Now he didn’t know what to think.

All he knew was that nothing had changed for him since last Friday night. One look from those incredible eyes of hers and he’d been right back there on that dance floor, his body consumed by the need to sweep her off into bed.

Bed? He almost laughed at that notion. A bed would not do. This all-consuming passion he was suffering from demanded a much faster, harder surface to pin her to. A wall. A floor. This desk, even…

Bedded by the Boss
Miranda Lee

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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 FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

EPILOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

‘SO WHAT would you like in your Christmas stocking, Jessie? I’m going present shopping tomorrow. There’s only just over two weeks till Christmas and I hate leaving things to the last moment.’

Jessie stopped applying her mascara for a second to smile wryly across the kitchen table at her elderly friend—and landlady.

‘Do you know a shop which sells men?’ she asked with a mischievous sparkle in her dark brown eyes.

Dora’s own eyes widened. ‘Men? You told me just ten minutes ago that you thought most men were sleazebags and you were better off without one in your life.’

Jessie shrugged. ‘That was ten minutes ago. Getting myself dolled up like this tonight reminded me of when I was young and carefree and didn’t know the truth about the opposite sex. What I wouldn’t give to be that girl again, just for one night, going out with some gorgeous guy on a hot date.’

‘And if that fantasy came true,’ Dora asked, still with a sceptical expression on her face, ‘where would this gorgeous guy be taking you?’

‘Oh, somewhere really swish for drinks and dinner, then on to a nightclub for some dirty dancing.’ After which he’d whip me back to his bachelor pad and…

This last thought startled Jessie. In all honesty, ever since she’d had Emily, she hadn’t missed men one bit. Hadn’t felt like being with one at all.

Now, suddenly, the thought of having some gorgeous guy’s arms around her again was quite pleasurable. More than pleasurable, actually. Almost a necessity.

Her female hormones, it seemed, had finally been jump-started again.

Her sigh carried a measure of frustration. And irritation. It was something she could do without. Men complicated things. They always did.

Useless creatures, all of them.

Except in that one department!

Now that her hormones were hopping again, she had to admit there was nothing to compare with the pleasure of being with a man who was a good lover.

Emily’s father had been pretty good in bed. But he’d also been a feckless, reckless fool whose wildly adventurous spirit had finally been the death of him, snowboarding his stupid way off a mountain and into a crevasse even before Jessie had discovered she was having his baby.

Jessie had finally come to realise at the wise old age of twenty-eight that the members of the opposite sex who were good in bed were rarely good at commitment. Usually, they were charming scoundrels. She suspected that even if Lyall had lived, he would not have stuck by her and his baby.

No, she was better off without men in her life, in any capacity. For now, anyway. Emily was still only four and very impressionable. The last thing she needed was for her mummy to start dating guys who were only interested in one thing. There was no future in that. And no happiness.

Men could indulge in no-strings sex without suffering any lasting emotional damage. Women, not so easily.

Jessie had taken a long time to get over Lyall, both his death and the discovery she’d made afterwards that she hadn’t been the only girl in his life.

‘What I really want for Christmas more than anything,’ she said firmly as she packed her make-up essentials into her black evening bag, ‘is a decent job in an advertising agency.’

Jessie had worked as a graphic artist before she’d fallen pregnant, with an eye to eventually being promoted to the position of creative designer. She hadn’t wanted to spend the rest of her life bringing other people’s ideas to life; or having them take the credit when she improved on their designs. Jessie knew she had considerable creative talent and dreamt of heading her own advertising team one day; being up close and personal when the presentations were made; getting the accolades herself—plus the bonuses—when she secured a prestigious account for Jackson & Phelps.

That was the advertising agency she’d worked for back then. One of Sydney’s biggest and best.

Having Emily, however, had rearranged her priorities in life. She had planned on going back to Jackson & Phelps after her maternity leave was up. But when the time came, she’d found she didn’t want to put her baby daughter into day-care. She wanted to stay home and take care of Emily herself.

She’d thought she could work from home, freelance. She had her own computer and all the right software. But a downturn in the economy had meant that advertising budgets were cut and lots of graphic artists were out of work. Freelance work became a pipedream.

Jessie had been forced to temporarily receive state benefits, and to move from the trendy little flat she’d been renting. Luckily, she found accommodation with Dora, a very nice lady with a very nice home in Roseville, a leafy northern Sydney suburb on the train line.

Dora had had a granny flat built on the back when her mother—now deceased—had come to live with her. It was only one-bedroomed, but it had its own bathroom and a spacious kitchen-cum-living room which opened out into the large and secure back yard. Just the thing for a single mum with an active toddler. Emily had turned one by then and was already walking.

The rent Dora charged Jessie was also very reasonable, in exchange for which Jessie helped Dora with the heavy housework and the garden.

But money was still tight. There was never much left over each fortnight. Treats were a rarity. Presents were always cheap little things, both on birthdays and at Christmas. Last Christmas hadn’t been a big problem. Emily hadn’t been old enough at three to understand that all her gifts had come from a bargain-basement store.

But Jessie had realised at the time that by this coming Christmas, Emily would be far more knowing.

As much as Jessie had enjoyed being a full-time mother at home, the necessities of life demanded that she get off welfare and go back to work. So last January, Jessie had enrolled Emily in a nearby day-care centre and started looking for a job.

Unfortunately, not with great success in her chosen field.

Despite her having her name down at several employment agencies and going for countless interviews, no one in advertising, it seemed, wanted to hire a graphic artist who was a single mum and who had been out of the workforce for over three years.

For a while, earlier this year, she’d done a simply awful—though lucrative—job, working for a private investigator. The ad in the paper had said it was for the position of receptionist. No experience required, just good presentation and a nice phone voice. When she’d got there, she was told the receptionist job had been taken, and she was offered investigative work instead.

Basically, she was sent out as a decoy to entrap men who were suspected by their partners of being unfaithful. She’d be given the time and place—always a pub or a bar—plus a short biography and photo of the target. Her job had required her to dress sexily, make contact, then flirt enough for the target to show his true colours. Once she’d gathered sufficient evidence via the sleek, hi-tech mobile phone which the PI supplied—its video recording was excellent—Jessie would use the excuse of going to the powder room, then disappear.

