Книга - The Girl He Never Noticed

The Girl He Never Noticed
Lindsay Armstrong


From invisible PA…Tycoon Cam Hillier requires a suitably attractive young lady to grace his arm at this season's fundraising party, but time is running out. So Cam must turn his attention to the woman right under his nose–his dowdy PA, Liz Montrose.To belle of the ball!'Personal duties' were not in Liz's job description–but, with her little daughter to clothe and feed, she knows she must go above and beyond. But there will be no sensible suits or thick-rimmed glasses to hide behind tonight! Cam's never noticed her before…but all that's about to change!







Cam Hillier was in the foyer talking to Molly when Liz walked in. He had his back to her, but he saw Molly’s eyes widen as she looked past him and he swung round.

For a moment he didn’t recognise Liz. Then she saw him do a double-take and he whistled softly. It was something she would have found extremely satisfying except for one thing. He also allowed his blue gaze to drift down her body, to linger on her legs. Then he looked back into her eyes in the way that men let women know they were being summed up as bed partners.

To her annoyance, that pointed, slow drift of assessment up and down her body caused her those sensations she’d experienced when she’d tripped on the pavement: accelerated breathing, a rush through her senses, an awareness of how tall and beautifully made he was.

Only thanks to her lingering resentment did she manage not to blush. She even tilted her chin at him instead.

‘I see,’ he said gravely. ‘I was not to know you could look like this—stunning, in other words. Nor was I to know that you could conjure haute couture clothes out of thin air.’ He studied her jacket for a moment, then looked into her eyes.




About the Author


LINDSAY ARMSTRONG was born in South Africa, but now lives in Australia with her New Zealand-born husband and their five children. They have lived in nearly every state of Australia, and have tried their hand at some unusual—for them—occupations, such as farming and horse-training—all grist to the mill for a writer! Lindsay started writing romances when their youngest child began school and she was left feeling at a loose end. She is still doing it and loving it.

Recent titles by the same author:

THE SOCIALITE AND THE CATTLE KING

ONE-NIGHT PREGNANCY

THE BILLIONAIRE BOSS’S INNOCENT BRIDE

FROM WAIF TO HIS WIFE

THE RICH MAN’S VIRGIN




The Girl He

Never Noticed


Lindsay Armstrong




www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




CHAPTER ONE


‘MISS MONTROSE,’ Cameron Hillier said, ‘where the hell is my date?’

Liz Montrose raised her eyebrows. ‘I have no idea, Mr Hillier. How should I?’

‘Because it’s your job—you’re my diary secretary, aren’t you?’

Liz stared at Cam Hillier, as he was known, with her nostrils slightly pinched. She didn’t know him well. She’d only been in this position for a week and a half, and only because an agency had supplied her to fill the gap created by his regular diary secretary’s illness. But even that short time had been long enough to discover that he could be difficult, demanding and arrogant.

What was she supposed to do about the apparent non-appearance of his date, though?

She looked around a little wildly. They were in the outer office—his secretary Molly Swanson’s domain—and Molly, heaven bless her, Liz thought, was holding a phone receiver out to her and making gestures behind his back.

‘Uh, I’ll just check,’ Liz said to her boss.

He shrugged and walked back into his office.

‘What’s her name?’ Liz whispered to Molly as she took the phone.

‘Portia Pengelly.’

Liz grimaced, then frowned. ‘Not the model and TV star?’

Molly nodded at the same time as someone answered the phone.

‘Uh—Miss Pengelly?’ Liz said down the line and, on receiving confirmation, went on, ‘Miss Pengelly, I’m calling on behalf of Mr Hillier, Mr Cameron Hillier…’

Two minutes later she handed the receiver back to Molly, her face a study of someone caught between laughter and disaster.

‘What?’ Molly queried.

‘She’d rather go out with a two-timing snake! How can I tell him that?’

* * *

Cam Hillier’s office was minimalist: a thick green carpet, ivory slatted blinds at the windows, a broad oak desk with a green leather chair behind it and two smaller ones in front of it. Liz thought it was uncluttered and restful, although the art on the walls reflected two of the very different and not necessarily restful enterprises that had made him a multi-millionaire—horses and a fishing fleet.

There were silver-framed paintings of stallions, mares and foals. There were seascapes with trawlers in them—trawlers with their nets out and flocks of seagulls around them.

Liz had studied these pictures in her boss’s absence and discovered a curious and common theme: Shakespeare. The three stallions portrayed were called Hamlet, Prospero and Othello. The trawlers were named Miss Miranda, Juliet’s Joy, As You Like It, Cordelia’s Catch and so on.

She would, she felt, like to know where the Shakespeare theme came from. But the thing was you did not take Cam Hillier lightly or engage in idle chitchat with him. She’d been made aware of this before she’d laid eyes on him. The employment agency she worked for had warned her that he was an extremely high-powered businessman and not easy to handle, so if she had any reservations about how to cope with a man like that she should not even consider the position. They’d also warned her that ‘diary secretary’ could cover a multitude of sins.

But she’d coped with a variety of high-powered businessmen before; in fact she seemed to have a gift for it. Though, it crossed her mind that she’d never had to tell any of those men that the woman in their life would rather consort with a snake…

And there was another difference with Cam Hillier. He was young—early thirties at the most—he was extremely fit, and he was—well, she’d heard it said by his female accountant: ‘In an indefinable way he’s as sexy as hell.’

What was so indefinable about it? she’d wondered at the time. He was tall, lean and rangy, with broad shoulders. He had thick dark hair, and deep, brooding blue eyes in not a precisely handsome face, true, but those eyes alone could send a shiver down your spine as they summed you up.

In fact, to her annoyance, Liz had to admit that she was not immune to Cam Hillier’s powerfully masculine presence. Nor could she persuade her mind to discard the cameo-like memory that had brought this home to her…

* * *

It was a hot Sydney day as they walked side by side down a crowded pavement to a meeting. They were walking because it was only two blocks from his offices to their destination. The traffic was roaring past, the tall buildings of the CBD were creating a canyon-like effect and the sidewalk was crowded when Liz caught her heel on an uneven paver.

She staggered, and would have fallen, but he grabbed her and held her with his hands on her shoulders until she regained her balance.

‘Th-thanks,’ she stammered.

‘OK?’ He looked down at her with an eyebrow lifted.

‘Fine,’ she lied. Because she was anything but fine. Out of nowhere she was deeply affected by the feel of his hands on her, deeply affected by his closeness, by how tall he was, how wide his shoulders were, how thick his dark hair was.

