Bride On Demand. Kay Thorpe
Чтение книги онлайн.
Читать онлайн книгу Bride On Demand - Kay Thorpe страница 4
She lifted her chin, guessing what was coming. ‘Right.’
‘And you’re his secretary—standing in for his wife who couldn’t make it.’
‘Right again.’
‘So why the devil didn’t you tell me that in the first place!’
‘What difference would it have made?’ she asked. ‘Office affairs aren’t exactly unheard of!’
He regarded her long and hard, ignoring the innuendo. ‘Are you having an affair with him?’
That’s my affair, she hovered on the verge of retorting, biting it back on the reminder that it was Hugh’s life she was messing with not just her own. ‘No,’ she admitted. ‘I work for him, and occasionally socialise with him when Rosalyn is out of town—with her approval—but that’s as far as it goes. He’s a good friend, and I did him a thorough disservice.’
‘No more than I did to the two of you.’ Liam paused, expression difficult to decipher. ‘I’d have expected you to be married with a family by now. That seemed to be your main ambition at twenty-two.’
Regan kept a steady tone with difficulty. ‘I realised there was more to life.’
‘And this is it?’ he said with another disparaging glance around the room. ‘You had it in you to do a whole lot better.’
‘Compared with your lifestyle, I dare say this stinks,’ she shot back, unable to maintain the composure, ‘but it suits me!’ Limbs shaky, she indicated the door. ‘Just go, will you?’
‘Longmans pay good rates,’ he said as if she hadn’t spoken. ‘You must be earning enough to afford something a bit more up-market than a second-floor bedsitter—especially when you’ve only yourself to think about. I could put you on to a reliable agency if it’s just a case of finding the right place.’
‘I don’t need any help! Not from you, or anyone!’ Regan was past caring about staying cool. Face flushed, eyes stormy, she yanked open the door. ‘Get lost, Liam!’
‘Now, that,’ he remarked almost conversationally, ‘is definitely more like the girl I once knew.’
‘The naive little thing you pulled out of the ranks to entertain you for a few weeks?’ Regan gave a brittle laugh. ‘She wouldn’t have said boo to a goose!’
‘Not the way I remember it.’ Liam’s voice had softened, a smile touching his lips. ‘The night I came back to the office to find you trying out my desk for size, you were far from being cowed.’
‘On the premise that I might as well be hanged for a sheep as for a lamb,’ she said, unable to stifle a reminiscent little smile of her own at the memory. ‘I expected to be fired on the spot for daring to infiltrate the hallowed upper-floor premises!’
‘Instead of which, you got yourself thoroughly kissed.’
Her smile vanished. ‘And the rest! As I said before, I was naive as they come.’
‘Irresistible,’ Liam said softly. ‘I’m not going to try apologising for the way I treated you. It’s too late for that. It isn’t too late to try making amends, though. I could help you get a job with better prospects for a start.’
Regan drew in a harsh breath. ‘I’m perfectly happy with the one I have, thanks! Are you going to go, or do I have to call for help to throw you out?’
For all the impression the threat made on him, she might as well have saved her breath. ‘I’ll go when I’m good and ready,’ he said. ‘Right now I’d welcome a cup of coffee. Decaf, if you have it.’
Regan gazed at him in frustration, aware that she wasn’t going to be calling on anyone to do anything at this hour of the morning. She knew a sudden sense of déjà vu as he shed his jacket and tossed it carelessly over a chair arm, muscle and sinew contracting as memory flooded in once more.
He’d always worn silk next to the skin. Her fingers itched to slide the length of his arms, feeling the muscular structure beneath the smoothness; to drift across the breadth of his shoulders and loosen his tie before beginning work on the buttons prohibiting contact with the warm male body beneath. She’d delighted in giving him pleasure—delighted in every aspect of their lovemaking.
She’d even believed him when he’d murmured words of love, she recalled cynically, bringing herself down to earth again with a thud. The shock when he’d told her he was getting married had been bad enough, the realisation that she was pregnant almost too much to bear. There had been a moment or two in the beginning, she had to admit, when she had contemplated abortion, but she could never have brought herself to go through with it.
‘Coffee?’ Liam repeated when she made no move. ‘We still have a lot to talk about.’
Regan couldn’t imagine what else there was to say, but it was obvious that he wasn’t going to be shifted. Her biggest fear was that Jamie would waken at the sound of voices and get out of bed to investigate. At six, he was already protective of her, regarding any man who came to the flat with suspicion. Not that there had been any for some time now. Word got around.
She closed the door quietly, belting the cotton wrap more firmly about her waist as she made for the kitchen. The room was warm enough without turning on the gas fire because it gathered rising heat from the lower regions. Not that she gave a damn whether Liam found it comfortable or not.
He followed her, standing in the doorway while she put the kettle on the boil and set a tray. The very feel of his eyes on her back made her all fingers and thumbs.
‘Why don’t you go and sit down?’ she exclaimed at length. ‘I’ll bring it through when it’s ready.’
‘It’s boiling now,’ he pointed out. ‘I’ll carry it through for you. Black for me, please.’
I know, she almost said, but that would have been too much of a give-away. ‘Sugar?’ she asked with deliberation.
‘None, thanks.’
He came all the way in to get the tray, his arm brushing hers in the confined space. She caught a faint whiff of aftershave—different from the one he had used when they’d been together, but emotive all the same. The tremor that ran the length of her spine left her weak at more than the knees. It took everything she had to keep her face from reflecting the turmoil going on inside her as she met his gaze.
‘Always the gentleman,’ she mocked.
‘If only on the surface,’ he responded without rancour. He ran his eyes over the tumbled auburn hair, softly lit by the low-wattage overhead bulb, the captivating lines of her face. ‘You’re still the only female I’ve ever known who looks as good minus the make-up as with it.’
‘Including your wife?’ she asked silkily, then shook her head in self-disgust. ‘Forget I said that.’
‘It’s forgotten.’ He indicated the door. ‘Lead on.’
She did so, sinking into one of the two small armchairs as