The Marriage Risk
Emma Darcy
If only Lucy's sexy boss, James Hancock, would see her as a desirable woman, not just his sensible secretary! Unbuttoning Lucy's prim suits is indeed on James's mind….But will he lose the best assistant he's ever had?Lucy is thrilled when James sweeps her into an intense affair. But when passion leads to pregnancy…dare she risk marriage with him?
“This is not the office,” James growled at her, his expression thunderous.
“You’re still my boss,” Lucy countered.
“Time you stopped putting your life into neat little pockets,” James told her. “Forget playing safe. Take a risk.”
He caught her totally off guard, hauling her in to him with a thump that left her breathless. Or maybe it was the impact of feeling a vital wall of muscle connected to her wobbly frame that stole her ability to breathe.
“Now melt,” he commanded gruffly.
And Lucy melted.
Some of our bestselling authors are Australian!
Emma Darcy…
Helen Bianchin…
Miranda Lee…
Lindsay Armstrong…
Look out for their novels about the Wonder of Down Under—where spirited women win the hearts of Australia’s most eligible men.
Coming soon:
Marriage at a Price
by Miranda Lee
The Marriage Risk
Emma Darcy
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER ONE
‘AND how is my ever delightful and worthy Miss Worthington this morning?’
Lucy gritted her teeth against a seething wave of resentment, almost hating the man who clearly had no idea how such blithely tossed off words lacerated her heart.
The breezy greeting from her boss probably meant he’d spent a highly pleasurable night with his latest woman. His voice lilted with macho smugness, a sure sign of sexual satisfaction, and his playful play on her surname accentuated the fact that Lucy wasn’t the type he’d toss in his bed, however delightful she might be to work with. Worthy women didn’t excite him.
Though if her breasts were big enough to fill and overflow a D-cup bra, he might consider her more bed-worthy, Lucy thought caustically, ungritting her teeth and turning from the filing cabinet to direct a bland smile at the sexy wolf who employed her as his sensible secretary.
‘Good morning, sir,’ she piped sweetly.
James Hancock was the classic tall dark and handsome prototype, with the potent addition of a shrewd business brain and the kind of charm that won friends and influenced all the right people. He was thirty-four, in the prime of life, had the well-earned reputation of being a dynamic agent in the entertainment field, which helped make him an A-list bachelor in Sydney society, and he was definitely exuding an air of being on top of his world.
His rakish black eyebrows lifted. ‘Sir?’
She cocked her head on one side, returning his quizzical look. ‘Weren’t you cueing me to greet you formally with your Miss Worthington?’
He laughed, his blue eyes twinkling devilish delight. ‘The comeback queen strikes again. What would I do without you to entertain me, Lucy?’
Resentment crawled down her spine and loosened her tongue. ‘I imagine you’d quickly find someone else to score off.’
‘Score off?’ he repeated incredulously. ‘My dear Lucy, the scoring honours invariably go to you.’
‘Really? I hadn’t noticed.’
She picked up the files she’d extracted from the cabinet and carried them to her desk, ready to hand them over to him.
‘It comes naturally to you,’ he assured her, grinning from ear to ear. ‘One of the joys of office hours, hearing your salty down-to-earth comments. They invariably reduce all the hype in this business to what’s real and what isn’t. An invaluable talent.’
‘Invaluable enough to be worth a raise in salary?’
‘Ouch!’ He mockingly slapped a hand against his forehead. ‘She strikes again.’
‘Pure logic, James,’ she pointed out with limpid innocence while savagely wanting him to pay for seeing her as nothing but a bottom line sounding board when it came to dealing with his high-flying clients. ‘You’ll need to check these files while answering this morning’s e-mails. Is there anything else you need from me right now?’ she asked, pressing for him to enter his own office and leave her alone to get over the frustrations he aroused in her.
He ignored the files, shaking an admonishing finger at her. ‘You’re a money-grubber, Lucy Worthington.’
She shrugged. ‘A woman has to look out for herself these days. I just don’t believe in free meal-tickets.’ Which was a neat little jibe at the women he favoured, women who traded on lush physical assets to get where they wanted.
‘Ha!’ James crowed. ‘I gave you free tickets to tonight’s charity bash.’
‘Oh?’ Lucy viewed him with sceptical eyes. ‘You’re not expecting anything of me, like being conveniently on hand to fix up some last-minute hitch with the program?’
‘Completely free,’ he insisted loftily.
‘How novel!’ She smiled. ‘I might just keep you to that, James.’
‘A reward for all the good work you’ve done in putting the program together.’
Since the tickets were a thousand dollars each and her salary was already generous, Lucy couldn’t, in all conscience, imply she wasn’t well rewarded for the job she did. ‘Thank you. I shall look forward to relaxing and enjoying myself tonight,’ she said dismissively while still doubting the tickets were entirely free of obligation.
Why would he give them to her if he didn’t want her there for some reason?
His eyes twinkled. ‘It will be my pleasure to see you enjoying yourself, Lucy.’
He did have a motive. She could feel it in her bones.
‘Who are you bringing?’ he tossed at her as he finally picked up the files she’d supplied.
‘A friend.’
One eyebrow lifted teasingly. ‘A male friend?’
Did he think her so sexless she couldn’t have one? Lucy struggled to maintain a calm demeanour. ‘Yes. Is that a problem for you?’ The challenge slid off her tongue before she could stop it.
‘Not at all. Glad to hear it.’
He went off smiling, carrying the files he needed, leaving the door between their two offices open so he could call out to her when he wanted to.
Lucy sagged onto the chair behind her desk, shaken by the thought his last words had conjured up. Had he suspected she only had female friends? That she might even be a lesbian, because she didn’t openly adore him like all the other women who came through these offices?
A wave of wretched misery churned through her stomach. She should get herself out of this job. It was eating up any kind of normal life she might have, being with James Hancock every working day, constantly wanting him, being jealous of every woman who took his eye.
He was never going to view her as anything other than an efficient secretary. Eight months she’d been with him—eight months of a helpless sexual awareness she couldn’t control or even dampen. Lust at first sight, she now thought with sick irony, and it hadn’t worn off.
