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Hands clenched by his sides, he channelled all his power and strength into standing still. ‘I thought you’d left.’
‘No! I just went downstairs to tidy up and give you some space and—’ Her hand still over her eyes, she snatched in a breath. ‘Are you decent yet?’
‘For God’s sake, Emma, stop overreacting.’ Tension made his voice rougher than he intended. ‘You must have seen a naked man before.’ Jamie, he thought bitterly. She’d seen Jamie.
‘You’re my boss—’ her voice was muffled ‘—I don’t think of you as a man. Or at least I didn’t until … Please can you just get dressed or something? This is not good.’
In other circumstances he might have smiled at her confusion, but a smile was nowhere near his grasp. Instead he walked into the small anteroom he used as a dressing room and grabbed a robe. Any benefit derived from the cold shower had been instantly wiped out by the sight of her. Raw lust mixed uncomfortably with the knowledge that this was one woman he couldn’t have.
He needed to switch it off. He had to switch it off.
However much he’d drunk, this was not going to happen. She was the last woman in the world he wanted to see as—well, as a woman.
Dragging his hand through his wet hair, he prowled back into the room. ‘I presume you came back to tell me you’re snowed in?’
‘I have no idea if I’m snowed in. I haven’t tried to leave.’ Her hand was still over her eyes and Lucas sighed and knotted the cord around his robe firmly. Then he closed his hands over her wrists and tugged firmly at her hands. She kept her eyes screwed tightly shut. ‘Really, I don’t want to—’
‘I’m decent.’ At least on the outside. His thoughts were far from decent but as long as she couldn’t read minds, everything would be fine. Trying to ignore the warmth and softness of her skin against his palms, he let go of her wrists and stepped back for no other reason than the fact he knew he wasn’t sober enough to make good decisions. Distance, he thought. All he had to do was keep his distance. ‘If you’re not snowed in, why are you still here? You left half an hour ago.’
‘I told you, I was clearing up all those balloons and things. I assumed you didn’t want them. And I was worried about you.’ Cautiously, she half opened her eyes and when she saw the robe she relaxed and opened them properly. ‘I was worried that you’d carry on drinking your way through all that champagne, fall face down in the fire and die a hideous death.’
‘Worrying about your job again?’
‘Of course.’ Avoiding his gaze, she pushed strands of damp hair away from her face. ‘And possibly my conscience. I want to be able to sleep at night.’
Distracted by all that lush, dark hair, Lucas found it hard to keep his mind focused. ‘Maybe I’m more drunk than I think I am, but why would that be on your conscience?’
‘Because I would have been the last person to see you alive.’ Wrapping her arms around herself, she gave a little shrug and backed towards the staircase. ‘But if you’re sober enough to take a shower without drowning, I expect you’re safe to be left so … I’ll just go.’
He was used to her being brisk and confident in all things. He’d never seen her like this. ‘Why aren’t you looking at me?’
‘Because I still haven’t recovered from the shock of the last time I looked at you. Seeing your boss naked isn’t something that happens every day of the week.’ She was stammering and flustered. ‘I may need therapy. And this time I really am going.’ She felt for the handrail at the top of the spiral staircase, her gaze everywhere except on him even though his robe was firmly secured around his waist.
Her unsophisticated response simply fuelled his libido and he felt a rush of frustration because what he had to do was in direct conflict with what he wanted to do. ‘You’re not going anywhere, Emma.’ He watched as her pale throat moved as she swallowed hard.
‘Yes, I am. You’re obviously fine to be left so—’
‘When did you last look outside?’
The tension in the air built around them. It didn’t help that the turret bedroom was designed for seduction with its huge four-poster bed, flickering fire and windows that gave a perfect view of the estate. The snow reflected the moon and sent a ghostly silver light over the wood and the lake, producing a view that was both ethereal and romantic.
The irony was that he never had seduced a woman here. With the exception of Tara’s impromptu, unwanted visit earlier, no woman had ever visited him at Chigworth.
