Книга - The Tycoon’s Delicious Distraction

The Tycoon's Delicious Distraction
Maggie Cox


Has this playboy met his match?Notorious maverick and wildly successful music producer Hal Treverne is not living up to his reputation for being ‘lucky’. Confined to a wheelchair after a traumatic skiing accident, he’s furious.Especially because a woman as feisty as his physio, Kit, should already have been in his bed and out of his system! Forced to rely on her, he can find no escape from her intoxicating presence…Until he catches a glimpse of the simmering desire she conceals beneath her ever-so-professional façade. Unleashing Kit’s passion is a challenge this arrogant tycoon will relish!‘Beautiful imagery, stunning locations,another Maggie Cox classic!’– Melissa, Beauty Therapist, Londonwww.maggiecox.co.uk







‘It’s good to know you don’t have a problem with a woman being in charge.’

‘This is a one time and one time only deal. My tolerance and acceptance will only stretch so far. Once I’m back on my feet again you’d be unwise to push any advantage you gained while I was laid up.’

Raising her brows, Kit responded smartly, ‘When you’re back on your feet again you’ll no longer need my services, so such a possibility won’t even arise. I’ll be looking after another client … hopefully one a little less egotistical than you.’

Worryingly, any response he normally might have made to such an unflattering observation deserted Hal. The idea that Kit was already eagerly contemplating a new client—one ‘a little less egotistical’ than he was—seriously bothered him.

But he couldn’t help but notice how her smooth alabaster cheeks had a faintly scarlet tint to them. How interesting, he thought. Perhaps it wasn’t just his ‘egotistical’ nature that ruffled the coolly efficient redhead?

‘You’re blushing, Ms Blessington. Does it disturb you to get this close to your client? Because if it does I don’t know how you’re going to manage when you help me into my bath later,’ he taunted.


The day MAGGIE COX saw the film version of Wuthering Heights, with a beautiful Merle Oberon and a very handsome Laurence Olivier, was the day she became hooked on romance. From that day onwards she spent a lot of time dreaming up her own romances, secretly hoping that one day she might become published and get paid for doing what she loved most! Now that her dream is being realised, she wakes up every morning and counts her blessings. She is married to a gorgeous man, and is the mother of two wonderful sons. Her two other great passions in life—besides her family and reading/writing—are music and films.

Recent titles by the same author:

IN PETRAKIS’S POWER

WHAT HIS MONEY CAN’T HIDE

DISTRACTED BY HER VIRTUE

A DEVILISHLY DARK DEAL

Did you know these are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk


The Tycoon’s Delicious Distraction

Maggie Cox




www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


To the lovely Maddie

who is the bravest and wittiest girl I know!


Contents

CHAPTER ONE (#uca8420b9-6e31-5478-95ef-3211ed48df57)

CHAPTER TWO (#u399602e0-ff60-5ed7-82e9-c54a0ff9b437)

CHAPTER THREE (#u77a81042-7b26-54ad-a14d-ca160348206f)

CHAPTER FOUR (#uc21d9939-1aed-557a-8b0e-1e7a2bb2a489)

CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)

EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)

EXCERPT (#litres_trial_promo)


CHAPTER ONE

IN A FIT of pique, Henry Treverne—Hal to his friends—wheeled himself along the parquet hallway up to the wall panel in the door and buzzed the concierge.

‘If anyone else turns up for an interview today tell them I’ve come down with malaria, will you? I’m done with talking to fawning women who are convinced they can magic my problems away like Cinderella’s fairy godmother, and I’ve also had my fill of the ones that gaze at me like I’m some kind of longed-for early Christmas present!’

‘But, Mr Treverne, your next applicant is already here... Do you really think you’ve got malaria? If that’s true, shouldn’t you be in the hospital?’

The concierge of Hal’s building—a down-to-earth young Londoner called Charlie—sounded understandably perturbed. Hefting a frustrated sigh, Hal tunnelled his fingers through the mane of coal-black hair that was in dire need of a proper cut and bit back a curse.

‘Of course I haven’t got malaria. I’ve just got back from Aspen, Colorado, not the damn Amazon!’ He brought himself up short. ‘What do you mean my next applicant is already here?’

Impatiently unfolding the scrunched-up piece of paper lying on his lap, he couldn’t help but succumb to a ripe curse, when he saw there was one more person the agency had scheduled him to see. A woman named Kit Blessington. God save him from one more insincere female desperate for the chance to be his ‘carer’ and in all probability make herself a nice little bonus by selling a story about her experience to the press when he was back on his feet again.

‘The lady arrived early and is waiting to see you, Mr Treverne.’

‘Well, you can tell Ms Blessed, or whatever her name is, that I’m too tired to see anyone else today. Tell her she can come back tomorrow.’

‘I’d rather see you now, if I could, Mr Treverne? After all, that was what was arranged. Plus, it’s not convenient for me to come back tomorrow.’

Hal was taken aback by the assertively toned female voice that sounded in his ear. ‘What do you mean, it’s not convenient?’ he growled. ‘Are you in the market for a job or are you not?’ His already bad mood plummeted even more. The woman clearly hadn’t taken him seriously when he’d said he was too tired.

‘I wouldn’t be signed on with the agency if I wasn’t interested in a job, Mr Treverne. And, by the way, my name is Blessington—not Blessed.’

‘What’s the reason you can’t come back tomorrow?’ Even as he ground out the question the back of Hal’s neck prickled with intense dislike for this woman he hadn’t even come face to face with yet.

‘If you must know, I have another interview to attend in Edinburgh. I can’t see you tomorrow if I’m travelling up to Scotland. That’s why I’d like to keep my appointment with you today.’

The frank confession rendered him momentarily dumbstruck. He wasn’t best pleased that she’d arranged another interview when she hadn’t even given him the courtesy of seeing him yet. What did she think she was playing at? Surely the agency must have told her who he was...that under the circumstances he had to be a priority?

‘What the hell do you want to go to Scotland for?’ he burst out, not caring that he sounded rude and unreasonable.

There was a brief pause, then in a level tone she replied, ‘I go wherever the work takes me, Mr Treverne. We don’t just work in the UK. The agency sends us all over Europe as well. Now, will you see me today or not?’

Feeling particularly belligerent, because inside the cast his leg was intolerably aching, and itching as well, Hal retorted, ‘I’ll give you ten minutes, Ms Blessington. Ten minutes should be ample time for me to glean whether you’re suitable or not for the position, and whether it would indeed be better if you simply went ahead with your interview in Edinburgh. You’d better come up.’

‘Thank you. I appreciate it. But just to reassure you, Mr Treverne, I too quite quickly make up my mind about whether I want to work for someone or not. So, yes...I’m sure it won’t take long for either of us to reach a decision.’

She was playing verbal bat and ball with him, Hal realised, and it made him feel as if she was the one taking charge of the situation, not him. It certainly didn’t bode well for her interview.

Damn his accident! It beggared belief that he’d surrendered to the crazy impulse to agree to a stupid contest on the ski slopes with his ex-business partner Simon. If his pride hadn’t made him take the bait he wouldn’t be in the intolerable position he was in now—recovering from a lengthy operation to help repair a badly damaged femur and unable to do all the things he had no doubt taken for granted and shouldn’t have.

If he hadn’t been in so much pain as the paramedics lifted him onto the stretcher, he would have checked to see if the concern Simon had so loudly expressed to the crowd that had gathered was sincere. Hal very much doubted it. He could just imagine the man who had always been his rival describing the scene to mutual colleagues and friends and commenting, How the mighty are fallen...

One thing was certain. Hal wasn’t going to live down the ignominy of the painful incident any time soon.

Disgruntled and hurting, he punched the keypad to open the door and reversed the wheelchair a couple of feet back down the hall as he waited for the irritatingly forthright Ms Blessington to come in and be interviewed. In truth, he was absolutely prepared to dislike her on sight.