It had only taken Jessie half a dozen such encounters before she quit. Maybe if, just once, one target had resisted her charms and shown himself to be an honourable man, she might have continued. But no! Each time, the sleazebag—and brother, they were all sleazebags!—wasted no time in not only chatting her up but also propositioning her in no uncertain terms. Each time she’d dashed for the ladies’, feeling decidedly dirty.

After that low-life experience, she’d happily taken a waitressing job at a local restaurant. Because of Emily, however, Jessie refused to work at night or at the weekends, when the tips might have been better, so her take-home pay wasn’t great. On top of that, her expenses had gone up. Even with her government subsidy for being a single parent, having Emily in day-care five days a week was not cheap.

The only bonus was that Emily adored going to her pre-school. Jessie sometimes felt jealous over how much her daughter loved the teachers there, and the other kids. She’d grown up so much during this past year.

Too much.

She was now four, going on fourteen.

Last weekend, she’d begun asking questions about her father. And had not been impressed when her mother tried to skirt around the subject. A flustered Jessie had been pinned down and forced to tell Emily the truth. That her daddy had died in a tragic accident before she was born. And no, her mummy and her daddy had not been married at the time.

‘So you and Daddy aren’t divorced,’ she’d stunned Jessie by saying. ‘He’s not ever coming back, like Joel’s daddy came back.’

Joel was Emily’s best friend at pre-school.

‘No, Emily,’ Jessie had told her daughter in what she’d hoped was the right sombre and sympathetic tone. ‘Your daddy is never coming back. He’s in heaven.’

‘Oh,’ Emily had said, and promptly went off, frowning.

Jessie had found her in a corner of the back yard, having a serious conversation with her life-sized baby doll—the one Dora had given her for her fourth birthday in August. Emily had fallen ominously silent when her mother approached. Jessie had been very relieved when her daughter had finally looked up, smiled brightly and asked her if they could go and see Santa at K-Mart that afternoon, because she had to tell him what she wanted for Christmas before it was too late.

Clearly, Emily was too young at four to be devastated by the discovery that the father she had never known was in heaven.

But Emily’s reminder that Christmas was coming up fast—along with the fact that Jessie already knew the main present Emily wanted for Christmas—was what had brought Jessie to make the decision to do one more wretched job for Jack Keegan. The PI had said to give him a call if she ever needed some extra cash. Which she surely did, because a Felicity Fairy doll was the most expensive doll to hit the toy market in ages. Jessie would need all of the four-hundred-dollar fee she would earn tonight to buy the darned doll, along with all its accompaniments. There was a fairy palace, a magic horse and a sparkling wardrobe full of clothes.

Speaking of clothes…

Jessie stood up and smoothed down the short skirt of the black crêpe halter-necked dress she’d dragged out of her depleted wardrobe for tonight’s job. It was the classiest, sexiest dress she owned, but it was six years old and Jessie feared it was beginning to look it.

‘Are you sure this dress is OK?’ she asked Dora in a fretful tone. ‘It’s getting awfully old.’

‘It’s fine,’ Dora reassured. ‘And not out of fashion at all. That style is timeless. You look gorgeous, Jessie. Very sexy. Like a model.’

‘Who, me? Don’t be ridiculous, Dora. I know I’ve got a good figure, but the rest of me is pretty ordinary. Without my make-up on, no man would give me a second glance. And my hair is an uncontrollable disaster if I don’t drag it back or put it up.’

‘You underestimate your attractiveness, Jessie.’

In every way, Dora thought to herself.

Jessie’s figure wasn’t just good, it was spectacular, the kind of body you often saw in underwear advertisements these days. Full breasts. Tiny waist. Slender hips and long legs. They looked even longer in the high, strappy shoes Jessie was wearing tonight.

It was true that her face wasn’t traditionally pretty. Her mouth was too wide, her jaw too square and her nose slightly too long. But anchored on either side of that nose were widely set, exotically shaped dark brown eyes which flashed and smouldered with sensual promise, the kind of eyes that drew men like magnets.

As for her hair…Dora would have killed for hair like Jessie’s when she’d been younger.

Blue-black, thick and naturally curly, when left down it cascaded around her face and shoulders in glorious disarray. Up, it defied restraint, with bits and pieces escaping, making her look even sexier, if that was possible.

Dora hadn’t been surprised when that private detective had snapped Jessie up to do decoy work for him. She was the perfect weapon to entrap cheating husbands. And possibly non-cheating ones as well.

‘Is this the guy?’ Dora asked, picking up the photo that was resting in the middle of the table.

‘Yep. That’s him.’

‘He’s handsome.’

Jessie had thought so too. Far better looking than the other creeps she’d had to flirt with. And younger. In his thirties instead of forties or fifties. But she had no doubts about the type of man he was.

‘Handsome is as handsome does, Dora. He’s married with two little kids, yet he spends every Friday night at a bar in town, drinking till all hours of the night.’

‘But lots of men drink on a Friday night.’

‘I doubt he’s just drinking. The particular city bar he frequents is a well-known pick-up joint,’ Jessie pointed out drily.

‘You could say that about any bar.’

‘Look, the wife says this behaviour is out of character with her husband. She says he’s changed towards her. She’s convinced he’s being unfaithful to her and wants to know the truth.’

‘Doesn’t sound like compelling evidence of adultery to me. She might wish she hadn’t started this.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You know, Jessie, I’ve never thought it was very fair on the men in question, sending a girl like you to flirt with them. This man might not have been unfaithful at all. Maybe he’s just working very hard and having an extra drink or two at the end of the week to relax. Then you come along tonight and give him the eye, and he might do something he wouldn’t normally do, something he might regret.’

Jessie had to laugh. Dora made her sound like some kind of siren. Irresistible she was not! Just ask all the male bosses who hadn’t given her a job this past year.

