by Annie West
Damn! His fist pounded the toughened glass window with a dull thud that did nothing to ease the turbulent roil of emotions churning his gut.
Anger—yes.
Impatience—that was a given.
Frustration—that word had taken on a whole new meaning since Chloe Daniels had entered his home. Before that he’d been frustrated merely with his blindness, his incompetence in this world of darkness, his inability to find and punish the callous woman who’d driven Adrian to his death. That failure ate like a canker at his soul.
Now Declan’s frustration had the keen edge of sexual hunger. The ever-present hint of Chloe’s vanilla-sunshine scent in his home tantalised his nostrils and fed the gnawing hunger in his belly.
For too long his dreams had been haunted by Adrian’s fall. Now they’d changed, waking him nightly, sweating and with his heart pounding.
He could barely make himself face it but those dreams featured not just Adrian, but the woman in his brother’s treasured photo—the lover who’d betrayed him. Yet, instead of hatred, it was lust that sizzled through Declan as he dreamed of her, sprawled and voluptuous.
His fist pounded futilely on the glass and he hung his head, shame washing him.
Bad enough to feel that instantaneous spark of interest when Ade had shown him the photo. Far worse to dream of her and imagine she had Chloe’s clear voice, her quick mind, her impossibly soft skin.
It was as if he betrayed both his brother and the woman he employed. The woman who’d done nothing wrong but stand up to him rather than kowtow like most of his staff. Who’d unwittingly provided comfort and company with her gentle presence when he most needed it.
She sparked a sense of life and energy in him with her independent, almost combative attitude. She drew him back from the dark maw of despair that hovered close. He’d even taken to finding excuses to seek her out.
Until the day he’d left Carinya.
He’d been within a breath of grabbing her, had been perilously close to losing control. If she hadn’t left at his command, he’d have had her hard and fast against the bathroom wall. His groin throbbed just remembering that dangerously charged atmosphere, the way her voice had turned husky as his blood had thrummed with desire. He’d wanted her with a desperation that scared him. A desperation that would have terrified his prim and proper Ms Daniels if she’d known.
With an oath he turned and strode to the door. He needed to find David and get to work. Anything to stop thinking too much.
Halfway to the door he collided with a chair that hadn’t been pushed back to the conference table. His momentum hurtled him forward. When he grabbed the chair it slid sideways. He tumbled to the carpet, his bad knee a sear of burning pain and his dignity in tatters.
He lay there, winded.
A bitter laugh escaped.
Back at Carinya he’d allowed himself to fantasise that Chloe had felt that quake of connection too: the heart-in-mouth desire that turned him weak at the feel of her body heat or the hint of her vanilla-and-woman scent in his nostrils.
He was a fool.
What woman would want him like this?
‘Mr Carstairs?’ Chloe prided herself on her cool, professional voice as she paused at the study door. Yet her pulse beat faster at the prospect of seeing him.
Declan had been like a bear with a sore head since his Sydney trip. She hoped it was because of business problems instead of that scene in his bathroom—the day she’d almost flung her arms around his neck and kissed his cynical, sensuous mouth with all the passion building inside her.
She shivered at how close she’d come to making herself a laughing stock. She could imagine the poised, beautiful women Declan spent time with. Even blind he wouldn’t want a housekeeper with practical shoes and work-roughened hands.
It stunned her that she wanted him to notice her. As if she liked living on a knife-edge of excitement.
‘Yes?’ His tone was brusque, reinforcing his status as tycoon employer and hers as paid underling.
It was the reminder she needed. She and her employer had nothing in common except their address. And yet …
‘I just took a call from David … Mr Sarkesian.’ She glanced across to the desk where the phone was off the hook. Was his mobile switched off too? Lately Declan spent too much time brooding, or so it seemed to her.
It bothered her that she cared quite as much as she did. Enough to want to comfort him.
He wouldn’t appreciate that.
‘I know who he is.’ It was an impatient growl, as if she’d interrupted him in the middle of important work. Yet he’d been staring sightlessly towards the window.
She tried to ignore her heart’s abrupt lurch of sympathy. Despite his wealth and power, he was so very much alone.
Declan shunned the possibility of anyone supporting him through his grief and recuperation.
Chloe stepped further into the room, refusing to shout across the vast space. Unerringly his head turned towards her as if he could pinpoint her exact location even after she crossed from the polished floor to the heirloom carpet.
The uncanny movement made her falter. Despite logic, despite all the rules, there was more between them than boss and servant.
She’d only ever been intimate with Mark, the man she’d married. Yet her connection with Declan felt intimate in ways she didn’t understand.
‘Well?’
She thinned her lips, refusing to respond to his terse tone. ‘It’s bad news, I’m afraid. David has just been to the doctor. He’s got chickenpox.’
‘You’re kidding! He’s thirty. Only kids get chickenpox.’
She shrugged. ‘Apparently it can be more severe in adults. He didn’t sound well. The doctor advised he’d be off work for a couple of weeks.’
‘A couple of weeks?’ Declan’s expression froze.