No other man had ever drawn such a strong physical response from her. In fact, she had never really understood why other women got themselves in such a mess over men, losing all perspective and self-respect, too, when they were badly let down. Being sensible had been Lucy’s long-held belief on how one should conduct one’s life. Indeed, her mother had drilled it into her from early childhood and Lucy had come to see it saved her from a lot of grief.
But being sensible couldn’t seem to override what James Hancock made her feel. Over the years she had admired the physiques of other men, but it wasn’t just physique with James. Somehow he emanated a sexual energy that was quintessentially male, and as much as she’d tried to block it out, it always got to her, stirring up a hornet’s nest of hormones.
Despairingly she propped her elbows on the desk and rested her head in her hands. The truth was, she didn’t feel she really belonged to herself any more, and she didn’t like the person she was becoming. What right did she have to think bitchy thoughts about women she didn’t know, just because James favoured them over her? It was pure sour grapes and if she didn’t stop it, she’d end up sour all through.
She should move on. Give in her notice and go.
It was the sensible thing to do.
Today was Friday. First thing Monday morning her resignation would be on his desk.
No doubt James would have his latest gorgeous model on his arm tonight at the charity ball for the Starwish Foundation, and no doubt it would ram home to her how hopeless it was to spend any more time craving what would never be available to her.
Come Monday she would definitely have screwed herself up to hand in her notice and put James Hancock behind her. For good!
So…she was bringing a man. Interesting to see what kind of man Lucy favoured, James told himself as he settled at his desk and switched on the computer. She never chatted about her private life and he couldn’t deny he was curious. Most women opened up to him but not Lucy.
She was one very buttoned up lady who never lost her head over anything. Which made her the perfect assistant in his line of work, with half his clients all too ready to throw a fit of temperament if any little upset occurred. Put Lucy in the eye of a storm and she could ground everyone in no time flat by coming up with the most sensible response to the situation.
An accountant he decided. That was the kind of man Lucy would approve of—a nice, safe accountant, solid and dependable, someone who’d never broken a law in his life and never would, a nine-to-five man, regular in his habits, serious-minded, considerate of her needs, probably wore spectacles with fine gold rims and very conservative clothes. That was Lucy’s taste—neat and conservative.
James nodded to himself as he brought up the e-mail inbox on the monitor screen. He was sure he was right but Lucy had been with him eight months and all that time there’d been an elusive quality about her that nagged at him. More so, the longer they’d been together. It was worth giving her the tickets to get those tantalising flashes of something else brooding behind Lucy Worthington’s buttoned up exterior sorted out in his mind.
He’d even started thinking about her when he was with other women, missing her sharp wit, wondering what she might be like in bed. And that had to be stopped. He was not going to mess with the best secretary he’d ever had. Besides which, Lucy would probably be horrified at some of the thoughts he’d been harbouring lately. Seeing her with a man of her choice—almost certainly an accountant—would definitely affirm her not-to-be-played-with status.
The telephone rang. He picked up the receiver.
‘Buffy Tanner for you on line one,’ Lucy stated crisply.
‘Thank you.’ He smiled as he pressed the button to take the the call. Nothing hidden about Buffy. She let it all hang out. And that was fine by him. Very relaxing.
‘Hi, Buffy,’ he said warmly, bringing her lush curves to mind.
‘James darling, I’m sorry to be calling you in business hours, but I might not be able to catch you later. What time did you tell me I have to be ready by for tonight?’
He winced. Punctuality was not Buffy’s strong point. ‘Seven-thirty. And we must leave on the dot. I did warn you.’
She sighed. ‘I have a long shooting schedule today. A new swimwear range at Bondi Beach. I’ll be a mess. Will it matter if we’re a bit late?’
‘Yes, it will matter. It’s my people doing the show tonight. I have to be on hand. If you want to cry off…’
‘No, of course I don’t.’
He could hear her pouting. A very sexy pout it was, too, but right now he felt impatient with it.
‘Seven-thirty, Buffy. Be ready or I’ll go without you,’ he said irritably and cut the connection, thinking Lucy wouldn’t keep her man waiting. She was a very precise time-keeper, always ensuring that appointments were kept.
With a niggling sense of discontent, James applied himself to answering the e-mails that required an immediate response. He worked through them, adding the printouts to the files, making notes of things for Lucy to check. She never slipped up on details, which was another thing he liked about her. He could count on Lucy getting things right. No excuses. Meticulous attention to detail.
He called her into his office, his instructions already clipped onto the files for her attention. He smiled over his own judgement of her as she walked in, wearing her all-purpose navy suit, smart, classic, timeless, typical of what a sensible career woman would buy. It would take her anywhere and never go out of fashion.
The skirt ended modestly, just above her knees. No micro-minis for Lucy. Yet what could be seen of her legs—nicely shaped calves and fine ankles—suggested the full length of them could form quite a distracting sight. Just as well they weren’t on show, James told himself, mentally approving her choice of apparel which neatly skimmed her cute little figure.
Being below average height, Lucy could never be called statuesque, but she was certainly built in pleasing proportion, and the way she twitched her pert bottom at times was definitely distracting. And tempting. James stifled these wayward thoughts and fixed his gaze on her face.
It was a finely boned face, not strikingly pretty, though if all the make-up tricks of a beautician were applied to it, James fancied it could look quite stunning. It, also, was perfectly proportioned, though the spectacles she wore gave it a prim look, which was accentuated by the way her hair was pulled back and pinned into a chignon from which no tendrils ever escaped.
The thought of unpinning what was obviously a wealth of soft brown hair presented a tantalising prospect. Would Lucy come undone in other ways? And if he took her spectacles off, what would he see in her eyes?
As it was, all he saw was a bright intelligence looking at him expectantly, nothing but business on her mind.
Piqued by her apparent indifference to what many other women considered his attractions, James found himself blurting out, ‘Is he an accountant?’ and could have instantly kicked himself for letting her get under his skin to this extent.
Her smooth creamy forehead creased as her eyebrows lifted above the colourless rims of her spectacles. ‘To whom are you referring?’
Instead of dismissing the slip—the only prudent thing to do at this point—James lost his head completely to a potent mixture of compelling curiosity and a rebellious rush of seriously displaced hormones.
