‘It means I don’t think the phone was ringing. I think you wanted to have a nose around. Perhaps I can help? Were you looking for anything in particular?’ The derision in his voice contorted his features. ‘Something of value, maybe?’
Oh, that was low.
Her fingers curled around the snow globe. ‘You know, it wouldn’t hurt for you to be nice occasionally,’ she said coldly.
He was staring at her as if she had suggested he might like to eat the contents of a wheelie bin.
‘It wouldn’t hurt for you to do what you’re told.’
Her hands were gripping the snow globe so tightly she thought it might shatter. ‘Who are you to tell me what to do?’
His dark grey eyes were like the slits in a castle wall. She half expected to see the tip of an arrow pointing out of each of them.
‘Who am I? I’m your worst nightmare, Ms Fox.’
He stared at her, his hard, angular face dragging her gaze upwards.
‘I’m a man who’s immune to your charms. So I suggest you stop batting your eyelashes at me and go back to your room. And make sure you stay there. Otherwise, next time, I won’t be feeling so generous.’
She stood up so suddenly that the chair spun backwards. As it bounced off the shelves behind her, a pile of papers fluttered to the floor.
‘You don’t know the meaning of the word, generous,’ she snarled. A beat of fury and frustration was pulsing over her skin. Her fists curling by her sides, she shook her head. ‘You know, I can’t believe I was actually going to offer to help you.’
Now he was staring at her as if she had grown horns or an extra head. ‘You? Help me?’
Trying to remember why she had thought it was a good idea, she glared at him. ‘With writing up your lectures.’
He gave a bark of laughter. ‘Why? So you can engineer a repeat performance of what happened downstairs?’ Now he was shaking his head incredulously. ‘I don’t think so.’
She drew herself up to her full height. ‘I didn’t engineer anything.’
His flint-coloured eyes were cold. ‘You kissed a perfect stranger. I would have thought that required a little forethought—unless, of course, you do that with every man you meet.’
Her hands were trembling, and she was nearly breathless with anger. No, actually, she didn’t. As a matter of fact, she’d only kissed a handful of men—and none with the unthinking urgency with which she had kissed him.
Lifting her chin, she glared at him. ‘I’m sorry to disappoint you, Mr Milburn, but you’re a long way fro
m my idea of perfect.’
The skin on his face stretched taut, like a drum, and she felt the air grow charged, as if the storm had moved inside.
‘As you are mine. I mean, aside from the quite obvious fact that you lack the discipline and diligence I would expect from anyone who works for me, I’m not sure you have the specialist knowledge I need. I mean, what exactly do you know about ice anyway?’
The curl of his lip made her want to throw the snow globe at his head.
‘Other than crushing it for frozen margaritas at a “fun girls’ night just for you”?’
His words sounded familiar.
Her jaw started to tremble. That was because they were her words—from the blog she had posted last summer. She breathed out shakily. The idea of Arlo reading her blog made the anger leak out of her like air from a burst balloon.
Her heart thudded heavily in her chest. She felt stupid and shallow and superfluous. But then that was what she was. It was just that in the heat of their argument she had momentarily forgotten.
* * *
Arlo saw her stiffen and swore under his breath.
Finding her in his office, curled up in his chair, had caught him off balance more than he’d ever be willing to admit.