Bed. Not a good thought. Miles thrust an agitated hand through his hair, his mind inevitably starting to imagine what Jemima might wear in bed. Seamlessly he went on to wonder whether her freckles covered every inch of her body. Or, more intriguingly, whether there were areas they didn’t?
‘…before you went to sleep,’ he continued, his voice slightly deeper.
‘I’m awake. I’ve just finished ironing all the school uniforms for Monday. How did your dandelion date go?’
How to answer that? Keira had worn a dress that was designed to make sure a man thought about what it would be like to take it off. She’d listened attentively to everything he said, had moistened her lips and tossed her hair. But, undeniably beautiful though Keira was, he hadn’t been remotely tempted by her. He’d dropped her outside her Chelsea house and walked away without a backward glance.
‘No, don’t tell me,’ Jemima continued, without him needing to say anything. ‘I can gauge it all by the type of flowers you get me to send her on Monday.’
Miles sat back on the sofa, hoping that a nonchalant posture would somehow transmute itself into his voice.
‘Does she know that’s the form?’ Jemima asked. ‘A cactus and it’s all off, two dozen red roses and I’ll need to buy a hat.’
Her voice was full of teasing laughter and he felt the boredom of his evening evaporate. Jemima did have the sexiest voice. It coated her words like warm chocolate over fruit. It relaxed him. Seduced him. ‘Buy a hat?’
‘For the wedding.’
‘Ah,’ he said, understanding. ‘You know, I’ve never sent a woman a cactus—’
‘Yet,’ Jemima cut in swiftly.
Miles laughed, although there was a part of him that felt piqued. Didn’t it bother Jemima at all that he’d spent the evening with another woman? And, if not, why not?
He’d spent the better part of the evening thinking about her. He’d wondered whether she’d told Ben and Sam about their trip into town. If she still felt sad at the thought of missing Ben’s party. But, most of all, he’d wondered whether she was thinking about him at all…
Less than a minute into this phone call and it was crystal clear she hadn’t given him a moment’s consideration.
‘A cactus isn’t a very persuasive plant,’ he said smoothly.
‘And a dandelion is? Goodness, Miles, you know the wrong women.’
It was an opinion he was beginning to share. What would Jemima say if he asked her out to dinner—right now? This moment? The answer came swinging into his mind with the velocity of a cricket ball at the Oval. She’d say no. There wouldn’t be a moment’s hesitation.
If he asked Jemima out on a date he’d have his first slap-back since Jenny Baymen told him he couldn’t take off her bra. He’d been fifteen then and his technique had lacked sophistication.
But…
Miles shifted his position on the sofa and made the conscious decision to make it clear that he had a real, bona fide reason for ringing her. Something that had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that he’d not been able to forget how green her eyes were or how pale her skin. Or that he remembered, absolutely, how it had felt to kiss her.
‘I wouldn’t rush to get the hat,’ he said, uncomfortable and shifting his position yet again. It had felt so good to kiss her. It would be even better if he could kiss her when she was lying down beside him, warm and sleepy. If he could reach out and touch her…
‘Not a good evening, then. How very disappointing, and after such a promising start.’
Women never teased him, Miles thought with a slow smile. If Jemima had asked him in for ‘coffee’ tonight he wouldn’t have left her standing on the doorstep. He would have taken her inside and started a detailed exploration of just how far her freckles covered that pale, almost translucent, skin.
Miles shook his head, mystified by how he was feeling. Jemima? The intensity of it was frightening and entirely unexpected.
But the really tragic thing was that when Jemima asked him in for ‘coffee’ she really did mean coffee.
The truth was she was as unimpressed by him as he was by himself. For the first time in his adult life he felt as though he’d met a woman who could see past the façade—and she thought him shallow.
He sat forward and rested his elbows on his thighs. ‘Whatever my evening was like, it was probably better than yours if you spent it looking through bridal magazines.’
She gave a rich chuckle. ‘You’ve got me there. Did you know you can buy silver-plated yo-yos with the words ‘you make my world go round’ engraved on them?