‘Your partner for the ball tonight,’ he shot at her.
She looked incredulous. ‘You want to know if he’s an accountant?’
‘Is he?’
‘Do you need an accountant on hand for some reason?’
‘No, I don’t need one.’
Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. ‘Then why are you asking?’
Why, indeed? James gritted his teeth. He was getting no satisfaction here and was fast making himself look foolish. His mind zapped through possible escape routes.
‘Conversation always goes more smoothly if I’m prepared with a knowledge of people’s backgrounds. Your partner is the only one I won’t know at our table.’
She stared at him. Her chin took on a mulish tilt. Her shoulders visibly squared. In fact, her whole body took on a tense rigidity. Even her hands clenched. James had the wild notion she was barely stopping herself from stepping forward and hitting him. Which, of course was ridiculous! He’d made a reasonable statement. He did like to be prepared with background information before meeting anyone. She knew that.
Though he had to concede this was more personal than professional ground. Her private partner wasn’t exactly his business. Maybe it was simply the effect of the glass lenses but her eyes looked very glittery and he was definitely sensing some dagger-like thoughts being directed very sharply at him. But dammit all! He was going to meet the guy tonight so what was she getting so uptight about?
‘Why do you think my escort for the ball is an accountant, James?’ she bit out, her voice dripping with icicles.
‘Well, is he?’ he persisted, frustrated by her evasive tactics.
‘Generally speaking, people consider accountants boring,’ she stated, once again denying him an answer.
‘Not at all. Obviously they’re very intelligent, very clever, very astute,’ he put in quickly.
‘Boring,’ she repeated as though she was drilling a hole in his head. ‘Boringly worthy for Lucy Worthington.’
Uh-oh! James saw the red rag waving. He instantly gestured appeasement. ‘Now, Lucy, I have never thought you boring. You know that,’ he pressed earnestly. ‘And I can’t imagine you tolerating a boring man. You’re taking this the wrong way. I was merely wondering…’
‘What kind of man I’d bring.’
The intense focus of her eyes was like an electric drill, sparks flying as it kept tunneling into his brain to the true core of his question. James shifted uncomfortably. He didn’t like the sense of her seeing right through him. No doubt about it—he’d dug himself a hole and somehow he had to climb out of it with some fast face-saving.
‘It would be helpful if you’d give me his name, Lucy,’ he said reasonably, dropping the background issue which had stirred her into this totally unacceptable attack. ‘It would save any slip-up with introductions.’
Her mouth thinned. Her eyes glittered even more sharply. He sensed her fierce urge to cut him to ribbons and perversely enough—given the tricky situation he’d brought upon himself—he felt quite pumped up by the passion she was emitting. Nothing cool and collected about this Lucy. Clearly he’d tapped into the real flesh and blood woman beneath the navy suit and James found himself actually getting excited—aroused by the prospect of the inner Lucy emerging. If she did step forward to tangle with him physically…
‘Josh Rogan,’ she said.
‘What?’
‘You asked for his name,’ she tersely reminded him.
James gave himself a swift mental shake as deflation set in. The navy suit had won again, damn it! The Lucy he’d wanted to experience was in full retreat. Which was just as well, he told himself, quelling the madness of imagining her sprawled across his desk while he satisfied a rampant desire for the most intimate knowledge of her. It was absurd to have this sudden burst of sexual fantasies about his secretary when he had Buffy Tanner more than willing to satisfy his carnal needs.
‘Josh Rogan,’ he repeated, grateful that Lucy had her head on straight and was heeding what was appropriate in the work-place between boss and secretary. However, something about the name she’d given niggled him. ‘Isn’t there a lamb curry called Josh Rogan?’
He was almost sure of it, the suspicion instantly growing that Lucy was paying him back by giving a false name that would embarrass him when he used it tonight.
‘No,’ she said with a fine edge of scorn. ‘The curry is called Rogan Josh.’
‘Oh!’ He frowned. Was she playing him up or not?
Her mouth softened and curled. ‘Actually, I don’t think Josh would mind your confusing him with the curry.’ Her hips gave a wicked little wiggle as she added, ‘He is hot stuff.’
Hot stuff? Lucy with hot stuff? Unaccountably James felt his temperature rising. ‘I’ll keep that in mind,’ he snapped. ‘You can take these files now. I’ve made notes for you.’
‘Fine!’
She smiled at him as she stepped forward and scooped them up from the desk. Then she sashayed out of his office with all the feline grace of a cat, waving its tail in his face.
James sat brooding over this aspect of Lucy Worthington for some time. He was definitely right about her. There was much more to Lucy than met the eye. The navy suit was nothing but a front, designed to put him off seeking the real truth about the kind of woman who burned inside it.
Good thing he’d given her those free tickets. It was going to be interesting—illuminating—to see how she behaved with her hot stuff tonight. Hair down, sexy dress, full make-up on, no spectacles…if her Josh Rogan was truly hot stuff, he’d expect that of her.
A zing of anticipation tingled through James. It had nothing to do with looking forward to having Buffy Tanner on his arm tonight. He didn’t even think of the swimsuit model with the lush curves and sexy pout.
Tonight he was going to see the unbuttoned Lucy Worthington in action!
CHAPTER TWO
LUCY was still boiling mad as she stomped up the stairs to her first-floor apartment in Bellevue Hill at six o’clock that evening.
An accountant!
A boring old accountant!
O-o-o-o-h, she wanted to punch James Hancock’s lights out with Josh tonight. She wanted to see him sitting at their table, looking like a stunned mullet as her partner outshone him, which Josh was perfectly capable of doing, the ultimate party guy when he was in brilliant form—huge charisma, pouring out his energy in bursts of winning charm. And he was as handsome as sin.
It was handy that he lived right next door to her in this old apartment block. All she had to do was ask and either Josh or his partner, Larry Berger, would help her with anything she needed help with. Gay men, she had decided long ago, could make the very best friends for a woman.
Even before she had known Josh was gay, back in their school days, she had really liked him as a person and they’d been good friends. He was kind and sensitive and supportive, as well as being great fun.
