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‘Black,’ he said. He caught the sideways lift of her brows and added, ‘Please,’ knowing what that silent glance meant.
They had been working together for a long time. She knew him very well. Too well, he thought, glowering. What was she looking at him like that for?
Natalie went out and Sam absently watched her go. She was a slender girl, who wore much the same outfit every day: a white shirt, with small, pearly buttons, tucked into a smooth-fitting skirt—a black one today—discreet, demure, the hem just around the knee. She was only five feet four or so—a good eight inches shorter than Sam. Her legs were worth looking at—he looked at them until she vanished. There was something about the way she moved that had always got his attention. Beautifully shaped ankles, too. There wasn’t much of her, but what there was Sam found very pleasurable to look at. Pity she was one of the touch-me-not brigade. He had never yet managed to get her closer than a foot or so away, let alone into his bed.
Sam sat down behind his desk to check on the pile of telephone messages, the neat pile of faxes. He read quickly, absorbing them all, and had finished by the time Natalie came back with the black coffee. She hadn’t reached his desk when the door crashed open and Helen erupted into the room, her red hair windblown, her green eyes Hashing.
‘Oh, so you are here! I knew she was lying!’ she yelled, then glared at Natalie. ‘I knew you were lying! You’ve never fooled me. I knew what you were after all along, with your sweet pussycat smiles and your demure office kit—the perfect secretary, ha ha. The minute I set eyes on you I knew the sort of operator you are!’
Natalie took no notice of her at all. She quietly moved to put Sam’s cup of coffee on his desk, but Helen tried to charge past her and knocked the cup flying, splashing everything within reach with scalding black coffee.
Some of it went over Sam, some of it over Natalie; Helen got splashed herself and that seemed to send her into a positive frenzy.
‘Now look what you’ve done!’ she screamed at Natalie.
‘Are you out of your mind, Helen?’ Sam angrily asked her, looking at his coffee-stained shirt. ‘You’ve soaked us all! And don’t try to shift the blame to Natalie...’
‘Oh, no, of course not She’s just a sweet innocent, isn’t she?’ Helen snapped, sarcasm loading every syllable.
‘What on earth is the matter with you?’ Sam wished he could remember more about last night; what could he have done to her to put her in this mood? Helen had always had a hot temper, but he had never seen her like this before. Her vibrant red hair seemed to be blazing with rage, and her green eyes were cat-like with venom.
‘As if you didn’t know! You needn’t think I cara—I only came to tell you I hate you and if I never see you again it will be too soon for me!’
Her voice had gone up with every other word until the decibels were loud enough to wake the dead—or at least those of the radio station staff who had been to Johnny’s party too and were barely able to keep their eyes open this morning.
Beyond this office the corridors and rooms were totally silent. No doubt everyone within earshot was listening with fascination.
‘For heaven’s sake, Helen, calm down! Surely we can talk this out in a civilised manner,’ Sam said in what he tried to make a placating tone, but that only seemed to make matters worse.
‘Don’t talk to me as if I was half-witted! You humiliated me last night, but that was what you intended to do, wasn’t it? Well, you aren’t getting away with it.’ Helen slapped him hard across the face, gave a loud, angry sob, then turned and ran out of the office, slamming the door behind her so that every pane of glass in the room rattled and shook.
Sam swore, gingerly feeling his hot, stinging cheek. ‘I’ll swear she loosened some of my teeth! Remind me never to get involved with singers again, will you? I know musicians are always temperamental, but Helen takes it to ridiculous extremes.’
Natalie had mopped herself dry with a handful of paper tissues; she offered him the box.
‘Dry yourself off. I’ll get a clean shirt out for you.’ He always kept a couple of shirts in the office in case of emergencies.
‘Get me that coffee first,’ Sam said, busily dabbing at himself with paper tissue. ‘I need it even more now. My headache is ten times worse after listening to Helen yelling blue murder.’