When he first glimpsed the gloriously red hair that rippled down over her slim shoulders as she came through the door he wasn’t surprised. It was said that redheads were feisty and opinionated. And this particular redhead definitely had the look and stance of a public school head girl. He already knew that she was assertive—a woman who knew what she wanted and wasn’t afraid to state it—and the unfussy green wool dress and almost military-style tartan jacket she wore with it suggested she selected her clothes more out of practicality than from any desire to make a fashion statement. The outfit might even have been bought at a charity shop. Yet the bright cerise stockings she’d teamed with sensible brown court shoes hinted at an intriguing rebellious streak that belied the illusion of ‘needs must’ and definitely gave Hal pause.

Lifting his head, he was momentarily taken aback to find his gaze captured by a pair of the prettiest cornflower-blue eyes he’d ever seen. Even before she opened her mouth to speak he had concluded that the woman was a fascinating conundrum that under more conducive circumstances he might, just might be tempted to try and unravel. But when she next spoke any impulse to be more interested than he should be instantly vanished.

‘I can see why you sounded so bad-tempered just now.’ Frowning, she set a purple velvet shoulder bag down on the floor and purposefully stepped towards him, like an extremely efficient ward nurse intent on taking his temperature. ‘If you don’t mind my saying so, you do look rather uncomfortable. Your brow is beaded with sweat and I can see you’re in pain. They told me at the agency that you’d broken your femur and that it was a bad break. Do you need a painkiller? If you tell me where they are I’ll get them for you, if you’d like?’

‘I’ve taken a couple—just a few minutes ago.’

For stupefying seconds the arresting floral scent his redoubtable interviewee wore transported Hal to a beautiful spring garden after a gentle rain had fallen, and it made it hard for him to think straight. It didn’t help that she stood close enough for him to reach out and touch one of the fiery red coils of hair that cascaded over her shoulders, and the shockingly inappropriate impulse made his heart thunder inside his chest like a herd of galloping horses.

Taken aback by the surprising reaction, he coughed a little to clear his throat. ‘The pills take a while to kick in. So, no, I don’t need you to get me any more. The last thing I need is to feel comatose. I think we should just get on with the interview, don’t you?’

‘Of course.’ The redhead’s alabaster skin flushed a little, but quickly getting over any embarrassment she might have felt and levelling a searching glance at him, she asked, ‘Instead of staying in that wheelchair, would you not prefer to conduct our interview lying on the sofa, with some cushions behind you for a while? I’m sure it would be a lot more comfortable. I can help you, if you’d like?’

‘Ms Blessing?’

‘Blessington.’

He should have known correction was inevitable, and Hal chewed down on his lip to stop himself from responding with something he might regret.

‘Let’s get one thing straight. I’m not looking to hire a facsimile of Florence Nightingale. I have round-the-clock access to a highly professional medical team if I want it. What I need—that is, the person I’m looking to hire—is someone who can be a temporary companion and help with all things practical while I recuperate. That’s why I need a home help. I need someone not just to drive me wherever I want, to arrange for shopping to be delivered, make the odd cup of tea or coffee and rustle up a meal or a snack whenever I need it, but also someone with the ability to make intelligent conversation, who has an interest in music and film—two of the things that entertain me the most. I want this person to be on call twenty-four-seven in case I can’t sleep and want some company.’’

The woman in front of him released the smallest sigh, but Hal didn’t think it was because the criteria for the post that he’d outlined in any way daunted her. In fact the interested examination she’d submitted him to as he spoke had been unflinchingly direct.

‘That’s more or less what the agency told me you needed, Mr Treverne, and I want you to know that I have no problem with any of those things.’

‘You’ve worked for clients with similar requirements before?’

‘Yes. I recently worked for an actress recovering from a particularly bad bout of flu that had left her feeling extremely weak. I had to do many of the things you’ve mentioned for her too, until she could manage on her own again.’

The experience hadn’t been a particularly good one for Kit, because the woman in question was spoilt and disagreeable. She had run her ragged for the six long weeks she’d worked for her, taking every opportunity to let her know how much she was admired and envied by her fellow thespians in the theatrical world for her beauty and acting prowess—her tone suggesting that Kit should feel privileged that she’d hired her.

But Kit hadn’t felt resentful towards the woman, because she clearly hadn’t been able to see how very unattractive her vanity and superior manner actually made her. During all the time Kit had been with her she hadn’t had so much as one person call to see how she was doing. Kit had ended up feeling very sorry for her.

‘And, seeing as I need you to be available round the clock, you’re aware that this is a live-in position?’

Hal’s arresting voice broke into her reverie.

‘Most of the jobs with the agency are. Don’t worry—all your requirements were explained to me in detail, Mr Treverne. Is there anything else you’d like to ask me?’

‘Yes. How old are you?’

‘I’m twenty-six.’

‘And you don’t have a “significant other” who might express reservations about you living-in? Especially when the person you’ll be working for is male?’ If Hal had hoped to rattle her with his slightly mocking inflection, he’d failed. His outspoken interviewee gave no visible sign whatsoever that the question had perturbed her in any way. Instead, she remained unshakably composed.

‘I’m unattached, so there’s no one in my life to express any reservations. In any case I wouldn’t tolerate being in a relationship with someone who dictated what I could or couldn’t do, or minded that I lived in if it was part of my job...which it clearly is.’

The blunt confession piqued Hal’s curiosity even more. He found himself wondering what her story was. His sister Sam, who invariably liked to try and get to the root of someone’s make-up, would no doubt presume the woman’s outspoken and direct attitude had manifested itself as a result of her being bullied—either during her childhood or even in the recent past. Because of it, she’d probably made a mental decision not to let herself be intimidated by anyone ever again. He could almost hear Sam saying it. In Sam’s psychology practice she’d seen plenty of clients with similar stories. Except it wasn’t hard to guess that Ms Kit Blessington was no push-over... In Hal’s view, only a fool would presume otherwise.

The notion didn’t disturb him one jot. He’d rather have someone capable and strong-minded working for him than some shy wallflower who wouldn’t say boo to a goose. It took him aback to realise that in the space of a few short minutes he’d become inexplicably fascinated by the woman. Fascinated or not, he reminded himself, it was hardly a good idea for him to be interested in a prospective employee...albeit a temporary one. At any rate, it wasn’t a fascination that meant he was remotely attracted to her, he assured himself sternly. She might be unquestionably pretty, but she was no knock-out that he’d have trouble resisting should he hire her.

As if to remind him of the reason for them having this discussion at all, his leg started to throb like the blazes, and once again a wave of perspiration beaded his forehead. Should he or shouldn’t he give her a few days’ trial to see if she was suitable? God knew none of the other applicants he’d seen had been remotely suitable. Damn it, he needed someone capable and reliable to help him out as soon as possible or he’d be fit to be tied! His situation had already begun making him feel unbearably imprisoned, and for a man who was used to being so active—living life at ‘breakneck speed’, as his sister so often observed with concern—the experience was bordering on torture...

Giving the redhead a long, assessing glance, he said, ‘Follow me into the living room and we can talk about this some more.’ Hal’s tone rang with the innate command that came only too easily to him. Would his potential home help be able to handle an often belligerent and exacting male who made no apology for it?

‘You mean you want the interview to continue?’

‘Well, I’m not inviting you into my living room to get your opinion on the decor, Ms Blessington.’ Even as he uttered the droll reply Hal registered that it was the first time he’d seen so much as a flicker of doubt in the woman’s bright blue eyes—as if she’d momentarily feared her forthright manner might have talked her out of the job. As he turned away to steer the wheelchair further down the hall towards the living room he couldn’t help mentally storing the information in case he ever had occasion to draw upon it. In his profession he’d long ago learned the wisdom of knowing his advantages when it came to relationships—professional or otherwise. And neither was he above using them...