No, poor Dora didn’t know what she was talking about, especially regarding tonight’s target. Still, Dora was sixty-six years old. In her day, maybe more men had more honour.

‘Trust me, Dora. By the time wives go to see Jack Keegan and spend the kind of money he asks for, then there really isn’t any doubt over their husbands’ philandering. All they’re looking for is proof to show the lawyers. Our Mr Curtis Marshall here,’ she said, taking his photo out of Dora’s hand and looking down into his baby-blue eyes, ‘is not some poor, hard-working, misunderstood hubby. He’s been playing out of his patch and he’s about to get caught! Now I really must get going,’ she said as she slid the photo in a zippered side-section of her bag. ‘I’ll just go check on Emily before I leave.’

Jessie tiptoed into the bedroom, where a sound-asleep Emily had kicked off her bedclothes. The evening was quite warm, so Jessie switched the overhead ceiling fan on to the slow setting, then pulled the top sheet up around Emily and tucked her in. Emily had not long given up her cot for a single bed and looked such a dot in the larger bed.

Pressing a kiss to her temple, Jessie straightened before just standing there and staring down at her daughter.

Her heart filled with love as it always did when she looked down upon her child.

That was what had surprised Jessie the most when she’d become a mother. The instant and totally unconditional love which had consumed her from the moment she’d held her baby in her arms.

Had her own mother felt like that when she’d had her?

Jessie didn’t think so. She suspected that any love her mother had had for her had been overshadowed by shame.

Jessie pushed this distressing thought aside and bent to stroke Emily’s dark curls back from her forehead before planting another gentle kiss on her daughter’s cheek.

‘Sleep tight, sweetie,’ she whispered. ‘Mummy won’t be long.

‘Thank you so much for staying here and minding her, Dora,’ Jessie said on returning to the combined kitchen and living room.

‘My pleasure,’ Dora said, already settled on the sofa in front of the television.

‘You know where the tea and biscuits are.’

‘I’ll be fine. There’s a good movie on tonight at eight-thirty. That’s only ten minutes off. You’d better get going. And for Pete’s sake, take a taxi home after you’re finished. It’s too dangerous on the train late at night, especially on a Friday night.’

‘Hopefully, I won’t be too late.’

Jessie didn’t want to waste any of the travel expenses Jack had given her. She wanted to make as much profit out of this rotten evening as she could. Why waste thirty dollars on a cab?

‘Jessie Denton,’ Dora said sternly. ‘You promise me you’ll take a taxi home.’

Jessie gave her a narrow-eyed look from under her long lashes. ‘I will if I need to, Dora.’

‘You can be very stubborn, do you know that?’

Jessie grinned. ‘Yep. But you love me just the same. Take care.’ And, giving Dora a peck on the cheek, she swept up her bag and headed for the door.

CHAPTER TWO

KANE sat at the bar, nursing a double Scotch, and pondering the perversities of life.

He still could not believe what his brother had just told him: that he was miserable in his marriage and that he spent every Friday night drinking here at this bar instead of going home to his wife and children. Curtis even confessed to going into the office on the weekend sometimes to escape the tension and arguments at home.

Kane could not have been more shocked. There he’d been these past few years, envying Curtis for his choice of wife, his two gorgeous children and his seemingly perfect family!

The truth, it seemed, was a far cry from the fantasy world Kane had woven around his twin brother’s home life. Apparently, Lisa was far from content with being a stay-at-home mum. She was bored and lonely for adult company during the day. On top of that, two-year-old Joshua had turned into a right terror this past year. Four-year-old Cathy threw tantrums all the time and wouldn’t go to bed at night. Lisa could not cope and their sex life had been reduced to zero.

Curtis, who was never at his best at the art of communication, had started staying away from home more and more, and Lisa was now giving him the silent treatment.

He was terrified she was thinking of leaving him and taking the kids with her. Which had prompted his call of desperation to his brother tonight.

Kane, who’d been working late at the office, solving the problem of a defecting designer, had come running to the rescue—as he always did when his twin brother was hurt or threatened in any way. He’d been coming to Curtis’s rescue since they were toddlers.

‘I love my family and don’t want to lose them,’ Curtis had cried into his beer ten minutes earlier. ‘Tell me what to do, Kane. You’re the man with all the solutions. Tell me what to do!’

Kane had rolled his eyes at this. OK, he could understand why Curtis thought he could wave a magic wand and fix his problems with a few, well-chosen words. He had made a fortune teaching people how to be successful in getting what they wanted out of their working life. His motivational seminars drew huge crowds. His fee as an after-dinner speaker was outrageous. His best-selling book, Winning At Work, had been picked up in most countries overseas.

Earlier this year he’d gone on a whirlwind tour in the US to promote the book’s release, and sales there had been stupendous.

His hectic schedule in America had drained him, however, both physically and emotionally, and since his return he’d cut back considerably on his speaking engagements. He’d been thinking of taking a long holiday when his friend Harry Wilde had asked him to look after his small but very successful advertising agency during December whilst he went on a cruise with his wife and kids.

Kane had jumped at the chance. A change was as good as a holiday. And he was really enjoying the challenge. It had been interesting to see if his theories could be applied to any management job. So far, so good.

Unfortunately, his strategies for success in the professional world didn’t necessarily translate into success in one’s personal life. His own, especially. With one failed marriage behind him and no new relationship in sight, he was possibly not the best man to give his brother marital advice.

But he knew one thing. You never solved any problem by sitting at a bar, downing one beer after another. You certainly never solved anything, running away from life.

Of course, that had always been Curtis’s nature, to take the easiest course, to run away from trouble. He’d always been the shy twin. The less assertive twin. The one who needed protecting. Although just as intelligent, Curtis had never had Kane’s confidence, or drive, or ambition. His choice to become an accountant had not surprised Kane.

Still, Kane understood that it could not have been easy being his twin brother. He knew he could be a hard act to follow, with his I-can-do-anything personality.

But it was high time Curtis stood up and faced life head-on, along with his responsibilities. He had a lovely wife and two great kids who were having a hard time for whatever reason and really needed him. Regardless of what a lot of those new relationship gurus touted, Kane believed a husband was supposed to be the head of his family. The rock. The person they could always count on.

