The Forbidden Innocent Read Free Page B

together, then I’d better know something about you—don’t you think? Sit down—no, not there. Sit over here by the lamp, where I can see you properly.’
    She was acutely aware of his piercing gaze and authoritative manner, and Ashley’s legs felt curiously jellylike as she walked to the spot he’d indicated. Perching herself on the edge of the chair, she watched as he lowered himself into a similar one on the opposite side of the fireplace—though his own seat was more shadowed, she realised. Which meant that she couldn’t see him so well as he had insisted on seeing her.
    He had changed from the faded jeans into dark trousers and an expensive-looking shirt of silk, which hinted at the hard body beneath. With the more formal clothes, he now looked every inch the modern-day aristocrat—his long legs stretched out in front of him as he surveyed her from between narrowed and watchful eyes.
    ‘You’re much younger than I thought,’ he observed, his eyes drifting over the smooth surface of her skin, and he felt a flicker of irritation. Why the hell had the agency sent him someone like this—someone with that tight bloom of youth on her skin, which women spent the rest of their lives hopelessly trying to recapture?
    Ashley gave a little shrug. ‘The agency didn’t specify an age, Mr Marchant.’
    ‘No, please don’t call me that.’ He shook his head and gave a dismissive little wave of his hand. ‘I don’t like any kind of formality. Not now that I’ve left the army. You’d better call me Jack.’
    Jack.
It suited him. A strong and powerful name. The name of a man who wouldn’t suffer fools gladly. Jack. She tried it again silently in her head until his deep voice broke into her reverie.
    ‘And you’re Ashley?’ he questioned impatiently, wondering if she was going to adopt that dreamy expression every time he spoke to her.
    ‘That’s right. Ashley Jones.’
    ‘And how old are you, Ashley Jones?’
    ‘Eighteen.’
    ‘Eighteen?
’ He made a small sound of annoyance underneath his breath. She was even younger than he’d thought. He studied her, acknowledging once again that there was something distracting about dewy-eyed youth—something which drifted temptation in front of a man, even if he had no intention of being tempted.
    It made him think about sex—about soft limbs and trembling flesh.
Even if that was the last thing in the world he wanted, or needed.
He felt his body tense in unwilling reaction to his vaguely erotic thoughts. ‘I was hoping for someone a little more experienced,’ he said harshly.
    She heard the sudden censure in his voice and all Ashley’s survival instincts came to the fore as she imagined being sacked from her job before she’d even started. She lifted her chin. ‘Oh, I think you’ll find I have plenty of experience for the kind of work you require, Mr Marchant.’ ‘
    Jack.’
    ‘Jack,’ she corrected.
    ‘Someone more middle-aged, then,’ he amended. ‘Who won’t mind locking herself away in this dark corner of the country.’ He frowned. Had she idealised the job and the life she was going to find here? ‘There aren’t any nightclubs around here, you know. It’s pretty quiet—more than quiet, in fact. No bright lights or big pubs crowded with young men.’
    ‘I’m not really into nightclubs and bright lights.’
    There was a pause as Jack’s eyes narrowed. No. With that sensible hairstyle and that rather sensible sweater and skirt, he couldn’t really imagine her gyrating in some sparkly little number on an overcrowded dance-floor. ‘Well, I hope you aren’t going to be bored.’
    She shook her head, wondering if she had imagined some kind of dark warning in his voice. ‘I doubt it. And eighteen isn’t so young—not really.’
    He gave a bitter laugh. ‘Oh, believe me, it is,’ he contradicted shortly, wondering if his own face ever looked as fresh as hers. Had his eyes ever been so clear and bright—so perfect and unlined? A long time