‘You can’t be serious, Hugh.

‘Naturally I’m not proposing a normal marriage, or a public one. It would be a secret union in name only, to be discreetly dissolved at a later date. But you’d get the piece of paper you need to secure your friend’s house. That is what you want, isn’t it? What you value most in the world?’

‘What do you get out of this extraordinary and rather sacrificial gesture?’

Hugh smiled. ‘Come now, Kathryn, you of all people know I’m selfish to the core. I get you, of course…staying on as my personal assistant,’ he added, taking rueful note of the moment of shock which had flashed through her eyes.

He’d been right. She wouldn’t have let him blackmail her into his bed. This way was much better all round. She would still be in his debt. She might even begin to like him a little…

THE
BILLIONAIRE’S
BRIDE OF
CONVENIENCE

BY

MIRANDA LEE

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CHAPTER ONE

SEVERAL heads turned as the three men made their way into the main bar of the clubhouse. Other men as well as women glanced their way, their gazes carrying a mixture of envy and admiration.

It wasn’t just because these three were rich. Most members of the Sydney Royal Golf Club were wealthy. The attention they instantly drew, especially from women, was more basic than that. Cavewomen had invariably been attracted to cavemen who could best protect and provide for them; physically blessed alpha males whose prepotent genes ensured strong offspring.

A modern woman might imagine she chose her mates differently; that she was attracted to other attributes such as kindness and a good sense of humour. Recent research, however, showed that was false thinking. Apparently, the most attractive quality a man could possess was tallness.

The male trio striding through the bar-room were all tall. If that wasn’t enough to give them an advantage over most members of their sex, they were also handsome and dark-haired and, yes, very rich indeed.

The man who headed straight for the bar and who was obviously going to buy the first round of drinks was Hugh Parkinson, only son and heir to the Parkinson Media fortune. Thirty-six years old, Hugh was Sydney’s most eligible bachelor, a well-known man-about-town with a plethora of past girlfriends, none of whom—amazingly—had a bad word to say about him. A natural charmer, he devoted his life to the pursuit of pleasure, to remaining single and doing only as much work as strictly necessary.

His two golfing buddies were not cut from the same ilk. Both bordered on being workaholics, were married and had been moulded by past experiences into much tougher men.

Russell McClain owned McClain Real Estate, Sydney’s most prestigious and successful property company.

James Logan owned Images, Sydney’s most dynamic advertising and management agency.

The three men had been best friends since their school days. They knew each other very well, including their strengths and their weaknesses. Their affection for each other was genuine and unconditional.

Their Thursday-morning golf game, however, was a no-holds-barred affair. They always played for money, and they always played to win.

‘What on earth’s wrong with Hugh today?’ James said as he and Russell settled at a table on the verandah overlooking the eighteenth green. ‘Never seen him play such pathetic golf.’

‘I have. When you were away, a few weeks ago, just before your wedding. I beat him hollow.’

‘That’s strange.’

‘Thanks,’ Russell said drily.

‘You know what I mean. You’re a pretty good golfer, but Hugh’s better.’

‘He should be. He practically lives on the golf course.’

‘True.’ James had used to play quite a bit himself, but not so much since his marriage late last year. Or over the recent Christmas break, when his social calendar had been very full. ‘Come to think of it, Hugh wasn’t up to scratch last week, either. Only just managed to beat us. What do you think’s responsible for his loss of form?’

‘Not sure about lately,’ Russell said. ‘But back in November he was having some kind of woman trouble.’

James was truly taken aback. Hugh never had woman trouble. They threw themselves at his feet with regular monotony. He could have his pick.

‘What kind of woman trouble?’ James asked.

‘I gather he fancied some piece who wouldn’t come across.’

‘Now, that’d be a first. Do you know who she was?’

‘He didn’t say. And I didn’t ask.’

‘Mmm.’ James frowned as he watched Hugh weave his way towards the verandah with three beers cupped in his hands.

What could possibly be the reason for Hugh’s uncharacteristic failure to bed a female of his choice? His womanising reputation, perhaps?

Nah. His being a bad boy with the opposite sex never seemed to put the girls off him. If anything, his being known as a rake only added to his appeal.

‘On second thoughts, I’ve probably got it all wrong,’ Russell said. ‘He probably just had a late night last night, romancing his latest conquest. Maybe even the mystery girl herself. You and I both know that there isn’t a girl alive who can resist those blue eyes once he turns on the charm. Except my Nicole and your Megan, of course.’

‘Come now, he’s not that irresistible.’ But even as he said the words, James conceded that their friend was a veritable babe magnet.

‘Hope you remembered to make mine a light,’ Russell said when Hugh placed the three glasses of beer on the table. ‘I have to work this afternoon.’

‘Me too,’ James said.

Hugh pulled a face as he sat down. ‘That makes three of us.’

‘You’re joking!’ James exclaimed. ‘You! Work? What’s happened? Someone die?’

‘Not quite. But close.’ Hugh picked up his glass and downed a long, cool swallow of beer before continuing. ‘Dad’s off second-honeymooning with wife number five and I’m in charge of the ship.’

‘Should we sell our shares in Parkinson Media?’ James quipped.

Hugh shrugged. ‘I shouldn’t think so. No one could make worse business decisions than dear old Dad when he’s consumed by unbridled lust. Who knows? By the time he comes back down to earth and wants to take the helm again, I might have recouped a few of the billions he’s frittered away in the name of love. You might have forgotten, Jimmy boy, but I was dux of our school. I also graduated from uni with honours degrees in economics and corporate law. I’m not just a pretty face, you know.’

‘Now we know why your mind wasn’t on your golf today,’ said an enlightened Russell. ‘So when did all this happen?’

‘Last weekend.’

‘No wonder you’re looking a bit frazzled. I’ll bet it’s a long time since you’ve done a full day’s work.’

‘It’s been a while,’ Hugh admitted, not willing to confess that there’d been a few weeks leading up to Christmas last year when he’d gone into the office almost every day and worked his silver tail off.

The reason for this episode of uncharacteristic diligence had been extremely perverse: his PA.

Hugh hadn’t realised when he’d hired Kathryn Hart several months earlier that he might one day find her so damned sexy.

She wasn’t conventionally beautiful, certainly not pretty. Her facial features were too large, her cheekbones too high and her mouth too wide. He also hadn’t noticed her voluptuous figure at the time of her one and only interview. He’d been concentrating solely on what was contained in her excellent résumé.

Of course, he’d been in a bit of a rush at the time, his father’s decision to place him in charge of the publishing arm of Parkinson’s having come right out of the blue. Hugh hadn’t anticipated taking over anything till his father expired. Whilst Richard—Dickie—Parkinson had made sure over the years that his son and heir had had a sprinkling of experience in every facet of his very diverse company, he was not the kind of man to give over power easily.