Curtis was acting like a coward.

Not that Kane said that. Rule one in his advice to management executives was never to criticise or put down their staff or their colleagues. Praise and encouragement worked much better than pointing out an individual’s shortcomings.

In light of that theory, Kane had delivered Curtis one of his best motivational lectures ever, telling his brother what a great bloke he was. A great brother, a great son, a great husband and a great father. He even threw in that Curtis was a great accountant. Didn’t he do his brother’s highly complicated tax return each year?

Kane reassured Curtis that his wife loved him and no way would she ever leave him.

Unless she thought he didn’t love her back. Which Lisa had to be thinking, Kane reckoned.

At this point he sent his brother off home to tell his wife that he loved her to death and that he was sorry that he hadn’t been there for her when she needed him. He was to vow passionately that he would be in future, and what could he do to help?

‘And when Lisa falls, weeping, into your arms,’ Kane had added, ‘whip her into bed and make love to her as you obviously haven’t made love to her in a long time!’

When Curtis still hesitated, Kane also promised to drop over the next day to give his brother some moral support, and to provide some more proactive suggestions which would make his wife and kids a lot happier.

Hopefully, by then, he could think of some.

One divorce in their family was more than enough! Their parents would have a fit if Curtis and Lisa broke up as well.

Kane shook his head and swirled his drink, staring down into the pale amber depths and wondering just why he’d married Natalie in the first place. For a guy who was supposed to be smart, he’d been very dumb that time. Their marriage had been doomed from the start.

‘Hi, honey.’

Kane’s head whipped around to find a very good-looking blonde sliding seductively onto the bar stool next to him. Everything she had—and there was plenty of it—was on display. For a split-second, Kane felt his male hormones rumble a bit. Till he looked into her eyes.

They were pretty enough, but empty. Kane could never stay interested in women with empty eyes.

Natalie had had intelligent eyes.

Pity she hadn’t wanted children.

‘You look as if you could do with some company,’ the blonde added before curling her finger at the barman and ordering herself a glass of champagne.

‘Bad week?’ she directed back at Kane.

‘Nope. Good week. Not so great an evening,’ he replied, still thinking of his brother’s problems.

‘Loneliness is lousy,’ she said.

‘I’m not lonely,’ he refuted. ‘Just alone.’

‘Not any more.’

‘Maybe I want to be alone.’

‘No one wants to be alone, lover.’

The blonde’s words struck home. She was right. No one did. Him included. But divorce—even an amicable one—made a man wary. It had been fifteen months since he’d separated from Natalie, three months since their divorce had become final. And he still hadn’t found anyone new. He hadn’t even succumbed to the many offers he’d had for one-night stands.

Women were always letting him know they were available for the night, or a weekend, or whatever. But he just wasn’t interested in that kind of encounter any more. He’d been hoping to find what he thought Curtis had. A woman who wasn’t wrapped up in her career. A woman who was happy to put her job aside for a few years at least to become a career wife, and mother.

Now he wasn’t so sure if that creature existed. The sort of women he found attractive were invariably involved with their jobs. They were smart, sassy, sexy girls who worked hard and played hard. They didn’t want to become housewives and mothers.

‘Come on, lighten up a bit,’ the blonde said. ‘Get yourself another drink, for pity’s sake. That one’s history.’

Kane knew he probably shouldn’t. He hadn’t had anything to eat tonight and the whisky was going straight to his head. He wasn’t interested in the blonde, but neither did he want to go home to an empty house. He’d have one more drink with her, then make his excuses and go find a place in town to eat.

CHAPTER THREE

THE bar Curtis Marshall frequented every Friday night was called the Cellar, so Jessie shouldn’t have been surprised to find that it was downstairs from street level. Narrow, steep stairs. Stairs which made her walk oh, so carefully in her four-inch-high heels. The last thing she wanted was to fall flat on her face.

The music reached her ears only seconds before the smoke.

Jazz.

Not Jessie’s favourite form of music. But what did it matter? She wasn’t there to enjoy herself. She was there to do a job.

The bouncer standing by the open door gave her the once-over as she slowly negotiated the last few steps.

‘Very nice,’ he muttered as she walked past him.

She didn’t answer. She straightened her shoulders and moved further into the smoke haze, her eyes slowly becoming accustomed to the dimmer lighting as they scanned the not-so-crowded room. Nine o’clock, she reasoned, was between times. Most of the Friday after-work drinkers had departed, and the serious weekend party animals had not yet arrived.

She’d never been to this particular bar before. She’d never heard of it. It was Jack who’d informed her that it had a reputation as a pick-up joint.

The décor was nineteen-twenties speak-easy style, with lots of wood and leather and brass. Booths lined the walls, with tables and chairs filling every other available space. The band occupied one corner, with a very small dance floor in front of it.

The bar itself was against the far wall, semicircular in shape, graced by a dozen or so wooden-based, leather-topped stools. A long mirror ran along the back behind the bottle shelves, which gave Jessie reflected glimpses of the faces of people sitting at the bar.

There were only half a dozen.

She recognised her target straight away. He was sitting in the middle, with a blonde sitting next to him on his left. There were several vacant stools to his right. As Jessie stood there, watching them, she saw the blonde lean over and say something to him. He motioned to the barman, who came over, temporarily blocking Jessie’s view of the target’s face in the mirror.

Had the blonde asked him to buy her a drink? Was he right at this moment doing exactly what his wife suspected him of?

Jessie realised with a rush of relief that maybe she wouldn’t have to flirt with the creep after all. If she got over there right now, she could collect evidence of his chatting up some other woman without having to belittle herself.

Jessie’s heart pounded as she headed for the bar, nerves cramping her stomach. She still hated doing this, even second-hand.

Think of the money, she told herself as she slid up on the vacant stool two to the right of the target. Think of Emily’s beautiful, beaming face on Christmas morning when she finds that Santa has brought her exactly what she asked for.

