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‘Come with me and I’ll show you where you’ll be staying.’
To her surprise, he walked straight through the house and out at the other side, into a beautifully informal garden whose vast size made her blink. He weaved his way down a winding path onto which a profusion of different-coloured flowers spilled, their hues like the contents of an artist’s palette. He stopped at last in front of a building painted in an ice-cream-pink colour. It was a single storey only, and looked so cosy that it reminded Kitty immediately of an olde-worlde English cottage—she half expected to see hollyhocks and delphiniums growing around the door!
‘I’ve put you in this annexe,’ he said. ‘I thought you might prefer it. It’s completely self-contained.’
‘The servant’s quarters?’ she murmured without thinking, then immediately wished she hadn’t, for he fixed her with a sharp look.
‘I thought that you might prefer the privacy. I have house guests staying sometimes—and as you’ll be serving them with food and drink for a lot of the time I thought you’d like your own particular escape-valve.’
Her heart sank. The whole point of taking this job had been to give her access to his house. How on earth was she supposed to get to know the combination of his safe if she was situated miles away from the wretched thing? ‘But what happens if they want drinks or snacks, say, in the middle of the afternoon?’ she suggested brightly. ‘Surely it would be much easier to have me—on tap, so to speak?’
His eyes narrowed at her unfortunate phrase, and she flushed scarlet to the roots of her hair.
‘If they want anything between meals I can fix it. Or they can. I don’t want you to be at my beck and call all day—that isn’t the way I operate. You’re employed to provide breakfast, lunch and dinner. And sometimes tea mid-afternoon. And if that sounds like slave-labour, then remember—the nature of my job means I may have to go off for two or three days at a time, and you’ll be completely free when I do.’
What alternative did she have other than to smile politely? ‘That sounds very reasonable,’ she said. Too reasonable. She’d have preferred a touch of the tyrant—tyrants were easier to dislike than reasonable men.
‘It’s now almost one,’ he continued in that deep, drawling voice. ‘Don’t bother with lunch today. If you’d like to get yourself unpacked, I’ll send Simon over in about an hour—he’ll show you over the main house. You remember Simon?’ he prompted, with an indefinable gleam lighting his grey eyes.
Yes, she remembered the tall, brown-haired secretary with whom she’d shared a short and somewhat awkward meal after her bizarre ‘interview’—when he had steadfastly and neatly fielded any questions which might have given her a little more insight into the character of Darius Speed. Had he told his boss that she had seemed unusually interested in him? she wondered briefly, before discounting the thought. He probably hadn’t thought to mention it—for wouldn’t any prospective employee show a healthy interest in the man she would be working for, especially a man with the formidable reputation of Darius?
‘Thanks,’ she said, giving him what she hoped was another polite smile.
He nodded his dark head. ‘I’ll leave you to settle in. You have your own kitchen, which is fully stocked with everything I thought you’d need. Anything else, order it up through Simon. There’s a swimming-pool in the grounds—please feel free to use it.’ He began to turn away.
‘And—when would you like me to start work?’ she ventured.
He frowned distractedly, as if she had intruded on his thoughts. Glancing at the watch on his wrist, he paused. ‘Let me see— I’m working on a script all day and I’m out to the theatre tonight. I’d like some sandwiches and tea at five-thirty, and supper for four after the show—just something cold which you can leave out. Nothing too fancy. Use what’s available for tonight—you can shop tomorrow. And now,’ he added, ‘I’d better shower— I’m expecting a transatlantic call very shortly.’
She had a sudden, brief image of him showering. With Julia? Would the pretty brunette soon be slowly and sensuously rubbing lather all over that magnificent body of his ... ?
Kitty came back to the present to realise that she was studying the bronzed shafts of his muscular legs rather too closely, and she couldn’t miss the tiny flash of discernment which briefly flared in the silver eyes as he acknowledged her scrutiny. A small smile played at the corners of his lips.
‘Well, I think that’s all. I’ll see you at dinner— Kitty.’ And he walked off back down the path the way they’d come, his tennis clothes dazzlingly and starkly white against the deep, rich colours of the flowers.
Oh, lord, thought Kitty, her eyes following him with reluctant fascination. How on earth can I work for him and how can I steal from him if I’m going to start conjuring up disturbingly erotic fantasies about him on day one?
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_99b55c65-7b7e-523b-a38f-baf2f707a11c)
KITTY’S hands were trembling as she pushed open the door and walked into the annexe, but her surroundings quickly lulled her into a calmer state, for it was impossible not to appreciate the comfort of the accommodation Darius had provided.
