for your concern,’ he added formally, although he couldn’t prevent the faintest hint of irony as well. ‘I should be back to fighting fit by tomorrow.’ And the sooner I get out of here the better, he added, but this time to himself.
Liz might not have been privy to her employer’s thoughts, but she found she was curiously restless after their encounter.
Restless and uneasy, but not able to say why.
The next morning she told herself she’d been imagining things as they toured the house and she pointed out to Cam what she’d organised for it.
He appeared to be back to normal. He looked refreshed, and his manner was easy. He also looked quintessentially at home on his country estate, in jeans anda khaki bush shirt. And he’d already—with Archie and Scout’s assistance—been on a tadpole-gathering exercise in a creek not far from the house, to add to the menagerie’s frog population.
Scout, who’d been a bit awestruck when she’d first met Cam Hillier, had completely lost her reserve now, Liz noted. And that led her to think, still with some amazement, about the two sides that made up her employer: the dictatorial, high-flying businessman, and the man who was surprisingly good with little kids.
‘This is the only room where it seemed like a good idea to start from scratch,’ she said as they stood in the doorway of the veranda lounge, which was glassed in conservatory-style, with a paved area outside and views of the valley. It was the focal point for guests for morning and afternoon tea. As such, it got a lot of use—and was showing it.
Cam had already approved the upgrading of two guest bedrooms, the new plumbing she’d ordered for some of the bathrooms, the new range she’d ordered for Mrs Preston, and he’d waved a hand when she told him about the linen, crockery and kitchenware she’d ordered.
‘I got a quote and some sketches and samples from an interior decorating firm,’ she told him, ‘but I thought you’d like the final say.’
‘Show me.’
So she displayed the sketches, the pictures of furniture and the fabric samples.
Cam studied them. ‘Got a pin?’
She frowned. ‘A pin?’
‘Do you always repeat what people say to you?’ he enquired.
‘No,’ she retorted.
‘You seem to do it a lot with me.’
‘That’s because you consistently take me by surprise!’ she countered. ‘What on earth—?’ She paused and stared at him. ‘Don’t tell me you’re going to choose one with a pin?’
He laughed at her expression. ‘It’s not sacrilege, and since I don’t have a wife to do it for me, what’s left? Or why don’t you choose?’
‘Because I don’t have to live with it. Because I’m not…’ She stopped and stared at him as a vision she’d warned herself so often against entertaining raced through her mind.
‘Because you’re not my wife? Of course I know that, dear Liz,’ he drawled, and once again couldn’t help a certain tinge of irony.
She might have missed it yesterday, but Liz didn’t miss it now. She blinked as she became aware of a need to proceed with caution, of dangerous undercurrents between them that she didn’t fully understand—or was that being naïve?
Of course it was, she chastised herself. She could feel the physical tension between them. She could feel the heat…
They were standing facing each other, separated by no more than a foot. His shirt was open at the neck and she could see the curly black hair in the vee of it. She took an unexpected breath as she visualised him without his shirt, with all the muscles of his powerful,sleek torso exposed. She felt her fingertips tingle, as if they were passing over his skin, tracing a path through those springy black curls downwards…
She felt her nipples tingle and she had a sudden, mind-blowing vision of his hand on her, tracing a similar path downwards from her breasts.
Worse, she was unable to tear her gaze from his—and she had no doubt he’d be able to read what was going
Liz might not have been privy to her employer’s thoughts, but she found she was curiously restless after their encounter.
Restless and uneasy, but not able to say why.
The next morning she told herself she’d been imagining things as they toured the house and she pointed out to Cam what she’d organised for it.
He appeared to be back to normal. He looked refreshed, and his manner was easy. He also looked quintessentially at home on his country estate, in jeans anda khaki bush shirt. And he’d already—with Archie and Scout’s assistance—been on a tadpole-gathering exercise in a creek not far from the house, to add to the menagerie’s frog population.
Scout, who’d been a bit awestruck when she’d first met Cam Hillier, had completely lost her reserve now, Liz noted. And that led her to think, still with some amazement, about the two sides that made up her employer: the dictatorial, high-flying businessman, and the man who was surprisingly good with little kids.
‘This is the only room where it seemed like a good idea to start from scratch,’ she said as they stood in the doorway of the veranda lounge, which was glassed in conservatory-style, with a paved area outside and views of the valley. It was the focal point for guests for morning and afternoon tea. As such, it got a lot of use—and was showing it.
Cam had already approved the upgrading of two guest bedrooms, the new plumbing she’d ordered for some of the bathrooms, the new range she’d ordered for Mrs Preston, and he’d waved a hand when she told him about the linen, crockery and kitchenware she’d ordered.
‘I got a quote and some sketches and samples from an interior decorating firm,’ she told him, ‘but I thought you’d like the final say.’
‘Show me.’
So she displayed the sketches, the pictures of furniture and the fabric samples.
Cam studied them. ‘Got a pin?’
She frowned. ‘A pin?’
‘Do you always repeat what people say to you?’ he enquired.
‘No,’ she retorted.
‘You seem to do it a lot with me.’
‘That’s because you consistently take me by surprise!’ she countered. ‘What on earth—?’ She paused and stared at him. ‘Don’t tell me you’re going to choose one with a pin?’
He laughed at her expression. ‘It’s not sacrilege, and since I don’t have a wife to do it for me, what’s left? Or why don’t you choose?’
‘Because I don’t have to live with it. Because I’m not…’ She stopped and stared at him as a vision she’d warned herself so often against entertaining raced through her mind.
‘Because you’re not my wife? Of course I know that, dear Liz,’ he drawled, and once again couldn’t help a certain tinge of irony.
She might have missed it yesterday, but Liz didn’t miss it now. She blinked as she became aware of a need to proceed with caution, of dangerous undercurrents between them that she didn’t fully understand—or was that being naïve?
Of course it was, she chastised herself. She could feel the physical tension between them. She could feel the heat…
They were standing facing each other, separated by no more than a foot. His shirt was open at the neck and she could see the curly black hair in the vee of it. She took an unexpected breath as she visualised him without his shirt, with all the muscles of his powerful,sleek torso exposed. She felt her fingertips tingle, as if they were passing over his skin, tracing a path through those springy black curls downwards…
She felt her nipples tingle and she had a sudden, mind-blowing vision of his hand on her, tracing a similar path downwards from her breasts.
Worse, she was unable to tear her gaze from his—and she had no doubt he’d be able to read what was going
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