Surprisingly, Hugh had not been pleased at this unexpected responsibility.

Not willing to totally give up the easy-going lifestyle he’d become accustomed to, Hugh had immediately sought an assistant with superb skills in the publishing field, someone competent and decisive who could cover for him when he wasn’t in the office. Kathryn Hart had seemed perfect, a cool customer who wasn’t in any way flirtatious with him, as some of the other candidates had been.

He hadn’t anticipated that Miss Capability would practically bully him into doing the job entrusted to him, or that he would become increasingly consumed with unwanted desire for her.

That was the perverse part. Because there wasn’t anything he could do about his feelings for her.

Why? Because by the time he realised he fancied her, she was engaged. Shortly to be married, in fact.

Although Hugh was considered a conscienceless rake by all and sundry, the truth was he was quite sensitive to other people’s feelings and would never pursue another man’s woman. Sex, for him, was high on his list of life’s little necessities. But only when it came without complications or consequences.

If Kathryn had been free, Hugh would simply have seduced her, making his daily trips to the office events to be anticipated with pleasure, not dread. As it was, he was forced to endure his growing desire for his PA with a level of physical frustration previously unknown to him. He’d even lost interest in other females, suddenly finding them boring in the extreme. There was only one woman he wanted right now.

And for the first time in his life, he couldn’t have her.

‘Have you moved into your dad’s penthouse as well?’ James asked.

Hugh shook his head. ‘He offered. But I declined. I prefer my own place at Bondi.’

Which he’d bought several years earlier with money he’d accumulated on the stock market, with no help from his father, financial or otherwise. He’d used the cash he’d earned fruit-picking during several summers in his university years when his friends had thought he was overseas, skiing in Europe. Instead, he’d been working his way around Australia, proving to himself that he didn’t need his father’s money to survive and that he was capable of working just as hard as anyone else.

It had been a male-pride thing.

His recently refurbished and now extremely valuable apartment overlooked Bondi Beach, and was within a hundred metres of the rock pool in which he swam most mornings, come rain, hail or shine. It was the perfect bachelor pad, not too large, but with everything a single man could desire.

The thought of living in his father’s oversized, over-luxurious and rather soulless penthouse held no appeal whatsoever, despite it being in the same city skyscraper as the offices of Parkinson Media.

‘But it’d save you a drive into the CBD every day,’ James said. ‘You’d never be late. That should please that slave-driver of a PA of yours. The one who’s always calling you. What’s her name, now?’

‘Kathryn,’ Hugh said, suppressing a shudder at the thought of never being late. Being late was the only power he had over that witch.

Punctuality was a real issue with Kathryn. He knew it got under her skin whenever he was late.

Which reminded him…

Hugh glanced at his watch. It was almost noon. There was a meeting of the board this afternoon. He really couldn’t be late for that. The other directors would think him not only rude but also not fit to be CEO, even temporarily. It would be foolish of him not to try to make a good impression.

Thankfully, he’d had the forethought to move some clothes into his father’s penthouse, so that he could shower and change there when necessary. He wouldn’t make a good impression wearing casual trousers and a short-sleeved golf shirt.

‘Sorry, chaps,’ he said, downing the rest of his beer in one swallow. ‘Can’t stay. Important meeting this afternoon.’

Hugh had to smile at the expressions on his friends’ faces. But his smile faded once he reached his car, his mouth twisting into a grimace as he climbed in behind the wheel and started the powerful engine.

In fifteen minutes he would be in Sydney’s CBD—the central business district. In less than twenty, he would be back in the lion’s den.

Hugh slammed the Ferrari into gear and accelerated away, torn by the feelings which swamped him. One part of him— his masochistic side, obviously—wanted to be with Kathryn. His more sensible side knew he could not go on like this. One day, something was going to give and he would make a big fool of himself. And possibly find himself on the end of a sexual harassment charge.

The only logical solution was to get rid of the woman.

But how?

Hugh had racked his brain to find an excuse to get Kathryn out of his life—and out of his sight—once and for all. But she was capable and conscientious and didn’t make mistakes, never arriving late or leaving early. She was the epitome of PA perfection.

His being elevated to temporary CEO of Parkinson Media had not fazed her. Kathryn had slid into the role of top secretary in the company without turning a hair, his father’s hard-working PA having been given much deserved leave whilst her boss was off, gallivanting around the world.

One of Hugh’s remaining hopes was Kathryn’s marriage in five weeks’ time.

Not that she was having a long honeymoon. She was not going to be that kind to him. Miss Must-Not-Waste-Money Hart was tying the knot on a Friday evening in a small, celebrant-officiated ceremony, then spending a whole two days honeymooning in a hotel in downtown Sydney before returning to work first thing on the Monday morning!

Hugh’s other hope rested on Kathryn’s becoming a mother. He knew she was turning thirty next birthday, that age when a woman became very aware of her biological clock. No doubt she would start trying for a baby straight away. She’d expressed the wish over coffee not long back that she wanted two children, a boy first, then a girl.

Lord knew how she was going to manage that! But if anyone could, it would be Kathryn. Her whole life seemed to be planned out with set time schedules and goals. Hugh was already praying for the day when she’d come into the office and announce that she was pregnant.

Though a pregnancy would not be the immediate end of his problems, of that he was sure. He had no doubt that Kathryn would work right up to the baby’s birth. She was that kind of girl.

The kind of girl, too, who would look even sexier pregnant. Her already impressive bosom would become even more lush, her wide, child-bearing hips accommodating a baby easily with only the most minimal bump.

He could see her now, positively glowing with health and hormones. And he could see himself wanting her all the more.

The prospect horrified him.

Hugh’s teeth clenched hard in his jaw. Could he endure at least another year of this?

He would have to, he supposed. What else could he do?

There was one thing he could do. Eventually. Offer her a very generous maternity leave. Six months with full pay. Twelve months, if necessary.

No, that would be extremely difficult to explain. Six months was all he could get away with. Hopefully, by then, she would be so enamoured by her son—it would be a boy, of course—that she wouldn’t want to return to work.

Oh joy, oh joy!

Meanwhile, he had to find other ways to handle the situation, and minimise the effect Kathryn had on him.

The most obvious solution was to get himself a new girlfriend, some hot little number. There was no shortage of candidates. Maybe, if he chose a busty brunette, he could pretend she was Kathryn and cure some of his frustration that way.

Sydney’s CBD came into view and Hugh’s stomach automatically tightened. He hoped she wasn’t wearing that infernal black suit today, the one with the jacket which nipped in at her tiny waist and the skirt which hugged her curvaceous rear just a little too tightly; the one he’d been wanting to rip off her from the first day when she’d walked into the office wearing the wretched thing!

