At His Service: His 9-5 Secretary. Michelle Celmer
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so cute.’ She glanced up at him, her eyes alight, and his stomach muscles registered her tousled softness. ‘I thought they were all the same at first, but one’s bigger than the others, and that one—’ she pointed ‘—is smaller, and the other two are the same size.’
He nodded. ‘There are two puddles on the floor,’ he said.
She grimaced. ‘They can’t help that, they’re only babies. Aren’t you?’ she added, lifting the smallest puppy into her arms and stroking the small, downy head. ‘You’re just little babies without your mum. Take no notice of moany old Harry.’
Harry fought down the urge to take her straight upstairs into his bed, and show her that there was pleasure and enjoyment and life after this rat who had let her down. Instead he positioned the wood so it effectively enclosed a third of the utility room, spreading a wad of newspapers in one corner in the hope further puddles would be kept to one spot. In another corner, he made a bed of towels.
In the meantime Gina had wandered into the kitchen and found a couple of saucers, one of which she filled with water and one with pulped dog-food. The minute she came back and put them down, the puppies were on them.
They stood for a good few minutes, watching them feed and explore their new surroundings, laughing at their antics.
They really were four little clowns, Harry thought as he watched the smallest puppy hanging onto the biggest one’s tail by its teeth, before she was bowled over by one of the others. He’d grown up with dogs, but his parents had always chosen ones on the large side—Labradors and German Shepherds. These little mites were quite different, but seemed full of personality.
A stifled yawn at the side of him brought him back to the realisation it was very late. He glanced at his watch and was amazed to see it was after one o’clock. ‘Why don’t you stay the night?’ he said suddenly.
‘What?’
Gina looked as startled as he felt, he told himself with dark humour. Where on earth had that invitation come from?
‘Stay the night,’ he repeated quietly. ‘It’s very late, and you’re obviously dead beat. It seems sensible to stay here.’
He saw her mouth open and close. Something in the blue eyes made him sure she was going to refuse, and he added quickly, ‘Mrs Rothman always keeps the guest-room bed aired and made up.’
He saw her swallow. ‘I couldn’t.’
‘Why?’
‘Why?’ She appeared lost for words for a moment. ‘Because I’ve loads to do in the morning.’
That wasn’t the true story. His mouth dried. He’d bet his bottom dollar she’d arranged to see Lover Boy in the morning. Perhaps before this guy went into work. Damn it, couldn’t she see this man was just using her? Perhaps he even expected a bon-voyage quickie. Without a shred of remorse for the crudity, he said carefully, ‘You’ll be home first thing—I’ve got to go to work, don’t forget. Perhaps we could even drop the puppies off at this sanctuary on the way. That’d be a great help to me. In fact, I don’t know how I’m going to manage it without you.’
She stared at him, her blue eyes dark with some emotion he couldn’t fathom. She was probably weighing up the pain and pleasure of seeing Lover Boy compared to lending him a hand. Feeling he needed to press his cause, he said gently, ‘Like you said, they’re just little babies without their mum. I’d hate for things to be more difficult than they need to be in the morning, and handling the four of them might prove a problem.’ Deciding the end justified the means, he lied through his teeth as he added, ‘You’re used to dogs. I’m not.’
He saw her eyes narrow and realised he’d overdone it when she said, ‘I thought you once told me your parents have always had dogs?’
They had had too many long chats over coffee breaks. Recovering quickly, he smiled. ‘That’s true, but I left home well over a decade ago, besides which these little things bear no resemblance to the sort of dogs I grew up with.’
‘Mrs Rothman thought they were Jack Russell crossed with fox terriers, something like that. They’re not exactly going to be tiny dogs.’
‘But they’re tiny now. And wriggly.’ He wondered how far he could push the helpless-male scenario.
Gina glanced from him to the puppies, who were now quiet again, curled up together and looking pathetically helpless on their bed of towelling. Knowing her soft heart, he murmured, ‘I’d hate to drop one of them.’
He saw her shut her eyes for an infinitesimal second. Whether it was with despair at his feebleness, or irritation at her predicament, he wasn’t sure.
‘All right,’ she said ungraciously. ‘I’ll stay. But I need to be away first thing.’
Definitely expecting a visit from the rat. ‘Sure thing. I don’t want to be late. Busy day in front of me tomorrow, and Susan’s not clued up on things like you are, although she’s doing great.’
‘Isn’t she?’ Gina said.
He could tell she was still mad at being trapped here, because there was an edge to her voice. ‘Want a cup of coffee or anything before we turn in?’
‘Do you have any cocoa?’
‘Cocoa?’ he asked in surprise.
She flushed. ‘I usually have a mug of milky cocoa in bed,’ she said a trifle defensively.
Dampening down a mental image of Gina sitting up in bed stark-naked, her hair about her shoulders while her pink tongue licked at the froth on top of a mug of cocoa, Harry cleared his throat. His voice husky, he said, ‘Sorry, no cocoa, but there’s plenty of milk. How about a mug of hot milk instead—will that do?’
Gina nodded. He thought she looked very unhappy, and a mixture of anger and resentment slashed through him. Anger at this no-good character she was mixed up with. Resentment that someone he had thought so sensible and discriminating could allow themselves to be treated this way. The sooner she was well away from Yorkshire, the better. And yet he didn’t want her to go. How much he didn’t want her to go he hadn’t realised until just this very moment.
Feeling confused, he led the way into the kitchen. Gina perched on a stool and watched him as he placed two mugs on the breakfast bar, and then poured a pint of milk into a saucepan. ‘I’ll join you in the milk,’ he said obsequiously, aiming to get into her good books.
She nodded but didn’t comment.
‘And I appreciate you staying and helping with the puppies in the morning.’
His tone had been light, and he saw her rouse herself and stitch a smile on her face. ‘I couldn’t leave a mere male to cope with four offspring, now, could I?’
‘True.’ He’d never noticed just how superb her legs were before, but with her sitting on that stool he was probably seeing more of them than usual. Ignoring the stirring in his body, he said cheerfully, ‘At least babies of the animal variety don’t necessitate the use of nappies.’
‘Nappies are no problem these days, even to the most incompetent man. There’s no pins or folding them over in a certain way. It’s all done for you. You just stick two tabs together, and job’s a good ‘un.’
‘I’ll take your word for it,’ he said drily.
‘Don’t tell me—you believe nappy changing and the rest of it is women’s work.’
‘Actually, I don’t,’ he said mildly.
‘No?’ Her lifted eyebrows expressed her disbelief.
‘No. If a couple decide to take on the enormous responsibility of bringing a new life into the world, then it’s a joint decision all the way, or should be. Taking it as read that certain functions can only be performed by a mother—breastfeeding, for example … I think parenthood should be a fifty-fifty undertaking.’