LITMIR.BIZ

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this prickly with all your clients?’

      ‘No,’ she said. ‘Anyway, you’re not a client.’

      ‘No?’ Jake queried, the blue eyes scanning her speculatively. ‘Even when, like them, I’m paying quite generously for your services, Miss Wade? So, how do you regard me, then?’

      ‘You’re Lynne’s boss.’ She swallowed. ‘That’s all. I—I don’t need to know anything else.’

      ‘If that’s true,’ he said slowly, ‘Why do I get the distinct impression I’ve been tried and found wanting?’

      Marin glanced away. ‘Now you’re being absurd.’

      ‘I don’t think so,’ he returned. ‘So what’s the problem? I thought I’d made it clear you can trust me not to step out of line, except in dire emergency.’

      She remembered the warm weight of his body pressing her down into the bed, the glide of his fingers uncovering, discovering her exposed flesh. And all for Diana, watching from the doorway with her fixed, unsmiling smile.

      No, she thought. He didn’t cross the line even then. I could have been a waxwork—or even one of those blow-up dolls.

      ‘Maybe I feel that convincing you I’m reliable is a big step towards proving to Graham that he has nothing to fear from me, either.’

      He added bleakly, ‘And my need to do that has no connection with his being a client.’

      She said, ‘You really like Mr Halsay, don’t you?’

      ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘And I admire him too, apart from his unerring ability to pick the wrong women.’

      She gasped. ‘Are you saying your own choices have always been impeccable?’

      ‘No.’ Jake’s tone held a touch of chill. ‘But I don’t marry my mistakes.’

      Or at all, she thought. Which is why you’d rather pretend to be close to me instead of raising the hopes of any of the girls you’re seeing, like Celia Forrest. Because you know there’s no danger of me taking you seriously—of being fooled by the way you seem to look at me sometimes, the warmth I think I hear in your voice.

      Because I don’t need to be reminded that I’m your paid employee, and compared to Diana Halsay, I don’t even feature.

      Yet you still can’t resist trying to make me respond even marginally to your charm. Because it’s all technique—the seducer’s check-list, and as natural to you as breathing. Nothing else.

      Which means that all the real resistance has to come from me, and fighting you mentally and emotionally, as I know I must, is becoming so difficult that it scares me. Makes me dread what could happen to me if I don’t take care.

      Aloud, she said tautly, ‘But then, Mr Radley-Smith, you’re not interested in marrying anyone. So maybe you should make allowances for lesser mortals.’

      She rose to her feet. ‘Now, unless you have anything further to discuss, I’m going back to the house. I need some food to build up my stamina for the swimathon.’

      He stood too. ‘I’m going to stay here for a while. I have some thinking to do.’ He paused. ‘I’m sorry I shan’t be around to cheer you on, but this meeting with Graham is important.’

      She said quietly, ‘I know it is. And it’s why I’m here. The only reason.’

      ‘Not quite,’ he said. ‘You seem to be forgetting the money. And that would never do.’ He sent her a brief, impersonal smile. ‘I’ll see you later.’

      ‘Yes,’ Marin said, and walked away from him. She didn’t look back, even when she reached the gate and thought she heard him say her name.

      It was scorchingly hot, and Marin was glad of the shade of the parasol as she waited tensely for the final race. The men had swum first and Chaz had eventually beaten Rob Bannister to emerge the winner.

      When it was the turn of the women, Clare Dawson had declared firmly, like her husband, that she was no swimmer and would watch. In the first heat, Diana had an easy win over Fiona Stratton, and Marin had little trouble beating Sylvia Bannister, a good but showy swimmer, in the second.

      But the real battle of the morning was about to take place, and everyone round the pool knew it—and also knew it had little to do with being the fastest swimmer.

      Diana was powerful and sinuous in the water, rather like an anaconda, thought Marin. And the white bikini the older woman was wearing was frankly minimal, showing off her sexy figure to the limit.

      By contrast, Marin was well aware that her simple black swimsuit would not win many prizes for its seductive qualities. And, judging by the smiles that Sylvia and Diana could not be bothered to hide, they totally agreed with her. But her suit’s sleek, untrammelled lines were just what she needed in the water, her long hair pinned up into a neat knot.

      Rob Bannister was loudly offering odds on Diana to win, and Fiona’s husband, Chaz, was also backing his hostess.

      ‘We’re supporting you, dear,’ Clare Dawson whispered to Marin. ‘Don’t let us down now.’

      Marin slid into the water and waited for Diana to join her. Her eventual arrival was greeted with applause and shouted encouragement.

      Then the signal was given and they were off, Diana powering her way recklessly through the water, and Marin’s controlled, easy crawl keeping her just about on level terms. She’d known from the beginning that it would all depend on the turn, and so it proved. She touched the tiled surround at the far end then kicked off strongly, giving it everything she’d got, propelling herself into the lead while the other woman was still floundering.

      She could hear Diana splashing and gasping beside her, trying to claw back the advantage, but she’d put too much effort into the first length and had little in reserve. Certainly not enough to catch Marin as she struck for home, coming in at least three seconds ahead.

      She clung to the edge, eyes closed as she tried to recover her breath and not listen to the subdued commiserations and murmurs of, ‘Bad luck,’ greeting her opponent.

      Then strong hands slid under her armpits, lifting her clear out of the water and setting her down on the tiles. She only realised the pressure she’d been under when she felt her legs shaking beneath her, threatening to collapse, and found herself being lifted bodily into a hard, male embrace.

      ‘Sweetheart.’ There was laughter in Jake’s voice. ‘I’m losing count of your hidden talents.’ Holding her still off her feet against the lithe strength of his body, he kissed her, his lips parting hers in total mastery, total possession.

      She found she was clinging to him in return, drenched as she was, her arms round his neck, her legs wrapped round his hips, and her startled, ravished mouth yielding every last breathless drop of its sweetness to the pagan, demanding invasion of his tongue.

      Her senses were going crazy, responding to the warmth, to the taste of him. To the already familiar scent of his skin.

      And she felt the sharp, insistent ache deep, deep inside her of a need she had never before had cause to recognise, let alone acknowledge.

      Then, as the world seemed to be spinning deliriously into oblivion, Jake lifted his head, lowering her gently to the ground and holding her in firm hands until her breathing steadied and she could stand unaided.

      She heard him whisper, ‘My clever angel,’ as he kissed her again, this time, very gently, very tenderly, on the tip of her nose.

      At that moment, too, Marin became aware of the silence. Realised with scalding embarrassment that this had been no intimate moment but public property. And quite deliberately staged.

      Everyone was watching them: Jeff and Clare turning to exchange significant glances; Graham smiling in faintly whimsical approval; Sylvia Bannister with brows raised while her husband scowled; the Strattons frankly open-mouthed,

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