Harlequin offers you another chance to enjoy this reader-favorite story from USA TODAY bestselling author Sandra Marton.

After hours with the boss…

Ruthless Logan Miller will do whatever it takes to get what he wants, and he’s set his sights on Talia Roberts. She’s the best in her field, and stunningly attractive, too, so Logan is determined to have Talia come work for him. He says he’ll ruin her reputation if she won’t meet his demands!

With no choice but to agree, Talia enters the lion’s den, setting up a catering service in Logan’s new Brazilian office. But she hadn’t realized that sharing his apartment was part of the job description…or that she’d be doing overtime in the boss’s bed!

Originally published in 1990 as Consenting Adults.

Blackmailed into Her Boss’s Bed

Sandra Marton

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CONTENTS

Cover

Back Cover Text

Title Page

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

TALIA held the grey flannel suit against her as she stared into the mirror. Not bad, she thought, tilting her head critically. The suit, along with the matching kidskin pumps and the cream silk blouse still in her suitcase, was the perfect dress-for-success ensemble. She’d look calm and professional, an example of middle management at its respectable best.

Nobody would suspect that in reality she was a quaking bundle of nerves, ready to come unglued at the first touch.

She sighed as she hung the suit in the wardrobe. Her boss knew that she was a wreck, of course, but he wasn’t here. John was back in the San Francisco office, which was where he’d called from minutes ago.

‘Break a leg, kid,’ he’d said cheerfully, and Talia had winced. Somehow, she’d have preferred a simple ‘good luck’ to the traditional actor’s phrase. But John Diamond had pursued a fruitless stage career before he’d started Diamond Food Services, and he never tired of reminding anyone who’d listen that his heart was still in the theatre. His expertise, however, was in catering—hotels, schools, and now lucrative corporate accounts.

Which was, Talia thought as she finished unpacking, the reason she was here, in a hotel on a wind-swept curve of northern California beach, about to take the first big step in her career. The thought turned her throat dry. She sank down on the edge of the bed and folded her hands in her lap.

You can do this, she thought, meeting her eyes in the mirror. John wouldn’t have entrusted Miller International’s Executive Weekend to you if you weren’t up to it.

Talia turned that over in her mind for a while. Of course she could do it. Two years working at a restaurant, four for a hotel chain, then three more at Diamond Food Services, working first in the kitchen, then in purchasing, finally in administration as John’s assistant, had given her the practical experience needed to temper the time she’d spent gaining a degree in hotel and restaurant management. She knew her stuff. There was nothing immodest about admitting it.

She only wished she felt calmer. Talia, always practical, had planned her career with cool precision. The step up—the one she was about to take—had been one she’d expected in two years’ time. That it had fallen into her lap so soon was as jarring as it was exciting. Sometimes she had a suspicion that that was part of the reason John had given it to her.

‘This is liable to be a tough one, sweetheart,’ he’d said when the letter from Miller International had first reached his desk. ‘Their president says he wants us to set up a weekend retreat for upper-echelon execs; our choice of facility so long as it’s somewhere very private—his words—along the coast.’

Talia had smiled. ‘Private, hmm? What does his company do?’

Her boss had leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms behind his head, and grinned wickedly. ‘It makes money. If they want a secluded spot, they can have one.’ His grin had broadened. ‘In the old days, that would have meant they were into primal scream therapy for the overpaid and underworked,’ he’d said with the roguish aplomb of one who had survived the weirdness of California in the 1960s.

Talia had nodded. ‘Right. Quiche and alfalfa sprouts. But surely that’s not what they want today?’

‘Not they, sweetheart. He. Mr Logan Miller. He’s Miller International—has been for the past forty years—and what he wants, he gets, even if it turns out to be strange.’ John had leaned forward and pushed the letter across the desk towards her. ‘Suppose you telephone him and find out what he has in mind.’

The suggestion had surprised her. ‘Me? But that’s Harry’s job.’

‘Didn’t I tell you? I’ve asked him to head up the new office in Seattle.’ Her boss had winked. ‘You get to do the dirty deed instead.’

Talia had tried to sound nonchalant, even though her heart was pounding. ‘Are you offering me Harry’s job?’ she’d asked.

‘Caught you by surprise, didn’t I?’ Laughter had glinted in John’s eyes. ‘You can’t plan everything in life, Talia.’ But you can try. The thought had come immediately, but she had suppressed it just as quickly. When she’d said nothing, John had looked at her. ‘Don’t you want it?’

‘Of course I want it,’ she’d said, forcing aside the images of brown rice casseroles and fertilised egg omelettes that had insisted on dancing through her mind.

She’d shaken hands on her promotion, then hurried back to her tiny office with the letter from Logan Miller clutched in her hand. Reading it had calmed her. Typed on heavy vellum, signed with a firm, masculine scrawl, it had detailed a Friday night through Sunday morning retreat planned for executives of the corporation’s West Coast offices. When she’d got to the schedule and list of workshops that had been included, she had breathed a sigh of relief. The workshops were all business—Finance Strategies for Buyout Leverage had been one of the few comprehensive titles. Even the recreational activities had sounded wearing. The least strenuous was a dawn run along the beach.

Logan Miller couldn’t be a day under sixty-five, but he’d planned a tough weekend. There’d be no brown rice or fertilised eggs for this lot, Talia had thought, and a phone call to Miller’s Los Angeles office had confirmed it. Not that she’d spoken to Mr Miller; he was, his secretary had said, in Brazil on business. Mr Miller’s food preferences? Lean meats. Fresh fish. Salads. Fresh vegetables.

Of course, Talia had thought, scribbling notes furiously, a man of Miller’s age would be interested in a low-fat diet.

And yes, the secretary had said, the facility needed to be removed from the pressures of civilisation. Mr Miller wanted to ensure that his people had no distractions to keep them from the activities of the weekend. Was there anything else Miss Roberts needed?

‘Yes,’ Talia had said. ‘When may I speak with Mr Miller?’

‘He’ll contact you if there’s any need, Miss Roberts. But I’m sure you’ll be able to handle things admirably.’

Talia had taken the polite hint. Logan Miller was not to be bothered with details. She’d set to work, making arrangements and sending copies of everything to his office. But the final decision about where to hold the weekend, had hardly seemed a detail. When she’d narrowed her choices to two, she’d sent Miller a letter asking for his recommendation. Both hotels were equally suitable, it was simply a matter of taste, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.

She’d sat back to await his reply.

It had come by express mail. Logan Miller’s note had been terse. It had said that he had no time to bother with such details, which was why he’d turned the job over to a catering corporation in the first place. And, if both hotels were equally suitable, why had he been asked to choose one over the other? He’d added that he doubted if either choice was appropriate anyway, and if that was the best she could manage, he could always take his business elsewhere. The note had ended with a handwritten, scrawled postscript. What of the Redwood Inn? it had asked. If memory served, it was perfect for the kind of weekend his organisation had planned.

Miller’s response had at first upset Talia and then had infuriated her. Do the job yourself, he’d said, and then he’d proceeded to take it over. Coolly, Talia had sent off an answer, telling him he could, of course, choose the Redwood Inn. But the inn was closed for the season. Arrangements were possible, but would cost twice what her other suggestions would. There would be union fees, staffing fees…

His answering note had been a barely legible scrawl. ‘Do it,’ he’d written across the bottom of her letter.

And Talia had; she had planned everything, right down to the last detail, and it had cost a fortune, more than twice what she’d proposed. Her boss had turned pale when she’d shown him the final bill, but she’d shrugged and reminded him that Miller had approved the cost without comment.

In her heart, she’d thought that the increase was no more than Logan Miller deserved. But the vengeful thought was so unlike her that she’d kept it to herself. She prided herself on level-headed behaviour; that an old man she’d never met could anger her enough to bring out such an emotional side to her personality was embarrassing.