No such luck, he realised within seconds of striding into the suite of rooms which he’d nicknamed the lion’s den many years earlier. At the time he’d been referring to his father as the lion, always roaring at everyone. Now the lion was a different sex.

Kathryn didn’t roar, but she could be just as intimidating.

Hugh tried not to bristle when she glared pointedly at her watch, then at his clothes.

‘Surely you’re not going to the board meeting this afternoon dressed like that,’ she said coolly.

Hugh covered his annoyance by shooting her what he hoped passed for a drily amused smile. ‘Kathryn, even I wouldn’t have the gall to do that. I’m just going to pop up to Dad’s penthouse where I intend to change. I brought some clothes over last Sunday with this kind of thing in mind,’ he added before she asked him what into.

‘Up there for thinking,’ he said, tapping his temple and thoroughly enjoying the flash of surprise which had zoomed into her normally unflappable grey eyes. ‘Meanwhile, order me a club sandwich, would you? You know what I like. And some coffee. Ask them to deliver it in…’ he glanced at his Rolex ‘…twenty minutes,’ he finished brusquely before striding into the inner sanctum, grateful for the private lift which would enable him to go up to his father’s penthouse without having to walk past his PA one more time.

CHAPTER TWO

KATHRYN counted to ten under her breath before phoning through the lunch order, all the while endeavouring to calm her rapid pulse-rate and bring her inner self into line with her more composed outer façade.

But honestly, if ever there was a man designed to irritate her to death it was Hugh Parkinson!

She’d initially been reluctant to apply for the job as his PA. She didn’t think much of men born with silver spoons in their mouths. Didn’t think much of working for them, either. One of her earlier bosses had been born rich and had been presented with running one of his doting grandfather’s newspapers when he’d been all of twenty-four. Talk about bone idle!

Still, she’d learned a lot from having to practically do his job for him. Learned, too, that rich young men often had wandering hands. After leaving that job, she’d chosen her employers more carefully, steering well clear of smarmy but usually good-looking creeps with more money than morals. It was only natural, then, that she’d be wary of working for the richest, possibly best-looking creep in all of Sydney!

The thought of that wonderful salary he’d been offering, however, had seduced her into putting in an application.

To give Hugh Parkinson some credit, he’d conducted her interview in a very businesslike manner. She’d been quietly impressed, to be honest. And very flattered when, after a most intense twenty minutes of questioning, he’d told her that she was just what he was looking for and hired her on the spot. She’d congratulated herself at the time on reading the situation well and dressing down a little for the interview. Not too much make-up, hair pulled back into a French roll, jewellery very basic. And a navy pinstriped trouser suit which had become a little looser since she’d started going to the gym.

She’d imagined—probably rightly so—that a lot of girls might have presented themselves more glamorously, hoping to use sex appeal to get the job. Hugh Parkinson did, after all, have a reputation as a ladies’ man.

There’d been not a hint of flirtation in his manner, however, and she’d been prepared to concede that perhaps the tabloid Press had it all wrong. He wasn’t a playboy, she’d decided that day. He was a serious businessman whose bachelor status and movie-star good looks made him an easy target for salacious stories about his love life.

It wasn’t till afterwards—about a month into the job actually—that she discovered how wrong she’d been. Hugh was just what he’d been depicted as: just like that other boss of hers, he hadn’t wanted an assistant. He’d wanted her to do his damned job for him whilst he was off having five-hour lunches and playing golf and who knew what else with the never-ending number of women who bombarded the office with calls running after him!

Well, she hadn’t been having any of that. Not a second time. So she’d informed him, as tactfully as her indignant fury would allow, that the editors of Parkinson’s many magazines— the ones he was supposedly in charge of—didn’t want to deal with his secretary. They wanted him—their boss—to be there to talk to, and run ideas by, and to make the many decisions which had to be made on a daily basis.

When he still hadn’t shown up at work on a regular basis she’d rung him continually, badgering him over the phone till it had probably been easier for him to spend at least a few hours in the office every day.

Which should have made her happy.

But oddly, it hadn’t.

His increased presence gradually began to grate on her nerves, she wasn’t sure why.

So had Daryl’s never-ending jealousy.

‘No boyfriend wants his girlfriend working for a billionaire,’ Daryl had complained soon after she’d started the job. ‘Certainly not one with Hugh Parkinson’s reputation. What if he makes a move towards you? What if he asks you to go away with him to a conference or something?’

She’d placated Daryl at the time, telling him that he was being silly, that she loved him and only him, and that she would never have her head turned by the likes of Hugh Parkinson.

Daryl had asked her to prove it by agreeing to marry him.

Kathryn had still been reluctant. Although she wanted marriage, underneath she was afraid of it. Afraid of trusting her life to any man. Over the years she’d had a history of falling for guys who’d proved to be less than perfect.

But then two things had happened to change her mind. Firstly, Val had finally succumbed to the cancer she’d been battling for several years. Not an unexpected event, but still very upsetting. Then Kathryn had received a letter from a solicitor shortly after Val’s funeral, saying that Val had willed the beach house to her, provided she marry before she turned thirty. If she was still single on that date—which at that time had been a few months away—the house would be sold and the proceeds given to cancer research.

Kathryn had initially been shocked with her old friend for using emotional blackmail to push her into marriage. In the end, however, she’d been grateful to Val for forcing the issue and making her see common sense.

OK, so Daryl wasn’t perfect. But then neither was she. If she kept waiting for Mr Perfect to come along, she would die a lonely old maid.

Initially, Daryl hadn’t been too thrilled when she accepted his proposal. He’d accused her of not really loving him, of just using him to get her hands on a million-dollar property. Which was what the Pearl Beach weekender was currently worth. She’d soothed him by revealing that she had no intention of ever selling the house; that it was a place of great sentiment to her. He’d soothed her in return by taking her to bed and showing her why she’d fallen in love with him in the first place.

Once Kathryn had decided on marriage to Daryl, she’d embraced the idea one hundred and ten per cent, immediately making detailed plans for their future together. Naturally, she’d chosen the ring—Daryl might have picked something ridiculously expensive—and made all the arrangements, insisting that they have an inexpensive ceremony and reception—only ten guests—followed by an even more inexpensive honeymoon.

When Daryl complained about her miserliness, she’d explained that she wasn’t going to waste any of her hard-earned savings on what was really just a party and an excuse for a holiday, both come and gone in a flash. She needed every cent for a decent deposit on a house here in Sydney.

Sydney was, after all, the most expensive city in Australia to live in. Houses came at a premium. So did interest rates. She wasn’t about to fall into the trap of having too large a mortgage which they wouldn’t be able to pay back, once she left work to have a baby.

