Trust Too Much

by Jayne Bauling

  ‘At least there’s little chance of his discovering your number here, and he doesn’t know where you’re working…I shouldn’t have given him my name that time I spoke to him, but let’s hope he doesn’t make the connection. It could cause problems for our switchboard—Yes, I know you can take care of yourself,

  but as an employee you come under my protection and have a right to expect it, at least while you’re at work.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Fee accepted it as gracefully as she could.

  It helped to talk openly about Vance Sheldon, she discovered, and it helped even more to hear Simon making fun of him. The haunted look left her eyes, and she even giggled a little as he became more colourfully slanderous.

  He left when the film ended, touching Fee lightly on the cheek before standing up.

  ‘You see, Fee, you can trust me,’ he said casually. ‘Sleep well.’

  But Fee didn’t think she would.

  Was he interested in her—whether still interested, or interested again—or was he merely being the concerned, caring employer she knew him to be?

  At work on Monday, Simon made no reference either to what had been said between them in Macau or to the Friday evening, and Fee deliberately kept her manner equally impersonal, despite her resentment, knowing full well that he was capable of losing interest in her between one day and the next, and half convinced that it had already happened, though his silence could just be Simon’s way of keeping the rules that applied to their working relationship.

  That remained unchanged, increasing the respect she felt for Simon as her boss, despite his occasional impatience, and the odd explosion of temper, although so far she had mercifully escaped being a recipient of his most blistering criticism.

  The first time she made a serious mistake that was a result of her own carelessness rather than lack of familiarity with the job or Simon’s failure to explain, he came stalking into her office and placed the offending document in her hands in ominous silence. The error was so stupid and so obvious that she was ashamed.

  ‘Oh, Simon, I’m so sorry!’ she apologised in distress. ‘How could I be so stupid?’

  A tightness around his mouth and a stormy look in the blue eyes usually heralded a short, spectacular explosion of temper, and Fee braced herself for a scorching confirmation as to her stupidity, but to her surprise it didn’t come. Simon stood there looking down at her flushed face and the apprehension turning her dark blue eyes almost black, and she saw him relax slowly.

  ‘It‘s all right, don’t be upset. Just do it over again,’ he said, and paused, following it with an irritable shrug. ‘And why aren’t I bawling you out? Hell, it must be catching, this business of not wanting to upset you that makes your family try to keep you wrapped in cotton wool…In one of your most usual, rather tart moods, you could take it and probably yell back at me, but when you look at me like that and sound so contrite I know I’d feel like a bully if I shouted at you!’

  Fee smiled shakily. ‘I’d deserve it this time.’

  He shook his head absently, lost in thought for several seconds. She was still seated, but turned away from her desk, Simon standing beside her, and she didn’t think he was consciously aware of his hand dropping to rest over her shoulder.

  ‘I’ve begun to see the old, teenage Fee quite often lately,’ he mused finally, still thoughtful. ‘I missed her to begin with, when you first came home, but there’s still a little of her in there, isn’t there? It’s funny, I’ve always thought of myself as being attracted to extroverts…Why do you look tired?’

  ‘I’m fine,’ Fee protested quickly.

  She suddenly felt acutely vulnerable, terrified of his guessing just how much of her new persona was mere façade, although she wasn’t sure why the prospect frightened her. He could hardly take advantage of it if she remained on her guard.

  The answer to his question was that she was sleeping badly, afflicted by a strange, tormenting restlessness. It was because she hadn’t really settled down yet and was still adjusting to being back in Hong Kong and having a new job, she had to assume. She could go to bed and lie there, with her mind going over and over the day she had just spent, but instead of lulling her such thoughts just made her feel more wide awake and restless than ever. Oh, and, if she was honest, she was finding working for Simon increasingly disturbing—exciting too, but definitely disturbing, making her suspect herself of the ultimate folly—except that it couldn’t possibly be true. She couldn’t be falling in love with him. She knew too much about him and she had too much regard for her heart; she wanted it to stay whole, and Simon broke hearts.