‘Actually, no.’
‘Apparently it makes a great gift for a page-boy.’
‘Would it?’ he asked, marvelling at how steady his voice was.
‘I can’t see it either,’ she agreed easily, ‘but I’ve done brilliantly with the marquee. Or I think I have.’
Miles stood up with the phone tucked under his ear and walked across to the kitchen to fetch a beer from the fridge. ‘I hope it’s got turrets and a flag waving on the top or Rachel’s going to be disappointed.’
‘That’s just it. It hasn’t.’
Miles poured his beer into a tall glass and walked back to the sofa. ‘What have you done?’
‘Well, it suddenly occurred to me that the people who were to have had that weekend at Manningtree Castle had probably reserved something.
‘While you were out of the office this afternoon, I did a bit of digging, found out who it was, and I’ve agreed to take over their booking. What do you think? Good idea?’
‘Clever.’ No more than he expected from her.
‘It’s large and white and we’ll have to add the medieval touches ourselves, but it’s a marquee and Alistair and Rachel are running out of time.’
‘Now all you need to do is find a caterer who fancies roasting an entire pig over a spit.’ Miles sat back and waited for her reaction.
‘Don’t you have contacts for that?’ she asked silkily.
It was so good to be home. So good to be talking to Jemima. ‘I know. It’s such an odd place to have a huge gap in my address book.’ Miles sipped his beer. ‘But I have pulled all kinds of strings and pledged a ridiculous amount of money to Great Ormond Street Hospital in order to hire a group of baroque musicians called Solstice.’
‘How did giving money to Great Ormond Street Hospital help?’
‘You may well ask.’ Miles pushed off his shoes and sat back more comfortably. ‘One of the violinists is the daughter of a paediatrician who just happens to be the boyfriend of the sister of Hugh Foxton. And Alistair and I went to school with Hugh.’
There was a moment’s stunned silence and then, ‘Good grief!’
Miles laughed. ‘Impressed?’
‘Very.’
There was a momentary sense of exultation and then he realised that he no longer had an ostensible reason for speaking to her—and he wasn’t ready for her to go yet. ‘Have you spoken to your boys about tomorrow?’ he asked abruptly.
‘Not yet. I thought I’d make it a surprise, but I’ve already packed a picnic so we don’t waste any time in the morning.’
Miles pictured a few rounds of sandwiches, the kind she brought into work each day tightly wrapped in cling film. Then he imagined Jemima and her boys struggling to find somewhere to eat them. In a just world she’d have been able to take them to a restaurant, money no object.
She seemed to take it all in her stride, but it angered him that she had to think like that. Pinching and scraping for every blasted thing while Russell wafted in and out of his sons’ lives like Santa Claus bringing gifts.
‘Have you planned your day?’ he asked, frowning.
‘Not really. I thought I’d see what the boys want to do. They might be happy enough wandering through the market.’
No. The thought burst within him. He wanted better than that for her. Better than a day left to chance with one eye on what everything cost. This had to be a fantastic day. A day that Jemima would
love to give her boys.
The kind of day he’d missed out on himself. Where would be the harm in that? It wasn’t as though he would be really involving himself in her family. But he could help her. She found his ability to network and the myriad contacts he had amusing, but one phone call…
Miles transferred the phone to his other ear. ‘Jemima?’
‘What?’
‘If you don’t have anything fixed for the afternoon I thought I might ring a couple of people and call in a favour or two.’
‘Miles, I—’
He could hear the doubt in her voice. ‘It’s just an idea. I’ll talk to you about it tomorrow.’
‘You don’t have to feel—’
He stopped her. ‘Just concentrate your mind on finding someone who specialises in cooking over an open fire and I’ll come up with something I think Ben will enjoy.’
And that was where it would stop, he promised silently. He needed to refocus on how impossible a relationship would be with Jemima. Only…it was becoming more and more difficult to remember that.