Neither she nor Daryl had well-off families to fall back on in times of financial difficulty. In fact, neither of them had any family to fall back on. Both of them had come from troubled, single-parent households. Each had seen what little close family they had finally being snuffed out through drink, drugs and disease.

But where Kathryn’s background had formed her into a careful, highly organised, money-wise character, Daryl was more impulsive and not good with money at all. Still, he was very good at his job, being a top sales representative for a successful office-supplies company. His salary was excellent and he had a company car. Kathryn felt sure she could rein in his tendency to be extravagant, once they were married.

He was going to make a good husband and father. In time.

Right now, however, he was being a right pain in the neck, his jealousy not having been helped by her temporary promotion. Already he was complaining about the extra hours she was working. Last night, when she’d arrived home at seven-thirty— the preparations for today’s board meeting had been endless—he’d demanded she hand in her notice.

‘After we’re married,’ she’d hedged.

‘You’re just saying that,’ he’d retorted. ‘I know you. You like working for that rich bastard. You fancy him. I know you do.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ she’d snapped, tired of their endless arguments about her job and her boss.

‘I’m not being ridiculous. I’m not blind, you know. He fancies you too. I saw the way he looked at you at the Christmas party.’

‘Oh, for pity’s sake!’ she’d exclaimed with considerable exasperation. ‘Now you’re being even more ridiculous! In all the months I’ve worked for Hugh Parkinson, not once has he ever done or said anything remotely out of line. He does not fancy me. Never has, never will.’

Which was probably what was adding to her irritation today, Kathryn accepted with a flash of feminine insight: Hugh’s lack of male interest in her.

No girl liked to be looked straight through all the time the way Hugh did her, as if she was part of the wallpaper.

Not that any of the offices in Parkinson Media had wallpaper, especially this one. It was wall-to-wall wood panelling in here, totally different from the sleekly modern open-planned offices which filled the floors before. The big boss’s suite of rooms was straight out of an élite English men’s club, all the furniture antiques, the carpets richly patterned, heavy silk curtains framing the windows.

Kathryn’s office-cum-reception area was ridiculously large, with a plush sitting space, along with its own powder room and cloakroom as well as a small kitchen where she could prepare coffee or tea. Her desk was a huge leather-topped slice of solid walnut with carved legs and more drawers than she could ever fill. The computer and printer occupied less than a quarter of the available work surface.

In truth, she preferred her other office and her other desk.

But she wasn’t about to complain, not with the additional money she would earn over the next four weeks. She was already planning what she could buy with it: some extra-nice sheets, for starters, Egyptian cotton. She might be frugal by nature but she liked nice things. Quality things, that lasted.

Take her clothes, for instance. She didn’t have a huge wardrobe but she bought good clothes. Not top designer-wear, she couldn’t afford that, but well-made suits and real silk shirts and camis in mix-and-match colours, along with genuine leather shoes and bags. None of that cheap vinyl stuff. Her jewellery was minimal but quality too, not too expensive since she preferred silver to gold.

She was admiring the delicately designed silver watch which she’d treated herself to at Christmas when the phone on her desk rang, the security man downstairs informing her that a delivery guy was on his way up with a food order.

‘Not the same guy as yesterday,’ he added. ‘I had to give this chap instructions on how to get to your office.’

‘Wow!’ the spotty-faced youth exclaimed when he finally arrived. ‘This is some place. The view must be fantastic!’

‘Quite,’ she said coolly. ‘Thank you, Ken.’

‘You know my name!’

She pointed to the name tag on his shirt pocket.

‘Oh, yeah,’ he said, flushing. ‘I forgot. It’s my first week. Not used to it.’

Mine too, she almost said to make him feel better. But didn’t. She’d found it best, over the years, not to be too familiar with delivery guys. The older, better-looking ones didn’t seem to need much encouragement.

After he left, Katherine carried the food into the kitchenette and arranged the oversized sandwich on a proper plate on a tray, whilst leaving the steaming coffee in its takeaway cup, Hugh liking his coffee very hot and very strong.

He rarely asked her to make him coffee, though she would have, quite happily. She wasn’t one of those silly PAs who thought making coffee beneath her. She’d always understood that her job as a personal assistant was to assist her boss in any way she could. She didn’t object to collecting his dry-cleaning, or buying presents for his mother. She didn’t even mind covering for him, occasionally.

But only up to a point and only if he deserved it.

Hugh deserved no such consideration, she decided as she carried the tray into his father’s super-huge office and placed it on the super-huge desk which sat in front of the super-huge window. The only son and heir to the Parkinson fortune was spoiled and lazy and never on time, she thought irritably as she glanced at her pretty watch and saw that twenty-five minutes had passed since she ordered his lunch.

So where was he?

She glared at the determinedly shut door on her far right, the one which looked like any of the wood-panelled doors which led into and out of the office. This one, however, concealed a secret alcove where there was a private lift to the penthouse above. You needed a special keycard to get into both, security a must for mega-rich men like Hugh and his father.

Kathryn almost gasped when that door was suddenly wrenched open and in strode her boss, looking breathtakingly handsome in a suit she’d never seen before, dark charcoal-grey in colour, with a single-breasted and superbly shaped jacket. The casually elegant style suited him. His dazzlingly white shirt highlighted his blue eyes, his olive skin and his dark brown hair, which looked extra-dark, since it was slightly damp.

And then there was his tie…

Hugh had a thing about bright ties. This one was scarlet and striped with silver…very eye-catching.

‘So what do you think?’ he shot at her as he walked behind the desk. ‘Will I do?’

Kathryn kept her expression cool. If he expected her to rave about his appearance, then he had another think coming. Some kind of compliment, however, seemed reasonable.

‘You look very…smart,’ she said.

Hugh’s eyebrows shot upwards. ‘You mean, I have your seal of approval? For once,’ he added with a wry laugh as he removed his jacket then draped it over the back of the large leather desk chair.

His partial undressing perturbed her for some reason. Silly, really. She’d seen him without a jacket often enough. She’d also witnessed him in casual clothes, even shorts on the day when he’d rushed into the office after spending the morning sailing on the harbour.

She already knew he had a great body, his tall, broad-shouldered frame not needing to be bolstered by excessive padding.

Perhaps it was the whiff of something spicy and exotic which the removal of his jacket had sent her way. She’d never smelled this particular cologne on him before and it was very…sexy.

‘So is everything ready for this afternoon?’ he asked her as he sat down, then swept one half of the club sandwich up to his mouth.

His eyes questioned her as he munched away with relish.

‘I…I think so,’ she said, annoyed with herself for sounding less than confident. But it was the first time she’d had to organise a board meeting, although Elaine had left her excellent instructions on her computer in a special file.