Following behind the wheelchair, Kit used the time to further examine the man tagged as ‘Lucky Henry’ in the music business. Apparently, according to people in the know, he had the enviable gift of discovering potentially lucrative talent and backing it financially, expanding that talent even more, and obviously making himself even richer and more successful in the process as the artists he sponsored made platinum sales on their records and became the ‘next big thing’ in the pop industry.

Even though she didn’t have the slightest desire to experience how the other half lived in that shallow, materialistic world—a world that in her opinion could only breed disappointment and unhappiness when an artist’s star began to wane and they were no longer ‘flavour of the month’—Kit couldn’t deny she had often been intrigued as to what happened to the budding stars who didn’t make it.

And, more than that, she was indisputably interested as to the motivation behind Henry Treverne’s decision to become an impresario in such a dog-eat-dog profession. Having been a temporary home help to many celebrity clients, she’d done her research and learned that ‘Lucky Henry’ came from landed gentry and had grown up with every possible material advantage. Was money and success the only thing that inspired him because he’d already experienced being raised with the proverbial silver spoon in his mouth? Surely the man must be a more complex character than his public persona suggested?

Not only had he enjoyed every material advantage growing up, he was also blessed with an extraordinary physique and arresting good looks to boot. As Kit’s gaze settled on broad, athletic shoulders in a cream cashmere sweater and thick dark hair curling somewhat rebelliously over the neckline she couldn’t help wondering that if he should offer her the job, and if she accepted it, perhaps this time she really would be biting off more than she could chew. She might have deliberately given Henry Treverne the impression that she wasn’t particularly concerned about whether he gave her the job or not because she’d already lined up another interview in Edinburgh, but the truth was it did matter to Kit—because the agency was paying the highest possible rate for this position and, as well as looking good on her résumé, it would really help boost her savings—savings she was eager to add to so that she might at long last buy the little bolthole she’d always yearned for.

‘What’s Kit short for?’

The question was fired at her as they reached the living room. Not answering immediately, Kit glanced round to get her bearings. The first thing that hit her was the bold oil painting of a man scaling what looked to be the sheer face of a glacier. Something about the tilt of the head, along with the colour of his hair and the breadth of his shoulders, made Kit realise that the daredevil mountaineer was Henry. Transfixed, it was hard for her to look away.

‘That’s you, isn’t it?’ she said.

His tight-lipped expression told her the question unsettled him.

‘It is.’

Ignoring the opportunity to comment further—unlike most men, who notoriously loved to brag about their daring exploits—he remained stubbornly uncommunicative, so she returned her attention to the living room. She’d guessed his taste would veer towards the contemporary and she was right. The high-quality monochrome furniture that predominated was ultra-chic, with smooth clean lines, and it was arranged almost like a display of elite sculptures at an exhibition. Even though it had probably cost and arm and a leg to furnish, it was hardly the most inviting living room Kit had ever been in... However, the three streamlined ebony leather couches that took centre stage were strewn with brightly coloured Moroccan-style silk cushions that made her think he must have surrendered to a rogue impulse to inject some warmth into the arrangement.

‘Kit is short for Katherine, and Katherine is spelt with a K.’ Breaking off her reverie, she returned to his question regarding her name.

Her answer was the one she usually gave when quizzed about it. Her mother had been very particular about the spelling...it was the one decision in her life she’d appeared to have made with ease. It was a far from a normal occurrence. When it came to making informed decisions for herself and her daughter Elizabeth Blessington reacted to the task like a billiard ball run amok—decisions were random and precarious. How could they not be when they were invariably emotionally driven rather than made using reason and common sense? That was why Kit had found herself taking charge from such a ridiculously young age. While her friends had been playing with dolls or games Kit had usually been sitting in her mother’s kitchen, trying to help find some practical solution to her latest dramatic dilemma—or if not that then consoling her because some unsuitable man she’d become infatuated with had once again let her down.

Elizabeth Blessington’s choice of men had been disastrous, and the self-destructive pattern had begun with Kit’s father. Ralph Cottonwood had been a genuine Romany gypsy who had selfishly abandoned Elizabeth when she’d become pregnant. In her mother’s wistful words, ‘He couldn’t be tied down to a conventional married life when the allure of the open road would always call to him.’

Although Kit had missed not having a steady male influence in her life, she’d long ago decided that her itinerant father had probably done her and her mother a favour by not sticking around. One totally impractical parent with her head in the clouds had been quite enough to cope with...

‘Why don’t you sit down?’

Moving his wheelchair into the centre of the room, Henry vaguely waved his hand towards the couches.

‘Okay.’ As she settled herself Kit rested her hands together in her lap and patiently waited for him to continue. A sudden realisation struck her. She’d thought his eyes were green, but in the beam of gold sunlight that streamed through the windows she saw that they were a chameleon-like hazel, and fringed with enviably lustrous long black lashes. She’d have to be made of stone not to admire such a compelling visage...

‘So tell me, Katherine with a K, what impulse led you into doing this kind of work?’

‘I decided to do it because I like helping people.’

‘And what qualifications do you have?’

The question didn’t faze her, even though she’d often regretted her lack of opportunity to study for a profession. But with a mother who was often in financial trouble because she didn’t have a clue how to manage money Kit had had no choice but to start work at sixteen so that she could contribute to the household income and help pay the rent.

‘Do you mean professional qualifications?’

He nodded.

Pursing her lips for a moment, Kit quickly gathered her thoughts. ‘I’ve done some fairly intensive first-aid training courses and completed a carer’s certificate. But what I lack in professional qualifications I make up for by having plenty of “hands-on” experience in helping to take care of people. If you speak to Barbara—the manager at the agency—she’ll clarify what I’ve said. I’ve been with her for the past five years and my record is exemplary. The agency standards are extremely high, and she wouldn’t keep me on if I didn’t help her live up to that.’

Her heart was thudding a little as she finished speaking, because Henry’s expression had at first been perturbed and then somewhat amused. Was he perhaps thinking she must be crazy if she thought he’d seriously consider taking on someone with minimal qualifications to work for him? Kit hoped he would at least give her a chance to demonstrate her competence. Inexplicably, the thought of travelling up to Scotland tomorrow had strangely lost its appeal.

‘It’s lucky for you that I’m a risk-taker. Other people might call it reckless, but fortunately I don’t much care what other people think. Okay, Ms Blessington, when can you start?’

He was going to give her a chance? Secretly elated, but careful not to show it, Kit strove for her usual composure. ‘Are you saying that you’d like to offer me the job, Mr Treverne?’

He immediately combed his fingers through his unruly dark hair and scowled. ‘Isn’t that why you’re here...because you want to work for me?’

‘Yes, I am. But—’

‘Firstly, don’t call me Mr Treverne. It’s far too formal. You can call me Hal. I’m sure you can guess that’s not an invitation I extend to many, but for the purpose of ease of communication I’m extending it to you, Kit. And, yes...I’m offering you the job and I’d like you to start tomorrow. My sister assures me that the agency you work for does indeed have a good reputation for employing reliable and competent people—people who know how to employ discretion and respect confidentiality. That’s especially important for businessmen in the public eye like me, as I’m sure you’re aware? And, by the way, there’s a confidentiality clause in the contract that I’ll need to get you to sign. I trust you’re okay with that?’

‘Of course.’

Emitting a relieved sigh, Hal nodded. ‘Then you can arrive tomorrow, just after breakfast. Depending on what kind of night I’ve had, I usually endeavour to have toast and coffee at around eight. There’s one more thing...I have an appointment at the hospital at ten. You’ll have to drive me.’ Looking thoughtful, he paused, narrowing his chameleon-like gaze. ‘I presume you’d like to accept the position?’