‘Do you really work here, Mum?’ Sam asked the following morning, pushing his face close to the glass entrance doors of Kingsley and Bressington.
‘Yes. You’ll see where in a minute.’ Jemima pulled him back and nervously touched her wildly curling hair. She should have straightened it like normal. She only hoped Miles wouldn’t think she’d left it curly because he’d said he thought it looked sexy.
Although she had. Obviously. Which was sort of fine as long as it wasn’t obvious to him that she had.
‘There’s a man coming,’ Ben said, standing to one side of her.
Sam pressed forward. ‘That’s Miles. I went in his car when I was sick.’
Jemima felt her stomach clench. She was being ridiculous, but her mouth was dry and her hands clammy as she watched him walk towards the doors, effortlessly sexy in denim jeans and blue T-shirt.
Her reaction to him was as instant as a puppet’s to the jerking of its strings. Jemima smoothed down her fitted cotton blouse and tucked her hands into the pockets of her own jeans. Heaven help her.
‘Hi,’ she said breathlessly as he opened the door for them to come in.
‘Hi yourself.’ And for a moment Miles looked at her.
She felt more self-conscious in that moment than she’d done in her entire life. Every instinct was to fluff her hair and hold her stomach muscles in tight. What was he seeing when he looked at her like that?
Then he turned away. ‘So, you must be Ben,’ he said with an easy smile in her son’s direction. ‘I’ve already met Sam.’
‘I went in his car,’ the younger boy chirped in, his grin wide and toothless.
Jemima placed a hand on Sam’s head and steered them inside. Ben looked round, clearly overawed by the dramatic interior.
‘Cool,’ he said, looking at the staircase that seemed to float upwards. ‘This is so much cooler than Dad’s office.’
Above his head Miles met Jemima’s eyes and smiled. ‘You’d better see where your mum is working. It’s upstairs.’
Sam slipped his hand inside hers as Jemima led them towards her temporary office. She was aware of Miles shutting and locking the door before he followed on behind.
‘I work through here,’ Jemima said, showing the boys the stunning interior of her office.
Ben’s eyes instantly focused on the computer as she’d known they would. ‘Does it have games on it?’ he asked.
Jemima caught Miles’s soft laugh. ‘I shouldn’t think so. I haven’t had time to play games while I’ve been here.’
‘Mine does,’ Miles interrupted and she turned round to look at him. He grinned unrepentantly and walked over to open the door to his office. ‘Do you want a go?’
Neither Ben or Sam needed to be asked a second time. They lost all sense of nervousness as they realised that they’d finally come into contact with a grown-up who knew that, of course, they’d want to have a go.
Jemima watched as the three male heads crowded round the screen. Then Miles looked up and smiled at her and she felt breathless again.
She stepped back into the comparative safety of her own office, trying to remember all the reasons why she would never be able to trust any man ever again. And, most particularly, why she couldn’t trust this one.
‘They’re quick on the uptake,’ Miles said as he joined her.
‘Yes.’ Jemima rubbed her hands down the legs of jeans. ‘I think it’s something they’re born with these days. Ben seems to know instinctively how to work my mobile phone better than I do and I’ve spent ages reading the instructions.’
Silently Jemima counted to ten. She had to keep a perspective on things. It was only because it was a Saturday and the Kingsley and Bressington building was empty that it felt so strange.
Miles was just being kind.
‘Tea? Coffee?’ Miles asked as he walked over to the kitchen. There was nothing different about him. He still looked as though he was completely comfortable and in control of his world. The difficulty was with her.
‘Um.’
He smiled at her. ‘I think they may be a while.’
‘Yes. Sorry.’ She took another deep breath. Oh, stuff it! This was horrible. ‘Were you working? I can call them off any time and you can get on…’
‘It’s fine. I’ve done everything I need to do today.’
Which naturally made her worry he’d been hanging round waiting for them to arrive when he really wanted to get off home. She just wasn’t good at this. Whatever this was.
She followed Miles into the small kitchen. ‘I can’t believe you have games on your computer,’ she said, struggling for normality.
