At the Boss's Command

by Darcy Maguire

  Jemima stood straight. ‘Sorry, I should have introduced you properly. Russell, this is Miles Kingsley.’

  Automatically Miles held out his hand, his eyes firmly meeting Russell Chadwick’s. Unlike Jemima, who appeared to be thinking of nothing but her son, he was completely aware of what Russell was assuming about why he was here and what that must mean about Jemima’s relationship with him. Moreover, he was fairly sure the other man didn’t like it.

  ‘Miles,’ Russell said.

  He nodded in acknowledgment.

  Russell put his hands in his trouser pockets. ‘It was good of you to come and pick Sam up.’

  This was probably a clear case of too much testosterone, but Miles didn’t like Russell Chadwick one bit. He smiled. ‘Jemima only had to ask. She’s very special.’

  He watched the dawning recognition in the other man’s eyes that they had locked antlers as sure as if they were two stags. Miles couldn’t remember when he’d disliked a man more.

  ‘Sam’s not at all well.’

  ‘So I gathered. I was with Jemima when you phoned.’ Miles resisted the temptation to add, We were about to go to bed. It wouldn’t have been true…and he wasn’t sure whether Jemima would play along with it.

  Russell shuffled his feet. ‘I’d tried to get her earlier.’

  It was a gift. Irresistible. ‘Yes, we’d not long walked through the door,’ Miles replied and put a deliberate arm round Jemima’s waist.

  He’d intended it to be punishment for the man who’d hurt Jemima so much, a physical act of support, but as soon as his fingers splayed out on the soft curve of her hip he forgot that original purpose.

  Russell Chadwick could have fallen down dead on the pavement and Miles wouldn’t have noticed. Nothing about her ex-husband mattered. His fingers were alive to the fact that he was touching Jemima. Beneath his hand she was soft and warm.

  This close to her, he could smell the soft scent of her perfume, so light it hovered at the edge of his consciousness. He could see the tiny pulse beating in her neck. He was used to being around women, but the effect of the long white column of her neck and the dark burnished copper of her hair sent his libido into the stratosphere.

  And then she looked up—her pale face surrounded by that cloud of red curls, her mouth softly parted and her eyes a shimmering green…

  It felt natural. Inevitable. He was going to kiss her. He knew it and the flare in her green eyes told him she knew it too. Miles moved slowly and caught the soft ‘oh’ she uttered in his mouth. His hands spread out on the linen of her dress, feeling the curves that lay beneath it.

  His head was pounding with her name. He could never have expected how amazing this would feel. Her lips were warm and pliant beneath his. It was just a kiss… Not important, he thought as he let his tongue flick out. She was… Oh, God.

  Who was he trying to kid? There were kisses and there were kisses. Miles pulled her in closer as he deepened the kiss. The temptation was to let his hands slide down over the gentle curves of her buttocks. Pull her in really close.

  She was lovely. Really, really lovely.

  He heard the soft murmur in the back of her throat, whether passion or protest he didn’t know. And then Jemima moved to rest her hands against his chest. Every sinew in his body resisted, but he obediently pulled back to look into her eyes. She was so near he could feel her breath on his lips. What was she thinking?

  ‘Sam,’ she said huskily, her green eyes darker than he’d ever seen them.

  It was a moment before he realised she was talking about her son, sitting feet away in the car. Regretfully Miles moved away. He felt cold without her. Shaken. ‘We’d better get him home.’

  ‘Y-yes.’ Jemima gave him a half smile and moved towards the car. ‘Bye, Russell. I’ll see you tomorrow,’ she said carelessly over her right shoulder.

  It was beautifully done. It would have left Russell with exactly the impression Miles had intended, but…what had he been thinking of?

  This wasn’t a game. Despite every promise he’d ever made to himself about never getting mixed up with a single mother, he’d kissed her. And it was addictive. He knew exactly how it felt to have her soft curves pushed up against him and he knew he wanted more…

  But that wasn’t going to happen. He wasn’t the kind of man who was capable of stepping in to play happy families. He had no experience of one. Nothing to contribute. Miles walked round to the driver’s side, climbed in and shut the door.

