Free The Girl in the Yellow Vest by Loretta Hill Page A

letting staff go now too?
    ‘Mr Crawford.’ She gaped at him and he realised belatedly that he was still semi-wet from his shower and wearing only a towel.
    ‘Your skin –’ She shook her head. ‘I mean
in
! You’re
in
!’
    ‘Of course I’m in,’ he growled.
    ‘It’s just that I was knocking awhile. Is everything okay?’
    ‘Peachy. What are you doing here? You aren’t normally the person who brings my dinner.’
    He didn’t know why but for some reason he found this sudden and uncharacteristic change of operations unsettling and he hoped that she didn’t intend to make a habit of it. After work he liked to wind down and Ms Templeton always seemed to have the same effect on his nerves as a steel winch. He had no idea why except perhaps that she appeared to be the only one of his subordinates who wasn’t afraid of him. It didn’t help that her cool green eyes were currently roaming over his now hot skin as though she’d never seen a naked torso before.
    Damn the woman!
    She blinked, shaking her head again. ‘I thought it chest – I mean
best
– to bring you your dinner. After your comments about the steak, I wanted to make sure you knew that I personally oversaw the preparation of your salmon.’
    ‘Really?’ His mouth arched.
    ‘I was also feeling a little guilty about what happened earlier and wanted to assure you in person that this meal is cooked to pec . . . pecfection –’ She gasped. ‘Perfection. I meant
perfection
. I hope you’re hunky – I mean
hungry
!’
    The woman shut her eyes and breathed deep. ‘Can I just put it on the table?’
    He stepped back. ‘By all means, Ms Templeton.’
    As she approached the table, too late he noticed the torn blue envelope on the floor and the brown tough bag sitting on the table. He hurried over just as she was pushing it all aside to lay the tray down. Two bits of paper scuttled to the floor.
    He went to pick them up but she was before him. As his nerves twanged like a violin string, she straightened with a smile on her face, holding up her list and Kathryn’s. ‘I see you’ve been going over my items. Oh hang on, this one doesn’t look like mine –’
    He snatched it off her, perhaps a little too sharply. ‘No, it’s a letter from my wife – a
private letter
.’
    Her face turned a deep shade of red. ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude.’ She looked down, dusting her hands as she backed away from the table. Then she stopped as something seemed to occur to her. His unwinding nerves tautened again.
    ‘What?’
    Her eyes darted as though she were trying to figure out a tactful way to open the subject.
    ‘Oh for goodness’ sake,’ he demanded impatiently, ‘just say it; my dinner is getting cold.’
    He wanted her out the door and on her way as quickly as possible.
    She squared her shoulders, a determined expression on her face. ‘I
also
wanted to just make clear that those rumours you heard about this resort being in trouble –’
    ‘I didn’t hear any rumours. It was my own conjecture.’
    ‘Oh.’ She swallowed hard. ‘Well, whatever the case. It’s not true.’
    ‘Of course not,’ he returned silkily. ‘Is that all?’
    She tossed him a look of derision before nodding. ‘I guess so but –’
    ‘Then thanks for the meal.’
    He walked back down the short hall and opened the door, leaving her standing awkwardly by the table, her mouth half agape. She shut it, her eyes sparkling with indignation.
    ‘Well, I’ll just get out of your hair then.’ She tossed her head.
    ‘Please do.’
    Perhaps it was because he was still gripping that wretched list in his hand or because of the sexy way her hips swayed as she moved towards him, he couldn’t say, but when she reached the threshold again, God help him, he stalled her.
    ‘Ms Templeton.’
    She turned around, standing on his doormat and looking up at him expectantly. ‘Yes, Mr Crawford?’
    He cleared his throat, one hand gripping the doorknob. ‘I don’t want you to