‘He asked if you wanted one of the junior staff to come and help with the current projects and any other matters …’ Her voice trailed off. David was Declan’s guide, the pair of eyes he no longer had. Those ‘other matters’ involved helping Declan with day-to-day tasks when he grew impatient with his own efforts.
Declan’s face turned stony. Instantly she recalled his expression when she’d shaved him. Heat burst out of nowhere and coiling tension swirled deep inside, undermining her effort to remain professional.
How could she go on like this?
‘I’ll call him myself.’ Declan sounded subdued, not like the arrogantly assured man who drove her crazy with his strong opinions and certainty he was right.
She opened her mouth to offer to dial the number then stopped. The merest whiff of sympathy was anathema to him.
‘Then I’ll get back to my duties.’
‘Not so quickly.’
‘Yes, Mr Carstairs?’
His lips thinned. ‘Declan, remember?’
Oh, she remembered all right. Remembered so well her nipples tugged into hard peaks just thinking of that scene in his bathroom. His proximity, the touch of his skin, had fed a shocking hunger that time hadn’t assuaged.
‘Is there anything else I can do for you?’ Chloe focused on his evident displeasure that she hadn’t used his name. It was better than letting her mind stray to the things she’d like to do for him.
Heat suffused her skin. She couldn’t remember ever feeling so overwhelmed, so wanton. Selfishly, she was glad he couldn’t read her face. One look and he’d know her weakness for him. Sex, she told herself. That was all it was. Physical attraction. All she had to do was keep out of his way and eventually it would fade.
‘Come back in an hour. I need someone to check my emails. Normally David would read them to me, but now …’ He shrugged and spread his arms. Chloe read diffidence in the set of his shoulders but sensed it was camouflage. There was no mistaking the impatience behind his mask of calm.
It must gall him to be dependent on anyone.
‘Until a replacement for David arrives?’ Surely she could manage a few hours working with Decl
an.
He shook his head. ‘There’ll be no replacement. David knows my ways and so do you.’ For one long moment it seemed he was looking at her, delving into those cravings she tried hard to hide. Inevitably, reaction stirred.
‘You and I can work together until David returns. I don’t need anyone else.’
Her heart dived.
In other words he didn’t want anyone else to see him vulnerable, at a disadvantage because of his blindness. She didn’t matter. She’d already seen him furious when he spilled food down his shirt or mislaid something.
She shivered, disturbed to realise she wanted him to want her for herself, not to shore up his pride.
More importantly she knew working with him daily would be a disaster—like walking a knife-edge. She’d never cope.
‘What you mean is you’re afraid to have anyone else here.’
Declan’s head shot round, following the sound of her voice as she moved closer.
‘What did you say?’
Was he hearing things now?
‘You’re scared of someone else seeing you vulnerable.’
She stopped before him. Her voice was low and close. Her light scent swirled around him.
Furious as much at his awareness of her as at her words, he lifted a hand to grab her, then stopped at the last moment. Remember what happened last time he’d touched her? How compelling the need to take more? To take her, with all the pent-up desperation of a blind man groping for the light? He’d never before been so needy. Or so bereft.
His arm dropped as if weighted with lead. Fire scorched his skin—desire and guilt. And fury.
‘I don’t employ you to pass judgment on my actions. I employ you to do what I say.’
‘Even when it’s a mistake?’ Was that a wobble in her voice? As if she was nervous. She should be!
‘I decide what’s right for my business. No one questions my judgement.’
‘You’re saying you want yes-men? Staff who’ll only tell you what you want to hear, rather than the truth?’
Declan tensed, thrusting his head forward aggressively. ‘I assume you have a point? Perhaps you’d like to advise on the Middle Eastern project brief too, since you’re such an expert? Or the staffing shortfall in Western Australia? Or the negotiations with government on—’
‘There’s no need to be sarcastic. You know I have no idea what you’re talking about.’
Yet she stood her ground. That was more than his managers had done in Sydney last week. The realisation intrigued him. She intrigued him.
Declan folded his arms. ‘Go on. I’m waiting.’
He heard her shuffle her feet. He’d been right: she was nervous.
‘I think you’d be more … productive with one of your secretaries to help while David’s away. You won’t get through as much work with me helping. I don’t know the ropes.’
‘I’ll teach you.’
‘I’ve got other work to do.’
He tilted his head, trying to pinpoint exactly the expression in her voice. Reluctance, but something else too.
‘What’s really on your mind, Chloe? Why don’t you want to work with me? I look ugly but I promise I don’t bite.’
The words rang into silence and to his chagrin what filled Declan’s mind was the realisation of how much he’d enjoy nuzzling the soft flesh of Chloe’s throat and nipping it with his teeth. Ever since that day in his bathroom he’d been hard put not to think of her sexually.
‘You only want me because you’re used to me. I’m not a threat. If someone came up here from the Sydney office you’d feel vulnerable about them seeing you as you are.’
Oh, he wanted her all right. But not just because he was used to her. Though why he wanted her, when she continually stood up to him, never giving an inch, he didn’t know. Perhaps he’d discovered a weakness for women who challenged him.
‘You’re becoming a recluse. That’s dangerous, Declan.’