He laughed.
‘So when you’ve been shut away in there and I thought you were working you’ve actually been trying to increase your top score?’
Miles winked at her and her stomach flipped over. ‘Tea or coffee?’
She pulled one twist of hair straight in a nervous gesture she’d had since childhood. ‘Coffee. Please.’
‘Nice hair, by the way,’ Miles remarked, turning to lean on the worktop. ‘Very…sexy.’ And his voice deepened in a way that made her believe he might really find it sexy.
Jemima could feel the blush spread across her face. She felt as if she was going to combust. What was happening here? Was it her? Or him?
‘It’s lovely.’
‘Th-thank you.’
And then he reached out and touched one copper corkscrew. Jemima stood motionless, her heart hammering against her chest as though it were contained in far too small a space. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think.
There must be some smart clever comment she could say in a situation like this. Something light and sophisticated, but for the life of her Jemima couldn’t think of it. She looked up helplessly into his eyes, eyes that had become impossibly dark.
All those clichés she’d read in books became instantly understandable. His eyes really were like two deep pools you could drown in. It all made perfect sense.
Flashes of what it had felt like when he’d kissed her played across her mind. Was she imagining it now, or was he looking at her as though he might do it again?
She felt scared and excited by it. She wanted him to kiss her. She didn’t want him to kiss her. Her indecision lasted as long as the possibility.
Very, very slowly Miles let his hand fall to his side and he turned away, concentrating on making the coffee. Jemima felt as though she’d been sluiced in ice-cold water. He’d deliberately backed away from her and it felt like a rejection.
‘I received an email from Alistair this morning.’
Jemima swallowed hard, trying to dislodge the hard lump stuck in her throat. ‘Did you?’
‘You can read it yourself, but…’ Miles broke off to pour the coffee into two mugs ‘…it seems everything is looking better than it did.’
‘That’s…great.’
‘Alistair asked me to let you know. I don’t know
why he couldn’t have sent it through to you directly—’
‘M-my computer’s not working at the moment.’
‘Ah.’
Miles handed her a mug of coffee. ‘Thanks.’
‘I’m a bit muddled as to what is actually going on,’ he said, pausing to take a sip of his own, ‘but Alistair’s dad is about to have, or has just had, an operation to remove a small tumour.’
Concentrating on what Miles was saying helped to calm her. She was reading far too much into what had been a casual gesture. Jemima followed him back out into her office and sat opposite him on one of the chairs. ‘Is that connected to the haemorrhage or something different?’
‘You’ll need to read the email yourself. It was obviously dashed off in a hurry, but I think so. I think the tumour hit the artery—which could turn out to be a good thing, I suppose, if it means they can cut it out before it’s had a chance to spread.’
In the nearby office there was a loud cheer. ‘They seem happy,’ Miles remarked.
‘Yes.’ Jemima made a huge effort to relax. ‘They loved the tube ride in as well. I probably don’t really need to do anything else.’
Miles put his mug down on the shattered glass coffee table. ‘I forgot. I’ve arranged something for your afternoon. I only hope Ben will like it. I don’t have much experience of nine-year-old boys.’
‘Except having been one yourself.’
‘Except having been one myself,’ he echoed, turning back to her with a warm expression in his eyes. It made her feel unaccountably shy, all the more so when he handed across a plain white envelope. ‘I think I’d have liked this.’
‘What is it?’ Jemima asked, holding out the envelope.
‘Open it.’
With one more questioning glance, Jemima flicked open the unsealed envelope and looked down at tickets for a Thames river cruise and… ‘What’s this?’ she asked, looking across at him, bemused.
‘I’ve hired a private capsule on the London Eye.’
‘Yes, I know, but—’
‘It means you have a capsule to yourself and priority boarding. That’s one thing I do remember about being nine. I hated having to stand in line waiting for things.’ He smiled. ‘Actually I’ve not changed much. I still hate waiting.’
At the Boss's Command Page 43
