The Secretary's Secret

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THE intercom on Kit’s desk buzzed and instantly her heart hammered up into her throat.

‘If you’d come through now, Ms Mercer.’

Kit’s toes curled at the rich black-coffee voice.

Her heart lurched back into her chest to thump out a loud tattoo. When she leant forward to depress a button, her finger was surprisingly steady given what was happening to the rest of her body. ‘Certainly, sir.’

Her finger might be steady but the huskiness of her voice was more Marilyn Monroe than sensible, strait-laced secretary. It should appal her, belying as it did her attempts to match her employer’s professional formality, but it didn’t. His formality made her lips twitch.

That formality delighted her; energized her.

She seized her shorthand pad and tried to stop herself from racing straight into his office. Cool.

Calm. Col ected. Her smile widened. No hope of that whatsoever!

Stil , she paused at the door to smooth a hand down her skirt. Adjusted her shirt. Undid her top button. Her fingers lingered at her throat, remembering…

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