Miranda Lee
The Billionaire Boss’s
Forbidden Mistress

RUTHLESS

Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

About the Author

Coming Next Month

CHAPTER ONE

LEAH DIDN’T STOP swimming till a full twenty laps were behind her.

Satisfied with her workout, she stroked over to the side of the pool and grabbed the silver handles on the ladder. As she hauled herself upwards out of the water, her gaze connected with her left thigh and the rough ridges of white skin that crisscrossed it.

Leah didn’t look away, as she usually did. Instead, she forced herself to study the scars in the early morning sunshine.

They had faded quite a bit over the past two years. But they were never going to go away, she accepted as she climbed out on to the tiled pool surround and reached for her towel.

Leah sighed. She wished her disfigurement didn’t bother her so much. It seemed pathetic to be upset about a few wretched scars when the car accident that had produced them had taken the life of her mother.

Nothing compared with that tragedy, not even Carl leaving her a few months after the accident. Though she’d been shattered at the time.

Leah clutched the towel tightly in her hands, rubbing at her scars less than gently as she recalled the expression on Carl’s face when he’d taken his first good look at her scarred leg. He’d been utterly revolted. And repulsed.

He’d made excuses not to make love to her for weeks after she came home from hospital, till finally he’d announced that he wanted a divorce, saying it was because she had changed.

Leah agreed that she had. During the long, painful weeks she’d been in hospital, she’d found a different person inside herself. A better person, she liked to think. A person with more character, and insight, and compassion.

Carl claimed she’d become far too serious and was no fun any more. Leah’s desperate argument that she’d just lost her mother and was naturally feeling sad made no impression on him at all.

His leaving her had nothing to do with her personality having changed, she thought bitterly. It was all to do with her scars. And her limp.

Well, the limp had long gone but the scars would never go. Not the scars on her legs. Or the scars on her heart.

Still, she’d finally come to terms with Carl’s calling it quits on her. After all, what woman would actually want to stay married to a man who could not tolerate a wife who was no longer physically perfect?

Which, before the accident, she had been. Or so she’d been told all her life.

Leah had been the image of her mother, a natural blonde with lovely green eyes, perfect teeth and skin, and a very pretty face and figure. Leah had grown up taking her good genes for granted. Taking her privileged lifestyle for granted as well.

As the only child of one of Sydney’s most successful stockbrokers, she’d never wanted for a thing. She’d been spoiled rotten all her life, her pampered upbringing producing a precious little society princess who thought the world was her oyster. Working for a living had never been on Leah Bloom’s agenda. She had a monthly allowance, plus a credit card. Why work nine to five in some dreary job?

When people had asked what she did for a living, she had told them she was an aspiring writer, a minor ambition that had come to her during her last year at school when her English teacher complimented her on one of her creative writing assignments. She’d even attended a fiction-writing course at one stage, bought herself a computer and started a chick-lit novel, which was little more than a diary of what she did every week.

Which meant extremely silly and shallow, Leah decided in hindsight.

How could it be anything else when her life was silly and shallow, every day filled with shopping and charity luncheons and idle hours spent in beauty salons getting ready for the evening’s outing. By the time Leah was twenty-one, she’d been to more parties and premieres and black-tie dos than she could count.

Falling in love and marrying Carl had been the icing on her seemingly never-ending cake. He’d been attractive and charming and rich. Very rich. Leah’s family didn’t mix with any other kind.

Carl had been thirty when they married, the heir to an absolute fortune made in diamonds. She’d been twenty-three.

They’d only been married for six months when the accident happened. Way too short a time for Carl to fall out of love with her. Leah had long come to the conclusion that she’d just been a trophy wife, a decoration on his arm to show off, a possession that he’d only valued when she’d been glitteringly perfect.

Once she’d become flawed, he hadn’t wanted her any more.

‘Mrs B. said to tell you breakfast will be ready in ten minutes,’ a male voice called out.

Leah glanced up to see her father leaning over the balcony that adjoined the master bedroom.

Dressed in his favourite navy silk dressing-gown and with a tan that a summer of swimming and yachting had produced, her father looked much younger than his sixty-two years. Of course, he did keep himself very fit in his home gym. A thick headful of expertly dyed brown hair didn’t hurt, either.

‘That’s the only reason I come home every weekend, you know,’ she replied. ‘For Mrs B.’s cooking.’

This was a lie, of course. She came home every weekend to spend time with her father, to feel his parental affection, up close and personal.

But Leah didn’t want to live at home twenty-four seven. Joachim Bloom was far too dominating a personality for that. Leah knew she would find herself giving in to him if she was always around, like her mother had. As happy as her parents had been in their marriage, Leah had always been well aware who was the boss in their relationship.

‘Rubbish!’ her father retorted. ‘You’re skinny as a rake.’

‘You can never be too thin,’ she quipped.

‘Or too rich,’ he finished for her. ‘Which reminds me, daughter, there’s something important I have to discuss with you over breakfast, so shake a leg.’

‘The good one?’ Leah shot back at him. ‘Or the gimpy one?’

Pretending to her father not to care about her scars had become a habit. She didn’t want him to know that they bothered her as much as they still did. Or that they were the reason she never went to the beach any more, or swam anywhere else but here, at home, when there was no one around but her father and Mrs B. to see them.

‘Very funny,’ he said with a roll of his eyes, and disappeared back inside.

Leah threw the towel over her shoulder and headed for her bedroom, one of six in the two-storeyed, waterside mansion that she’d been brought up in and which was probably worth many millions on the current market.

Vaucluse was the place to live in Sydney’s eastern suburbs.