‘I’ll get you some aspirin,’ Natalie promised, going out She returned a moment later with a glass of water, a couple of aspirin and a fresh cup of black coffee.
Sam looked at her gratefully; she never shouted at him or chucked things. She made his office life a haven of peace and quiet ‘What would I do without you?’
She gave him that curling little smile of hers, putting the coffee on his desk and handing him the pills and the glass of water.
‘Oh, there would be some other woman around to wait on you hand and foot, no doubt.’
Ignoring the faint touch of sarcasm in her quiet voice, Sam swallowed the pills and a gulp of water, then handed her back the glass.
‘Can you get me that clean shirt now?’ He met her eyes again and added drily, ‘Please, Natalie?’
‘Of course, Mr Erskine.’ She walked away to the cabinet where she kept his shirts, spare underwear and a pair of boots he sometimes used for outside broadcasts. Sam admired her legs again; they really were something. He’d like to see all of them one day, not to mention the rest of her. What did she look like out of her neat, demure little office outfits? Interesting idea, he thought, absently unbuttoning his coffee-stained shirt and taking it off.
Natalie came back with his clean shirt, glanced at his bare, hair-roughened chest then quickly looked away. Sam’s mouth twisted. Hadn’t she ever seen a guy naked? The idea struck him forcibly—maybe she hadn’t?
What, a virgin, in this day and age? he thought, almost laughing at the notion. Not a chance. Rarer than unicorns.
He took the shirt she held out to him and slid his arms into it, began to fumble with the small buttons which ran down the front. They were so stiff he couldn’t force them into place, and he impatiently abandoned the attempt.
‘Could you do these damn things up for me, Natalie?’ he muttered.
He could tell from the pause that followed that she was reluctant to do it—in fact, for a moment he thought she was going to refuse—but in the end she did come closer, and put out her hand to start buttoning.
He saw a glint of gold on one finger and gave a sharp exclamation, grabbing her wrist.
‘You’ve found my ring! What a relief! When I woke up this morning and realised I wasn’t wearing it I went into a terrible panic. My mother would kill me if I ever lost it. I searched my flat for half an hour this morning, and then I realised I must have left it somewhere at Johnny’s place—I tried to ring Johnny, but of course there was no reply. He’s probably dead to the world.’
‘Probably,’ she echoed, not meeting his eyes.
‘I can’t thank you enough for taking care of it for me,’ Sam said. ‘Where did you find it?’
‘I didn’t find it,’ she said limpidly. ‘You gave it to me.’
Startled, he queried her. ‘Gave it to you?’
‘Last night.’ She nodded. ‘At the party.’
‘Did I? I must have been very drunk; I don’t remember a thing about it.’ His hand was still extended, but Natalie made no move to give the ring to him, and Sam’s eyes grew wary. ‘Can I have it, please? It’s a family heirloom, you know, and very valuable.’
Surely to heaven she wasn’t intending to keep it? No, of course she wouldn’t—Natalie wasn’t the type to do something like that. That would be tantamount to stealing. Okay, he might have given it to her, on some crazy impulse last night, but she must have realised he hadn’t known what he was doing.
‘You can have it when you give me the other one,’ she said. ‘Drink your coffee while it’s hot; it will help you wake up.’
‘What other one?’ He was bewildered; what was she talking about? He must be slow on the uptake this morning. He picked up the cup of coffee and took a sip too fast. The hot liquid burnt his tongue.
‘You said it would be a sapphire, to match my eyes,’ Natalie said, with a gleam of happy reminiscence in the big blue eyes watching him.
‘Sapphire...’ repeated Sam, his stomach sinking as it dawned on him that she was wearing his signet ring on her left hand. On her engagement finger.
‘You remember, last night?’ Natalie said in a honeyed tone. ‘At the party? When you proposed to me? In front of everyone?’
‘Proposed...’ Sam hoarsely repeated, going pale.
She gave him a dewy look. ‘Yes. You went down on your knees, in front of them all...’