The self-lecture helped a little. Some composure returned by the time Jessie placed her bag down on the polished wooden bar-top. Very casually she extracted the mobile phone, pretended to check her text messages, turned on the video then put it down in a position which would catch what was going on to her left, both visually and verbally.

‘Thanks,’ the blonde purred when the barman put a glass of champagne in front of her. ‘So what will we drink to, handsome?’

When the barman moved away, Jessie was able to watch the target’s face again in the mirror behind the bar.

There was no doubt he was handsome, more handsome than in his photograph. More mature-looking, too. Maybe that photo in her bag was a couple of years old, because his hair was different as well. Not different in colour. It was still a mid-brown. But in place of the longer waves and lock flopping across his forehead was a short-back-and-sides look, with spikes on top.

The style brought his blue eyes more into focus.

That was another thing that looked different. His eyes. In the photo they’d seemed a baby-blue, with a dreamy expression. In reality, his eyes were an icy blue. And not soft at all.

They glittered as he smiled wryly and swirled the remains of his drink. He hadn’t noticed her arrival as yet.

‘To marriage,’ he said, and lifted his glass in a toast.

‘Marriage!’ the blonde scorned. ‘That’s one seriously out-of-date institution. I’d rather drink to divorce.’

‘Divorce is a blight on our society,’ he said sharply. ‘I won’t drink to divorce.’

‘Sex, then. Let’s drink to sex.’ And she slid her glass against his in a very suggestive fashion.

Jessie, who’d stayed surreptitiously watching him in the mirror behind the bar, saw his head turn slowly towards the blonde, a drily amused expression on his face.

‘Sweetheart, I think you’ve picked the wrong guy to share a drink with. I’m sorry if I’ve given you the wrong impression, but I’m not in the market for what you’re looking for tonight.’

Jessie almost fell off her stool. What was this? A man with some honour? Had Dora been right about Mr Marshall after all?

‘You sure?’ the blonde persisted with a sultry smile playing on her red-painted mouth.

‘Positive.’

‘Your loss, lover,’ she said and, taking her glass of champagne, slid off her stool and sashayed over to sit at a table close to the band. She wasn’t by herself for more than ten seconds, before a guy who’d been sitting further down the bar had taken his beer with him to join her.

Jessie glanced back into the mirror to find that her target had finally noticed her presence, and was staring at her. When their eyes connected in the glass her heart reacted in a way which it hadn’t in years. It actually jumped, then fluttered, then flipped right over.

Her eyes remained locked with his for longer than was wise, her brain screaming at her to look away, but her body took absolutely no notice.

Suddenly a man plonked himself down on the vacant stool that separated them, snapping her back to reality.

‘Haven’t seen you in here before, gorgeous,’ the interloper said in slurred tones, his beery breath wafting over her. ‘Can I buy you a drink?’

He was about forty, a very short, very drunk weasel of a man in a cheap, ill-fitting business suit that bore no resemblance to the magnificently tailored Italian number the target was wearing.

‘No, thanks,’ Jessie said stiffly. ‘I like to buy my own drinks.’

‘One of them feminists, eh? That’s all right by me. Cheaper this way.’

‘I also like to drink alone,’ she added sharply.

The drunk laughed. ‘A sexy piece like you shouldn’t be doing anything alone. What’s the matter, honey? Last guy do you wrong? Or ain’t I young enough for you? Trust me. I’ve still got it where it counts. Here, let me show you…’

He was actually fumbling with his fly when two big hands grabbed him and literally lifted him off the stool.

‘Let me show you something, buster,’ the target said. ‘The door!’

Jessie watched, open-mouthed, as her unexpected knight in shining armour carried the drunk over to where the bouncer was frowning at them both. Words were exchanged after which the bouncer escorted the weasel up the stairs personally whilst Jessie’s champion headed back for the bar.

She found herself admiring more than his handsome face this time.

There was the way his broad shoulders filled out his expensive suit. The way he’d just handled the situation. And the way he was smiling at her.

That smile was pure dynamite. As well as something else that wasn’t at all pure.

Suddenly, Jessie was catapulted back to earlier that evening when she’d been thinking about how pleasurable it would be to be in some gorgeous man’s arms.

She started thinking about how pleasurable it would be to be in this man’s arms. He was definitely gorgeous.

But he was also married. And sitting back down, she realised breathlessly, not on his old stool but the one right next to hers, the one the drunk had occupied.

Dora’s words came back to haunt her, the ones that she’d said about how it wasn’t fair to send someone like her to flirt; that she might tempt her target tonight to do something he might regret.

But logic argued against this concern. That blonde had been very attractive. If he was going to be tempted, then why hadn’t she tempted him?

Maybe he doesn’t go for blondes, came back another voice, just as logical. Maybe he likes leggy women with wild black hair. Maybe he likes women who aren’t quite so obvious.

There were many reasons why men were attracted to one woman over another.

And he was attracted to her. She could see it in his eyes. And in that heart-stopping smile.

‘Th…thank you,’ she stammered.

‘You can buy me another Scotch and soda in gratitude if you like,’ he said, and downed what was left of his drink. ‘Unless you really meant what you said about preferring to drink alone.’ And he smiled at her again.

Jessie’s heart ground to a shuddering halt.

Get out of here now, girl, her conscience warned. This guy is not just dynamite, he’s downright dangerous!

‘I was just trying to get rid of him,’ she heard herself saying.

‘I was hoping that might be the case. So what can I get you? After all, a gentleman doesn’t really expect a lady to buy his drinks for him.’

Jessie swallowed. What are you doing, girl? Stop looking at him that way. Stop it right now!

I’m just doing my job, she tried telling herself. This is what I get paid for. Flirting with my target. Seeing what kind of man he is.

Yes, but you’re not supposed to be enjoying it!

‘Just a diet cola, thanks.’

His straight brows lifted in the middle. ‘You come into a bar for a diet cola? Now, that’s a strange thing to do. You can get one of those from a vending machine.’

‘Maybe I came in looking for some company,’ she said leadingly, and hoped like hell he’d put his foot in his mouth right away so she could get out of there.

