A Weekend To Remember
Miranda Lee
A little white lie… .I'm terribly sorry, Hannah could hear herself saying, I don't know what came over me. I simply couldn't let that coldhearted ambitious lady take you for another ride. When you lost the last six weeks from your memory - including your whirlwind romance - I thought that might be the end of Felicia.But then a nurse at the hospital said that a fiancee had been mentioned and would I please call her. I pictured Felicia winning you all over again with her looks and her lies, so before I knew it I'd opened my stupid mouth and said I was your fianceee.Affairs to Remember - stories of love you'll treasure forever.
Table of Contents
Cover (#u1e0f2a87-26f3-5ba3-bef3-752bc43b10ea)
Excerpt (#ue3fa0934-51a8-5d4d-a736-ceb85e567fb3)
Dear Reader (#u3e7a06a3-d3f1-52b2-b90e-b2f560e3b73e)
Title Page (#ud45e21cf-6ea4-58f0-a2f9-bc31e90cee2c)
CHAPTER ONE (#u8186d47e-bbb6-54b5-85f6-58aaba924015)
CHAPTER TWO (#udcc66ba7-ca8b-5b25-965d-e0c302dae0e0)
CHAPTER THREE (#u23f2b4c6-51bf-537a-8e95-1302ad7ce40c)
CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
“You won’t corrupt me…”
Hannah shuddered. Maybe she wouldn’t corrupt him, but being with Jack might well corrupt her. Once again she’d failed to tell him the truth, and she knew the reason why. She wanted him to go on wanting her, wanted him to keep looking at her as he just had, wanted to wallow a while longer in his admiration and desire.
It was wicked of her.
And downright dangerous.
Dear Reader,
Love can be full of surprises!
This is the second book in Miranda Lee’s bewitching trilogy Affairs to Remember. The popular Australian author has written three complete stories of love affairs with a difference—in all the tales there are twists that you won’t forget.
This month, Hannah tells a little white lie and pretends that she’s Jack Marshall’s fiancee; Jack seems quite happy to play along—but what will happen when he recovers his memory?
The Editor
A Weekend To Remember
Miranda Lee
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_80c29f52-7445-5a2d-b4b5-50b0f1587a27)
A LIGHT drizzle started falling soon after the road began its long winding route up the Blue Mountains. Hannah flicked on the windscreen wipers and glanced over at her passenger.
He was still sleeping, thank heavens. The drive from Sydney up to the cottage was difficult enough at the best of times. On a Friday evening, in the dark and in the rain, it was downright dangerous.
Her hands tightened on the steering-wheel, her stomach muscles following suit. What in hell was she doing? Common sense told her to turn round and go back, take Jack home, confess all and throw herself on his mercy.
I’m terribly, terribly sorry, she could hear herself saying. I don’t know what came over me, but of course I’m not your fiancee. Just a very worried secretary who simply couldn’t let that cold-hearted ambitious bitch take you for another ride. When that tile fell on your head this morning and you lost the last six weeks from your memory—including your whirlwind romance—I thought at first that might be the end of Felicia. But then a nurse at the hospital said a fiancee had been mentioned and would I please call her. In my mind’s eye I saw Felicia swanning in and winning you all over again with her looks and her lies, so before I knew it I’d opened my stupid mouth and said I was your fiancee.
Hannah’s heart almost jumped into her mouth when Jack shifted in his seat and muttered something under his breath. She sighed with relief when he settled back again, his head lolling to one side, his eyes still shut.
God, for a second there, she thought she’d been speaking out loud instead of in her head. As much as common sense kept ringing warning bells over her reckless deception, no way was she going to heed them.
She didn’t care if she lost her job over this.
And she probably would.
Hannah was determined that till Jack got his memory back—the doctor had said that that could happen at any time during the next few days—the only person with him would be herself. She was determined to keep that two-timing witch out of the picture till she could tell Jack the whole appalling truth about the woman he’d been going to marry at the end of the month.
As it stood, dear Felicia was probably at this very moment fuming over the fax from Jack saying that he was having second thoughts about their engagement, and that he was going away for a few days to think things over. The fax also added that she was not to try to contact him, and that he would contact her when he returned.
Any guilt Hannah felt over doing such an outrageous thing, including forging Jack’s name, was cancelled when she thought of what she had discovered last night. That woman deserved no consideration. None at all.
Hannah shuddered to think how close she had come to not going to Jack’s engagement party and finding out the truth. She’d arrived home from work yesterday to be greeted by her final divorce papers in the mail, which hadn’t exactly put her in the mood for partying. She’d literally had to force herself to dress, then drive down to Kirribilli, where the party was being held in a fancy high-rise unit overlooking the harbour, courtesy of a property developer friend of Jack’s.
Even before knowing what she knew now, Hannah had harboured misgivings about Jack’s choice of bride. She’d only met Felicia a couple of times in a very casual way at the office, but she had just known the woman wasn’t right for Jack.
It wasn’t jealousy on her part. Hannah had only been Jack’s secretary for a little over a year, and there was nothing between them but a strictly work-related relationship. Her feelings for Jack Marshall stopped firmly at liking, respect and gratitude. Oh, yes.. .she was grateful to him. Very grateful.
When she’d applied for the job as private secretary to the boss of Marshall Homes, Hannah had honestly thought she hadn’t stood a chance. Good Lord, it had been years since she had used her secretarial skills outside of the home.
But it seemed that Jack had been looking for someone mature, who could be relied on, not some flighty young flibbertigibbet—his word, not hers—who would leave either to go overseas, get married or have babies. She’d assured him she would do none of those things, since she hated travel, had already been married one time too many, and had had babies—two boys, now thirteen and fourteen, both in boarding-school.
Hannah had been so proud of herself when Jack had rung the next day to tell her she had the job.
Pride was something she’d been deficient in for quite some time, and in gratitude for the chance he’d given her Hannah gave him absolute loyalty in return. In her eyes, Jack could do no wrong. He deserved the best, in her opinion, and the best was not a two-faced two-bit soapie-star by the unlikely name of Felicia Fay.
Hannah’s top lip curled in contempt at the mere thought of the woman.
