James leaned back in his chair, rubbed over his face with
both hands and then ruffled them through his hair. The
flight from Kuala Lumpur had landed just after five that
morning and he'd come straight to the office, showering and
changing on site. He'd already caught up on most of the
essentials and now he desperately wanted another coffee and
something more substantial than a rubbery in-flight muffin.
He'd read the paper and relax for ten.
Thankfully he heard sounds of movement in the office outside
his door. Good. His secretary must have arrived. A little
later than usual but he didn't mind; she was the best there
was—usually.
He picked up the papers he'd been skimming earlier, grinning
as he walked to the door.
'Bridge, did you break all your fingers and thumbs or
something? The typos in this report are appalling. I can
hardly read it.'
He looked up from the page he'd been chuckling over and
stopped on the threshold, staring at the stranger rising
from behind the desk.
She was tall, she was dark, she was stunning, she was…
'Not Bridget,' he said stupidly.
'No.' Her voice was quiet but firm, with a foreign lilt and
a tinge of guilt to it.
And in that one beat he lost all power of thought—
couldn't process a thing. Could only look at the most
beautiful woman he'd ever seen. The only word remaining in
his brain was wow. It seemed to take an age for his
heart to beat again. When it finally did, he walked closer.
The colour in her cheeks seemed to rise higher with every
step he took nearer.
'I'm—'
'Princess Elissa.' He remembered now, kicking the grey cells
back on. He'd told her brother he'd give her a job. He'd
forgotten that in the hype of the conference. She must have
been here in Sydney at least a month already?
He couldn't help himself—kept staring and stared some
more. He'd seen her photo countless times in papers,
magazines, on telly. But this was the first time he'd ever
met her in person. He'd never thought she'd be such a
stunner in real life—so often these model types were
actually a disappointment live and up close, without the
benefit of tons of make-up, accentuating lighting and
airbrushing. But in truth no photo could capture the dancing
lights in her dark eyes, or the richness of colour in her
long brown hair. Hair that invited the touch of fingers, and
that would feel like silk brushing across skin. And nothing
could prepare anyone for the perfection of her
body—both slim and curvy, womanly and tantalising.
'Bridget is on holiday. I was told to work up here while
she's away.'
James nodded, still too busy processing her presence to be
able to speak much.
'I'll redo that report.' The colour in her cheeks was
deeper, she wouldn't look him in the eye, and as she held
out her hand for the document he saw it shook a little.
It brought him back to reality. A smidge of compassion made
him feel the need to give her some sort of excuse, to ease
her embarrassment. 'Some of the buttons on the keyboard are
probably different in Europe.'
She looked up at him then, for just a second before looking
back down to take the report. Apology shone in her eyes and
something akin to—panic? 'Must be.'
Fascinated, he watched the dull red splotches spread over
her lightly golden skin; his fingers itched to trace over
the patterns—to see if it felt as hot as it looked.
Then he realised he was still holding onto the paper that
she was trying to take back. He let it go and in the same
instant, turned away. He'd been staring a little too long.
But it had been a bit of a shock— she really was
something else. Hell, he must be more tired than he
thought—damn jet lag.
He shook his head, wanting to flick away the haze. But all
he could see was red—the colour of temptation. It was
interesting how someone who must be so used to scrutiny
still had an all-over body blush like that. It never showed
in the photos of her. It must be airbrushed out.
He retreated into his office and told himself to get a grip.
Intriguing blushes or not, he didn't want her taking up any
of his brain space. She was way too beautiful for
him—the kind of woman every man would want and one who
would want the attention of every man. And he wasn't one for
sharing.
Liss let out the breath that had been held so long her lungs
were bursting. She flung back in the chair like a rag doll.
So that was James Black? For some reason she'd
imagined her hotel tycoon boss to be fifty-ish, a little
squat, balding. Not maybe thirty, tall and with a head full
of slightly unruly dark brown hair. He was gorgeous. He was
more than gorgeous, and when she'd looked into his eyes
she'd seen the most tantalising golden gleam that had her
aching to reach out to touch him—to capture it and
keep it.
