The Forbidden Innocent (5 page)

‘Anyway,’ he said hastily as he became aware that he’d made her blush and that her cheeks were flaring rose-pink. It was a long time since he had made a woman blush and the last time it had happened had
been in
very
different circumstances. Feeling another unwanted jerk of desire, he felt a stab of irritation. What he did
not
need was for her to start coming over all girly. For her face to start colouring every time he spoke to her, drawing attention to the fact that she was young and firm and that, despite the relative plainness of her face, he had seen her lips tremble. And didn’t nature make young women’s lips tremble to make you wonder what it must be like to kiss them? ‘Help yourself to breakfast,’ he said hurriedly. ‘And by the time you’ve eaten, we’ll be ready to start work. Okay?’

‘Okay,’ she agreed, her eyes following him as he walked out of the kitchen.

She nibbled at some toast and marmalade and when she’d finished she stacked the dishwasher and stopped to freshen up on her way to Jack’s office. Usually, Ashley didn’t have a trace of vanity in her nature, but this morning something made her linger for a moment by the mirror in the cloakroom. As if she wanted to see herself as
he
had seen her—but not wanting to wonder why.

The unremarkable oval of her face was reflected back at her as she pushed her hair back behind her ears. It was easy to be critical of her looks—as so many people had been over the years—and the foster mothers who had been looking for a doll-like accessory had been the worst. Little girls were supposed to be cute and pretty, but Ashley had never been that. Her skin was too pale and her mouth much too wide for her face. Yes, she’d been blessed with thick hair, but she realised that the neat, restrained style she wore for work gave her a rather
stern
appearance. Undoubtedly, her eyes were her best feature—for they were large and green—and this morning they were shining more brightly than usual.

Was that because she’d just drunk coffee with a ruggedly gorgeous man who had been unexpectedly kind and thus made her look up to him in a way he’d probably never intended? And didn’t that say something about her—that deep down she didn’t know how to talk to an attractive man without reading too much into it?

She finished drying her hands. Well, she didn’t need to read too much into it. Clearly, Jack Marchant wasn’t judging her negatively because she’d got herself into debt—but neither was he going to give her another thought. He certainly wasn’t interested in what she looked like—why, a man like that could have his pick of any woman he wanted! So she’d better just do what she was being paid to do and knuckle down to her job—instead of threatening her livelihood with emotional sensitivity and uncharacteristic bouts of studying her appearance.

After running upstairs to quickly change and weave her hair into its habitual twist, she hurried along to the study which he’d briefly shown her before dinner last night, relieved to find it empty—giving her the chance to acquaint herself with it before he arrived. But it wasn’t like any other office she’d ever seen. It was a pristinely tidy room and completely devoid of any of the usual knick-knacks which most people used to personalise their working space.

There were no photos. No foreign artefacts to remind
him of long-ago holidays or tours of duty when he’d been in the army. No medals or commendations. No tarnished trophies showing earlier sporting triumphs. Only row upon row of books lined the walls—mainly histories and biographies—all beautifully bound in soft, toiled leather. Other than this, there was no evidence of his past—or, indeed, anything of his present life. They said you could tell what someone was like by their surroundings, but if that were the case then Jack Marchant could be classed as something of an enigma.

In fact, the only thing which drew her eye was an exquisite little wooden cabinet which was tucked away in the corner of the room. Its gleaming walnut surface was inlaid with mother-of-pearl and was so beautiful that she wondered why it was hidden away like this.

She ran her fingers over the smooth wood and irresistibly they strayed to the single drawer—which slid out as smoothly as a hot knife being removed from butter. Glancing down, she saw a woman’s silken scarf in deep azure-blue. It was the last thing she had expected to find. Shot with delicate strands of gold, it reminded her of sunlight in a cloudless blue sky and Ashley blinked in surprise. Whose scarf was that? she wondered—just as the sound of footsteps along the corridor announced Jack’s return. Quickly, she slid shut the drawer and stepped away from the cabinet.