‘I can’t imagine a girl like you would have to do that too often. You must have men asking you out all the time.’

Actually, she did. But no one she’d give the time of day to. The men who asked her out had her tagged as one of two types: waitressing slut or single-mother-and-desperate, depending on when and where they met her.

Either way, Jessie always knew exactly what they wanted from her, and it wasn’t witty conversation.

She always said no to their invitations.

One-night stands held no appeal for her. Sex of any kind had held no appeal for her.

Till tonight…

‘Give me another Scotch and soda,’ the target directed to the barman. ‘And get the lady a Bacardi and cola. Diet cola,’ he added with a quick grin her way.

She swallowed. ‘What if I don’t like Bacardi and cola?’

‘Come, now, you and I both know that the amount of Bacardi they put in drinks in places like this is barely detectable. All you’ll taste is the cola.’

‘True,’ she agreed.

‘So was that other chap right?’ he went on whilst the barman busied himself with their drinks. ‘Did your last boyfriend do you wrong? Is that why you’re all alone tonight?’

She shrugged. ‘Something like that.’

‘Aah. A woman of mystery and intrigue. I like that. It makes for a change.’

‘A change from what?’

‘From women who launch into their life story as soon as you meet them.’

‘Does that happen to you often?’

‘Too often.’

‘Did the blonde over there do that?’

‘Actually, no. But then, she had other things on her mind tonight. Looks as if she finally hit the jackpot.’

Jessie flicked a glance over at where the blonde was now leaving with the man who’d joined her earlier. It didn’t take a genius to guess that they were going back to her place. Or his. Or maybe even a hotel. There were several within easy walking distance of this bar.

‘Most men would have jumped at the chance,’ she remarked.

‘I’m not most men.’

‘Yes. Yes, I can see that.’

Their drinks came, giving Jessie a breather from the tension that was gripping her chest. As cool as she was sounding on the outside, inside she was seriously rattled. She liked this man. More than liked. She found him fascinating. And sexy. Oh, so sexy.

‘What about you?’ she asked, deciding to deflect the conversation on to him, make him admit he was married. Anything to lessen her worry over where their conversation might lead.

‘What about me?’ he returned before taking a deep swallow of his drink.

‘Did your last girlfriend do you wrong? Is that why you’re alone here tonight?’

He drank some more whilst he gave her question some thought. Suspense built in Jessie till she wanted to scream at him to just confess the truth. That he was the one in the wrong here. Regardless of how stressed he might feel with life, he should be at home with his wife and kids. She’d heard him say that divorce was a blight on society. Did he want to find himself in the middle of one?

Finally, he looked up and slanted a smile over at her. ‘You know what? I’m going to take a leaf out of your book. No talking about past relationships tonight. I think sometimes I talk way too much. Come on,’ he pronounced and put his drink down. ‘The music’s changed to something decent. Let’s dance.’

Jessie stiffened, then gulped down a huge mouthful of Bacardi and cola. ‘Dance?’ she choked out.

He was already off his stool, already holding out his hand towards her.

‘Please don’t say no,’ he said softly. ‘It’s just a dance. Mind the lady’s bag, will you?’ he asked the barman. ‘Better put your cellphone away as well. You don’t want a natty little number like that to get swiped.’

She did hesitate, she was sure she did. But within moments she’d put the phone away and was placing her hand in his and letting him lead her over to that minute dance floor.

It is only dancing, she told herself as he pulled her into his arms.

The trouble was, there was dancing…and dancing.

This was slow dancing. Sensual dancing. Sexy dancing. Bodies pressed so close together that she had no choice but to wind her arms up around his neck. Her breasts lifted, rubbing against the well-muscled wall of his chest. His hands moved restlessly up and down her spine till one settled in the small of her back, the other moving lower. The heat in his palms burned through the thin material of her dress, branding her. Her heartbeat quickened. The entire surface of her skin flushed with her own internal heat. She felt light-headed. Excited. Aroused.

And she wasn’t the only one. She could feel his arousal as it rose between them.

When her fingertips tapped an agitated tattoo on the nape of his neck, he stopped, pulled back slightly and stared down into her eyes.

‘Would you believe me if I told you that I haven’t done anything like this in a long, long time?’ he murmured, his voice low and thick.

‘Done what?’ she replied shakily.

‘Picked a girl up in a bar and within no time asked her to go to a hotel with me?’

She stopped breathing. Stopped thinking. Her world had tipped on its axis and she felt every ounce of her self-control slipping. A voice was tempting her to blindly say yes. Yes, to anything he wanted. She had never in her life felt what she was feeling at this moment. Not even with Lyall.

This was something else, something far more powerful and infinitely more dangerous.

‘Will you?’ he said, and his smouldering gaze searched hers.

She didn’t say a word. But her eyes must have told him something.

‘No names,’ he murmured. ‘Not yet. Not till afterwards. I don’t want to say anything that might spoil what we’re sharing at this moment. Because I have never felt anything quite like it before. Tell me it’s the same for you. Admit it. Say you want me as badly as I want you.’

She couldn’t say it. But every fibre of her female body compelled her to cling to him, betraying her cravings with her body language.

‘You do talk too much,’ she whispered at last.

His lungs expelled a shuddering sigh. Of relief? Or was he trying to dispel some of the sexual tension that was gripping them both?

‘Then you will come with me,’ he said. ‘Now. Straight away.’

They weren’t questions, but orders.

He would be an incredible lover, she realised. Knowing. Dominating. Demanding. The kind she had used to fantasise about. And which she suddenly craved.

‘I…I have to go to the ladies’ first,’ she blurted out, desperate to get away from him. Once some distance broke the spell he was casting over her, she would recover her sanity and escape.

‘I suppose I could do with a visit to the gents’ as well. I’ll meet you back at the bar.’

She didn’t meet him back at the bar. She spent less than twenty seconds in the ladies’ before dashing back to the bar, collecting her bag from the barman and bolting for the exit. She ran all the way to Wynyard Station, where she jumped on the first train heading north.