For a while after his mother’s death, her father had thought of selling the house and buying elsewhere, but Leah had talked him out of it. And she was so glad she had. It was a comfort at times, to be around her mother’s things. To feel her presence in the rooms.

Such beautiful rooms. Such a beautiful house, Leah thought wistfully as she climbed the curving staircase that led up to the bedrooms.

The thought didn’t come to Leah till she was in the shower that her father might have changed his mind about the house. He might still want to sell. Maybe that was what he wanted to discuss with her.

I won’t let him, she resolved as she snapped off the water. I’ll fight him to the death!

A couple of minutes later, she was running downstairs, dressed in cutoff blue jeans and a pink singlet top, her long damp hair up in a ponytail.

Joachim’s heart lurched as his daughter raced into the morning room. How like her mother she was! It was like looking at Isabel in her twenties.

‘If you think you’re going to sell this house, Daddy,’ Leah tossed at him with a feisty look as she sat down at the breakfast table, ‘then you can think again.’

Joachim sighed. Like her mother in looks, but not in personality. Isabel had been a soft sweet woman, always deferring to him. Never making waves.

Leah looked soft and sweet. When she’d been younger, she’d even been soft and sweet. But over the past eighteen months, she’d become much more assertive, and very independent. Not hard, exactly. But quite formidable and forthright.

But who could blame her for turning tough, came a more sympathetic train of thought. Carl had a lot to answer for. Fancy leaving Leah when she needed him the most. The man was a weasel and a coward. Joachim wouldn’t spit on him if he was on fire.

His daughter had had two alternatives during that awful time in her life. Go to pieces, or develop a thicker skin.

For a while it had been touch and go. Joachim was very proud that Leah had eventually pulled herself together and moved on.

‘No, Leah,’ he told her with a reassuring smile. ‘I’m not selling the house. I know how much you love it.’

Leah’s relief was only temporary. Then what did Daddy want to talk to her about?

‘What’s up, then?’ she asked as she reached for a slice of toast from the silver toast rack. ‘You’re not going to make a fuss about my working, are you? I thought you were proud of my getting a job.’

Perhaps surprised would have been a better description of her father’s reaction. When Leah had first mentioned a year ago that she was going to find a job, her stunned father had asked her what on earth she thought she could do.

‘Even waitresses have to have experience these days!’ he’d told her.

Leah understood his scepticism after she went to have her resumé done. Because there was nothing much she could put on it, except a very average pass in her Higher School certificate—studying had not been high on Leah’s society princess agenda—plus that very brief creative writing course. She had absolutely no qualifications for employment other than her social skills and her looks and a limited ability to use a computer.

Which was why the only job she’d been able to find after attending endless interviews was as a receptionist. Not at some flashy establishment in the city, either. She currently worked for a company that manufactured beauty products, and had their factory and head office at Ermington, a mainly industrial suburb in western Sydney.

‘I am proud of your getting that job,’ her father insisted. ‘Extremely.’

Mrs B., coming in with a plate piled high with scrambled eggs, hash browns, fried tomato and bacon, interrupted their conversation for a moment.

‘This looks delicious, Mrs B.,’ Leah complimented her father’s housekeeper as she placed the plate in front of her.

Leah was privately thankful that she only had to eat Mrs B.’s breakfast one day a week, or she’d have a backside as big as a bus.

‘Just make sure you eat it all,’ Mrs B. said with a sharp glance at Leah. ‘You’re getting way too thin, missie.’

‘You won’t catch yourself another husband with that waif look, you know,’ her father agreed.

Leah could have pointed out that she turned down several offers of dates every week. Instead, she smiled sweetly and tucked into the food till Mrs B. left the room. Then she put down her knife and fork and looked straight at her father.

‘I have no intention of getting married again, Daddy.’

‘What? Why not?’

‘You know why not.’

‘Not every man is as weak as Carl,’ he grumbled. ‘You’re a beautiful young woman, Leah. You should have a husband. And babies.’

‘I don’t want to argue about this, Daddy. I just want you to know my feelings on the matter so that I don’t have to put up with that kind of comment any more.’

‘You’ll change your mind,’ he said. ‘One day, you’ll meet the right man and fall in love and that will be that. Nature will have her way with you. You mark my words.’

Leah suppressed a sigh. She’d been marking her father’s words all her life. She loved him to death, but over the past two years she’d come to realise he was an incredible bossy-boots who thought he knew what was best for everyone.

‘Can we move on, please?’ she said, picking up a piece of crispy bacon with her fingers, and munching into it. ‘You wanted to discuss something with me?’ she asked between swallows. ‘I presume it didn’t have anything to do with my remarrying. It sounded like it was about money. Which reminds me. Don’t start telling me what I can and cannot do with the income from my trust fund, either. It is my money to do with as I please. Mum made no conditions on her legacy in her will. If I want to give it all away, I can. Not that I am. Yet. At the moment, I have to keep some back each month to make ends meet.’

‘I don’t wonder,’ her father said. ‘From what I recall, you only earn a pittance.’

‘The women in the factory earn even less,’ Leah pointed out. ‘Yet some of them bring up a family on their salary. My aim is to support myself on my salary alone. It will do my character good to see how the other half lives. It’s just taking a while for my champagne taste to catch up with my beer income. Now, what did you want to talk to me about?’ she asked, and munched into the bacon again.

‘Eat your breakfast first. I see you’re enjoying it. We’ll talk over coffee afterwards.’

Leah’s curiosity was intense by the time she cleared her plate and picked up her coffee cup. ‘Well?’ she said after a couple of sips. ‘Out with it.’

‘What do you know about the takeover of Beville Holdings?’

‘What? You mean it’s a done deal?’ Leah asked with alarm in her voice. So far there had only been rumours at work of a possible takeover. But lots of Leah’s fellow employees were genuinely worried.