‘Yes...yes, I would.’ Rising to her feet, Kit walked towards him, her smile perhaps a little more cautious than usual. Henry Treverne was a commandingly attractive man and she wouldn’t be truthful if she didn’t privately admit that it worried her. It had never happened before but she’d often feared that if she fell for a man she worked for it would be the ruination of all her dreams and plans. Add to that the fact that he was still very much an unknown quantity with regard to what he would be like as an employer, she sensed, going by his brusque manner, that she would have her work cut out in proving to him he’d chosen the right person for the job.

‘Thank you...thank you so much. I promise I won’t let you down.’

‘I sincerely hope you won’t. The thought of having to interview prospective employees again fills me with horror after the parade of too-earnest applicants I’ve seen today.’ Hal’s lips shaped an ironic smile. ‘Barring yourself, of course. If you’re at all too earnest about having this job you hide it well. Would you like to see your room now?’

‘Yes, I would.’

‘Then follow me. In light of my accident, I thank God I chose an apartment that doesn’t have stairs. For convenience, the room I’ve allocated you is next door to mine.’ His hands resting lightly on the tyres of the wheelchair, Hal paused as another thought struck him. ‘I won’t give you a key because the revolving doors downstairs are never closed, and Charlie is usually there on the front desk if there’s a problem. Plus, if you’re out then that means I’m in, and all you need to do is get Charlie to buzz me to let me know you’ve returned. Okay?’

‘But what if you’ve fallen asleep and don’t hear the buzzer?’

‘Unless I’ve been clubbed over the head by a particularly vindictive burglar you don’t need to be concerned about that. I don’t easily fall asleep—at least certainly not during the day. But, just to reassure you, Charlie has a spare key for emergencies.’

‘That’s good to know.’

‘Then let’s go and look at your room, shall we?’


CHAPTER TWO

IT HAD BEEN a hell of a day, Hal reflected, positioning his wheelchair in front of the bathroom mirror in order to brush his teeth. Although it was practically unheard of for him to turn in before midnight, since returning home from the hospital he’d cultivated the habit of retiring early in the hope of getting some longed-for rest. The irony was, no matter how early he went to bed, his sleep was unfailingly broken. First by episodes of agonising pain in his leg that meant he had to rise in order to take some pain relief and then by the inevitable visits to the bathroom—which was no easy feat when he had to hoist himself into his wheelchair to get there.

The one light on the horizon was he’d been advised that from tomorrow he could start using crutches. But he knew it would still be a fiasco, endeavouring to do all the commonplace things that he’d been used to taking for granted. Rubbing a hand round his dark stubbled jaw, then peering closer to examine the shocking bruised shadows beneath his eyes, he felt frustration and fury bite into him with all the force of a serrated steel clamp. Was it usual to feel this fatigued after an accident? And was it normal that his emotions should be so tightly wound that he could scarcely contain them?

His highly esteemed surgeon had assured him that it was...except the confirmation didn’t help him to accept the fact. Thank God Sam had persuaded him to hire some practical help and companionship, with the aim of alleviating some of the frustration he felt round his compromised mobility and also to counter the boredom of being forced to spend so much time on his own.

If Sam hadn’t been the manager of a busy psychology practice she would have willingly been there for Hal night and day if necessary. But she also had a husband with a demanding job, and Greg was surely entitled to spend his precious free time with his wife. As for Hal’s so-called ‘friends’...they were busy with their own demanding careers and pleasurable pursuits—and anyway none of them were the type to give up their time willingly for an invalid.

Appalled that he had begun to think of himself in such a scornful way, he quickly brushed his teeth, turned off the light, then returned to his bedroom grimly to face another disagreeable and painful night with nothing but his steadily worsening thoughts to keep him company.

As he lifted his hard-muscled frame out of the wheelchair and manoeuvred himself onto the bed he found himself fervently hoping that the feisty Kit Blessington’s presence would at least be bearable. Perish the thought that she might be the type of woman who chattered incessantly about inconsequential things and would very quickly get on his nerves, making him bitterly regret hiring her—even if her practical skills should prove to be as competent as she’d indicated.

* * *

Hal was having an early-morning cup of coffee with his sister when, true to her word, Kit Blessington arrived at the agreed time. Sam had dropped in on her way to work, determined to meet Hal’s new hired help as soon as possible, so she’d told him, her cat-like green eyes formidably serious. He knew it mattered to her a great deal that the woman passed muster because she adored her ‘little’ brother. He might resent her acting like his mother from time to time, but he didn’t deny it felt good to have her unstinting regard and concern. Especially when the only communication he’d had from his father since the accident was a curt e-mail that had included the line, ‘Didn’t I always tell you that pride comes before a fall?’

Kick me while I’m down, why don’t you? Hal had thought bitterly.

Tall and slender, with a gamine short hairstyle, his sister Sam looked as chic and sophisticated as always that morning in an elegant trouser suit. When Kit arrived the younger woman’s bohemian, far more relaxed mode of dress couldn’t have been more of a contrast. When he opened the door to let her in he saw that today her glorious red hair was precariously arranged up in a loose topknot that suggested it might easily topple at any moment, such must be the weight of the waving strands. Wearing a mint-green baggy knitted sweater beneath a man’s battered tan flying jacket, along with a pair of slim-fitting caramel cords, she was transporting what looked to be a fairly hefty brown suitcase.

Hal immediately told her to put it down before she dislocated her shoulder, adding, ‘What have you got in there? The kitchen sink?’

Flushing, she retorted, ‘You did say that this was a live-in position? All I’ve brought with me are the strictest essentials, Mr Treverne.’

‘Well, clearly they must indeed be essential if you’re trying to lug that beast around,’ he commented dryly.

Sam stepped up beside him and once Kit had sensibly lowered her suitcase down onto the parquet floor she leaned towards the younger woman to shake her hand.

‘I’m very pleased to meet you, Ms Blessington. You’ve arrived just in the nick of time. Henry’s got to get to grips with using his crutches today, so your presence will undoubtedly be appreciated. I’m Samantha Whyte, by the way—Henry’s sister.’

‘Hello. It’s nice to meet you too, Ms Whyte. It’s good to know that your brother has a close relative living nearby. It must be very reassuring for him in light of what he’s coping with.’

‘I don’t live that near, but I’m close enough to call in whenever I can to check that he’s okay. I have to warn you—Hal doesn’t take to being confined very easily. Hal is what family and friends call him, by the way. He’s apt to be like a bear with a sore head most days.’

‘Do you two mind not talking about me as if I wasn’t here?’ Biting back an angry expletive, Hal violently reversed his wheelchair and headed back towards the kitchen.

‘Don’t mind him,’ he heard Sam say soothingly behind him to Kit. ‘As I said, he’s a bit more irritable than usual since he broke his leg, but—’

‘Don’t you dare tell her that underneath my tetchy, disagreeable exterior I’m a veritable pussycat!’ he yelled. ‘Because I’m certainly not!’

His heart thumping hard inside his chest, Hal steered the wheelchair into the kitchen and straight away moved across to the oblong glass dining table to retrieve his rapidly cooling mug of coffee. He knew he was behaving like the worst bore in the world but he couldn’t seem to help it. Tonight, before bed, he might just have to succumb to taking those sleeping pills his doctor had prescribed. Right now he’d probably take the strongest ones he could lay his hands on if they would help him get at least an hour of unbroken sleep. ‘A bear with a sore head’ didn’t come anywhere near to describing the infuriated way he felt.

‘...and you’ll need to consult with Hal’s doctor today, when you take him to the hospital for his check-up, to get some advice on how best to help him.’ Sam’s voice carried clearly as she and Kit came down the hallway towards the kitchen. ‘His knee joint and muscles were damaged when he broke his femur, and there’s a certain process you have to know. Don’t worry—it’s not difficult. I think it’s called the RICE technique, which stands for—’

‘Rest, ice, compression and elevation,’ Kit cut in quietly. ‘I’ve been studying quite a comprehensive first-aid book since I was told that Mr Treverne had a broken femur. I’ve also spoken to one of my trainers at the centre where I took my first-aid courses.’