Above all, she was stunned by the unfurling sensations that ran through her body under the impact of being so close to Cam Hillier.

She did have the presence of mind to lower her lashes swiftly so he couldn’t read her eyes; she would have been mortified if she’d blushed or given any other indication of her disarray.

He dropped his hands and they walked on.

* * *

Since that day Liz had been particularly careful in her boss’s presence not to trip or do anything that could trigger those sensations again. If Cam Hillier had noticed anything he’d given no sign of it—which, of course, had been helpful. Not so helpful was the tiny voice from somewhere inside her that didn’t appreciate her having the status of a robot where he was concerned.

She’d been shocked when that thought had surfaced. She’d told herself she’d have hated him if he’d acted in any way outside the employer/employee range; she couldn’t believe she was even thinking it!

And finally she’d filed the incident away under the label of ‘momentary aberration’, even though she couldn’t quite command herself to banish it entirely.

But somewhat to her surprise—considering the conflicting emotions she was subject to, considering the fact that although Cam Hillier could be a maddening boss he had a crooked grin that was quite a revelation—she’d managed to cope with the job with her usual savoir-faire for the most part.

He wasn’t smiling now as he looked up from the papers he was studying and raised an eyebrow at her.

‘Miss Pengelly…’ Liz began, and swallowed. Miss Pengelly regrets? In all honesty she couldn’t say that. Miss Pengelly sends her regards? Portia certainly hadn’t done that! ‘Uh—she’s not coming. Miss Pengelly isn’t,’ she added, in case there was any misunderstanding.

Cam Hillier twitched his eyebrows together and swore under his breath. ‘Just like that?’ he shot at Liz.

‘Er—more or less.’ Liz felt her cheeks warm a little.

Cam studied her keenly, then that crooked grin played across his lips and was gone almost before it had begun. ‘I see,’ he said gravely. ‘I’m sorry if you were embarrassed, but the thing is—you’ll have to come in her place.’

‘I certainly will not!’ It was out before Liz could stop herself.

‘Why not? It’s only a cocktail party.’

Liz breathed unevenly. ‘Precisely. Why can’t you go on your own?’

‘I don’t like going to parties on my own. I tend to get mobbed. Portia,’ he said with some exasperation, ‘was brilliant at deflecting unwanted advances. They took one look at her and I guess—’ he shrugged ‘—felt the competition was just too great.’

Liz blinked. ‘Is that all she was…?’ She tailed off and gestured, as if to say strike that…‘Look here, Mr Hillier,’ she said instead, ‘if your diary secretary—the one I’m replacing—were here, you wouldn’t be able to take him along to ward off the…unwanted advances.’

‘True,’ he agreed. ‘But Roger would have been able to find me someone.’

Liz compressed her lips as she thought with distaste, rent-an-escort? ‘Well, I can’t do that either,’ she said tartly, and was struck by another line of defence. ‘And I certainly don’t have Portia Pengelly’s…er…powers of repelling boarders.’

Cam Hillier got up and strolled round his desk. ‘Oh, I don’t know about that.’ He sat on the corner of the desk and studied her—particularly her scraped-back hair and her horn-rimmed glasses. ‘You’re very fair, aren’t you?’ he murmured.

‘What’s that got to do with it?’ Liz enquired tartly, and added as she looked down at her elegant but essentially plain ivory linen dress, ‘Anyway, I’m not dressed for a party!’

He shrugged. ‘You’ll do. In fact, those light blue eyes, that fair hair and the severe outfit give you quite an “Ice Queen” aura. Just as effective in its own way as Portia, I’d say.’

Liz felt herself literally swell with anger, and had to take some deep breaths. But almost immediately her desire to slap his face and walk out was tempered by the thought that she was to be very well paid for the month she’d agreed to work for him. And also tempered by the thought that walking out—not to mention striking him—would place a question mark if not a huge black mark against her record with the employment agency.

He watched and waited attentively.

She muttered something under her breath and said audibly, but coolly, ‘I’ll come. But purely on an employer/employee basis—and I’ll need a few minutes to freshen up.’

What she saw in his eyes then—a wicked little glint of amusement—did not improve her mood, but he stood up and said only, ‘Thank you, Miss Montrose. I appreciate this gesture. I’ll meet you in the foyer in fifteen minutes.’

* * *

Liz washed her face and hands in the staff bathroom—a symphony of mottled black marble and wide, well-lit mirrors. She was still simmering with annoyance, and not only that. She was seriously offended, she discovered—and dying to bite back!

She stared at herself in the mirror. It was on purpose that she dressed formally but plainly for work, but it was not how she always dressed. She happened to have a mother who was a brilliant dressmaker. And the little ivory dress she wore happened to have a silk jacket that went with it. Moreover, she’d picked up the jacket from the dry cleaner’s during her lunch hour, and it had been hanging since then, in its plastic shroud, on the back of her office door. It was now hanging on the back of the bathroom door.

She stared at it, then lifted it down, pulled off the plastic and slipped it on. It had wide shoulders, a round neck, a narrow waist and flared slightly over her hips. She pushed the long fitted sleeves up, as the fashion of the moment dictated, but the impact of it came as much from the material as the style—a shadowy leopard skin pattern in blue, black and silver. It was unusual and stunning.

She smiled faintly at the difference it made to her—a bit like Joseph’s amazing coloured coat, she thought wryly. Because her image now was much closer to that of a cocktail-party-goer rather than an office girl. Well, almost, she temporised, and slipped the jacket off—only to hesitate for another moment as she hung it up carefully.

Then she made up her mind.

She reached up and pulled the pins out of hair. It tumbled to just above her shoulders in a fair, blunt-cut curtain. She took off her glasses and reached into her purse for her contact lenses. She applied them delicately from the pad of her forefinger. Then she got out her little make-up purse and inspected the contents—she only used the minimum during the day, so she didn’t have a lot to work with, but there was eyeshadow and mascara and some lip gloss.

She went to work on her eyes and again, as she stood back to study her image, the difference was quite startling. She sprayed on some perfume, brushed her hair, then tossed her head to give it a slightly tousled look and slipped the jacket on again, doing it up with its concealed hooks and eyes. Her shoes, fortunately, were pewter-grey suede and went with the jacket perfectly.

She stood back one last time and was pleased with what she saw. But she stopped and frowned suddenly.

Did she look like an ice queen? If only he knew…

* * *

Cam Hillier was in the foyer talking to Molly when Liz walked in. He had his back to her, but he saw Molly’s eyes widen as she looked past him and he swung round.

