"I came here to work with you. Joss... Nothing else." Tears blurred her vision as she continued shakily, "You can believe that or not as you choose, but I want it clearly understood that I do not want you to " Make love to you? " His mouth twisted, as though he was having difficulty in believing what she was saying and fully intended her to know it. And why shouldn't he? She couldn't hide from herself never mind him the fact that she had responded to him just now with unmistakable hunger, and she hated herself for it.

"I don't even want you to touch me..." she told him fiercely, stepping back from him.

He was looking at her with a peculiar intensity, his skin surely paler than it had been? Frowning, Sarah glanced down at herself, tensing as she saw the way her T-shirt clung to her body, clearly revealing the tormented thrust of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and nipples, the fabric damp from its contact with Joss's body.

She took a couple of steps backwards, and then for no reason that she could a.n.a.lyse later when she was calmer, flung at him bitterly, "You can believe what you like but I did come up here to see if you wanted any breakfast." And then, before her composure deserted her completely, she fled back downstairs to the kitchen.

The warm, yeasty scent of the croissants, which had so tormented her taste buds earlier, now only made her feel sick. She switched off the oven and sat down at the kitchen table, her head in her hands. She couldn't stay here if Joss was going to torment her like that again.

In his arms it had been all too easy to forget all that had happened between them since the night of the ball. In all honesty she could not deny to herself that for a few insane seconds she had actually wanted him to pick her up and carry her to his bed . to make love to her as he had done before. She shuddered and forced herself to get up, and go blindly through the motions of making herself fresh coffee. How could she stay here now and work with Joss? How could she not? She had her job to think of.

He came into the kitchen several minutes later, dressed as casually as she was herself, jeans moulding the masculine length of his legs, a thick cotton check shirt with short sleeves, snugly outlining his torso.

As he walked in through the door, he stopped, frowned slightly and asked, "What's that I can smell?"

"Croissants and coffee," Sarah told him listlessly. She couldn't bear to look at him.

"I was hungry when I got up...1 couldn't find any bread and then I remembered that the village store opens early on Sat.u.r.days. You didn't seem to have much in the way of food ... so I bought a few things."

He was silent and she couldn't bear to turn round to face him. Now what she had done suddenly seemed unbearably encroaching. She had no idea what plans or arrangements he might have had in mind for their meals, she reminded herself. With hindsight it was easy to see that she would have been much wiser to stay hungry.

"Sarah..."

She felt the light touch of his fingers on her shoulder and tensed.

"I'm sorry...1 owe you an apology for what I said earlier."

For what he'd said. but not for what he'd done, Sarah noticed, forcing herself to turn to face him. She managed a careless little shrug as she slid away from his grip.

"That's all right," she said coolly.

"I don't suppose it's any more your fault that you're used to women inviting themselves into your bed, than it's mine that I'm not..."

"Mmm ... rather ungrammatical but I get your point. This time I'll let you get away with your acid little barb, Sarah ... but don't try pushing me too far."

Her stomach was quivering like jelly but she refused to let him see it.

"What else did you buy besides croissants?" he asked her, carelessly opening the oven and removing them.

"I had intended to go out and get some supplies later on, but it seems that you've saved me a ch.o.r.e."

"Only the barest necessities," Sarah told him.

"I wasn't sure what sort of eating arrangements you had in mind."

He sat down and put the plate on the table. Now he looked at her, frowning slightly.

"Meaning what exactly?"

Sarah shrugged.

"Well, if my sister had not been away I would have stayed with her and only come here to work. I don't know what social commitments you may or may not have."

"Meaning that you really believe I'd leave you to eat here alone while I was swarming off willing and dining elsewhere?"

"I'm here as an employee ... not as a guest," she reminded him stiffly.

"And as your boss it's my duty to see that you're properly fed," he retorted blandly, adding with a faint grimace, "There's so much work for us to get through. I was rather hoping you wouldn't mind if we took it turn and turn about to organise our meals. It will be chaotic I know... with the contractors here and everything else. I had no intention of moving in at this stage, and so I haven't even attempted to engage any staff. However, if you prefer it I can arrange for you to eat at the local pub if my company is such anathema to you."

What on earth could she say? If she insisted on eating alone now she would be childish and petulant.

"I've only got enough food to last us the weekend," she told him eventually.

"Then first thing Monday morning we'll go and get some more. These croissants are delicious," he added, biting into his second.

"Aren't you going to have one?"

"I'm not hungry."

But in the end she did eat one, and she cooked Joss bacon and eggs. A dishwasher meant that there was no need for them to wash up but Sarah couldn't help herself from smiling slightly when he said, "Well, I suppose I'll have to make lunch... what did you plan for us to have?"

"Chicken salad," she told him gravely, watching the laughter leaping into his eyes.

"I think I might just about manage that ... or I could, if you're very good, make you my piece de resistance, this evening instead. Steak au poivre... I'm very good at it, and I happen to know there's some fillet in the freezer."

"Okay you're on..."

It was deliciously heady stuff, sharing this teasing banter with him but it was also very dangerous, Sarah reminded herself as she followed him into the study. The boxes from her car were standing beside his desk, and as she sat down at it she could almost feel him distancing himself from her.

Nervous now, knowing that he would soon be judging her professional ability, Sarah rummaged through the boxes for the financial statements of last year's list.

They worked until lunchtime. Joss painstakingly thorough as he listened to her explanations of her reasons for last year's choices, sometimes making notes, sometimes not.

When she had finished he asked her, "And how do you feel about the books you chose last year, in view of the financial statements on their sales?"

He was asking her to substantiate with figures, her choices, Sarah realised. She took a deep breath.

"There are one or two surprises," she admitted hesitantly.

"The saga, which I personally liked, but wasn't too sure would have ma.s.s appeal, sold extremely well ... so well that we've commissioned a follow-up. James was disappointed that David's book didn't do as well as he'd hoped. I know that Steven is very well pleased with the profit on the women's fiction list so far."

Joss waited a few seconds and then said evenly, "I asked you for your opinion Sarah. Your opinion of your own judgment. or don't you feel able to give me such an opinion?"

He was coming dangerously close to uncovering her vulnerability concerning her selfconfidence and Sarah could not allow that.

"So far I'm quietly pleased with my success rate," she told him calmly.

"Quietly pleased?" One eyebrow rose.