Really, she was beneath contempt—the worst excuse for a woman Hannah had ever met. She’d begun to suspect as much the moment Jack’s fiancee had opened the apartment door to her the previous evening…
‘Well, if it isn’t the efficient Hannah, running late for once. Whatever will Jack say!’
Startled by her sour tone, Hannah’s hazel eyes blinked wide for a second, before narrowing to appraise further the woman her boss was to marry in four weeks’ time.
There was no doubt that Felicia was physically beautiful—more so tonight than ever before. She looked a million dollars, in fact. Masses of blonde streaked tresses framed a perfectly madeup face before cascading down over slender shoulders. Her tall model-like figure was encased in a suede trouser suit in a deep blue which complemented her big blue eyes. A long rope of reallooking pearls hung between her high, firm breasts, matching drop earrings swinging sexily from her lobes as she tipped her head to one side and returned the appraisal.
‘I see you haven’t had time to change,’ she drawled. ‘I must tell Jack not to work you so hard. Poor Hannah. Still…black always looks well on older women, doesn’t it? It’s kind on the complexion and so slimming.’
Poor Hannah was stunned into silence by such an ill-concealed display of bitchiness. The black dress she was wearing was understated but definitely after-five—not the sort of garment she would ever have dreamt of wearing to the office. And her shoulder-length brown hair was stylishly done up in a French roll, not the simple topknot she favoured for work. Despite all this, Hannah knew she didn’t hold a candle to the bright butterfly standing before her. So why the attempt to put her down?
‘I must thank you for the sweet little engagement gift you sent via Jack,’ the butterfly swept on, with a cloying smile. ‘One can’t have too many ornaments, can one?’
Hannah tried not to choke. The ‘ornament’ she’d sent had been a very elegant and very expensive Lladro!
‘Now, don’t just stand there, Hannah, looking out of place. Do come in. Jack’s busy talking to some important people at the moment, so you’ll have to mingle, I’m afraid.’
Hannah absorbed all the subtle and not-sosubtle slights of Felicia’s welcome with a rueful dismay. This was the first time she’d been alone with Jack’s fiancée for more than a minute, and the cat’s claws were well and truly out. Rather telling, Hannah thought, since she was hardly the sort of secretary to worry a prospective wife. The woman had to be a natural bitch, who believed all other women were the same.
‘I don’t mind mingling,’ Hannah returned as Felicia shut the door behind her.
‘Don’t you? Funny, I always think of you as such a shy little thing. It amazes me sometimes why Jack has so much confidence in you. You don’t seem the type to be a super-secretary.’
Hannah bristled. ‘What type would you say I am?’
Felicia’s laugh was light and tinkling. Presumably it was meant to soften the malice behind the words. ‘Oh, you know. The little-woman-athome type. You are married, aren’t you? You wear a wedding-ring and I heard someone call you Mrs Althorp the other day.’
The fingers of Hannah’s left hand automatically curled over into a tight, tense fist. ‘Actually, no, I’m not any more,’ she said tautly. ‘My divorce came through today. I just haven’t bothered to take off my rings. Maybe I never will. With the number of males who come through the office, sometimes it’s handy to be thought of as married.’
Felicia’s glance was sharp. ‘So you’ve become a man-hater, have you?’ she asked hopefully.
‘I wouldn’t say that, exactly. But I have no intention of ever remarrying, if that’s what you’re asking,’ she added, hoping to put the woman’s unfounded fears at rest.
Her smile still had an edge to it. ‘In that case, I’ll make sure I call you Mrs Althorp when I’m in the office. Funny, I know a plastic surgeon called Althorp. Has a practice on the North Shore. But of course, he can’t be your Althorp. Such a handsome, charming, cultured man.’
Hannah could hardly believe the venom she was hearing. What had she ever done to this woman but be polite and pleasant?
‘I must get back to Jack. You can look after yourself, can’t you?’
With gritted teeth, Hannah agreed that she could, all the while wondering if dear Felicia was the twenty-nine she claimed to be. Hannah’s ex-husband was a dab hand at facelifts, and all sorts of other cosmetic surgery. Dwight’s practice depended largely on ladies in the public eye who wanted to look young forever, and other poor put-upon women whose husbands and boyfriends wanted them to look like the models in Playboy magazine.
The epitome of feminine desirability these days seemed to be large-breasted, tiny-waisted, slenderhipped, tight-buttocked, firm-thighed, longlegged, small-nosed, big-lipped, wide-eyed, nowrinkles, clear-skinned beauties, with the public sweetness of angels and the private talents of whores.
Hannah didn’t quite qualify. Admittedly when she’d married Dwight, at nineteen, she’d been very pretty and her figure excellent. She was still pretty enough, she supposed, with neat features and nice big eyes. And, being fairly tall, she still looked good in clothes. But the birth of two boys by the time she’d been twenty-one, plus another fourteen years, had taken a certain toll. As for her talents in the bedroom…Well, least said, best said about that.
Felicia, however, obviously did qualify—in every way. Her face and figure were second bar none. Her public demeanour in front of Jack was feminine and accommodating. As far as her private demeanour was concerned…Hannah had no doubt that Felicia’s talents in the bedroom were superb as well, to have Jack doing what he’d vowed never to do. Getting married.
Hannah sighed. God, she just hated to think of Jack married to that woman! Felicia was like this apartment—all surface glamour and glitz, but with no soul. In a way, she reminded Hannah of Dwight. Both of them were social climbers, who cared more for appearances than anything else. Jack would find no more happiness with Felicia as his wife than Hannah had with Dwight as her husband.
But it was none of her business, was it, whom her boss married? He was a grown man, thirtyfour years old, with a mind of his own. If she dared venture an adverse opinion of his new fiancée, he wouldn’t be at all pleased. It might even reverberate on her and the job she valued. Really, there was nothing for it but to smile sweetly and keep her mouth firmly shut.
Hannah moved from the marble-floored foyer down three cream-carpeted steps and into the first of the large living-rooms. It was peppered with small groups of people, all with drinks in their hands, several with cigarettes as well. She cringed as the smoke haze teased her nostrils, setting off that old tell-tale pang of need. Irritated with herself, she swept a flute of champagne from the tray of a passing waiter and pressed it to her lips, taking a few swift sharp swallows. It wasn’t as good as a cigarette, but it was better than nothing.
