Why did I say that? she groaned inwardly. Anyone would think I want to get the sack! A mental picture of all the bills she needed to pay before the end of the month flashed before her eyes. Be cool, professional, she told herself; he’s not worth the energy of losing your temper.
‘So possibly we should clear the air?’ he continued, as if her acid observation had remained where it ought to—in the privacy of her mind.
Rachel discovered resentfully that an eloquent quirk of one dark brow could make her feel childish and petulant. ‘I’m a secretary; I don’t require explanations, just instructions.’ Pragmatism lost out to the sort of antipathy that made her skin sprout invisible thorns.
‘Fine,’ he said, some of the lazy tolerance evaporating from his deep voice. ‘Instruction one, sit down!’ He grasped the back of one pale wooden Italian-designed chair and dragged it across the carpet.
‘How dare you speak to me like that?’ she gasped.
‘Please,’ he said, with a smile that made her realise the guise she’d last seen him in had only revealed a danger that was already in the man—disguised now by perfect tailoring and a cultured air, but it was there all the same…bone-deep. ‘That’s better,’ he approved as she reluctantly sat down in the chair he’d indicated.
His fingers brushed against the back of her neck as he released his grip on the chair and she tried not to react. She prayed the sensation that crawled over her skin was revulsion—anything else she couldn’t cope with!
‘Why are you angry?’
She automatically twisted her head to look at him—was he being serious? ‘I’m not.’
‘Surprise,’ he continued as though she hadn’t spoken, ‘amazement, curiosity… I experienced those when you walked through the door. I can identify with the gobsmacked state—’
‘You didn’t look very gobsmacked to me.’
‘I hide my emotions behind a suave exterior,’ he said blandly.
‘Are you laughing at me?’ This very definite suspicion only increased her deep sense of misuse.
‘Why the anger, Miss Rachel French? And don’t bother denying it; your eyes have been flashing fire since you first saw me.’
To hell with office politics—she was going to tell him what she thought of him: walking into her life and disappearing just as abruptly, leaving a vague sense of dissatisfaction and restlessness in his wake…
‘I hate frauds.’ To think he’d infiltrated her thoughts enough to make her wonder, at the most unexpected moments, what he was doing. Now it turned out his lifestyle was indeed far removed from her own, but not in the direction she’d imagined! She doubted he wanted rescuing from his pampered, privileged existence.
‘I didn’t lie precisely.’ A quick mental review confirmed this was correct. His ethics weren’t so irreproachable that he wouldn’t have bent the truth a little if required.
‘Steven…?’
‘That was Charlie’s idea.’
‘Why would my daughter make up your name?’ she said scornfully.
‘It had something to do with claiming me as her long-lost brother. I took to it right off; there’s something solid and dependable about a Steven. Admittedly I’m not Steven, but I’m still the man who rescued your daughter—despite her opposition, I might add.’
He had to remind her, didn’t he? Rachel chewed her full lower lip distractedly; she couldn’t deny the truth of his observation—at least the bit she could follow. The part about brothers made no sense at all.
‘You were laughing at me—us. I’m sure you’ll dine out for the next month on the story: “what happened when I went slumming”. I felt sorry for you!’ She couldn’t have sounded shrill if she’d tried but indignation did make her rather deep, husky voice rise an octave.
‘Pity is a very negative emotion,’ he reminded her. ‘Sorry, photographic memory. Only pity’s not all you felt.’ The way his dark eyes moved over her face alarmed her almost as much as the soft accusation. To her relief he didn’t pursue it. ‘I find it curious that you approved of me more when you thought I was one of the great unwashed. An unforgivable sin, I know, to turn out to be neither a paid-up member of the underworld nor a thug with a heart of gold. Has it occurred to you that your craving for a bit of…how can I put this delicately?…rough—’ an inarticulate squeak of outrage escaped Rachel’s pale lips and he reacted as if she’d uttered soothing words of encouragement ‘—could be a reaction against the sort of man you date? You’re looking for someone outrageous and slightly dangerous.’