  Fee turned her head slightly, her gaze coming to rest obliquely on the lean, tanned hand curved over her shoulder, and she had to fight an urge to let her lips drop to its capable strength and kiss the darkly golden skin.

  Oh, God, what was she thinking of? She lifted helpless eyes to Simon’s face and he gave her a rather twisted smile.

  ‘No, I’m not supposed to touch you at work, am I?’ he remembered sardonically, removing his hand. ‘But where else can I? Don’t worry, sweetheart, it doesn’t mean anything.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ she muttered, struggling to quell an inner agitation.

  Simon looked oddly arrested for a moment, scrutinising her face intently and finally producing a complacent smile.

  ‘Get that done again,’ he reminded her with a gesture, and departed abruptly.

  What had she done? That smile of his worried her. He must have sensed that weak moment of hers, but it had only happened because she was tired, and vulnerably off guard in her relief at having been spared a caustic diatribe. He would soon realise that it hadn’t been something he could build on—as long as she was careful. She wished he weren’t so attractive, though.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  AFTER taking a call from Senhor de Freitas the following Friday afternoon, Simon requested Fee’s presence in his office.

  ‘Those figures for Macau—can I leave it to you to get them finished today?’ he asked with the confidence that always bolstered her own belief in herself. ‘I have to get out to the New Territories and the time it’s going to take me to sort this problem out means I probably won’t be coming back here today as I’m going out this evening, but Freitas happens to be coming over to Hong Kong tomorrow, so I’d like to take the opportunity to go over the figures with him personally. I’ve told him to come up to my place on the Peak as it’s Saturday.’

  ‘Then if you’re not coming back to the office again today, I’d better deliver them to you at home tomorrow,’ Fee suggested, hating herself for wondering what he would be doing and with whom that night.

  ‘Would you?’ As he considered her offer, a fleeting look of curiosity crossed his face. ‘If it’s not one of your particularly sacred Saturdays…How will you get there, taxi or tram?’

  ‘I’ve got my own car now,’ she admitted with some pride. ‘I got excellent repayment terms on the strength of this job. Charles helped me choose it.’

  ‘You should have asked me. I know much more about cars than he does,’ Simon claimed arrogantly.

  ‘Oh, you know more about everything than anyone,’ Fee retorted, forgetting their rules for once, riled by his assumption that she might turn to him for anything.

  ‘Thank you,’ he returned blandly, a gleam in his eyes. ‘Well, don’t come too early. Freitas said he’d aim for twelve, but we’ll have other business to talk about anyway, so it doesn’t matter if you’re a bit late. He’s coming alone, but why don’t you have lunch with us? That reminds me, please ring Mrs Deng and let her know—two or three, just as you please, and even if you don’t please I still don’t want you pitching up at the crack of dawn, because I’m attending one of those fundraising affairs for the refugee camps tonight and they always go on until late. Are you going?’

  ‘No, but I think Charles and Babs are.’

  ‘Come with me?’ Simon invited her, smiling ironically as she started shaking her head. ‘No, you wouldn
’t, would you? What are you doing?’

  ‘If I finish the work you want in time, I’ll probably look in on tonight’s battle of the bands. I saw one of the groups in Australia and they’re really good.’

  ‘Is Warren Bates going with you?’

  ‘No…’ Something in his expression disconcerted her, and she added quickly, ‘Shouldn’t you be on your way?’

  ‘Hell, yes!’ Simon glanced at his watch, characteristically losing interest in the conversation as his mind flew ahead to a sensitive maintenance problem that had developed at one of his major properties in the industrially developed New Territories and with which he wanted to deal personally. ‘All right, leave everything else and get those figures done. See you tomorrow.’

  As a teenager, Fee had never been included in invitations to Simon’s parties, so she had only ever seen his house from the outside.