Glancing around, she quickly spied Jack across the heads in the next room. Nothing strange about that. At six feet six inches tall, Jack’s head usually stood above all others. His longish wavy jet-black hair was hard to miss as well. Hannah stood, sipping her drink and quietly watching him from a distance.
Not a classically handsome man, Jack nevertheless had a face one remembered, with its large, strong features, deeply set blue eyes, squared jaw and uncompromising mouth. One also remembered the scar that ran from his left eyebrow across his cheekbone to his left ear—the result of a run-in with a knife when he was a lad. Or so the rumour went.
Looking at him objectively, Hannah had to concede that a pretty boy, Jack wasn’t. But, with shoulders and a body to match his height, he was physically a very impressive and intimidating individual.
She could still remember catching her breath in surprise when, during her job interview, Jack had suddenly stood up to attend an incoming fax. Prior to that he’d been leaning back in his swivelchair, his long legs stretched out under the desk. She hadn’t realised how tall he was. Even now, when he strode into the office some mornings, she could still be awed by his size.
Hannah was not used to physical men. Dwight possessed an elegant, slender frame—nothing like Jack, who was a big bull of a man. No, not a bull—a bear. But, like a lot of big bears, underneath all the huff and bluff, lay a soft heart.
Too bad it had to be snared by the likes of Felicia.
Hannah moved through the archway which separated the two rooms, her eyebrows lifting in surprise once Jack came into full view. For he was dressed as she had never seen him before, in a sleek black dinner suit with satin lapels that would have done an ambassador proud.
Hannah stared, amazed that Felicia had persuaded Jack to wear what he always called a ‘penguin’ suit. His usual garb was shorts and a T-shirt if it was hot, jeans and a sweatshirt if it wasn’t. Occasionally he sported a pair of casual trousers and a proper shirt if he was going to a restaurant. No tie, though. He despised ties. Yet here he was, with a bow-tie choking his muscular neck.
There was no doubting the power of love!
Or sex, Hannah added with silent cynicism. Men’s brains went from their heads to their groins when it came to sex—especially with women who looked like Felicia. Feminine instinct warned Hannah that her boss didn’t really love his new fiancée. He was sexually besotted, that was all. As for Felicia…Hannah felt certain that she didn’t love Jack either.
But there was nothing she could do about it.
Hannah stopped her progress towards her boss once she saw who Jack was talking to. It was Gerald Boynton, the owner of this unit and a highly successful property developer. About forty, he was one of those sleazily handsome men, with slicked back hair, a pencil-thin moustache and dark oily eyes which slid all over you.
Hannah couldn’t stand a bar of him.
Recently he’d bought great tracts of land around the Wyong area, and wanted Jack to build his quality homes on the various developments he had planned. He insisted that together they would ‘revolutionise’ housing on the Central Coast.
That was the way Gerald Boynton talked. Very big. Still, there was no doubt he got things done, and it looked as if Jack would sign up with him. Hannah felt that it was the second dubious partnership her boss was about to enter into.
The urge to have a cigarette consumed her again, and she swivelled round to see whom she could cadge a cigarette from. The need quickly became a compulsion. Her fingers itched. She licked dry lips. It had been two whole months since she’d gone cold turkey, and she’d hoped she’d moved beyond this. It was clear that she hadn’t.
Giving in to temptation with a rush of rebellion, she headed straight for a group of smokers, only to have someone grab her by the arm and pull her to a halt.
‘Oh, no you don’t,’ a deep male voice growled.
Hannah whirled to find Jack glaring down at her from under beetling brows, his piercing blue eyes carrying reproach.
‘No, you don’t, what?’ she tried, but her own eyes were smiling ruefully. When Jack had first noticed she’d given up cigarettes he’d declared himself her watchdog, he himself having only given up the dreaded vice a few months before. His vocal pride in her success so far had always stopped her sneaking one behind his back. Till tonight.
‘Hannah, Hannah,’ he sighed. ‘I can read you like a book. You were coveting that fellow’s cigarette over there like a starving man covets a Big Mac. Admit it. I caught you just in time.’
‘Yes, boss,’ she sighed back. ‘I admit it. I was about to become a fallen woman.’
He smiled a wry smile, showing big white teeth within his wide, strong mouth. ‘Not you, Hannah.’
‘Yes, me,’ she insisted, but laughingly.
‘You two seem to be having a good time together,’ Felicia said as she snaked her arm through Jack’s. ‘Is it a private joke, or can any old fiancee join in?’
‘Hannah was about to have a cigarette,’ Jack told her in all seriousness.
‘So? She’s entitled to, isn’t she? You’re only her boss, Jack, not her keeper.’
Was Hannah imagining things, or had she just seen the first chink in Felicia’s acting ability in front of Jack? She could have sworn there had been a veneer of acid coating the woman’s supposedly light words.
‘I know how hard it is to give up smoking,’ Jack said. ‘Hannah needs someone to keep tabs on her.’
‘What a sweetie you are, Jack,’ Felicia said, reaching up to kiss him on the cheek. ‘After we’re married, we’ll both keep tabs on her!’ This with a sly look Hannah’s way.
Hannah only just managed to stop herself from pulling a face at Felicia in return. Why, oh, why didn’t men see through this type of female? It wasn’t as though Jack was naive where women were concerned. Heck, no. There’d been a steady trail of girlfriends over the past year. Still, one had to concede that a woman like Felicia didn’t come along every day of the week.
Hannah endured the next hour of the party with great difficulty. Felicia spirited Jack out of her company in no time flat, leaving her to ‘mingle’ again, which wasn’t all that easy. Really, this was a party of Felicia’s friends, not Jack’s. There was not a single employee present from Marshall Homes other than herself. She began to wonder why Jack had insisted she come. On top of that, everyone she spoke to and who spoke to her seemed to be smoking—several of them offering her cigarettes. In the end she couldn’t bear it any longer, and accepted one.
Feeling guilty, and terrified that Jack would see her, she slipped out on to one of the two balconies the unit opened on to. Being midwinter, and with a cool breeze blowing at this height, none of the guests had availed themselves of either. Hannah had to huddle into an alcove to keep the cigarette alight, turning her back to the wind as she puffed away like mad. Oh, how soothing it felt! But how wickedly weak it made her feel!
