The Bedroom Assignment

It did, but Zoe did not know why. Or how to explain it. Or how to defend her sentimentality from this super- sophisticate’s derision. He probably saw this as a strictly practical problem. He would have no patience with her quivering vulnerability.

Get a grip, Zoe.

She muttered, ‘Probably not, if it’s happened thousands of time before. But first time—if you don’t know your way around at my age, it’s sort of embarrassing. I’m not a freak, and I’m not a victim of nameless tragedy.’ She thought about it. ‘Well, actually, yes, I am a freak, I suppose. But I’m not anti-sex. Just anti-embarrassment.’

There was a silence. Suddenly Zoe realised that the middle of the middle of the nightwas cold.

‘If you really want my advice,’ said Jay in a level voice, ‘and strictly as a disinterested bystander, I’d say find a stranger, do it once, and forget about it.’

She swallowed. ‘That’s easier said than done.’

‘Oh, I don’t know.’ The hard voice sounded almost like an insult. As if he meant it to be an insult. ‘What you need is something disposable. A lover to go.’

It hurt. Zoe did not know why, but it made her feel like a piece of trash. Boring trash, at that. Tears threatened again, shockingly. She bit down hard on her lower lip. She was not going to cry in front of Jay Christopher.

‘Thank you for your advice,’ she said coolly. ‘I’ll give it some serious thought. And now you really mustn’t keep that poor driver waiting any more.’

She held out her hand again, firmly. This time he was not going to ignore it and talk his way into her confidence again.

But it seemed that this time he did not want to ignore it. He took her hand. Crushingly. Shook it twice, hard.

And then—

And then, he jerked her off balance and back into his hard arms. This time she had no time to think about elbows or feet or anything else. This time she had to concentrate on breathing.

It was a hard kiss. Not the sort of kiss you gave a girl who had just told you her most shameful secrets. Not a kiss you gave a girl you had made feel naked in your arms. Not a kind or gentle kiss at all.

‘How can you?’ choked Zoe, cut to the heart.

She hauled away from him, dashing her hand across her mouth as if she wanted to wipe away the memory of his touch. ‘Why did you do that?’ she said in despair.

He glittered down at her, his jaw rigid.

‘Don’t think you’ll have a problem,’ he drawled. He brushed his thumb across her lower lip, where it still throbbed. ‘You can stop worrying about being cold. Not a chance.’

Zoe stood as if turned to stone. Jay waited a second or two, then gave a soft laugh.

He walked out before she could think of one single thing to say.

CHAPTER SEVEN

NEXT morning Jay went for a run. A long run on the Heath. He was furious with himself.

Why had he done that? Zoe was a member of his staff. Okay temporary. But that did not make any difference. He had his standards. Hell, he had sacked Barbara Lessiter for breaching them. And then, alone in the small hours with a woman he had known was tired to the point of exhaustion, he’d done exactly the same thing.

No, what he had done was worse. She had trusted him. And he’d betrayed that trust.

His feet pounded rhythmically on the rough grass. Later the sun would bake it dry, but at this hour of the morning he sent up little silver sparklers of dew with each footfall. Normally he would enjoy it. There were stages of his long- distance runs which were pure purgatory. But this piece of Heath, high and relatively flat, with the distant towers of the City shimmering in the dawn light, was balm to body and spirit. Usually.

Not this morning. He kept seeing Zoe scrubbing her hand across her mouth as if his kiss had contaminated her. And he lost focus.

A stitch knifed into him. Jay was used to running with pain. You just made your pace even, breathed regularly, and ran through it. In the end it went away. Not this morning.

He kept hearing himself say, ‘What you need is… a lover to go.’ He did not recognise the hard voice as his own. Yet he knew he had said it.

The pain intensified, as if someone was turning a stiletto in his side. He tried to breathe through it. It was no good. He stumbled. Nearly fell. Slowed to an uneven lurch.