His Untamed Innocent Read Free Page B

least her favourite dress—a silky, olive-green wraparound, knee-length with cap sleeves, and a long sash that tied on the hip—was wearable. Probably because, unused during her time in France, it had been the last thing she’d taken from the wardrobe and had been packed on top of everything else.
    She could only hope it would build her confidence once she had it on, as it usually did. Except that nothing was usual about this particular evening.
    She had seriously considered making a dash for it, but Mr Radley-Smith would have seen her passing the living-room door, and she didn’t relish the idea of him making a dash for her in return.
    Like being stalked by a black panther, she thought with a sudden shiver.
    Besides, in practical terms, if she was about to lose her job then she really needed the money he was apparently prepared to pay her for doing him this favour, plus the place to stay. Although the thought of being beholden to him grated on her severely.
    The incident in France had been a nightmare, but some instinct she hadn’t realised she possessed warned her that any involvement with Jake Radley-Smith had the potential to be infinitely worse.
    And she couldn’t rely on her lack of glamour to be her safeguard any more, as she’d found to her cost.
    She sighed softly, almost despairingly. But some cash in hand would be more than welcome, she reminded herself. In fact, it could be essential.
    And, although she might not like parties, she knew what to do at them—grab a soft drink from the tray and become invisible in some corner until it was time to leave.
    She was retying her sash in a bow, her fingers having unaccountably turned into thumbs, when he knocked on the door.
    ‘How much longer are you planning to be?’
    The dossier was building up nicely, she thought grimly. Too many girlfriends. Far too manipulative. Not enough patience. Plus an excessive amount of—what?—charisma? Sex appeal? She wasn’t sure what to call it. Only that she was afraid of it, and would be extra-careful in consequence.
    ‘I’m ready,’ she called back, slipping her feet into the waiting high-heeled pewter sandals, and picking up the small bag on its long chain that matched them and her cream-fringed shawl.
    She’d expected some comment when she emerged from the bedroom, but he just flicked her with a glance and nodded abruptly.
    Not that she wanted his approbation. God forbid. But still…
    She said, ‘I didn’t know what to do with my hair.’ She touched its shining fall, reaching, straight as rain water, to her shoulder blades with a self-conscious hand. ‘Whether or not I should try to put it up, perhaps.’
    ‘It looks fine.’ He walked to the door. ‘Shall we go?’
    ‘Whose party is this?’ she asked, eventually breaking the silence as she sat beside him in the black cab he’d summoned with such irritating ease. ‘Or is it strictly on a need-to-know basis?’
    ‘It’s being given by the boss of Torchbearer Insurance, a major client of ours,’ he said after a pause.
    ‘And is your agency doing a good job for them?’
    ‘The best,’ he nodded.
    ‘Then you should be among friends,’ she said. ‘So why trail a strange girl along with you?’
    His mouth twisted. ‘Call it—a different kind of insurance,’ he said. ‘Personal liability. And perhaps I should ask you a few questions before we get there—for a start, how old are you?’
    ‘Twenty.’ Telling him straight seemed better than some coy evasion.
    ‘You look younger.’
    So the carefully applied make-up hadn’t supplied one atom of sophistication after all, she thought, and stifled a sigh.
    ‘And what do you do for a living—when you’re in work?’
    ‘I’m a secretary,’ she said. ‘I do agency work here in the UK and Europe. I’m good with computers, and I speak French and a smattering of Italian. I also book restaurant tables, make excuses on behalf of my employer, send flowers, organise travel and collect