Now, hours before the cocktail party that would signal the start of the carefully planned weekend, she thought, grudgingly, that Miller had been right. The Redwood Inn, perched on a hill overlooking the Pacific, with the beach at its feet and a forest of giant redwoods at its back, was perfect.

She finished putting away the rest of her things, then glanced at her watch. Her staff would be well into their preparations by now. It was time to check and see how they were doing. They were all seasoned veterans, but it never hurt to check things yourself.

Talia stripped off the silk shirtwaist dress she’d travelled in. Kitchens were not only places of spills and stains, they were also invariably hot, especially in the dog-days of September. Shorts, a cotton-knit top and a pair of sandals would do. No one would see her except her staff, she thought, taking a quick glance into the mirror and smoothing back a strand of dark auburn hair.

Her pulse gave a nervous leap, and she made a face at herself. There was nothing more to worry about until the weekend really got under way. Still, she took a deep breath before she left her room.

The kitchen was a whirl of activity. Her people barely acknowledged her presence. Everyone was busy, going from the huge refrigerators to the stoves…

Talia frowned. No, not everyone. The back door was open, probably to catch any breeze that drifted by. A man lounged in the doorway, watching the flurry of proceedings with an impassive expression on his face. He was leaning on the frame, arms crossed against his chest, feet crossed at the ankles, looking like a casual spectator at a sporting match.

He turned towards her, their eyes met, and a lazy smile tilted at the corners of his mouth. For some reason it made her feel uncomfortable, and she looked away from him.

‘Do we have enough shrimps?’ she asked no one in particular. ‘And what about oysters and clams?’

There were plenty of oysters and shrimps. And the clams had just been delivered. Did she want to check them herself? Minutes later, Talia had forgotten all about the man in the doorway. She was, instead, intent on tasting a Welsh rarebit that was simmering on the stove.

She hesitated, the spoon halfway to her mouth, as she felt a prickling along her skin. Slowly, almost reluctantly, she looked up. The stranger was watching her. Even at a distance, there was no missing the intensity of his gaze.

Talia felt a slow flush rise along her skin. The shorts she was wearing were old and faded, the knit top loose and virtually shapeless. But she was suddenly aware of how skimpy an outfit it was.

His eyes moved over her, and she felt as if he were stripping the clothing from her body. The insolence of the man! And what was he doing in the kitchen of the Redwood Inn? There was no reason to see anyone but her staff in here right now. There’d be others in and out of the room tonight, when the extra servers that had been hired showed up. But that was hours away. And…

Of course. That was what he was—a temporary worker, hired to pass trays of hors-d’oeuvre and wait table this evening. There’d been no problem arranging for half a dozen such people: California beach communities tended to collect drifters who followed the sun and the surf, and drifters took work wherever they could.

The man in the doorway had that look, Talia thought, her glance moving dismissively over him. He was tall, leanly muscled, wearing ragged-edged cut-off denims and a T-shirt inscribed with what seemed to be a college seal, so faded it was illegible. She could almost picture him with a surfboard under his arm, although he seemed to be in his late thirties. Well, this was California. She’d seen stranger things than over-age beach bums since she’d moved West.

The stranger was smiling under her scrutiny, a very private, intimate smile, and a coldness clamped down on Talia’s heart. Did he really think that would work with her? Carefully, she put down the spoon and moved towards him. ‘May I help you?’

His teeth flashed in a quick grin. ‘I don’t know. What do you have in mind?’

He was good-looking, in an obvious kind of way, and he was probably used to doing rather well with women. Well, he was in for a surprise.

‘Keep it up,’ she said quietly, ‘and you won’t have to worry about tonight.’

His eyebrows rose in surprise. ‘My, my,’ he said teasingly, ‘that’s a pretty direct approach.’

‘What I meant,’ Talia said sharply, ‘was that if you go on like this, you won’t have a job to come to this evening.’ He looked blank, and she sighed. ‘You’re here to work the cocktail party and dinner, aren’t you?’

‘Ah.’ The smile came again. He stepped away from the wall and nodded. ‘The Miller thing. I suppose you might say that, yes.’

A lock of auburn hair fell over Talia’s forehead and she brushed it back impatiently. ‘You’re due here at seven. Until then, you’re just in the way.’ Her eyes moved over him again. ‘I take it you can put your hands on black trousers? We’ll provide the jacket and bow-tie.’

He laughed and put his hands on his hips. The movement made the muscles roll beneath his skin, and she thought, yes, definitely a surfer with that sun-bleached hair and taut body. Only someone who spent his time in constant activity could look so—so…

‘And a white shirt,’ she said, while a flush ran up under her skin.

He nodded. ‘Yes, ma’am,’ he said solemnly. ‘Black trousers, white shirt. Anything else, Miss…?’

‘And black shoes. Polished, of course.’

A grin tugged at his mouth. ‘Of course. Miss—Miss…’

‘Roberts.’ Her voice was crisp. ‘Talia Roberts. I’m in charge.’

The man stared at her for a minute, and then he took a step towards her. ‘How nice to meet you,’ he said, holding out his hand. ‘And I’m—’

‘I don’t care in the least who you are,’ she said coldly.

His smile dimmed a little. ‘That’s not very polite, Talia. When you deal with people, you might—’

Her chin rose. ‘My name is Miss Roberts. And if I need advice, I’ll certainly not ask for it from someone like you.’

The man’s eyes narrowed. ‘If I were you, Miss Roberts—’

‘But you’re not. And if you want to get paid tonight, you’d better learn to do as you’re told.’

His smile turned to ice. ‘Are you always this unpleasant to the people who work for you?’

No, she thought in surprise, she wasn’t. Courtesy to staff was one of the things she prided herself on. Then why, she wondered, was she being so rude to him? The answer came quickly. Because he was impertinent. Because he had no business here. Because—because he made her uncomfortable and edgy and—

‘Dammit to hell!’

The chef’s voice roared across the kitchen as the Welsh rarebit boiled over. Talia took one look and grabbed for a towel. When she turned around again, the man had vanished.

She forget all about him as the afternoon passed. There were a dozen last-minute crises, none—thank goodness—that couldn’t be handled. Finally, with only moments to spare, Talia hurried to her room to shower and change for the evening. When she was dressed, she looked into the mirror and smiled. She’d been right, the grey suit and silk blouse were perfect. She looked as cool and collected as…

Talia jumped. For a second, her reflection had seemed to waver; she’d imagined she’d seen the stranger looking back at her, smiling his insolent smile.

She turned away sharply and picked up her bag. If the man showed up, which she doubted, she’d tell her people to keep a careful eye on him. He was more likely to try and skive off than work. He might even try to come on to the few women executives scattered in the group, and she didn’t need that kind of headache. The cocktail party, and the dinner following, would bring enough problems of their own.

The hall was silent. The inn was three storeys high, and Logan Miller’s people had all been housed on the first two levels. Talia had taken a room on the third floor, where she could monitor things without intruding on them.

Her heels clicked loudly as she walked down the corridor. The floating staircase loomed ahead, an impressive structure of redwood, stainless steel and glass. She paused at the top, her hand on the polished wood railing, and looked down. In a little while, all her months of planning and hard work would come together. And everything would be fine—she’d left nothing to chance.

‘You’re such a stickler for detail, Talia,’ one of her assistants had said today, smiling. ‘I bet it runs in the family.’

Wryly, Talia had been tempted to tell her the truth. ‘Not in my family it doesn’t,’ she’d almost said. ‘The only detail my mother ever worried about was getting married before her pregnancy showed. And my father’s only thought was how long it would take before she wouldn’t give a damn if he left and never came back.’

But she’d simply laughed and spouted some nonsense about preparing for every possible contingency. Which was what she always did, she reminded herself as she started down the stairs. It was one of the reasons why she had nothing to worry about tonight.

What could possibly go wrong?