  She had to identify herself before a man who was presumably Mr Deng would let her drive through the gates at eleven forty-five the following morning. He indicated a tiled circle at the top of the short, steep drive and after parking her Honda Ballade she got out and gazed up at the unusual house. It was a modern building, apparently a series of interlocked boxes on different levels, although she couldn’t work out how the effect had been achieved or imagine what the interior must be like; yet there was nothing stark about it and its colour, a pale pink wash, was the last she would have expected Simon to choose. Where the roofing was visible she could see that the tiles too were pink, but a deeper, warmer shade, and Mr Deng must have green fingers because marvellous cascades of creepers and shrubbery softened the effect still further.

  The heavy panelled front door—Thai or Burmese teak, she thought—was closed, but as she approached the steps leading up to it Simon appeared from one side of the house, swiftly descending another short flight of steps.

  ‘Fee!’ he welcomed her. ‘Come round.’

  Fee couldn’t say a word for the moment. He was wearing nothing but a pair of swimming-trunks which had obviously once been brightly multi-coloured but were now faded to soft, almost pastel shades, and the sight of all that beautiful golden flesh on display was just too much for her senses.

  She swallowed, discovering that her mouth had gone dry. Realising she was staring, she hastily averted her eyes.

  ‘Here,’ she offered tautly, thrusting the folder she was carrying at him. ‘I must go.’

  ‘No, you mustn’t,’ Simon contradicted her, taking her arm. ‘Come and admire my pool. I should have told you to bring a bikini. There are probably a few lying around but no one I know is quite your size and shape…You look nice. I was wrong about mini-skirts. These long skirts you sometimes wear suit you; but why do you always wear those straight, severe things for the office?’

  ‘Miss Betancourt’s training,’ she murmured, recovering and letting him guide her up the steps, although she wished he would take his hand away.

  It was another hot day, slightly hazy, and the swimming-pool sparkled at the centre of an unusual surrounding deck, plain square tiles irregularly interspersed with subtly patterned ones. At one end a moulded oval garden table was protected by a sunshade, also oval, with a few chairs and sun-loungers close by, their cushions matching the sunshade. Releasing her, Simon put the folder down on the table and turned to look at Fee with a blazing smile, not saying a word as his eyes travelled over her face in its frame of casual curls and on to the slenderness of her figure, in a way that almost convinced her that he could actually see what lay beneath the subtle violet material of her sleeveless top and the folds of her informal violet and soft crimson skirt. She looked back at him helplessly, locked into a terrifying vulnerability, because something had changed and this wasn’t the Simon of the office.

  ‘It makes a tantalising change to have you to myself away from the office. Such a rare occasion calls for a celebration of some kind,’ he told her softly, still smiling, but rather quirkily now as he continued with lazy humour, ‘I was actually planning to be incredibly nice and hospitable, to let you relax and entertain you with my wit and charm, at least to begin with…But I don’t think I really want to wait, do you? Come here, darling.’

  But Fee couldn’t move, so he came to her.

  She was trembling violently, filled with a hot, sweet excitement as Simon drew her into his arms, and she offered him her lips quite instinctively.

  His mouth moved so gently over hers, and in it, that she felt as if she were dissolving, and a shaken sigh escaped her as he ended the kiss. She had dropped her keys without realising it, and her hands had been pressed against his chest, but now she slid her arms round him. His back was warm from the sun and her fingers stirred languidly against the firm flesh, loving the smoothness of his skin.

  ‘That’s nice,’ Simon murmured and she felt his slight ripple of response. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever known anyone quite as lovely as you. You have such a beautiful mouth…’

  He claimed it again, and several times more, but never lingering too long, those tenderly erotic kisses interspersed with others lightly skimming her delicate jawline, brushing her cheeks, straying to her throat and nuzzling at the fair, polished skin beneath her ears. Only when it was Fee, hopelessly adrift on a sweeping tide of longing, who clung and drew him insistently in again when he would have released her mouth once more did Simon cease those teasing interludes, his kisses growing intensely intimate, gently possessive and finally passionately sensual.

  Fee’s breathing was ragged as he lowered her to one of the cushioned sun-loungers, half in sun, half in shade.

  ‘Simon,’ she whispered wonderingly, lifting shaking fingers to the taut, intent face just above hers.

