by Liz Harris
The rays of the early morning sun slanted through the small window in the ceiling and fell on Evie’s face. She stirred. Still half asleep, she turned over and buried her face in the pillow next to her. Her cheek met with hard muscle, and a male scent filled her nostrils. Her eyes flew open. Ohmigod, that was no pillow.
She rolled on to her back and breathed in deeply. She’d done it. She’d actually done it, and after only two small glasses of red wine. She’d found the courage from somewhere to ask Tom Hadleigh – hotshot barrister Tom Hadleigh – to get into bed with her, and he’d agreed. Well, perhaps agreed was a bit too strong for the position she’d put him in, but the result was the same. Wow!
It had been an inspired plan, if she said so herself, and it just showed how keen she was on keeping her job – her real job.
Within two days of working in Tom’s house, she’d realised that she was never going to uncover the proof her editor wanted by looking through Tom’s files and in his desk drawers. No one would leave full details of their affairs, complete with times, dates and places, lying around to be read by every nosy temp.
Her only hope of finding out what he’d been up to socially – well, sexually, to be more precise – in the previous couple of months was going to be the week in Italy.
The first stage of Plan A had been to get things on to an informal footing by getting him into her bed – she glanced across at the sleeping back and smiled in satisfaction – and the second stage was to encourage him to start talking as they lay side by side.
Getting him to start talking was going to be far from easy. The habit of watching his words in court had clearly extended to his private life, and although he’d always been courteous and polite when they’d met, he’d firmly kept his distance. Perhaps more of a distance than he would have kept if she hadn’t gone quite so overboard in following the editor’s instructions about her appearance.
‘You’ll need to keep a low profile, Evie,’ he’d told her when he’d called her into his office at Pure Dirt less than a week after she’d started working for the magazine. ‘Be smart but unobtrusive.’
As he’d been speaking, his eyes had been travelling down from the auburn hair that was piled carelessly on top of her head; to the unnaturally long black eyelashes; to the bright green sweater, cut very low, that clung to her curves and barely reached the waistband of her short black skirt; to the expanse of long, fake-tanned leg that ended in emerald green spiky-heeled sling-backs.
‘Unobtrusive,’ he’d repeated. ‘We don’t want to scare him, do we?’
Minutes before, he’d told her that one of his contacts at an employment agency had rung earlier in the day to tell him that Tom Hadleigh urgently needed an Italian speaker. The person had to be available to go to Italy with him for a week, and if he or she had secretarial skills, too, the contract would be for a month – a week working at his Hampstead house, a week in Italy, and then two more weeks back at his house.
As he’d only just hired Evie, the editor remembered her listing fluent Italian on her CV. Unable to believe his luck, he instantly dug deep into the magazine’s pocket and paid his contact to courier Evie’s CV to Tom, along with a personal recommendation from the agency saying that she was fairly new to their books but that she’d made a highly favourable impression on her first placements for them. His contact had got back almost at once to say that the job was Evie’s.
Normally the lawyer would have interviewed her first, the agency contact told the editor, but he was extremely busy, and it would be difficult to find the time to do so. He’d used the agency for several years and was prepared to take their recommendation on trust. However, he’d look upon the first week in London as a probationary period. If she proved unsuitable, he’d terminate the contract, no matter the difficulty that caused him.
‘Fuck probationary periods and all that crap,’ the editor concluded. ‘All I’m interested in is the proof that he was screwing the so-called morally blameless Zizi Westenhall. Get me that, and I’ll sue her for the shitload of money we had to pay her. And I’ll make that fucking lawyer look bad, too, for screwing a client whilst he was trying to screw us. I don’t care how you go about it, just get me the fucking lowdown.’
‘Why are you so sure they were an item?’
The editor rifled through the pile of papers on his desk and pulled out a photo. He waved it in front of her. ‘That’s why. Just look at them both – you can almost smell the sex. A paparazzi mate of mine came across them and he took it when they didn’t know.’
