by Jessica Hart
'Honestly, no one would ever guess,' he said, and grinned. 'Perhaps I'd better see you to your room!'
Lou thought about walking along the dimly lit hotel corridor to her bedroom with him by her side, thought about saying goodnight. With anyone else, she wouldn't hesitate about kissing them on the cheek to thank them for dinner,
but Patrick wasn't anyone else. She couldn't imagine kissing him.
Or was that quite true? Perversely, her mind proceeded to imagine it perfectly well. With unnerving clarity, in fact. Lou saw herself leaning in to brush his cheek with her lips and breathe in the smell of male skin and clean shirt, saw the corner of Patrick's mouth curve into that smile she had been noticing all evening as he turned his head slightly and his lips met hers.
Uh-oh. Lou was dismayed to discover that her subconscious had been working on this for some time. Evidently it had already thought about exactly what his kiss would feel like, had spent some time calculating the way her bones would melt and her lips would part at the surge of pleasure at his touch, so it was all there for her to imagine, ready prepared.
She would be able to press into him, to wrap her arms around his lean, hard body and kiss him back while he tugged her top free and slid his hands under the silk and—
Good grief, what was she doing? Lou sucked in a deep breath as if surfacing after a dive and tried to still her hammering heart. Suddenly her body was humming, her mouth dry, and there didn't seem to be enough oxygen in the air. She was terrified to look at Patrick in case her thoughts were plastered all over her face.
Lou's cheeks burned. This was it. She was never touching alcohol again.
Where was the lift? Please, please, hurry up, Lou prayed.
As if catching her impatience, Patrick leant forward and jabbed impatiently at the button again. 'What are they doing—cranking the thing up and down by hand?' he asked irritably.
Lou didn't feel that an answer was expected, which was
just as well, given the extraordinary shortage of breath in her lungs right now.
In spite of herself, her eyes slid sideways to where Patrick was standing, looking conventional and utterly devastating in a suit, blue shirt and dark blue tie. The mere sight of him was enough to make her senses snarl with longing, to make her hands itch with the need to reach out and touch him, to make her throb with wanting to crawl all over him.
And she didn't even like the man!
Or she hadn't at the beginning of the evening, anyway.
Lou swallowed desperately and willed the lift to appear. This was awful. She didn't feel like herself at all. She just hoped the feeling would go away as soon as the alcohol had worn off. The sooner she got to bed—alone!—and had a good night's sleep, the better.
Ping. At last! The lift doors slid open and Patrick stood aside to let Lou in first. She walked primly past him, being very careful not to touch him and stood pressed against the back wall so that there was no chance of accidentally brushing against him. The way she felt, she wouldn't put it past herself to burst into flames, and then there really would be a nasty mess.
'Which floor?' asked Patrick as the doors began to close.
Oh, God, she wasn't up to answering questions that involved thinking! 'Um...four, I think.'
He turned from the control panel to look at her in surprise. 'You don't sound very sure. Do you know your room number?'
'Of course,' said Lou, flustered. 'It's...it's...' She dug around in her bag for the key card, but typically it wasn't marked with anything useful like a number. 'Four O seven,' she remembered with a gasp, and Patrick shot her a curious
glance as he pressed the button marked four, and five for his own room, which was on the floor above.
Of course the lift would have to be empty, thought Lou bitterly. Had it been this small on the way down? There wasn't really room for two people, she decided, sucking in her stomach in a vain attempt to make more space between them. Patrick seemed to be very close somehow. How was she supposed to stop her hands grabbing for him when he was only inches away?
She clutched her bag to her chest to keep them under control.
Silence. It seemed to thrum in the enclosed space and Lou gazed desperately at the numbers above the door as they slid slowly upwards. After talking non-stop all evening, she now couldn't think of a single thing to say, and it was a huge relief when the doors pinged once more.
'Urn...well...thanks for a lovely evening,' she gasped as the doors opened. 'See you tomorrow.'