It was only half an hour since she’d walked into that bar. But it felt like a lifetime.

CHAPTER FOUR

‘THE phone’s ringing, Mummy.’ Emily tugged at Jessie’s jeans. ‘Mummy, are you listening to me? The phone’s ringing.’

‘What? Oh, yes. Thanks, sweetie.’

Jessie dropped the wet T-shirt she was holding back into the clothes basket and ran across the yard towards her back door.

Goodness knew who it would be. She’d already rung Jack first thing this morning to put in a verbal report about last night, petrified at the time that he’d know she was lying.

She’d made up her mind overnight to give Mr Marshall the benefit of the doubt and only tell Jack about the incident with the blonde, and not the conversation that had happened later. She’d already wiped that part off the video as well.

But no sooner had she told him that she’d witnessed the target turning down a proposition from an attractive blonde than Jack had stunned her by saying he wasn’t surprised, that the wife herself had rung that morning in a panic to say that he could keep the money she’d already paid, but that she didn’t want her husband followed any more. It had all been a mistake and a misunderstanding. He’d come home last night and explained everything and she was very happy.

At which point Jack had added smarmily that he could guess what had happened in the Marshall household last night.

‘I can always tell,’ he’d joked. ‘The wives’ voices have a certain sound about them. A combination of coyness and confidence. Our Mr Marshall really came good, I’d say. Like to have been a fly on their bedroom wall last night, I can tell you.’

That image had stayed with Jessie all morning—of her actually being a fly on that bedroom wall, watching whilst the man she’d danced with last night, the man who’d wanted her so desperately, was making love to his wife.

Jessie knew it was wicked of her to feel jealousy over a husband making love to his wife. Wicked to wish she’d been the one in his bed. Wicked, wicked, wicked!

But she couldn’t seem to stop her thoughts, or her feelings. She’d hardly slept a wink all night.

Now, as she dashed inside to the strident sound of the phone, she could still see the desire in his eyes, hear the passion in his voice, feel the need of his body pressed up against hers.

Had he been telling the truth when he said this was a one-off experience? That he’d never done or felt anything like that before?

She was inclined to believe him. Possibly, he’d been more intoxicated than he looked. Or he’d been too long without sex. Silly to believe that there’d been something special between them, right from the first moment their eyes had connected.

That was the romantic in her talking. Men thought differently to women, especially about sex. All she’d been to him was a potential one-night stand.

Maybe, after he discovered she’d done a flit, he’d been relieved. Maybe he’d rushed home in a fit of guilt and shame and genuinely made things up with his wife. Maybe he hadn’t simply used the desire Jessie had engendered in him to make love to a woman he didn’t feel excited by any more.

But why would he do that? For his children’s sake?

Perhaps. Christmas was coming up soon. A family should be together at Christmas. He did hate divorce. She’d heard him say so. And he’d toasted marriage.

Clearly, his marriage mattered to him.

She had to stop thinking about him, Jessie decided as she snatched the receiver down off the kitchen wall. Whatever happened last night, it was over and done with. She would never see the man again. End of story. Finis!

‘Yes,’ she answered breathlessly into the phone.

‘Jessie Denton?’

‘Speaking.’

‘It’s Nicholas Hanks here, Jessie, from Adstaff.’

‘Pardon? Who?’ And then the penny dropped. ‘Oh, yes, Adstaff. The employment agency. Sorry, it’s been a while since I heard from you.’

‘True, but, as I explained to you earlier this year, the market for graphic artists isn’t very buoyant at the moment. Still, something came up yesterday and I thought of you immediately.’

‘Really? Why me, especially?’ Any initial jolt of excitement was tempered by her experiences in the past. Recruitment people were, by nature, optimists. You had to take what they said with a grain of salt sometimes.

‘This particular advertising agency wants someone who can start straight away,’ the recruiter rattled on. ‘They don’t want to interview anyone who’s currently employed with another agency.’

Jessie’s heart sank. There had to be dozens of unemployed graphic artists in Sydney. Once again, the odds of her securing this much-sought-after job was minimal.

‘So which agency is it?’ she asked, refusing to get her hopes up.

‘Wild Ideas.’

‘Oh!’ Jessie groaned. ‘I’d love to work for them.’

Her, and just about every other graphic artist in Sydney. Wild Ideas was only small compared to some advertising agencies. But it was innovative and very successful. Run by advertising pin-up boy Harry Wilde, it had a reputation for promoting any graphic artist with flair to the position of creative designer, rather than head-hunting them from other agencies.

‘Yes, I thought you might,’ came the drily amused reply. ‘You have an interview there at ten o’clock Monday morning.’

‘Gosh, that soon.’ She’d have to ring the restaurant. Fortunately, Monday was their least busy day; if she rang early, they’d be able to call in one of the casuals, no trouble.

‘Can you start straight away, if you have to?’

‘Too right I can. But let’s be honest…Nicholas, wasn’t it…what are the odds of that happening?’

‘Actually, you have an even-money chance. We sent over the CVs of several people on our books yesterday afternoon and they’ve already whittled them down to two. You’re one of those two. Apparently, they’re keen to fill this position, post-haste, and don’t want to waste time interviewing all the would-bes if there are could-bes. I remember your portfolio very well, Jessie, so I know you have the talent required. And you interview very well. Frankly, I was very surprised you weren’t snapped up for that art job I sent you along for earlier on in the year.’

Jessie sighed. ‘I wasn’t surprised. Regardless of what they say, some employers are dead against hiring a single mother. They don’t say so straight out, but underneath they worry that you’ll want time off when your kid’s sick or something. I’m sure that’s been part of my problem all along.’

‘Jessie, your single-mother status is clearly stated on your résumé, which Wild Ideas has already seen. Yet they still specifically asked for you. Clearly, your being a single mum didn’t deter them, did it? You do have your little girl in full-time care, don’t you?’

‘Yes. But…’

‘But nothing. Your circumstances are no different from those of any other working mum, be they single or married. What will count with Wild Ideas is your creative talent, your professional attitude and your reliability. Impress them on those three levels and I feel confident that this job will be yours.’

