‘You have little black numbers and elegant, backless dark green frocks?’
‘Frocks? No one uses that word nowadays.’
‘You fall for it every time, don’t you,’ Kane murmured, watching her from under his lashes. ‘Have you?’
‘Have I what?’ Fall for what every time?
‘Got fancy dresses with no place to wear them?’
Having embarked on this road, Shannon suspected that ignominiously admitting a complete lack of any such thing would make all her protests of wanting to absorb culture like the proverbial sponge appear hollow if not a downright lie. And for some perverse reason she wanted to impress him. She wanted to prove that she wasn’t just his secretary who was adept at handling his work and good with children, whose only source of amusement were pubs and the odd foray into clubbing. Neither of which had lived up to her expectations anyway.
‘Yes,’ she lied.
‘Mmm. A little black number…’
‘That’s right! Very little and very black as a matter of fact.’
‘The mind boggles. Sure that isn’t the wine talking?’ he asked with a straight face.
‘Quite sure.’ Shannon scowled.
‘In which case…’ He signalled for the bill and looked at her pensively. Too pensively for her liking. She began to feel a little rattled by the lingering silence.
‘In which case…what?’ she demanded impatiently.
‘In which case,’ he murmured, ‘it seems a shame not to have the opportunity to use your glamorous outfits, doesn’t it?’
‘Just what I’ve been saying.’ Shannon shrugged ruefully, rather pleased with the image she had succeeded in creating for herself. She’d always been the cute, chatty one in the family. The easygoing member upon whom her mother could always rely. Willing to help out in the house, happy to look after the younger ones when her sisters had been too busy rushing about, getting into mad flaps over boys and dates and party dresses. She’d been privileged to have lots of friends of the opposite sex, simply because she’d always been one of the lads. Now, with a few choice phrases and white lies, she had become, she thought gleefully to herself, a woman of mystery and intrigue. She didn’t currently feel too mysterious or intriguing in her get-up of jeans and sweater, but in a small, black number she was certain she could be.
‘Are we ready to go?’ she asked, surprised because she had been having such a good time. When she stood up, she felt slightly giddy and he took her arm.
‘Feeling steady enough to walk back?’
‘Of course I am. But,’ she added slyly, ‘if I wasn’t, would you do the gentlemanly thing and carry me?’
‘That wine has definitely gone to your head,’ he muttered under his breath, guiding her along the pavement which was now deserted so that the sound of their footsteps echoed on the concrete.
‘You’re avoiding the question! Would you carry me?’
‘Of course I would,’ he said drily, and Shannon laughed.
‘And risk three slipped discs in the process?’
‘You look as though you’d be as light as a feather,’ he told her huskily, and she felt her body flooded with sudden, furious heat at the tone of his voice. ‘Would you like me to prove it to you?’ He moved round so that he was facing her, and in the darkness she could see mocking challenge in his eyes. He couldn’t be serious, could he? It was difficult to tell, especially when the streetlights were throwing his face into sharp angles, making it impossible to decipher any expression.
‘Believe me, I weigh more than you think.’ Shannon felt her breath catch in her throat. ‘It’s cold, isn’t it? If we don’t run back I think I might get frostbite.’
‘Backing away, Shannon?’ he whispered softly, but he moved aside and fell into step with her so that she wondered whether she had imagined all those various disconcerting tones in his voice. More than likely, considering the way her imagination had taken flight after the wine. On impulse, Kane scooped her up in his arms and carried her to the front door while she protested wildly against his chest and tried to flail her arms and legs, to no avail.
‘Put me down!’ she wailed eventually, when they were at her front door.
‘All in good time. Now, why don’t you get your key out of your bag and open up the front door for us?’
‘I can’t like this!’ She was clutching her bag to her chest, using it as a flimsy barrier between herself and his broad chest.
‘Give it a try.’