For a moment he didn’t recognise Liz. Then she saw him do a double-take and he whistled softly. It was something she would have found extremely satisfying except for one thing. He also allowed his blue gaze to drift down her body, to linger on her legs, and then he looked back into her eyes in the way that men let women know they were being summed up as bed partners.

To her annoyance that pointed, slow drift of assessment up and down her body reignited those sensations she’d experienced when she’d tripped on the pavement: accelerated breathing, a rush through her senses, an awareness of how tall and beautifully made he was.

Only thanks to her lingering resentment did she manage not to blush. She even tilted her chin at him instead.

‘I see,’ he said gravely. He shoved his hands in his trouser pockets before adding equally gravely, although she didn’t for a moment imagine it was genuine. ‘I’m sorry if I offended you, Miss Montrose. I was not to know you could look like this—stunning, in other words. Nor was I to know that you could conjure haute couture clothes out of thin air.’ He studied her jacket for a moment, then looked into her eyes. ‘OK. Let’s go.’

* * *

They reached the cocktail party venue in record time. This was partly due to the power and manoeuvrability of his car, a graphite-blue Aston Martin, and partly due to his skill as a driver and his knowledge of the back streets so he’d been able to avoid the after-work Sydney traffic.

Liz had refused to clutch the armrest, or demonstrate any form of nerves, but she did say when they pulled up and he killed the motor, ‘I think you missed your calling, Mr Hillier. You should be driving Formula One cars.’

‘I did. In my misspent youth,’ he replied easily. ‘It got a bit boring.’

‘Well, I couldn’t call that drive boring. But you can’t park here, can you?’

He’d pulled up in the driveway of the house next door to what she could see was a mansion behind a high wall that was lit up like a birthday cake and obviously the party venue.

‘It’s not a problem,’ he murmured.

‘But what if the owner wants to get in or out?’ she queried.

‘The owner is out,’ he replied.

Liz shrugged and surveyed the scene again.

She knew they were in Bellevue Hill, one of Sydney’s classiest suburbs, and she knew she was in for a classy event. None of it appealed to her in the slightest.

‘All right.’ She reached for the door handle. ‘Shall we get this over and done with?’

‘Just a moment,’ Cam Hillier said dryly. ‘I’ve acknowledged that I may have offended you—I’ve apologised. And you, with this stunning metamorphosis, have clearly had the last laugh. Is there any reason, therefore, for you to look so disapproving? Like a minder—or a governess.’

Liz flushed faintly and was struck speechless.

‘What exactly do you disapprove of?’ he queried.

Liz found her tongue. ‘If you really want to know—’

‘I do,’ he broke in to assure her.

She opened her mouth, then bit her lip. ‘Nothing. It’s not my place to approve or otherwise. There.’ She widened her eyes, straightened her spine and squared her shoulders, slipping her hair delicately behind her ears. Lastly she did some facial gymnastics, and then turned to him. ‘How’s that?’

Cam Hillier stared at her expressionlessly for a long moment and a curious thing happened. In the close confines of the car it wasn’t disapproval that threaded through the air between them, but an awareness of each other.

Liz found herself conscious again of the width of his shoulders beneath the jacket of his charcoal suit, worn with a green shirt and a darker green tie. She was aware of the little lines beside his mouth and that clever, brooding dark blue gaze.

Not only that, but she seemed to be more sensitive to textures—such as the beautiful quality fabric of his suit and the rich leather of the car’s upholstery.

And she was very aware of the way he was watching her…A physical summing up again, that brought her out in little goosebumps—because they were so close it was impossible, she suddenly found, not to imagine his arms around her, his hand in her hair, his mouth on hers.

She turned away abruptly.

He said nothing but opened his door. Liz did the same and got out without his assistance.

* * *

Although Liz had been fully aware she was in for a classy event, what she saw as she stepped through the front door of the Bellevue Hill home almost took her breath away. A broad stone-flagged passage led to the first of three descending terraces and a magnificent view of Sydney Harbour in the last of the daylight. Flaming braziers lit the terraces, pottery urns were laden with exotic flowering shrubs, and on the third and lowest terrace an aquamarine pool appeared to flow over the edge.

There were a lot of guests already assembled—an animated throng—the women making a bouquet of colours as well. In a corner of the middle terrace an energetic band was making African music with a mesmerising rhythm and the soft but fascinating throb of drums.

A dinner-suited waiter wearing white gloves was at their side immediately, offering champagne.

Liz was about to decline, but Cam simply put a glass in her hand. No sooner had he done so than their hostess descended on them.

She was a tall, striking woman, wearing a rose-pink caftan and a quantity of gold and diamond jewellery. Her silver hair was streaked with pink.

‘My dear Cam,’ she enthused as she came up to them, ‘I thought you weren’t coming!’ She turned to Liz and her eyebrows shot up. ‘But who is this?’

‘This, Narelle, is Liz Montrose. Liz, may I introduce you to Narelle Hastings?’

Liz extended her hand and murmured, ‘How do you do?’

‘Very well, my dear, very well,’ Narelle Hastings replied as she summed Liz up speedily and expertly, taking in not only her fair looks but her stylish outfit. ‘So you’ve supplanted Portia?’

‘Not at all,’ Cam Hillier responded. ‘Portia has had second thoughts about me, and since Liz is replacing Roger who is off sick at the moment, I press-ganged her into coming rather than being partnerless. That’s all.’

‘Darling,’ Narelle said fondly to him, ‘call it what you will, but don’t expect me to believe it gospel and verse.’ She turned to Liz. ‘You’re far too lovely to be just a secretary, my dear, and in his own way Cam’s not bad either. It is what makes the world go round. But anyway—’ she turned back to Cam ‘—how’s Archie?’

‘A nervous wreck. Wenonah’s puppies are due any day.’

Narelle Hastings chuckled. ‘Give him my love. Oh! Excuse me! Some more latecomers. And don’t forget,’ she said to Liz, ‘life wasn’t meant to be all work and no play, so enjoy yourself with Cam while you can!’ And she wandered off.

‘Don’t tell me how to look,’ Liz warned him.

‘Wouldn’t dream of it. Uh—Narelle can be a little eccentric.’

‘Even so, I knew this wasn’t a good idea,’ she added darkly.

He studied her, then shrugged. ‘I don’t see it as a matter of great importance.’

