Marshall had seen her anyway, his angry eyes brushing over her as though she were an irrelevance. From the dark-haired bare legs and exposed chest, it was obvious he was wearing nothing beneath his dressing gown. Presumably he had been sleeping without pyjamas and had merely grabbed at his dressing-gown to cover himself. Julia felt her mouth go dry and realised she was in danger of being mesmerised by that lithe body. With an effort of will, she wrenched her eyes away and forced herself to look at the teenager instead. The girl had stopped dead on seeing Julia at the bottom of the stairs. ‘Who the hell are you?’ she demanded, wiping her face with the back of her hand. ‘I’m Julia,’ she said calmly. Those wide tearful eyes swept up and down her figure, examining every detail. Her voice became deliberately spiteful. ‘Not much to look at, are you? I suppose you must be good in bed, then. Or he wouldn’t waste any of his precious time on you.’ Marshall came level with the young girl.