‘On my...’ he breathed, with incredulity and horror.
‘Knees.’ She nodded. ‘And asked me to marry you. You put your signet ring on my finger and said it would do until we could get to a jeweller’s to choose a real engagement ring, a sapphire to match my eyes. You remember, don’t you, Sam?’
CHAPTER TWO
‘IS THIS your idea of a joke?’ Sam grimly asked, staring at her as if she had grown another head. ‘Because if it is I’m not amused.’
‘Like Queen Victoria,’ she murmured.
‘What?’ he snarled.
He was really furious, she realised, surprised. She had seen Sam angry before, but it had never been with her. He was far too possessed by his job, an energy-driven man, restless and obsessed. But all that fire went into his work, not his private life. With his women he was far more casual, very laid-back, making no commitments. He never seemed to take them seriously, and she knew none of his relationships lasted very long.
She had always been irritated by the way he treated his women, as if love was just a game. She suspected he thought of women as toys to pick up, play with and put down when you got bored. Natalie could never understand why women let him treat them that way. She wouldn’t; that was for sure. Sam had once or twice asked her out, but she had always refused coolly. She only dated men who took her very seriously.
‘She wasn’t amused, either,’ Natalie reminded him.
‘Who wasn’t?’
He seemed to be mentally challenged this morning, but that wasn’t surprising after last night.
Patiently she repeated, ‘Queen Victoria. Wasn’t amused, remember?’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about!’ he muttered.
Sam normally had a good sense of humour, but she let it pass, shrugging.
‘Give me my ring and stop trying to be funny!’ Sam stuck his hand out and she gazed at it without moving, opening her eyes as wide as she could.
‘But, Sam, we’re engaged to be married...’
He exploded, his voice going up several octaves. ‘We are nothing of the kind and you know it! Okay, maybe I was so drunk last night that I somehow or other said something or other about—’
He broke off, having lost whatever he had been going to say, or perhaps not wishing to admit he had ever proposed to her. So Natalie ended the sentence for him.
‘About marrying you? Yes, you did, Sam—in front of dozens of people. You proposed to me, on your...’
He loomed over her, smouldering. ‘Yes, okay, I don’t want to hear all that again. I was drunk. You know that! You know it wasn’t serious!’
Of course she knew, but she wasn’t ready to give up her game yet.
‘But you asked me to marry you!’ Her eyes opened wider than ever and he stared into the blueness of them for a few seconds, drawing a long, angry breath which he held as if he was counting to ten.
Then, in a very careful voice, he said, ‘For heaven’s sake, Natalie, we’ve never even had a date. Why should I suddenly propose out of the blue?’
‘You said I was the perfect woman,’ Natalie said in limpid tones. ‘Your dream woman, you said.’ She smiled mistily at him. ‘It was very romantic—especially when you went on your knees and begged me to marry you.’
Sam stared at her, dark red creeping up his face. Running a hand through his already dishevelled hair, he muttered, ‘You’re kidding! I’ve never been that drunk before.’
Oh, thanks! she thought. That’s really flattering.
Sam’s brow corrugated. He’s thinking at last! Natalie recognised. She hoped it hurt.
After a few seconds he groaned. ‘It just dawned on me—was Helen there when I...?’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Natalie. In fact, she would never forget Helen West’s face at that moment—it still made a glow in her memory. She had never liked the woman; not many people at the radio station did. The only people the singer was friendly to were youngish and good-looking men in good jobs. If you were poorer or older than her, or female, or plain, Helen West used you as a doormat or was coldly arrogant when she spoke to you—which was how she had always treated Natalie, who obviously came into most categories of people she despised.
‘So that’s why I got the slap in the face?’ Sam fingered his jaw, grimacing. ‘It still hurts.’
‘Oh, poor Sam,’ Natalie sweetly said, hoping it hurt a lot, and he looked down at her, his eyes now stiletto-sharp.
