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"Yes. Suspicious, isn't it?" he added. "She probably didn't expect you to be this good at tracking her down." He stopped, and the look in his eyes was thoughtful. "In fact, it really was good detective work." "I'm not just a typist, you know," she murmured. "I do have a brain and a few skills." "If I never realized that, why would I go off and leave you in charge of the office for days at a time?" he asked. "I always recognized your talents, Kit." Her heart jumped in her chest. "You never said you did." "Why would I do a stupid thing like that?" he asked, amazed. "If I'd mentioned that you were being wasted in my office, you'd have quit and gone to work for a detective agency or something." He glowered at her. "As it happened, you did it anyway." "After your beloved threw scalding coffee all over me and you took her side against me!" "Of course I did, damn it!" He bit off the words. "I wasn't trying to get you into bed, was I?" She went scarlet. Her palm itched to land against that massive jaw, but she restrained it—barely. "You hopeless little prude," he said shortly, dark eyes blazing. “To you, like Emmett, sex is something that only happens between married people, I suppose?" "Yes, it is. Or it should be," she said forcefully. "I suppose you think it's right that carelessness produces thousands of unwanted babies? Or that it's all right to sleep around indiscriminately and spread terrible diseases?" He didn't reply immediately. "No," he said finally. "I don't think it's right. I believe in prevention and safety, and I practice them. She didn't have a comeback for that. She started walking again. "How's your secretarial staff?" she asked. "Are they coping with your absence?" "Chris is having something of a problem with one of them." "Which one?" "Margo." "The one with the cleavage who can spell." He chuckled. "That's right. She likes rich men." She bit her tongue to hold back a remark about another woman close to him who did, too. "Don't hold back," he told her, smiling as if he knew what she was doing and thinking. He stretched lazily. "The chain-smoker has bronchitis, but she's still dragging in to work. The other one seems to be managing, too, now that you'd shown her where you hid all my most important files." "I didn't hide them." She gritted her teeth. "I filed them." "Only an idiot would file an oil account under T for Texas." She glared at him. "It isn't T for Texas, it's T for Texas Premium Oil Company!" “Well, I had the girls refile things so that I could find them. Oil accounts under Oil, tax accounts under Taxes and clients under the last names." "Not under the company names?" "It's none of your business anymore," he said smugly. "You quit." "I did not! You fired me!" He shrugged his broad shoulders. "We had those potted things moved out into the hall, too." She gasped. "They'll die! They were by the window so that they could get sunlight! They can't live in the shade." He frowned. "So that's why they're wilting." "My poor plants!" "There's probably still time to save them," he remarked casually. He glanced at her. "You could come back. I'd give you a raise." "And stand by while darling Betsy practices her Napoleon impression." “She is not tyrannical!" "Ask Melody or Margo or Harriet," she shot back. "I dare you! She may be sweetness and light to you, but she's poison to everyone else—especially to her own sex! What she did to poor old Bill Kingsley she's going to do to you, and I'll be the last one crying when you're sleeping in a downtown mission!" His chest rose and fell roughly with anger. Damn, she was a bossy woman! He had no intention of letting her lead him around, tell him whom to date, what to think! "Betsy is my business," he said harshly. "You're only jealous, because she's beautiful and you aren't!" He'd never said that before, even if he'd always thought it. Kit was used to people looking through her. She knew she wasn't pretty. But that was hardly why she disliked Betsy. She didn't fight back. It would have been admitting that he was right. She walked on, alone, her eyes sad and quiet. Behind her, Logan slapped his fist angrily against his thigh. Damn his tongue! He'd been furious, but those hurtful words had really slipped out unconsciously. It was pure cussedness, he knew, but he couldn't think of any way to take it back—and still save face. Kit went very quiet when she was hurt. It was the only time she didn't spit and claw. He remembered how she'd responded to him earlier, and how protective she was. She was probably in love with him, and he had more power to hurt her than anyone else on earth. He watched her with a gnawing hunger. Love wasn't an easy thing to throw away. All the same, he was getting married and Kit was off-limits. He shouldn't have kissed her like that. She'd said that it was unfair to Betsy, and it was. The problem was that Kit aroused him even more than Betsy did. He couldn't let that situation develop. He had principles, even if he was only just discovering them. He might as well let Kit think he had a low opinion of her looks. Perhaps it would spare her any more hurt at his hands if he could turn her infatuation to dislike. He was going to marry Betsy. All he had to do was keep that in mind, then perhaps he could stop having these inconvenient urges to seduce Kit. But she didn't hate him. That was all too apparent when he stared at her across the supper table and her eyes fell in blushing confusion to her plate. His heart began to race in his chest as he realized how easily he could disconcert her. His eyes fell to her mouth. He remembered much too vividly how it felt to kiss her, to hold her. He'd tried for the rest of the day to put that sweet interlude out of his mind, but he couldn't. The more he thought about it, the more he wanted it again. With an angry movement of his hand, he reached for his coffee cup and accidentally hit it, sloshing hot coffee right across the table onto Kit's white blouse. She gasped, grabbing a napkin to dab at it. While Logan tried to apologize, she glared at him. "Been taking lessons from Betsy, have we?" she asked with cool sarcasm. "No need to worry, it will wash out. Excuse me, please." She was grateful for the incident in a way, because it gave her the opportunity to escape. Everyone was looking at her. The kids were probably recalling every lurid minute they'd witnessed from the barn, and [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ] |
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