Edging round Patrick, she stumbled out. Thank God, for that. Now all she had to do was get herself to her room, close the door and hope against hope that this evening had never happened.
'Lou?'
She turned to see Patrick holding open the lift doors.
'This is only the second floor,' he explained kindly.
Lou looked around her. That would explain why nothing looked familiar then.
'Oh. Yes. How silly of me.'
Mortified, she got back into the lift. Her face burned with embarrassment. Excellent. Here she was, aged forty-five, responsible mother of two and top-flight PA, making a complete and utter fool of herself.
'Here's four,' said Patrick as the doors sighed open once
more. 'Are you sure you don't need me to see you to your room after all?'
Lou couldn't look at him, but she could hear that he was smiling. 'I don't think there's any need for that,' she said with as much dignity as she could muster, which wasn't much. 'I'm perfecdy all right,' she said and promptly tripped on the edge of the lift, only just recovering herself before she fell flat on her face.
Great.
'Lou, are you OK?'
'I'm fine, fine.' Lou summoned a bright smile and straightened her jacket. 'Absolutely fine.'
A smile hovered around Patrick's mouth, but she had to give him credit for not laughing out loud. 'Well, goodnight, then.' He released the doors and they closed slowly.
'Goodnight,' said Lou just in time as Patrick disappeared from view.
It took her ages to get the stupid card to release the lock on the door, but finally she made it into her room, kicked off her shoes and flopped onto the bed.
Could it really only be eleven o'clock? Lou peered at her watch. It had taken her just over three hours to ruin her image and probably destroy her career in the process. She was going to write a stiff letter of complaint to the chairman of the east coast line, just as soon as her head stopped spinning.
If they hadn't cancelled all the trains because of one piddly little storm, she would have been safely home alone by now. She would still be thinking of Patrick Farr as an arrogant businessman with whom she needed to have a coolly polite working relationship, but in whom she otherwise had no interest at all.
Instead of which, she had talked to him and got drunk with him and confided her fantasies to him, and now she
was stuck with liking him, dammit. She wasn't going to be stuck with finding him attractive, though, Lou reassured herself. That was definitely off the agenda come tomorrow.
She just wished she hadn't made such a fool of herself in front of him.
Pulling her mobile phone out of her bag abruptly, Lou rolled over onto her front. She needed advice and Marisa never went to bed before midnight.
'I think I've just asked my boss to marry me,' she said when Marisa answered the phone.
'This would be the boss who never asks you about your weekend and is rude and arrogant, and doesn't look a bit like George Clooney, is that right?' said Marisa, who never minded phone calls that began in mid-conversation.
'Yes, except I don't think that he's that bad.' Lou rolled back so that she could look up at the ceiling and remember Patrick's face and the look in his eyes when she had asked about his fantasy. A squirmy feeling shivered down her spine at the memory. 'He's OK when you get to know him.'
'OK is not good enough for you to marry,' said Marisa firmly. 'You deserve someone who is fantastic at the very least.'
T don't want to mar
ry him,' said Lou, suddenly realising the implications of what she'd been saying to Patrick in the restaurant.
'Then why did you ask him to marry you?' asked Marisa, not unreasonably.
'I didn't really ask him,' Lou tried to explain. 'He was just talking about the kind of wife he wanted, and I said he needed someone like me.'
'And he responded to that how?'
'He said he'd think about it.'
'He sounds a cold fish to me,' said Marisa.
'I don't think he is really. He seems cold, but actually I think he could be quite...well, hot...'
There was a pause. 'Have you been drinking?'
'A bit.'
'Louisa Dennison, I'm going to tell your children on you!'
'Oh, please don't,' she begged. 'They'll never let me forget it! How are they, anyway?' she asked belatedly, feeling like a bad mother for not asking about them first.
'Fine. Sound asleep, and don't change the subject,' said Marisa. 'I want to know what's going on with you and Patrick What's-his-name.'