Everything Kathryn might need to know during the next month was on that computer. Elaine had also left behind her personal mobile number, in case she was in doubt about anything. Kathryn had given in and called her yesterday, just to check on a few things.

‘Yes, everything’s ready to go,’ she reiterated more firmly. ‘The boardroom’s all set up for the meeting, with copies of all the monthly reports set out in front of each chair. Apparently, I don’t have to take down any minutes—it’s not a quarterly or annual general meeting. But Elaine suggested I still tape proceedings. She said I should also stay in the room in case any of the directors want anything, like coffee or tea. I will be putting jugs of iced water on the table shortly, along with the glasses. But Elaine said, if the meeting goes on too long, some of them will want something hot to drink. And possibly a biscuit or two. Of course, I won’t be sitting at the table itself. I’ll stay in the background.’

‘Sounds like you have everything well in hand. As for the meeting going on too long, I’ll do my best to make sure that won’t happen. And afterwards?’

‘I’ve arranged for finger food and drinks in the reception room next to the boardroom. I’ve hired the usual catering company. They’ll arrive around four. You shouldn’t be finished before that.’

He nodded. ‘Excellent. What’s your estimated time of departure for the directors?’

Kathryn shrugged. ‘I’m not sure. I’ve never been to one of these before. You have, though, didn’t you say?’

‘Not for ages. From memory, it was the most ghastly bore.’

‘I’m sure you’ll handle it all extremely well,’ she said. For all Hugh’s faults and flaws he could schmooze anyone, if and when he chose to.

‘A second compliment, Kathryn?’ he said drily. ‘Watch it or I’ll think you’re beginning to approve of me.’

As if, Kathryn thought tartly. ‘It is not my job to approve or disapprove of you, Hugh,’ she said coolly. ‘As I have said before, my job is to help you do your job.’

‘At which you are invaluable,’ he said, picking up his coffee and watching her over the rim as he sipped.

His eyes—his very beautiful blue eyes—were not as carefree as usual. They bored into her, stripping her, not of her clothes but the self-contained façade which usually kept her safely immune to her boss’s considerable charms.

Suddenly a fierce awareness of his sex appeal swamped Kathryn, making a mockery of the way she despised other women’s often swooning reaction to him. She actually felt weak at the knees, a physical phenomenon which she’d never experienced before, and which brought a bitter taste of shame to her mouth. How could she possibly be attracted to him?

Her teeth clenched down hard in her jaw as she struggled to recover her usual calm. But the unwanted sexual responses which had just flooded her traitorous body had left her feeling flustered, and confused.

She did the only thing she could do, under the circumstances. Said she had something to do and left the room.

CHAPTER THREE

‘THAT’S a great girl you’ve got over there.’

Hugh followed the direction of Max’s eyes and his gaze landed back on Kathryn; something he’d been trying to avoid all afternoon. Not too difficult a task during the meeting itself when she’d chosen to sit in a chair in a corner behind Hugh’s left shoulder.

At the moment, however, Kathryn was working the reception room, chatting away to a group of the more elderly directors, bringing a smile to even the stuffiest of the gentlemen.

‘Yes,’ he agreed. ‘She is.’

‘Better than Dickie’s secretary. More intelligent. More stylish, too. I hope you’re paying her well. You wouldn’t want to lose her.’

‘I’m afraid that might not be my call. Kathryn’s engaged to be married.’

‘So? Married women work all the time. She doesn’t look the type to stay home and play happy families. She has too much chutzpah!’

Too much of everything, Hugh wanted to say as he stared at her once more.

‘Really, Max?’ he said instead, somewhat impatiently. ‘How can you possibly glean the measure of a woman’s chutzpah from across the room?’

‘I was talking to her earlier and happened to make some critical remark about the recent rise in interest rates. She took me to task and told me in no uncertain terms that if I thought the reserve bank was wrong, I didn’t understand the effects of inflation on the economy. She didn’t pander to my position, my sex or my age. She said it as it is, without fear or favour.’

‘Kathryn does have a tendency to speak her mind,’ Hugh said drily.

Max chuckled in his beard. ‘Sounds like just what the doctor ordered for you, young man.’

‘Meaning?’

‘Meaning I would imagine that the majority of the opposite sex panders to you something rotten.’

‘That is a burden I have to bear,’ Hugh remarked in droll tones. ‘If you’ll excuse me, Max, I really should mingle.’

It was a full hour later before Hugh accompanied the last of the directors to the lifts. When he returned to the reception room, the caterers had almost finished cleaning up and Kathryn was frowning down at the screen on her mobile phone.

‘That’s just so typical,’ she muttered.

‘Something wrong?’ he asked.

Her head whipped up, her eyes showing a most uncharacteristic consternation at finding him there.

‘No, not really. Daryl was going to take me out to dinner tonight. But…um…something has come up and he can’t.’

Hugh couldn’t imagine anything making him break a dinner date with Kathryn. Not if he was assured of having her for afters. Which her fiancé was. They did live together, after all.

‘In that case, why don’t I take you out to dinner?’ he said, whilst thinking he was a masochistic fool.

Her eyes rounded as her finely arched brows lifted sky-wards.

Hugh could appreciate her surprise. He’d never offered to take her to dinner before. Or even lunch. The occasional coffee break in the café on the ground floor was the extent of their socialising outside the office. Other than last year’s Christmas party, of course, which had been held in the ballroom of the Regency Hotel.

What a wretchedly frustrating night that had been. He could not stand seeing Kathryn with that good-looking smoothie she was engaged to. In the end, he’d zeroed in on the second sexiest girl in the room, the newest in the stable of attractive female lawyers his father invariably hired. He’d left the party earlier than he should have and taken Kandi— a name more suited to a hooker than a lawyer, in his opinion— to a room upstairs for the night.

And, whilst Kandi had proved to him that she would probably be a success in either profession, Hugh had not asked her out again.

That was the norm with him these days. One date per woman was all he could tolerate, his rampant desire for Kathryn having temporarily spoiled him for any other female.

‘Don’t tell me you’re not hungry,’ he jumped in before she could make some feeble excuse. ‘You didn’t eat a single bite of finger food that I could see.’

She shrugged. ‘I’m not much into finger food.’

‘I have to agree with you on that score. I prefer to eat sitting down. Come on. I’ll take you to Neptune’s.’

‘Neptune’s! But that’s one of the most expensive restaurants in Sydney.’

His smile was wry. ‘I think I can afford it, Kathryn.’

‘But don’t you have to book in advance? I’ve heard it’s very difficult to get a table there.’

‘Not so difficult on a Thursday night. And not if I ring now. It’s only half-past six.’ He didn’t like to say that the maître d’ at Neptune’s would find him a table at any hour on any night, a perk of being a billionaire.