* * *

An hour later, she breathed a sigh of relief. The cocktail party was in full swing, and it was going as smoothly as silk. Talia made a cursory appearance, just long enough to check the trays of hors-d’oeuvre and the stock at the bar. The Miller executives seemed to be having a great time. They’d been subdued at first, standing in little clusters, talking quietly. Every now and then, an anxious face would turn to the doorway. But as time passed and they sipped their drinks, their inhibitions fell away and the level of noise and laughter grew.

On her second trip through the ballroom, Talia overheard a snatch of conversation that confirmed what she had already suspected. ‘Maybe we’ll luck out,’ one man said to another. ‘Maybe the old man’s been detained in New York.’

Talia breathed a sigh of relief as she pushed open the swinging door that led back to the kitchen. So, Logan Miller hadn’t shown yet. Maybe that explained why things were going so well. Everything was moving along as she’d planned—even though they were one server short. Her assistant hadn’t complained about it, but of course Talia knew they were.

She’d been watching for the man she’d had the run-in with earlier, and he hadn’t shown up. It was just as well. If he’d been there—

‘Oof! Sorry, Talia, I didn’t see you there.’

The saucier had stepped down hard on her foot. Talia smiled determinedly. ‘My fault,’ she said, taking a step back. ‘I’ll just—’ She whirled around as a pot clattered to the tile floor. ‘Sorry,’ she said quickly. ‘I didn’t mean…’

The head chef looked at her. ‘Sounds like there’s a pretty good party going on out there. Why don’t you go have a drink or something?’

Talia laughed and shook her head. ‘Not me. I’m just the hired help—they don’t want me crashing their party.’

He sighed. ‘Listen, boss, I’m trying to do this diplomatically but the truth is, you’re in the way. We’d all be grateful if you’d skedaddle. We’ll yell if we run into trouble.’

She nodded. It was a nice thing to say, but trouble was highly unlikely. The staff were efficient and well trained, and they didn’t need her underfoot. Her job was planning and co-ordinating; the chef was right, she really was in the way right now.

Talia smiled, snatched a cracker from a tray as it went by, and walked to the door. ‘Call if you need me,’ she said, and she stepped out into the dusk.

She felt as if she’d walked into another world. The noise of the kitchen vanished, replaced instantly by the silence of the soft September evening. A breeze carried up from the sand, fragrant with the rich scents of the Pacific, mingling with the clean tang of pine drifting down from the rounded hills that rose behind the inn. Talia stood still for a moment, face lifted to the sky, and then she began walking slowly along the gravel path that wound uphill, through the pines to the grove of redwoods towering beyond them.

It was hard going, thanks to the pitch of the land and the height of her grey suede heels, but she decided to make the best of it. For starters, the air smelled too sweet and fresh to go back inside. For another—for another, she was just as glad to put off the time she’d have to check things again. For all she knew, the man she’d met this afternoon might have changed his mind and shown up to work, and she didn’t really want to face him again. It was silly, but that was the way she felt.

And then there was Logan Miller. She knew what to expect there—his letters, and now the attitude of his employees, had prepared her for the worst. Still, she’d done the job he’d asked of her, and so far she seemed to have done it well. Miller would have to be satisfied, which meant that her boss would be, too. Her promotion would be rock-solid.

In a couple of years, if all went as planned, she’d have enough money saved and enough experience under her belt to start a small catering firm of her own. It was something she’d thought about and planned for a very long time. And then she’d have everything she wanted: she wouldn’t need anyone or anything any more.

If she owed her mother’s memory anything, she sometimes thought, it was that her very irresponsibility had been a kind of legacy.

‘You are the most determined young woman, Talia,’ John Diamond had once said, and he’d laughed. ‘Did you learn that at Cornell?’

No, she’d thought, I learned it when Grams told me the circumstances of my birth. But she hadn’t said that, of course, she’d simply smiled and said she’d learned all kinds of things at university.

The path had grown steep. Talia stopped, drew in a deep breath, and looked over her shoulder. The inn was barely visible, half-hidden by the pine trees. She should really go back, she thought. The cocktail hour would be over soon, and dinner would be starting. You could never tell what might happen then. Once, she’d seen someone take a bite of something, gasp, and fall to the floor in an allergic attack. Only quick thinking on the part of one of the servers had saved the woman’s life.

She thought again of the man in the kitchen. Where was he tonight? Not that she cared, one way or the other. It was just that he’d looked as if he could have used the few dollars he’d have earned this evening. Well, that wasn’t really accurate. There’d been something about him, an aura she just couldn’t nail down that had seemed to overwhelm everything else. He’d looked like a beach bum, yes, but there’d been more to him than that.

She clucked her tongue in annoyance. What was the matter with her? She was tired, that was it, and why wouldn’t she be? She’d flown in early this morning and she hadn’t stopped since. This walk had revived her a bit, she had to admit that. All right, she’d go in a little further, just into the redwood grove ahead, although it did look awfully dark and gloomy and…

She heard the footfalls behind her just as she reached the first stand of giant trees. Footfalls? No, not that. Something was pounding hard along the gravel path behind her. And it was breathing hard. In the silence of the evening, the sound of air being drawn in an out of its lungs was raspingly loud.

Her heart constricted. Talia had grown up in a small city back East, and had spent the last few years in San Francisco. The closest she’d come to country living was the four years she’d spent at Cornell University in New York State, and although the campus was in a beautiful outdoors setting it hardly qualified as wilderness.

Images of bears, cougars, or something even worse jostled each other for attention in her mind. She stood rooted to the gravel path, trying to decide whether it was wiser to turn and face what was coming or to head further into the artificial night of the redwood forest. Face it, she thought. But, just as she turned, the creature that was pursuing her ran her down.

It came at her quickly, a dark blur that rounded the bend and entered the trees with a speed that sent it crashing into her. Talia felt the jarring slap of muscle against flesh, caught the sharp tang of salt and something muskier, and then she went down in a tumble of limbs and grey flannel.

‘For God’s sake, woman, what the hell were you doing?’

The thing that had run her over had a voice. Relief flooded through her as she realised that it was a man—a very sweaty, irritable one, from the feel and sound of him—and then she felt her own anger rising.

Talia pushed at his chest as he lay above her. ‘Will you get off me?’ she demanded. ‘Dammit, where do you think you are?’

The man caught her wrists as she flailed at him. ‘That’s it,’ he said, ‘add insult to injury. It isn’t enough you were playing statues in the middle of the path—’

‘This is a walking path, not a running path. Why weren’t you watching where you were going?’

The torrent of words halted as she stared into the face poised above hers. It was dark in the redwood grove; the man’s face was striped with shadow. But there was no mistaking the thatch of sun-streaked hair that fell across his forehead or the darkly blazing eyes set above those high cheekbones.

Talia’s heartbeat stumbled. The man straddling her was the surfer-cum-waiter she’d met in the kitchen earlier.

He seemed to recognise her at the same moment. A smile curved across his mouth, then vanished. He sat back a little so that she felt the weight of him against her thighs. ‘We meet again,’ he said, and she flushed.

‘Let me up.’

The smile came again. ‘Ask nicely.’

Talia gritted her teeth. ‘I said—’

‘Perhaps you didn’t hear me. I told you to ask nicely.’

‘Dammit! Get up. Are you deaf?’

He laughed coolly. ‘I’m just not good at taking orders. I’ve been told it’s my major failing.’ The grasp on her wrists tightened. ‘Now ask politely if you want me to get off you.’

‘Damn you…’

He smiled. ‘Actually,’ he said softly, shifting his body against hers, ‘I’m rather comfortable where I am.’

Talia closed her eyes, then opened them again. He was watching her narrowly, the smile twisted across his mouth. She was a long way from the inn, she thought suddenly, and a chill raced along her spine.

She swallowed. ‘All right.’ Her voice was wooden. ‘Get up. Please.’

