The Right Kind Of Man

by Jessica Hart

  Skye couldn’t have answered even if she had wanted to. She was beyond speaking, beyond thinking, every sense snarled in a helpless tangle of temptation, and then it was too late anyway, as he bent his head and kissed her.

  The touch of his lips was a spark to dry tinder; Skye knew intuitively that he was as unprepared as she for the flame of response that leapt between them. Perhaps, too, he was as helpless to control its searing power, for after that one shocked moment his hands tightened in her hair and his kiss deepened as he pushed her back against the wall.

  Skye was lost, abandoned to sheer sensation. Her hands had gone up in instinctive defence but instead of pushing Lorimer away as a faint, still sensible voice told her to they tightened around the lapels of his dinner-jacket, and she kissed him back with a kind of desperation. Caught up in the same breathless spiral of desire, his mouth moved hungrily against hers, and his hands slid from her throat to pull her harder against him.

  Skye was molten in his arms, careless now of everything but the need burning through her. She couldn’t kiss him deep enough, hold him close enough. She felt as if she was dissolving in the spinning excitement of his mouth on hers, his hard hands moving possessively over her body. Fumbling with the buttons, she undid his jacket and slid her arms around him, thrilling at the steely strength of his body.

  Gasping for breath between kisses, they clung together, oblivious to the fact that the stair light had switched itself off automatically. Skye had not known what it was to feel so intensely. She was dizzy with longing, intoxicated with an increasingly urgent need, and when his mouth left hers she arched her throat so that he could blizzard frenzied kisses down and along her shoulders, muttering her name almost accusingly.

  His fingers were groping for the zip at the back of her dress as she tugged his shirt free at last and let her hands drift luxuriously over his back with a murmur of pleasure. His skin was warm and sleek, and she felt his muscles flex at her touch even as her own spine shuddered in response to the demand of his hands.

  ‘God, Skye…’ At first Skye didn’t realise that Lorimer had dragged himself back to reality. Her lips were against the pulse thundering below his ear, her tongue exploring the taste and texture of his skin when he buried his face in her hair. Only gradually did she realise that his hands had stilled and that his back was rigid as he fought to bring his breathing back under control. Very slowly, he drew the zip back up and let his hands drop as he lifted his head. Then he reached along the wall and switched on the light again.

  Skye felt as if she had been dropped without warning into a pool of icy water. The light which had seemed so dim before was suddenly harsh, cruelly illuminating her bruised, trembling mouth and dishevelled hair. Her eyes were huge and still dazed with desire as she collapsed back against the wall, her knees trembling so much that she was terribly afraid she would just slide to the floor at Lorimer’s feet.

  For a long moment they just stared at each other as if unable to believe what had happened between them. Somewhere outside, a car changed gear and a siren wailed, but inside the damp, musty hall there was only the sound of their ragged breathing, unnaturally loud in the silence.

  ‘Charles is luckier than he knows,’ said Lorimer at last with a twisted smile. ‘If he’d come back with you tonight, he would never have been able to resist an invitation like that, and then he would have been well and truly in your toils, wouldn’t he?’

  Skye said nothing. Shivers of sensation were still rippling over her skin like aftershocks. She moistened her lips, but found that she was physically incapable of speaking so she just concentrated on clinging to the wall instead.

  ‘Next time,’ he went on when she didn’t answer. ‘I would forget about the jokes if I were you, Skye, and lure him straight to a dark room. I’m sure you’ll have better success that way.’

  Skye found her voice at last, or at least a pathetic imitation of it. ‘Go away,’ she whispered.

  ‘Don’t look so tragic,’ Lorimer said harshly. ‘I was just ensuring that all your best efforts at seduction didn’t go entirely to waste.’ He turned towards the door, then changed his mind. As if against his better judgement, he pulled her into his arms once more for one brief, hard kiss. ‘Think of it as a practice run,’ he suggested and let her go. At the door, he turned once more. ‘I’ll see you on Monday. Try to be on time for once.’ Then the door swung shut behind him and he was gone.