Which he was already, courtesy of his paternal grandmother, who, not impressed with her own son’s string of wives, had willed her personal fortune in a trust for her grandson. By the time Hugh gained control of this trust at the age of thirty, his grandmother’s superbly invested millions had more than quadrupled. Since then, under his own management, and despite some years of economic upheaval in the stock market, his personal fortune had increased, which gave him considerable satisfaction.

Hugh knew people thought him lazy. But he wasn’t. He could work hard, when required. He worked very hard at doing things he enjoyed, like golf and sailing and, yes, sex.

Or he had, till recently.

It frustrated him to death that his extremely enjoyable lifestyle was being ruined by one very irritating female who couldn’t even be persuaded to go to dinner with him!

Because she was going to say no. He could see it in her eyes.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said, confirming his guess. ‘But I don’t think that’s a good idea.’

Damn it, but he really wanted her to say yes to him. Just this once! Even if it was only for a meal.

‘It’s not unusual for a grateful boss to take his PA to dinner, Kathryn,’ he said in a brisk, businesslike fashion. ‘I’m sure your fiancé wouldn’t mind.’

Oh, yes, he would, Kathryn thought.

But she didn’t like to say as much, didn’t like to confess that Daryl had this jealous thing about her working for Hugh.

Kathryn was tempted to go, seriously tempted.

Neptune’s! She’d never been there. She’d never dream of going to somewhere so expensive; eating in five-star restaurants had never fitted into her budget. Daryl knew better than to take her to a restaurant which wasn’t bring-your-own, with reasonably priced meals. Tonight, they’d been planning to go to their local Chinese.

Kathryn suspected that Daryl’s last-minute letting her down to go out drinking with his mates was a kind of punishment for her coming home late last night. He could be petty at times. And quite vindictive. It was a trait that worried her sometimes.

What would he do if she actually went to dinner with her boss, to a place like Neptune’s? He probably wouldn’t talk to her for a week. Or make love to her. He’d give her the cold-shoulder treatment, knowing full well how much that would hurt her.

She couldn’t bear it when he shut her out.

Of course, if she didn’t tell him where she’d gone, he would probably never know. His mates always drank at a hotel in Burwood, which was a fair way from the centre of the city. It was also highly unlikely that anyone in their small circle of friends would see her dining out with her boss in a place like Neptune’s.

‘I refuse to take no for an answer, Kathryn,’ Hugh pronounced firmly.

‘But I’m not dressed for going out to a fancy restaurant,’ she protested. Though rather feebly.

‘Rubbish. You look fine. Now, go get your handbag whilst I make the necessary call.’

A still hesitant Kathryn watched him fish out his latest, hitech mobile phone, the one which could do just about anything short of autopiloting a plane.

‘Hugh, I don’t think—’

‘For pity’s sake!’ he interrupted with a flash of frustration in his eyes. ‘I’m not asking you to go away with me for the weekend. It’s just a simple bloody dinner.’

Kathryn felt somewhat chastened by her boss’s outburst. He must think she was a fool, making such a big deal out of his really very nice offer.

‘You’re right. Sorry,’ she said swiftly. ‘Just give me five minutes to fix my face.’

Exactly five minutes later Kathryn was standing in the powder room, staring at her fixed face in the mirror and thinking she was, indeed, a fool.

She should have stood her ground. Should have said no thank you, I really need to be getting home. Instead, here she was, with her lips freshly glossed, her hair taken down, her jacket unbuttoned and her heart going like the clappers.

Never, till today, had Kathryn allowed herself to surrender even in the slightest to her boss’s infamous charm. She’d kept herself immune by ignoring his good looks and focusing on the real man underneath.

He was a playboy: spoiled and superficial, without depth and possibly even without decency.

The passing parade of beautiful young women in Hugh’s life so far indicated a lack of moral fibre which Kathryn found deplorable. She thought it even more deplorable that women continued to chase after him the way they did.

Sometimes she despaired of her own sex. Didn’t they have any pride? Any common sense? Hadn’t they worked out yet that bachelor playboys like Hugh Parkinson only used them as sex toys, disposing of them quite ruthlessly when they tired of their charms? There was no future with them. None at all!

It pained Kathryn that she could feel even the slightest excitement over going to dinner with such a man.

But she did, there was no denying it. Her cheeks were flushed and there was a definite glitter of excitement in her eyes. In the last few minutes she hadn’t give Daryl a second thought. And now that she did, all she felt for her fiancé was a fierce resentment. He should not have put her in this awkward position. He should not have let her down. He should have taken her out to dinner, as they’d arranged.

‘Shake a leg in there, Kathryn,’ Hugh shouted through the powder-room door. ‘The caterers have just left and I have a booking for seven. You wouldn’t want us to be late, would you?’

Sarcastic devil, Kathryn thought, but with a smile pulling at her mouth.

It startled her, that smile. And worried her.

She could not go out there smiling at him. It just would not do! Neither would her hair being down. Too telling, that. And potentially humiliating. She could not bear the thought that Hugh might think she was attempting some kind of cheap flirtation.

‘I’ll just be another minute,’ she called back. ‘Having some trouble with my hair.’

Back up it went. Not in a French roll—that would take too long—but a knot, wound very tightly on at the back of her head, then anchored with pins. She buttoned her jacket up again, then grabbed a tissue and blotted her shiny scarlet lips into a more sedate red.

There wasn’t much she could do about her racing heart. But then, he couldn’t see that, could he?

CHAPTER FOUR

HUGH didn’t know exactly what to expect once Kathryn finally came out of the powder room. But during the extra minute she took, he began picturing her performing one of those transformations when the office girl turns from virgin to vamp in the twinkle of an eye by shaking down her hair, popping on some screw-me shoes, then flooding herself with an exotic perfume.

No such luck, he realised when the door opened and out came the Kathryn he’d become very used to, the one who didn’t actually need to do any of those things to turn him on.

What had taken her so long? he thought with a savage burst of irritation. Her hairstyle was slightly different, he supposed, though still scraped back severely from her face with not a single lock escaping its imposed prison. As he glared at her hair, he suddenly itched to run his fingers through it, to pull it down and spread it out over her shoulders. Her very naked shoulders, preferably.

Cool it, Hugh, came the sharp warning from that part of his brain which was not connected with his male hormones.

‘The caterers gone?’ she asked, glancing over his shoulder.

‘Yep. No one left here but us. Come on, let’s go.’

Hugh resisted the temptation to take her elbow on the way to the lift. He could already feel himself hardening. This could get mighty uncomfortable. On top of that, Kathryn would not appreciate any physical familiarity. He knew enough about her to know that. Some women were touchers but she very definitely wasn’t.

Again, perversely, he liked that about her. Liked the way she protected her personal space and her air of self-containment.