He hesitated. Then, in one fluid motion, he let go her wrists, rose to his feet, and held out his hand. Talia looked at it, then at him, and turned her face away. She got to her feet stiffly, wincing as she did.

The man moved quickly. His arm slid around her waist. ‘Are you hurt?’

‘No. I’m fine, no thanks to you.’

She tried stepping away from him, but his arm tightened around her. The smell of salt and musk came again, and she realised suddenly that it was him she was smelling, a sensual combination of sweat and some male essence that emanated from him.

‘Don’t be so bloody stubborn,’ he said. ‘Tell me what’s wrong. Is it your ankle?’

She shook her head. ‘I—I don’t think so, no. I just broke my heel, that’s all.’ Her eyes met his and she saw once again that dark intensity that she’d seen that afternoon. Her breath caught. ‘Let go of me.’ She waited a moment, then swallowed. ‘Please.’

‘I’ll help you back to the inn,’ he said. ‘Lean on me.’

His arm curved around her, moulding her to the muscular strength of his body. He was wearing the same T-shirt and shorts she’d seen him in earlier; both were soaked and clung to him like a second skin. She stumbled as he drew her to him; when she reached out to steady herself, her hand fell on his arm. His skin was warm and damp, taut under her fingers, the muscles beneath hard and powerful. Talia’s pulse leaped crazily, and she pulled back as if she’d touched her hand to a hot stove.

‘No.’ Her voice sounded ragged, and she swallowed. ‘No,’ she repeated, more evenly this time. ‘I’m fine. If you’d just—’

‘What are you going to do, walk back barefoot? Dammit, let me help you.’

Suddenly, his very nearness seemed to overwhelm her. There was a strange constriction in her chest; her head was reeling. In all her carefully ordered life, she had never felt the confusion this man seemed to inspire. ‘Just get your hands off me,’ she said. ‘Do you hear me? I swear, if you don’t…’

He grew very still. ‘If I don’t?’

Talia swallowed. ‘I’ll—I’ll report you. I’ll—I’ll…’

The man clasped her by the shoulders and forced her to face him. ‘I saw the way you looked at me today,’ he said softly. ‘You liked what you saw, Miss Roberts. But you were damned determined not to admit it.’

Colour flooded her cheeks. ‘You flatter yourself.’

He laughed. ‘Do I?’

In the second before he kissed her, Talia knew what he was going to do. But there was no time to stop him—he pulled her into his arms with a speed that took her breath away. One hand tangled in her hair, tilting her head back, while the other cupped her chin.

‘No.’ Panic turned her voice thready. ‘Don’t—’

His mouth silenced her. Talia raised her hands and slammed them against his chest, but he only shifted her more closely against him, imprisoning her with his strength. His mouth moved on hers, hard and deliberate, and gradually he forced her lips to open to the demand of his. His kiss became an invasion of her senses: she tasted his heat, felt the mockery of passion his tongue made as it sought hers.

The assault of his embrace flamed through her, scorching a path the length of her body. Talia grew still in the stranger’s arms; her lashes fell to her cheeks as a strange lethargy spread through her. She swayed in his arms and he murmured something incomprehensible against her mouth, his kiss gentling, deepening.

His hand slid to her waist, and she felt the light press of his fingers just beneath her breast. For a tick of eternity, she felt abandoned by time and reality. A nameless fear welled within her, more of herself than of him.

With a sob of desperation, Talia pushed hard against his chest and twisted free of his embrace.

‘Are you always this brave,’ she said, after her heart had stopped racing, ‘or is it because I’m a woman that you think you can take what you want?’

He laughed. ‘If you mean do I always get what I want, the answer is yes.’

His voice was harsh, his tone contemptuous, and Talia thought she’d never hated anyone as she hated him. Anger fuelled her courage. ‘Then this will be the first time you don’t.’

‘There’s always a way, Talia.’ His eyes were cool as they moved over her. ‘Haven’t I just proved that?’

Her hand was a blur as it rose between them, but he was faster. He caught her wrist before she could strike him, his fingers curving tightly around the slender bones, and she drew a sharp breath.

‘Let go of me. Do you hear me? I—’

Laughter drifted towards them. There was the sound of feet scuffling on the gravel path, and suddenly a young couple stepped into the redwood grove. Talia recognised the boy—he was one of the servers she’d hired, and from the way she was dressed the girl was, too.

The couple’s laughter faded and they stood staring at Talia and the man. The little tableau remained still and silent and then, suddenly, he let go of Talia’s hand and stepped back.

‘Until we meet again, Talia,’ he said softly, and then he turned to the boy. ‘Help Miss Roberts to the inn. She’s had an accident.’

The couple sprang apart, the boy moving quickly to Talia’s side. ‘Yes, sir.’

Talia shook her head. ‘I’m fine. It’s only my shoe. I…’

Her words trailed away as the man turned and began running easily down the path. ‘Sir’, the boy had said, the word taut with deference. A little while before, it would have seemed ludicrous that anyone would address a man wearing T-shirt, frayed shorts and scuffed running shoes with such respect. But the stranger’s tone and bearing had suddenly commanded it. ‘Until we meet again,’ he’d said.

The breath caught in Talia’s throat. Suddenly, she knew beyond doubt that they would.

CHAPTER TWO

JOHN DIAMOND examined the tray before him as if the chicken pieces laid out on it might suddenly spring up and attack him. ‘What did you call this stuff?’ he asked, picking up the serving fork and gingerly moving aside a pineapple ring.

Talia smiled. ‘I didn’t call it anything,’ she said, watching as he put some chicken on his plate and cut into it. ‘It’s labelled batch number seven—although the kitchen staff’s been calling it Chicken Hawaiian.’

John put his fork to his mouth, chewed slowly, then swallowed and made a face. ‘How about calling it a mistake and letting it go at that?’ he said, pushing his plate aside and taking a long sip from a glass of iced water. ‘Much too sweet—nobody wants anything that sugary today.’ He glanced towards the closed door that connected the executive dining-room to the kitchen. ‘What’s next? Or don’t I want to know?’

‘Something involving artichokes, fillet of sole and capers.’ Her boss rolled his eyes and Talia laughed softly. ‘Well, you asked Staff to come up with some exotic offerings, John.’

‘Remind me to tell them exotic doesn’t mean inedible, hmm?’ John’s mouth drew up in a good-humoured smile. ‘What the hell, that’s what our monthly Surprise Luncheon is for, isn’t it? Better to test out new concoctions on ourselves than on our clients. And we average far more successes than failures.’ He took another sip of water, then set down his glass and looked at Talia. ‘Speaking of successes, I’ve had glowing reports about the Miller Weekend.’

Talia looked up. ‘I meant to thank you for sending me a copy of the letter from the inn,’ she said. ‘I’m glad they thought it went well.’

Her boss shook his head. ‘Not just the inn. I had a letter from Miller himself yesterday.’ He paused as the connecting door swung open and a waitress appeared bearing a covered platter. John sniffed as she set it down and took off the cover, and then he sighed. ‘Capers and artichokes, hmm? Do us a favour, Ann. Ask the kitchen to send out a couple of omelettes, will you? Thanks.’ He waited until the girl had hurried off, and then he covered the offending dish and shoved it aside. ‘You win some and lose some, I guess.’

Talia leaned forward. ‘You heard from Logan Miller?’

Her boss nodded. ‘Yeah. The big man himself.’ He looked at her and smiled. ‘He was impressed. Very impressed. Good food, good service, everything planned to the last detail…’

‘As if he’d know,’ she said impatiently. ‘I told you, he never showed up. Well, I suppose he did, I know he was listed as speaker at their general meeting and as chairman at some workshop, but I never laid eyes on him. He wasn’t at the cocktail party Friday evening or the dinner either night or—’

‘No one ever introduced you, you mean.’

Talia shook her head. ‘He wasn’t there, John. You could tell from the way people were acting.’