At that moment he came into the room, carrying a thick sheaf of papers, and his eyes narrowed when he saw her. ‘What are you doing?’ he demanded.

Ashley was an honest person but she was also an
instinctive one—and she valued her livelihood too much to risk it by admitting that what she’d been doing could be considered as snooping, and she certainly hadn’t meant to do
that.
‘Nothing,’ she said quickly, quashing her curiosity. ‘Just… just looking around the place and trying to get my bearings. And I’m ready to start work when you are.’

For a moment, his black eyes remained trained on her and the hard light at their depths glittered like jet. The kindness and warmth he’d displayed in the kitchen seemed to have completely evaporated, she thought, with a rising feeling of panic. His face was back to being formidable and he was now regarding her with cold detachment.

‘By the way, you’ve signed a confidentiality agreement, haven’t you, Ashley?’ he questioned silkily.

She lifted her eyes to his and forced a smile. It wasn’t an unreasonable question for an employer to ask in the circumstances—though it seemed to emphasise the fact that she was nothing more than his subordinate. ‘Yes,’ she said quietly. ‘I have.’

But oddly enough, the question hurt far more than it should have done.

N
MORE
Owas said about confidentiality agreements. And Ashley didn’t mention the beautiful scarf she had found tucked away in the bureau. She didn’t dare. It was none of her business—and there was something about Jack Marchant’s demeanour which seemed to discourage the asking of questions. Unless he was the one doing the asking, of course.

If only it were as easy to brush aside the growing complexity of her feelings for him and the confusion she felt as a result of them. She wondered what on earth she had thought about before she’d started working for Jack. When had he started to occupy most of the space inside her head? And what had happened to make her become so fascinated by him?

Whenever he walked into the room—whether he was wearing his beautifully cut more formal clothes or the faded denim which suited him just as much—she couldn’t seem to tear her eyes away from him. Unnoticed, she found herself gazing at his rugged profile when his attention was absorbed by something he
was reading. Sometimes, he would look up and catch her watching him—and so, of course, she forced herself to look away, her cheeks burning, terrified that her eyes might give away all her inappropriate feelings. Sometimes he would stand close to her and her senses felt as if they were being assaulted by his proximity. Her breath would catch in her dry throat so that even breathing became difficult when he was around.

Why was she reacting this way to a man who would never be anything more than an employer to her? Who probably viewed her in exactly the same way as he did Christine, his housekeeper—or the cleaners who came in several times a week to keep his manor house gleaming. How absolutely horrified he would be to learn that she sometimes lay awake in bed at night—alerted by the sound of his own sleeplessness—wondering what it would be like to be made love to by a man like Jack Marchant.

One morning he stopped in front of her desk, his tall shadow enveloping her. She looked up into the jet gleam of his eyes and felt the automatic quickening of her heart.
Don’t react,
she told herself fiercely.
Don’t let him see that you’re acutely aware of him as a man, rather than a boss.

‘G-good morning, Jack.’

‘Good morning, Ashley.’

Curving her lips into a pleasant smile, she tilted her head in question, wishing that he would move away a little—at least far enough for her not to have to inhale his delicious raw scent. ‘Can I do something for you?’
For a moment Jack silently cursed her innocent question.
Could she do something for him?
She most certainly could. He wondered if she had any idea of the thoughts which instantly came blazing into his imagination and tried to imagine her shock if he were to express them. Thoughts which began with a sudden and inexplicable kiss and ended with him thrusting deep inside her slender body and seeing that calm smile of hers dissolving into out-of-control pleasure. Erotic and distracting thoughts he should
not
have been having about his secretary. Not in any circumstances, but especially not in his own particular circumstances. And weren’t matters being made worse by her unique attitude towards him?

He gave a ragged sigh. Ashley was the least provocative woman he’d ever met—and as a consequence he wasn’t quite sure how to deal with her. If she’d been batting eyelids heavy with mascara and bursting out of skin-tight clothes, handling her would have been a piece of cake. He knew plenty of women like that. Just as he knew how to deal with their sexual voracity. The trouble was that he felt completely wrong footed by someone who was so damned
sweet.

