My Naughty Little Secret (2 page)

We toasted Tara’s safe return and my new job. As we ate, Tara filled us in on her holiday. She’d been to Corfu with a few friends from work and by all accounts she’d had a ball. She sighed, her tanned face wistful from the memory.

“Corfu is fantastic. The beaches are wonderful, the food is heavenly, and the men are
gorgeous
,” she declared with a grin. “I met this fellah…Giorgio…on the third day and he was sex on legs. He took me sightseeing, but the best sight of all was his body. We went out on his fishing boat to a secluded bay yesterday.”

“Jesus, Tara, you were taking a chance there,” Claire lectured.

“You gotta live life,” Tara retorted. “Anyway, it was worth it…sex in the sea, the cool of the water, the heat of our bodies, and the kick of being out in the open.” I could hear the excitement in her voice.

“You brazen hussy,” I laughed. “Bloody hell, I don’t think I’d ever have the nerve to do it
al fresco
. What if you got caught?”

Tara looked at me with contempt. “I’m surprised you’ve ever had the nerve to do it at all, you’re not married.”

I could feel the blushes rising to the tips of my ears and I primly replied, “Oh, be quiet, just because I treat my body with respect…”

“Respect? More like morbid fear,” Tara teased. I wasn’t really a prude; it’s just that to me, sex was still a bit special, not necessarily saved for marriage, but still, for someone you had real feelings for. I’d only had a couple of sexual relationships; they were ok, but I could never see what the big fuss was about. And I really didn’t get why Tara seemed to want to jump into bed with every man she met.

“If you wait any longer, you’ll be a virgin again,” she baited me.

“Oh, cut it out, the pair of you!” Claire advised, noticing that I was getting a bit annoyed.

To change the subject, I told them about being caught red-handed in the lingerie department by James and Michael.

“Fine bit of stuff?” interrupted Tara, ever mindful of opportunities. “Describe him.”

“Mmm, I’d say he is about six foot one, really lean and fit; nice broad shoulders, and the most intense brown eyes. Oh, yeah, and French, I think…Anyway, never mind what he looked like; what got me was the way he eyeballed the underwear, and then me. It was obvious what he was thinking.”

“It would take you, first hot thing you notice in months and you’re holding a pair of knickers in your hand,” Claire teased through her laughter.

“And the worst thing was when I was leaving with James, the bastard took my hand, as if to shake it, but cool as you like he lifted it to his mouth and kissed it. He had some nerve. I tried to cut him down to size with a dirty look, but it’s hard when you’re red as a beetroot,” I finished, laughing. “Anyway, with the pay rise and the discount, I think I’ll treat myself to the underwear; it’ll make me giggle whenever I wear it.”

I really loved spending time with the girls. It was sheer good luck that I had answered the house-share advertisement last year. They were a great pair, terrific fun, my lifeline. Just what I needed after I split with my ex, Brian. When I lived with him, I didn’t socialise that much. When I left, I wasn’t just homeless, I was almost friendless.

We cleaned up and decided to hit the local to celebrate some more. I tried to put the image of those deep dark eyes into the recesses of my mind. No matter how gorgeous he was, I didn’t need another cocky man in my life; between that man in Lynham’s and my ex Brian, I’d had more than my fill. No way was I going to be sucked in again.

Chapter Two

I reported to Myra’s office at 8.30 a.m. and was surprised to find that the only person in the offices was Michael, of all people. He approached me with the same aloofness as he had shown at the interview, looking me up and down. I tempted to ask him if my skirt was tucked into my knickers or something, but I bit my tongue. The haughtiness I could handle, but why did he have to be so damn gorgeous? I was getting more determined by the minute to give him a wide berth.

“Nice to see you again, Miss Brennan,” he said, holding out his hand with a condescending smile. I nervously took it.

“Siobhan, Michael, please,” I insisted icily in the hope that he would make an ass of himself as he pronounced it, but of course he didn’t. No such luck. He was fluent in two languages; a little Irish name wasn’t going to throw him.

“
Siobhan
, Myra won’t be along for another half an hour, would you like to get a coffee, I can show you where the canteen is,” he offered smoothly. See, he could play nice when he wanted to. Perhaps I was being unfair in my judgement of him. He could just as easily left me sitting in the corridor like a spare part for half an hour.