She picked up the photo. Tom Hadleigh was gazing across a candlelit table into the eyes of a very beautiful woman.
‘That’s Zizi Westenhall. Mrs Rich Bastard. And she had the fucking cheek to say we libelled her for fooling around behind her idiot husband’s back. Huh! You look at that and tell me she’s not having it off with her lawyer.’
‘They certainly seem to be very close.’
‘Tell me about it. Well, we’ve well and truly got him now. He sure is gonna regret the times he’s deliberately twisted our words and made us look like incompetent fools and liars. It’s up to you now, Evie. Together we’re gonna shaft the bastard.’
Scared witless and giddy with excitement at having been given such an important first commission, she’d turned to leave the editor’s office, but he’d stopped her.
‘If you fuck up this assignment,’ he’d said steadily, ‘your first job at Pure Dirt will be your last, and you’ll never again work on any other magazine if I can help it. But you know that, don’t you?’
The next day, she’d tied her hair tightly back in a bun, left her false eyelashes on the bedside table, put on the tortoiseshell spectacles she’d bought in the market and a drab beige suit, and presented herself at Tom Hadleigh’s house. She’d nearly spoilt it all by giggling at the expression on his face when he saw her thick glasses and sensible shoes.
The week in London had gone smoothly, and he’d seemed pleased with her work. So far things had gone well in Italy, too – after all, in fewer than twenty-four hours, they were calling each other Evie and Tom. But there was no time for her to rest on her laurels – she had to step things up a notch in double quick time, and she couldn’t expect the black scorpion to do it for her again.
The moment she’d caught sight of the scorpion in the corner of an empty hearth on her way back to her room after dinner, she knew she’d found the inspiration she’d been looking for. With wooden beams everywhere, there was bound to be a black scorpion somewhere in her room. All she had to do was find it, wait for the right time, jump on the bed and scream as loudly as she could. Which is what she’d done, and very successfully, too, as testified by the legal head on the pillow next to hers.
She glanced sideways at the object of her thoughts. He was asleep, half lying on his back. She propped herself up on her elbow and leaned slightly over him to get a better look at his face. Her eyes slowly traced his features and slid down his throat to a mat of rough chest hair. She moved closer still and followed the line of hair until it disappeared into a tangle of white linen.
Holy crap, she thought, and she fell back against the cool sheet – he’s absolutely gorgeous.
She closed her eyes tightly. She wasn’t going to look at him any more. He was a job, and nothing else. She pressed her eyelids harder against each other.
‘So, Evie, which of us is going to move first – assuming a) that you’ve finished your physical examination of me and b) that you don’t need to be rescued from any other insects prior to moving?’
She gasped and opened her eyes.
Tom had raised himself on his elbow and was staring down into her face. ‘Well?’ he repeated.
‘Huh?’ she squeaked nervously, trying not to look at the broad chest in front of her.
‘With reference to a), you’ve just given me a thorough once-over, but if you haven’t finished, I could lie still a little longer. It’s as you wish. With reference to b), as far as I can tell, I seem to have been a succes
sful bug deterrent, but despite you not wearing your glasses at present, you might be able to spot something I’ve missed.’
She felt herself going scarlet. ‘I was just wondering if you were awake.’
‘I see. And there was I, thinking you were scoring me out of ten. Silly ol’ me.’
‘No, I wasn’t.’ Her voice ended in a high-pitched croak.
He sighed deeply. ‘Ah, Evie. I’ve spent too many years watching people in court not to know when someone’s telling me porkies. So what was the score?’
She looked up and saw laughter in his eyes.
‘Well, then,’ she said, breaking into a smile. ‘Since I wouldn’t want to disappoint my boss on this beautiful Tuesday morning, I’ll quote my father – although he used to say it in Italian – every beetle is a beauty to its mother.’
He threw back his head and laughed. ‘I deserved that. All I can say is, I hope you don’t feel about beetles as you do about scorpions or we’re going to have a difficult few days ahead.’ Still laughing, he fell back against the pillow.
