said, piling on the guilt. ‘I’d be reneging on my duty as a responsible citizen if I let you get behind the wheel again.’
She nibbled her lower lip. Why did the thought of the ruthlessly ambitious Blake MacLeod as a virtuous citizen set alarm bells ringing in the back of her mind?
‘Does this mean that you’ve finally decided that I’m not a modern-day Mata Hari?’ she ventured.
He gave her a measuring look. ‘I suppose that depends on what you intend doing with the information you’ve unexpectedly acquired.’
‘Nothing!’ she was quick to assure him. ‘It’s of no matter to me if you want to acquire a dozen shipping companies—’ She broke off as his fierce black brows snapped together. ‘What?’
‘I find that rather hard to believe,’ he said, ‘considering that one of Maitlands’ leading clients is the preferred bidder for TranStar Shipping—the white knight elected to fight off big bad PresCorp’s attempts to acquire a majority shareholding.’
‘Is it?’ She spread her fingers dismissively wide. ‘I don’t have anything to do with the acquisitions side of the business; I’m just a technician. Is that why you jumped to the ridiculous conclusion I was some sort of spy? Well, you don’t have to worry about it, truly—because I really wasn’t interested.’ She pinned him with a hopeful look. ‘Actually, my memory is pretty hazy on everything that happened last night.’
‘But what you do recall of strategic value you’ll no doubt feel honour bound to pass on to your employers.’
She frowned at his sardonic response. ‘Not when the information was obtained unethically.’
There was a moment of stunned silence.
‘You can’t be that naive,’ he said, in a voice so dry that it crackled.
She was stung by his obvious incredulity. ‘It’s not naive to have principles.’ The tilt of her freckled nose indicated her haughty displeasure. ‘Maybe if you were more trusting of people you might find yourself pleasantly surprised by the rest of humanity—’
‘Like you were, you mean, when you stumbled in on your boyfriend and his busty blonde cavorting amongst the bubbles?’
She took the jab with a sharp intake of breath. ‘It must be really depressing to be so cynical and pessimistic,’ she counter-punched weakly.
‘On the upside, I’m rarely disappointed in my expectations,’ he parried. ‘Shall I help myself to a cup of coffee while I’m waiting for you to change? Or do you intend to cut off your nose to spite your face and spurn my offer of a ride?’
He seemed to expect it, so she took perverse pleasure in disappointing his jaded expectations. ‘Give me ten minutes.’
His mouth twisted downward as he backed towards the door. ‘Don’t make promises you can’t keep. Women aren’t programmed for a quick turn-around.’
Fifteen minutes later she stalked out of her room, bracing herself for a snide remark, and surprised Blake MacLeod delving in the laundry basket which sat on the washing machine at the far end of the kitchen.
‘What on earth do you think you’re doing?’ she screeched, visions of perversion dancing in her head.
‘Folding your clean laundry.’
She snatched the lacy black 36D quarter-cup bra out of his fingers and threw it back into the overflowing basket. ‘That’s not mine; it’s all Kelly’s—my laundry is over there!’ She pointed to the neatly folded pile of fragrant clothes sitting on the fold-down ironing board. To her horror, lying on top was a pair of white cotton panties figured with cartoon rabbits, a pathetic contrast to Kelly’s sexy wisps of lace.
‘I see…’ His voice was smoky with speculation as he turned to survey her boyish figure in the narrow buff skirt and creased short-sleeved white cotton shirt that she had hurriedly snatched out of her wardrobe.
‘What do you see?’ She regretted the snappish words the instant they were out of her mouth. She didn’t need to be told she looked less than her best. She tightened her clammy grip on her laptop and hitched on the strap of her shoulder bag, trying to summon the stamina she would need to get through the rest of the day.
‘I see that you’re ready to go,’ he said with an evasiveness that was more annoying than any critical remark. ‘Are these your keys?’
Without waiting for an answer, he scooped them up from the bench where she had tossed them and smoothly shepherded her from the flat, locking the deadbolt and escorting her out into the dazzling sunshine. Nora’s headache instantly flared as the hot needles of light stabbed into her brain and she submitted meekly to the firm hand in the small of her back which propelled her towards a long, sleek, low, wine-red coupé with tinted windows parked against the kerb. Eyes watering, she groped blindly in her shoulder bag for her dark glasses, muttering under her breath as they eluded her grasp.
He opened the passenger door of the car and she sank gratefully into the inviting dimness, still rummaging in her open bag.
‘Here, let me put that in the boot for you and give you more leg-room,’ he said, removing her laptop from her feet and suiting his action to his words.
He dipped his head as he returned to her open door. ‘What’s the matter?’
‘I can’t find my sunglasses,’ she whimpered.
‘I’m not surprised, given the quantity of clutter you seem to cart around with you,’ came the unsympathetic answer.
She gritted her teeth as she tried to think up a suitably scathing reply, only to be cut off by his impatient curse as he straightened, his hand tightening around her keys.
‘Damn! I must’ve left my cell-phone on your table. Wait here—I’ll be right back.’
‘See if you can find my sunglasses, too,’ she just had time to fling at him before the car door was closed firmly in her face and he strode back towards the flat with an energy that made her feel doubly exhausted. She slumped back in the butter-soft leather seat and discovered that her fingers were resting on the elusive eyewear. She debated calling after him, but couldn’t work up the energy to reopen the door. Serve him right if he had to waste some more of his precious time on a fruitless search. Nora slid the sunglasses out of her bag and on to her nose. She clipped on her seatbelt and lay back in the soothing dimness, waiting for the painkillers she had swallowed to kick in.
She closed her eyes, the better to brood on the iniquities of men in general and one or two in particular, and only opened them again when she felt a vibrating thud from the rear of the car. She discovered she had slumped sideways in her seat and hurriedly sat upright as Blake MacLeod walked around from the back of the vehicle. He had taken off his jacket and tie and must have stowed them in the boot. She wondered why he had bothered for such a short trip.
He slid in behind the steering wheel. With the collar of his navy shirt unbuttoned he looked as comfortable as she felt grotty.
‘What took you so long?’ she needled.
He fastened his seatbelt and started the car, ignoring the provocation. ‘I see you found your sunglasses,’ he commented over the signature rumble of a V-8 engine.