She frantically unzipped her bag and pulled out her bunch of keys, which he promptly took from her with one hand so that he could open the door without putting her down. Moving against him made her skin burn with a strange, restless heat, and where his arms curled behind her back, reaching to grasp around her behind the bent crook of her knees and her chest, it made her want to writhe in a useless attempt to escape. His fingers were splayed only inches from the curve of her breast and her head was consumed with graphic images of them touching her soft flesh. Even if only accidentally.
‘That’s quite enough,’ she protested giddily, as he mounted the stairs. ‘And don’t blame me if you suffer irreparable back damage!’
‘Oh, I might blame you for lots of things, reds, but I won’t blame you for that.’ He laughed and they arrived at her door without him appearing to have broken sweat. Then he finally stood her up and looked down at her.
‘OK,’ she bristled furiously, ‘so you proved that you’re a big strong man! Was that the object of the exercise?’
‘No,’ he answered, leaning against the doorframe as she opened the door. ‘Want me to tell you what was?’
They stared at each other and Shannon felt her mouth go suddenly dry because there was no teasing glint in his eye to rescue her from her wild alarm. In fact, his stillness just sent her nervous system into further overdrive.
‘No,’ she whispered, and he laughed harshly.
‘Why? What are you afraid I might say?’
‘I really must get to bed now…’ she answered desperately.
‘And being the perfect gentleman I am,’ he said in his deep, caressing voice, ‘I wouldn’t dream of intruding on your beauty sleep. And being the perfect gentleman that I am, I also wouldn’t dream of allowing you to return to Ireland for Christmas with no tales to tell your family of this wonderful city of ours and all it has to offer. So I’ve decided to take you to my personal favourite jazz club for dinner and an evening of less frenetic fun than you seem to think is necessary for a good time…’
‘You’ve decided?’ Her body was taking time to recover from its proximity to his. As was her breathing.
‘That’s right. I’ve decided. Next Saturday. How does that sound?’
‘It sounds—’
‘Good. I’ll pick you up at seven forty-five and don’t worry, you’ll have a good time.’ He leant so that his mouth was almost touching her ear. Her highly sensitised ear. ‘Trust me.’
CHAPTER SIX
THE following few days saw a feverish and panicky assault on all the reasonably priced clothes shops in Central London. Shannon couldn’t help but marvel at how the cost of clothes, in particular clothes that required the least yardage of fabric, had sneakily crept up almost when she’d had her back turned. One minute she could afford one or two things in Ireland, nothing designer but nothing shabby either, the next minute she was to be found gaping incredulously at price tags that would have brought her bank manager out in a sweat.
What had possessed her to lie? Didn’t she know that lying was nothing more than the laying of foundations for future regrets? If she hadn’t, then she knew now because she spent most of her waking time regretting her reckless blunder.
It helped on the one hand that Kane was abroad and so couldn’t witness her frantic lunchtime forays into increasingly unsuitable shops. On the other hand, his absence gave her ample opportunity to build up feelings of nervous apprehension. When she thought of him carrying her back to her bedsit, his arms engulfing her body, she felt a sick flutter of
dismayed panic but then she couldn’t understand why because he hadn’t touched her, at least not in any way that could have been construed as suggestive.
‘Dad phoned last night,’ Eleanor said casually, as they were washing dishes on the Friday evening.
‘Oh, did he?’ Shannon trilled, before clearing her throat and trying to assume a less sinister tone. ‘How is he? Is he having a good time in New York?’
She communicated daily with him by e-mail, but the subjects covered didn’t stray from the work arena.
‘He’s back tomorrow morning,’ Eleanor told her brightly. ‘He says he’s bought me something but he won’t say what.’
‘Mmm.’ Shannon thoughtfully finished washing up and squeezed the sponge of soapy water. In ten minutes Carrie would be coming to take over. ‘And have you got anything planned for tomorrow night? Perhaps a special father-daughter bonding thing? Over some chicken nuggets and chips?’
Eleanor gave her one of those looks that implied wisdom beyond her years. ‘Father-daughter bonding?’