Evie started to laugh with him, and they turned at the same moment to look at each other across the pillows.
‘Well, then, Evie,’ he said, his laughter dying away. ‘What comes next?’
‘Nothing comes next,’ she said quickly. Even she would baulk at flinging herself on top of her employer’s muscular body and demanding immediate action. No, although Plan A had worked – he was where she’d wanted him to be – he didn’t look likely to start spilling the beans, and she was clearly going to need a Plan B after all. Maybe something involving hot sun and plenty of wine. When he wasn’t as physically close to her, she’d be able to think more clearly.
‘Then I’ll be a gentleman and get up first, shall I?’
Without waiting for an answer, he swung his legs over the side of the bed, reached for his robe and put it on. He stood up and made his way across the room to the door. When he reached it, he started to turn the handle, then he paused and glanced back at her.
‘I’ll see you on the terrace in half an hour for breakfast. After that, I think we ought to buy something to deal with any insects that might threaten our future comfort, don’t you?’ he said cheerfully, and he opened the door and went out.
‘Holy cow.’ She groaned inwardly as she heard him close his door behind him. ‘What does come next?’
Chapter Three
Their first morning in Umbria
Perhaps it hadn’t been such a brilliant idea to wear her grey trouser suit, she thought, coming out from the hotel into the bright morning sun. It was amazingly warm for the beginning of June. She wriggled uncomfortably in her jacket, pushed her glasses more firmly on to the bridge of her nose and looked around the terrace, but there was no sign of Tom.
She hesitated a moment, then made her way towards one of the small iron tables next to the balustrade that ran round the edge of the terrace. The jacket would have to go, she decided, and she started to unbutton it as she walked. It was going to be much too hot to be all starchy and formal. She slipped it off as she sat down. And it was much too hot for glasses she didn’t need. She took off her glasses, put them in the centre of the table and reached up to adjust the tortoiseshell barrette that held her hair back from her face.
God knows what he was going to say when he turned up for breakfast, which would be at any minute – it must have surely been a first for him that an almost naked woman practically forced him into her bed. Looking back on the night before, she wondered how she’d had the nerve. She groaned aloud. She couldn’t even bear to think about it in the light of day.
Yes, he’d seemed OK about everything when he’d woken up that morning – in fact he’d seemed almost amused by what had happened – but that was then and this was now, and by now he’d have had time to think about it some more. Instead of going one step forward after their night together between the sheets, they might have just gone two steps back.
But she wasn’t going to panic; no, she wasn’t. She’d deal with the fallout when it fell out and not before. Hopefully, her formal get-up that morning, softened by a slightly more relaxed hairstyle, would strike the right note and things wouldn’t be too embarrassing between them.
Anyway, she wasn’t going to give him another thought.
Taking a deep breath of lavender-scented air, she turned to stare at the slopes that swept away from the terrace towards distant hills that were a rich green and purple in colour. On top of one of the hills, a small town shone brightly in the clear light.
She wondered whether she should still call him Tom.
‘It’s a lovely view, isn’t it?’
The sound of his voice made her jump. She glanced at him as he sat down opposite her. He nodded towards the distant town. ‘That’s Todi. You can also see it from my house. Obviously, it’s a different outlook, but the view from the house is stunning, too. The scenery around here is one of the reasons why I fell in love with the area.’
‘It certainly is beautiful, Mr Hadleigh.’
‘I thought we’d agreed on Tom for the week. But if you’d prefer to be more formal …’ His voice trailed off and he gave a slight shrug.
She shook her head. ‘I don’t do formal if I don’t have to.’
‘I’d rather guessed that,’ he said dryly. ‘Ah, here’s the waiter with the coffee.’
What on earth did a girl talk to her boss about after a night like the one they’d just had? She bit her lip anxiously as she watched the waiter fill their cups. Handy Hints for Investigative Journalists didn’t exactly cover that situation. She was going to have to wait until he started a conversation and then take the lead from him.