It was very sexy. She was very sexy. Hugh sometimes wondered if she was aware of her unusual brand of sex appeal, or if she’d ever exploited it.

Somehow he didn’t think so, which made her even sexier to him.

Wrong train of thought, Hugh. Damn, damn and triple damn!

Kathryn shot him one of her cool little smiles as they stepped into the lift.

‘The meeting went well, don’t you think?’ she said. ‘Everyone I spoke to seemed very pleased, both by the company’s progress…and with you,’ she added.

Somewhat reluctantly, Hugh thought.

‘You’re very good with people, aren’t you?’

How she managed to make even a compliment sound like a criticism, he had no idea.

‘Must come from all the parties I’ve been to,’ he said offhandedly as he pressed the car-park button. ‘By the way, Max was extremely impressed with you. He thoroughly enjoyed your lecture on inflation.’

Her head whipped his way, her eyes showing concern.

‘I’m not teasing you,’ he said. ‘I’m being serious. He liked you. Said I was to do everything in my power to keep you. Which leads me to my next question,’ he added just as the lift doors opened at the basement level.

‘Oh? What’s that?’

‘Do you intend to stay on working for me after you’re married?’

She didn’t have to say a single word, he saw the truth in her eyes.

‘I see,’ he said, astounded at his reaction to this news. Where was the relief? All he felt was dismay. Yet that was ridiculous! If he couldn’t have her, then it was far better that she go. Out of sight would be out of mind. He’d be able to get back to normal. And next time, he’d be very careful over the kind of female he hired as his assistant. Maybe someone like his father’s PA. Elaine was in her early fifties, a career spinster who’d been with Parkinson Media for yonks.

Clearly, his father was no fool. Or perhaps it was a case of once bitten, twice shy? His father’s first wife, Hugh’s mother, had once been his personal secretary. Of course, she’d been very pretty.

Hugh stared at Kathryn, who could hardly be described as very pretty. Yet she had a face which he was finding increasingly attractive, with its fine eyes and wide, sensual mouth. And then there was her figure, that tantalising, hourglass figure which was his constant torment.

‘And when were you going to tell me?’ he ground out, as— against all common sense—he cupped her elbow and steered her forcibly from the lift.

Kathryn was taken aback by his obvious anger. It wasn’t like Hugh to be angry, about anything! As a boss went, he was extremely easy-going, too easy-going. Life was meant to be enjoyed, he’d once told her when she’d chided him over spending so much time out of the office.

His anger upset her. As did the way he was pushing her along. Heavens, but his grip was strong. It had to be down to all that golf!

‘I didn’t say I was definitely leaving,’ she said with a degree of indignation. ‘I haven’t made up my mind yet.’

‘That’s not like you. I got the impression you had your life all planned out down to the last minute.’

How boring he made her sound. Boring and predictable.

‘There’s nothing wrong with having plans and goals,’ she countered defensively. ‘Not everyone can afford to just swan along without thinking about tomorrow.’

‘Touché,’ he said with the kind of light-hearted laugh she was used to hearing from him. It relaxed the tension which had been gathering in her stomach. So did his finally dropping her elbow. She hadn’t liked him touching her like that, hadn’t liked the funny little thrill it gave her.

It wasn’t till Hugh bent to open a car door that she noticed they’d come to a halt next to a bright red sports car.

Like lots of women, cars held little attraction for Kathryn. All she required of a vehicle was that it be kept spotlessly clean and got her safely from point A to point B.

Hugh’s car was spotlessly clean. Its metallic paintwork fairly shone. But it didn’t shout safety at her, it shouted danger, excitement and, yes, sex.

In a jolt of sudden insight, Kathryn understood why rich playboys drove cars like this, and why other men coveted them. They were, quite simply, seduction on wheels. Even the act of lowering herself into the passenger seat felt flirtatious, with her skirt riding halfway up her legs. When Hugh didn’t close the passenger door straight away, she glanced up to find him staring down at her provocatively exposed thighs.

It seemed an eternity before his gaze lifted from her legs to her face; an electrifying and exquisitely exciting eternity.

His eyes, when they met hers, betrayed no such excitement. A hint of irritation perhaps. Nothing more.

‘Watch your elbow,’ he advised brusquely before slamming the door shut.

‘Foolish girl,’ Kathryn muttered under her breath, gripping her handbag tightly in her lap whilst her billionaire boss strode round the front of the car.

But it was difficult to relax after being rattled so soundly by such a small thing as Hugh looking at her legs. Difficult to ignore her still thudding heartbeat. Difficult to pretend that she hadn’t wanted him to go on looking at her legs.

He wrenched open his door and slid in behind the wheel.

‘You haven’t been in my car before, have you?’ he threw at her as he leant forward and inserted his car key.

‘No,’ came her taut reply. There’d been no reason for him to drive her anywhere.

‘Seat belts would be good,’ he said with a sideward glace.

Kathryn cursed herself when she fumbled with hers and it snapped back over her left shoulder.

‘Here. Let me,’ he said, and leant over to do it for her.

She knew his arm brushing against her breasts was accidental but it didn’t stop her nipples from tightening inside her bra—or the sharp intake of breath which accompanied this not-to-be-ignored evidence of sexual arousal.

‘Sorry,’ he muttered, no doubt thinking her gasp was a form of protest. ‘There’s not a lot of room.’

Once her seat belt was fastened, Hugh turned his attention to slipping his own belt on then starting the car, giving Kathryn the opportunity to gather her senses.

Any relief was short-lived, however, when the car’s powerful engine throbbed into life, its vibration entering her body through her feet and shooting upwards, bringing a tingling to her whole body. When Hugh reversed out and accelerated away, taking the car-park corners faster than she ever would, Kathryn experienced a most uncharacteristic surge of exhilaration.

Normally, she despised speeding. But nothing was normal right now.

In no time they were out in George Street, where the steady lines of city traffic brought a swift halt to any speeding.

‘So what do you think of my car?’ he asked when they stopped at a set of lights.

What did she think? She thought it was so sexy it was sinful. But not as sexy as its owner.

‘Very nice,’ she said, and he laughed.

‘Only you would call a Ferrari nice.’ The lights changed and he was off again, this time a little more quickly, as the traffic ahead was thinning. He zapped left at the next corner, then right, after which she lost total track till he zoomed into a small car park down near the quay and braked to a halt.

‘Have you been to Neptune’s before?’ he asked as he retrieved his car key then unsnapped his seat belt.

‘No.’

‘You’ll like it.’

Kathryn was sure she would. How could you not like being taken to one of Sydney’s most famous restaurants where the menu would be to die for and the wine like liquid gold?

Suddenly, Kathryn knew why all those women chased after Hugh.