“Ah, no, I’m grand, thanks,” I answered in my broad Sligo accent. I didn’t want to put him out. I could see him looking stonily at me; he opened his mouth to say something and then resolutely shut it again with a grim displeased look besetting his jaw. I had a sudden vision of Michael as my school headmaster, lecturing me on some stupid misdemeanour that I really didn’t understand. I flushed and felt the heat rising to my cheeks. I hoped to God he had no clairvoyant talents and couldn’t see straight into my wayward thoughts. I felt my heart race momentarily.

“What?” I demanded in annoyance, just like the sulky teenager might have. He seemed to hesitate, but then deigned to reply with an icy chill, in an almost perfect headmasterish tone of voice.

“You want brandy? Surely it’s a bit early, even for the Irish.”

In spite of my disgust at the Irish bit, I had to laugh. “No, grand as in ok, as in I don’t want anything. Aw, what the hell, I might as well go and get one.” It was easier to concede than argue with him. It was the first of many times I would bend to his will. To my amazement, he sat down with me.

“What brings you to England?” I tried to break the ice.

“I
am
English; it’s my stepfather who’s French. What brings you here, the brandy?” he quickly countered.

“I’m Irish; it’s almost mandatory for us. Like a rite of passage.” I grinned at his sharp quip. “My aunt lives here and I came as often as I could. I used to come to work in the summer holidays; I had to make beer money for college. I couldn’t afford brandy then.”

Michael managed a small laugh and, taking this as an ice-breaker, I asked about the store. He had a two-week head start on me, so I was trying to get the lowdown on everyone. But dragging information from him was like pulling teeth. Maybe he wanted to make a distinction between me, a lowly assistant and him, a department head. But one thing was clear—we weren’t two newbies in this together.

“What’s James Banbury like? Is he as personable as he seems?”

“James, yes, I suppose,” he answered vacantly, looking at his watch. “Oh, dear, is that the time? Myra’ll be here any moment.”

God, he was a funny one; he should have left me in the corridor if he didn’t want my company, or gotten his coffee and left. I didn’t ask him to stay; he was doing me no favours. He held the door for me as we left the canteen and coolly took his leave at his office. I continued on to the personnel department three doors down. It was still only 8.50 a.m. and there was no sign of Myra. I wondered what his sudden hurry had been.

Once I had settled at my desk, the morning flew by in a muddle of names and paperwork. Myra took me on a tour of the offices and shop floor immediately after lunch and I was pleased to be able to associate some of the faces with the names I had been looking at all morning. Our last port of call was James’s office and I saw Michael sitting opposite him, relaxed and laughing. They seemed to be very familiar with each other, considering Michael had only started two weeks ago.

“Myra, Miss Brennan, come on in,” James invited as he saw us waiting at the open door. “Good to have you on board, how is your first day?” There was that Miss Brennan again. Just how long was it going to take them to get to grips with Siobhan, I wondered, smiling. Michael left hurriedly, making some excuse about work.

“Shove-on,” I reminded him. “It’s been great, thanks, James. So far, so good.”

We chatted pleasantly for a few minutes more before moving along. Myra spent the afternoon showing me the filing system and before I knew it, home time had arrived. All in all, it had been a good first day.

* * *

The rest of the week followed a fairly similar pattern: work, home, sleep. They were a nice bunch and seemed friendly enough. I didn’t see much of Michael for the rest of the week, but when I did, he had that same annoying habit of watching me. He appeared to mix very little with the other staff—it was as if he didn’t want to get to know them. I began to wonder if he thought he was too good for the rest of us. In spite of my promise not to be sucked in, I spent a lot of time thinking about him and I wasn’t too happy about it. When Friday evening came, I was disappointed that there was no mention of drinks. There were quite a few young people working in the offices and the store and I had thought that there might have been a fairly active social network, but it seemed I was wrong.