Dwight’s repeated criticism over her many failures to give up smoking permanently popped back into mind, making her drag even more deeply. To hell with you, she thought savagely. And to hell with that blonde bimbo you replaced me with!
When she heard the sound of a glass door sliding open, Hannah almost died. Fearing it was Jack, come to spring her, she quickly squashed the cigarette underfoot, then squatted down behind a leafy rubber tree. Not daring to breathe, she was waiting for her boss to discover her guilty quaking self when a low moan broke the cold night air.
Hannah froze as more telling sounds met her ears. Dear heavens, someone was kissing, or making love, or doing something decidedly sexual. How embarrassing if they found out she was there, listening to them!
Hannah almost groaned aloud when she heard the woman say ‘darling’ on a husky whisper. For it was Felicia. The thought of being a silent witness to Jack and that woman doing and saying intimate things made her skin crawl.
‘You like that, darling?’ she murmured.
‘God, Felicia, what am I going to do without you?’
Hannah snapped to attention. For the man wasn’t Jack!
‘You’ll survive, Gerald. You do have your new little mistress to keep you satisfied, after all.’
‘She’s not a patch on you in bed.’
‘Such a flatterer, you are,’ Felicia cooed. ‘You’re rather good yourself. I’ve never met a man with your style and imagination.’
‘Then why the hell are you going to marry that big oaf? He’s all brawn and no brains. I wish to hell I’d never introduced you to him. You can’t possibly enjoy going to bed with him. I would imagine having Jack on top would be like being run over by a bulldozer. God, don’t stop.’
Felicia laughed. ‘In that case there must be something to be said for being run over by a bulldozer. Jack might not have your formal education, Gerald, but he’s street-smart and not to be underestimated. And what he lacks in irnagination he more than makes up for with a quite amazing stamina. I’m not that much a martyr that I would marry a man who couldn’t satisfy me in bed.’
‘I’d be quite happy to keep on satisfying you. Any time. Anywhere.’
‘Yes, but you won’t marry me.’
‘That’s because I’m already married. God, I’ll pay you, if that’s what you want.’
‘Not enough, darling. Under that supposedly magnaminous façade you wear, you’re the original Scrooge.’
‘I didn’t get rich by being stupid.’
‘Neither will I. Modelling and acting hasn’t brought me any real fame or fortune, and my looks won’t last forever. I’m going to marry Jack Marshall, and there’s nothing you can say or do to stop me. He’s the ideal husband for me. A multi-millionaire. A self-confessed workaholic. And a man who doesn’t want children. What more could I possibly hope for? Now, I really must go. Jack will be out of the bathroom by now.’
‘But you can’t leave me like this,’ Gerald groaned.
When Felicia laughed, Gerald told her where she could go in decidedly obscene terminology. Felicia laughed again before opening the glass door and going back inside. Gerald must have quickly followed, because all of a sudden the balcony was very silent and very, very cold.
A shudder of revulsion ran through Hannah. Now the matter was settled. She could not let Jack marry that revolting woman. She wouldn’t say anything tonight, but first thing tomorrow morning she would take Jack aside and tell him all she had overheard…
I would have, too, Hannah reminded herself valiantly now, as she glanced over at her sleeping boss again. If Jack had come straight downstairs into the office this morning. If he hadn’t gone off instead to the site of the exhibition village Marshall Homes were building at Cherrybrook. And if that damned tile hadn’t hit him on the head, knocking him unconscious and obliterating the last six weeks from his mind.
Lord, she could still see the shock on Jack’s face when she’d announced their new relationship. If his head hadn’t been aching so much, he might have sought to question her further. But his pain, plus his obsessive hatred of hospitals, had obviously kept all the questions she had seen in his eyes from finding voice at that time. His one and only objective had been getting out of there. Then, once in her car, the sedating painkiller the doctor had prescribed had taken over and he’d drifted off to sleep. He hadn’t even woken when she’d made the stops required to complete her outrageous plan.
Now Hannah began to wonder just how long he was going to be out of it. Then she began to worry that it might not be the drugs keeping Jack asleep. Maybe it was a case of severe concussion? Maybe he was going to fall into a coma? Maybe he—
‘Oh, hell!’ she swore, slamming her foot down hard on the brake as the back of a mud-spattered semi-trailer suddenly materialised through the misty rain. Everyone and everything shot forward when the brakes gripped in the wet, the car slewing wildly. A collision was avoided by mere inches.
Jack was instantly but dazedly awake. ‘What in blazes?’ he growled, then shot a most disconcerting glance over at Hannah. It was part-pain, part-disorientation, part-disbelief. Gradually the fog seemed to clear from his eyes and he frowned at her. ‘What in hell do you think you’re doing, Hannah?’
Oh, my God, she thought. He’s got his memory back.
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_ecd94564-5a4a-5be1-b4b8-3166d2c5350d)
‘YOU’RE usually such a good driver,’ he added, and Hannah tried not to shudder in relief.
She just wasn’t ready for him to get his memory back yet. It was hard enough to cope with his being awake. She knew he’d been dying to ask questions back at the hospital about their supposed engagement. Now nothing was going to stop him.
‘Sorry,’ she mumbled. ‘Didn’t see the darned thing. This road’s murder in the rain.’ She slanted him a hopefully soothing smile. ‘We’ll be at the cottage soon. Only a few more miles.’
‘What cottage is that?’
‘Don’t you remember? I told you about it back at the hospital, when the doctor insisted that if you were fool enough to discharge yourself then the least you could do was to go somewhere quiet and rest for a few days. When I mentioned the holiday cottage I owned in the Blue Mountains up near Leura, he said that would be perfect.’
‘I can’t really remember. I think at the time I was still too stunned by our engagement to take much in. Besides, I would have blindly agreed to anything to get out of that bloody hospital. So how did you come to own this mysterious cottage? You’ve never mentioned it before.’
‘Dwight bought it several years ago as a getaway. It was part of my divorce settlement.’
‘I see. Well, that explains why I didn’t know about it. You never talk about your marriage or your husband. Or you didn’t before I lost my memory,’ he muttered disgruntedly.