The sitting-room was deceptively large—but then she decided that perhaps the simplicity of the furnishings added to the illusion of space. The floors were of some pale wood which shone with the gleam of regular polishing. Several rugs were scattered here and there, woven with images which resembled some of the aboriginal paintings she had spotted in various Perth shops.
On the white walls were several large paintings depicting the Australian outback, whose vibrant colours dominated the room. They were all so exquisitely executed that she stood for a moment before one, completely lost in it. She saw the vivid cobalt-blue of a cloudless sky, contrasting with the deep dry red of the terrain, out of whose dust spiky, unfamiliar plants grew. She could imagine the harshness of that bleak and beautiful landscape. A different Australia, she thought as she gazed at it with rapt attention—and a world away from the sophisticated city she had seen so far.
Shaking herself out of her reverie, she explored the rest of the cottage. There was a bathroom with both bath and shower, a state-of-the-art kitchen, and a bedroom with a double bed in it ... For one wild, unstoppable moment she imagined Darius Speed lying darkly naked against the stark white sheets. She wondered fleetingly if he made love as beautifully as he made films ...
Oh, for goodness’ sake! She was becoming obsessed with thinking about sex—she, with the sexual experience of a gnat!
What was important was that she was here, ready to put her plan into action and to do a big favour for Caro.
Kitty owed a lot to Caro. The rather eccentric sixty-five-year-old had rescued her from the deadly-dull highway snack-bar where Kitty had been working ever since she’d arrived in Western Australia on a working holiday, feeling utterly miserable and determined to forget all about Hugo. Caro had employed her as a temp in her own employment agency, Caro’s Kitchen Cookies. Caro was friendly and clucky and Kitty adored her—and if the jobs she’d been sent on weren’t up to much, well, at least they’d been thankfully brief and a whole lot better than the highway snack-bar. Kitty had shied away from permanent work, thinking that it might be too restrictive, but soon she’d begun to hanker after something which would allow her to use her culinary skills, instead of zooming round carrying a tray all day.
Then one day Caro had announced that she had the perfect permanent job—‘but I can’t possibly send you on it.’
‘Why not?’ Kitty had wanted to know.
‘Because it’s working for Darius Speed—the cheating swine!’
That’s when the whole story had come out about Darius Speed stealing Caro’s film-script.
‘I sent it to him in good faith!’ she’d quavered. ‘It was brilliant—and now I hear he’s making it into a film, with not a cent to me, or even a mention!’
Kitty had begged to go on the interview. ‘I’m going to get your script back for you, Caro,’ she’d said coolly.
‘Could you really?’ Caro’s hands had fluttered as she’d waved her cheroot in the air. ‘But you will be careful, won’t you?’ she’d twittered. ‘He can be very devious, you know.’
‘Well, I can be devious too,’ muttered Kitty aloud as she began to undo the zip of her suitcase. ‘Taking advantage of an old lady, indeed!’
She quickly hung her clothes up and filled the drawers with underwear, swimsuits and T-shirts, and checked her reflection in the mirror. She was wearing cobalt-blue leggings and a short-sleeved silk shirt of exactly the same colour. A casual outfit, and one which was entirely suitable for cooking, particularly when protected by one of the deep blue cotton smocks she usually wore for working.
She unpacked her various lotions and potions in the bathroom, before glancing at her watch. It would, in normal circumstances, she thought rather wistfully, be absolutely wonderful to have a swim in the pool he’d mentioned. But these were not normal circumstances, and it was important that she didn’t lose sight of that for a moment. Important that she stayed on her guard where Darius Speed was concerned ...
She glanced at her watch again. It had only taken her twenty short minutes to unpack, and Darius had said that Simon would be around in an hour.
Her sneaker-clad foot tapped lightly on the wooden floor and, as the minutes ticked by, she became sorely tempted to go and explore the house for herself.
Why bother waiting for Simon to come and show her around? Why not show a little initiative? She would go and explore the kitchen in the main house, decide what to cook for the evening meal, and maybe—just maybe—catch a glimpse of where he kept his safe ...
She walked back along the perfumed path and into the main house, revelling in its cool, dim interior. The floors here were marble—she’d never seen marble floors in a private house before—and there was something so ancient and classical about them that she found herself having to resist an urge to slip her canvas shoes off, to feel the polished stone cool and smooth beneath her bare feet.
The house was also quiet.
Very quiet.
She stood still for a moment, listening, her head cocked to the side like a bird which suspected that a cat lurked near by. There was not a single sound to be heard.
Kitty made up her mind instantly, reminding herself of all the maxims learnt in childhood—about no time like the present, he who hesitates is lost ... so why waste an opportunity which might not arise again for some days? Darius was in the shower, which meant that the study was free. And the study was probably where he kept his safe ...