She should have done her research. Just as she should have
taken an emergency 'brush-up-your-secretarial-skills' course
on the flight over from Aristo. This was it: her last
chance— or the last chance she wanted to be given. She
had to prove herself here or she'd never get to go back
home. She'd have to start over again someplace else and she
refused to let that happen. Sydney was it. This job was it.
And what a great first impression she'd made. Completely
fouling up that report and then blushing all over like some
schoolgirl. She never blushed. But she really
hadn't expected him to come out of his office with that warm
smile, and the humour twinkling in his eyes. And she hadn't
expected the heat to rise in her body in such an instant
response. Just looking at him had turned her lust
switch on.
Distracted, she messed up a call and mortifyingly had to ask
the receptionist, Katie, to come up and explain the phone
system to her once again. She'd already written down
step-by-step instructions on how to operate it but still she
couldn't quite get it—she was always putting a caller
through to answering machine instead of transferring them to
someone else, or worse still cutting them off completely.
She could manage her own mobile well enough and her PDA and
they were much more complex pieces of equipment. There was
just something about this system. They were five minutes
into it when he walked out of his office again.
'Welcome back, James.' The receptionist gave him a stunning
smile.
Only a small smile flickered on his face in return. 'Thanks,
Katie. I'm just going for coffee. Back in twenty.' He looked
at Liss. 'Can you have that report for me by then?'
'Certainly,' Liss replied with far more conviction than she
felt. But he was halfway across the room already and in
another instant out the door.
Katie gave a mock swoon once they'd heard the door to the
stairwell slam. 'He's back.' She sighed and gave Liss a sly
look. 'Something else, isn't he? Lucky you, getting to sit
outside his office all day.'
Liss nodded vaguely, not really wanting to dissect the
undeniable hunk-factor of her new boss. Of course she wasn't
the only one who saw it. But gossiping wasn't the way to get
herself taken seriously.
However, inside she dissected his response to Katie's openly
flirty greeting. The smile had been far more reserved than
the one he'd had on his face when he'd thought she was his
secretary Bridget. She found herself wondering what Ms
Perfect Typist Bridget looked like.
'Be careful though. He's mercurial.'
Liss paused at Katie's comment, curiosity mounting.
Katie's smile was sly and Liss knew if she ever wanted to
know anything about the organisation or its staff, all she
had to do was ask the receptionist.
'Can't be caught.'
'Oh?' Liss wasn't interested. Really wasn't interested.
'He doesn't do commitment.' Katie kept chatting as if
knowing full well Liss was all ears.
But Liss wasn't here to learn about the boss's love life.
She was here to work. 'No?'
'Three dates and it's over.'
Focus on the phones, Liss. 'Can you show me how to transfer
again?'
Katie didn't bother to hide her laughter as she showed Liss
once more which buttons to push. 'You'll get it after a bit.
You're probably not used to having to work like this.'
Liss had to admit that was true. But cut off from her trust
fund she had little choice. Alex had set her up. Until she
learnt to settle down she was to be without her funds, and
having to work—at a job Alex had selected. For a
business acquaintance of his, who just happened to be based
on the other side of the world. It was so convenient for
them—Elissa the embarrassment shipped off again, no
longer a concern to the family. Out of sight, out of mind.
They seemed to be able to do that so easily and inside she
was crushed. She'd wanted to stay on Aristo after her
father's death. Had wondered if there was some way in which
she could be useful. Instead she'd been installed into a
serviced apartment in Sydney— one of James's
complexes, she'd discovered—and by the time the rent
was taken out of her wages she had minimal cash left to get
by. For the first time she was forced to earn her own
living—to curb her impulses and to take some
responsibility.
And for the first time she intended to succeed. She was
determined to do a good job and to make some sort of a life
for herself here. That way she could prove to them, and to
herself, that she was as capable as any of them. Maybe then
their rejection wouldn't matter. Maybe then they'd want her
to come back. She sure wasn't going to stuff up that
possibility by wasting time thinking inappropriate thoughts
about her new boss.
