Caro watched the long, supple line of his back, the arrogant carriage of that black head. He moved with an almost animal grace, she thought, her mouth dry for some reason. He glanced back and at once she looked down at the desk again, breathing audibly—at least, to herself. He probably couldn't hear her. Or could he?
'See you later,' Gil said in an odd, soft voice, charged with something-!-amusement or threat, she couldn't be sure which.
She didn't answer and a second later the door closed. Caro leaned back in her chair, angry with herself for letting him get to her again. How on earth had it happened, this time? She had been angry with him one minute and breathless the next, and it was without rhyme or reason. She was going crazy; it was the only explanation.
He was always far too quick at noticing her reactions, too. That was even more worrying. You might almost think he could read her mind, and that made her shiver. Was he on her wavelength? Could he sense what was happening inside her? Or was it just that women were always reacting to him like that? The gossip columns certainly gave that impression; they seemed fascinated by Gil Martell's relationships with women, which were so much more interesting than his business dealings. She had been reading snippets about him ever since that fight in the nightclub. Past scandals had been resurrected, his old flames recalled—and there had been quite a few. If you could believe the gutter Press, Gil Martell was some sort of modern Don Juan.
Well, if he thought she was yet another female flipping over him, he was very wrong! Caro didn't know why she was having these odd symptoms whenever Gil was around, but it wasn't because she was falling for him, and if he imagined it was, she would soon put him right— and tell him a few home truths at the same time. The conceit of the man was maddening. Did he think he was irresistible? He probably did, for which her own sex was partly to blame. From all she had read about him in the papers, women had been chasing him since he left school, and not because he was wealthy. Gil Martell had sex appeal, and knew it, damn him.
She tried to get back to work, but she was so irritated, so uneasy, that she couldn't concentrate; she couldn't even sit still, she had to get up and walk about, mentally going over the various things she was dying to say to Gil Martell. After a few moments of disturbed prowling, she came to a standstill at the window, registering for the first time that the spring had finally begun, without her noticing until now. The sky was blue, the sun was shining, somewhere a bird was singing and the trees had broken into leaf. She struggled with the catch and opened the window to let in air which was warm on her skin, fragrant with the scent of flowers.
Perhaps that was why she was so edgy? she rather desperately thought, clutching at straws. It was spring making her restless, putting ideas into her head—but why ideas about a man she didn't even like? Perhaps it was simply that Gil Martell had happened to be the first man she'd seen while she was in this mood? Any man would have had the same effect. It just happened to have been Gil. And when her strange restlessness passed she would get over Gil Martell and wonder what she had ever seen in him.
Spring was deceptive and dangerous, she decided, taking her entranced gaze hurriedly away from the blue, seductive sky and glancing down into the grey, all too down to earth London street.
And that was how she saw them together, Gil and the Countess, on the pavement, talking, while a black London taxi waited, the driver leaning on his window and looking impatient. Caro couldn't see the woman's face, just her blonde hair and that slender figure in the white mink jacket and sleek black suit. Hadn't she been a model before she married the Earl of Jurby? She had that sort of body: skinny, flat, tall. Was that the sort of figure Gil Martell liked his women to have?
The Countess put a hand on Gil's arm and the scarlet of her nails gleamed like blood in the spring sunlight, then she stood on her toes to lean forward and kiss him on the mouth. Gil's hand came up to grip her shoulder.
Caro swung away from the window, her mouth tight. It looked as if the gossip had been accurate and they were lovers. There had been such intimacy in the way they had gazed into each other's eyes; that wasn't how friends looked at each other. The kiss had come as no surprise after that, but she couldn't stop seeing the other woman's red mouth, the way her hand had rested on his arm, the way he had caught hold of her.
Oh, yes, they had to be lovers. Not that it mattered a row of beans to her, of course. Why should it? Her own feelings about him were all moonshine, a spring fever which should soon be over. She marched back to her desk and sat down, trying to focus her mind on the accounts but waiting all the time to hear Gil return.
When he did come he let the door slam behind him and she jumped, her grey eyes flying wide open. He stared at her in surprise and she felt she had to explain her obvious shock.
'Oh... it's you...' she mumbled. 'Who did you think it was going to be?' Gil drily answered, going to his own desk and throwing himself into his chair with an impatient gesture. 'This is turning out to be one hell of a day, and all the complications start and end with women.'
'I'm sure you know how to deal with them!' muttered Caro, bending over her work and trying to look utterly engrossed in that. 'What?' he demanded irritably. 'What did you say?' 'Nothing,' she said, and wished it were true—she shouldn't talk to him at all, it would be much safer.
Gil Martell obviously agreed because he snarled, 'Good, then keep it that way! I'm in no mood to listen to comments from you.'
Caro shut her mouth firmly on what she wanted to shout back. She kept her eyes on the computer screen on which she was working and fed more facts and figures into it. A picture was already beginning to emerge, but it would be days before she could tell her father precisely what he needed to know.
Gil Martell made a series of brisk, matter-of-fact phone calls around the building, then left the office without a word. Caro was relieved to see him go. When he was there she couldn't stop being aware of him. It was infuriating. She had worked with men throughout her career without such a problem cropping up before, but suddenly when this one man was in the same room she felt her very skin prickling with uneasy awareness, and she did not like it.
She worked very late that evening. Gil Martell returned to his office just before seven o'clock, long after the store had closed and the vast majority of the sales assistants and clerical workers, including all her own team of accountants, had gone home; and stopped in his tracks, seeing her still there.
'You can't stay here any longer.' He frowned. 'The night security staff will be coming on duty in five minutes and they will expect the building to be empty. If you're here it will interfere with the automatic alarm system, which is due to come on at seven-thirty. It's too complicated to make exceptions, even for me, so you must leave.'
She leaned back in her chair, unconsciously massaging her neck with one hand, as she always did when she was getting tired. 'I wanted to finish this section
of the accounts before I broke off,' she protested, knowing she was not sorry to have to stop.
'It will just have to wait,' Gil impatiently said. He looked at his watch. 'You've been working since eight o'clock this morning—eleven hours! Do you get overtime?'
She laughed, relaxing briefly, her grey eyes amused by the idea. 'I'm one of the family, remember. I've never even thought of asking Dad for overtime.'
'I hope he pays you a good salary, then.'
'He pays me what he would pay anyone doing my job,' she said, immediately touchy, suspecting Gil was criticising her father, and ready to resent it.
'But no overtime,' he said drily.
'My father expects me to work the way he does—with a hundred per cent of his attention. If I were a clockwatcher, he'd be disappointed in me.'
His dark eyes were intent and thoughtful, unnervingly shrewd. 'And you'd hate to disappoint your father?'
She didn't answer. Gil Martell was taking too close an interest in her thought processes and Caro did not like It. He didn't press the matter. He came round the desk to stare at the screen of her computer; studying the immaculate rows of figures. His brows drew together, and she watched him, wondering if he hated to have her investigating his accounts as much as she disliked having him try to probe her mind. She had met this reaction in some businessmen before. They seemed to feel that having her look through their accounts was almost like having her strip them naked.