‘Oh, no, I couldn’t possibly…’
‘I’m not asking you, Miss Stuart,’ he cut in calmly, ‘I’m telling you. Rules of the job. A fit body produces an alert brain.’
‘Of all the pompous…’ She bit her lip on the outburst, but not before she’d seen the steely flash of amusement in his eyes.
‘Careful, Miss Stuart. What happened to humility?’ The narrowed gaze raked her mercilessly. She began to tingle, from her neck to her knees, where his eyes slid over her.
‘Sorry, sir, she fenced, with mock-deference. Sketching a rough curtsy, she added with overdone meekness, ‘I’ll go and get ready right away! What would you recommend I wear?’
‘Something suitable for dinner.’ He nodded with bleak amusement. ‘We might as well have a meal there later. I’ll see you in my study in half an hour.’
This sounded horribly ominous. But she seemed to have little option. There was a warning note in the cool drawl which brought the colour surging into her face.
‘All right.’ She spoke through clenched teeth, but she wished her heart would stop its dull thudding against her breastbone.
Seething with resentment, she retreated to her bedroom to get ready. In her head she called him every name she could think of, to vent her feelings. Of all the autocratic, arrogant, self-opinionated, overbearing, cranky fitness freaks, he took the honours…Who did he think he was? Being temporary lord of the manor was one thing. Treating her like a half-witted child was quite another…
But the really infuriating thing, she acknowledged truthfully, was that the thought of swimming or playing tennis with Dominick Fleetwood, and then having dinner with him, secretly filled her with such conflicting feelings of dread and excitement that she trembled at the prospect of her own weakness…
Her feelings of hostility were her only protection. It was a good thing she disliked him so intensely. Because in every other respect her relationship with her employer, she reflected impatiently, seemed to be veering hopelessly off course…
The place Dominick frequented when he came down to Fleetwood Manor turned out to be an extremely exclusive country club. Immaculately landscaped grounds spread out, thickly wooded, revealing an outdoor swimming-pool, still under its winter wraps, as well as a big, covered indoor pool, and all-weather tennis courts with brand-new surfaces gleaming emerald beneath efficient floodlighting. She glanced at him apprehensively, as he drove between ranks of Rolls and Bentleys and Mercedes, and swung his forest-green Porsche into a parking place near the entrance.
‘You could have warned me it was like this,’ she said ruefully. ‘I’m hardly in this sort of league…!’
He turned a gaze of genuine surprise on her.
‘This sort of league?’ he echoed calmly. ‘What do you mean?’
‘You must know what I mean!’ She glanced down at the simple, ethnic-style full skirt she wore over a long-sleeved white body. ‘Are we supposed to be having dinner here?’
‘If you’re worried about the way you look,’ he said after a few moments’ cool consideration, ‘there’s no need.’ The smoky blue gaze assessed her clear, make-up-free skin, shiny chestnut hair and the soft curves of her figure beneath the clinging white top as he spoke. His eyes lingered fleetingly on her full breasts, nipples suddenly hard as cherry stones under his gaze. Emma felt her insides fold up in an alarming fashion, almost squeezing the breath from her lungs. Her thighs felt boneless.
‘You look fine.’ The verdict was succinct. He got out, retrieved their sports bags from the boot, and sent her a smile which flipped her heart over as he gestured towards the canopied entrance. In dark blue silk shirt and designer-cut charcoal trousers, he looked lean, broad-shouldered, and overwhelmingly gorgeous. The tug of attraction was so fierce, she found herself gritting her teeth…
It was surprisingly enjoyable, playing tennis on the floodlit outside courts. And somehow, faced with the challenge of holding her own against a player not only vastly more experienced but vastly stronger, she managed to acquit herself quite well. Dominick won, but she actually took a couple of games off him. The tingle of pleasure made her glow all over.
But one set was definitely enough. Her green tracksuit, the only suitable clothing she’d unearthed for the event, felt too warm. She wished she’d brought white skirt and T-shirt. Dominick had started in a black tracksuit, but discarded the trousers after the first couple of games, revealing white shorts and long, healthily tanned legs, coarsely haired and with impressively honed muscles.
‘You play quite well,’ he complimented her. He met her at the net and wryly observed her pink cheeks and air of triumphant enjoyment. ‘Do you want to play the best of three?’
She shook her head. ‘Are you trying to kill me off? I got to a reasonable standard when I was at school, but I’m so out of practice I’m amazed I managed to win any games at all!’
‘You won them fairly,’ he assured her. ‘All I held back on was my serve.’
‘Just as well!’ The power of Dominick’s returns had been sufficient evidence of the potential velocity of his normal service. She blew upwards to lift the damp strands of her hair from her forehead, and shot him a tentative smile. ‘I’m roasting in this tracksuit. Can we have a swim now?’
‘Indeed we can, Miss Stuart.’ The gleam in the blue eyes was difficult to gauge. But the heat from playing tennis seemed to intensify into another kind of heat as she felt his eyes rake assessingly over her figure beneath the green jersey of the tracksuit.
It took only minutes to swap tracksuit for swimsuit, and the water felt deliciously refreshing as she slid in. She glanced warily round for Dominick. He’d appeared at the deep end, dark and intensely masculine in brief navy swimming trunks. She watched, transfixed, as he paused, then dived cleanly in with an impressive ripple of muscle. Her steady breaststroke seemed rather feeble compared with his several lengths of masterly front crawl. He finally surfaced a few feet in front of her, laughing.
‘Feeling better?’
‘Yes,’ she admitted, trying not to react to the threat of his nearness. ‘Yes, thanks. Much better. I always do when I get around to exercising…’
‘You look better already,’ he assured her. ‘You’ve lost that pinched, tense look, Miss Stuart. It suits you.’
‘Thank you, Mr Fleetwood.’
‘Come on, we’ll finish with a Jacuzzi.’ Swimming easily to the side, he swung himself out on to the tiles, and reached down to catch hold of her arm, pulling her out beside him. The intimate contact was almost too much to bear. Finding herself standing next to him on the side of the pool, clad only in the clinging wet fabric of her black costume, felt as compromising as standing naked with a stranger…
‘You’re shivering,’ he observed, eyeing the goosebumps which had sprung to the surface of her skin. ‘Are you cold again already?’
He was steering her towards the Jacuzzi in the corner of the pool, his fingers warmly confident on her wet skin.
‘No. I’m not cold exactly…it’s…it’s just the contrast…and actually I’ve never been in a Jacuzzi…’ She was babbling nervously, she realised, annoyed with herself.
‘The Jacuzzi is hot.’ He dropped a coin into the slot and gestured into the foaming oval. Hesitating, she stood motionless on the edge as he stepped down into it, sat down and stretched his long, dark body across the width. ‘Come along, Miss Stuart. A new relaxation experience awaits you…’
Could she face joining him in what looked like an unbearably small and intimate space? Dragging air into strained lungs, she forced her wayward emotions under control. She was behaving like a prudish schoolgirl. There were plenty of other people swimming near by. He could be her brother,