'He'll be back in a minute and you haven't done that
report.' Katie nudged her.
'Oh, hell.'
***
James wished he'd shut his office door. But he hardly ever
did—able to call through to Bridget if he needed
something. He was dreading the day she'd come to him and
tell him she was pregnant and he had the suspicion it was
going to be sooner rather than later—especially with
this romantic cruise she was on with her husband. But he
couldn't even begin to worry about that—right now he
had one hell of a replacement secretary to deal with.
He picked up the pile of newspapers that had accumulated the
few days he'd been overseas. He quickly flicked through,
having caught most of the important news online while
travelling. But he stopped at the society page. There she
was—his new secretary, looking particularly glamorous
in black and white, a brilliant smile in place at the
opening night of some new play. He picked up the paper for
the day before and flicked through to the society page in
that one—yes, there she was again, smiling straight
into the camera, surrounded by several handsome men. He
looked through more—the same. Another paper, another
photo, another escort.
She sure had been busy. She hadn't been here long and had
been out every night. No wonder she could barely type a
report. Her concentration would be shot if she'd been
cutting up the dance floor till all hours every night. What
a fool he was for feeling sorry for her. For thinking
perhaps nerves had impacted on her performance. James
loathed nothing more than being made a fool of.
He spread out the page of the last paper and stared
narrow-eyed at the picture. Beautiful as she looked in it,
he now knew it was nothing on the real thing.
There was absolutely no denying he was attracted to her.
Extremely attracted. You couldn't be male and straight and
not be attracted to her. But James had spent plenty of time
in and around beautiful women and had learned the lesson
some time ago not to take any of them seriously. Social
butterflies spent their time flitting—from one partner
to the next, without pause. Liss was the most beautiful
butterfly of them all. She had scores of
suitors—shipping heirs, media magnates—the
pictures ran in every rag and glossy gossipy mag there was.
And undoubtedly she'd have the knack of playing the men off
down pat too. For a woman as desirable as Liss there would
be no fun in plain and simple attraction; she'd be the sort
to play games and to fool around to keep life interesting.
James's lips twisted. To get involved with her would be
begging for trouble and he didn't need that. Been there,
done that, learned the lesson. Nowadays he liked his fun
plain and simple and pretty much forgettable. Nothing long
term, nothing serious, nothing complicated. Nothing to
attract too much attention.
Elissa was all about attention. Clearly she couldn't get
enough of it.
His irritation level skyrocketed. He pushed away the
newspaper and picked up another report she'd given
him—it only took a quick flick to see the graphs were
all hopelessly askew.
He craned his head so he could see part of her at the desk
through the door. Even the way she sat was regal. Her head
erect, as if there were some imaginary tiara on it as she
frowned at the computer. The party-princess was playing at a
real job; it seemed there was no real effort on her part.
His frown grew to twice the size of hers. He'd been born
into money too—not quite at the level as her family,
for sure, but he could have chosen a more leisurely,
decadent life had he wanted. But he hadn't—quite the
opposite in fact. His family's name and money had made him
even more determined
to succeed on his own merits. His grandfather and his father
had worked hard to build their wealth. And James was the
same. He certainly wouldn't expect to have everything handed
to him on a silver platter. He thrived on the satisfaction
of working hard and getting the job done well. Princess out
there had probably never savoured that sort of
satisfaction— employing her looks, her fame and name
to get what she wanted rather than doing an honest day's
work. No doubt she was used to an endless stream of silver
platters delivered to her by fawning servants. Well, there
wasn't room on James's boat for indolent
passengers—everyone was expected to pull their weight,
especially spoilt princesses.
He stood, grabbed the report and gritted his teeth. 'I need
you to redo these graphs as well.' He walked through, tossed
the pages onto her desk and watched for her reaction. Only
this time there wasn't a blush. She visibly blanched. Shying
away from more work? It irritated him more.