  He’d wanted to help her and yet he’d just made everything extremely complicated. If Rachel got wind of the fact he was messing about with the emotions of her friend she’d be justifiably angry. Alistair had warned him Jemima was brittle. She’d described herself as ‘walking wounded’ and the last thing he wanted to do was hurt her any more than she’d already been hurt.

  Damn it! He should have remembered that… He shouldn’t have tried to play stupid mind games with a man he probably wouldn’t see again… He shouldn’t…

  ‘Miles?’

  He looked over his shoulder. Half of Jemima’s face was in shadow, but he knew she was smiling.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said softly.

  Two tiny words and yet they had the power to remove any sense of regret. In the mirror he met her steady green gaze. She’d understood exactly why he’d kissed her…and she was grateful.

  ‘You’re welcome.’

  Jemima glanced over her shoulder and gave a tiny wave to Russell, who was still standing on the pavement. ‘I don’t think he quite believes it.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Miles said, glancing in his wing mirror. Russell Chadwick looked like a man in shock to him. Perhaps he’d just been reminded of how fantastic the woman he’d walked out on was. He certainly hoped so.

  Miles set the car in first gear as she gave a soft laugh, halfway between a gurgle and a hiccup. Jemima was entirely surprising…and she was very welcome. In fact, he’d be happy to kiss her any time she liked—with or without the audience. Except, of course, he wouldn’t. Kissing Jemima Chadwick was a very foolish thing to do.

  ‘Do you need me to direct you back?’ Jemima asked, leaning forward.

  Miles shook his head. ‘I can remember the way.’

  He heard her settle back in her seat. Another swift glance in his rear-view mirror saw Jemima place her arm around her son with the other hand clutching the empty ice cream tub.

  ‘How is he doing?’ Miles smiled to himself in the darkness. Perhaps he didn’t want to know the answer to that.

  ‘Who are you?’ A young voice spoke from the depths of the blanket. ‘Mum, why aren’t we in our car?’

  Jemima answered him in a matter of fact voice. ‘Because it’s broken down again. I had to leave it outside Rachel’s house.’

  ‘But who is he?’

  Miles let his eyes flick to the rear-view mirror again. For one moment his gaze locked with Jemima’s, no doubt they were both wondering whether Sam had seen the kiss. That had been such an irresponsible thing for him to do. The thought that a vulnerable five-year-old might be watching hadn’t occurred to him.

  Jemima broke eye-contact first. ‘This is Miles, Sam. He’s Alistair’s best friend and he offered to help me come to get you when Daddy rang to say you were not feeling very well.’

  ‘Oh.’ And then, after a pause, ‘He’s got a very small car.’

  Miles couldn’t help but listen while Jemima explained about classic cars and how some people enjoyed driving really old cars and liked to get together with other people who drove the same sort of old car. It was a kind of club, she said.

  He glanced back via the mirror. Hearing his passion put into words like that made it seem rather ridiculous—and he got the feeling she was doing it deliberately. Jemima might have been bruised by her life experiences, but inside she had a wicked sense of humour which was bubbling just beneath the surface.

  And he liked the sound of her voice. It was the kind of pitch that sat easily on the ears. She could probably read a tele
phone directory and make it sound like Wordsworth. It had an innate musicality to it.

  In fact, he realised with a shock, he liked her. Genuinely…liked her.

  Miles pulled up outside her house, reversing neatly into a tight space. He heard Jemima murmur, ‘We’re home, sweetheart,’ as he climbed out and walked round to the passenger side, pulling the front seat forward.

  Jemima unwound herself from the tight seating position and stood on the pavement. She pushed back her bright curls as the wind caught them. ‘Well, we made it without mishap,’ she said, holding up the ice cream tub.

  He felt a smile curve his mouth. ‘I’m not disappointed about that.’

  ‘I bet.’ Then her smile faltered. ‘Miles, thank you.’ She stopped awkwardly. ‘It’s really late and I’m—’

  Miles stopped her with a shake of the head and a light brush of his fingers against her cheek. He probably shouldn’t have done that either. It was those eyes. Truly like windows into the soul—and her soul was beautiful. She was beautiful. How had he missed that during the past two weeks?