Yet Jack was no fool—and he certainly didn’t aspire to false modesty. He knew desire when he saw it, and he’d surprised it in the darkening of her big green eyes on more than one occasion. Some women might not have bothered if he’d noticed them self-consciously biting their lips when he looked at them—in fact, they might have hoped that he would capitalise on it. But
Ashley was the opposite. She was doing her damndest to hide her feelings from him and conversely that was just making him want her
more.
Her studied modesty and the distance she was trying to put between them was an unexpected turn-on. A big turn-on. And he wasn’t quite sure what he intended to do about it.

‘I just wondered,’ he said huskily, ‘how it was going.’

‘Going?’ Confused, Ashley stopped typing and stared up into his face, steeling herself against the dark gleam in his eyes. ‘The… book, you mean?’

‘No, that’s not what I mean—I can see for myself that you’re making good progress.’ He gave a half-impatient wave of his hand at the neat pile of paper beside her. ‘I meant, your life here—generally. Your salary. That kind of thing.’

Despite the sudden drying of her mouth, Ashley bit back a smile. He made it sound as if he were asking a battalion of his troops whether they were satisfied with their rations! The requisite pep talk for the staff.
Because that’s all you are to him,
she reminded herself. ‘It’s fine. Honestly. It’s more than fine.’

‘You’re not bored?’

‘I try never to be bored, Jack.’

‘I’m very pleased to hear it. I always think that boredom indicates a lack of imagination.’ He stared into her wide-spaced eyes—as lush and green as any spring meadow. ‘No complaints with the way you’re being treated?’

Complaints? She stared up into his piercing black
eyes. Not exactly
complaints,
more like frustrations, a whole litany of them—all of them minor and none that she would ever dare express to
him.
Because there wasn’t an employment tribunal in the land which would uphold her protest of having a too-sexy boss.

As happened with all jobs, she’d quickly settled into a routine. She’d soon got used to the big house and the fact that her meals were cooked for her—and that the cleaners changed her sheets and left a little vase of flowers on the window sill. Just as she got used to the dramatic landscape outside her window and working for an enormously wealthy landowner. But working for Jack was different from anything she’d ever done before and that was everything to do with him. Because she’d never been attracted to any of her bosses before. It was unprofessional—and Ashley tried very hard not to
do
unprofessional. But it wasn’t easy—not when every day she was shoehorned into close proximity with him.

And Jack Marchant would tempt a saint.

It wasn’t just his iron-hard physique—which had been honed during his army years and had stayed with him ever since. Nor was it his ruggedly handsome face—which could veer so distractingly between forbidding and animated. No, Ashley decided—it was every part of him. The mocking sense of humour. The keen intelligence. The occasional glimpse of understanding—like the day she’d told him about her financial predicament.

Yet she suspected that there was a side of himself which he kept hidden away—and which made him so
much of an enigma. The inner disquiet which seemed to burn within him—which made her heart want to reach out to him and to ask what troubled him. He
must
be troubled—for why else would she hear his footsteps pacing the floor in the dead of night?

She would lie there, listening and trying to imagine what had caused it. Was he aware that his tread on the wooden corridors always woke her—and that she lay there longing to go down and comfort him? But the subject had never been brought up again. Not after that first time when he had asked her if she believed in ghosts. And it wasn’t the kind of thing you could just casually mention over morning coffee.

Sometimes he ate with her and sometimes she ate alone—picking at the delicious food which Christine prepared and served in the room they called the Garden Room. Jack told her that he wanted to make the most of the daylight hours, which were so short in winter, so he gave her every afternoon off and they would resume work at four, once the light had begun to fade, and then would carry on until just before dinner.

After lunch each day, he would disappear to the stables to ride his horse and Ashley would wrap up warmly to walk round the estate—revelling in the wildness of the distant moorlands and aware of the beauty of her surroundings in a way she’d never been before. Was that Jack’s influence too, she wondered—that somehow, subtly, he seemed to have awoken all her senses?