Liz glanced sideways at him, as if to say you wouldn’t! But that was a mistake, because she was suddenly conscious again of just how dangerously attractive Cameron Hillier was. Tall and dark, with that fine-tuned physique, he effortlessly drew the eyes of many of the women around them. Was it so far off the mark to imagine him being mobbed? No, that was ridiculous…

‘It’s not your reputation that’s at stake,’ she retorted finally. ‘That was probably…’ She paused.

‘Ruined years ago?’ he suggested.

Liz grimaced and looked away, thinking again, belatedly, of black marks on her record. Did not actually come to blows with temporary employer, but did insult him by suggesting he had a questionable reputation…

‘This place is quite amazing,’ she said, switching to a conversational tone, and she took a sip of champagne. ‘Is the party in aid of any special event?’

Cam Hillier raised his eyebrows in some surprise at this change of pace on her part, then looked amused. ‘Uh—probably not. Narelle never needs an excuse to throw a party. She’s a pillar of the social scene.’

‘How…interesting,’ Liz said politely.

‘You don’t agree with holding a party just for the sake of it?’ he queried.

‘Did I say that? If you can afford it—’ She broke off and shrugged.

‘You didn’t say it, but I got the feeling you were thinking it. By the way, she happens to be my great-aunt.’

Liz looked rueful and took another sip of champagne. ‘Thanks.’

He looked a question at her.

‘For telling me that. I #x2026;sometimes I have a problem with…with speaking my mind,’ she admitted. ‘But I would never say anything less than complimentary about someone’s great-aunt.’

This time Cam Hillier did more than flash that crooked grin; he laughed.

‘What’s funny about that?’

‘I’m not sure,’ he returned, still looking amused. ‘Confirmation of what I suspected? That you can be outspoken to a fault. Or the fact that you regard great-aunts as somehow sacred?’

Liz grimaced. ‘I guess it did sound a bit odd, but you know what I mean. In general I don’t like to get personal.’

He looked sceptical, but chose not to explain why. He said, ‘Narelle can look after herself better than most. But how come you appear to handle a position that requires great diplomacy with ease when you have a problem with outspokenness?’

‘Yes, well, it’s been a bit of a mystery to me at times,’ she conceded. ‘Although I have been told it can be quite refreshing. But of course I do try to rein it in.’

‘Not with me, though?’ he suggested.

Liz studied her glass and took another sip. ‘To be honest, Mr Hillier, I’ve never before been told to pass on the message that my employer’s…um…date would rather consort with a two-timing snake than go to a party with him.’

Cam Hillier whistled softly. ‘She must have been steamed up about something!’

‘Yes—you. Then there was your own assertion that to go to a party alone would leave you open to being mobbed by women—I had a bit of difficulty with that—’

‘It’s my money,’ he broke in.

‘Uh-huh? Like your great-aunt, I won’t take that one as gospel and verse either,’ Liz said with considerable irony, and flinched as a flashlight went off. ‘Add to that the distinct possibility that we could be now tagged as an item, and throw into the mix that death-defying drive through the back streets of Sydney, is it any wonder I’m having trouble holding my tongue?’

‘Probably not,’ he conceded. ‘Would you like to leave the job forthwith?’

‘Ah,’ Liz said, and studied her glass, a little surprised to see that it was half empty, before raising her blue eyes to his. ‘Actually, no. I need the money. So if we could just get back to office hours, and the more usual kind of insanity that goes with a diary secretary’s position, I’d appreciate it.’

He considered for a moment. ‘How old are you, and how did you get this job—with the agency, I mean?’

‘I’m twenty-four, and I have a degree in Business Management. I topped the class, which you may find hard to believe—but it’s true.’

He narrowed his gaze. ‘I don’t. I realised you were as bright as a tack from the way you handled yourself in the first few hours of our relationship—our working relationship,’ he said as she looked set to take issue with him.

‘Oh?’ Liz looked surprised. ‘How so?’

‘Remember the Fortune proposal—the seafood marketing one? I virtually tossed it in your lap the first day, because it was incomplete, and told you to fix it?’

Liz nodded. ‘I do,’ she said dryly.

He smiled. ‘Throwing you in at the deep end and not what you were employed for anyway? Possibly. But I saw you study it, and then I happened to hear you on the phone to Fortune with your summation of it and what needed to be done to fix it. I was impressed.’

Liz took another sip of champagne. ‘Well, thanks.’

‘And Molly tells me you’re a bit of an IT whiz.’

‘Not really—but I do like computers and software,’ she responded.

‘It does lead me to wonder why you’re temping rather than carving out a career for yourself,’ he said meditatively.

Liz looked around.

A few couples had started to dance, and she was suddenly consumed by a desire to be free to do what she liked—which at this moment was to surrender herself to the African beat, the call of the drums and the wild. To be free of problems…To have a partner to dance with, to talk to, to share things with. Someone to help her lighten the load she was carrying.

Someone to help her live a bit. It was so long since she’d danced—so long since she’d let her hair down, so to speak—she’d forgotten what it was like…

As if drawn by a magnet her gaze came back to her escort, to find him looking down at her with a faint frown in his eyes and also an unspoken question. For one amazed moment she thought he was going to ask her to dance with him. That was followed by another amazed moment as she pictured herself moving into his arms and letting her body sway to the music.

Had he guessed which way her thoughts were heading? And if so, how? she wondered. Had there been a link forged between them now that he’d noticed her as a woman and not a robot—a mental link as well as a physical one?

She looked away as a tremor of alarm ran through her. She didn’t want to be linked to a man, did she? She didn’t want to go through that again. She was mad to have allowed Cam Hillier to taunt her into showing him she wasn’t just a stick of office furniture…

She said the first thing that came to mind to break any mental link…‘Who’s Archie?’

‘My nephew.’

‘He sounds like an animal lover.’

‘He is.’

Liz waited for a moment, but it became obvious Cam Hillier was not prepared to be more forthcoming on the subject of his nephew.

Liz lifted her shoulders and looked out over the crowd.

Then her gaze sharpened, and widened, as she focused on a tall figure across the terrace. A man—a man who had once meant the world to her.

She turned away abruptly and handed her glass to her boss. ‘Forgive me,’ she said hurriedly, ‘but I need—I need to find the powder room.’ And she turned on her heel and walked inside.

* * *

How she came to get lost in Narelle Hastings’ mansion she was never quite sure. She did find a powder room, and spent a useless ten minutes trying to calm herself down, but for the rest of it her inner turmoil must have been so great she’d been unable to think straight.