She had been grateful to have him as her boyfriend then, being able to go out as a couple without any of the hassle of being pressured to have sex. Some boys could get mean and nasty in pushing their wants. Some men, too, she’d found in later years. Even the few relationships she’d enjoyed for a while had lost their shine with the build-up of selfish demands. On the whole, her mother was right. Men wanted women on their own terms and being fair didn’t come into the equation.
Josh was always sweet relief from all that. His company had no price-tag on it. He was safe and safe was good. She couldn’t get into any trouble with Josh Rogan. He didn’t feel any sexual desire for her and she didn’t feel any for him. In fact, he was the perfect foil to her ungovernable feelings towards James Hancock, whom, in her wilder fantasies, she’d like to handcuff to her bed and watch him go mad with lust for her.
Which she knew was absurd!
James Hancock was never going to see her as anything but his worthy secretary. But no way was she going to let him think the only man she could attract was a boring accountant!
Having emerged from the stairwell, she bypassed her apartment door and strode straight to Josh’s, ringing his doorbell with an emphatic need for a swift response.
He was satisfyingly prompt in opening the door. ‘Lucy love!’ His eyebrows arched over merry brown eyes. ‘A change in plan?’
‘Yes,’ she snarled as a fresh rush of venom spilled onto her tongue. ‘My beastly employer thinks my escort this evening will be an accountant.’
‘Like…boring?’
Very quick on the uptake was Josh. ‘Exactly,’ she confirmed. ‘In retaliation I told him you were hot stuff.’
‘Absolutely! When I’m hot I literally sizzle with high octane energy. You want me to sizzle?’
‘I want you to burn him up. And Josh, wear that gorgeous metallic waistcoast and the blue silk tie.’
‘A touch of flamboyance with the formal suit?’
‘Shining is the order of the night.’
‘Lucy love, I shall glitter for you.’
‘Not too much,’ she warned. ‘You’re not to let anyone guess you’re gay.’
‘Totally straight behaviour, I promise.’
She heaved a sigh to relieve all the horrid pent-up feelings James Hancock had left her with today. ‘I need to get that guy, Josh.’
‘In more ways than one I gather.’
She eyed him wryly. ‘Hopeless case, I’m afraid.’
‘Oh, little miracles can happen.’ He grinned, gleeful mischief twinkling in his eyes. ‘Trust me. We’ll make the man see you in a different light tonight.’
‘I’ll still be me, Josh.’
‘And so you should be. It’s his vision at fault, Lucy love, not you,’ he assured her. ‘Now go and put your glitter gear on and practice some sultry looks in the mirror. If I sizzle and you simmer…’
Despite the dejection that had suddenly overtaken her anger, she laughed at the picture he painted. ‘I’m not exactly a sex-pot and he’ll be with one. Buffy Tanner, the swimsuit model with the overflowing D-cup.’
Josh gestured an airy dismissal. ‘You’re fixated on big boobs. Superficial padding.’
‘Padding or not, I wish mine were bigger.’
‘Sexy is more in the attitude than the equipment,’ came the knowing advice. ‘And one other thing. Best to turn up late.’
‘I’m never late. I don’t like being late,’ she protested.
Sheer wickedness sparkled back at her. ‘But I’m hot stuff, Lucy love, and you just couldn’t resist having me. Punctuality shot to hell!’
She couldn’t help laughing again. ‘I doubt he’d even notice, Josh.’
‘Oh, he’ll notice all right.’ He waggled his eyebrows as he elaborated. ‘His predictable little secretary suddenly not fitting the frame he’s put her in. Believe me. He’ll notice.’
‘Well, I don’t actually need to be there on time,’ she argued to her obsession for punctuality. ‘He did say the tickets were free, no work-strings attached.’
‘There you are then,’ Josh asserted triumphantly. ‘Off you go. I’ll bring you a gin cocktail at seven-thirty. Some Mother’s Ruin to put you in the right party mood.’
They should be leaving at seven-thirty, her time-keeping brain dictated. It would take half an hour to get from Bellevue Hill to Darling Harbour, park Josh’s car, walk to the Sydney Convention Centre where the fund-raising ball was being held in the main auditorium. Cocktails in the foyer from eight o’clock the tickets read.
But so what if she had a cocktail here? The world would not come to an end if she didn’t turn up on the dot of eight o’clock. Why not be unpredictable for once?
‘Okay. And thanks, Josh.’ She flashed him an appreciative smile. ‘A friend in need is a friend indeed.’
The very best of friends, she thought warmly as she left him and let herself into her own apartment. Even this place, which was now hers—with a hefty mortgage—Josh had advised her was a good buy, if she could scrape up the money. The previous owners, now a divorced couple, had wanted a quick sale, and Lucy had stepped into a bargain, considering the real estate values in this location, midway between the inner city and Bondi Beach.
Walking into her very own space always gave her spirits a lift. James Hancock could call her a money-grubber as much as he liked. At least she didn’t have to depend on a man to provide her with the security of a home, which wasn’t secure at all if there was a divorce. Her careful savings over the years had added up to a solid down payment on this apartment. She was now a woman of property and she’d achieved it by herself.
Her mother was definitely right.
Being sensible did bring its own rewards.
Yet as Lucy headed for her bedroom, she wished she had splashed out and bought a glamorous gown for tonight. Although her one little black dress was perfectly adequate for any evening engagement, it was…boring. Not that it really mattered, she told herself. It was still a classy dress, bought cheaply from a secondhand designer boutique, and it would do…once again. She couldn’t compete with Buffy Tanner anyway. No point in trying. And the money saved would go towards buying the furniture she wanted.
All the same, she felt vaguely disgruntled with her basic common sense as she set about getting ready for the charity ball. It would undoubtedly give her considerable satisfaction to flaunt a flamboyant Josh as her partner tonight, hopefully delivering a metaphorical slap in the face to James Hancock and his opinion of her private life. But the truth was she never did do anything wildly exciting. Perhaps she was overly careful in her weighing up of whether a step was worth taking or not.
The worthy Miss Worthington…
The words stung.
The urge to act in a totally unworthy and outrageous way suddenly held a highly tempting attraction. Especially in front of James Hancock. Free tickets meant free from any responsibility. She could play as fast and as loose as she liked with Josh, knowing there’d be no nasty consequences from him, and if she was going to hand in her notice and find another job, why not do and say anything that came into her head. Puncturing James Hancock’s complacent judgement of her would go a long way towards salving her pride. And hurt.