She’d been studying a first-aid book? Even though he was irritated at being discussed as though he were a recalcitrant schoolboy who’d complained about having to miss his school’s sports day because he’d contracted chicken pox, Hal owned to feeling mildly surprised that his temporary employee would go to such lengths even before she knew if she had the job or not.

‘I’m impressed.’ Sam’s voice contained the suggestion of a smile.

‘Please don’t be. My intention is simply to do a good job. It’s no more than I would normally do when the person I’ve been hired to help is either recovering from an illness or an injury, Ms Whyte.’

‘Please—call me Sam. At any rate, I’ve spoken to Hal’s consultant about talking to you, so he’s expecting you to ask.’ They came into the kitchen. ‘You can also check with the nurse who comes in once a week to visit him. Oh, and one more thing—there’s also a cleaner who comes in twice a week to give the place a good going over. Mrs Baker is her name. So you won’t have to spend too much time doing housework. My brother’s welfare is your main priority. If he wants you to spend the entire day watching films or listening to music with him, then please don’t hesitate.’

‘Are you quite finished? Only I’m beginning to feel like some expendable extra in a hospital soap opera!’ Scowling, Hal returned his mug of coffee to the table with a heavy slam, so that the now tepid beverage slopped over the lip and splashed onto his arm.

Without preamble, Kit moved across to the sink at lightning speed and grabbed the kitchen cloth that was folded over the tap. Then she hurried over to him, expertly dabbing the cloth on his exposed forearm and drying the spill. It was fortunate that he’d rolled up the sleeves of his cashmere sweater earlier, he thought wryly, because the blue was a favourite of his. But he guessed that, if required, his efficient new helper would no doubt have a handy solution for removing coffee stains from delicate fabrics too.

‘Thanks,’ he murmured when she had finished the clean-up.

‘You’re welcome.’

Her blue-eyed smile was fleeting, but with a jolt of surprise Hal straight away intuited that when she smiled properly—for instance when and if something pleased her—the gesture would light up her face and render her almost bewitching...

‘Can I make you a fresh cup of coffee, Mr Treverne?’ she asked.

Briefly catching his sister’s amused glance over her shoulder, Hal shrugged. ‘Yes—why not? I guess I’ll be even more like a bear with a sore head if I don’t have my usual quota of caffeine.’

‘How do you take it?’

‘Black with one sugar. You should make one for yourself too.’

‘Thanks—I will. By the way, what time do you need to get to the hospital for your appointment?’

‘Ten o’clock.’

‘Of course. I remember that now.’ The redhead gave him another fleeting smile. ‘That gives us some time to have a general chat about things. For instance, you’ll need to tell me what car I’m driving. Is it big enough to accommodate your wheelchair? Because if you’re not used to using your crutches yet you’re going to need it.’

Not wanting to contemplate the possibility of not being immediately expert at using crutches, Hal was terse. ‘If it should transpire that I need the wheelchair—and I very much doubt it—then no doubt the hospital will supply one for my visit. The car you’ll be driving me to my appointment in has plenty of leg room and is easy to drive...that is as long as you’re a good driver?’

Again, if he’d thought to disconcert Kit then he was disappointed. With a confident toss of her head she moved over to the coffee machine and threw over her shoulder, ‘I took my advanced driving test last year and passed with flying colours...so you can rest assured that I’m a good driver, Mr Treverne.’

‘I thought we’d agreed you could call me Hal?’

‘Do you mind if I call you Henry instead? Only using your friends’ name for you sounds a little too over-familiar.’

Seeing the lightly mocking glint in his sister’s eyes, Hal inwardly squirmed. No doubt his clever sister was thinking he’d met his match in the redoubtable Kit Blessington. But he would make it his mission to prove her wrong...see if he didn’t!

‘Well.’ Sam leant down and dropped an affectionate peck on his cheek. ‘I’ll be off now. I’ll leave you to the tender ministrations of Ms Blessington.’ Her mouth curved into a satisfied and humorous grin.

‘I’m not looking for her ministrations to be “tender”,’ he snapped. ‘A decent level of competence will be enough.’

‘A typical Hal response,’ his sister remarked cheerily, winking at the other woman as she transported a mug of fresh coffee over to her brother. ‘By the way, Kit, if you need me for anything...anything at all...you’ll find my phone numbers on the noticeboard in Hal’s study. You’ll find that just to the side of a poster of the latest scantily clad supermodel. Look after him for me, won’t you?’

‘Of course.’

Unable to suppress a grin at his sister’s amusing parting shot, Hal murmured, ‘Bye, sis. Go easy with those wounded patients of yours, won’t you?’

‘What a lovely woman,’ Kit remarked when Sam had departed.

‘She is.’ As he tunnelled his long fingers through hair that hadn’t seen a comb for more days than he cared to mention, Hal’s smile was unrestrained. ‘I agree. She’s certainly one in a million.’

Momentarily dazzled by the twinkling hazel eyes and curved masculine mouth before her, Kit shrugged off her heavy jacket and arranged it on the back of one of the shaker-style dining chairs positioned around the table. Then she curled a stray strand of copper hair round her ear and in a brisk but friendly tone asked, ‘Shall I help you get to grips with your walking aids now? We’ve got some spare time for you to practise before we leave for the hospital.’

Even though his smile had all but made her catch her breath she hadn’t missed the fact that her employer’s skin looked almost grey with tiredness, and her heart couldn’t help but go out to him. More importantly, she reminded herself, she was there to do a job and help ease his burden and she was anxious to make a start.

‘Wouldn’t you like to take your luggage to your room first and unpack?’

Touched by his unexpected thoughtfulness, Kit shook her head.

‘I can do that later. I’d rather help you first.’

Underneath what she guessed was a complexion that was far paler than usual, Hal flushed visibly.

‘Crutches it is, then. You do realise you’re going to have to let me lean on you a little while I get my balance?’

‘That won’t be a problem. I assure you that I’m much stronger than I look.’

‘Why did I know you’d say that?’

For a second time Henry Treverne’s devastating smile came very close to turning Kit’s knees to water. She fervently reminded herself to be on her guard round that killer smile. It would be extremely foolish to trust it. Once before she’d been beguiled by the smile of a handsome man and against her better judgement, had fallen into a brief affair with him. When the man in question had turned out to be married, Kit had been devastated. Not just because he had lied to her about being free, but because it had struck at the very core of her ability to trust herself. There’d been no excuse. After seeing what her mother had gone through with mendacious faithless men she ought to have known better. One thing was certain: she wouldn’t make the same mistake twice...

Assuming the best ‘head girl’ tone she could muster, she said firmly to Hal, ‘Well, I suppose we’d better get on with it, then.’

* * *

There was no disputing her new employer’s indomitable spirit, Kit mused as, with her help, Henry carefully lowered himself onto a comfortable padded seat in the plush waiting room. But neither had it been hard to detect his frustration at not being able to master the use of his walking aids as smoothly and as effortlessly as he might have wished. Once again the sweat that had broken out on his brow had illustrated the effort it had taken him to get this far. They’d only walked the short distance from the car park, but it had clearly been a struggle for Hal. It made her even more determined to help him achieve the goal of being confident with the aids.

Leaning towards him, Kit freed his hands from holding the crutches and carefully leaned them against the wall behind him.

‘You’d better go and tell the receptionist that I’m here.’

The sudden command sounded like a snarl of anger and resentment—a bit like a wounded animal. But she wasn’t about to take Hal’s surly mood personally. In her time working for the agency she’d encountered several ‘tricky’ customers and had soon learned how best to handle them. People were dealing with all kinds of challenges. Not just physical and mental ones, but also more commonplace dilemmas, like bereavement and loneliness and sometimes the heartache caused by a failed relationship.