Jessie had to struggle to control the stirrings of excitement. No way could she afford to get carried away with false optimism. She’d been there, done that, and at the end of the day was always bitterly disappointed.

‘You talk as if I’m the only one going for this job,’ she pointed out. ‘There is another applicant, isn’t there?’

‘Er—yes,’ came the rather reluctant reply.

‘Well, presumably this person is just as well-qualified for this job as I am.’

‘Mmm. Yes. And no.’

‘Meaning what?’

‘Look, it would be very unprofessional of me to say anything negative about the other applicant. She is a client of our agency as well.’

She. It was a woman.

‘But let me give you a hint when it comes to what you wear for your interview. Nothing too bright or too way-out or too overtly sexy.’

Jessie was taken aback. ‘But I never dress like that. You’ve met me. I’m a very conservative dresser.’

‘Yes, but you might have thought that going for a job at Wild Ideas required you to present a certain…image. Trust me when I tell you that your chances of being employed there will be greatly enhanced if you dress very simply.’

‘You mean, in a suit or something?’

‘That might be overkill, under the circumstances. I would suggest something smart, but casual.’

‘Would jeans be too casual? I have some really nice jeans. Not ones with frayed holes in them. They’re dark blue and very smart. I could wear them with a white shirt and a jacket.’

‘Sounds perfect.’

‘And I’ll put my hair up. Down, it can look a bit wild. What about make-up? Should I wear make-up?’

‘Not too much.’

‘Right.’ Jessie speculated that the other applicant was possibly a flashy female, who tried to trade on her sex appeal. Not an uncommon event in the advertising world. Perhaps with Harry Wilde now being a married man instead of a playboy, he preferred to play it safe over who he hired these days. Maybe Nicholas was subtly advising her that the femme fatale type would not be looked upon favourably.

‘Is there anything else I should know?’ she asked.

‘No. Just be your usual honest and open self and I’m sure everything will work out.’

‘You’ve been very kind. Thank you.’

‘My pleasure. I’m only sorry I haven’t been able to find you a job sooner.’

‘I haven’t got this job yet.’

‘You will.’

Jessie wished she could share his supreme confidence, but life had taught her not to count her chickens before they hatched.

‘Have to go, Jessie. There’s someone else on the line. Good luck on Monday.’ And he hung up.

Jessie hung up as well, only then thinking of Emily still out in the back yard all by herself.

Her heart started thudding as a mother’s heart always did when she realised she’d taken her eyes off her child for a few seconds too long.

Not that Emily was the sort of child who got herself into trouble. She was careful, and a thinker. Her pleasures were quiet ones. She wasn’t a climber. Neither did she do silly things. She was absolutely nothing like her father. She was a hundred per cent smarter, for starters.

Still, when Jessie hurried back outside into the yard, she was very relieved to see Emily was where she spent most of her time, playing under the large fig tree in the corner. It was her cubby house, with the sections between the huge roots making perfect pretend rooms. Emily could happily play there for hours.

Her daughter had a wonderful imagination. Jessie had been the same as a child. Maybe it was an only-child thing. Or an inherited talent. Or a bit of both.

Whatever, the Denton girls loved being creative.

Jessie realised then that she wanted that job at Wild Ideas, not just for the money, but also for herself. Being a waitress had been a good stopgap, but she didn’t want to do it for the rest of her life. She wanted to use her mind. She wanted the challenges—and the excitement—of the advertising world.

‘Mummy, who rang our phone? Was it Dora?’

Jessie, who’d finished hanging out the washing, bent down and swept her daughter up into her arms. It was time for lunch.

‘No, sweetie, not Dora. It was a man.’

Emily blinked. ‘A nice man?’

‘Very nice.’

‘Is he going to be your boyfriend, Mummy?’

‘What? Oh, no. Heavens, no! He’s just a man who finds people jobs. It looks as if he might have found Mummy a job as a graphic artist. I have to go for an interview on Monday. If I get it, I’ll earn a lot more money and I’ll be able to buy you lots of pretty things.’

Emily didn’t seem as impressed with this news as Jessie would have expected. She was frowning.

‘Why don’t you have a boyfriend, Mummy? You’re very pretty.’

Jessie felt herself blushing. ‘I…I just haven’t met any man I liked enough to have as a boyfriend.’

Even as she said the words, a pair of ice-blue eyes popped into her mind, along with a charismatic smile. Her heart lurched at the memory of how close she’d come to making the same mistake her mother had made. Brother, she’d got out of that bar just in time.

‘I have you, sweetie,’ Jessie said, giving her daughter a squeeze. ‘I don’t need anyone or anything else.’

Which was the biggest lie Jessie had told her daughter since she’d said she liked being a waitress. Because last night’s experience showed her she did need something else sometimes, didn’t she? She needed to feel like a woman occasionally, not just a mother. She needed to have a man’s arms around her once more. She needed some release from the frustration she could feel building up inside her.

Some day, she would have to find an outlet for those needs. A man, obviously. A boyfriend, as Emily suggested.

But who?

Those blue eyes jumped back into her mind.

Well, obviously not him. He was off limits. A married man.

If only she could get this job. That would bring a whole new circle of males into her world.

OK, so lots of guys in the advertising world were gay. But some weren’t. Surely there had to be the right kind of boyfriend out there for her. Someone attractive and intelligent. Someone single—and a good lover.

Of course, attractive, intelligent single men who were good lovers were invariably full of themselves, and unwilling to commit. There would be no real future in such a relationship. She’d have to be careful not to fall for the guy. Or to start hoping for more than such a man could give.

Jessie sighed. Did she honestly need such complications in her life? Wouldn’t it be better if she just went along the way she was, being a celibate single mum?

Men were trouble. Always had been. Always would be. She was much better off without one in her life. Emily was happy. She was happy. She’d be even happier if she got this job on Monday.

Feeling frustrated was just a temporary thing. She’d get over it. One day.

Jessie sighed again.

‘Why are you always sighing today, Mummy?’ Emily asked. ‘Are you tired?’

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