Leah had heard from more than one source that when companies were taken over, they were invariably subjected to ‘restructuring’. Leah had been chatting to one of their newest reps on Friday, a really nice man with a wife and young family. He told Leah that new management always pruned staff and usually adopted a policy of last-in-first-out, regardless of ability. Apparently, Peter had lost his previous job that way and was worried sick about the same thing happening again.

‘Yes, it’s a done deal,’ her father confirmed. ‘There’s an article about it in the business section of the Sunday paper here. Plus a photo of your new boss, Jason Pollack.’

‘Jason Pollack,’ Leah repeated, the name not ringing a bell. ‘Never heard of him.’ Leah might not have joined the workforce till late in her life, but she’d been brought up on dinner table discussions about the wheeler dealers of this world whose faces and names often graced the dailies.

‘Not all that many people have,’ her father informed her. ‘He keeps a very low media profile.’

‘Show me,’ she said, and her father passed across the relevant pages.

‘Goodness!’ Leah exclaimed, having expected to see a photo of a man who was at least middle-aged. And a good deal fatter.

Takeover tycoons were rarely this young. Or this slim.

Or this handsome.

Something inside Leah tightened when her eyes met those of Jason Pollack’s. Dark brown, they were. And deeply set, hooded by eyebrows that were as straight and uncompromising as his mouth. His hair was black. And wavy. Brushed neatly back from his high forehead with no part. His nose was straight, with widely flared nostrils, his jawline squared off, with a small dimple in its centre.

‘Is this an old photo?’ she asked brusquely.

‘Nope,’ her father said. ‘If you read the article, you’ll see he’s only thirty-six. He’s very good looking, isn’t he?’

‘I suppose so,’ Leah said. ‘If you like the type.’ Which she obviously did. She couldn’t take her eyes off him.

Yet he was nothing like Carl, who’d been big and blond, a Nordic giant of a man with a raw-boned handsomeness.

Jason Pollack’s face had a model-like quality, probably because of the perfect symmetry of his finely sculptured features.

Yet no one would mistake him for a male model. There was an air about him that was unmistakably magnate material. A maturity in his eyes—and an intelligence—that Leah found both attractive and irritating.

Irritating because she didn’t want to find the new boss of Beville Holdings in any way attractive. She didn’t want to find any man attractive for a long, long time.

‘How on earth did he get to be so rich and successful so young?’ she queried sharply. ‘I know he’s not old money. I would have met him before, if he was.’

‘Nope. He was an immigrant from Poland, brought over here by his father after his mother died in childbirth. He grew up in the Western suburbs and never even went to university. Started in sales straight out of school.’

‘Must have been a very good salesman to acquire so much in such a short time,’ Leah said.

‘Seems so. But he also married into money when he was in his late twenties. His wife was his first employer’s widow. Her husband owned the WhizzBiz Electronics chain of shops. Jason Pollack sold himself to his new lady boss within a year of her husband’s demise. She herself died of cancer a couple of years later, leaving her adored young husband everything. Admittedly, by then, he had reversed WhizzBiz’s dwindling sales. After his wife’s death, he sold the whole chain for an enormous price. That’s become Pollack’s trademark. He buys ailing companies, fixes them up, then sells them.

‘But only if he thinks fixing is feasible,’ her father continued whilst Leah kept staring at Jason Pollack’s photo. ‘He reveals in that article that on one occasion, after he gained access to the company’s records and employees, he judged that a salvage operation simply wasn’t on. So he cut his losses and dismantled the company altogether, selling off whatever assets were involved.’

‘Regardless of the poor employees,’ she scorned.

‘I gather he gave each of them more than their entitlements.’

‘Which he could well afford,’ she snapped, dragging her eyes away from Jason Pollack to scan the rest of the article. The man had to be worth squillions, his current residence being the top floor of a skyscraper in the middle of Sydney’s city and business district.

‘Maybe, but he didn’t have to, Leah. The man has a good reputation for being more than fair. Look, Beville Holdings has not made a profit for two years now. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. Whether Beville Holdings is salvageable, or not?’

Leah frowned. ‘Why do you want to know?’

‘I happen to own a nice little parcel of Beville Holdings shares. Bought them two years ago when they were rock bottom. Are they going to increase in value?’

‘According to this article they’ve already gone up a lot.’

‘Yes, but they’ll go up a lot more in the end if Pollack can work his usual miracle. So tell me, daughter, can your company be turned around, or do you think your new boss will sell it off in pieces?’

‘How on earth would I know?’ Leah replied, tossing the paper back over to her father to stop herself from staring at the infernal man any more.

‘Come now, Leah, don’t be coy. You’re one of those girls everyone tells everything to. People like to confide in you. I’ve seen it for myself many times. You’ve been at that company for over eight months now. I’ll bet you know exactly what’s going on there. Just because you didn’t put your mind to your studies at school doesn’t mean you didn’t inherit my brains. You’re smart as a whip, when you want to be.’

‘I wasn’t too smart when I married Carl.’

‘That’s different. Love can make a fool of even the smartest person. Now give me an honest opinion. Is my investment going to grow?’

Leah thought about all the information she had gleaned at work over the past few months.

Her father was right. People did like to confide in her. More so now than ever. Since the accident, she’d developed a genuinely compassionate ear, whereas before, her being a good listener had just been a social skill, learned from her mother.

Leah knew exactly what was wrong with Beville Holdings. The problems were fixable. If the new boss knew where to look, and whose advice to take.

‘Beville Holdings has excellent products,’ came her carefully worded reply. ‘But poor management. I think your shares will increase in value.’