Which was pretty true, although Jack did know that Dwight was a doctor. And she had told him one day about the apartment she lived in, which was right in the middle of Parramatta’s business district, and far beyond a secretary’s salary. It was in a fairly new and prestigious building; the lower floors were devoted to shops and offices, and the upper floors housed exclusive executive apartments.
Dwight had bought one of these apartments only a couple of weeks before Hannah had left him. And had arrogantly—but stupidly, as it turned out—put it in her name for tax reasons. He hadn’t even had time to put tenants in when she’d walked out on their marriage and laid legal claim to it. It had given her a small amount of satisfaction that there hadn’t been a darned thing Dwight could do about it.
As it turned out, it was an ideal spot for her to live, despite Parramatta being a long way from the northern suburb of Mosman, where she’d lived all her married life. Her boys, of whom she had joint custody, were only a short distance away at Kings College, and it was only a ten-minute drive from Parramatta to Marshall Homes’ head office at Castle Hill.
‘Have you brought me up here before?’ Jack asked abruptly, dark puzzlement in his voice.
Hannah tensed. ‘No, I haven’t,’ she admitted.
Jack glanced at his wristwatch, his head snapping up and round in surprise. ‘Good God, it’s almost eight o’clock!’
‘You’ve been asleep for hours. How are you feeling, by the way?’
‘I’ve felt better.’ His hand came up to touch the top of his head carefully.
‘You don’t feel nauseous, do you?’ the doctor had asked her to watch for nausea and vomiting as a sign of a more serious concussion, making her promise to take Jack to a hospital if that happened.
‘No,’ he denied. ‘Just headachy. It’s not nearly as bad as it was, though.’
‘Do you…er…still think it’s May, and not July?’
“Fraid so. And I still can’t believe you and I are engaged,’ he added, shooting her a much sharper look. ‘Hell, Hannah, how and when exactly did that happen?’
A wave of guilty heat filled her face, but she doubted he could see it. It was pitch-black outside, and the light inside the car was dim. ‘Er…only this week, actually,’ she said.
‘Yeah, right, but how did it happen?’
Hannah decided that she had to take control before things got really sticky. ‘Look, Jack, I realise our engagement has come as a big shock to you. Frankly, it came as a big shock to me too. One minute you were just my boss, then something happened, and suddenly I just…we just…’
Hannah wanted to groan her dismay. This was her taking control? Lord, why hadn’t she thought out a believable story to tell him? There again, was there a believable story to tell him?
‘We became physically involved with each other?’ he prompted.
The lack of surprise in his voice sent her eyes jerking round to blink at him.
‘That’s not the part I can’t believe, Hannah,’ he said drily. ‘I always did fancy you.’
Hannah swung her stunned eyes back on the road ahead, before she really ran into the truck in front of them.
‘It was our getting engaged that shocked me,’ Jack went on. ‘Or, more to the point, your agreeing to marry me. You’ve told me more than once you’d never get married again. Frankly, I always believed you wanted nothing more to do with men—in that way or any way at all! So what happened to change that?’
She struggled to find her voice, but her mind was still reeling from Jack’s bald announcement that he’d always fancied her. She found it hard to believe—but why would he lie?
This highly unexpected revelation gave a totally different meaning to the way he’d looked her over sometimes in the office. She’d always imagined he’d been mentally criticising her fashion senseas Dwight had done ad nauseam. Now she saw him undressing her with his eyes, and suddenly she was all hot and bothered.
‘Hannah?’ Jack persisted. ‘Tell me straight. How did this affair of ours start?’
‘I…I don’t know. I mean…Oh, God, I don’t know what I mean.’ She felt totally flustered now, yet she couldn’t pull back. The die was cast and she had to roll with it. ‘It…it happened the day my divorce papers came through,’ she invented shakily. ‘We…we…worked back late together that night. At one point I became upset. You comforted me and…and one thing just led to another…’
‘Are you saying I seduced you at a weak moment?’ he demanded disbelievingly. ‘Hell, I didn’t make you pregnant, did I? Is that why we’re getting married? Because you’re expecting my child?’
Her face flamed as she blurted out, ‘No!’ in a panicky voice. This was becoming awful!
Jack frowned across at her. ‘I presume by that you mean, no, you’re not pregnant.’
‘No, I’m not pregnant. And, no, you didn’t seduce me either. I…I wanted you to make love to me,’ she insisted, appalled at herself for letting Jack think that he’d acted dishonourably, then more appalled at the corner she’d backed herself into.
‘And once we went from friends to lovers, we actually fell in love?’ he suggested. ‘Is that what you’re saying?’
‘Not exactly.’ God, this was going from bad to worse!
‘Mmm. You mean it’s more a matter of compatibility and convenience than runaway romance and passion?’
‘I think it’s more a matter of stupidity,’ she muttered. ‘Look, Jack, I think our engagement was rather a rash decision, and I won’t hold you to any of it. We haven’t even bought a ring yet, so our engagement’s easily called off.’
‘But I don’t want to call it off,’ he said, astounding her all the more. ‘As I said before, I’ve always been attracted to you. And I like you more than any woman I’ve ever known. It was only your attitude to men and marriage that held me back from trying to deepen our relationship.’
Hannah gave him a startled look before wrenching her eyes back on to the road, her heart racing madly. Dear heaven, where would this all end? It was becoming more crazy by the moment!
‘Frankly, my own attitude to marriage has been changing for quite a while,’ he went on thoughtfully. ‘I’d already come to the conclusion that one steady woman in my life would be much preferable to a series of semi-casual relationships. I don’t really have the time to romance one woman after another, and the type who’ll go to bed with you without romance was beginning to lose attraction for me.’
Hannah refrained from rolling her eyes, thinking to herself that she doubted Felicia had needed much romancing before she’d jumped into bed with Jack. Still, she must be superdooper in bed, since he had not only asked her to marry him very quickly, but had even taken the whole of last weekend off work to be with her. Unheard of for Jack to do that!
‘I must admit it is strange, though,’ he added, frowning, ‘not being able to remember anything about this new intimacy of ours. Damned annoying, actually. I wish I could remember our first time together. I feel I’ve missed out on something really special.’
