He glanced down to the small table which wasn't littered with a coffee cup. `We'll go,' he unsmilingly announced.

Yancie's sunny side went into hiding. She went out to the car with him, enquiring politely, `Shall I take your bag for you?' when they reached the boot of the car, and found herself surplus to requirements when he opened the boot himself and dropped down his expensive-looking overnight bag next to her expensive-looking overnight bag.

Still trying to get it right, Yancie dutifully had the rear passenger door open for him when, boot lid closed, he walked round the side of the car. Without so much as a glance to her, he tossed in his briefcase and then got in. Yancie civilly closed the door, and went up front to the driver's seat.

She owned, as she drove along-carefully and solicitously to other road users-that, whereas with other executives she would very soon forget she was carrying a passenger at all, somehow, she couldn't forget about Thomson Wakefield in the back.

And why would she forget him? Didn't she have to be on her toes today where he was concerned? No way did she want this weekend's work to end with laughing-Jack back there giving her the big heave-ho.

Yancie took a glance in her mirror, not at the road behind, but at him. Their eyes met! Her tummy did the most peculiar somersault. Quickly, she looked away. 'Er-would you like the heating turned up-er-or down?' she enquired, purely from a sudden need, never before known, to say something.

'No,' he answered briefly.

Suit yourself! Yancie carried on driving, and a short while later realised Thomson Wakefield was not gripping onto the leatherwork for dear life-as she'd supposed he might-but had so far forgotten his driver, he was getting on with some work. Surely that meant he was comfortable with her driving! Yancie, while alert to the rainy road conditions, started to otherwise relax.