He’d liked the sound of his name on her lips.
She pressed her hands tightly together in front of her and stared down at them. ‘Nevertheless, I think it’s important to maintain professional boundaries.’
His chest clenched tight. When had he become so self-absorbed? For the last two years he’d sought refuge in an impersonal distance in both his professional and personal life. He thought his coolness had created a corresponding coolness in all those around him, but it was obvious that, like him, Ms Gilmour sought detachment.
And he had no right to intrude further into her life than he already had, to ask anything more of her beyond the employer-employee relationship. Except...
Baby Jemima demanded more from both of them and it appeared they were both more than willing to unstintingly give the baby whatever she needed.
He just had to make sure that whatever price was paid, it wasn’t too high for the woman standing in front of him.
‘Several years ago I made the very grave mistake of mixing business with pleasure.’ She stared at her hands as if they held the key to the universe. ‘I don’t mean to ever make that same mistake again.’
He pondered her words. From memory she was twenty-five. Several years ago she’d have been very young. She’d called it a grave mistake. His hands clenched into fists. Someone had taken advantage of her innocence and had hurt her badly. If he ever got hold of the man who’d done that he’d—
‘Look, I’m not saying that’s what I think is going to happen in our situation.’
She stared at his fists, her eyes going wide and worried. He unclenched his hands immediately. ‘Of course not. I never thought for a moment that’s what you were suggesting. I was just thinking of what I’d like to do to the man who hurt you.’
‘Oh.’
She shot him a smile—so sweet and lovely, it melted through him like treacle melting into the honeycomb of a hot crumpet, softening all of the stony places inside of him.
It took all of his concentration to keep his breathing even. He had to be careful around this woman. Once you opened yourself up to a baby, other walls were in danger of coming down. He had to keep them standing firm—for all their sakes. He was better than his parents, and he had no intention of blurring the line between business and pleasure himself.
‘I think we can both agree,’ he started carefully, ‘that this current surprising situation that we find ourselves in is not exactly a professional one.’
‘No, not precisely professional,’ she agreed.
Her eyes remained trained on him, waiting.
‘But this,’ he gestured to the baby, ‘is only a temporary interruption from our usual professional routine. When we get Jemima’s situation resolved things will go back to how they were.’
She pursed her lips and then pointed to herself. ‘Ms Gilmour.’ And then pointed to him. ‘Mr Tyrell.’
‘Exactly.’
‘But in the meantime you’re suggesting...?’
‘That perhaps, while we’re not in the office, we can unbend enough to call each other by our first names.’
Her nose wrinkled.
Someone had really done a number on her, hadn’t they?
But as he continued to survey her, it occurred to him that it wasn’t him she didn’t trust, it was herself. Something primal tried to claw its way to the fore—something that wanted to force the issue, force her to see him as a man rather than her boss, force her to take a risk.
He stiffened and beat it back down. He and his office manager were not going to dance that particular dance, regardless of how attractive or surprisingly intriguing he found her.
He was not opening himself up to betrayal again. Ever.
He’d keep his focus professional and his libido under wraps. He’d learned an important lesson with Rhoda, and it was one he had no intention of ever forgetting. He fought a sudden exhaustion. He didn’t have the heart—the energy—to venture down that path again. The part of him that had once welcomed the idea of love and family had been destroyed.
His office manager might be the complete opposite to Rhoda. But if she wasn’t she’d be no good for him. If she were, he’d be no good for her. Either way someone would get hurt. He shook his head. Not going to happen.
Her need for distance and reserve should comfort him, but the thought of calling her Ms Gilmour in these circumstances rankled. ‘You’re not my office manager in this situation, you’re...’
He watched the bob of her throat as she swallowed. ‘I’m...?’
‘Jemima’s advocate, her friend...her Auntie Liz.’
She frowned and crossed her arms. ‘You are not calling me Auntie Liz.’
She looked so suddenly schoolmarmish he had to choke back a laugh. ‘How about I just call you Eliza?’
She huffed out a long breath, her lips pursed. She glanced away, finally giving a shrug before meeting his gaze once again, her expression strangely resigned. ‘Fine. And I’ll call you Seb.’
No one had ever shortened his name—not even at school. He liked it. At least...he liked it coming from her lips.
His collar tightened about his throat and he had to resist the urge to run his finger beneath it. He couldn’t let this become too cosy. First names didn’t mean they had to become too familiar with each other. It wouldn’t do. He and Eliza were not going to cross any other boundaries.
She pointed a finger at him. ‘But this is only temporary. When we’re back in our respective offices we’re reverting to Mr Tyrell and Ms Gilmour...and all of this will feel as if it happened to somebody else.’
‘Absolutely.’ This was only a momentary loosening of clearly defined roles that would be assumed again as soon as this adventure was over. But would it be as easy to slip back into their old roles of Ms Gilmour and Mr Tyrell—boss and secretary—as they hoped it would be?
He shoved his shoulders back. He had to make sure it was. End of story.
* * *
‘You did this for three nights on your own?’ Sebastian looked at his office manager with a new-found respect. Before tonight he hadn’t known that a baby’s crying could grind you down to your soul so quickly. He hadn’t known that once it started it refused to release you.
He hadn’t known it could be so relentless!
‘Don’t look at me as if I’m some kind of hero.’ She didn’t even look up from rocking the baby. ‘It was a case of needs must and nothing more.’
From ten o’clock last night through to now—almost two-thirty in the morning—Jemima had slept in odd twenty-to thirty-minute increments, only to wake again screaming. It seemed he couldn’t do any damn thing right, at least not according to Jemima. He’d