Even though her mother had tested her patience to the nth degree, Kit was a naturally compassionate person, and it helped her more easily cope with the frayed tempers and impatience of some of the clients she cared for and not let their volatile reactions undermine her.

‘Okay, I’ll go and get you booked in. Do you have a patient card or a letter with your hospital number on?’

Hal sucked in a breath and blew it out again, as if even more exasperated. His eyes glinted, warning her that his temper was hanging by the slimmest of threads.

‘Why? Do you think they don’t know who I am?’ he snapped.

Mentally taking a deep breath of her own, Kit said calmly, ‘I’m sure the Queen herself has a patient number, and everybody knows who she is.’

‘Never mind the backchat, Ms Blessington. Just go and tell them I’m here, will you?’

Had she imagined it or had that handsome carved mouth of his twitched ever so slightly with amusement? Acutely aware of the pretty young receptionist, who was gazing across the room at Hal as though he were some sublime visitation from heaven, Kit went to the desk.

‘I’m here with Mr Henry Treverne. He has a ten o’clock appointment with his consultant Mr Shadik.’

Reluctantly withdrawing her gaze from Hal, the girl answered, ‘I’ll let him know that Mr Treverne is here right away.’

‘Thank you.’

Returning to sit beside her brooding charge, Kit proffered what she hoped was a reassuring smile. ‘Hopefully you won’t have too long to wait.’

His dark eyebrows beetling together, Hal growled, ‘However long the wait, it’s far too long for my liking.’

‘Don’t you want help to get better?’

When he turned his head towards her she was treated to the full force of his powerful gaze.

‘You may have noticed that asking for help and accepting it is not something that comes naturally to me.’

‘Then perhaps when you’re back to full strength again it might be something you could start to cultivate?’

‘Yeah—and my father might train to climb Mount Everest!’

‘I take it he’s not a keen climber like you are, then?’

‘The only thing he climbs are walls—especially when he hears of another “foolhardy escapade” of mine that he despairs of. That’s why he didn’t visit me in the hospital when I had this blasted accident. He’s a man who’s always erred on the side of safety. The only risks he ever takes are ones that he’s sure will preserve the legacy of Falteringham House for the generations of the Treverne family to come.’

‘Falteringham House? Is that the name of your family home?’

‘Yes.’

‘And your father really didn’t visit you when you broke your leg?’ No wonder he was acting like some kind of wounded animal. It had clearly hurt him that his father had stayed away when he’d been injured. She doubted that even her impractical, flighty mother would have behaved as callously.

Hal’s expression was far away for a moment, and seconds later a tall, elegant man dressed in a tailored pinstriped suit that suggested he might just as easily be a wealthy lawyer as a surgeon presented himself in front of the man sitting beside her.

‘Mr Treverne. It is good to see you again. Would you like to come into the examination room and I’ll take a look at that leg, see how things are progressing?’

The comment was impatiently received with a disdainfully curled lip. ‘The only thing that’s progressed is the pain, Mr Shadik.’

‘Then perhaps I need to prescribe some stronger medication for you. Let us go and discuss it, shall we?’

Glancing round at Kit, Hal nodded towards the crutches she’d leant against the wall.

‘Give me a hand with those, would you? And you may as well come into the examination room with me and get the gist of what’s happening.’

‘I think that’s a good idea.’ Immediately pushing to her feet, Kit helped him safely secure the armrests before assisting him to stand. When he did, she observed that once again his indomitably handsome brow was beaded with sweat. The consultant had also noted it, and gravely shook his head.

‘I am certain we can do much better as far as your pain relief is concerned, Henry, so please don’t worry. Today is your first day on crutches, is it not?’

Hal briefly dipped his head in agreement.

‘We’ll get another X-ray and afterwards you can see the physio to make sure that you’re using the aids properly... But I can see that you’re already a natural.’ The surgeon beamed.

Kit sensed that beneath his grim smile Henry was privately utilising every expletive he could lay his hands on, as well as inventing a few more choice ones of his own...


CHAPTER THREE

HAL HAD BEEN in dire need of a rest when they’d returned from the hospital. After the tedious rounds of X-rays and physiotherapy he’d endured, as well as a further consultation about the results with his surgeon, he’d been so exhausted that the only thing he’d longed for was at least a couple of hours of unbroken sleep.

In the living room he’d allowed Kit to assist him in getting comfortable on the couch, privately surprised at how used to her touch he was getting and how quickly he had started to trust it.

The biggest surprise of all had come when he’d learned what an amazingly confident driver she was. His top-of-the-range sporty four-by-four had been handled as expertly as if Hal was driving it himself. Any fears about her denting or damaging one of his favourite cars were happily unfounded.

But when Kit had been gently about to drape a cashmere throw over him as he lay back against the couch cushions he’d instantly reverted to type and snapped, ‘For God’s sake, woman! Stop fussing, will you?’

After that he’d despatched her to her room to unpack and acclimatise herself to her new surroundings, telling her to leave him in peace for a while. When she’d shut the door behind her, as he’d instructed, he’d closed his eyes only to find that the scent of her floral perfume lingered a little too disturbingly for his peace of mind. To compound the disturbance he’d also recalled just then how her precariously arranged topknot had finally collapsed during his consultation, spilling over her shoulders in a vivid autumnal riot of auburn silk. After that it had taken Hal quite a bit longer than he’d hoped to finally slip into the deep slumber he’d craved...

When he awoke it was to a darkened room, with thundering rain pouring outside. The downpour was so fierce that it lashed against the window panes as if trying to force an entry. It must be quite some storm for it to be so dark this early. Manoeuvring himself upright, he roughly scrubbed the backs of his knuckles across his eyelids and yawned. The sudden realisation that he was in dire need of the bathroom made him immediately seek out his walking aids. When he saw that they had been leant against an armchair a few feet away he muttered a ripe curse beneath his breath. How the hell was he supposed to reach them over there? The uncharacteristic sense of helplessness that swept over him made him feel even more irritated.

‘Kit!’ he yelled. ‘Where the hell are you? I need you in here now!’

The door opened almost straight away and variously placed lamps flooded the room with softly diffused lighting. The first thing Hal noticed was that his new assistant had tamed her riot of auburn hair back into its precarious topknot. He didn’t rightly know why that should be such a crime, but to his thinking it was.

‘I need my crutches,’ he said gruffly, carefully swinging his legs to the floor. ‘I’m pretty desperate to get to the bathroom.’

Without a word she immediately went across to the armchair to collect them, then returned to stand in front of him.

‘It might be quicker if you lean on me and hop. It’s just a few feet away, isn’t it?’

‘Sweetheart.’ He glanced up into her pretty blue eyes and intoned, gravel-voiced, ‘I’m six-foot-two and no lightweight. I have only your word that you’re stronger than you look, and I’d rather not risk you getting a broken leg to match mine. Just help me with the crutches, will you?’

A little more au fait with the walking aids since his session with the physiotherapist, Hal was nonetheless pleased to see that Kit had waited for him when he emerged from the bathroom. Keeping a close eye on him, she silently accompanied him back down the hallway and into the living room.

‘Would you like me to get on with dinner now?’ she asked.

Dropping down onto the couch, he stared blankly out of the window, suddenly hypnotised by the still hammering rain. ‘It looks pretty bleak out there, doesn’t it?’ he commented.

‘Perhaps it’s not so bad being forced to stay in this evening in light of the weather?’

There it was again...that surprisingly engaging smile. It completely transformed her otherwise serious demeanour and made Hal think she should smile more often. Not wanting to linger on the idea, he found himself nodding in agreement. For someone who prided himself on not letting even the most extreme weather conditions prevent him from doing what he wanted if he could help it, it was probably a first. Then it struck him what Kit had said just before that last remark.