Hannah could feel his eyes moving over her, and she blushed fiercely.
‘Yes, I’m sure it was very special,’ he said slowly, the ‘very’ seeming to slide down her spine, making her skin break out in goosebumps under her clothes.
Hannah was stunned. She had honestly never considered Jack thinking of her in a sexual context before, and the knowledge that he did was sending her into a spin. She hadn’t thought of him in that context either, but suddenly she was very aware of him sitting in the car beside her. His size. His strength. His maleness.
She felt flustered and flattered at the same time.
It had been so long since any man had paid this kind of attention to her—so long since she’d thought of herself as a desirable woman. Dwight had eroded her confidence in her sexuality over the years. Whereas Jack, with his repeated assertions tonight about fancying her, and his hot gaze now roving over her, was very definitely revitalising her self-esteem in that regard.
A startling train of thought jumped into Hannah’s mind and she sucked in a sharp breath. Jack believes you’re his fiancee. He believes you’re already lovers. Maybe he’ll expect you to go to bed with him tonight as a matter of course?
Dear heavens, she hadn’t thought of that!
There she’d been, imagining that she would only have to tuck him into bed, bring hot cocoa and generally play nursemaid till his memory came back. She had never contemplated having to fend off a very virile male who already believed he’d been to bed with her and was wanting to relive what he thought he’d missed.
Hannah had to nip this potential complication in the bud, so to speak, before it blossomed into a full-blown problem.
‘If you don’t mind, Jack,’ she said awkwardly. ‘Till you get your memory back, I’d prefer us to resume the relationship we used to have as just secretary and boss. I don’t think I’d feel comfortable with anything else just now—what with your not remembering anything about our…er…new intimacy.’
‘Really? Well, I guess I can understand that, but I sure hope I get my memory back soon,’ he muttered testily.
Amen to that, Hannah prayed.
‘The doctor said your memory could come back at any time,’ she said soothingly.
‘The sooner the better,’ he grumbled.
A silence descended in the car, which suited Hannah. She was approaching the turn-off, and had to concentrate. Was it around this corner or the next? She wished it would stop raining. It was hard enough to spot in the daytime in fine weather.
The car rounded the corner and, yes, there was the turn-off. Relieved to have done with the highway, Hannah still had to slow appreciably as she turned on to the narrow and bumpy dirt track which led down to the cottage.
The headlights tunnelled through the sleety darkness, showing puddle-filled potholes plus the closeness of the encroaching bushland. They picked up a pair of glassy eyes up in a tree as the road turned. A possum, probably, Hannah thought. Not a koala. Koalas weren’t at all nocturnal.
‘What an isolated place,’ Jack said.
‘Actually, we do have several neighbours, but their homes are set back from the road and you just can’t see them through the bush.’
‘Is the cottage heated? If it isn’t, we’ll freeze to death.’
‘It has two efficient combustion heaters built into the old fireplaces—one in the living-room and one in the kitchen. We’ll be warm as toast once I get them going.’
‘Won’t the wood be wet?’
‘I stacked plenty in the laundry when I was up here last weekend,’ Hannah informed him without thinking.
‘You came up here last weekend?’ he immediately pounced, and she could have bitten her stupid tongue off. ‘Alone?’ he added on a puzzled note.
‘Yes, you were busy working,’ she said, marvelling at the speed with which she could lie. Not that it was all a lie. He had been busy. Busy having a dirty weekend with the treacherous Felicia, at a guest-house not all that far from here. Hannah had booked it for him herself. ‘The place needed airing,’ she went on quite truthfully. ‘It hadn’t been used for a while and I was thinking of bringing the boys up here next schoolbreak.’
‘The boys,’ Jack repeated thoughtfully, and Hannah wanted to kick herself. Why, oh, why had she brought them up?
Jack swivelled to face her. ‘Do Chris and Stuart know about us?’
‘No, they don’t,’ Hannah replied frustratedly. Jack had met her sons during their last schoolbreak, when they’d wanted to come and see where she worked. He had kindly taken them on a tour of the premises and attached exhibition homes, and they’d taken a real shine to him.
‘Remember, we only got engaged this last week,’ she added. ‘Look, Jack, perhaps you should leave all those sorts of questions till after you get your memory back as well, then most of them won’t be necessary. I think that would be less complicated and much less wearing all round.’
His sigh showed a very real weariness. ‘You’re right. I think I’m giving myself another headache trying to work everything out.’ And he slumped down in the passenger seat, his head and shoulders drooping.
She slanted him an anxious look. ‘Are you sure you feel all right?’
‘I’ll live.’
‘You should be in bed, resting.’
‘You could be right.’ He began rubbing his temples.
‘Won’t be long now,’ she said, throwing him a motherly smile. ‘Here we are, in fact.’
The cottage was old and quaint, made of stone, with a pitched iron roof and two chimneys. It had a small enclosed front porch and front door with stained-glass windows on either side. Inside it had a central hall which opened into two bedrooms and one bathroom on the right, and one long living-room on the left. At the end of the hall was a large, comfy country kitchen, whose large pantry had been converted to a sleekly modern laundry, complete with dryer. Out at the back a wide and sunny veranda overlooked thick bushland, with mountain peaks in the distance.
Two paths led from this back veranda—one leading off on a bushwalk the boys called the Boomerang, because it brought one right back to its starting point, and the other going round the side of the house to a small stone shed which had once housed an old dunny and an equally ancient laundry, complete with copper and washboard. Now it was where the wood, the mower and other various tools were kept.
Hannah loved the place—its simplicity and its peace and quiet. The boys had always liked it too—especially the bushwalking. She’d come up here with them as often as she could after Dwight had bought it, mostly without her husband. He had always seemed to find some excuse not to come at the last minute. Hannah had suspected he was having affairs back then, but had turned a blind eye to it till the day had come when she had been forced to face her cowardice and make a stand.
Recalling her husband’s infidelity renewed her resolve to do whatever she could to stop Jack from marrying that amoral woman. She would let Jack believe what he liked about their relationship provided he stayed up here with her, alone and away from Felicia’s influence. Of course, that didn’t include sleeping with him. That was carrying gratitude too far!
Gritting her teeth, Hannah pulled the car up next to the front steps and switched off the ignition.
