someone made an unwanted pass at you?’ Ryan said bluntly. ‘You can tell me and I’ll make damn sure that it never happens again.’
‘Why do you think that I would need help in sorting out something like that?’ she asked coolly. ‘Do you think that I’m such a fool that I wouldn’t know how to take care of myself if some guy decided to make a pass at me?’
‘Did I say that?’
‘You implied it.’
‘Other women,’ Ryan said, his big body tensing, ‘are probably just a bit more experienced when it comes to men. You … I may be mistaken, but you strike me as an innocent.’
Jamie stared at him. She distantly wondered how they had reached this point in the conversation. How many wrong turnings did it take to get from discussing a software report to her sex life—or lack of it?
‘I think it’s time I head home now. I’ll make sure that I’m in on time tomorrow.’ She began moving towards the door. She was only aware of him shifting his stance when she felt the hot weight of his fingers curled around her wrist.
‘You were upset. Can you blame me for wanting to know why?’ He gave a little jerk and pulled her towards him.
‘Yes, I can!’ Her mouth was dry and she knew that she was flushed. In truth, she felt as though her body was on fire.
‘I’m your boss. You work for me, and as such you’re my responsibility.’ His eyes drifted down to her full mouth and then lower, to the starched white shirt, the neat, tailored jacket. He was aware of her breasts heaving.
‘I am my own responsibility,’ Jamie said through tight lips. ‘I’m sorry I brought my stress to work. It won’t happen again and, for your information, it has nothing to do with anything or anyone in this office. No one’s been saying anything to me and no one’s made a pass at me. I haven’t had to defend myself but I’m just going to say this for the record—if someone had done something that I found offensive, then I would be more than capable of looking out for myself. I don’t need you to step in and defend me.’
‘Most women appreciate a man jumping to their defence,’ Ryan murmured and just like that the atmosphere changed between them. He slackened his grip on her wrist but, instead of pulling away her hand, Jamie found herself staring up at him, losing herself in the depths of his eyes, mesmerised. She blinked and thankfully was brought back down to planet Earth.
‘I am not most women,’ she breathed. ‘And I’d really appreciate it if you could let me go.’
He did, stepping aside, watching as she stuck on her coat and wrapped the black scarf around her neck.
She couldn’t look at him. She just couldn’t. She didn’t understand what had happened back there but she was shaking inside. Not even the thought of Jessica could distract her from the moment. And she was horribly aware that he was staring at her, thinking that she was over-reacting, behaving like a mad woman when all he had done was to try and understand why she had been acting out of character.
She worked for him, and as her boss he had seen it as his civic duty to protect her from possible discomfort in her working environment, and what had she done in response? Acted like an outraged spinster in the company of a lech. She was mortified.
And then she had stared at him. Had he noticed? He noticed everything when it came to women and the last thing she needed was for him to think that she saw him as anything other than her boss, a man whom she respected but would always keep at arm’s length.
‘I’ve left those reports you asked me to do on your desk in descending order of priority,’ she said crisply. ‘Your meeting at ten tomorrow’s been cancelled. I’ve rearranged it and you should have the new date updated onto your phone. So …’
‘So, you can run along and nurse your stress in private,’ Ryan drawled.
‘I will.’
But she spent the entire journey back to her house dwelling on the tone of his voice as he had said that. She wondered what he was thinking of her. She didn’t want to, but she did.
The barrier she had imposed that clearly defined both their roles felt as though it was crumbling around her like a flimsy pack of cards, and all because he had happened to catch her in a vulnerable moment.
Thanks to Jessica.
It was pitch-black and bitterly cold as she walked from the Underground station to her house. London was in a grip of the worst winter weather for twelve years. Predictions were for a white Christmas, although it had yet to snow.
In her house, however, the lights were on. All of them. Jamie sighed and reflected that, on the bright side, at least Jessica had managed to locate the key in its secret hiding spot under the flower pot at the side of the house. At least she had made it down to London from Edinburgh safe and sound, even if she brought with her the promise of yet more stress.
CHAPTER TWO
‘BUT you don’t understand …’
Jamie took time out from loading the dishwasher to glance round at her sister, who was wandering in a sulky fashion around the kitchen, occasionally stopping to pick something up and inspect it with a mixture of boredom and disdain. Nothing in the house was to her taste; she had made that very clear within the first few minutes of Jamie pushing open the front door and walking in.
The place, she’d announced, was poky. ‘Couldn’t you have found something a little more comfortable? I mean, I know Mum didn’t leave us with much, but honestly, Jamie!’ The furnishings were drab. There was no healthy stuff in the fridge to eat and, ‘What on earth do you do for alcohol in this place? Don’t tell me that you while away your evenings with a cup of cocoa and a good book for company?’
Jamie was accustomed to the casual insults, although it had been so long since she had actually set eyes on her sister that she had forgotten just how grating they could be after a while.
Their father had died when Jamie was six and Jessica still a three-year-old toddler and they had been raised by their mother. Jamie had been a bookworm at school, always studying, always mentally moving forward, planning to go to university. She left Jessica to be the one who curled her hair and painted her fingernails and, even at the age of thirteen, develop the kind of wiles that would stand her in very good stead with the opposite sex.
Jamie had never made it to university. At barely nineteen she had found herself first caring for her mother—who, after a routine operation, had contracted MRSA and failed to recover—then, when Gloria had died, taking on the responsibility of looking after her sixteen-year-old sister. Without Jamie even noticing, Jessica had moved from a precocious pre-teen to a nightmare of a teenager. Where Jamie had inherited her father’s dark looks and chosen to retreat into the world of literature and books, Jessica had been blessed with their mother’s striking blonde looks. Far from retreating anywhere, she had shown a gritty determination to flaunt as much of herself as was humanly possible.
A still-grieving Jamie had suddenly been catapulted into the role of caretaker to a teenager who was almost completely out of control.
What else could she have done? Gloria had begged her to make sure to keep an eye on Jessica, to look after her, ‘Because you know what she can be like—she needs a firm hand …’
Jamie