Lawless Lucy…
She chuckled over the name that had slid into her mind.
Why not?
She stopped burning and started simmering. Attitude, Josh had said. Never mind her clothes or anything else. It was all in the attitude.
It wasn’t like Lucy to be late.
James Hancock couldn’t stop himself from glancing at his Rolex watch yet again. Another few minutes and the crowd of guests enjoying cocktails in the foyer would be moving into the auditorium. She should have been here at least half an hour ago. While he’d been waiting for her to arrive, he’d greeted an endless stream of the beautiful people and he could feel his smile getting very stiff. Damn the woman! Where was she?
His buoyant anticipation had slid through a frazzle of frustration at her continued non-appearance and was now descending into nagging worry. Had there been an accident? Lucy didn’t drive, didn’t own a car—too penny-pinching to buy one—but he knew nothing about this Josh Rogan who was bringing her here tonight. If he was hot stuff behind a wheel and had involved Lucy in a smash…no, surely she was too level-headed to go out with a speed-jerk.
But what was keeping her?
‘Wow! Who is that?’ Buffy breathed, her sexual interest obviously stirred.
James snapped out of his introspection, his male ego somewhat piqued. While Buffy might still be a bit miffed about his lack of appreciation for how long it took to look her fabulous best for him, drooling over other men was hardly designed to win his favour. It was as rude as unpunctuality, another black mark against continuing the relationship.
With a jaundiced eye, he looked where she was looking and was instantly jolted into electric attention. Lucy! Hanging onto the arm of a guy who could be cast as the romantic lead in a movie, and probably was!
He had a matinee idol face framed by a riot of black curls, a smile a dentist would be proud of, and he certainly didn’t mind drawing attention to what was obviously a gym-toned body, wearing a flashy waistcoat with an over-lustrous coloured tie which mocked the regular black bow-ties most of the other male guests, including himself, had automatically used.
A young trendy show-off, James was telling himself, just as Buffy heaved a sigh that undoubtedly set her opulent breasts aquiver for the approaching sex symbol to notice. His teeth grated together as he switched his attention to Lucy, who, he was suddenly pleased to see looked her normal self—hair neatly tucked up, glasses on, the same little black cocktail dress she invariably wore when called upon to attend an evening function.
Except there was something different about her—a jaunty self-satisfied sway to her hips—which struck him as decidedly un-prim. Her mouth, too, seemed to have a more sensual purse to her lips as she gazed up at the self-styled hot stuff, who was apparently amusing her with his playboy patter.
In fact, James began to feel that Lucy’s prim facade was more innately provocative than Buffy’s in-your-face femininity. It was certainly tantalising, posed next to the party guy who was parading her towards the group in which James and Buffy stood, waiting to be joined by these two last table companions.
Waiting, James thought irritably, able to dismiss his concern over Lucy’s absence now. No doubt it was the star act she had in tow who had kept them waiting. He struggled to adopt an affable manner for performing introductions, hoping Buffy would stop ogling and have the decency to remember who her escort was.
‘Ah!’ he drawled with a bright, welcoming smile. ‘Here you are! We’re about to go into the auditorium,’ he couldn’t resist adding to point out their lateness.
‘But there’s time for introductions,’ Buffy pressed eagerly, positively jiggling with eagerness.
‘Lucy…’ James invited, keeping his teeth clamped in a smile.
‘James Hancock, Josh Rogan,’ Lucy obliged with commendable economy.
James braced himself to return a macho handshake but apparently the younger man felt no need to prove himself stronger than Lucy’s employer. He simply radiated self-assurance, his dark eyes twinkling the kind of focused interest that made people feel at ease and pleased by the interest. James recognised the ploy. He used it himself. Josh Rogan was clearly an accomplished salesman.
‘A pleasure, having you with us,’ James rolled out, containing his curiosity while he did the honours. With a sweep of his hand encompassing the group around him, he went on, ‘I think you’re all acquainted with my punctilious secretary, Lucy Worthington.’ Although she had certainly not been punctilious tonight! ‘Josh, this is Buffy Tanner…’
Buffy leaned over as she took Josh Rogan’s hand, giving him an eyeful, but unlike most men who would find the view irresistible, Josh smiled into her face and repeated her name with a happy lilt that could have been applied to a Matilda or a Beatrice. If he was receiving Buffy’s signals, he had no intention of answering them.
The other three couples in their group were given the same treatment by Josh Rogan as he was introduced to them. James could find no fault in his manner. The response to him was instinctively positive, an attractive person putting out pleasant vibrations and getting them back.
‘What business are you in, Josh?’ Hank Gidley, the last one to be introduced, inquired with keen interest.
‘Fine wines. Import and export,’ came the answer that allowed James to slot him into place, though it wasn’t the place he’d first imagined. However, it did explain the polished savoire-faire displayed so far. Josh Rogan was used to dealing with customers who could afford to buy fine wines and he probably charmed them into buying whatever he wanted to sell.
‘Oh, I thought you’d be in modelling like me,’ Buffy gushed.
The dark eyes twinkled at her wickedly. ‘Like everyone else, I admire external beauty, Buffy, but I’m really into tasting superb content.’ And he swung his gaze to Lucy as though she provided the taste he most relished.
She grinned at him—grinned like a Cheshire cat who’d just been fed lashings of cream—and James felt his stomach clenching with outrage. Here he’d been worrying about her, while she had been revelling in being tasted by this wine buff, no doubt with much sensual appreciation. Which explained why her hips had been swaying with that smirk of satisfaction about them.
‘Time to go in to our table,’ he announced tersely, and wrapped Buffy’s arm around his to lead off their little procession.
Nothing was going to plan this evening.
Nothing!
And he didn’t like it one bit.
CHAPTER THREE
AS THEY followed James and Buffy into the auditorium, Lucy was still laughing inside at the way Josh had complimented her content. It was all she could do not to burst out in spluttering amusement. James had been positively tight-faced about Josh preferring her to his trophy woman, and Buffy Tanner’s jaw had literally dropped at being so cavalierly dismissed in favour of Lucy Worthington.