She came out of the powder room determined to make a discreet exit from the house, the party, Cam Hillier, the lot—only to see Narelle farewelling several guests. She did a quick about-turn and went through several doorways to find herself in the kitchen. Fortunately it was empty of staff, but she knew that could only be a very temporary state of affairs.

Never mind, she told herself. She’d leave by the back door!

The back door at first yielded a promising prospect—a service courtyard, a high wall with a gate in it.

Excellent! Except when she got to it, it was to find the gate locked.

She drew a frustrated, trembling breath as it occurred to her how acutely embarrassing this could turn out to be. How on earth would she explain it to Cameron Hillier—not to mention his great-aunt, whose house she appeared to be wandering through at will?

She gazed at the back door, and as she did so she heard voices coming from within. She doubted she had the nerve to brave the kitchen again. She turned away and studied her options. No good trying to get over the wall that fronted the street—she’d be bound to bump into someone. But the house next door, also behind the wall, was the one whose driveway Cam had parked in—the one whose owner was out, according to him. He must know them and know they were away to make that assertion, she reasoned. It certainly made that wall a better bet.

She dredged her memory and recalled that the driveway had gates that could possibly be locked too—and this adjacent wall was inside those gates. But hang on! Further along the pavement, hadn’t there been a pedestrian gate? No—just a gateway. Yes! So all she had to do was climb over the wall…How the hell was she going to do that, though?

She tensed as the back door opened, and slipped into some shadows as a kitchen hand emerged and deposited a load of garbage into a green wheelie bin and slammed it shut. He didn’t see her and went back inside, closing the door, but his use of the wheelie bin gave her an idea. She could push it against the wall, hoist herself onto it and slip over it to the house next door.

As with just about everything that had happened to her on this never-ending day, it wasn’t a perfect plan.

Firstly, just as she was about to emerge from the shadows and move the bin to the wall, more kitchen hands emerged with loads of garbage. This led her to reconsider things.

What if she did manage to get over the wall and someone came out to find the bin in a different position? But she couldn’t skulk around this service courtyard for much longer. A glance at her watch told her she’d already been there for twenty minutes.

She was biting her lip and clenching her fists in a bid to keep calm, almost certain she would have to go through the kitchen again, when something decided the matter for her.

She heard a male voice from the kitchen, calling out that he was locking the back door. She even heard the key turn.

She closed her eyes briefly, then sprinted to the bin, shoved it up against the wall, took her shoes off and threw them over. She looped her purse over her shoulder and, hitching up her dress, climbed onto the bin. Going over from Narelle’s side was easy, thanks to the height of the wheelie bin. Getting down the other side was not so easy. She had to hang onto the coping and try to guess what the shortfall was.

It was only about a foot, but she lost her balance as she dropped to the ground, and fell over. She was picking herself up and examining her torn tights and a graze on her knee when the driveway gates, with the sound of a car motor behind them, began to open inwards.

She straightened up and stared with fatal fascination at a pair of headlights as a long, low, sleek car nosed through the gates and stopped abreast of her.

The driver’s window was on her side, and it lowered soundlessly. She bent her head, and as her gaze clashed with the man behind the wheel things clicked into place for her.

‘Oh, I see,’ she said bitterly. ‘You own this place. That’s how you knew it was safe to park in the driveway!’

‘Got it in two, Liz,’ Cam Hillier agreed from inside his graphite-blue Aston Martin. ‘But what the devil you think you’re doing is a mystery to me.’




CHAPTER TWO


‘WHO IS HE?’

The question hung in the air as Liz looked around.

She was ensconced on a comfortable cinnamon velvet-covered settee. Across a broad wooden coffee table with a priceless-looking jade bonsai tree on it was a fireplace flanked by wooden-framed French doors. Above the fireplace hung what she suspected was an original Heidelberg School painting, a lovely impressionist pastoral scene that was unmistakably Australian. Tom Roberts? she wondered.

There were two matching armchairs, and some lovely pieces of furniture scattered on the polished wooden floors. The windows looked out over a floodlit scene—an elegant pool with a fountain, tall cypress pines, and beyond the lights of Sydney Harbour.

Not as spectacular as his great-aunt’s residence, Cam Hillier’s house was nevertheless stylish and very expensive—worth how many millions Liz couldn’t even begin to think.

Its owner was seated in an armchair across from her.

He’d shrugged off his jacket, pulled off his tie and opened the top buttons of his shirt. He’d also poured them each a brandy.

As for Liz, she’d cleaned herself up as best she could in a guest bathroom. She’d removed her torn tights, bathed her knee and applied a plaster to it. She’d washed her face and hands but not reapplied any make-up. It had hardly seemed appropriate when she had a rip in her dress, a streak of dirt on her jacket and was shoeless.

She’d been unable to find one shoe in the driveway—until they’d discovered it in a tub of water the gardener was apparently soaking a root-bound plant in.

So far, the only explanation she’d offered was that she’d seen someone at the party she’d had no desire to meet, so she’d tried to make a quick getaway that had gone horribly wrong.

She took a sip of her brandy, and felt a little better as its warmth slipped down.

She eyed Cameron Hillier and had to acknowledge that he was equally impressive lying back in an armchair, in his shirtsleeves and with his thick dark hair ruffled, as he’d been at his great-aunt’s party. On top of that those fascinating, brooding blue eyes appeared to be looking right through her…

‘He?’ she answered at last. ‘What makes you think—?’

‘Come on, Liz,’ he said roughly. ‘If this story is true at all, I can’t imagine a woman provoking that kind of reaction! Anyway, I saw you fix your gaze on some guy, then go quite pale and still before you…decamped. Causing me no little discomfort, incidentally,’ he added dryly.

Her eyes widened. ‘Did you get mobbed?’

He looked daggers at her for a moment. ‘No. But I did get Narelle to search the powder rooms when I realised how long you’d been gone. She was,’ he said bitterly, ‘riveted.’

‘And then?’

He shrugged. ‘There seemed to be no sign of you, so we finally assumed you’d called a taxi and left.’

‘Meanwhile I was lurking around in the service courtyard,’ Liz said with a sigh. ‘All right, it was a he. We…we were an item once, but it didn’t work out and I just—I just didn’t want to have to—to face him,’ she said rather jaggedly.

Cam Hillier frowned. ‘Fair enough,’ he said slowly. ‘But why not tell me and simply walk out through the front door?’

Liz bit her lip and took another sip of brandy. ‘I got a bit of a shock—I felt a little overwrought,’ she confessed.