‘It does happen, you know.’
‘But Daddy’s too…’ She spent a few seconds rooting around for an adequate description of her father. ‘Too absent-minded when it comes to stuff like that.’
‘You two could share a meal,’ Shannon persisted, taken with the idea of wriggling out of her unwelcome dinner date, about which she had been reminded only that very morning by e-mail, due to circumstances over which she had no apparent control. ‘Carrie will be here with you in the morning. You two could go and do a shop, buy whatever food he likes most, prepare something special…’ Her voice trailed off at the wry look being shot at her from the diminutive creature at her side.
‘He’s taking me to tea,’ Eleanor said, ‘and, besides, aren’t you supposed to be going out with him in the night?’
‘Ah, yes!’ Shannon forced herself to give a hundred-watt smile. ‘Forgot!’
‘How could you forget?’
‘I just did.’ She shrugged as if forgetting dinner dates was an affliction from which she routinely suffered.
‘Have you got your little black dress?’
‘And how,’ Shannon asked curiously, ‘did you know that I was wearing a little black dress?’ She faced her eight-year-old sparring partner with hands on hips. ‘Spill the beans, miss,’ she said, waggling one finger at her. ‘Or else your pudding days are over!’
Eleanor giggled and looked unthreatened at the prospect.
‘Oh, Daddy mentioned it on the phone yesterday. He said that he hoped you hadn’t forgotten about your date and that he was dying to see your little black dress. I can’t imagine you in a little black dress,’ she tacked on undiplomatically, and Shannon only just managed to refrain from agreeing. ‘Nor can Dad,’ Eleanor continued with ruthless frankness. ‘You’re always wearing those funny, boring suits.’
‘My suits are not funny!’ She laughed. ‘If they were, they wouldn’t be so boring. But you wait until you get into the big, bad world of work. You, too, will find that your wardrobe is limited!’
‘What’s your dress like?’
‘Very small and…well, small is about all there is to say about it.’ In fact, it was the smallest dress she had ever owned in her life, but the shop assistant had said it looked great, and on the fifth day of fruitless shopping, with desperation yapping at her ankles, Shannon had cheerfully believed her.
‘Is this a work thing, then?’ Eleanor asked, dropping her eyes, and so fortunately missing the colour that flooded into Shannon’s face.
‘That’s right! Work-related,’ she confirmed. If only. It was unlikely, however, that an eight-year-old child would understand an invitation that had stemmed from a combination of pity for the poor woman whose knowledge of London was obviously lacking, curiosity to see what she looked like in the small black number which she had somehow made sound wildly exciting and sexy, and sheer devilry at the tacit challenge behind Shannon’s inebriated teasing.
‘So…not a date…’
‘So…not really…’
‘Because,’ Eleanor said in a rush, ‘I wouldn’t mind. I mean, it’s not as if you’re like the last woman Dad brought home for me to meet. She was awful.’
‘Hideous, do you mean?’ Shannon asked, briefly tussling with her conscience which was telling her not to try and get information out of a child, particularly information that was none of her business, and losing. ‘Unappealing? Perhaps spots?’
‘Oh, no, Claudia was beautiful, but…you know…’
‘Dull?’
‘Too clever and full of herself.’
Beautiful, clever and self-confident, Shannon thought with a stab of emotion that felt suspiciously like jealousy. Only a child could have read disadvantages into such a description.
Beautiful, clever and self-confident was not how she felt on Saturday evening at seven-thirty, with fifteen minutes to go. Having decided that she wouldn’t get overwhelmed and stupidly dress in her finery with hours to spare, she now found herself frantically putting on her make-up in front of her mirror and anxiously looking at her watch in a race to get herself ready and presentable before Kane rang the doorbell and she had to hurry down to meet him.