A double blow to ego, she thought sweetly, and it served them both right—James for calling her his punctilious secretary on what was supposedly her night off, and Buffy Tanner for thinking she could vamp Josh right under Lucy’s nose.
However, her amusement didn’t last long. As they trailed after the leading couple towards their designated table, Lucy had to concede Buffy looked absolutely stunning, even the back view of her which she was swishing in front of Josh right now. The white beaded evening dress she barely wore was cut almost to her free-flowing buttocks, leaving a lovely curve of naked spine on display, and her shining mane of black ringlets dangled to just below her shoulder-blades, tempting touch.
The gleaming expanse of naked skin was without blemish, and Lucy couldn’t really bring herself to believe there was any cellulite hidden under the clingy fabric that moved so enticingly with every step forward. It was all very well to feel smugly pleased that Buffy couldn’t hook Josh with her seductive padding, but she did have James securely at her side.
With so much femininity on display and available to him, why would James even bother to look at his commonplace secretary in a different light? It wasn’t really feasible, Lucy decided, although Josh had certainly delivered a surprise impact out there in the foyer. That, in itself, was some balm to her wounded pride.
She told herself to be content with it because miracles were not about to happen on her behalf tonight. Better to concentrate on enjoying herself with Josh than burn herself up, hankering after what was never going to be with James Hancock.
The auditorium seemed vast—a sea of tables for ten set around a dance-floor. Four hundred guests were pouring in, settling around the starched white table-cloths which added the required class to the gleaming cutlery and glasses and the centre-pieces of angel candles set in clusters of perfect camellias. Countless silver stars hung from the ceiling, a reminder that this ball was being held by the Starwish Foundation to raise funds for children with cancer.
James had organised the entertainment, free of charge, and a young, up-and-coming band was on stage, enthusiastically playing a jazzy number to get everyone in a party mood. Behind the musicians on an elevated platform was a gleaming red convertible, an Alpha Spider sports car which was to be raffled tonight, a prize to promote the idea that in every heart is a hope for something special to magically happen to them.
A wish come true was the theme of the charity ball, but Lucy couldn’t, in all honesty, believe her wish that James could suddenly find her desirable had any possibility of coming true. He might wonder how a man like Josh could find her attractive, but why would that niggle of curiosity alter what he felt—or rather, didn’t feel—towards his secretary?
Sex appeal was a chemistry thing and Lucy just didn’t have the right elements to spark that kind of interest from him. Eight months of purely platonic treatment should have drummed that into her.
Ahead of them, James ushered Buffy to a chair at a table which had a direct view of centre-stage, one row back from the dance-floor. A prime position, Lucy thought, which, of course, James was adept at manoeuvring for himself.
‘You next to me, Lucy,’ he directed, nodding to his left, having already seated Buffy on his right.
Lucy was dumbstruck and instantly agitated by having to be so close to him all night. It would be sheer torture for her, almost touching, forced to hear how he spoke to Buffy, made excruciatingly aware of the contrast in his manner towards herself.
She had expected him to give his friends the more favoured places facing the stage. She was, after all, only his secretary. However, no-one protested as he organised the rest of the seating and Josh led her around to their designated chairs, murmuring in her ear, ‘Guests of honour, Lucy love. Score one to us.’
Lucy couldn’t accept that highly hopeful interpretation. It was too far out of step with the all too painful truth of what she knew. She suspected a purpose that had nothing to do with any newly noticed womanly charms. The moment James settled on the chair beside her she muttered to him, ‘Why did you put me here?’
His blue eyes sliced to her with a glittering intent that cut into her heart. ‘Why not?’
‘You said I wasn’t wanted for work tonight.’
‘You aren’t.’
‘You’ve placed me on hand, right next to you.’
One eyebrow lifted in mocking challenge. ‘Is that offensive to you?’
‘No, of course not,’ she quickly denied, although she hated—violently hated—being trapped in this position.
‘Is it beyond the realms of your imagination that I might enjoy your company outside of work?’
Lucy flushed, intensely embarrassed by a directness that hit on her own secret desires. ‘You’ve got company,’ she pointed out, nodding to Buffy who was busy eyeing Josh with rapt admiration.
‘I’m greedy,’ James replied, totally unabashed at admitting to wanting both women to entertain him. ‘It’s my table, Lucy. I’m entitled to arrange it how I like.’
‘What? Beauty on one side and brains on the other?’ she couldn’t stop herself from sniping.
His mouth curled. ‘I wouldn’t put it quite like that.’
‘How would you put it?’ she challenged fiercely, completely losing her cool as resentment of his selfish decision raged through her.
His gaze flicked to Josh, then back to her. ‘Interesting to think of what caused you to be late, Lucy,’ he drawled. ‘Somehow I doubt it was intellectual conversation.’
Shock zapped her mind for several seconds. Then a wild welling of triumphant glee billowed over the shock. It had worked! Bringing Josh and being late was making James see her differently. At the very least he no longer had her pigeon-holed as his worthy secretary. She was now an interesting woman!
A smile tugged at her lips and broke into a full-blown grin. ‘It’s such a pleasure to feel free of responsibility, I just let my head go,’ she airily explained.
‘Heady stuff…wine-tasting,’ he remarked sardonically.
Another jolt as Lucy realised he was actually thinking sexual tasting. Which was hilarious in one sense, given Josh’s inclinations, yet deliciously satisfying in another, given the erotic images James was now applying to her.
She giggled. It was the wrong thing to do. She should have simmered. Josh’s advice had been spot on so far. If she was to strengthen the result that had been attained, she had to project a sexy attitude. To cover the sensuality gaffe, she snatched up the glass of champagne a circling waiter had poured and lifted it in a toast.
‘To tasting more of the best,’ she cried recklessly.
He picked up his glass and she could have sworn his eyes simmered as he said, ‘Perhaps the best is yet to come. One has to taste a range of bottles to know which gives the ultimate pleasure.’
‘I’m sure that’s true,’ she agreed, her fantasy world swiftly building a line of gorgeous men with James placing himself at the end of it, ready and willing to show her he was the best.