‘Didn’t you say you only made cursory appearances each evening?’

‘I followed company policy,’ Talia said defensively. ‘Stay in the background, be available if needed—’

John held his hands up. ‘For heaven’s sake, I wasn’t criticising you. You did a great job—didn’t I just tell you that? I’m only pointing out that just because you didn’t see Miller it doesn’t mean he wasn’t there. Anyway, you should count yourself fortunate he stayed out of your hair. Corporate weekends are rough enough without the top brass breathing down your neck.’

Talia nodded. ‘I know. And I’m glad to hear that Mr Miller was satisfied.’

‘More than satisfied, according to his letter.’ Her employer smiled. ‘I knew you’d be pleased; I gather you worked your tail off that weekend. You looked as if you hadn’t slept a wink when you showed up at the office Monday morning.’

Talia nodded as the door swung open again and the waitress brought their omelettes to the table. ‘It was—it was a tough weekend, yes,’ she said slowly.

John peered narrowly at his plate, then picked up his fork and stabbed at his eggs. A smile of relief eased across his face. ‘Thank God,’ he muttered. ‘Eggs unadorned. Remind me to give the chef who cooked this a bonus.’ He took a mouthful, chewed, then swallowed. ‘Of course the weekend was tough. A big job, and your first solo assignment. Why, I remember right after I started Diamond’s, I landed a huge account…’

It was a story Talia had heard before. Only half listening, she picked at her lunch while John rambled on. Talking about the weekend she’d spent at the Redwood Inn had brought a rush of unwelcome memories. Her thoughts drifted far from the small, handsomely appointed dining-room to a narrow trail winding through a shadowed grove of trees, to a man whose arrogant, handsome face had haunted her dreams for the past two weeks.

And that was ridiculous. What had happened on that trail had been unpleasant, even humiliating. The man had been brash and vulgar. But the only harm done had been to her ego. Talia knew that, just as she knew she should have long since put the whole incident out of her mind.

But she hadn’t. She was sure she knew the reason: as soon as the man had faded from sight, she’d thought of a dozen cutting remarks she should have made to put him in his place. At the very least, she should have dismissed him on the spot. He’d caught her off guard, she knew that, and she told herself she couldn’t be blamed for not reacting quickly enough to his insults.

By the time she’d hobbled back to the inn, she’d been burning with the desire to strike back at him. She’d shrugged off the concerns of the young couple who’d escorted her to the door, hurried to her room, exchanged her ruined shoes for a new pair and then rushed downstairs to begin her search for the man.

But he hadn’t been there. After a while, when she’d calmed down, she’d realised that there was no way he’d have stayed around. He’d certainly have figured out that she had been going to hand him his walking papers. And he’d never have let her have that satisfaction. He might be a drifter, but he wasn’t a fool.

The next day, she’d thought of asking if anyone knew his name. There was a certain camaraderie among those who drifted along the California coast, searching for the right wave or the right beach, and everyone knew someone who knew someone else. But it hadn’t seemed such a wise idea. People would have wanted to know why she was enquiring about him, and what would her answer have been to that?

She couldn’t have said he’d walked off the job. In this business, people did that often enough and it wasn’t the practice of employers to go looking for them. Nor could she have said he’d been insolent. To do that, she’d have had to explain what he’d done, and she wasn’t exactly sure what had happened to her in that redwood forest.

Besides, what would have been the point? The man had made a fool of her, but the incident was over and best forgotten. And she’d almost thought she had forgotten it, in the rush of activity that the day had brought. There had been no fresh mushrooms for the dinner salads, and one of the cooks had wrenched his back. By the time the day had ended, Talia had been exhausted and drained.

But, that night, she’d had her first dream about him. It had been filled with uncertain images. But the memory of his eyes, blazing with fire, had been as vivid as the memory of his mouth moving with fierce sweetness on hers. She’d awakened suddenly, trembling, stunned by the sharp reality of that kiss. Talia was almost thirty years old, she knew the facts of life—but she had never had that kind of dream before.

What was more upsetting was that what she’d felt in the arms of her dream lover had been more exciting than anything she’d ever felt in the arms of the flesh and blood man she’d been involved with. It had happened quite a while ago, but she still remembered how unfulfilled she’d felt after the relationship had reached that stage. She’d been lonely—that was probably what had made her seek Keith’s comfort. But she’d been even lonelier when she’d found that she’d felt nothing in the intimate embrace of the man who’d said he’d loved and wanted her.

The only positive thing about the brief affair was that it had proved that she wasn’t tainted by her mother’s affliction. The only passion that drove Talia was the passion to succeed.

She had avoided emotional entanglements ever since. There’d been no need for them; the job with Diamond Food Services had come along, and suddenly Talia’s life had been full and rich. Her career had become the passion of her life, her success the yardstick by which she could measure her rapid progress away from the poverty and desperation in which that life had begun.

Now, suddenly, shockingly, her body had betrayed her. She’d felt unclean. When her heart had stopped thudding, she’d thrown back the blankets and stalked to the shower, as angry at herself as she had been at the man who’d invaded her dreams. She’d stood beneath the streaming water for long minutes, scrubbing her skin until it glowed pink, as if the soap would cleanse not just her flesh but her mind and soul.

There’d been no more dreams—until the next night. And the next. To her despair, there seemed no way to stop them. The fantasies were never really clear, they were more like mirages shimmering distantly in a hot desert wind—but they always ended the same way, with Talia clasped in the stranger’s powerful arms, her body moulded to the heat of his, her mouth blooming under the passion of his kiss.

Last night, she’d awakened remembering his words. ‘Until we meet again,’ he’d said. Her heart had skipped erratically. It had only been a figure of speech, she’d assured herself. There was no way their paths would ever cross, they came from worlds so far apart, there was no sense in even attempting to envisage their meeting. Talia’s world was ordered and controlled; it was her safe way to face life. His—his was chaos and anarchy. It was the antithesis of everything she believed in.

Not that it mattered. She hated him. She only dreamed about him because he’d upset her—that was easy enough to understand.

Then why did she tremble in his arms every night? She wasn’t even asleep when he came to her. As soon as she climbed into bed and put out the light, he was beside her in the dark, his mouth a curl of flame on hers, his hands a silken glide across her skin…

‘Talia?’

She blinked and looked up from her lunch, her eyes focusing on her employer seated opposite her. John Diamond gave her a wry grin. ‘I knew you’d be pleased, but I didn’t think my news would bring a glow to your cheeks,’ he said.

Talia blushed. ‘I’m sorry, John. I must have been daydreaming. Did you say something?’

Diamond laughed. ‘Did I say something, indeed!’ He shoved his empty plate aside, learned forward, and put his elbows on the table. ‘When did you tune out, sweetheart? Before the request from old man Miller, or after?’

Her teeth closed lightly on her bottom lip. ‘Request?’ She groaned dramatically. ‘Don’t tell me he’s planning another executive weekend. I’ve hardly recovered from the last.’

‘Ah, ye of little faith, what do we care about executive weekends when we can establish executive dining-rooms?’ John grinned. ‘Your mouth’s fallen open, Talia. You really didn’t hear a bit of what I said a few minutes ago, did you?’

‘Executive dining-room? Logan Miller wants us to set one up?’

Her boss nodded. ‘That was what his letter said.’

‘But I’d have thought they already had one in their Los Angeles offices. A company like that…’

John shrugged. ‘I gather they’re opening new offices and they want us to do the honours.’ He paused, then smiled slyly. ‘Actually, it’s you the old boy wants, lovey. He made a special request for Miss Talia Roberts.’

Talia’s pulse leaped. The weekend really had gone well. To have made such a positive impression on a new client was more than she’d hoped for. ‘Really?’

Her boss laughed. ‘Really.’ He pushed back his sleeves, then raised his eyes to hers. ‘In fact, the old man will tell you that himself in less than five hours.’

‘He’s coming here? To our office?’