  ‘Anyway, darling, at least I don’t have to worry about you,’ her father concluded with determined cheerfulness. ‘Fleming’s been telling me about Lorimer Kingan. I gather he’s keeping your nose to the grindstone, but that won’t be doing you any harm. I can’t tell you what a relief it is to know that you’re in good hands for a change.’

  Skye thought about Lorimer’s hands, on her skin, in her hair, hard against her. She didn’t think that was quite what her father meant, but he sounded so worried about his business problems that she didn’t have the heart to tell him that Lorimer’s hands were far from safe.

  She had been devastated when Lorimer had left her last night. Shocked by the explosion of desire and still shaking from the abrupt return to reality, she had slumped back against the wall, squeezing her eyes shut against the memory of his kiss and the throb of unsatisfied need, until the light had clicked off again and she had had to fumble for the switch.

  She had been determined then never to see Lorimer again. Her face burned when she remembered how she had clung to him, her kisses deep and desperate and her hands urgent over the hard, compact, exciting strength of his back, heedless of anything but the touch and the taste and the feel of him. How could she have been so uncontrolled? She would never be able to face him again, not knowing that he too would remember.

  Her father was reminding her jovially of all the times he had fretted over the way she had drifted from unsuitable job to unsuitable job, and Skye realised for the first time just how thoughtless she had been. It was the first time, too, that her father had ever mentioned his own problems to her. Why should he always be the one to do the worrying? she thought, suddenly ashamed. He had always been there for her, helping her out of the messes she inevitably got herself into without question, and now it was her turn to do something for him. All he wanted was for her to stick with this job to the end of the three months. It wasn’t much to ask, and Skye didn’t have it in her to tell him, now that he was so pleased for her, that she had decided to chuck in yet another job. Another mess, another failure. Couldn’t she do anything right?

  Would it be so hard to carry on working for Lorimer? Skye asked herself. It wasn’t as if it would happen again. Lorimer wasn’t interested in her. That kiss had been…well, what had it been? A challenge? A punishment? A means of venting his irritation with her? It hadn’t had anything to do with love. And his casual words as he had left her shattered had shown more clearly than anything that the whole episode had left him unmoved.

  Well, if he could treat it like that, so could she. Welcome anger flickered along Skye’s veins, warming her out of her numb sense of despair, and if her father had been able to see her his brows would have lifted at the suddenly defiant tilt of her chin. Lorimer had no business kissing her like that anyway! Nor need he think that she would give up her job because of one crummy kiss. She would go into the office on Monday as normal, and she would behave as if absolutely nothing had happened. Nothing really had happened. It was just a kiss, that was all.

  That was all.

  CHAPTER SIX

  ‘HAVE you got anything planned with Charles this week?’

  Skye looked up warily from her word processor as Lorimer came into her office one Wednesday. Over the last two weeks, she had schooled herself to appear cool and unconcerned, but she still couldn’t prevent the jump of her heart whenever he appeared. Lorimer himself had made no reference to the kisses they had shared and behaved so exactly as he had done before that sometimes Skye wondered if she had imagined it. Once or twice, she caught him watching her unawares, but his
expression was always inscrutable and she could only hope that her own betrayed nothing of the memories that still tormented her.

  The atmosphere between them was strained and snappy, much as it always had been, and as it became obvious that Lorimer was not going to mention the kiss Skye gradually relaxed. She was still careful not to touch him, but she deliberately gave herself no time to think, and remember. At work, she dragged Sheila out to lunch or bullied the others into going out in the evenings, and the rest of the time galvanised Vanessa and her friends into a whirlwind of activity. Vanessa complained that she was exhausted, but Skye’s inexhaustible energy was fuelled by a dogged determination not to let Lorimer guess for one minute that she had given his kisses another thought.

  ‘What if I have?’ she asked suspiciously now. She hadn’t heard a word from Charles since that fateful night, but she didn’t want Lorimer to know that.

  ‘You’ll have to cancel, if you have,’ he said brusquely. ‘You’re coming down to Galloway with me tomorrow and we’ll be staying there until the weekend.’

  ‘Thanks for the notice!’