'Nothing's going on. We just had dinner.'
'And a vat of wine and talked about getting married!'
Lou cringed at the memory. 'The thing is, do you think when I see him tomorrow morning that I should apologise?'
'What for?'
'For all that marriage thing. I might have got a bit carried away,' Lou remembered uncomfortably. 'I told him I would be the perfect wife for him.'
'More to the point, would he be a perfect husband for you?'
'Definitely not,' said Lou. 'Patrick likes his women a good twenty years younger, with perfect bodies and an allergy to commitment of any kind.'
'Ah, he's a man, then!'
'This is serious,' said Lou crossly. 'My job's at stake.'
'He's not going to sack you for getting a bit drunk in your own time,' Marisa pointed out. 'It's not as if you were offensive... were you?'
'Of course not!'
'Well, then, I wouldn't worry about it. It sounds as if he had a fair amount to drink as well, and if he's anything like the men I know, he'll have a built-in ability to wipe any
conversation concerning marriage from his memory. He'll either ignore it completely, or say that was a jolly good idea of yours and why don't you get married after all?'
Lou was appalled at the thought. 'I wasn't being serious! I've got no intention of marrying again. Once was enough for me!'
'Shame,' said Marisa lightly. 'I saw this wonderful hat the other day. It would be perfect for your wedding.'
'Buy it and keep it for Grace's wedding,' said Lou. 'She'll be getting married long before me!'
Marisa just laughed. 'We'll see.'
CHAPTER FOUR
'I was wondering if you'd like me to find you a temporary assistant,' said Lou as she gathered up her notebook and stood up to go.
Patrick looked up over the rim of his glasses from the letter he was reading. 'What on earth for?'
'I've got a week's holiday booked at the end of May. I did tell you about it,' she added as she saw him about to object.
'I don't remember,' he said unhelpfully. 'Does it have to be the end of May? We'll be busy preparing for the Packenham contract then.'
'Yes, it does have to be then,' said Lou crisply. 'It's half-term, and I need to spend that time with my children. And don't start about what a liability children are,' she warned him as he opened his mouth. 'This is the first time I've needed time off, and I booked it at the beginning of the year. I don't think that's unreasonable.'
It wasn't, but Patrick didn't feel inclined to admit it. The truth was that he didn't like the thought of Lou not being there. He needed her to run the office. He wouldn't be able to find anything without her, he'd get over-committed and nothing would work properly.
And he was used to her now.
In a funny kind of way.
Patrick had wondered if things might have been awkward after that evening they had spent together in Newcastle, but, in spite of the fact that neither of them had alluded to their conversation that night, in many ways the atmosphere be-
tween them was much easier. It was hard to stay frosty, after all, when you'd talked and laughed and confided your fantasies to each other—although not all of them, in Patrick's case.
Of course, Lou had reverted to her crisp and efficient self the next morning, but Patrick was no longer intimidated by her. He had seen her tipsy. He had seen her fall out of the lift. She couldn't fool him now. He knew she wasn't the ice-cold superwoman she had once seemed. Now that he let himself notice the glint of dry humour in her face, the warmth in her smile, the ironic undertone in her voice.
Too often for his own peace of mind, in fact, Patrick found himself thinking about the contrast between his cool, practical PA and the warm, vibrant woman he had glimpsed as she'd leant across the restaurant table, her dark eyes bright and her face vivid.
I'd be the perfect wife for you, she had said.
It was nonsense, of course. If he ever contemplated marriage again, it would be to someone beautiful and passionate and sexy. He certainly wouldn't be tying himself down to a middle-aged mother of two, no matter how good her legs were.
And they were good. Patrick knew because every time she walked into his office he would find himself looking at them and remembering his fantasy about whether she was wearing stockings or not. Her legs were great, in fact. He couldn't believe that he hadn't noticed them before.