Not necessarily to marry him—although most would, if they could. But because billionaires could show a girl a very good time. It was a case of la dolce vita to the max: the best cars, the best restaurants, the best holidays.

Men like Hugh could give a woman everything she wanted.

Except commitment.

He’d be very good in bed, though, came the provocative thought.

Not that she’d ever find out. Hugh wasn’t the slightest bit interested in her in that way. You didn’t need to have a master’s degree to work out what sort of women he took to bed, and she wasn’t one of them.

The man himself wrenched open the passenger door at that precise moment and reached his hand down towards her. Kathryn really had no option but to take it.

This time, however, she was ready for her traitorous body’s reaction to him. This time, there wouldn’t be any silly gasping. She would keep her cool and her head…

When she put her hand in his, and his fingers closed around hers, Hugh had to use every ounce of his willpower not to show his feelings on his face. He’d been in an acute state of arousal from the moment he’d looked at her glorious thighs earlier on and envisaged how they’d feel wrapped around him. Then, when his arm had brushed against her breasts, he’d come within a hair’s breadth of throwing caution to the winds and making a total fool of himself.

When she’d stiffened her back against the seat and made that strangled sound, he’d been saved from attempting what would have been no doubt a disastrous move. In the short drive since that decidedly dangerous moment, he’d managed to regain some common sense—and some control.

But his arousal remained, as did the perverse pleasure that just touching her again was giving him. Slowly he drew her up out of the car, revelling in the warmth of her hand, though not the flash of discomfort he glimpsed in her eyes.

Too bad, he thought, and held her hand even more tightly.

The sound of his cellphone ringing annoyed the hell out of him.

Not so his PA, who immediately withdrew her hand from his and turned to close the passenger door.

‘Don’t forget to lock your car,’ she said coolly whilst he pulled his phone from his trouser pocket and flipped it open.

‘Hugh Parkinson,’ he said with a touch of weariness. But truthfully, what kind of masochistic maniac was he to invite Kathryn to dinner? Self-flagellation had never been his bag.

‘Hugh, darling,’ said a female voice. ‘Have I caught you at a bad time?’

‘Not at all, Mum. What’s up?’ he asked whilst pressing the car’s automatic lock then slipping the key into his trouser pocket.

‘I can’t make lunch tomorrow. Sorry.’

‘That’s all right. We’ll make it for the following Friday.’ A while back, his mother had complained that they hardly ever saw each other these days, except at Christmas and his father’s weddings, so they’d instituted a standard date to have lunch together every second Friday. Oddly enough, he’d got to know his mother better during those lunches than he could ever have imagined. They weren’t just mother and son these days, they were good friends.

‘I’ll have to check my diary and get back to you on that,’ she said. ‘We might have to make it another day.’

‘You shouldn’t be such a gadabout.’

‘You wouldn’t want me to sit at home pining for your father, would you?’

‘Did you ever do that?’

‘Only for the first ten years. So where are you off to tonight, darling? No, don’t tell me. Let me guess. You’ve found yourself a new girlfriend at last, and you’re going to impress her with dinner at Neptune’s.’

Hugh’s eyebrows lifted. It seemed his mother knew him very well indeed.

‘Not quite,’ he replied. ‘I’m taking Kathryn out to dinner as a reward for all her hard work today.’

‘To Neptune’s?’ his mother persisted.

‘Yes.’

‘And she agreed?’

‘Why not? It’s all perfectly harmless.’

His mother laughed. ‘You’re anything but perfectly harmless, darling. Not when it comes to the women you fancy.’

Hugh was struck speechless.

‘You thought I didn’t know?’

Again, he remained silent.

‘I never tell you what to do these days, darling. But I’m going to now. Men who sleep with their secretaries bring a lot of misery, mostly to the secretaries. Especially engaged ones. So take your mother’s advice and keep it zipped up whilst you’re around that lovely girl.’

‘I’ll do that,’ he bit out.

‘Good. I really like Kathryn. If you ever did anything to hurt her, I would be very cross.’

‘Mum, I must go. We have an early booking.’ So saying, he snapped his phone shut and looked at Kathryn.

‘Mum can’t make it to lunch tomorrow,’ he said by way of explanation.

‘What a shame. We always have a nice little chat when she comes to the office.’

‘So I gathered. Look, why don’t we both turn off our mobile phones for the next couple of hours? There’s nothing worse than people ringing you during dinner.’

He watched her hesitate, but only for a moment, before she opened her handbag and switched off her phone. Hugh smiled his satisfaction. Such a small victory, but it pleased him.

‘Good,’ he said and, masochistically taking her elbow once more, began shepherding her across the car park towards the restaurant.

CHAPTER FIVE

NEPTUNE’S was everything Kathryn had thought it would be: very classily decorated, with a magnificent view of Sydney Harbour and a mouth-watering menu that made her uncharacteristically indecisive.

But how did one choose between so many incredible dishes?

Incredibly expensive as well. She wondered what price the wine would be.

‘Stop looking at the prices,’ Hugh said after she’d been staring at the menu for a full five minutes. ‘I don’t give a damn what you order. Just hurry up. I’m starving.’

Still, she dilly-dallied.

‘Why don’t you let me order for you?’ he said somewhat impatiently.

‘Perhaps that would be best,’ she agreed when a waiter materialised at the side of their table.

Hugh told him they were skipping the entrée and going straight to the main course, selecting baby Barramundi, accompanied by an exotic concoction of pasta and vegetables, which she didn’t dare ask the waiter to explain for fear she would sound ignorant. Hugh also ordered some herb bread—to be delivered quickly—and a bottle of red wine which she suspected cost a lot more than the fifteen-to-twenty-dollar specials she always bought from her local wine shop.

The waiter returned with the wine like a shot, Hugh taking his time over the taste-testing before giving his nod for the waiter to pour.

‘I haven’t tried this particular wine before,’ he told her after the waiter departed. ‘A friend recommended it to me. Tell me what you think.’

When Kathryn took her first sip, she literally sighed with appreciation. ‘Oh, it’s lovely.’

‘I’ve had better,’ Hugh said. ‘But it’s not bad. Aah, here comes our bread. And just in time. I’ll need something to soak up the alcohol, if I’m going to drive you home afterwards.’

Kathryn almost spilled her wine. Which would have been a complete travesty. ‘You don’t have to do that,’ she said hurriedly. ‘I can easily take the train. I don’t live all that far from the station.’

‘You think I’d let you walk home after dark?’

‘It doesn’t get dark till after eight,’ she replied, feeling grateful for daylight saving.

‘Which it will be by the time we finish here. Don’t make a fuss, Kathryn. And don’t suggest a taxi. I’m driving you home and that’s that. If you’re worried I might be over the limit then don’t be. I’ll restrict my intake to two glasses and you can drink the rest.’

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.