  Lorimer scowled at her sarcasm. ‘In case you hadn’t noticed, this is an office, not a dating agency. I can’t make all my arrangements to suit you.’ He dropped a file into her in tray. ‘We’ll stay at the Kielven Inn; give them a ring and let them know we’ll be arriving tomorrow afternoon.’

  ‘What if they’re full?’

  ‘At the end of the November? We’ll have the place to ourselves. I stay there often, anyway, so there won’t be a problem. Now, we’ve been invited to lunch with the Buchanans on the way down. They own the house I want to turn into the hotel at the heart of the new complex, and I’ve finally managed to talk them into renegotiating after the fiasco with the English investors. Nothing’s been finally agreed, though, so it’s vital that you give the right impression of the company. That means you’re to keep quiet, behave yourself and for God’s sake try and look a little more businesslike and a little less like a liquorice allsort!’ He averted his eyes from her boldly patterned jumper and striped leggings. ‘I’ll pick you up at nine o’clock tomorrow morning. Please be ready and waiting outside your flat, as I’ve no intention of finding somewhere to park at that time of morning and climbing up four flights of stairs to find out what’s happened to you.’

  Inevitably, Skye overslept. She had spent a wild night out with Vanessa’s crowd, trying to persuade herself that if any one of the young men there kissed her as Lorimer had done it would have just the same effect. Only she’d known that it wouldn’t. They were friendly and fun, but none of them had Lorimer’s mouth or Lorimer’s hands or Lorimer’s hard, strong body.

  At nine o’clock on the dot, a car horn blasted impatiently below the flat, and Skye, who had fallen out of bed only twenty minutes before, hung precariously out of the window, hair still wet from a rapid shower, and waved to catch Lorimer’s attention.

  She could see him frown and get out of the car, looking pointedly at his watch. ‘Can you give me ten minutes?’ she yelled down at him, so that everyone in the street stopped and craned their necks up to see what was going on.

  Lorimer stiffened with annoyance at finding himself part of a public spectacle. He pointed at his car, double-parked with the engine running. ‘One minute,’ he shouted back. ‘If you’re not here by then, I’m going without you and you can start looking for another job.’

  Grumbling, Skye threw her hairdrier into the suitcase banged it shut and grabbed her make-up from the bathroom. With no time to think, she had simply grabbed everything out of her wardrobe and shoved it into the case, with the result that it was far too heavy and she had to bump it down the stairs.

  She was pink-cheeked and breathless by the time she erupted out on to the pavement, trailing her jacket and scarf and trying to fix in her earrings—she had opted for zebras today—while still struggling to keep her makeup bag wedged under her arm.

  Lorimer got out of the car wearing an expression of profound irritation and took the suitcase from her.

  ‘What on earth have you got in here?’ We’re only going away for a couple of nights!’

  ‘I wasn’t sure what I’d need,’ Skye gasped, having finally managed to hook in the second earring. ‘So I brought everything.’ She got into the car and collapsed back into her seat, fanning herself with her diary.

  ‘I hope “everything” includes something more sensible than what you’ve got on now,’ said Lorimer, wincing visibly as he took in the full glory of Skye’s outfit. Skye herself had been rather pleased with her choice. She thought it was rather smart, but Lorimer obviously had other ideas. He eyed her short skirt and belted top, both zebra-striped in black and white, then his gaze travelled down long, slim legs, encased in sheer black tights, to black high-heeled shoes. He sighed. ‘I thought I told you to look businesslike?’

  ‘What’s wrong with this?’ Skye gestured down at herself. ‘This is smart! I chose it specially because it was black and white and you said you didn’t want any bright colours.’ She pushed back her hair and flicked her earrings at him. ‘Look, I’ve even got these to match. I’ve never been so co-ordinated before!’

  ‘We’re going to Galloway, not the Masai Mara,’ Lorimer pointed out caustically. ‘The whole idea of this trip is for you to keep quiet and fade into the background. I’m supposed to be persuading the Buchanans that this is a reputable development that will prove an asset to the local community, and they’re unlikely to be convinced when I turn up with a secretary who looks as if she’s just off on safari.’ He cast her an irritable glance as he waited to turn out on to Bruntsfield Place. ‘Don’t you possess anything plain?’