He knew it was pathetic. He knew it was politically incorrect and deeply inappropriate, and probably perverted, but once the thought had slipped into his head it was impossible to get rid of it. It wasn't that Patrick hadn't tried. Life would be a lot easier if he had been able to carry on thinking of her suits as dull and demure instead of sexy as hell, which was how they now seemed to him. He began
to think that it would be easier if Lou turned up for work in a miniskirt and plunging top. The kind of thing Ariel wore, in fact.
It was getting too distracting, that was the trouble. Patrick decided to stop noticing anything. It wasn't as if he were sex-starved, after all. Ariel was much prettier than Lou. She had a much better body, even better legs. What was more, Ariel was concerned when he was in a bad mood. She didn't just lift an ironic eyebrow, the way Lou did. Ariel never made him feel a fool. She never said cutting things.
But, then, she never made him laugh either, or left the office feeling empty when she had gone in the evenings.
Now Lou was talking about being away all week!
'It'll be very inconvenient,' he grumbled.
That's why I'm asking if you want me to arrange for someone to cover the office,' said Lou patiently.
Patrick scowled. 'It won't be the same,' he said. 'I can't be bothered to explain everything.'
'Well, you can always answer your own phone,' said Lou, unperturbed. 'Or take the week off yourself.'
'What?'
'Take the week off, have a holiday, relax,' she said, stopping just short of rolling her eyes, although she might as well not have bothered, Patrick thought. It was perfectly obvious that she was doing it mentally. 'Or would that be too much like having a good time?' she asked, quite unnecessarily, in his opinion.
Tm perfectly capable of having a good time,' he said, stung.
Lou didn't say anything. She just raised her brows and smiled faintly, in that deeply annoying way she had.
'All right.' Provoked, Patrick took off his reading glasses
and threw them onto his desk. Til take the week off as well. You can book it tomorrow.'
Lou was already at her desk when Patrick came in the next morning. Her heart had developed an exasperating habit of jolting at the sight of him, but at least it didn't show—at least, she hoped that it didn't. She worked hard to keep her expression as indifferent as ever.
It had been a huge relief when she had met Patrick in the lobby the morning after that night she had made such a fool of herself in Newcastle. As Marisa had predicted, he appeared to have wiped the whole in
cident from his memory.
'How's the head?' was all he had said.
Lou had grimaced. 'Not good,' she'd admitted.
'I don't feel so hot either, to tell you the truth,' Patrick had said.
And that was it.
Nothing more had been said, and gradually Lou had let herself relax. It had just been a silly evening. Patrick was obviously prepared to pretend that it had never happened at all, and that suited her fine. She had other things to worry about, like Grace's determination to have her nose pierced, and Tom's run-in with his English teacher. She would forget it.
Only it wasn't that easy to forget. Lou was uncomfortably aware of Patrick now in a way that she had never been before. It had been awful on the train. Sitting opposite him in the first-class carriage on their way back to London, she had kept noticing his hands, his mouth, the line of his jaw, the crease of concentration between his brows.
Once Patrick had glanced up and caught her watching him, and her heart had jerked at the keenness of his eyes, Flushing, she had looked away and cleared her throat as
she'd held out some papers. 'You wanted those budget figures for last year...'
Since then it hadn't been too bad, though. Patrick had no shortage of faults to concentrate on, so Lou made herself notice his abruptness rather than his mouth, his impatience rather than the way his eyes glinted when he smiled.
It was fine. Lou decided that she had made quite enough of a fool of herself in Newcastle. She certainly wasn't going to make things worse by getting obsessed with a ruthless, workaholic boss who was fixated on younger women. Even if her heart did jump a bit when she saw him.
Patrick paused by her desk on his way to his office.
4 You can book me a holiday when you've finished that,' he told her.
Lou looked up, thought about asking him if he had ever thought of learning the word please and decided against it when she saw his face. Most people managed to look happy or excited at the idea of a holiday, but obviously not Patrick Farr.