‘The system is to help ourselves from the buffet,’ he said, standing up. ‘There’s always a selection of cold cuts and cakes. Come on, let’s go. I’m starving.’ And he moved off in the direction of a table at the far side of the terrace. She quickly got up and followed him.
‘The main thing,’ he began when they’d returned to their table having helped themselves to slices of the cheeses and cold meats, ‘is to make sure that the house stays in perfect harmony with its surroundings. Every piece of furniture has to be in keeping with the age of the property and its environment.’ He paused in the middle of cutting a piece of prosciutto and looked across at her. ‘And that’s where you come in, Evie. I need an exact translation of everything I tell the surveyor, or perhaps I should say geometra, since we’re in Italy. There must be no mistakes.’
‘I’ll do my best, Mr Hadleigh … Tom.’ She gave him a bright, confident smile. This was safe ground.
‘I’m sure you will. Now, I think I’ll go and get some cake. Can I get you something, too?’ He stood up, pushing back his chair.
‘No, thanks. I’ve had as much as I want.’
‘I didn’t think I’d ever get used to breakfasts like this, but I have and I like them. If you catch the waiter’s eye, you could get us some more coffee. And obviously whatever you want for yourself – I hope that goes without saying.’ He gave her a quick smile and began to move off in the direction of the buffet.
Her eyes followed him as he wound his way between the tables.
It was a mega relief that he’d put the night’s events totally behind them and was focused solely on the day ahead. He didn’t seem at all mad at her, and they were still Tom and Evie. So far, so good. Plan A might not have resulted in the hoped-for pillow talk but it had still been a step in the right direction. Now all she had to do was learn as much about the contents of his life as she was going to learn about the contents of his house, ideally keeping all of her clothes on this time, and her editor would be one happy man.
She wasn’t sure that she’d be one happy woman, but she wasn’t going to go down that path. She’d no choice but to do what she’d been told to do, and that meant that she had to come up with some ideas. That had got to be her focus, and nothing else.
Another shot of caffeine was a must.
‘Un altro caffè,’ she call
ed to the waiter. ‘Per noi due.’
While she waited for their coffee to arrive and for mind-blowing inspiration to fill her head, not necessarily in that order, she idly glanced across at Tom. He’d just bent over the breakfast bar and was reaching for a plate. His forearm gleamed in the rays of the morning sun. Her eyes dropped to the stone-coloured chinos fitting smoothly over his buttocks. He could win rear of the year, she thought, and leaned slightly forward.
A dark shape stepped in front of her, and cut off her line of vision. Damn!
She looked up and saw the waiter standing in front of her, coffee pot in hand. Impatiently she waited for him to fill their cups and move on, but by the time he’d done so, Tom was already on his way back to the table.
‘So, Evie,’ he said in an easy, conversational tone as he sat down and started to cut up his cake, ‘apart from something to deal with scorpions, and possibly even beetles – we’ve yet to establish your thoughts about beetles – is there anything else we need to buy in order to ensure that we sleep in our own beds tonight?’
Bloody hell— The events of the night weren’t totally behind them after all.
‘About yesterday evening,’ she began, twisting her features into an expression of tortured regret. ‘I’m truly sorry about everything. I don’t know what came over me, but whatever it was, it won’t happen again. I’ve always been terrified of scorpions.’ She put her hand across her heart and leaned forward, sincerity shining from her eyes. At least she hoped it was. ‘I should have thought ahead and brought some spray with me. It was unforgivable of me to put you in such a difficult position.’
‘At least that’s something we agree on,’ he said with a wry smile. ‘I suggest that we buy that spray today and then put the whole sad episode to bed. Ooops, I’m sorry!’ His hand flew dramatically to his forehead. ‘An unfortunate choice of expression. But you get my drift, I’m sure.’
‘Indeed I do get your drift,’ she said stiffly. She sat back against her chair and picked up her cup. She was the one who was meant to be playing high drama, not him. ‘Why don’t we drift on to a different subject?’