On Sunday morning Tara and I went to the Covent Garden markets. They were a great place for getting vintage clothes and I loved the street artists and the liveliness of the district. We split up to do our shopping and we agreed to meet up at the pub for lunch and a quick drink after our bank balances had been suitably hammered. I wasn’t much of a shopper and was first to arrive at the pub. I pushed my way through to the bar, got a cold beer, and went to sit outside. I could see the covered markets from where I was sitting and people were strolling around, enjoying the welcome sunshine. There was a mime artist putting on a show and quite a crowd was forming. I was lost in the act of people watching when I heard a man’s voice speak my name.

“Hi, Siobhan, how was your first week?”

I looked up to find Michael standing beside me, looking down in his self-assured way. Dressed in a pair of jeans and a light cotton shirt, he looked unexpectedly sexy. It would have been rude not to ask him to sit, so I reluctantly did.

“Good, thanks. I really like it. How was your week? I didn’t see you much.”

“No, I’ve a lot to get to grips with,” he answered by way of explanation.

“Are you here long?” I asked, desperately trying to find the so-called open question, trying to start a proper conversation.

“Three weeks.”

Boy, this was hard. I couldn’t seem to get him started at all.

“What do you think of it?” I tried next, thinking surely this would elicit more than two words.

“I’m not too sure yet; we’ll see. What are you doing here, sightseeing or shopping?”

“A bit of both,” I said, pointing to my one shopping bag and clutching at the question as a way to get some sort of conversation flow. “My housemate’s the serious shopper. I just came along for the day out. She should be along soon. What about you?” I was hoping that by saying Tara’s arrival was imminent, he might take the hint and get lost, leaving me to watch the world go by.

“I moved into a new apartment yesterday and today I just want to chill and enjoy the city.”

“What’s the apartment like, are you sharing?” I asked as much for politeness as anything. It was obvious he wasn’t rushing off anywhere.

“No, I’m too old to do the house-share thing anymore,” he replied. I was surprised; I’d thought he was about my age and I would much prefer to share.

“You’re not too old; you can’t be much more than twenty-five or twenty-six, are you?” I estimated.

“I thought it was only women who hid their ages,” he replied tersely. “I’m twenty-eight. Don’t worry, I won’t ask you the same question.”

“It’s ok, I’m twenty-five,” I volunteered. “I thought you were a bit younger. Oh, shit, sorry, that sounds bad; I just meant you looked younger, oh, forget it…” I said as I realised I was just digging myself into a bigger hole and Michael was laughing at my embarrassment. I hated the way he seemed to enjoy my discomfort every damn time.

He offered me a drink, which I stubbornly refused, went to the bar and came back to sit with me again, which was strange; it wasn’t like he had much to say. I was hugely relieved to see Tara approaching.

I introduced them and enjoyed watching Tara getting ready to dig her claws in. He was about to leave us to have our lunch, but Tara insisted he stayed and to my total amazement, he did. Maybe her charm was working on him after all.

Over lunch we had a couple more beers and Tara and I were chatting a bit manically. Occasionally I noticed Michael’s face get a confused expression when we spoke too fast for him to keep up with the Irish accents, but overall he joined in the conversation. Tara was really bringing him out of himself. And his reserve seemed to temper her usual brashness. When we were leaving, Michael kissed us on both cheeks in the French custom. He said he’d look forward to seeing me on Friday; he would be in Paris until then. Yet at work he ignored me. He was such an irritating, confusing man.

I’d no business feeling annoyed with Tara; after all, I didn’t even like Michael and I was pretty sure he wasn’t too impressed with me either. And yet I
was
irked. I told myself that it was just because I didn’t want the complication of my housemate being involved with my colleague, but it was more irrational than that. Every time he was near me, he brought out the worst in my defiant nature. I think it was his tendency to watch me critically. On the one hand I couldn’t resist winding him up, but still for once I wanted him to look at me with approval.

Tara gave me such grilling on the tube home. Where did I meet him, where was he from, how long he was in England, did I know if he had a girlfriend? The questions were coming so fast that it was like being on
The Weakest Link
. And he was so closed that I had none of the answers.

Tara had set her sights on him and she had all the aces. She was drop-dead gorgeous, tall, with a fabulous figure, and dark hair that fell straight down her back even straight out of the shower. Her holiday tan didn’t hurt her either. She had a lively personality and she always seemed to be able to get the man. Why would he want a small skinny redhead with freckles whom he looked at with contempt, when he could have
her
? And why did I even care?