‘How many times do I have to tell you to stop calling me Mr Treverne? And for pity’s sake please don’t keep referring to me as needing help. It’s becoming the bane of my life.’
It wasn’t her reference to his need that was bothering him, Kit guessed. It was the fact that for probably the first time ever this fit, active and no doubt fiercely independent businessman and sportsman had to be dependent on others...a state he undoubtedly despised. In truth, she entirely sympathised. She would hate it too.
‘Well, I’ll just go into the kitchen and cook the pasta, then I’ll come back and take you into the dining room.’
Stretching out his hand for the mobile phone he’d left on the coffee table, Hal turned towards her.
‘Take your time. I’ve got a couple of calls I want to make to my office first.’
‘Okay. If you need me for anything, just call out.’
* * *
While Henry had been having his rest earlier Kit had made good use of the time to unpack, arrange her clothes in the walk-in wardrobe and arrange her toiletries in the bathroom. Despite there being an array of wonderfully scented products lined up on the shelves, she wouldn’t be making use of them. After all, she was here to work, not as a guest. But she was more than appreciative of the beautiful room she’d been allocated. It had a lovely view of the large neatly mown communal gardens downstairs. The verdant green was bordered by a plethora of trees, plants and shrubs, and a person might almost fool herself that she was deep in the heart of the countryside instead of practically in the centre of London.
She’d also noticed the indisputably feminine touch that the room’s decor suggested—such as the luxurious lilac curtains with matching swags that hung at the windows and the array of colourful cushions that were attractively arranged at the head of the Queen-sized bed. The silk pillows were made up of various vintage designs full of natural motifs like birds and flowers. It was definitely not a man’s room. In fact the decor was the polar opposite of the very masculine chrome and glass furnishings that the apartment’s owner obviously favoured. Was Hal’s sister Sam’s the female influence that had helped design it?
Dropping strands of linguine into a pan of boiling water in the kitchen, Kit pushed back her hair and frowned. There’d been no mention of a girlfriend or fiancée. If Henry Treverne had either then surely she would have been told of her existence in case the woman dropped in or telephoned? In the newspaper reports she’d read about the accident at the time there’d been no mention of a girlfriend—which, considering his ‘playboy’ reputation, had surprised her. Telling herself he must be between relationships, she dropped her shoulders and made herself relax. The job she did could be testing enough without relatives or ‘significant others’ keeping too close an eye on her. She always worked best when her clients trusted her judgement enough to know that she could be completely relied upon to take good care of her charge.
In the dining room that also shared a view of the communal gardens, Hal took four or five mouthfuls of the fragrant pasta Kit had carefully prepared and across the magnificent glass table gave her a rueful smile.
‘This is really good,’ he commented. ‘But I can’t say the same is true of my appetite since the accident. I’m afraid I’m going to have to leave it there. This must be a first. Anyone who knows me well would tell you that it’s unheard of for me to leave anything. Usually I can eat for England.’
‘Trauma can affect people in many different ways,’ Kit answered thoughtfully. ‘As I’m sure your sister must have told you.’
‘Trust me...she has. Sometimes I wish she wasn’t quite so all knowing.’
Wanting to convey her reassurance, and sensing that underneath the dry wit he was probably feeling understandably low, she didn’t hesitate to smile. ‘You shouldn’t worry about not having much of an appetite. I’m sure it will return in a few days, when you’ve started to feel more comfortable about getting round on your crutches and are getting more sleep. Rest is one of the greatest healers, but in our fast-paced culture it’s too often overlooked.’
Hal’s golden eyes narrowed interestedly. ‘You sound as if you have some strong views on the subject?’
Laying her fork and spoon down on her plate, Kit took a few moments to mull over the remark. ‘Moving so fast puts a lot of strain and pressure on the body as well as on the mind.’ She sighed. ‘Sometimes we need to remind ourselves that we aren’t machines. We’re flesh and blood and bone, and an overload of stress and pressure can tip us over the edge as well as cause accidents.’
‘Then I take it you definitely wouldn’t approve of someone who regularly pushes their body to the max in the pursuit of being the best he can in any sport or activity he participates in?’
‘I presume you’re talking about yourself?’ Her gaze met his arresting hazel eyes and she saw his pupils flare teasingly.
‘Yes, I am,’ he confirmed, smiling. ‘I put my heart and soul into everything I do...and I mean everything.’
Kit’s body tightened at his emphasis and a distinct buzz of sensual heat sizzled through her. The strong reaction took her aback and caused her to feel unsettled for a moment. Willing back her composure—because in all likelihood it was second nature for a man like Hal to tease women and get them flustered—she reached for her fork with a matter-of-fact air and curled some linguine round it. The man was on a hiding to nothing if he thought to unhinge her with sexual innuendos to inflate his ego, she thought. He’d soon come to learn that she was immune.
‘I’m sure that’s commendable,’ she commented, ‘but it can also be dangerous when a desire to be competitive becomes the driving force in everything you do. Wasn’t that how you came to have your accident in the first place?’
The teasing smile completely vanished from her companion’s handsome face. ‘I suppose you read that in the newspapers?’ Plucking his linen napkin from where he’d laid it across his lap, Hal threw it down on the table in disgust and scowled. ‘Newspaper reporters aren’t exactly known for telling the truth, you know.’
‘Was that a fabrication, then? That you were racing a business rival on a ski slope that’s considered to be one of the most extreme terrains in the mountains?’
‘You know what, Kit Blessington? If you ever think about a change of career you ought to consider becoming a public prosecutor. You certainly don’t take any prisoners.’
Directly meeting his irritated glance, Kit shrugged. ‘That’s where you’re wrong. I would hate to be responsible for condemning anyone...whether I was paid to do it or not. And although I don’t think of what I do as a career, exactly, I’m quite happy earning my living at it and endeavouring to deliver a good service.’
Hearing the heavy sigh Hal emitted following her statement, she thought she’d better rein in her propensity to call a spade a spade before she talked herself out of a job. Antagonising a man who was already struggling to come to terms with an injury that severely restricted his usual activities was really not a good idea.
‘I’m sorry if I’ve offended you with my opinions,’ she said quickly. ‘I have no desire to upset you. I suppose I just get a little passionate about the things that I believe are right.’
‘Everyone is entitled to their views, and being passionate isn’t a crime.’
There was the briefest suggestion of a smile on his beautifully carved lips and Kit was reassured.
‘In my book being passionate just means that you care,’ Henry continued, ‘Which is why I take the risks I do in my work and in the sports that I love. And besides, it’s in the male DNA to be competitive...survival of the fittest and all that.’
Unable