‘You go on inside,’ she told Jack briskly.
‘There’s a big brass key in the geranium pot on the top step which opens the front door. Your bedroom will be the first on the right. I’ll get your things.’
He frowned. ‘When did you get my things?’
‘While you were asleep. Come, now, no more questions, remember? Just accept I have everything in hand.’
‘My ever-efficient Hannah,’ he said, opening his door. ‘How did I ever manage before you came along?’
Hannah knew what he was referring to. She often did little domestic chores for him, like delivering and picking up his dry-cleaning. She also took care of his personal bills, which he had a tendency to overlook when he was busy on a new project.
‘At least now I’ll never have to manage without you again,’ he said, his smile disturbingly tender.
Hannah sat, transfixed, when he unexpectedly leant back over and took her mouth with his in an incredibly gentle kiss. The softly sensuous contact of his lips brushing hers sent little shivers of delight running up and down her spine. She stared at him as his head lifted, stared deep into those deep blue eyes, true panic welling up within her.
No, no, came the frantic thought. I can’t allow this kind of thing to happen. It’s not fair to him, or to me. I must speak now—tell him the truth before it’s too late.
But then he kissed her again, not quite so gently, and immediately she lost the plot. Common sense kept telling her to keep her lips shut, but her lips didn’t seem to be connected to her brain.
His tongue swept deep into her mouth, and she felt it all the way down to her toes. When she moaned, his hands cupped her face, holding it captive as his kiss grew more and more demanding. And more and more seductive. Hannah ached to surrender to its heat, and to its promise of more to come. It had been so long since she’d been kissed like this. Too long, obviously.
Guilt finally fought its way through Hannah’s scrambled thought-processes, and she wrenched her mouth away from his, pulling back out of his grasp. ‘No, stop!’ she gasped. ‘I can’t let you do this.’
‘Why not?’ he returned thickly.
Because I don’t love you, she could have said. Because you’re not my fiancé. Because my response comes from nothing but years of frustration and neglect.
But Jack wasn’t in a fit state for the truth tonight. And neither was she. Maybe in the morning.
‘Your…your headache,’ she said instead.
‘What headache?’
‘Jack, stop it. You promised. I…I can’t handle this just now. And neither can you. The doctor said you had to rest. You might be suffering from concussion. The last activity you need is anything to get your blood pressure up. Surely this can wait till you’re better?’
Jack let out a shuddering sigh. ‘You’re no doubt right. But damn it all, Hannah, I can’t seem to stop thinking about you, and what it must be like between us. Hell, it must be incredible to have propelled us into a level 01 caring and commitment that didn’t exist six weeks ago. Surely you can understand my curiosity…’
Everything inside Hannah tightened when Jack reached out to lay a tender hand against her cheek. His blue eyes, normally so cool and businesslike, washed over her with a passionate warmth which had a decidedly heating effect on her blood.
‘Now that I’ve had a small taste of what’s to come,’ he said, ‘I have to admit my impatience to have you in my arms. Besides, I rather like the idea of making love to you while I can’t remember. It would be like experiencing our first time over again.’
‘Jack, please don’t make it hard for me to keep saying no,’ she pleaded, and meant it. For, astonishingly, she was tempted to go to bed with him.
It wasn’t love, or even lust, she believed. To be honest, Jack wasn’t her physical type at all. She’d always been attracted to fair-haired, smoothly elegant men like Dwight. It had to be because she just wanted to be wanted. Wanted to be needed. Wanted to be stroked and kissed and told she was desirable and beautiful.
Hannah was amazed—and rather shocked—at how strongly she was tempted to take advantage of the situation she’d created with her impulsive deception. Only the realisation that Jack would eventually get his memory back stopped her. As it was, she was still probably going to lose her job over this. Things had already got further out of hand than she’d ever anticipated.
‘This weekend we’re just good friends,’ she stated stiffly. ‘Nothing more.’
‘We’ll see, Hannah,’ he muttered, his hand dropping away from her cheek. ‘We’ll see.’
‘I mean it, Jack,’ she said, her voice hardening further. ‘Till you get your memory back, our relationship is strictly platonic.’
‘And what if I said I’ve already got my memory back?’ he tossed back, watching her face all the while.
Hannah was only shaken for a split-second. ‘You’d be lying,’ she said, quite confidently.
‘How can you be sure?’
‘I just can.’
‘Hmm. Now, I wonder why that is, Hannah, love? What else has happened during the last six weeks to make you sure I’m still in the dark? No, don’t tell me. I don’t think I want to know. Not tonight. The morning will be soon enough to find out the awful truth. Tonight I think I’d best remain in blessed oblivion.’
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_04ea9e41-6096-5319-905b-3b7d129223e1)
BLESSED oblivion…
I could do with some of that, Hannah thought ruefully as she bent to put another log on the fire.
She stayed on her haunches, staring blankly into the flames, wishing she had never started any of this. It had been a crazy idea. She should have just told Jack the truth right away—all of it-and let him handle the situation with Felicia as he saw fit. He didn’t need a mother to hold his hand. He was a grown man.
It had been a mistake in judgement to embark on this ridiculous deception—a silly, impulsive reaction which she hadn’t thought through at all properly.
But it was not too late to tell Jack the truth. By morning it might be, however. By then he might well have regained his memory, and he would be furious with her. Not only furious, but suspicious of her motives in doing such a thing. He might even harbour doubts over her story about Felicia and Gerald Boynton, which was the last thing she wanted.
Hannah smothered an exasperated sigh. ‘O what a tangled web we weave, When first we practise to deceive!’
‘You make a good fire.’
Hannah flinched, then threw a rather stiff smile over her shoulder. Jack was sprawled along one of the two overstuffed sofas which flanked the living-room fireplace, his normally macho-clad frame distractingly clothed in the sleek navy silk pyjamas she’d found in his drawers. He was propped up on one elbow, his hands cupped around a mug of hot chocolate. His feet were bare but not his chin. It was sporting the beginnings of more than a five o’clock shadow.
This was hardly new for Jack. He often didn’t shave, sometimes letting two or three days go by before he bothered. Clearly he hadn’t bothered this morning. Hannah had always found such inattention to personal grooming unappealing. Dwight had been so meticulous in such matters.
