turned, shaking with terror, her eyes wide and her hand covering her mouth, as she watched Henry stride across his living room towards her. His crimson face was twisted with anger.
‘Do you realise what you’ve just done?’ he shouted. ‘Do you know who—?’ Henry stopped shouting abruptly, as if he realised he was making this fiasco much worse. His voice dropped to a panicky whisper. ‘That’s Mitch Wentworth at the door!’
‘I know, I know,’ Grace moaned. Her eyes hunted around the small room, searching frantically for any item of clothing she could grab. Where was a gaping black hole when she needed to leap into it?
‘How could you do this to me, Grace? What’s he going to think?’
As if the answer to his own question suddenly popped into his head, Henry swore, spun on his heel and darted back to his front door.
Grace made a speedy escape to the bedroom.
‘He’s gone!’ she heard Henry roar. ‘Wentworth’s left already!’
She sank with relief onto the bed. Thank heavens for that. With shaking hands, she pulled a T-shirt over her head.
Henry burst into the room. ‘You’ve ruined me! You do realise that, don’t you? I’ll never get Wentworth to look at my graphics now.’ Flinging his hands into the air, he glared at her. ‘I had Mitch Wentworth here, Grace. Here in my own home. He was going to look at all my designs tonight! Tonight! You stupid woman! You’ve spoilt everything.’
Grace shuddered. ‘I’m sorry, Henry,’ she replied dully. ‘How was I to know you’d bring him home? I didn’t even know the man was in Townsville.’ With nervous, wrenching movements, she pulled on her jeans. All she could think of was how badly she wanted to get away.
And never come back!
Henry was carrying on like a spoilt little boy who’d dropped his ice-cream cone in the dirt.
‘I’m sure you’ll be able to show your ideas to him some other time,’ she muttered. Why had she ever wasted one moment trying to arouse Henry’s interest in her? He couldn’t have been less appreciative of her efforts if she’d trashed his entire flat.
She shoved her feet into trainers. ‘I’m sorry my silly plan was such a flop,’ she told him as he slumped and sulked on the far side of the bed. Her shoulders rose in a dismissive shrug. ‘It—it seemed like a good idea at the time…’
But not any more! A wave of shame drenched her with fresh horror. Never had she been more aware of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Henry shook his head and growled. ‘I thought you were supposed to be smart, but that was about the dumbest thing I’ve ever seen.’
One thing was for sure, Grace promised herself silently: Henry wouldn’t see anything like that ever again. Jumping up, she grabbed her carryall and offered him a mumbled, ‘I won’t hang around,’ before blinking back embarrassed tears, hurrying past him and out of the room.
But as she left his flat Grace winced at the thought of a much more pressing concern than Henry’s fit of the sulks. Her big, bigger, biggest problem was so horrendous she wished she could take off on the next space shuttle! She’d gladly spend six months on a space station in the far reaches of the universe.
There was no way on earth she could face her new boss in the morning.
Please, please, please don’t let him recognise me.
When Mitch Wentworth stepped into her office next morning, Grace huddled over her computer and prayed as she had never prayed before.
She was prepared to repent in sackcloth and ashes. She would make a big donation to charity. She could do both. Anything. Just as long as her boss didn’t connect her with that humiliating moment in Henry’s doorway.
This morning, she’d taken great pains to look as different from the previous night’s pouting sexpot as she possibly could. But was it enough? Suddenly, with Mitch Wentworth’s expensive, hand-stitched shoes firmly planted in the middle of her office, Grace doubted the ability of hair gel and a primly fashioned bun to effectively change her appearance. And how helpful were the heavily framed glasses she’d borrowed from her neighbour? Her only reassurance was that last night Mitch had glimpsed her very briefly. And surely the shapeless, dull brown dress disguised her body?
What had actually been said at Henry’s front door was all an embarrassing blur, but with a hefty dollop of luck Mitch Wentworth would have no idea she was remotely connected to Henry Aspinall—or the trollop who’d greeted him last night.
Nevertheless, as he moved towards her, her shoulders lifted and squared as if she was braced to take a blow.
‘Good morning. I presume I have the pleasure of meeting Ms Robbins?’ His dark eyes assessed her carefully, but they showed no sign of recognition.
Yes! Relief flowed and swirled through Grace, but she still couldn’t dredge up a smile as she replied, ‘Good morning, Mr Wentworth.’ She stood and held out her hand to greet him formally, and the room buzzed with her tension. His handshake was predictably strong and firm.
My, he was tall! And broad-shouldered. She’d been prepared for the well-defined bone structure, the thick dark hair and the eyes designed purely for seduction, and last night she’d realised he was a big man. But now, in her small office, he took up far too much space. There was no escaping his spectacular style of masculinity: the kind of looks she’d learned to mistrust instinctively.
‘You come highly recommended. George Hervey gave a glowing report.’
She smiled faintly.
Mitch did not smile back. ‘But, of course, that’s all over now. With me, you will have to prove yourself.’
Prove myself?
Despite her nervousness, a surge of defiance heated Grace’s cheeks. Here we go! The bloodthirsty pirate takes the helm! Her chin lifted automatically, but, just in time, she remembered to mask her stormy reaction by lowering her gaze. Her green eyes had a bad habit of attracting unwanted attention when her dander was up. And already she could feel her hackles rising.
Mitch