Joachim smiled. Smart girl, his daughter. Smart and beautiful and not cut out to spend her life being a receptionist out in the boondocks. Or for living alone, for that matter.

Joachim could understand that her husband’s defection had hurt her terribly. But life went on.

Leah was only twenty-six. Time for her to start dating again. But he couldn’t force the issue. He’d have to be subtle. Maybe he’d surprise her with a dinner party for next Saturday night, invite a few old friends, people he knew she liked. But he’d also slip in someone new, some handsome, highly eligible young man who might impress her.

But who?

Joachim couldn’t think of anyone. With a sigh he picked up the paper again and found himself staring down at the photograph of Jason Pollack. Suddenly, a voice whispered to him that he should invite him. Jason Pollack.

Joachim’s first reaction was hell, no. Not some ambitious bastard who’d married for money. But the voice insisted. If he hadn’t known better, he would have thought it was Isabel, whispering to him. Isabel, who hadn’t liked Carl one bit and who’d said Leah needed to marry a different type of man. A stronger, self-made man.

Isabel had been right about Carl.

Jason Pollack was a strong man, Joachim told himself. And a self-made man. A man who could probably do with a new wife. A younger one this time who could give him children.

Joachim still had his doubts, but that soft voice was very persistent.

All right, he whispered back in his head.

Don’t tell Leah, the voice added.

Joachim flicked a quick glance across the table at his daughter.

‘What?’ she said.

‘Nothing. Nothing.’

But the die was set. He would invite Pollack to dinner, and he would not tell Leah. Which left him with the problem of getting her to attend. Not an easy task.

But he would persuade her. Somehow.

CHAPTER TWO

LEAH TURNED INTO the driveway of Beville Holdings, stopping at the security gate and smiling over at Ted, the man who manned the gate on the morning shift. Usually, he just smiled back and pressed the button that lifted the barrier, allowing her to drive through.

Today, Ted slid back the window and waved for Leah to wind her window down. Which she did.

‘He’s here,’ he called to her in a conspiratorial voice. ‘The new boss.’

‘What?’ Leah’s stomach twisted into an instant knot. She’d expected Jason Pollock to show up at work sooner or later, but not this soon.

‘Didn’t you read about the takeover in yesterday’s paper?’ Ted asked her.

‘Er…no, I didn’t,’ Leah replied, not wanting to seem too on the ball. She didn’t exactly play a blonde bimbo role at work, but at the same time, she didn’t drop any clues over who she really was. She liked it that she was treated as a simple working-class girl from Gladesville. No one at Beville Holdings had ever been to her waterview apartment or connected her surname—Johannsen—with the diamond dynasty.

‘Well, his name is Mr Pollack and he arrived over an hour ago to check out the factory. He’ll be heading over to your section soon, I’ll bet, so just as well you’re not late.’

‘What’s he like?’ Leah asked, her curiosity getting the better of her.

‘Not too bad. I think my job’s safe. When he drove up to the gate just after seven and announced who he was, I still asked him for ID, and he seemed to like that.’

‘Good for you. What’s he driving? A flash car, I’ll bet.’

‘A dark blue sporty one.’

Leah’s top lip curled. Typical. Her father had declared yesterday that Jason Pollack wasn’t some kind of playboy—despite his living in a penthouse.

But men like that always ran true to form. Give a man money and he didn’t choose to putter around in anything small, or sedate. Rich people picked cars that supposedly reflected their personality, and power.

Leah had once zipped around Sydney in a red, top-of-the-range roadster, a present from her father on her twenty-first birthday. She’d traded it in for a white, second-hand hatchback when she got this job, not wanting anyone at work to think of her as a rich bitch. She wanted to be liked for herself, not her money.

‘Thanks for the warning, Ted,’ Leah said, and drove on, turning into the staff car park, which was surprisingly full. All the managers’ cars were there, an unusual occurrence for this hour on a Monday morning. They must have heard about the takeover, too, and decided to put their best feet forward.

The only empty car space in the row nearest the main office building was right next to a dark blue sports car.

Leah hesitated, then slid her vehicle in next to it, determined not to surrender to these silly nerves, which were currently turning her insides into a washing machine.

He was just a man, for pity’s sake. She’d met men just as attractive. And just as rich. Heck, she’d been married to one!

Okay, so she’d found Jason Pollack’s photo extremely attractive. So what?

Once she actually met the man, his undoubtedly up-himself personality would soon stop these ridiculous stomach flutters.

Admittedly, a dark blue sports car suggested that Jason Pollack wasn’t a total show pony, like her ex. Carl would have rocked up in something flashy and gold, or silver. That was exactly what she’d seen Carl sitting in the last time their paths crossed. Something flashy and silver.

Leah climbed out from behind the wheel and walked round to her passenger side, opening the door there to retrieve her handbag and peeping into the blue sports car at the same time.

Not a thing on the leather seats, or on the floor. Nothing to give her a glimpse of Jason Pollack’s character. Except that it looked like he was a neat freak. There wasn’t a single piece of rubbish anywhere. Or a spot of dirt. The car gleamed in the morning sun, both inside and outside.

People like that were usually very critical, and controlling.

‘Better get a move on then, girlie,’ she muttered to herself as she zapped the lock on her key and hurried up the path that led to the head office, a rectangular brick building built in the early sixties, but which had been totally renovated late last year.

You couldn’t tell by looking at the place that Beville Holdings hadn’t made a profit lately. You’d think everything was coming up roses.

Pushing through the front door, Leah headed across the deserted reception area straight for the nearby powder room. Her wristwatch said twenty-three minutes past eight. She only had five minutes to check her appearance before she was due to be sitting behind the semicircular reception desk, looking cool, calm and collected.