His brows drawing together in puzzlement, he asked, ‘Shouldn’t we be having lunch first?’

‘I’m afraid lunchtime has come and gone, Mr Treverne. You’ve been asleep since we got back from the hospital and that was nearly four hours ago. It’s just after six in the evening.’

He was genuinely shocked. ‘You’re joking?’

The slender shoulders beneath the mint-green sweater lifted in a gently amused shrug. ‘I promise you I’m not.’

‘Did I take a sleeping pill before I napped? I don’t remember...’

‘No, you didn’t. I think sheer exhaustion probably made you sleep so well. Anyway, you must be hungry. I saw that the fridge was well stocked and I took the liberty of making a beef bolognaise while you were sleeping. By the way, I checked with the agency that you weren’t a vegetarian. I’ve just got to rustle up some pasta and I’ll bring it in to you.’

‘Sounds good. But I’ll only eat it if you push me in my chair into the dining room and then come and join me. I really can’t abide eating my meals off of a tray, and neither can I abide eating alone. I feel decrepit enough as it is in my sorry state, without acting like an invalid.’

Kit’s expression was visibly perturbed. ‘That sounds as though you believe you don’t deserve any acknowledgement of your condition at all. Isn’t that why you hired me in the first place, Mr Treverne? Because you needed some help?’

‘How many times do I have to tell you to stop calling me Mr Treverne? And for pity’s sake please don’t keep referring to me as needing help. It’s becoming the bane of my life.’

It wasn’t her reference to his need that was bothering him, Kit guessed. It was the fact that for probably the first time ever this fit, active and no doubt fiercely independent businessman and sportsman had to be dependent on others...a state he undoubtedly despised. In truth, she entirely sympathised. She would hate it too.

‘Well, I’ll just go into the kitchen and cook the pasta, then I’ll come back and take you into the dining room.’

Stretching out his hand for the mobile phone he’d left on the coffee table, Hal turned towards her.

‘Take your time. I’ve got a couple of calls I want to make to my office first.’

‘Okay. If you need me for anything, just call out.’

* * *

While Henry had been having his rest earlier Kit had made good use of the time to unpack, arrange her clothes in the walk-in wardrobe and arrange her toiletries in the bathroom. Despite there being an array of wonderfully scented products lined up on the shelves, she wouldn’t be making use of them. After all, she was here to work, not as a guest. But she was more than appreciative of the beautiful room she’d been allocated. It had a lovely view of the large neatly mown communal gardens downstairs. The verdant green was bordered by a plethora of trees, plants and shrubs, and a person might almost fool herself that she was deep in the heart of the countryside instead of practically in the centre of London.

She’d also noticed the indisputably feminine touch that the room’s decor suggested—such as the luxurious lilac curtains with matching swags that hung at the windows and the array of colourful cushions that were attractively arranged at the head of the Queen-sized bed. The silk pillows were made up of various vintage designs full of natural motifs like birds and flowers. It was definitely not a man’s room. In fact the decor was the polar opposite of the very masculine chrome and glass furnishings that the apartment’s owner obviously favoured. Was Hal’s sister Sam’s the female influence that had helped design it?

Dropping strands of linguine into a pan of boiling water in the kitchen, Kit pushed back her hair and frowned. There’d been no mention of a girlfriend or fiancée. If Henry Treverne had either then surely she would have been told of her existence in case the woman dropped in or telephoned? In the newspaper reports she’d read about the accident at the time there’d been no mention of a girlfriend—which, considering his ‘playboy’ reputation, had surprised her. Telling herself he must be between relationships, she dropped her shoulders and made herself relax. The job she did could be testing enough without relatives or ‘significant others’ keeping too close an eye on her. She always worked best when her clients trusted her judgement enough to know that she could be completely relied upon to take good care of her charge.

In the dining room that also shared a view of the communal gardens, Hal took four or five mouthfuls of the fragrant pasta Kit had carefully prepared and across the magnificent glass table gave her a rueful smile.

‘This is really good,’ he commented. ‘But I can’t say the same is true of my appetite since the accident. I’m afraid I’m going to have to leave it there. This must be a first. Anyone who knows me well would tell you that it’s unheard of for me to leave anything. Usually I can eat for England.’

‘Trauma can affect people in many different ways,’ Kit answered thoughtfully. ‘As I’m sure your sister must have told you.’

‘Trust me...she has. Sometimes I wish she wasn’t quite so all knowing.’

Wanting to convey her reassurance, and sensing that underneath the dry wit he was probably feeling understandably low, she didn’t hesitate to smile. ‘You shouldn’t worry about not having much of an appetite. I’m sure it will return in a few days, when you’ve started to feel more comfortable about getting round on your crutches and are getting more sleep. Rest is one of the greatest healers, but in our fast-paced culture it’s too often overlooked.’

Hal’s golden eyes narrowed interestedly. ‘You sound as if you have some strong views on the subject?’

Laying her fork and spoon down on her plate, Kit took a few moments to mull over the remark. ‘Moving so fast puts a lot of strain and pressure on the body as well as on the mind.’ She sighed. ‘Sometimes we need to remind ourselves that we aren’t machines. We’re flesh and blood and bone, and an overload of stress and pressure can tip us over the edge as well as cause accidents.’

‘Then I take it you definitely wouldn’t approve of someone who regularly pushes their body to the max in the pursuit of being the best he can in any sport or activity he participates in?’

‘I presume you’re talking about yourself?’ Her gaze met his arresting hazel eyes and she saw his pupils flare teasingly.

‘Yes, I am,’ he confirmed, smiling. ‘I put my heart and soul into everything I do...and I mean everything.’

Kit’s body tightened at his emphasis and a distinct buzz of sensual heat sizzled through her. The strong reaction took her aback and caused her to feel unsettled for a moment. Willing back her composure—because in all likelihood it was second nature for a man like Hal to tease women and get them flustered—she reached for her fork with a matter-of-fact air and curled some linguine round it. The man was on a hiding to nothing if he thought to unhinge her with sexual innuendos to inflate his ego, she thought. He’d soon come to learn that she was immune.

‘I’m sure that’s commendable,’ she commented, ‘but it can also be dangerous when a desire to be competitive becomes the driving force in everything you do. Wasn’t that how you came to have your accident in the first place?’

The teasing smile completely vanished from her companion’s handsome face. ‘I suppose you read that in the newspapers?’ Plucking his linen napkin from where he’d laid it across his lap, Hal threw it down on the table in disgust and scowled. ‘Newspaper reporters aren’t exactly known for telling the truth, you know.’

‘Was that a fabrication, then? That you were racing a business rival on a ski slope that’s considered to be one of the most extreme terrains in the mountains?’

‘You know what, Kit Blessington? If you ever think about a change of career you ought to consider becoming a public prosecutor. You certainly don’t take any prisoners.’

Directly meeting his irritated glance, Kit shrugged. ‘That’s where you’re wrong. I would hate to be responsible for condemning anyone...whether I was paid to do it or not. And although I don’t think of what I do as a career, exactly, I’m quite happy earning my living at it and endeavouring to deliver a good service.’

Hearing the heavy sigh Hal emitted following her statement, she thought she’d better rein in her propensity to call a spade a spade before she talked herself out of a job. Antagonising a man who was already struggling to come to terms with an injury that severely restricted his usual activities was really not a good idea.

‘I’m sorry if I’ve offended you with my opinions,’ she said quickly. ‘I have no desire to upset you. I suppose I just get a little passionate about the things that I believe are right.’

‘Everyone is entitled to their views, and being passionate isn’t a crime.’

There was the briefest suggestion of a smile on his beautifully carved lips and Kit was reassured.