  He was so beautiful, a golden idol in the sun, then mysteriously shadowed as he moved into the shade in which she lay. Then her eyes adjusted to the change and she saw that he was smiling at her as she traced the tense line of his cheek.

  ‘I love the way you touch me,’ he confessed. ‘So gently that it makes me want to do the same for you…’

  He bent to her, half lifting her so that he could cradle her in his arms, and Fee had never felt so wanted, so cherished, so feminine. He was kissing her again and she was responding with a wantonness that was both wild and tender, while her hands roamed caressingly over his flesh in their own act of adoration.

  Her top buttoned up the front but she was unaware of his unfastening it until he came to the clip of her plain white bra, skilfully freeing her small firm breasts. Then he drew back a little, suddenly very still as his eyes came to rest on the pale pearly sheen of the gently sloping mounds, their erect peaks the same beautiful colour as the natural flush of her mouth.

  ‘Fee?’ he prompted questioningly on an odd, urgent note.

  He touched her as if he was reaching out to discover something sacred and long-dreamed of, tracing the curve of her breasts, and circling them so tenderly that Fee was choked by a hot rush of emotion.

  His mouth dropped to hers again as one arm drew her in, close and tight now, and a hand still cupped one breast from beneath, fingers rhythmically massaging at her flesh, which seemed to swell to fill the shape of his hand.

  Simon’s mouth was passionate now, insistently demanding, and as Fee wound her arms about his neck a hand lifted to his bright head, she felt him shudder slightly with sensation and she herself was suddenly frantic in his embrace, not knowing what she herself truly wanted—less or more, an end or continuation—but wanting what he wanted, because he was Simon.

  As he raised his head, her agitated, strangled gasp made him stiffen momentarily and then, unbelievably, he was relaxing and withdrawing from her embrace, quickly refastening her bra and smiling at her.

  ‘Enough for now? It’s all right, sweetheart, we’ve got all day and, to be honest, I hadn’t intended things to get quite so out of hand right here and now, but you are so very lovely.’ His voice had been reassuring, but amusement laced it as he added, ‘Only, please button that top, or plans and intentions aren’t going
to count for much.’

  What had she been doing? As the shock of reality hit her, Fee flushed, fumbling awkwardly to obey his request, her vision blurring as she tried to focus on recalcitrant buttons.

  ‘I should have known!’ But she was still too agitated to make the attack coherent initially, and furious with this man who could make her forget all the things she really wanted and seduce her into believing instead that she wanted him and the superficial short-term affair he was offering her. ‘You appear to be forgetting that I’m here on a work-related matter, Simon, so this counts as office hours. But, if you don’t mind, I won’t wait to see Senhor de Freitas. You don’t really need me, do you?’

  ‘You’re staying for lunch.’ Simon had stood up.

  ‘No! I wasn’t going to anyway,’ Fee asserted sharply. ‘I told Mrs Deng lunch for two when I rang her for you yesterday.’

  ‘Yes, two. You and me, Fee,’ Simon elaborated. ‘No one will disturb us at all today.’

  ‘What about Senhor de Freitas?’ She indicated the folder lying on the table as she got to her feet. ‘He should be here any minute.’

  ‘Oh, he cancelled our appointment early this morning. Apparently his two infants woke up with spots and raging temperatures, and as our meeting wasn’t urgent and it is the weekend he felt he should stay home and help his wife with them,’ Simon announced blandly, following it with an idly reflective smile. ‘Usually that sort of thing annoys me. People shouldn’t get married; they’re always wanting to change appointments or take time off to tend sick spouses or children, or because of anniversaries, birthdays, babies being born and what-have-you…But this time I wasn’t complaining.’

  Fee’s head had jerked upwards, her flush fading, leaving her face so dead white that her eyes looked black. Her mouth shook momentarily, and then it tightened.

  ‘Again,’ she realised flatly. ‘Like Mr Sheldon.’

  Simon’s features tautened slightly, but then a glint of amusement appeared in his vivid eyes.

  ‘You weren’t exactly screaming for help, darling,’ he drawled.