He opened his mouth to fire off an angry retort, then registered the wobble of distress as she said his name—as if she was worried. He frowned. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had been concerned for him except in a professional capacity. Doctors, nurses, investors …
That single, unexpected fact saved her from a blast of wrath.
‘You’re imagining things. I’m not a recluse.’ Even as he said it Declan couldn’t quite believe he was having this conversation. Perhaps the accident had knocked him off balance more than he’d suspected.
Needing to reassert his authority, he stalked behind his desk and sank into his ergonomic chair, pleased he hadn’t needed to feel his way but knew exactly how many paces to every piece of furniture in the room. He swung round to face her. The familiar position gave the illusion of control in an unfamiliar world that threatened every shred of self-possession.
‘You’re hiding from the world.’
‘Hiding? I suppose I was hiding last week when I had all those meetings in Sydney?’ And since when did she have the right to express such views?
It took her a while to reply. But she didn’t back down. ‘That was just an extension of work. You bury yourself in work.’
‘In case you hadn’t noticed …’ his lip curled ‘… it’s devotion to work that’s built my business empire.’
‘But you use it to hide. You don’t see anyone or go out anywhere unless it’s business. It’s not healthy.’ She drew a sharp breath. ‘It wouldn’t be surprising if the accident had … affected you. Maybe a counsellor—’
Declan shot to his feet. ‘Enough! I do not need a counsellor. Nor do I need your uninformed advice.’
‘I realise you’re upset …’
‘Insulted is more like,’ he murmured under his breath as he braced himself against the desk. The way he’d jumped from his chair had sent a jolt of pain screeching through his bad leg. His fingers curled into tight fists on the desktop. His physical limitations drove him mad.
‘It’s not insulting to suggest you might need someone to talk to.’
‘Because I don’t want to be mobbed?’ He shook his head, sick of do-gooders telling him what he needed. ‘If you’d gone through what I have you might prefer your own company too.’
‘But you don’t, do you? You’re not happy.’
‘Give me strength! Are you a psychiatrist now?’
She must have moved even closer. Her voice came from just in front of him. ‘I only know that you’ve been through a lot and hiding yourself away won’t help. It could lead to depression.’ Her breath hitched.
About to lambast her, Declan stilled, his attention snagging on the word ‘depression’. Instantly Adrian came to mind. He must have been depressed to have commited suicide. The thought sliced close to the bone, leaving Declan winded.
His bright, clever kid brother, so depressed he’d chosen to kill himself rather than go on. Declan blinked and drew in a ragged breath. How had he let that happen?
‘You know about depression?’ His voice was hoarse.
‘I knew someone who was … troubled. If he’d had help, it could have made all the difference.’
Like Ade. If only Declan had come here sooner. He’d been eager to see his brother after so long apart. It had been five months since his last visit to London and over a year since Ade’s last visit here. But with the easy assurance of past experience Declan had assumed their relationship hadn’t changed. That, despite the physical absence, they were as close as ever.
How wrong he’d been.
Staying on in Asia to wrap up the latest, biggest contract had been a mistake. Letting Adrian persuade him everything was OK had been a mistake.
‘Your friend, did he …?’
‘I’d rather not discuss it.’ Her clipped tone told Declan everything he needed to know. The last of his outrage disintegrated as he realised she’d been motivated by genuine concern and past loss.
Declan sank back into his seat, suppressing a groan of relief as the searing ache in his leg eased.
‘I�
�ll tell you what, Chloe, help me in the office six days a week and I’ll increase your pay plus I’ll even let you take me on an outing to the park with a rug over my knees so I don’t get a chill.’
‘You really are a sarcastic …’
Declan smiled to hear the spark of impatience in her tone. He discovered he didn’t like it when she was sad.
‘Deal, Chloe?’
‘How could I turn down such an alluring offer?’
CHAPTER FIVE
‘WHAT are you chuckling over?’
Chloe looked up to find Declan on the threshold of the kitchen. It was late afternoon, the hour she had off between working with Declan in the study and getting the dinner prepared. Slanting sunlight burnished his dark hair and highlighted his strong face. A smile hovered at the corner of his lips and her heart clutched.
Working with him had led to more than a truce between them. It had produced a camaraderie she’d never have believed possible, given Declan’s determination always to be right. Yet behind the driven man, the man who still scared her with his occasional bleakness, she’d discovered a lurking sense of the absurd and a dry wit that kept her on her toes, plus a generosity of spirit. For all his lofty authority he was egalitarian and easy to work with, setting high standards but helping her achieve them. No wonder David adored his job and fretted over being absent so long.
‘What is it, Chloe? Some racy gossip magazine?’
‘Hardly. It’s Pride and Prejudice.’
‘And that’s funny?’ He sounded so sceptical she had to share.
‘You haven’t read it? How’s this for an opening: “it is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife”?’
He gave a humph and crossed his arms over his chest, the epitome of eye-catching masculinity. ‘You find that amusing? She’s just telling it like it is. Or like the female half of the population pretends it is.’
Chloe tilted her head as she surveyed his expression. It struck her that she took advantage of his blindness time and again to watch him, fascinated not only by the earthy sexuality of his features but by the subtle changes of expression that merely hinted at his thoughts.