Despite her self-lecturing, Leah felt anything but.

Jason said good-bye to the factory foreman, thanking him for his help, but brushing aside the man’s offer to accompany him over to the head office.

Jason wanted to think. And he thought better when he was by himself.

He walked slowly along the well-signed path, wondering what he was doing, buying a company that made shower gels, shampoos, sunscreens and moisturisers. What in hell did he know about such products?

Nothing at all.

Still, he supposed retail was retail. Get the advertising right and good sales usually followed.

Judging by their performance over the last two years, Beville Holdings had not got their advertising right. Either that, or they were charging too much for their products. Or their management was less than efficient.

Jason wished he’d done some more market research before plunging in last Friday and buying a controlling share.

Never in his life before had he bought a company because of a dream. A dream, for pity’s sake!

It had happened last Saturday night, the night he’d broken up with Hilary. He’d been upset because she’d been upset, and the last thing he’d ever wanted to do was to hurt Hilary.

They’d met just over six months ago, at a dinner party that Jason had been persuaded to attend, and which had been cripplingly boring till Hilary winked at him from across the table. Later, he’d discovered that their hostess had been doing some matchmaking, Hilary having not long been divorced. She was his age, slim, dark, and very attractive, as well as intelligent and confident. Jason had ended up in bed with her that night, his first woman since Karen’s death four years earlier. His libido had finally bypassed his grief and come to life again, and, having come to life, wasn’t going to stay silent any more.

In hindsight, Jason was amazed that he’d stayed celibate for so long. Sex had always been very important to him.

He’d first discovered the pleasures of the flesh when he’d been sixteen, his partner an older girl of nineteen who knew a thing or two. She’d lived two doors down from him, and she’d spent many a Saturday afternoon during one long hot summer, showing Jason exactly how to please her, and vice versa. When her family moved, Jason had been devastated for a while. At sixteen, it had been impossible to separate lust and love.

Eventually, he’d recovered from his broken heart, and, after that, never been without a girlfriend. Though he’d never fallen in love again.

Till he met Karen.

Jason smiled softly to himself as he thought of his wife.

Another older woman, but this time fifteen years older. Forty-two to his twenty-seven. Yet they’d been perfect together. And so ecstatically happy.

Of course, everyone else thought he’d married his boss’s widow out of cold-blooded ambition. Hilary probably hadn’t believed him when he had said he’d loved his wife.

Jason supposed it was only reasonable that, after sleeping with Hilary every weekend for six months, she might expect him to propose.

In his defence, he’d made it clear right from the start of their relationship that he wasn’t interest in remarrying.

But last Saturday night, Hilary had started pressing for him to marry her and he knew he couldn’t. Because, as attractive as Hilary was, he just wasn’t in love with her, and once you’d been in love—really, deeply in love—you couldn’t settle for less.

After Hilary flounced out, saying she never wanted to see him again, he hadn’t been able to sleep. So he’d popped one of the sleeping pills that the doctor had prescribed for him after Karen died and which were hopelessly out of date. But at the time, he hadn’t cared. He just wanted oblivion.

But his sleep had been full of dreams, mostly of Karen, telling him—as she often had during that final awful week—that he wasn’t to grieve, that, one day, he’d meet someone else, someone more right for him than she’d been, someone who’d give him babies and a wonderful life.

Silly dreams, because Jason knew that wouldn’t happen.

And then, seemingly only seconds before he woke, had come this other odd, startlingly vivid dream.

He was driving out in the country and suddenly, in the middle of a mown paddock, he saw this massive billboard with a blonde on it. She’d been photographed from the back from her hips up, and was naked. The effect was incredibly sexual. She had a slender but curvy shape, porcelain-like skin and dead straight, glisteningly golden hair streaming halfway down her bare back. Her arms were stretched up in front of her, tossing a bottle of shampoo up into a bright blue sky, golden rays coming out from it as if it were the sun. Across the bottom of the billboard were the words: START EVERY DAY WITH SUNSHINE.

Jason had driven right off the road in the dream as he stared at the blonde, the accident jolting him awake. He’d been relieved to find it was only a dream, but the image on that billboard had stayed in his mind all day, tantalising him. Haunting him.

He knew he’d never seen such an ad before. He had heard of a brand name called Sunshine. Vaguely. But he thought it was attached to cleaning stuff, not shampoo.

That evening, he’d rung Harry Wilde—Harry ran an advertising agency he used occasionally—and asked him if he knew of Sunshine shampoo, or of such an ad.

He hadn’t.

Jason had then gone to an all-hours supermarket and found that there was indeed a range of products with the Sunshine label, all made by a company called Beville Holdings. Further investigation via his broker revealed Beville Holdings was a small but well-established manufacturing company, owned by a parent company in England. Their shares were quite low, due to their not making a profit and not declaring a decent dividend for the past two years.

‘And a week later, here I am,’ Jason muttered to himself. ‘The owner of said profitless company.’

Jason found himself standing outside the main door of the head office building, shaking his head wryly up at the Beville Holdings sign. He didn’t really believe in fate, or karma. In the main, he was a practical man.

But he could not deny that he’d been less than practical this past week. That crazy dream had robbed him of his savvy approach to business. As soon as he’d found out there was a real company that made Sunshine products, he’d felt compelled to buy the place, without doing any solid market research, a process that normally took many weeks.

Bob had thought he’d lost his marbles.

Still, if he listened to Bob all the time, he’d never buy anything. Bob was a great PA, but not the most decisive of men. Not a risk taker in any way, shape or form.

Businessmen had to take risks, occasionally. In the main, however, they were informed risks. Jason had to admit that, this time, he’d gone out on a limb.