A number of doors led off the large main hallway and she moved lightly towards the door she thought he had said was his study, pausing as she gave the gentlest of taps, which went unanswered, so, pushing it quietly open, she stepped inside, her heart sinking with disappointment as she noted that it was a light, airy sitting-room whose doors opened on to the veranda. Not a sight of a safe to be seen ...
She retraced her steps back into the hall, her eyes scanning the doors anxiously, as if she hoped that their closed exteriors might provide her with some clue. Like a small painted notice saying ‘safe’— perhaps with a convenient arrow? she thought with a trace of humour as she knocked at a second door, her heart lifting as she walked inside and saw walls lined from ceiling to floor with books. Eureka! She saw a huge high-backed chair with its back to her which presided over a vast antique desk. His study, she thought with relief.
And then, to her absolute horror, the chair slowly swung round and, facing her, the quicksilver eyes as cold as mercury itself, the mouth unsmiling, sat Darius, his dark hair in damp tendrils, a telephone receiver cradled between neck and shoulder and— oh, horror of horrors—he was wearing nothing but a short, dark towelling robe which gave her a provocative glimpse of taut, hair-roughened thigh and an equally disturbing view of a dark, muscular torso.
‘Hello, Kitty.’ The deep voice was very quiet, a strange undertone to it which filled her with instinctive foreboding. ‘Looking for something?’
She thought, desperately, that her guilt must be written all over her frozen stance. If her intentions had been innocent, she would have been able to shrug and laugh it off, but, as it was, she didn’t like the way he was looking at her one bit.
She decided quickly to brazen it out. ‘Sorry,’ she said guilelessly. ‘I was looking for the kitchen.’
‘I pointed it out to you earlier. Remember?’ he prompted sarcastically.
‘I’d—forgotten,’ she improvised quickly.
‘But that’s precisely why I instructed Simon to give you a guided tour,’ he snapped back. ‘I thought I told you to wait for him to collect you?’
‘Er—so you did,’ she said lamely as she tried to think of a reasonable-sounding excuse, but quite honestly the sight of his body, obviously stark-naked beneath the robe, had put paid to any powers of reasoning remaining intact.
‘So why didn’t you?’ he barked out at her, as though she were some kind of imbecile.
‘Because I——’ But she didn’t have a chance to formulate an answer.
‘Listen,’ he cut across her, his voice as cold as his silver-grey eyes. ‘Did you ever stop to wonder why I took so long before I interviewed you?’
‘It had crossed my mind,’ she admitted. ‘I thought you’d probably found someone else you preferred.’
‘What an attractive idea, Kitty,’ he said softly. ‘But unfortunately, unless I employed some well-established prima donna, there was no one nearly as good as you. And the reason I took so long was that I’m very fussy about who I allow in my home— and therefore I needed to write to England for your references.’
‘But I sent you my references!’ she protested.
‘Which weren’t worth the paper they were written on,’ he ground out uncompromisingly. ‘It’s a common enough trick among people working abroad to forge their testimonials.’
Kitty’s mouth fell open. In the circumstances, what right did he have to accuse her of being a cheat?
‘I was satisfied with the information I received from England,’ he continued relentlessly. ‘As I was satisfied that you were reliable enough to carry out simple instructions. When I told you to wait, you damned well should have waited!’
Kitty set her mouth into a truculent line. ‘I was using my initiative!’ She glowered at him.
The silver eyes never left hers. ‘Well, don’t.’
And at this cursory order her vague stirrings of anger bubbled right over, even as she recalled his earlier instructions that he wasn’t to be disturbed in his study. ‘Oh, I’m so sorry,’ she snapped, tossing her red plaits back over her shoulders. ‘Is this room out of bounds or something?’
He said nothing for a moment, just allowed quicksilver eyes to travel over her face, resting for long seconds on her mouth with such intensity that she was afraid that she had some speck of dust on it or something, and her tongue snaked out to circle wetly round her lips.
‘Not necessarily,’ he said softly, his eyes still on her lips.
Oh, lord. He was so gorgeous. She suddenly forgot his high-handed and autocratic manner— forgot everything. Because, with his eyes homing in on her mouth like that, she felt as though he was actually kissing her, such was the potency of his magnetic stare. Tiny goose-pimples broke out beneath the thin blouse; she could feel her nipples begin to harden and scrape against the lace of her brassiere, and colour surged into her cheeks—because what if he noticed that? ‘Could you direct me to the kitchen—please?’ she asked breathlessly, desperate to get away from him and from this temporary insanity which had invaded her.