  Skye ran a mental eye over her wardrobe. ‘Only my black dress,’ she said without thinking, and then could have kicked herself. She had been so careful over the last fortnight to make no references to that evening. What had possessed her to mention the dress now? The very thought of it brought back haunting memories of that dim hallway and the breathless passion that had gripped them so unexpectedly. Did Lorimer remember the dress? Did he remember tracing its neckline with that one tantalising finger? Did he remember unzipping it slowly, easing it down over her shoulders?

  Skye swallowed. She just wished she could forget. She slanted a look at his profile under her lashes. He was frowning at the traffic, drumming his fingers on the steering-wheel, but as if aware of her gaze he glanced across at her.

  ‘Oh, that dress?’ he said drily. Obviously he did remember. Skye wished she’d kept her mouth shut. She bit her lip and longed to be able to look cool and unconcerned. ‘I hardly think a dress with that kind of inflammable effect would be very suitable for a trip like this either,’ he went on, and a disquieting smile glinted in his eyes. ‘You’re the only girl I know that can dress in unrelieved black and still look gaudy!’

  ‘What does it matter what I’m wearing anyway?’ Skye said hastily, anxious to steer the conversation out of these dangerous waters. ‘Nobody’s going to notice me if I have to fade into the background and not say anything.’

  ‘How can you fade into the background looking like that?’ Lorimer demanded as he acknowledged a taxi driver who had stopped to let him pull across the traffic. ‘I want people to listen to what I’m saying, not goggle at you.’

  ‘But I won’t say anything!’

  ‘You won’t need to say anything,’ he said sourly. ‘You’ll just need to sit there with those legs.’

  Skye looked down at her tights in case they were laddered. ‘What’s wrong with them?’

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with them. Far from it.’ He glanced at her knees, and Skye, suddenly conscious of how her skirt rode up over her thighs when she sat down, gave the hem a surreptitious tug. ‘They’re just too…’ He hesitated, searching for the right word. ‘Distracting,’ he decided at last.

  ‘But I’ve often worn skirts this length in the office and you’ve never been distracted,’ Skye pointed out huffily.

  Lorimer concentrated o
n the traffic. ‘Everything about you is distracting, Skye.’

  At that time of morning, the roads were still busy with rush-hour traffic and their progress was slow. Skye watched the pedestrians walking along the sunny side of the street, heads bent against the brisk wind. What did he mean, ‘distracting’? She wished he didn’t have this ability to unsettle her. She wished she’d never mentioned that wretched dress. She wished she could forget how warm and exciting his mouth had been.

  Perhaps she would feel better if she had had time to get ready this morning? Suddenly remembering her naked face, Skye fished her make-up out of her bag and began scrabbling in its depths for a mirror. A slick of mascara and a dash of lipstick, and she might feel readier to face the day.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Lorimer asked testily as they stopped at yet another red light.

  ‘Looking for my mirror.’

  ‘What on earth for?’

  ‘I want do do my eyes… oh, never mind, I’ll use this instead.’ Abandoning her search, Skye calmly twisted the rear-view mirror round to face her and unscrewed her mascara.

  ‘What the—?’ Lorimer cast her an incredulous look and grabbed it back. ‘I’m driving!’

  ‘You don’t need it when we’re stuck in traffic,’ Skye pointed out reasonably and turned it back to her side. ‘I won’t be a minute.’ Opening her blue eyes wide, she began carefully stroking on the mascara.

  Lorimer gripped the top of the steering-wheel very tightly and rested his forehead on his hands. ‘God give me strength!’

  ‘Oh, don’t make such a fuss!’ Skye was still disgruntled by her rushed start. ‘It’s not that bad.’ She pulled the top of her bright pink lipstick and twisted it up. ‘I’m only putting on a bit of make-up. I know this is Morningside, but surely even here a bit of lipstick doesn’t count as a cardinal sin?’