‘You don’t mean that, do you? If you did you’d want to kiss it better. As we’re engaged!’
She blinked, startled. Why hadn’t it dawned on her that he might do something like that? It should have done. She knew very well what an opportunist Sam was, in his work as well as in his private life.
Natalie wasn’t the gambling type, but she took a gamble then, rather than abandon her little game with Sam, which she was enjoying too, much to give up yet—although maybe her sense of humour was leading her into dangerous territory.
Lowering her lashes and looking at him through them, she murmured dulcetly, ‘Bend down, then.’
She caught the flash of surprise in his eyes. He hadn’t expected her to agree. But he bent, watching her as if wondering how far she was going to go, and Natalie lifted her head and pressed her mouth firmly on his jaw, more or less where Helen’s slap had connected. His skin was cool and faintly prickly; he hadn’t shaved as closely as usual this morning. In a hurry, no doubt, or his hand not too steady after the night before.
Natalie quickly moved away again. ‘There. All better,’ she mocked.
It might have been wiser not to say anything. She saw his grey eyes glint dangerously, then his hand shot out to capture her chin and hold it in position while his gaze roamed over her face with cool appraisal, as if he had never really noticed how she looked before. He probably hadn’t, either. He was always too busy with work, or other women. She was just part of his office furniture, a useful piece of living equipment he needed for his job. Natalie was aware that she didn’t come into the range of women Sam noticed sexually, and it had often annoyed her. Nobody liked being mistaken for a desk or a chair.
So, when he grabbed her chin and looked at her that way, she was ready to resent it—except that as she looked into his eyes pulses began to beat in her throat, at her wrist, a reaction that disturbed her. What was going on here? She had no designs on Sam, and she wasn’t fool enough to let herself fall for him. She had thought it would be fun to tease him a little, that was all; getting involved with him had definitely not been in her game plan. Maybe it was time to stop playing with him before he began playing with her?
Oh, yes, definitely, she thought in agitation as she saw his gaze lingering on her mouth.
‘Did I kiss you when I proposed?’ he murmured in a smoky, deliberately sensuous tone that seemed to turn her brains to scrambled egg.
She gazed back at him, swallowing convulsively and unable to get a word out.
‘I must have done,’ he added. ‘If I proposed. I must have kissed you, mustn’t I? Pity I don’t remember doing it. I’d like to remember that.’
His gaze was still riveted on her mouth. She felt her face growing hot and tried to say something, anything, to break the strange trance holding her rigid.
Sam bent. Slowly. Very slowly. Her mouth dry, Natalie stared up at his approaching face like a rabbit hypnotised by the dropping shadow of a bird of prey.
When his mouth touched her lips her body seemed to be set on fire; she was so stunned by her own feelings that she didn’t even try pushing him away. She just shook like a leaf, her legs giving under her, her head falling back as if her neck had lost every bone in it and could no longer keep her head upright.
Sam’s arms went round her waist as if to catch her; she clutched at him to keep herself standing on her own two feet. She had once been in an earthquake, in Turkey. This was just how it had felt: the same sense of helplessness, the feeling that you were no longer standing on ground you could trust, tremors running through you and shaking you to your roots.
His hands on the small of her back pushed her closer, closer, until she was lying against his bare chest, feeling the warmth of his skin through her own shirt and shivering at the intimacy of the contact, aware of every muscle in his body, every smooth, tanned inch of flesh. She was overwhelmed by a desire to bury her face in that beautiful male skin and was horrified by the impulse.
She must be out of her mind! What did she think she was doing, letting him do this to her? Pulling her head back from his kiss, she put her hands Hat on that strong, naked chest, and shoved him away.
‘Stop it!’
He looked down at her with half-hooded, drowsy eyes, as if waking up, and Natalie’s heart skidded a dangerous corner. So was that how he looked first thing in the morning, in bed?
What are you thinking? she asked herself, despairing of her own brain. You told him to stop it—you should have told yourself the same thing!