  And she wasn’t interested in him. He could see that from the wary look that flashed into her green eyes. In front of her ex-husband she might let him kiss her, but now… It was a clear no.

  Salutary.

  He didn’t think it had ever happened before.

  Miles moved backwards. ‘Is Sam in his slippers? Do you want me to carry him in?’

  ‘I can manage.’ She leant into the car. ‘Out you come, Sam. Let’s get you into bed.’ Her voice was brusque and capable, much more like the Jemima Chadwick he knew from the office.

  Sam emerged wrapped in a blanket, his dark hair tousled and his eyes big and shining. Clutched in his hand was the duvet and it was immediately obvious that Jemima wasn’t going to be able to carry everything.

  ‘Leave the duvet, sweetheart. Let’s get you inside and I’ll come back for it in a minute.’

  Miles looked directly at Sam. ‘Do you mind if I carry you into the house for your mum? Then she can bring in all your things.’

  The eyes, just peeking out from the top of the blanket, seemed to consider it for a moment and then a small voice said, ‘I don’t mind.’

  Miles bent down and picked him up. He was surprisingly heavy.

  Jemima looked at them briefly and then bent to pull out the overnight bag and duvet. ‘Thanks,’ she said, shutting the car door. ‘How do I lock it?’

  ‘Don’t worry about it. It’s late, there’s no one around and I’ll be gone in a minute.’

  Jemima rummaged in her handbag for her front door keys. ‘Sorry, I should have got these out earlier. I’m keeping you waiting…’

  Miles shifted Sam in his arms. ‘How are you feeling?’ he asked him, thinking he should say something.

  ‘Better.’

  ‘That’s good.’

  The eyes looked at him steadily. ‘I hate being sick.’

  ‘Everyone does.’ Miles watched as Jemima hurriedly opened the front door. ‘There you go,’ he said to Sam as he lowered him inside. Then he looked up at Jemima and felt…tongue-tied.

  What did you say to your temporary secretary whose young son was watching and who you wanted to kiss again very much? There was only one thing that could be said. He stepped backwards. ‘I’ll leave you to it. He looks like he ought to be in bed.’

  ‘I know.’ Her hand came out to rest on her son’s head, her long fingers moving through the dark curls. ‘I don’t know how I would have managed without you…’

  ‘It was nothing.’ Miles raised a hand in a gesture of goodbye and walked back towards the car. The front door shut before he was even halfway there. He took a moment to look back. His smile was self-deprecating. It had been a strange evening. Very strange.

  And Jemima Chadwick….

  Without question she was a very interesting woman—and, for entirely different reasons than before, he still wasn’t sure what to make of her.

  Chapter Six

  MONDAY morning seemed to whip round more quickly than Jemima could have believed possible. There hadn’t been time to draw breath, let alone decide how it would be best to play the day ahead of her.

  Before she knew it she was squeezed into an overcrowded tube carriage and heading into Covent Garden. Commuting wasn’t an activity she found particularly conducive to thought, but she was tending towards the idea that the only sensible thing to do was to carry on exactly as before. She could take her cue from Miles as to whether he wanted to acknowledge at work that they had mutual friends.

  And the kiss?

  Was probably best forgotten.

  Sam didn’t seem to have seen it. At least he hadn’t mentioned any kiss and she thought he would have done if he’d observed anything. So that was good, but it hadn’t stopped her thinking about it. Throughout most of yesterday, if she were honest. Jemima smiled to herself. It had been…lovely.

  She’d always thought kissing was a little overrated, but that was because she hadn’t been kissed by an expert before. When she stopped to think about it, it made sense really that there would be virtuosos in kissing as in everything else. Clearly Miles Kingsley was one of those. Her insides seemed to curl up at the edges when she thought about how it had felt.

  Miles had made her feel…priceless. For those few moments she’d felt spectacularly desirable. Of course she knew it was an illusion. One glance in her bedroom mirror had told her that. In reality she was a slightly overweight mother of two who needed to do some abdominal exercises before she could do justice to any of the clothes in her wardrobe, borrowed or otherwise.