‘What’s true?’ Buffy interjected.
Lucy’s fevered mind snapped back to sober reality. Seeing her differently didn’t mean that James found her any more attractive. He might be intrigued by the light Josh had supposedly shed on her private life, but Buffy was his choice for his private life. She scrambled for a sensible answer to the question asked.
‘You need to sample a lot of different wines before judging which pleases the palate most,’ she eventually managed, turning to Josh for his support, wanting him to carry the conversation while she recovered some equilibrium. ‘Isn’t that so, Josh?’
‘Absolutely,’ he chimed in. ‘Though I must say the very finest do stand out, once tasted.’ He slid Lucy a mischievously intimate glance. ‘Unforgettable.’
The urge to giggle again almost made her choke on her champagne. Josh had obviously been eavesdropping on her conversation with James and was deliberately stirring the hot-pot, being wickedly suggestive. She controlled herself enough to sip the champagne, pretending nothing of any great note had been said.
‘Do you do wine-tasting too, Lucy?’ Buffy asked.
She constructed a gently dismissive smile. ‘Not really. Josh occasionally shares his experience with me.’
That should have been an end to it. However, her partner in pretence decided he’d been thrown the ball and it was his job to run with it as provocatively as he could.
‘Lucy uses me shamelessly, Buffy,’ he declared. ‘As far as she’s concerned, I’m on call to deliver—’ he paused to slide Lucy a salacious look ‘—anything she wants…when she wants it.’
Lucy kicked him under the table. He was exaggerating their relationship and making ‘the wants’ sound far from innocent.
‘And do you?’ James asked somewhat dryly.
‘If it’s humanly possible,’ came Josh’s fervent reply. ‘An invitation to be with Lucy is a gold-card guarantee of pleasure.’ He sighed and shook his head at her as he added, ‘I wish she didn’t keep herself to herself as much as she does.’
She kicked him again, forcefully warning him he was overplaying his hand, but his eyes were dancing merrily and she knew he was having too much fun to desist.
‘So Lucy calls the shots in your relationship,’ James commented.
‘Very strong-minded lady,’ Josh confided. ‘When Lucy sets her mind on a path, you either fall in with her or get off.’
‘Now come on, Josh,’ she chided, feeling she had to scale down his assertions about her. ‘I’m not that inconsiderate of you.’
His hands lifted in an eloquent gesture of appeal. ‘Lucy love, I wasn’t complaining. I wouldn’t miss falling in with you for anything!’ He laid one hand over his heart. ‘Here I am, your willing slave for the night, your pleasure my pleasure.’
‘A willing slave,’ Buffy repeated, as though that was her idea of heaven, and if only Josh would offer such slavery to her she’d snap it up.
Things were definitely getting out of control here, Lucy thought, but didn’t know what to do about it. She’d brought it upon herself, agreeing to Josh’s plan, but now she wasn’t sure it was leading to anywhere she wanted to be. If James started thinking she was using Josh as a toy-boy…
‘I didn’t know you had dominatrix tendencies, Buffy,’ James drawled, an edgy note in his voice.
‘What?’ Clearly she was attempting a mental shake as she switched her attention to him, but her big amber eyes looked empty of any understanding as they appealed for him to explain himself.
Lucy’s mind was reeling, too. A dominatrix? Was that how he was now seeing her…in tight leather gear with a whip in hand, forcing men to perform to her will? She almost died on the spot!
Buffy’s blankness forced James to speak again. ‘Never mind,’ he said bruskly. ‘What do you think of the band?’ He gestured to the musicians on stage to redirect her attention.
‘Oh!’ She obediently looked and listened. ‘They’ve got a good beat. Is this the band you think may do as well as Silverchair?’
James pursued the conversation with Buffy, much to Lucy’s relief. She needed some breathing space to assess what had happened, to get her thoughts into some kind of order for handling the rest of the night which now stretched ahead, loaded with perilous double meanings to everything!
‘He’s hooked,’ Josh whispered triumphantly.
She looked askance at him. ‘He’s taken the bait but he doesn’t like it.’
‘And doesn’t that say something? No indifference there, Lucy love. The man is wriggling beautifully.’
‘But I don’t want him to think I’m a dominatrix.’ She was horrified by the image. Even more so, because she had actually fantasised him being handcuffed to her bed! But that was only a mad dream borne out of frustration, she assured herself. She’d never really do it. What she dearly, truly wanted was utterly breath-taking mutual desire.
‘Challenges his manhood,’ Josh murmured knowingly. ‘He’ll be thinking about how much he’d like to dominate you.’
She frowned at him. ‘Do you realise you’ve made yourself out to be my toy-boy?’
He grinned. ‘So what? You think Buffy is anything more than a toy-girl to him? What’s good for the goose is good for the gander. Makes you more of a match for him.’
She shook her head. ‘I doubt he’ll think that.’
‘Give him time. He might not realise it yet but that guy is possessive of you, Lucy, and right now he’s as jealous as hell of me. Why do you think he seated you next to him? To compete for your attention, that’s why.’
Could it be so? Lucy found it difficult to believe, yet Josh was no fool in his perceptions of people. And the miserable truth was, James had never sought her company on a personal basis before. Outside of work, he’d been perfectly content with the Buffys of this world.
Until now.
All the same, company in public and company in private were still two different things. Josh could very well be right in that he’d hit some competitive nerve in James. However, that didn’t mean she was actually desirable to him, not in the sense she craved. This was probably dog in the manger stuff. He didn’t want her himself but he didn’t like the idea of someone else having her.
Besides, what was the point in planting false images of her in his mind? What would it win her in the end? She wanted to be wanted for herself, not fancied as some kind of sexual contestant.
‘I’m me and I’m not going to pretend to be anything else,’ she stated emphatically.
‘Neither you should,’ Josh agreed. ‘Being you is perfect.’
‘Perfect for what?’ she demanded suspiciously.
‘Titillating him to death.’ He gave her a smugly satisfied look. ‘You did want him to burn, Lucy love. If nothing else, we have achieved that objective.’
True, she told herself.
Let him burn.
He’d made her burn all day.
Vengeance was sweet.