Tonight, however, she found it disturbingly attractive. It seemed to highlight Jack’s almost animal-like maleness, the silk pyjamas not really disguising a body more suited to caveman times than the nineties.
All thoughts of telling her boss the truth fled from her mind for a few moments, replaced by memories of how it had felt when he’d kissed her back in the car. She’d tried not to think about that in the hour since they’d arrived, during which time she’d busied herself with all sorts of household chores: lighting both fires, unpacking Jack’s clothes, running him a hot bath, making them both some food and drink, showering and changing herself.
Now, all of a sudden, she couldn’t stop thinking about her response to Jack’s kisses, and what it might feel like to go to bed with him. The realisation that she was undressing him with her eyes and wondering if he was as well-built downstairs as he was everywhere else, really shocked her.
Wrenching her eyes away from him, she busied herself pushing the log right in, then closing and securing the glass door. ‘I’ve had plenty of practice at firemaking,’ she said, disguising her inner turmoil under a matter-of-fact voice. ‘Not to mention wood-chopping and mowing. Dwight wasn’t what you’d call the handyman type.’
Neither had he been a complimenter. It came to Hannah then that Jack was always praising her. She loved that about him.
But she didn’t love him. The only man she’d ever loved was Dwight, her husband and the father of her children. No doubt, underneath her hurt and her anger, she was still in love with the rotter!
So why, dammit, couldn’t she stop thinking about making love with Jack?
Hannah almost groaned in total exasperation at herself. There was no doubt about it now. She had to tell him the truth. And she had to tell him before things got any further out of hand.
But how? It wasn’t going to be easy.
Frowning, she rose from her haunches, wiping her hands down the legs of her jeans before pulling down her jumper from where it had ridden up over her hips.
‘I like you dressed like that.’
Hannah’s eyes snapped up, blinking her surprise and automatic scepticism. Around the time she had turned thirty Dwight had started saying that her derriere was too big to wear jeans, so she’d left all her jeans up here, to wear when Dwight wasn’t with her. Admittedly she’d lost weight in the time she’d worked for Jack, but she still found it hard to believe that any man would genuinely fancy her in jeans.
It wasn’t her derrière Jack was staring at, however, but the thrust of her full breasts against the soft wool of the pink jumper. They tingled beneath his scrutiny, swelling and peaking hard within her bra.
Her body’s response both shamed and excited Hannah. God, but it was an eternity since such a thing had happened to her like that—so automatically, so wantonly.
‘I like women in casual clothes,’ Jack said. ‘It makes them look approachable. You’ve no idea how much more approachable you look in those jeans than the tailored suits you usually wear to work. Mmm, I think I might make jeans your uniform,’ he added, then chuckled drily. ‘Perhaps not. I’d never get any work done.’ Swinging his bare feet on to the floor, he sat up and patted the sofa next to him with his spare hand. ‘Come over and sit down. You haven’t stopped working since we arrived. It’s time you put up your feet.’
Hannah’s heart lurched. She stared at him for a few terrifyingly electric moments before panic at the feelings spiralling through her sent her scurrying towards the other sofa. ‘I’ll just sit over here, I think,’ she babbled. ‘There’s not much room next to you and you might spill your drink.’
‘No, I won’t,’ he said, sliding down to the far corner and depositing the mug on the side-table right next to his elbow. ‘Now there’s room,’ he said, patting the sofa again, his blue eyes glittering with desire as they raked over her breasts once more.
Her panic flared anew. And she must have shown it.
His frown was swift and dark. ‘What is it, Hannah?’ he asked. ‘What’s troubling you?’
‘Nothing,’ she lied, sitting there with her knees clenched together and her hands nervously massaging her thighs. ‘Nothing.’
‘You can’t honestly expect me to believe that. Your face is an open book, if one wants to take the time to read it. Something’s definitely wrong,’ he insisted, his penetrating blue eyes giving her no mercy.
He moved forward to perch on the edge of the sofa, his hands on his knees. ‘Look, Hannah, I know I said I didn’t want you to tell me any nasties till the morning, but I can see neither of us will sleep properly if the air isn’t cleared. So out with it,’ he commanded in his most effective ‘boss’ voice. ‘What else has happened during the last six weeks which has you all tied up in knots?’
She grimaced, knowing that this was the chance she’d been looking for—the opportune moment to unburden her conscience. All she had to do was open her mouth and let the truth spill out.
But it just wasn’t that easy. Not at all. Her head whirled and her tongue felt thick. She couldn’t seem to find the right words. Or any words at all!
Her stricken expression brought an answering anxiety to his face.
‘My God, it’s not the business, is it?’ he burst out, his head snapping up, his knuckles going white as his large hands gripped his knees. ‘I haven’t somehow stuffed it up, have I? I could bear just about anything, but not that. I’ve worked too long and too hard to start at the bottom of the heap again.’
Hannah’s heart went out to him. She’d heard the stories about his childhood in a state institution for orphans, how he’d left to strike out on his own at fourteen, a boy with the body of a man, how he’d worked as a builder’s labourer and learnt his trade by trial and error. He’d started small, buying a single block of land, building a house on it and selling it as a package, then using the profit to buy two blocks of land, repeating the process till he’d become one of the biggest home-builders in New South Wales.
Hannah could appreciate Jack’s panic. In his shoes, she’d have felt exactly the same.
His obvious distress had the effect of her finding her voice. To a degree.
‘Nothing bad’s happened to the business, Jack,’ she insisted fiercely. ‘Truly. If you must know, I…I…’ Once again her voice dried up, her courage failing her anew.
‘What?’ he demanded impatiently. ‘For God’s sakes what, Hannah?’
It was no use. She just couldn’t tell him the truth. Not yet. Not tonight.
‘I…I’ve failed, Jack,’ she blurted out instead, jumping to her feet. ‘At giving up smoking. I…I’m sorry but I just didn’t make it. Now I simply have to have a cigarette!’ Which was true. Anything to calm the nerves that were tap-dancing all through her body. ‘I think I left a packet out in the kitchen,’ she said, and promptly fled the room.
‘And there I was, thinking something disastrous had happened,’ he called after her, an amused chuckle betraying his relief.
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