‘Now you’re letting yourself get carried away, Talia. I mean, it’s one thing to believe in good fortune, but miracles are another story. Logan Miller doesn’t come to the world, it comes to him.’

‘But you just said—’

John pursed his lips. ‘I said you’d be seeing the old boy in just a few hours.’ He paused, then leaned towards her. ‘And you shall. In his office, in LA. His secretary called this morning. You have a dinner appointment with him.’

‘What?’ Talia stared at her employer in disbelief. ‘I can’t, John. I have a meeting scheduled in an hour. Anyway, I’d never get a flight at the last minute. And I’d have to change my clothes—’

‘Changing your clothes is the only thing on your agenda.’ John Diamond shoved back his chair and got to his feet. ‘Someone else will take your meeting. As for flight arrangements, the old boy’s sending his Learjet for you.’ He grinned as he walked around the table and grasped the back of her chair. ‘Pretty impressive, hmm?’

Panic fluttered its wings in Talia’s breast. What kind of nonsense was this? John knew she didn’t work this way—he’d teased her about it often enough, but she knew that he admired her for it, too. She was a person who believed in planning. That was the way you took control of a situation. But that took time and preparation, and her boss—and Logan Miller—were giving her neither.

‘I can’t do it,’ she said. The expression on her boss’s face made her swallow. ‘I mean, I’d rather not do it this way. I—I work best when I have the chance to get myself organised, John. You know that.’

Diamond’s smile faded. ‘Listen, sweetheart, I’d love to play this your way. But there isn’t time. Miller said he wants to see you tonight.’

John pulled back Talia’s chair and she rose slowly. ‘Yes, but what’s the rush? The meeting can wait a day or two. I’ll telephone Mr Miller and explain—’

‘He’s leaving for South America tomorrow. Brazil or Chile, I don’t know, I’m not certain what his secretary said. Frankly, I was too busy pinching myself to make sure it was happening.’ John took her hand and tucked it into his arm. ‘Do you realise, Talia, that if you can pull this off, Diamond will have its first really classy account?’

‘We have lots of good accounts, John. You know that.’

Her boss shrugged. ‘Yeah,’ he admitted, ‘we’ve got some good stuff. But nothing as up-scale as Miller. And you know this business, sweetheart. One good client leads to another.’ Diamond smiled as they walked to the door. ‘Don’t look so woebegone, Talia. Anybody would think I was sending you off on something terrible instead of giving you the chance to bring home a fat contract.’

Talia smiled weakly. John was right. Yes, Logan Miller had a formidable reputation and yes, she had already formed a negative impression of him—but the fact was that he’d asked for her especially because he was pleased with her work. As for preparation, the flight to Los Angeles would give her time to read up on Miller International. Maybe she could even dig up something about the new offices they were planning.

She drew in her breath. ‘You’re right. And I’m grateful for the vote of confidence.’

Her boss smiled. ‘I knew I could count on you, sweetheart.’ He opened the door and they stepped into the corridor. ‘I’ve arranged for a car to drive you home so that you can change and get whatever else you need. If Miller asks any questions you can’t field—legal stuff, whatever—just tell him to have his lawyers call ours.’ Talia’s boss looked at her. ‘You’ll do fine, kid. You’ll see. I know you don’t like this last-minute kind of thing, but you’ve already dealt with Logan Miller and come out ahead.’

‘I didn’t deal with him, John. I didn’t even see him.’

Her boss put his beefy arm around her shoulders and began walking her slowly towards the street door. ‘Yeah, but you impressed the hell out of him. With a guy like that, that’s half the battle.’ He squeezed her shoulders as they reached the door. ‘You’ll do fine.’

Talia smiled. ‘I’ll do my best.’

‘Break a leg, sweetheart.’

She winced as she stepped into the crisp San Francisco afternoon. Some day, she thought, she had to convince John Diamond to find a better way to wish her good luck.

* * *

Talia sighed as she closed the copy of the Wall Street Journal and lay it on the seat beside her, where it joined a stack of other Journals, a copy of the International Herald Tribune, and several back issues of Business Week magazine. There was an ache in her temples, and she lay her head against the soft leather seat-back and closed her eyes.

She tended to get headaches when she flew—a friendly flight attendant had once told her it was from insufficient oxygen in the cabin air—but she had the feeling that the pain in her head this time had more to do with all the reading she’d done the past couple of hours than with anything so mundane.

For one thing, the cabin of Logan Miller’s private jet wouldn’t suffer from insufficient oxygen or anything else. Everything about the plane was plush, from the glove-leather seats to the walnut panelling. It was stocked with all the luxuries of home—not hers, Talia thought wryly, and not anybody else’s she knew. Even John Diamond’s handsome apartment was spartan compared to this.

‘Please make yourself comfortable, Miss Roberts,’ the steward had said as soon as she’d settled into her seat. ‘May I bring you something? A sandwich, perhaps? Or a salad? Or—’

‘Tea,’ Talia had said. ‘Tea would be lovely.’

Moments later, she’d been sipping a fragrant brew—’Specially blended for Mr Miller, Miss Roberts, I’m glad you like it’—from what was surely a Limoges cup. An assortment of biscuits, arranged on an antique Sheffield platter, had accompanied the tea. When she’d finished, the steward had reappeared, offering headphones, a compact-disc player and her choice of musical selections, a rolling library of books or, if she’d preferred, the latest in films.

Talia, who’d only managed to find and read one short article about Miller International before hurrying to the airport, had shaken her head. ‘Thank you, no. I don’t suppose you have any material about the Miller corporation, do you?’

The steward had smiled, walked to the walnut-panelled bulkhead, and had touched his hand to it. A door had slid open, revealing neatly arranged rows of materials, magazines and newspapers all chronologically organised, each marked to indicate what article contained therein dealt with Miller International.

Talia had been impressed. ‘You’re very efficient,’ she’d said, smiling at the man.

He had grinned. ‘I can’t take credit, miss. This was Mr Miller’s idea. He likes things well organised.’

Well, Talia had thought, settling back with the earliest of the newspapers, at least she and the head of Miller International had that in common.

Now, two hours later, her head hurt from all the facts she’d tried pounding into it. She knew a great deal about the company, but, for all her reading, she knew little more than she had about Logan Miller. He was described in one article as ‘A man fiercely determined to keep his privacy’, and, from what Talia could see, he’d certainly managed. The closest she’d come to any information about him was in an article that dated back four years. It had mentioned possible serious illness.

Talia sighed as she looked out of the porthole at the cloudless blue sky. Either Miller had made a rapid recovery or the writer of the article had been misinformed. A man who’d set such a gruelling schedule for his executives at the Weekend Retreat had to be in good health—unless he hadn’t participated and had simply watched his people work themselves into a lather. Sighing again, Talia reached for the next magazine, one dated six months after the last.

‘Changes Ahead for Miller International?’ said the cover. Perhaps she could learn something here, she thought, flipping the magazine open. Headache or no headache, she had to keep reading. There had to be some thread that would explain the man before they met…

‘Miss Roberts?’ It was the steward, smiling apologetically. ‘We’ll be landing in a few minutes. I’m afraid I’ll have to secure the cabinet.’

Talia nodded. ‘Of course.’

‘You can keep that magazine out, if you like.’

She looked at the copy of Business Week, then shook her head and handed it over.

‘Never mind.’ She shrugged her shoulders. ‘It’s too late for cramming now, anyway.’

The man’s eyebrows rose. ‘Ma’am?’

Talia smiled wearily. ‘Nothing. How soon did you say we’d be landing?’

‘Ten minutes, miss.’

‘And then what? Will there be a car waiting, or am I to take a taxi to Mr Miller’s office?’

‘Mr Miller will be meeting you at the airport, Miss Roberts. The pilot’s just spoken with him.’ The man smiled politely. ‘Will there be anything else?’

