Page 34 of His Secretary's Nine-Month Notice
It had made her smile because the Matt she remembered when she had worked for him was a guy who had enjoyed his fast food, and she had never pictured him with a fridge containing anything but the bare essentials.
Now it was impossible to open the fridge without being bombarded by a giddying array of healthy options, from salad leaves and tomatoes to yogurt drinks awash with healthy bacteria.
She prepared a simple pasta dish, having looked up a recipe on her phone. It looked okay.
She had also done something about dressing in something other than the comfortable, loose cotton bottoms she had brought with her from Australia, and tired tee shirts which were wonderfully soft but hardly the height of glamour.
From the very moment her life had been turned on its head and she had found herself living in Matt’s apartment, Violet had been determined to make sure that she kept her distance. It was unsettling enough having him around, knowing that two doors down was his bedroom, without provoking any unnecessary interest by wearing clothing that looked as though she cared.
She didn’t.
Yes, she was pregnant. Yes, they had had a brief moment in time together, and so what if she was still attracted to him and he knew it? That didn’t mean her head had stopped functioning. She had made her mind up, had decided that she had to detach herself from him if they were to have any sort of amicable relationship over time. They would have to learn to be friends and the way to do that was not to let her body start calling the shots.
So she had dressed down. If she’d been able to hang around in her work clothes, she would have been sorely tempted, but there was no way she could wear anything but loose-fitting clothes. Being comfortable helped the nausea, for a start.
He had gradually bought her stuff, showing up a couple of times with bags that he had casually tossed on the sofa.
‘You hadn’t banked on being cooped up in this apartment,’ he had explained, ‘And you probably hadn’t banked on staying in the country for this length of time. You need more things to wear, so I got you a few things.’ He’d shrugged, headed to the kitchen for a drink and then vanished into his home office to work for a couple of hours, cutting short her protestations with an impatient wave of his hand as he’d disappeared out of sight.
Violet had taken the bags into her bedroom and inspected his offerings with indecent curiosity.
A couple were wearable. Loose silk culottes. Most weren’t. They contained the right element of stretch—he’d clearly got advice from a sales assistant who had assured him that his purchases could accommodate a pregnant stomach—but the clothes were sexy, designed to draw attention, which was what she had adamantly decided not to do.
Until tonight.
Tonight, her head would no longer be in charge. The thoughts that had been turning over in her mind had borne fruit and she had come to a decision, one which left her nervous as a kitten as she waited for the sound of the door being opened.
She felt every muscle in her body clench when, at a little after seven, Matt pushed open the door to his apartment. She was waiting in the living room, standing in the doorway with a glass of juice in her hand, more to give herself something to do than because she was thirsty.
He stopped dead in his tracks and she could almost see his jaw drop in slow motion.
Which would have been hilarious if she wasn’t busy trying not to feel sick.
‘Am I in the right apartment?’ he quipped when he had gathered some of his self-control and galvanised his legs into motion.
Eyes still on her, he dumped his leather laptop bag on the ground and shrugged off his faded, black denim jacket, which he dumped on top of the laptop bag. He slowly moved towards her, looking at her with such intensity that she knew her skin was turning bright red. Matching the stretchy dress she had chosen to wear. One of the inappropriate items she had foreseen would hit the back of the wardrobe, never to see the light of day again.
Until she’d decided that it would be tonight’s statement piece because a big decision warranted something more dramatic than jogging bottoms and a tee shirt.
‘I’ve cooked.’ Violet cleared her throat, eyes skittering away the closer he got, until he was so close that she could smell the woody scent of his aftershave.
‘You’ve cooked,’ Matt murmured, his breath a feathery caress against her burning skin. ‘What happened to Marita? Did you stuff her in a cupboard somewhere because her soufflé wasn’t up to scratch?’
His voice was a warm caress and her skin burned in response. Now that she had come to a decision, she allowed her mind to wander into all sorts of previously forbidden terrain... Lying in bed next to him, his touch, the low, silky murmur of his voice, the strength of his arms wrapped around her. The thought of just being able to drop her guard and laugh at his sense of humour. Only now did she realise how exhausting it had been, keeping up her defences, not allowing herself to fully relax because she’d been so scared that if she took her eye off the ball she would cave in.
All those thoughts he had generated in her head...that beanstalk that had seemingly sprung up overnight... It no longer felt like caving in. It felt like an inevitable outcome and she wasn’t sure whether he had deliberately engineered that or not.
‘I’m feeling so much better.’ She tilted her head to look at him. He was so stupidly good-looking, she thought. All sexy alpha male with a sense of humour that could pull a smile from a block of ice.
‘Does that account for the change of outfit as well?’ His voice was lazy and curious but his eyes were serious with intent.
‘Do you like it?’
Matt stilled. His eyes never left her face. ‘I’ve either done something wrong or else you’re about to tell me something I won’t be interested in hearing. Which will it be?’
‘I do want to have a talk with you,’ Violet admitted, turning away because she could no longer bear the intensity of his gaze. ‘Maybe we should sit.’ She led the way to the low leather sofa and he followed her. She noted that he made sure to keep his distance, sitting on one of the chairs instead of on the sofa next to her.
‘Well,’ he drawled after a moment’s silence, during which Violet tried to get her thoughts into some kind of chronological order, ‘are you going to spit it out or will we have a protracted guessing game?’
