a golden opportunity to get on her feet financially, and if she had to put up with this unpleasant, unreasonable male chauvinist pig as the cloud on which the silver lining was placed, then so be it.
But surely he didn’t expect to choose her clothes and her hairstyle, did he? Even the reputable Mrs Havers couldn’t have tolerated that, surely? She sat back in the chair with a puzzled little sigh. She didn’t understand a thing about this man and, worse still, she didn’t under-stand how he could get under her skin so badly. She had worked for more than a few awkward types in the last three years, but the most she had felt in the past was minor irritation accompanied occasionally by silent contempt for their crassness. But Wolf Strade…He was different. Totally different. And she had a good few months to get through yet. Could she do it? She frowned. Of course.
She thought of Hannah’s bright little face as they had chatted about a Pretty Pony beanbag to match the rest of her proposed new bedroom, and sighed resignedly. But it wasn’t going to be easy. She had the feeling Wolf Strade didn’t like her much, even if he appreciated her attributes as a secretary. Still—she glared across at the closed door as a tiny flame of anger reignited—he shouldn’t have given her the job, should he? She was blowed if she was going to be bullied into altering either her manner or her appearance to suit that pompous swine.
Nevertheless, the next morning she found herself fixing her long hair into a loose knot on the back of her head even as she told herself it was simply because it was less trouble that way. Wolf made no comment when she knocked and opened the door of his office to announce her arrival, wondering as she did so if he lived at the office. He was always around when she left at night and immersed in work when she arrived. She had been right. He was a machine.
‘Could you work on these tapes before you do anything else?’ he commanded abruptly as he handed her two audio-tapes from his desk. ‘It’s a report involving some complex financial data and I want it done immediately. And make sure you get the numbers right,’ he added tersely.
‘Of course, Mr Strade.’ The tone and the name were a cold rebuke, and he raised his head abruptly to meet the dark, angry gleam in her eyes.
They stared at each other for a good thirty seconds before he surprised her utterly by leaning back in his chair and running his hand across his eyes with a weary gesture that spoke of utter exhaustion. ‘I’m sorry, I sounded very rude.’ The icy blue eyes were a little dazed, she realised suddenly, almost as though he hadn’t slept. ‘I’ve been here all night working on this damn mess. Why I employ an accounts department and do the work myself, I’ll never know…’
‘You’ve been here all night?’ She saw the shirt was the same one he had worn the day before, but definitely the worse for wear, and the black stubble on his square chin made her heart give a solid little kick against her breasts before she could control it.
‘Crazy, eh?’ His smile was very boyish and rueful, and again her heart jerked uncomfortably. ‘The graveyards are full of guys like me who can’t let go of a problem until they’ve beaten it.’
‘Or it beats them,’ she added quietly.
‘Yeah, maybe.’ He settled back in the big black leather chair, stretching his hands above his head in a way that brought the muscled wall of his chest into stark prominence against the blue silk of his shirt. Some time during the night he had undone his tie and opened the first few buttons of his shirt, and now the sight of the dark, rough body-hair that covered his chest made her hands damp and her throat dry. What is the matter with me? she asked herself in disbelief. This wasn’t sexual attraction, was it? She didn’t fancy Wolf Strade of all people…did she? ‘How about a strong cup of coffee, and then maybe I’ll grab a couple of hours’ sleep on the couch before the meeting at eleven?’
‘Weak tea would be better if you’re going to sleep,’ she answered automatically as her gaze flicked to the large studio couch in a shadowed corner of the huge room. She didn’t want to be here when he lay down on that thing. She didn’t even try to analyse why.
‘I said coffee.’ The cold authority was back in his voice but she didn’t mind; that other Wolf was too dangerous to contemplate. ‘And strong,’ he added warningly.
‘Coming up.’
Thankfully he was still sitting in the chair when she returned with the coffee a few minutes later, and she hurried out of the room after depositing the cup in front of him without speaking, her cheeks flushed.
At a quarter to eleven she was just contemplating gathering every scrap of courage she possessed and venturing into his office to wake him, when the connecting door opened and he stood framed in the doorway, blinking a little in the harsh artificial light overhead. ‘If anyone arrives early, sit them down out here until I buzz,’ he said abruptly, his eyes red-rimmed. ‘I’m just going for a wash and brush-up.’
‘Where?’ she squeaked nervously, having visions of her room filled to overflowing with irate managers as they waited and waited.
‘The washroom next door.’ He glanced at her in surprise. ‘Didn’t you know it was there for your use too? I keep a change of clothes in there for emergencies— you can do the same if you wish.’
‘I don’t think that will be necessary,’ she said stiffly, ‘and how could I know it was there if you didn’t see fit to tell me?’
‘By using your initiative?’he suggested coolly.
‘My initiative?’ All thoughts of Hannah’s bedroom faded into insignificance. ‘In the three days since I’ve worked for you I haven’t had time to breathe, let alone go exploring this block of concrete.’ She glared at him angrily. ‘It’s got nothing at all to do with initiative, Mr Strade.’
‘I thought blondes were supposed to be cool and unemotional,’ he said drily, studying her angry face with a superior frown. ‘Are you like this with your husband?’
‘Mr Strade, I——’ She stopped abruptly as hot colour flooded her pale, creamy skin in a hectic flush. She couldn’t ever remember having a cross word with Matthew. Life had been a flat, tranquil sea with him, with the days stretching out before them, calm and untroubled. In fact, until she had met Wolf Strade, she could have sworn on oath that she had the mildest of tempers.
‘And the name’s Wolf.’ His voice disappeared as he stepped through the doorway, and as she sank back in her seat she was aware of feeling slightly disloyal to Matthew’s memory without understanding why. She stared at her wedding-ring for a long painful moment and then turned resolutely to the word processor and began to work. These fluttery feelings of excitement and agitation were a direct result of her nerves coping with the unusual sensations of anger and irritation, that was all. That was all. And in view of the self-opinionated, downright arbitrary despot she had been thrust into contact with, it wasn’t surprising either. She had never met anyone, male or female, who could make her so mad so quickly by doing so little. He was so cold, so self-contained. Didn’t anything touch him?
At five to eleven he reappeared in the doorway restored to his usual immaculate self, black hair slicked back, face shaven and a fresh grey silk shirt replacing the blue of the day before. He looked gorgeous. She held his glance with a cold composure that was the best piece of acting she had ever done, and listened as he gave her a list of tiles he needed for the meeting. As she deposited them on his desk two minutes later she caught a whiff of his aftershave and despised herself for the way her stomach clenched in an involuntary response, but she was honest enough to admit there wasn’t a thing she could do about it. For some strange reason her body was determined to be aroused by a man she both disliked and disapproved