Talia shook her head. ‘Thank you, no. I’m fine.’

Fine, but a little bit nervous. She sat back and looked out of the porthole again, watching as the ground rushed up to meet the plane. Who wouldn’t be nervous in these circumstances? She’d only dealt with Logan Miller via the post, and both times his letters had been curt. He’d never shown his face during the weekend she’d organised; he hadn’t even sought her out to introduce himself.

But he’d been pleased with her efforts. That was what he’d written to John; that was why she was in Los Angeles. The plane bumped gently against the runway. That was a positive fact, wasn’t it? Talia opened her seatbelt as the plane rolled to a stop. Of course it was. And she had some insights into the man, anyway. He liked efficiency and organisation—the steward and the periodical file had told her that. He knew how to delegate authority—look at how he’d turned the plans for the weekend over to her. Everything she’d read had said he was a tough but fair-minded businessman. A smile touched her lips as she got to her feet and walked to the door. He also had good taste in tea. A man like that couldn’t be too difficult to deal with.

The door slid open and warm air swept into the plane. It was always warmer in Los Angeles. Smoggy, too, Talia thought, wrinkling her nose.

What was there to worry about? She knew more than she’d thought about Logan Miller, now that she’d tallied it up. He was probably going to turn out to be a pleasant, if somewhat intimidating old gentleman. And she, for the first time in her life, was going to learn that you didn’t always have to plan ahead for things to go smoothly.

The steps locked into place as the steward stepped up beside her. ‘You can exit now, Miss Roberts.’

Talia smiled at the man. ‘Thank you. If you’d just point me towards where I’m to meet Mr Miller…’

‘He’s waiting just over there, miss.’

Talia looked across the tarmac. A dark green Cadillac Brougham stood opposite, a portly, white-haired man beside it. ‘I see,’ she said. ‘Thank you.’

The steward laughed. ‘Oh, no, miss, that’s not Mr Miller.’ He took her arm and turned her towards the opposite side of the tarmac. Talia had a quick glimpse of a sleek black Maserati, a car that looked more like a predator than a vehicle, and the man lounging against it, his arms crossed at his chest. ‘That’s Mr Miller, ma’am. Haven’t you ever met?’

The air seemed to rush from Talia’s lungs. No, she thought, no, it couldn’t be…

‘Miss Roberts? Are you all right?’

Talia nodded. ‘Yes,’ she said finally, in a voice unrecognisable as her own, ‘we’ve met.’

And, of course, they had.

Despite the elegant navy pin-striped suit, despite the shockingly expensive sports car, she’d recognised Logan Miller the second she saw him. His mouth curved upward as he uncoiled his lean body and began walking slowly towards her.

Logan Miller and the California drifter who had kissed her in the redwood grove were the same person.

CHAPTER THREE

TALIA’S mind raced in circles, each tighter than the last, as she tried to make sense out of what was happening. Finally there was no choice but to face grim reality.

What was happening was obviously impossible, but it was happening none the less. The man she’d treated with such cold indifference, who’d retaliated by taking her in his arms and kissing her, was also the man who held her future in his hands.

She felt as trapped as she had on her first day at college when she’d stood alone in the hall of her dormitory building, watching as girls dressed in trendy jeans and knit tops exchanged excited talk of European travel. Talia had spent the summer at home, in Schenectady, New York; she had been decked out in a dress Grams had made for this occasion, and suddenly she’d understood just what people meant when they talked about being as out of place as a fish out of water.

Would she ever fit in here? More importantly, would she be able to hold her own in this bright assemblage? She had a trembling suspicion that the answer was ‘no’.

‘I want to come home, Grams,’ she’d whispered into the telephone that evening. ‘Please. I don’t belong here.’

Her grandmother hadn’t even hesitated. ‘Nonsense,’ she’d said briskly. ‘Only cowards run away. Besides, you wouldn’t be there if you didn’t belong.’

The homely advice had got her through the first terrifying days. Eventually, she’d settled in happily. Grams had been right, as always. She’d belonged at Cornell; clothes and money hadn’t mattered, ability and hard work had.

‘Aren’t you glad you didn’t run?’ Grams had said on the day of her graduation.

She hadn’t thought about the fright of those early days in years. Now, watching Logan Miller walk slowly towards her, smiling the way a panther might smile as it stalked its prey, the memory—and her grandmother’s counsel—came rushing back. Her spine stiffened. She wasn’t about to run now, either. And she did belong here; John Diamond had sent her to conduct business.

The euphoria lasted less than a moment. This was different. She wasn’t a coward, no. But she wasn’t a fool, either—she knew when she’d been set up. Logan Miller had known who she was—she winced, remembering how curtly she’d told him her name, how she’d ignored his outstretched hand.

‘Until we meet again,’ he’d said, but there was no way she could have known what he’d really meant, that he’d planned to lead her here like a lamb to the slaughter.

The proposed contract with Diamond Food Services was a lie. She had no doubt that his company was setting up an executive dining-room, but Logan Miller would probably just as soon sign a contract with the devil as with her. She was here for one reason only, and that was so that he could bring her to her knees. The only question left was how he planned to do it.

‘Miss Roberts.’ Miller’s voice gave nothing away. Talia thought it must be the way he sounded whenever he dealt with subordinates. He was every inch the cool executive, so secure in his power that he could afford to sound gracious. ‘How kind of you to come to LA on such short notice.’

Her head rose slowly. The expression on his face made a lie of the calmness with which he’d spoken. His mouth was a grim slash above the cleft in his chin; his eyes were flat, narrowed against the setting sun. He was watching her with a kind of polite curiosity, waiting for her to respond. A cold knot formed in her breast. Did he think she was going to make a courteous little speech, thanking him for having invited her to her own execution? Or was he waiting for her to grovel for mercy and plead for forgiveness?

She was the one who was owed an apology, not he. Logan Miller had known she’d had no idea who he was. He could have cleared up her misconception any time, had he wanted. Instead, he’d let her make a fool of herself while he’d goaded her with little tortures, first kissing her as if he had the right to take anything he wanted, and now this bit of subterfuge, bringing her all this distance just to make her eat humble pie.

Talia squared her shoulders. She might have to eat humble pie, but she didn’t have to pretend to like it. Go to hell, Logan Miller, she thought, and she looked straight into his eyes. ‘Good evening, Mr Miller.’

She was pleased with the sound of her voice. It was calm, unhurried, as if she were seated in her office and dealing with a client. There was no way for him to know that her legs felt as if they were going to buckle any second.

A slow smile tilted the corners of his mouth. ‘I take it you had a pleasant flight.’

She nodded. ‘It was fine.’

‘Good. I told Julio to be sure and make you comfortable.’

‘He did.’

Miller held his hand out to her. ‘May I help you down the steps, Miss Roberts?’

Oh, how civilised he was. Well, she could play the game as well as he—at least she could try. She shook her head. ‘No, thank you. I can manage.’

His eyes darkened, and she knew that he was remembering the other time he’d offered her his hand and how she’d turned it down then, as well. She came down the steps, head held high, and paused when she reached the bottom. Logan Miller was standing so close to her that she could see a muscle move in his jaw.

‘I can’t tell you how pleased I am to see you, Miss Roberts.’ His smile thinned. ‘But then, I seem to recall telling you that we’d meet again.’

‘Did you?’ She smiled politely. ‘I don’t recollect.’

She fell back as he took a quick step towards her. ‘Don’t push your luck, Talia.’ His voice was soft. ‘Unless you’d like me to refresh your memory.’

So much for civility, she thought, while her heart knocked against her ribs. So that was the game, was it? She was the puppet, Logan Miller the puppet master. He’d pull the strings and she’d dance.

No, she thought, while her pulse steadied, she wasn’t about to allow that. He was going to win—that was obvious. She wondered, fleetingly, whether John would fire her for losing the account or only demote her. But at least she’d lose with honour.