Still, it could be an interesting project, he told himself, turning Beville Holdings around. A real challenge. He’d been getting into a rut lately.

Success would depend on what he discovered in here, Jason decided as he pushed through the half-glass door. If serious problems lay in the sales and marketing departments, things could get tricky.

Golden handshakes were the only answer for getting rid of bad management, and that was very costly.

So was this décor, Jason realised as he set foot on the plush jade carpet that covered the spacious reception area. His eyebrows lifted as he glanced at the cream leather seating and the expensively framed watercolours that graced the cream walls, his thoughtful gaze finally resting on the very modern, but very unmanned reception desk.

He was glancing at the time on his watch—it was eight twenty-seven—when a movement caught the corner of his eye. Jason turned in time to see a young woman emerge from the ladies’ room across the way.

Jason’s heart skipped a beat.

She was blonde, and beautiful, wearing a pale green dress that clung to her perfect breasts and swished around her perfect legs. She seemed startled when she saw him, stopping in mid-stride. But then, with a toss of her lovely head, she headed in his direction, her hips swaying provocatively.

‘Good morning, Mr Pollack,’ she said crisply as she stretched out her hand towards him. ‘I’m sorry I wasn’t here to greet you when you came in, but I’m not due to start till eight thirty.’

So she knew who he was, did she? Probably saw his photo in the paper yesterday, Jason realised as he took her hand, holding it within both of his as he absorbed more of her incredible beauty at closer quarters.

‘That’s perfectly all right, Miss…er…’

‘Johannsen,’ she supplied. ‘Leah Johannsen. I…I’m the receptionist here at Beville Holdings.’

Jason knew lots of companies hired lookers to man their front desk, but this girl was totally wasted here. She could have been a model, she was so striking. Those eyes. That mouth. That stunning hair. So shiny and silky looking, with just the hint of a wave as it rippled down over her slender shoulders.

It made you want to touch it. Kiss it. Wrap it around your…

Jason gave himself a severe mental shake, hoping his face did not reflect his thoughts. Indulging in that type of sexual fantasy was not Jason’s usual bent.

But once the image filled his mind, it was joined by others. To his annoyance, his flesh soon followed and he found himself glancing down at her left hand to see if she was wearing any rings.

The shot of adrenalin that came when he saw that her fingers were bare startled Jason. It wasn’t like him to lose it over a pretty girl.

But of course this girl wasn’t just pretty. She was perfection.

And suddenly, he wanted her. Wanted her more than he’d ever wanted Hilary.

But then he hadn’t ever really wanted Hilary as such, had he? He’d just wanted regular sex. Any attractive woman would have done.

But you really want this girl, came a voice from inside that Jason didn’t recognise. It was dark and driven and utterly ruthless. You want her and you’re going to have her, come hell or high water!

CHAPTER THREE

IT FELT LIKE an eternity to Leah before Jason Pollack let her hand go.

But maybe that was just her imagination. Time seemed to have slowed down since she came out of the ladies’ room and found her new boss standing just inside the main door, looking over at her.

His photo hadn’t done him justice. But then, how could a two-dimensional head-and-shoulders shot capture the essence of such a man?

Yesterday, Leah had thought his dark, deeply set eyes had exuded magnate material. In the flesh, they exuded something else, a powerful magnetism that had pulled at her from across the room.

She’d been unable to breathe for a moment. Unable to move. But then her pride—and a measure of pique—had come to her rescue, snapping her out of her fatuous state and propelling her towards him with cool eyes and creditable composure. She even managed to observe—and ruefully admire—his taste in clothes.

His black, single-breasted business suit was sleek and expensive, tailored to complement his tall, elegantly lean body. He’d matched it with a deep blue shirt that highlighted his olive skin. His silvery grey tie was classy, and nicely understated. So was his watch, also silver, with a black leather band.

By the time she reached him, Leah imagined—mistakenly, as it turned out—that she could shake his hand and come away unscathed.

But the moment his hands—both of them—enclosed hers, she’d been totally rattled, reduced to stammering when he asked her name.

Yet she never stammered. Or felt swamped by the kind of feelings that had overtaken her.

Within moments, she’d wanted to forget where she was and who he was. When he’d stared deep into her eyes, she’d dissolved inside. When he’d glanced down at her left hand—rather pointedly, she’d thought—she’d wanted to blurt out that, yes, she was free, free to do whatever he wanted, wherever he wanted, whenever he wanted it.

The wanton submissiveness that overwhelmed her had been mind-blowing. And totally shocking. Leah had never experienced anything like it. Not even with Carl, whom she’d loved.

But this had nothing to do with love, Leah realised shakily after he released her hand.

His no longer touching her helped Leah gather herself a little. Now, if only he would stop looking at her the way he was looking at her, she might be able to pull herself totally together. But he continued to gobble her up with his eyes.

Leah knew men found her attractive. What was on show, that is. Jason Pollack might not be so interested if she revealed her left thigh to him.

Thinking about her scars did what it always did to Leah. Brought her sharply back to the real world, reminding her also that Jason Pollack had once married an older woman for money, a crime on a par with marrying a girl for her physical perfection alone. The last man on earth Leah would want to become involved with was another cold-blooded, conscienceless devil who had a computer chip for a heart.

Even if he was the sexiest man she’d ever met!

‘I must get to my desk, Mr Pollack,’ she said, her manner and tone suitably frosty. ‘It’s gone eight thirty.’ And, turning her back on him, she walked with stiffly held shoulders to her work station, not looking back at him as she settled herself at her desk.

But she could feel his eyes still on her, burning right through her clothes.

Jim Matheson charging down the hallway into the reception area was a godsend.

