her horror, she realised that he had been speaking to her, and she hadn’t heard a word of it. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she babbled quickly. ‘I was miles away.’
‘Hmm. Well, don’t daydream on my time.’
‘I won’t.’ Well, if he had noticed her gazing at him like a soppy puppy, at least he had the decency not to draw attention to it.
He rose to his feet, and she did the same, a sudden flare of excitement running through her involuntarily which made her cheeks grow hot as she noticed that he was subjecting her to a similar kind of scrutiny—the only difference being that he didn’t look in the least bit puppylike. His eyes were narrowed as they swept over her, his face indifferent.
‘Wear something a little more suitable tomorrow, will you?’ he said shortly.
Sam stared at him with what she considered righteous indignation, hoping that it might rid her of this crazy excitement. ‘I beg your pardon?’
‘You heard. I’d like you dressed in something more substantial tomorrow.’
She glared at him. She had dressed with care for her first day. Nothing over the top, but she had thought it perfect—a fine-knit dark-caramel-coloured sweater which went well with the dark mahogany of her bobbed hair, slim-fitting black leggings, and short black ankle boots. ‘What’s wrong with what I’ve got on?’
He smiled, but not with his eyes. ‘What are you wearing underneath your sweater?’
‘Wh-at?’
He shrugged. ‘You wanted to know what was wrong with your attire, and I’m about to tell you. It happens to be a perfectly legitimate question.’
And a perfectly redundant one, she thought with mortification as she realised just what he meant, because her nipples were pushing hard and painfully through her flimsy bra against the thin material of her sweater, as visible as if she were freezing cold. Only here, in his studio, she wasn’t the slightest bit cold, which left only one other and highly disturbing reason for their tingling tightness.
Their eyes met in silent acknowledgement of her unwitting response to him, hers smouldering with resentment at this unwelcome power he wielded, his coolly indifferent, as though such a reaction was par for the course, and certainly nothing to get excited about.
This kind of thing just doesn’t happen to me, Sam thought desperately, as the colour flared in her cheeks, feeling more vulnerable than she’d done for years, knowing that her face was on the verge of crumpling; and perhaps he saw it, for he made a small terse exclamation of something that sounded like surprise underneath his breath.
‘You know,’ he mocked softly, ‘for a woman who kicks up a storm with strange men in restaurants that’s a pretty good imitation of a little maidenly embarrassment.’
He can think what he likes, she thought fiercely, her confusion vanishing as anger took over. ‘You still haven’t told me why what I’m wearing isn’t suitable.’
He sighed, clearly bored with the conversation. ‘It’s simply that I do a lot more location work than Robin. You’ll be outside a lot more. Those clothes are fine, but not for clambering up ladders and striding across muddy fields. So tomorrow, wear something else. Denim is the most practical. Thick sweaters. Oh, and—’ his eyes skimmed her breasts with lazy amusement ‘—thermal vests might be a good idea, too.’
Why wouldn’t he let up? Did he enjoy baiting all women like this? She couldn’t imagine Gita putting up with such taunts, and in that instant she decided to try her own form of retaliation.
‘I forgot to tell you that Robin said to send his regards. He was saying that he and . . . Gita haven’t seen you for a long time. Not since before you went to America, I believe?’ she asked with innocent interest.
The effect was instant, and his reaction both gratified and sickened her as she saw his mouth tighten into an aggressively arrogant line, a brief and indeterminable light flaring before his eyes slit into dull shards. And, interestingly, a pulse started to throb at the base of his throat. It seemed that, just as hers had done, his body too was now betraying him. He was suppressing it, but there was more emotion written on that harshly handsome face than she’d seen there before. And all inspired by Gita’s name. He’s still in love with her, she thought flatly. And he’s back. No wonder Robin was looking so uneasy.
The dark blue eyes bored into her like steel drills. ‘That’s really nothing to do with you, is it?’ he said in a cutting voice so designed to put her in her place that she flinched. He glanced pointedly at the clock on the wall. ‘Do you think if we’ve dispensed with all the social niceties you could actually get down to doing some work? Or did Robin pay you to just stand around looking decorative?’
What was she doing? Answering him back, stirring up trouble—all designed to put his back up, and why? Just because she was angry with herself for reacting to him so powerfully? Bad start, Sam.
She decided to try to make amends. ‘What would you like me to do, Declan?’
Declan looked as if he could quite happily have strangled her before firing her on the spot, thought Sam unhappily, though she doubted whether he’d be so lacking in circumspection as to leave himself in the lurch without a replacement.
‘We’ve got a shoot this afternoon. You can start by tidying the dark-room and replenishing the solutions. After that you can check the lights and load up my 34mm and 2 and 1/4 sq cameras. And you’d better see whether we need any new backdrops—the rep’s coming this afternoon. And when you’ve done all that you can make yourself some coffee. I’ll be out for most of the morning—I want to check out a location. After that I’m having lunch with the head of an ad agency. I’ll be back after three, in time for the shoot. There’s a whole stack of films in the dark-room which need developing and printing. Any problems—and there shouldn’t be—just ask Michael. Oh, and don’t bother stopping for lunch until you’ve done everything I’ve asked for.’ His face indicated that he thought this highly unlikely, and, with nothing more than a brief nod which bore no courtesy whatsoever, his long-legged frame swung across the studio, and out.
YES, sir, thought Sam, as she watched Declan slam the door behind him, the pleasant smile fixed to her lips disguising her resentment at the way he had barked out his instructions. Drudge is my middle name.
But she set about the tasks he’d set her like a dervish, determined to redeem herself in his eyes.
Michael arrived a couple of minutes later, stuck his head round the studio door and gave Sam a wide grin. At least here’s someone who’s friendly, she thought, and gave him an answering smile.
He went straight away into his office at the front of the building, where he sat down at the computer and started tapping away, in between what seemed to Sam like the first of a hundred phone calls.
But although Sam worked hard, she scarcely seemed to notice how the time flew by; her thoughts were full of Declan, and the way she seemed to be reacting to him. It was as though all the feelings which she had put on ice as an eighteen-year-old after Bob’s sickening betrayal had come to invade her years later, only the strength of those feelings seemed to be tangibly and shockingly stronger. But she had loved Bob, had been engaged to marry him—and yet she hadn’t experienced anything