‘A little?’ he marvelled. ‘I would say more like hysterical—and that doesn’t make sense. You laid yourself open to Narelle suspecting you of casing the joint. So could I, come to that. One or the other or both of us might have called the police. Plus,’ he added pithily, ‘I wouldn’t have taken you for a hysterical type.’

Ah, but you don’t know the circumstances, Liz thought, and took another fortifying sip of brandy.

‘Affairs of the heart are…can be different,’ she said quietly. ‘You can be the essence of calm at other times, but—’ She stopped and gestured, but she didn’t look at him because she sounded lame even to her own ears.

He surprised her. ‘So,’ he said slowly, and with a considering look, ‘not such an Ice Queen after all, Ms Montrose?’

Liz didn’t reply.

He frowned. ‘I’ve just remembered something. You’re a single mother, aren’t you?’

Liz looked up at that, her eyes suddenly as cool as ice.

He waved an impatient hand. ‘I’m not being critical, but it’s just occurred to me that’s why you’re temping.’

‘Yes,’ she said, and relaxed a little.

‘Tell me about it.’

She cradled her glass in both hands for a moment, and, as always happened to her when she thought of the miracle in her life, some warmth flowed through her. ‘She’s nearly four, her name’s Scout, and she’s a—a living doll.’ She couldn’t help the smile in her voice.

‘Who looks after her when you’re working?’

‘My mother. We live together. My father’s dead.’

‘It works well?’ He raised an eyebrow.

‘It works well,’ Liz agreed. ‘Scout loves my mother, and Mum…’ She looked rueful. ‘Well, she sometimes needs looking after, too. She can be a touch eccentric.’ She sobered. ‘It can be a bit of a battle at times, but we get by.’

‘And Scout’s father?’

Liz was jolted out of her warm place. Her expression tightened as she swallowed and took hold of herself. ‘Mr Hillier, that’s really none of your business.’

He studied her thoughtfully, thinking that the change in her was quite remarkable. Obviously Scout’s father was a sore point.

He grimaced, but said, ‘Miss Montrose, the way you were climbing over my wall, the way you apparently roamed around my great-aunt’s house is my business. There are a lot of valuables in both.’ His blue eyes were narrowed and sharp as he stared at her. ‘And I don’t think I’m getting a good enough explanation for it.’

‘I—I don’t understand what you mean. I had no idea this was your house. I had no idea I’d be going to your great-aunt’s house this evening,’ she said with growing passion. ‘Only an idiot would on the spur of the moment decide to rob you both!’

‘Or a single mother in financial difficulties?’

He waited, then said when she didn’t seem able to frame a response, ‘A single mother with a very expensive taste in clothes, by the look of it.’

Liz closed her eyes and berated herself inwardly for having been such a fool. ‘They aren’t expensive. My mother makes them. All right!’ she said suddenly, and tossed her head as she saw the disbelief in his eyes. ‘It was Scout’s father I saw at the party. That’s what threw me into such a state. I haven’t spoken to him or laid eyes on him for years.’

‘Have you tried to?’

She shook her head. ‘I knew it was well and truly finished between us. I came to see he’d been on the rebound and—’ her voice shook a little ‘—it was only a fling for him. I had no choice but to—’ She broke off to smile bleakly. ‘No choice but take it on the chin and retire. The only thing was—’

‘You didn’t know you were pregnant?’ Cam Hillier said with some cynicism.

She ignored the cynicism. ‘Oh, yes, I did.’ She took a sip of brandy and prayed she wouldn’t cry. She sniffed and patted her face to deflect any tears.

‘You didn’t tell him?’ Cam queried with a frown.

‘I did tell him. He said the only thing to do in the circumstances was have an abortion. He—he did offer to help me through it, but he also revealed that he was not only making a fresh start with this other woman, he was moving interstate and taking up a new position. He—I got the impression he even thought I may have tried to trap him into marriage. So…’ She shrugged. ‘I refused. I said, Don’t worry! I can cope! And I walked out. That was the last time I saw him.’

Cam Hillier was silent.

‘Although,’ Liz said, ‘I did go away for a month, and then I changed campuses and became an external student, so I have no idea if he tried to contact me again before he moved.’

‘He still doesn’t know you had the baby?’

‘No.’

‘Do you want to keep it from him for ever?’

‘Yes!’ Liz moved restlessly and stared down at her glass, then put it on the coffee table. ‘When Scout was born all I could think was that she was mine. He’d never even wanted her to see the light of day, so why should he share her?’ She gestured. ‘I still feel that way, but…’ She paused painfully. ‘One day I’m going to have to think of it from Scout’s point of view. When she’s older and can understand things, she may want to know about her father.’

‘But you don’t want him to know in the meantime? That’s why you took such astonishingly evasive measures tonight.’ Cam Hillier rested his jaw on his fist. ‘Do you think he’d react any differently?’

Liz heaved a sigh. ‘I don’t know, but it’s hard to imagine anyone resisting Scout. She—she looks like him sometimes. And I did read an article about him fairly recently. He’s beginning to make a name for himself in his chosen field. He and his wife have been married for four years. They have no children. There may be a dozen reasons for that, and I may be paranoid, but I can’t help it—I’m scared stiff they’ll somehow lure Scout away from me.’

‘Liz.’ He sat forward. ‘You’re her mother. They can’t—unless you can’t provide for her.’

‘Maybe not legally, but there could be other ways. As she grows up she might find she prefers what they have to offer. They have a settled home. He has growing prestige. Whereas I am…I’m just getting by.’ The raw, stark emotion was plain to see in her eyes.

‘Have you got over him, Liz?’

A complete silence blanketed the room until the hoot from a harbour ferry broke it.

‘I haven’t forgotten or forgiven.’ She stared out at the pool. ‘Not that I was—not that I wasn’t incredibly naïve and foolish. I haven’t forgiven myself for that.’

‘You should. These things happen. Not always with such consequences, but life has its lessons along the way.’

And, to her surprise, there was something like understanding in his eyes.

She moistened her lips and took several breaths to steady herself, because his lack of judgement of her was nearly her undoing. She gazed down at her bare feet and fought to control her tears.

Then she bit her lip as where she was, who he was, and how she’d poured all her troubles out to a virtual stranger with the added complication of him being her employer hit her.

Her eyes dilated and she took a ragged breath and straightened. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said huskily. ‘If you want to sack me I’d understand, but do you believe me now?’

‘Yes.’ Cam Hillier didn’t hesitate. ‘Uh—no, I don’t want to sack you. But I’ll take you home now.’ He drained the last of his brandy and stood up.