‘Mr Pollack! So there you are! They just rang from the factory to say you left some time ago. Leah, why didn’t you let us know Mr Pollack was here?’ Jim snapped at her.

‘I’ve only just walked in,’ came the new boss’s smooth reply before she could defend herself. ‘And, please, make it Jason. I don’t stand on ceremony. And you’d be?’

‘Jim. Jim Matheson. I’m the national sales manager here at Beville Holdings.’

And the biggest creep in the place, thought Leah. Matheson had made a pass at her on her very first day, but she’d soon put him in his place. Still, he hadn’t forgotten and was never nice to her.

‘Jim,’ the new boss said warmly, coming forward to shake his hand. ‘Nice to meet you. And you too, Leah,’ he added, throwing her a look and a small smile that carried several subtle messages which Leah understood only too well.

One—I’m interested.

Two—You don’t fool me for a minute with that cold-shoulder act.

And three—I’ll get back to you later.

A shiver ran down Leah’s spine as she watched the two men walk together down the corridor that led to the sales and marketing divisions. He was going to ask her out. She could feel it. He was going to ask her out and she wasn’t going to have the willpower to say no.

But by lunchtime that day, events hadn’t developed quite as Leah had expected. For one thing, she hadn’t set eyes on Jason Pollack again that morning. He’d stayed down in Jim’s office, having meetings with the various section managers. She’d been informed of this by the general office girl who relieved Leah at the reception desk at eleven every day so she could have her morning tea break.

Mandy hadn’t met the great man herself, but she’d already heard on the grapevine that he was a hunk of the first order. All good-looking men were hunks to Mandy, who was eighteen, a slightly plump, rosy-faced girl with an infectious smile and a happy manner.

Leah had spent her morning tea break in the canteen, listening to the gossip from the factory girls who were there, having their lunch break, as their hours were from seven till three. Leah got sick and tired of hearing how drop-dead gorgeous the new boss was.

Leah had returned to her desk, resenting Jason Pollack all the more because she knew he was being gushed over, mainly because for his looks. She’d learned to hate that kind of superficial attraction, yet there she was, suffering from it herself.

Trays of coffee and food had appeared from the canteen around twelve thirty, delivered to Jim’s office by two of the female kitchen hands who’d been literally swooning as they hurried back past reception.

‘He’s so hot!’ Leah heard one of them say. ‘And he smiled at me.’

‘He smiled at me too, honey,’ the older woman said. A bit more drily. ‘He’s a charmer all right. But don’t get your hopes up. Men like that don’t take out waitresses,’ she added as they both swept out the door.

Or receptionists, Leah realised with a perverse rush of disappointment.

What a fool she’d been, getting herself all het up over nothing. He hadn’t been coming on to her earlier. He was just being his so-called charming self. Hadn’t her father said Jason Pollack had originally been a top salesmen?

Since working here, Leah had met quite a few salesmen and most of them had the gift of the gab. Most of them were good-looking men, too. And outrageous flirts. There wasn’t a sales rep at Beville Holdings who hadn’t asked her out. And that included the married ones.

Except for Peter. The one with the sick wife. He’d never asked her out. That was why Leah liked him so much. He was a really decent guy. Honest and hard working, unlike some of the others around here. If Jason Pollack even thought about making Peter redundant, she would have something to say about it.

No, she would have a lot to say about it. After all, what was the worst that could happen to her? Okay, so she could lose her job. Not a total disaster, since she didn’t rely on her salary to survive. Unlike poor Peter.

But she wouldn’t go quietly. She’d take Prince Charming to the unfair dismissal board if he dared do that. She’d take him to the unfair dismissal board if he sacked Peter as well! She’d make him wish he’d never bought Beville Holdings before she was finished. That’s what she’d do!

‘Would you come and have lunch with me, Leah?’

Leah’s head snapped up to find Trish standing there, looking anxious. Trish was Jim’s secretary, an attractive redhead in her late twenties who deserved better, in Leah’s opinion, than to be sleeping with her married boss.

Of all the women who worked at Beville Holdings, Leah liked Trish the most. They often had lunch together out on the lawns, and Leah usually sat with Trish when they all trundled down to the local pub for drinks after work every Friday night.

Trish claimed she wanted a husband and children of her own, but wouldn’t listen to Leah’s advice to break it off with Jim and find herself someone who was free. The last time they’d had a woman-to-woman chat over lunch, Trish had confided to Leah that Jim promised to leave his wife when his kids were older.

Famous last words!

Leah didn’t really want to hear more of the same today, but Trish was Jim’s secretary, with whom Jason Pollack had been installed all morning. Much as Leah despised her own ongoing curiosity and breathless interest, she jumped at the chance of finding out more about the man.

‘Be right with you,’ she returned. ‘Just let me turn on the answering machine. I have to stop at the loo on the way as well.’

‘Me, too,’ Trish said.

Five minutes later, they were sitting at one of the wooden tables under the clump of willow trees behind their building, a lovely shady spot for eating outdoors on a summer’s day. The humidity of January had finally gone—as had the summer storms—February so far having the kind of beautiful weather that brought tourists to Sydney in droves.

Trish had her lunch with her—sandwiches and juice brought from home. Leah hadn’t quite got into that kind of budgeting as yet, and had a standard order with the canteen for a no-butter salad sandwich, low-fat muffin and black coffee, which she collected every day right on one.

‘The new boss keeping you busy?’ she said as soon as they sat down.

‘I’ll say,’ Trish told her as she unwrapped her ham and tomato sandwiches. ‘Under those disarming smiles of his, he’s a regular powerhouse, and very clued-up. He’s had Jim answering some sticky questions, I can tell you. I think Jim’s a bit worried.’