The dress, which she had been told made her look sexy, felt like cling film and left so little to the imagination that she couldn’t fathom why she’d been persuaded to buy the thing in the first place. Ten minutes of temporary insanity and here she was, stuffed into sausage skin with far too much leg showing for comfort. The neckline was modest enough but, then, Shannon thought, inspecting herself in the small mirror on the wardrobe door, it would have to be if only to compensate for the plunging back that made wearing a bra out of the question.
Thank goodness it was winter and she could hide behind her thick coat at least for the duration of the drive to the club.
The red hair at least didn’t seem too overpowering. She’d had it trimmed into a bob a few days earlier and it swung nicely around her face, if with somewhat glaring intensity. There was nothing that could be done about that. She experimentally swung her head from side to side and was quite pleased with how it looked. Better than tied back into something puerile and unattractive which was how she normally wore it.
It will be a subdued evening during which I shall try very hard not to gabble. I will refuse all drink on some pretext or other and will act like a mature and sophisticated woman instead of an eccentric, unpredictable one.
By the time her bell buzzed from the downstairs front door, Shannon was ready to face Kane. She took her time slipping on her coat and gloves and greeted him five minutes later with a controlled smile.
‘You’ve done something with your hair’ were his opening words, which sent a little rush of pleasure through her. He was lounging against the doorway in his black coat, with a cream silk scarf draped casually around his neck.
‘I’ve had it trimmed.’ She tossed her head back in the manner of a film star. ‘Do you like it?’
‘It’s very nice,’ he said. ‘Very chic.’
In the darkness, Shannon looked at him narrowly, wondering whether there was some hidden meaning in his remark to which she should take immediate offence, but the contours of his face were bland, and there was nothing remotely smug in his voice as he began talking about his trip to New York.
‘Have you ever been to New York?’ he asked, as he manipulated the car smoothly along back roads she wouldn’t have recognised in a thousand years.
It crossed her mind that it would have been glorious to have swapped notes on life in the Big Apple. Unfortunately some lies just couldn’t be countenanced.
‘You could rephrase that,’ Shannon said tartly, ‘to “Have you ever been anywhere except London and Ireland?”’
‘You’ve never been anywhere else?’
‘I know. Shocking, isn’t it? I’ve never even been on a plane! Just one of the many things I never seemed to get around to doing!’
‘Now you sound very brittle and you’re not a brittle pers
on, are you? How have you managed to live your life without setting foot on a plane in this day and age of cheap air travel?’
Shannon chewed her lip, wondering whether she should counter his kind curiosity with something trivial and vague, but in the end she said thoughtfully, ‘I guess that, growing up, there was never the money to go around. Don’t forget how many of us there were, and Mum would never have taken a few on holiday and left the rest behind. So we went on holidays to the beach, camping, to the countryside. And by the time I started working, well, I never seemed to have any lump sums of money around that I could use for a holiday somewhere hot.’
‘You must have saved something from working,’ he persisted wryly, ‘if you lived at home with your family and had no astronomical rent to pay. Or did you spend it all on clothes? Warn me now so that I have an idea of what to expect when Eleanor gets older and insists on augmenting her pocket money with a weekend job! Tell me she won’t blow the lot on shopping!’ He flicked an amused sideways glance at her then looked back ahead of him, his mouth curved into a slight smile.
Why did he group her and his daughter together? It was ridiculous. Shannon suddenly felt perversely pleased that she’d worn the skin-tight number after all.
‘Actually, I usually ended up buying stuff for my younger brothers,’ Shannon said reluctantly. Of course she had bought clothes for herself and gone out with her friends, but she had also paid rent to her mother and it was true that pay days had always been a source of treats for the kids. It had always seemed natural to share.
‘That’s great,’ Kane said warmly, and she grimaced.
‘I don’t suppose Eleanor will run into that particular problem,’ she pointed out. She’d just succeeded, she thought wryly, in making herself sound like a prosaic goody two-shoes! ‘She’ll probably blow all her money on clothes and shoes and holidays and will leave poor old Dad picking up the tab!’
Secretary on Demand Page 9