‘In my book being passionate just means that you care,’ Henry continued, ‘Which is why I take the risks I do in my work and in the sports that I love. And besides, it’s in the male DNA to be competitive...survival of the fittest and all that.’

Unable to curb the impulse, she leaned towards him. ‘I hear what you’re saying, but don’t you get tired of having to conform to that ethos all the time?’

Rolling his eyes, Hal grimaced. ‘Right now I don’t exactly have much choice, do I?’

‘I tell you what...’ Rising to her feet, Kit had a sudden brainwave. ‘Why don’t I make us a pot of coffee and I’ll cut you a slice of home-made fruitcake to go with it? I know you didn’t feel much like eating your dinner, but that could be dessert.’

‘We’ve got home-made fruitcake?’ His previously glum expression was transformed by the most beguiling boyish grin she had ever seen.

Crossing her arms over her mint-green sweater, she couldn’t help smiling back. ‘I brought it with me from home. I made it last night. When I rang the agency to confirm that I’d got the job the manager told me that it was one of your favourites.’

‘Sam probably tipped her off. She knows I’ve a real weakness for cake...particularly fruitcake.’

‘Well, then, why don’t you just sit and relax and I’ll go and get you some?’

‘Don’t forget the coffee.’

‘I won’t.’

* * *

As Hal lingered over his coffee Kit disappeared into the kitchen to stack the dishwasher. With a contented sigh he stretched out his long legs on the couch and winced as familiar intermittent pain shot down his calf. For once he didn’t allow it to destroy his equilibrium. In truth, he regretted not making a better effort with the aromatic pasta Kit had cooked, but he’d immensely enjoyed the fruitcake she’d made. It was probably one of the best cakes he’d ever eaten. One thing was certain: if that was an example of her attention to detail on behalf of the people she worked for then she couldn’t be faulted.

Utilising the remote device by his side, Hal turned up the volume on the soothing music he was listening to. If he could just learn to curtail the impatience and restlessness that had plagued him since the accident had immobilised him then perhaps he could start to enjoy the enforced rest that he was faced with? It had literally been years since he’d had some proper respite. Most days he lived his life as though he were in a race to get to the finish line first.

In a bid to divert the less than comfortable realisation, he returned his thoughts to Kit. There was something about the feisty redhead’s presence that was undeniably reassuring. What had helped her become so capable and pragmatic? He was curious to know. Maybe over the next few days he would try to draw her out and get to know her a little? The women in his life had always bemoaned the fact that Hal didn’t give them enough of his time and attention—be they the girlfriends he’d had or his sister Sam—because he was inevitably obsessed with work and also the high-octane sports activities he favoured. If he made it a bit of a project to find out more about Kit’s background by conversing with her and really listening to what she had to say then it might help him learn how to improve his relationships with women in the future. At any rate, it was worth a try. Seeing as though all his usual distractions were denied him because of his injury, why not just embrace what was available instead?

Another knifing pain shot through his leg, but it was mostly concentrated on the muscles in his knee that had been damaged. Just as he reached down to massage it the door opened and Kit returned. As if intuiting he was in some discomfort, she came straight over to him with a concerned frown.

‘I think I should get you some ice for that knee. But first let me put some pillows underneath you to elevate it. If we do that every day then it will help reduce the swelling.’

‘You’re the boss,’ Hal quipped ruefully.

‘It’s good to know you don’t have a problem with a woman being in charge.’

‘This is a one time and one time only deal. My tolerance and acceptance will only stretch so far. Once I’m back on my feet again you’d be unwise to push any advantage you’d gained while I was laid up.’

Raising her brows, Kit responded smartly, ‘When you’re back on your feet again you’ll no longer need my services, so such a possibility won’t even arise. I’ll be looking after another client...hopefully one a little less egotistical than you. Now, I’ll just go and get a couple of pillows to elevate that knee.’

Any response he might normally have made to such an unflattering observation worryingly deserted Hal. The idea that Kit was already eagerly contemplating a new client—one ‘a little less egotistical’ than he was—seriously bothered him. And neither did he welcome the sense of vulnerability it left him with. Weakness of any kind didn’t sit well with him.

As she exited the room to fetch the pillows he breathed out a disgruntled sigh. But when she returned carrying them, and leaned towards him to carry out the necessary manoeuvre, he immediately noted that her smooth alabaster cheeks had a faintly scarlet tint to them. How interesting, he thought. Perhaps it wasn’t just his egotistical nature that ruffled this coolly efficient redhead?

‘Lift up,’ she instructed, her bright blue eyes skimming his features with the merest brief glance.

Raising himself in order that she could slide the pillows beneath him, Hal wasn’t about to let the fact go unremarked...

‘You’re blushing, Ms Blessington. Does it disturb you to get this close to your client? Because if it does I don’t know how you’re going to manage when you help me into my bath later,’ he taunted.

Carefully assisting him to lower his legs down onto the pillows, Kit met his amused glance with a similarly mocking one.

‘If you think it’s going to make me squirm with embarrassment seeing an injured man in his birthday suit then I hate to disappoint you, Mr Treverne. Trust me—I’ve seen it all before!’

For the second time in a few short minutes Hal found himself worryingly bereft of an apt rejoinder and he didn’t like it. He didn’t like it one bit!


CHAPTER FOUR

THE LUXURIOUS BATHROOM adjacent to Hal’s equally opulent bedroom had a vast sunken bath and shower and a gleaming marble floor with a striking snakeskin finish. If Kit hadn’t known it to be true already, it screamed out that its owner was undoubtedly male, seriously charismatic and frighteningly rich. And so far her new employer was proving to be the most challenging one she’d ever worked for...

Dropping down onto a seriously comfy-looking chair, Hal handed over his crutches to her without preamble. It was nearly eleven o’clock at night and Kit knew that he was still tired, still hurting, and cranky because of it. Trying not to pay too much attention to the unhappy expression on his handsome face, she stood the crutches against the wall, leant down to the bath and turned on the taps.

As the water gushed out into the tub she glanced over her shoulder and asked, ‘What kind of temperature do you like?’

‘What?’

He was staring at her as though in a trance. Straightening, she crossed her arms over her chest, feeling as though she were suddenly being examined under the searching glare of an intense spotlight. It was hard to string a single coherent thought together when her heart felt as though she was careening downhill at breakneck speed because it beat so fast.

‘I asked what kind of temperature you wanted?’

‘Hot.’

Such a simple, commonplace word shouldn’t sound so...so provocative. But it did. And it didn’t help her case that she remembered telling Hal that she was hardly fazed by seeing a man’s naked body and had ‘seen it all before’. She didn’t doubt he thought she must be referring to her intimate experiences. Perhaps he thought she’d had several? The truth was she’d had just one briefly intimate liaison and that had turned out to be an unmitigated disaster. She’d been stupidly bluffing when she’d made her comment, so that he wouldn’t think he had the upper hand. And she’d called him egotistical!

‘Okay,’ she said.

‘I’ll need you to help me get in the water—also to put the waterproof cast protector on.’

‘Of course.’

‘Then I suppose I’d better get undressed.’

Swallowing hard at the very idea of seeing this man’s toned, athletic body bared for her eyes only—albeit so that he could take a bath—Kit had to dig deep to retain her composure. ‘Do you need any assistance with that?’ she asked.

Hal’s golden eyes glimmered almost painfully.

‘Not to get undressed, no. But you might as well stay in here until I’m ready to get into the bath. Think you can do that?’

‘No problem.’ She sensed heat flare in her cheeks even before she answered.

‘I’ll put a towel round me to spare your blushes,’ he declared, his tone indisputably provocative. ‘Even though you’ve assured me that you’ve seen it all before.’

Kit might have known he wouldn’t let her forget she’d said that. ‘Do you want me to put in some bath salts or foam?’ she enquired.

‘Some of that blue stuff on the shelf will do,’ he responded blithely, as if it scarcely mattered.





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