‘And so he should be,’ Leah said wryly.

‘What do you mean?’

‘You know what I mean, Trish. There’s been a lot of money wasted around here. That very expensive Christmas party last year, for instance. Not to mention the sales conference at one of the most expensive resorts in Australia. Then there was the total refurbishing of the offices. To top it off, the whole sales fleet of company cars have just been replaced after only being on the road one year, with all the managers getting more expensive models.’

‘When you put it like that, things could look bad.’

Leah could have also added that the new field sales manager hadn’t gotten her job because of her experience in the position. The only positions Shelley had experience in were those in the Kama Sutra.

Trish wasn’t the only little dolly bird Jim had on the side. How Trish didn’t know about Shelley constantly amazed her. All the reps knew. Heck, just about everyone here knew. Except Trish.

Leah didn’t have the heart to tell the girl herself. She’d find out what a rat Jim was soon enough.

‘A man like Jason Pollack is going to put it all together like that in no time flat,’ Leah said, snapping her fingers.

Trish looked worried. ‘Jim might get the sack.’

Now there was a satisfying thought. Leah believed in bastards getting their comeuppances.

The trouble was, they rarely did. From what she’d heard, Carl was as happy as Larry with a new fiancée, some stunning, up-and-coming actress who no doubt didn’t have a single physical flaw.

As for Jim… He was a clever and consummate liar. He’d probably worm his way out of things. Or end up with a golden handshake, plus another top sales job somewhere else. Jim was only in his early forties, a good-looking man who could be very impressive when he wanted to be.

His silly wife adored him.

No, bastards didn’t always get their comeuppances in life, came Leah’s cynical thought. Take the new boss himself. He’d have to be a right bastard, marrying a much older woman for her money like that. And what happens? She conveniently died after no time at all, leaving him scads of money, plus the freedom to do exactly what he liked for the rest of his life.

How convenient!

‘It’s all very worrying,’ Trish said, having not yet touched a bite of her lunch.

A wave of sympathy pushed aside Leah’s sarcastic thoughts.

‘You don’t have to worry,’ Leah said, reaching across to touch Trish gently on her arm. ‘You haven’t done anything wrong.’

‘Haven’t I?’ Trish’s eyes suddenly filled. ‘I’ve been sleeping with a married man, Leah. Trying to take him away from his wife and family. That’s not right. I know she loves him. And so do his kids. My mother would be utterly ashamed of me, if she knew…’

Leah handed over the paper napkin that came with her lunch, shaking her head as Trish made a right mess of her makeup with her tears.

‘Break it off with him, Trish,’ she advised. ‘Give yourself a chance to find someone else.’

‘It’s all very well for you to say that, Leah,’ Trish said with a flash of envious eyes as she mopped up her tears. ‘You could get any man you want. Just look at you. You’re utterly gorgeous, and you’re not even wearing much makeup.’

‘Skin-deep beauty is not all it’s cracked up to be, Trish. Or a recipe for success with men. My first husband dumped me.’

Trish blinked her surprise. ‘What? I didn’t even know you’d been married!’

Leah had carefully avoided mentioning Carl. When she’d filled in her application form she’d put single as her status. And when she chatted with the girls at work, she always carefully steered the conversations round to their lives, not hers.

When they occasionally asked her about her love life, she always said she was between boyfriends. When any of her coworkers asked her on a Monday morning what she’d done that weekend, she say she’d gone home to visit her widowed father. She had admitted she’d lost her mother in a car accident not long back, but had never mentioned her marriage. Or her hated scars.

‘How long were you married for?’ Trish asked.

‘Six months.’

‘He left you after six months!’

Leah smiled a dry smile at Trish’s bug-eyed surprise. ‘Why do you think I’m a bit cynical at times?’

‘I don’t think you’re cynical. I think you’re very nice.’

Leah laughed. ‘Scratch the surface and you’ll find a bitter divorcée.’

‘Really? Well, at least that explains why you don’t have a boyfriend. I was beginning to think you were having an affair with a married man too, and didn’t want to admit it. But I can see now that that’s not your style.’

‘Certainly not,’ Leah said. ‘And, Trish, please don’t mention my marriage to anyone.’

‘Why not? People wonder about you, you know.’

‘What? Why?’

‘Because you’re clearly too good for this job, Leah. It’s not just the way you look, but the way you talk, and walk. You went to one of those schools, didn’t you? The kind that does deportment and stuff. I’ll bet you were an aspiring model at one stage. Or an actress.’

‘I…er…yes, I did do a modelling course once,’ she admitted. Her grandmother had given it to her for her sixteenth birthday.

Dear Gran. She was gone now, too. Along with her mother.

‘Eat up,’ Leah advised, not wanting to think about sad things any more. ‘And give that Jim the flick.’

‘I’ll try,’ Trish said, but didn’t look too sure.

Leah returned to work in a depressed mood. Talking about relationships was a real downer, especially ones which had no chance of working out.

Jason Pollack remained incognito, having moved on the human resources division for the afternoon, according to Mandy when she stopped for a chat of her way to post the day’s mail. By four, Leah was living in nervous anticipation of his walking by on his way out. But he didn’t, even though she lingered a few minutes after her normal knock-off time of four thirty.

‘I can get any man I want, can I?’ she muttered irritably to herself as she finally made her way to the almost empty car park.

Only a couple of the managers’ cars remained, plus the dark blue sports car.

Not that she really wanted Jason Pollack, she told herself. She’d have to be crazy to want a man like him, except perhaps on a purely physical basis. He might be all right for a wild fling. If she was the kind of girl who had wild flings. Which she wasn’t.

Never had been, really. There again, sex had never been a driving need with Leah.

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