‘Oh, I can get a taxi,’ she assured him hastily, and followed suit.

He raised an eyebrow. ‘With only one shoe? Your other one is ruined.’

‘I—’

‘Don’t argue,’ he recommended. He shrugged into his jacket, but didn’t bother with his tie. Then he glanced at his watch. At the same time his mobile rang. He got it out of his pocket and looked at the screen.

‘Ah, Portia,’ he murmured. ‘Wanting to berate me or make disparaging comparisons, do you think?’ He clicked the phone off and shoved it into his pocket.

Liz took a guilty breath. ‘I shouldn’t have told you that. And—and she might want to explain. I think you should talk to her.’

He looked down at her, his deep blue eyes alight with mocking amusement. ‘Your concern for my love-life is touching, Miss Montrose, but Portia and I have come to the end of the road. After you.’ He gestured for her to precede him.

Liz clicked her tongue exasperatedly and tried to walk out as regally as was possible with no shoes on.

* * *

Cam Hillier dropped her off at her apartment building, and waited and watched as she crossed the pavement towards the entrance.

She’d insisted on putting on both shoes, although one still squelched a bit. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as it occurred to him that her long legs were just as good as Portia’s. In fact, he thought, her figure might not be as voluptuous as Portia’s but she was quite tall, with straight shoulders, a long, narrow waist. And the whole was slim and elegant—how had he not noticed it before?

Because he’d been put off by her glasses, her scraped-back hair, an unspoken but slightly militant air—or all three?

He grimaced, because he couldn’t doubt now that under that composed, touch-me-not Ice Queen there existed real heartbreak. He’d seen that kind of heartbreak before. The other thing he couldn’t doubt was that she’d sparked his interest. Was it the challenge, though? Of breaking through the ice until he created a warm, loving woman? Was it because he sensed a response in her whether she liked it or not?

Whatever, he reflected, in a little over two weeks she was destined to walk out of his life. Unless…

He didn’t articulate the thought as he finally drove off.

* * *

The next morning Liz placed a boiled egg with a face drawn on it in front of her daughter. Scout clapped her hands delightedly.

At the same time Mary Montrose said, ‘You must have been late last night, Liz? I didn’t even hear you come in.’

Yes, thank heavens, Liz thought. She’d been curiously unwilling to share the events of the evening with her mother—not to mention to expose the mess she’d been in, ripped, torn and with one soaked shoe.

Now, though, she gave Mary a much abridged version of the evening.

Mary sat up excitedly. ‘I once designed an outfit for Narelle Hastings. Did you say she’s Cameron Hillier’s great-aunt?’

‘So he said.’ Liz smiled inwardly as she decapitated Scout’s egg and spread the contents on toast soldiers. Her mother was an avid follower of the social scene.

‘Let’s see…’ Mary meditated for a moment. ‘I believe Narelle was his mother’s aunt—that would make her his great-aunt. Well! There you go! Of course there’ve been a couple of tragedies for the Hastings/Hillier clan.’

Liz wiped some egg from Scout’s little face and dropped a kiss on her nose. ‘Good girl, you made short work of that! Like what?’ she asked her mother.

‘Cameron’s parents were killed in an aircraft accident, and his sister in an avalanche of all things. What’s he like?’

Liz hesitated as she realised she wasn’t at all sure what to make of Cameron Hillier. ‘He’s OK,’ she said slowly, and looked at her watch. ‘I’ll have to make tracks shortly. So! What have you two girls got on today?’

‘Koalas,’ Scout said. She was as fair as Liz, with round blue eyes. Her hair was a cloud of curls and she glowed with health.

Liz pretended surprise. ‘You’re going to buy a koala?’

‘No, Mummy,’ Scout corrected lovingly. ‘We’re going to see them at the zoo! Aren’t we, Nanna?’

‘As well as all sorts of other animals, sweetheart,’ her grandmother confirmed fondly. ‘I’m looking forward to it myself!’

Liz took a breath as she thought of the sunny day outside, the ferry-ride across the harbour to Taronga Zoo, and how she’d love to be going with them. She bit her lip, then glanced gratefully at her mother. ‘There are times when I don’t know how to thank you,’ she murmured.

‘You don’t have to,’ Mary answered. ‘You know that.’

Liz blinked, then got up to get ready for work.

* * *

The flat she and Scout shared with her mother was in an inner Sydney suburb. It was comfortable—her mother had seen to that—but the neighbourhood couldn’t be described as classy…something Mary often lamented. But it was handy for the suburb of Paddington, for Oxford Street and its trendy shopping and vibrant cafés. There were also markets, and history that included the Victoria Army Barracks and fine old terrace houses. If you were a sports fan, the iconic Sydney Cricket Ground was handy, as well as Centennial and Moore Parks. They often took picnics to the park.

The flat had three bedrooms and a small study. They’d converted the study into a bedroom for Scout, and the third bedroom into a workroom for Mary. It resembled an Aladdin’s cave, Liz sometimes thought. There were racks of clothes in a mouth-watering selection of colours and fabrics. There was a rainbow selection of buttons, beads, sequins, the feathers Mary fashioned into fascinators, ribbons and motifs.

Mary had a small band of customers she ‘created’ for, as she preferred to put it. Gone were the heady days after Liz’s father’s death, when Mary had followed a lifelong dream and invested in her own boutique. It hadn’t prospered—not because the clothes weren’t exquisite, but because, as her father had known, Mary had no business sense at all. Not only hadn’t it prospered, it had all but destroyed Mary’s resources.

But the two people Mary Montrose loved creating for above all were her daughter and granddaughter.

So it was that, although Liz operated on a fairly tight budget, no one would have guessed it from her clothes. And she went to work the day after the distressing scenario that had played out between two harbourside mansions looking the essence of chic, having decided it was a bit foolish to play down the originality of her clothes now.

She wore slim black pants to hide the graze on her knee, and a black and white blouson top with three-quarter sleeves, belted at the waist. Her shoes were black patent wedges with high cork soles—shoes she adored—and she wore a black and white, silver and bead Pandora-style bracelet.

As she finished dressing, she went to pin back her hair—then thought better of that too. There seemed to be no point now. She also put in her contact lenses.

But as she rode the bus to work she was thinking not of how she looked but other things. Cam Hillier in particular.

She’d tossed and turned quite a lot last night, as her overburdened mind had replayed the whole dismal event several times.