  Besides, it hadn’t meant anything. It wasn’t as though Miles had been overcome with passion. He’d only kissed her to support her in front of Russell. She could almost fall in love with him for that alone. Jemima smiled again. It might not be particularly mature, but it had felt fantastic seeing Russell’s reaction as they’d driven away. Just the possibility that he might have believed a man like Miles could seriously be in love with her was so funny. Absolutely, delightfully…funny.

  Jemima walked round from Leicester Square towards the Kingsley and Bressington building, her stomach beginning to churn in anticipation of… She wasn’t quite sure what. It couldn’t be the prospect of seeing Miles because she wasn’t that stupid. There was nothing about a man like Miles Kingsley that made him right for her even if… Well, if…

  She preferred to think her newfound sense of optimism came from a belief in the infinite possibilities of life. Despite the leaky bathroom and the prospect of losing the boys for two whole weeks when Russell took them to Spain on holiday she felt…hopeful.

  Of course, it would have been better if she could have conjured up a stunning designer outfit for work this morning. Something spectacular that would have assuaged the wound to her feminine pride caused by the ‘dresses like her mother’ jibe.

  But that wasn’t a possibility. She was back in Joshua’s mum’s perfectly sensible, if a little dull, redundant work clothes. She couldn’t justify it with her conscience to siphon off part of her first pay cheque when Ben needed new school shoes, even though it was so near the end of term and his feet were bound to grow another size before September.

  Besides, the whole purpose of taking a temp job this side of the school holidays was that she’d have some money to take the boys out over the summer break and she’d already promised them a trip to Legoland.

  But it would have been nice to have bought a new dress. Just one. Jemima allowed herself a small sigh and pushed open the door to Kingsley and Bressington, taking consolation from the fact that she’d allowed herself a little more time than usual to straighten her hair and had made a fairly good job of smearing on a touch of make-up. Nothing so revolutionary that Miles would notice—or comment on. She couldn’t bear it if he thought she was taking the kiss thing too seriously and making an effort for him. She’d die of embarrassment.

  The door to his office when she got there was, thankfully, shut. Jemima opened the tall cupboar
d and carefully tucked her handbag towards the back, glad she had a moment or two to settle herself.

  ‘How is he?’

  Jemima jumped at the sound of his voice. She whirled round with a gasp.

  Miles smiled, leaning nonchalantly against the door frame. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.’

  ‘I hadn’t realised you were here yet,’ she said, feeling foolish. He was in another sharp suit. He must own hundreds. This one was more black than grey and the tie was the colour of a ripe Victoria plum. The overall effect was, frankly, very sexy.

  ‘I was in at seven. How’s Sam doing?’

  ‘He’s fine.’ Her voice sounded breathless, even to her own ears. Her throat had constricted so much it was difficult to get any words out at all. She’d thought Miles in casual wear was more lethal than Miles in a city suit, but she discovered she was wrong.

  He seemed even sexier than before—now she knew what it felt like to be kissed by him, that voice in her head whispered. More intimidating too—now she’d been kissed by him.

  Oh…hell.

  She had to stop thinking like this. Jemima made a determined effort not to let her eyes wander to his lips and tried again. ‘I think Sam must have eaten too many sweets because he was fine all day Sunday. Nothing the matter with him at all.’

  Much better, she thought, turning away to lock the cupboard door. Cool, calm and composed. That was what she was aiming for.

  ‘I wasn’t really expecting you in today.’

  Jemima’s stomach fell something like three feet and her body temperature plummeted. Why? Why wouldn’t she be in to work today? Why would Miles think that? Had she embarrassed him by too enthusiastically responding to his kiss? Her mind conjured up an image of the way she’d melted against him…

  Oh, God. Please, no. She hadn’t mumbled incoherently, had she? Had she seemed too grateful for the attention?

  She was going to die of mortification if he thought she thought he’d meant it all seriously. She hadn’t for one moment considered that he’d be expecting her not to turn up. She’d promised Amanda she’d stick out the full assignment whatever happened and…