She could hand in her notice with the sense she’d had the last word with James Hancock. He’d be left thinking he’d missed out on something. And he had. She was worth more than the label of secretary.
CHAPTER FOUR
JAMES was not enjoying himself.
He couldn’t fault the food served. It was gourmet standard. Yet he found himself irritated by the bits of decorative garnishes that were so artistically arranged on each plate. Pretentious garbage. He had a perverse desire for something plain and solid, like sausages and mash. But he made all the right noises, joining in the general chorus of approval.
Adding to his irritation was Buffy’s vapid conversation. She was just like the gourmet food—pretty to look at, no substance. And her gaze kept sliding to Josh Rogan, who was clearly enjoying himself immensely, the life of the party, happily making everyone else happy, and dominating Lucy’s attention.
Not that she hung on his every word. Surprisingly enough, she seemed to be her usual contained self, playing the straight woman to her lover’s sparkle. Except on the dance-floor. She certainly wasn’t straight there. She melted into the music, revealing a sensual suppleness that obviously reflected what she was like in bed, since she had a guy like Josh Rogan coming back for more and more whenever she wanted him.
She was a tantalising mix, and most irritating of all was her prickly coolness to him. Each time he’d tried to engage her in conversation, she gave a few polite replies—the absolute minimum without being rude—then turned her attention to whatever else was being said around the table.
Paying him back for sitting her next to him, he’d concluded, her resentment at being reminded of work on her night off made very plain. It hadn’t exactly been tactful of him to call her his punctilious secretary in front of everyone. He suspected it had put her off-side with him in more ways than one.
Even when he’d casually touched her she’d removed the contact as though he were a poisonous snake, a fierce rejection coming at him in tumultuous waves. Plus the accompanying look at Buffy, as if to say, ‘There’s your touchable doll. Paw her, not me, thank you.’
The more he thought about it, the more he decided Lucy Worthington was a control junkie. She remained on top of every situation at work. She had Josh Rogan on a string which she pulled in whenever it suited her. And she was very tight with money. In fact, the only time he’d ever seen her part with unnecessary dollars was when he’d hassled her into buying tickets in tonight’s raffle—probably the first and only raffle tickets she’d ever bought.
‘For the children, not the car,’ she’d said, scorning his sales patter.
No doubt Lucy considered an Alpha Spider sports car a frivolous impracticality. Since she couldn’t control the weather, a convertible would never be her pick for day-to-day travelling. If she chose to acquire a car at all, it would be a reliable hard-top with low fuel consumption.
James was sinking into a morose mood when one of the band members came to him, asking to have a private word. He quickly excused himself from the table, grateful to seize any diversion from the problem he had with Lucy. Besides, not involving her in any work-related issue demonstrated he was true to his word about leaving her free to enjoy herself tonight. Maybe she wouldn’t be quite so prickly with him when he came back.
Lucy watched him go and hoped he’d never come back. He stirred so much tension in her, it was impossible to relax and enjoy herself. She took a long deep breath, trying to loosen up as she slowly released it, only to be then landed with Buffy Tanner who slid onto the chair James had vacated, determined on having a woman-to-woman chat.
‘I love your boyfriend,’ she purred into Lucy’s ear. ‘Where did you find such a gorgeous hunk?’
‘Oh, I’ve known Josh for years,’ she answered, not wanting to get specific.
‘Why haven’t you married him then?’
Lucy allowed herself a dry smile. ‘That wouldn’t suit either of us.’
Satisfaction oozed from Buffy. ‘You mean he likes to stay free-wheeling.’
‘We simply respect each other’s life-style, Buffy.’
She nodded happily. ‘I like that. James is such a grump about punctuality. He doesn’t make any concessions.’
‘A flaw in paradise?’
‘What?’
‘I mean…everything isn’t rosy in your relationship with James.’
She shrugged. ‘Oh, he’s so high-powered all the time. You must know what he’s like, working for him. Always thinking about what’s got to be done. Pressure, pressure, pressure.’
‘Mmmh…that’s probably what makes him successful.’
‘I guess so.’ Buffy didn’t seem sure that success was worth so much attention. ‘He is good at sex,’ she added as though that was some compensation. Then leaning forward confidentially, ‘I bet Josh is, too.’
‘Mmmh,’ Lucy agreed out of pride.
‘Is he really built?’
‘What?’
Buffy wrinkled her nose. ‘You know. Some guys can have a great-looking physique, but when you get them down to the buff…very disappointing.’
Not knowing how to answer, Lucy blurted out, ‘I take it James isn’t disappointing.’
‘Not in that area. He’s big. And a real pistol. He can go on and on and on,’ Buffy assured her, rolling her eyes appreciatively. ‘What about Josh?’
Lucy took another deep breath, desperate to somehow get this conversation steered onto other ground. As it was, she didn’t know how she was going to control her thoughts once James returned to his chair.
‘Josh has never disappointed me,’ she said truthfully, though the claim had nothing to do with sex. She turned curiously to Buffy. ‘Do you always rate men on how they perform in bed?’
‘Well, it is a big thing, isn’t it?’ Buffy reasoned. ‘After all, it’s what they want us for, so it’s a dumb deal if we don’t get satisfaction.’
‘What about a sense of companionship? Enjoying other things together?’
‘Huh! In my experience, men only put up with what I want to do, to get what’s coming at the end of it. Sex is our bargaining chip, and I, for one, am not going to be a loser.’
Lucy had never thought of the relationship between men and women in such stark trading terms and it set her wondering how true Buffy’s vision was. She didn’t like it. She wanted to believe that one day she might have the best of both worlds, the kind of companionship she shared with Josh, plus the passionate sexual desire she wished she could share with James.
The band started playing again so whatever problem had arisen was apparently resolved. Her gaze fastened on James, striding back towards their table, and before she could stop the downward slide, she found herself staring at the movement of his thighs and thinking of what Buffy had said. Which so appalled her, a tide of heat burned up her neck and scorched her cheeks.
She snatched up her glass of champagne—assiduously re-filled by their waiter whenever the content lowered—and tried to bury her shame in it. Buffy, having also noticed James’ approach, leapt to her feet, skirted Lucy’s chair, and accosted Josh, leaning invitingly over his shoulder.
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