Her chin rose. ‘That won’t be necessary. You’re quite right, I remember everything that happened.’ Her mouth turned down with distaste. ‘How could I ever forget?’

A cool smile moved across his lips. ‘It was an interesting meeting, wasn’t it? Not quite the kind I usually have with my employees, but—’

‘I am not your employee.’ Talia’s voice sliced through his. She paused, then took a breath. ‘And if you have something to say to me, I wish you’d say it.’

She hadn’t spoken loudly, but the wind had picked up her voice and carried it to the pilot and steward standing on the steps behind her. She felt them stir with interest.

‘Of course I have something to say to you, Miss Roberts. We have business to discuss.’ Miller’s eyebrows rose. ‘Don’t tell me that comes as a surprise.’

Talia’s heart began to gallop. Her palms felt wet; she wanted to wipe them against her skirt, but she was afraid that he’d see it as a sign of weakness. ‘Everything about this meeting is a surprise,’ she said, looking him in the eye. ‘For instance, you certainly don’t look your age.’

‘I’m afraid I don’t—’

‘I was expecting Logan Miller to be in his sixties. But you must know that.’

He stared at her, and then a slow grin spread across his face. ‘Well, that explains a lot, Miss Roberts.’

‘Where is the old man Miller everyone talks about, or is he just someone you invented to keep people off guard?’

‘Listen, lady, don’t blame me for not doing your homework.’

‘I did my homework,’ Talia said stiffly. ‘I knew all I needed to know about your corporation and the weekend you’d planned. It was my boss who said you’d be—that Logan Miller would be…’

He sighed. ‘Logan Miller—senior—was my father. I took over the firm four years ago, when he fell ill.’

Changes Ahead for Miller International… So that was what the headline of the unread article had meant. Talia swallowed drily. ‘I had no way of knowing that,’ she said. ‘And I didn’t know who you were. You knew that. You—’

His air of easy amusement fled, leaving his expression cold. ‘Would it have made a difference?’

Crimson patches of colour appeared on her cheeks. ‘Of course it would.’

‘You mean you’d have been more co-operative?’ His voice was silken. ‘Hell, if I’d known that, I’d have handed you my business card before I kissed you.’

Talia stiffened with anger. ‘You know what I mean. Not telling me you were our client was a cheap shot. It was…’

There was a stir behind her. Her mounting rage had made her forget the pilot and steward. Now, suddenly remembering their presence, she stumbled to an embarrassed silence.

Miller gave her a quick, mirthless smile. ‘I’m glad to see you have some sense of decorum,’ he murmured.

She felt a surge of heat rise to her cheeks. ‘You’re a fine one to talk about decorum, aren’t you?’

‘Enough!’ His voice was as hard as the hand that closed around her forearm. ‘I never talk business in public,’ he said, and then he looked past her to the plane. ‘Thank you, gentlemen. That’s all for now. Miss Roberts won’t need you again until midnight.’

Talia looked at him sharply. ‘What do you mean?’

‘What I mean,’ he said calmly, ‘is that there’s no point in my men cooling their heels while they wait for you.’ He began walking towards the Maserati, his fingers gripping her arm so tightly that she had no choice but to stumble along beside him. ‘Julio has family nearby, and Bob—’

‘Dammit!’ Talia’s breath hissed between her teeth. ‘You know what I meant. Where are we going?’

They reached the car and he opened the passenger door. ‘Get in, Talia.’ When she made no move to obey, he moved closer to her. ‘I’ll load you in myself, it that’s what it takes.’

He’d do it, she thought, staring at him. She tossed her head, then climbed stiffly inside the low-slung automobile. Miller slammed the door, then came around and got in beside her. The powerful engine roared to life.

Talia’s mouth went dry. ‘Just what do you think you’re doing, Mr Miller?’

‘I’m taking you to dinner.’ The Maserati began moving. ‘We have an appointment. Didn’t your boss tell you?’

She stared at him, then let out her breath. ‘Look, there’s no point in stringing this out any further. I’ll call my boss and tell him…’

Her voice faltered, and he looked over at her. ‘Go on,’ he said pleasantly. ‘What will you tell him?’

They were speeding along beside the runway. Blue marker lights flashed by in the gathering dusk. It felt as if the car were gathering enough speed to hurtle into the sky. But suddenly the car veered sharply away from the runway. A fence rose ahead, and beyond that Talia could see a ribbon of road.

‘I—I’ll tell him the truth,’ she said hurriedly. ‘That you and I—that we had a misunderstanding when we met—’

His lips drew back from his teeth. ‘You mean you’ll tell him you cut the head of Miller International dead when he tried to introduce himself to you? That you were incredibly rude, that you tried to make a fool of me in front of others…?’

Talia swallowed hard. ‘You’re leaving things out.’

Miller laughed softly. ‘I am, yes. But I didn’t think you’d want to tell him that I kissed you, and that for just a minute you turned into a woman instead of a machine.’

‘That’s not the way it was! You’re distorting what happened.’

‘Am I?’ He shrugged his shoulders. ‘I’m only describing what happened, Talia. But we can leave it to John Diamond to decide which version he prefers—yours or mine.’ His foot bore down on the accelerator. ‘Buckle your seatbelt. We have about half an hour’s drive ahead of us.’

Her hands trembled as she did as he’d ordered. ‘Look,’ she said, ‘we both know the truth. There isn’t any contract—you lied when you said there was. It’s not fair to involve my boss in this. I mean, your quarrel’s with me, not him.’

Logan Miller glanced at her, then looked back at the road. ‘You’re right. I have no intention of hurting John Diamond.’

‘Then what…?’ She stared at his impassive profile, and fear twisted through her gut. ‘I don’t know what you’re up to,’ she said softly. ‘But no matter who you are or how important—’

He started to laugh. ‘I’d never have thought you were prone to melodrama, Talia. You’ve even written a script, haven’t you?’

‘Whatever it is you’ve planned, you won’t get away with it.’

He laughed again, the sound low and intimate in the confines of the swift-moving car. ‘I know what you’re thinking. And believe me, you’re wrong. I’ve never thought of a seduction as a punishment—but if I’d wanted to take you to bed, I’d have gone to San Francisco instead of bringing you here. That way, there’d be fewer complications when I’d had enough.’

‘You disgust me,’ she said, her voice trembling.

‘And you never want to see me again.’ His voice mocked hers. ‘Is that your next line.’

‘Look, you’ve had your fun. Why don’t we call it even? Take me back to the plane and tell your people to fly me back to LA. Or I can get a seat on a commercial flight—’

‘Are you married, Talia?’

The question was so unexpected that it stunned her. ‘What?’

‘It’s a simple question. Are you married?’

‘No. But what does—’

‘Engaged?’ She shook her head as Miller glanced at her. ‘Are you involved with anyone?’

‘It’s none of your business. You have no right to ask me things like that.’

His teeth flashed in a quick smile. ‘Humour me. Pretend you’re interviewing for a position at Miller International.’

‘I’d sooner starve than work for you or your company,’ she snapped. ‘Besides, there are laws against asking personal questions of a prospective employee.’

‘I make my own laws,’ he said curtly. ‘Now answer the question. Are you involved with anyone?’

Talia stared at him. He probably did make his own laws, she thought, and a shudder went through her. ‘No.’

Miller nodded. ‘I didn’t think you were.’ They were on a freeway now and the traffic was heavy. But the Maserati didn’t slow; Talia thought that the man beside her drove as he probably lived: capably but dangerously, taking advantage of whatever openings he found. ‘In fact, I’d have wagered on it.’

Talia looked at him again, then turned away and stared out through the windscreen. ‘I hate to disappoint you,’ she said calmly, ‘but there are some women who have other interests in life.’

‘On the contrary.’ His tone was impersonal. ‘You don’t disappoint me at all. I was hoping you felt that way; it’s one of the reasons I brought you here tonight.’

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