She had to acknowledge that he’d been…He hadn’t been critical, had he? She couldn’t deny she’d got herself into a mess—not only last night, of course, but in her life, and Scout’s—which could easily invite criticism…

What did he really think? she wondered, and immediately wondered why it should concern her. After her disastrous liaison with Scout’s father she’d not only been too preoccupied with her first priority—Scout, and building a life for both of them—but she’d had no interest in men. Once bitten twice shy, had been her motto. She’d even perfected a technique that had become, without her realising it until yesterday, she thought ironically, patently successful—Ice Queen armour.

It had all taken its toll, however, despite her joy in Scout. Not only in the battle to keep afloat economically, but also with her guilt at having to rely on her mother for help, therefore restricting her mother’s life too. She had the feeling that she was growing old before her time, that she would never be able to let her hair down and enjoy herself in mixed company because of the cloud of bitterness that lay on her soul towards men.

So why was she now thinking about a man as she hadn’t for years?

Why was she now suddenly physically vulnerable to a man she didn’t really approve of, to make matters worse?

She paused her thoughts as a mental image of Cam Hillier came to her, and she had to acknowledge on a suddenly indrawn breath that he fascinated her in a curious sort of love/hate way—although of course it couldn’t be love…But just when she wanted to hurl a brick at him for his sheer bloody-minded arrogance he did something, as he had last night, that changed a person’s opinion of him. He hadn’t been judgemental. He’d even made it possible for her spill her heart to him.

It was more too, she reflected. Not only his compelling looks and physique, but a vigorous mind that worked at the speed of lightning, an intellect you longed to have the freedom to match. Something about him that made you feel alive even if you were furious.

She gazed unseeingly out of the window and thought, what did it matter? She’d shortly be gone from his life. And even if she stayed within his orbit there was always the thorny question of Portia Pengelly—or if not Portia whoever her replacement would be.

She smiled a wintry little smile and shrugged, with not the slightest inkling of what awaited her shortly.

* * *

Ten minutes later she buzzed for a lift on the ground floor of the tower that contained the offices of the Hillier Corporation. One came almost immediately from the basement car park, and she stepped into it to find herself alone with her boss as the doors closed smoothly.

‘Miss Montrose,’ he said.

‘Mr Hillier,’ she responded.

He looked her up and down, taking in her stylish outfit, the sheen of her hair and her glossy mouth. And his lips quirked as he said, ‘Hard to connect you with the wall-climbing cat burglar of last night.’

Liz directed him a tart little look before lowering her carefully darkened lashes, and said nothing.

‘So I take it you’re quite restored, Liz?’

‘Yes,’ she said coolly, and wasn’t going to elaborate, but then thought better of it. ‘Thank you. You were…’ She couldn’t think of the right word. ‘Thank you.’

‘That’s all right.’

The lift slid to a stop and the doors opened, revealing the Hillier foyer, but for some strange reason neither of them made a move immediately. Not so strange, though, Liz thought suddenly. In the sense that it had happened to her before, in his car last evening, when she’d been trapped in a bubble of acute awareness of Cameron Hillier.

His suit was different today—slate-grey, worn with a pale blue shirt and a navy and silver tie—but it was just as beautifully tailored and moulded his broad shoulders just as effectively. There was a narrow black leather belt around his lean waist, and his black shoes shone and looked to be handmade.

But it wasn’t a case of clothes making the man, Liz thought. It was the other way around. Add to that the tingling fresh aura of a man who’d showered and shaved recently, the comb lines in his thick hair, those intriguing blue eyes and his long-fingered hands…Her eyes widened as she realised even his hands impressed her. All of him stirred her senses in a way that made her long to have some physical contact with him—a touch, a mingling of their breath as they kissed…

Then their gazes lifted to each other’s and she could see a nerve flickering in his jaw—a nerve that told her he was battling a similar compulsion. She’d known from the way he’d looked at her last night that he was no longer seeing her as a stick of furniture, but to think that he wanted her as she seemed to want him was electrifying.

It was as the lift doors started to close that they came out of their long moment of immobility. He pressed a button and the doors reversed their motion. He gestured for her to step out ahead of him.

She did so with a murmured thank-you, and headed for her small office. They both greeted Molly Swanson.

‘Uh—give me ten minutes, then bring the diary in, Liz. And coffee, please, Molly.’ He strode through into his office.

‘How did it go? Last night?’ Molly enquired. ‘By the way, I’ve already had three calls from Miss Pengelly!’

‘Oh, dear.’ Liz grimaced. ‘I’m afraid it might be over.’

‘Probably just as well,’ Molly said with a wise little look in her eyes. ‘What he needs is a proper wife, not these film star types—I never thought she could act her way out of a paper bag, anyway!’

Liz blinked, but fortunately Molly was diverted by the discreet buzzing of her phone.

* * *

Eight minutes later, Liz gathered herself in readiness to present herself to her employer with the diary.

She’d poured herself a cup of cold water from the cooler, but instead of drinking it she’d dipped her hanky into it and splashed her wrists and patted her forehead.

I must be mad, she’d thought. He must be mad even to contemplate getting involved with me. Or is all he has in mind a replacement for Portia? Someone to deflect all the women he attracts—and I refuse to believe it’s only because of his money.

Things were back to thoroughly businesslike as they went through his engagements for the day one by one, and he sipped strong black aromatic coffee from a Lalique glass in a silver holder.

‘All right,’ he said. ‘Have you got the briefs for the Fortune conference?’

She nodded.

‘I’ll want you there. There’s quite a bit of paperwork to be passed around and collected, et cetera. And I’ll need you to drive me to and pick me up from the Bromwich lunch. There’s no damn parking to be found for miles.’

‘Fine,’ she murmured, then hesitated.

He looked up. ‘A problem?’

‘You want me to drive your car?’

‘Why not?’

‘To be honest—’ Liz bit her lip ‘—I’d be petrified of putting a scratch on it.’

He sat back. ‘Hadn’t thought of that. So would I—to be honest.’ He looked wry. ‘Uh—get a car from the car pool.’

Liz relaxed. ‘I think that’s a much better idea.’

His lips twitched, and she thought he was going to say something humorous, but the moment passed and he looked at her in the completely deadpan way he had that had a built-in annoyance factor for anyone on the receiving end of it.

Liz was not immune to the annoyance as she found herself reduced to the status of a slightly troublesome employee. Then, if anything, she got more annoyed—but with herself. She had been distinctly frosty in the lift before they’d found themselves trapped in that curious moment of physical awareness, hadn’t she?





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