‘You’ll have to wait.’ He nodded to a chair directly opposite him, on the other side of the desk. ‘Sit down. I’m waiting for a call.’
She was reluctant to do as he asked, still afraid that those perceptive eyes would see the way her body was reacting to him, although the almost painful hardening of her breasts had already begun to subside. ‘Then if it’s confidential——’
‘I’d say so,’ he interrupted impatiently. ‘Sit down.’
She had no alternative other than to obey him, looking down into her lap as she laced her fingers together—wondering how she could have been so naïvely stupid as to think she could just waltz in on her first day, grab the script, then disappear. And now she had probably alerted him, had probably made him suspicious. She looked up to find his eyes on her, and she gave him a polite half-smile, which went unanswered.
She was forced to sit there in silence and wait while he conducted what was evidently a high-powered conversation with some major studio backer in Los Angeles, and she gathered, from his cool, clipped replies, that he was refusing to back down on a particular point concerning finance. Her impression of film directors as unworldly, artistic and dreamy individuals flew right out of the window—this guy could evidently juggle figures with ease, and eat bankers for breakfast!
Eventually he replaced the receiver, and directed his attention at her again. He stood up. ‘Shall we go?’ he asked in a decidedly abrupt tone.
Kitty gulped and nodded, going through the door as he stood aside to let her pass, almost jolting from the sensation which rocked her as their arms brushed against one another, and then wondering if he must think her completely crazy, for his eyes narrowed as he stared down at her, observing the rigid movement of her arm as she pulled it away from him; but he said nothing.
He led the way down a larger corridor off the hall, before throwing open the door of the kitchen.
‘Remember now?’ he enquired, and she couldn’t miss the searching stare he gave her.
Banishing wishes that she had never agreed to come to this house, to take part in such a potentially foolish escapade, she fixed him with a brilliant smile. ‘Thanks. I won’t forget again.’
‘I’m sure you won’t,’ he drawled, then, to her utter amazement, he took her chin between his thumb and forefinger and stared down at her, and at that moment reality fled from her life as though it had never before existed.
It was like all the old fairy-stories, only more so— because she had never believed in them before.
His touch was just—magic.
Cool yet warm.
Firm yet gentle.
He tipped her head back a little and she was transfixed by the blinding blaze of the silver-grey eyes, unable now to stop the trembling of her mouth as it parted, as if impelled by him to do so ... waiting ... waiting ... waiting ...
His eyes gleamed and he nodded, as if satisfied. ‘Yes,’ he said slowly. ‘It’s very powerful. You feel it too. Don’t you?’
‘Feel—wh-what ... ?’ she stammered.
He gave a click of impatience, the gleam leaving his eyes, and as the light left them they became as cold and as impersonal as if they’d been fashioned from metal.
‘Oh, come on, Kitty,’ he murmured. ‘Don’t deny what your body accepted minutes ago. Because you can’t, can you? Your eyes are begging me to kiss you, aren’t they?’
‘N-no. They aren’t,’ she lied ineffectually.
He smiled. ‘And do you know, I’m very tempted? Very tempted indeed!’
He was teasing, playing games with her—he must be. And it hurt. Gorgeous, world-famous film directors didn’t feel tempted to kiss girls like her. ‘Try it,’ she said shakily, over-reacting by a mile, ‘and I’ll slap your face.’
He laughed. ‘That might be interesting—purely for its novelty value,’ he murmured arrogantly.
She brought her chin up as her eyes flashed angrily at him.
‘Go on, then.’ His voice had dropped to a deep, dark caress, and Kitty felt her breasts tighten with the tingle of anticipation. ‘I dare you. Slap my face.’
She stared back at him, unable to move, her mind at odds with her body as she forgot all about Caro and why she was here, forgot all about everything other than the need to know what kissing him really would be like.
And, oh, heavens, she was just about to find out as that devastating dark head dipped down towards hers and his mouth found her lips.
For a second, there was a blaze inside her heart as she realised that the man whose face had graced a thousand movie-goers’ magazine covers was actually kissing her—Kitty Goodman with the ginger hair. It was every woman’s fantasy come to brazen, beautiful life.
And then she forgot just who she was kissing; her attention and her senses were all caught up with just how he was kissing. It was a soft, slow exploration, with scarcely any pressure on her mouth to begin with and with nothing but their lips touching at all. Which all changed when he shifted his head just a fraction to give him greater access to the moist, eager interior of her mouth, and she slipped her hands up to clutch at his shoulders as his tongue flicked with sensual ease to lick at hers, as though he were slowly licking cream off the top of a pudding.
