The Seduction Project

Excerpt Passion Title Page CHAPTER ONE CHAPTER TWO CHAPTER THREE CHAPTER FOUR CHAPTER FIVE CHAPTER SIX CHAPTER SEVEN CHAPTER EIGHT CHAPTER NINE CHAPTER TEN CHAPTER ELEVEN CHAPTER TWELVE CHAPTER THIRTEEN CHAPTER FOURTEEN CHAPTER FIFTEEN CHAPTER SIXTEEN Copyright

“You know you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

His sideways glance carried total exasperation. “If you think for one moment I’m going to let you back out now, then you have another think coming!”

“Yes, but if you don’t really want to....”

“Don’t want to?” he grated out. “I’m sitting here in agony, I want you so much. I’ve thought of nothing else all night!”

“Oh.” Molly was stunned, then thrilled by the dark frustration in his voice.

“Look, just in case you’re languishing under a misapprehension here,” Liam went on irritably, “it’s passion that sends men to bed with women, not compassion. I wanted you the moment I saw you.”

Presents

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by

Michelle Reid

Harlequin Presents® #2014

The Seduction Project

Miranda Lee

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CHAPTER ONE

TWENTY-FIVE today, Molly thought as she brushed her hair back from her high forehead and coiled its straight brown length on top of her head.

A quarter of a century.

Sighing, Molly inserted the first of six securing pins without having to look at what she was doing. She’d done her hair like this for the last few years. It was easy and practical and, above all, cheap. She needed every spare cent from her pay packet to make ends meet.

At last she glanced up into the vanity mirror and surveyed the finished product with a wry smile. There was no doubt she looked the stereotyped concept of a librarian through and through. Prim hairdo. Prissy blouse. Pleated skirt. All she needed was horn-rimmed glasses balancing on the end of her none too small nose to complete the staid image.

Molly had twenty-twenty vision, however. Which was unfortunate in some respects. How much kinder it would be, she imagined, to have a fuzzier reflection first thing every morning.

She suddenly saw herself looking in the bathroom mirror on her fiftieth birthday and nothing would have changed much, not even her hairstyle.

She would still be living at home with her mother.

She would still be plain.

And she would still be madly in love with Liam.

Her shudder was part despair, part self-disgust. For loving Liam was such a waste of time; such a waste of her life.

Molly knew he would never love her back.

She no longer clung to the teenage fantasy where Liam woke up one day and saw that his feelings for the girl next door had somehow miraculously changed overnight from platonic friendship to an all-consuming passion. By the time she turned twentyone, Molly had graduated from romantic to realist. Difficult to hold onto such a futile dream in the face of the type of girl Liam brought home with regular monotony.

‘Plain’ did not describe them. Neither did bluestocking, nor bookworm, as Molly had been labelled all her life. Liam’s girlfriends were better known for their bodies than their brains. He liked them tall and tanned, with long legs, lush breasts and hair which shimmered.

Molly told herself she had the right breasts, but nothing short of the rack was going to add four inches to her average height. And, while her hair was always clean and healthy, mousy brown just never seemed to shimmer.

So Molly had long since abandoned any romantic schoolgirl dreams when it came to Liam. Common sense told her he was a lost cause. Yet still she clung to the emotion of loving him, clung to it as a drowning man clung to the most tenuous lifeline. Why else was she living in this house which was far too big for just two people, and far too expensive?

Because Liam’s family lived next door, that was why. If Molly and her mother moved, she would never see him again. Never feel the joy—as bittersweet as it was—of having him drop in for a drink and a chat, as he did every once in a while.

Liam called her his best friend, but Molly knew she wasn’t really that. She was simply there, a convenience, a ready ear to listen and give him feedback on his latest computer game or graphic design idea.

A deep dismay momentarily filled her soul before it was abruptly banished by a surprising burst of anger. How could Liam be so blind? And so darned insensitive? And why did she have to go on wallowing in his lukewarm and highly one-sided version of their being ‘best friends’?

Best friends were supposed to share things, weren’t they? Where was the give and take in their relationship? Today was her birthday, damn it. But would he remember? Not on your nelly! The dynamic head of Ideas and Effects Pty Ltd couldn’t be expected to remember such trivia. He was far too busy running his excitingly successful business. Heck, he hardly had time to come home any more! She hadn’t sighted him since Christmas, a full two months back.

There would be no phone call. No card, let alone a present. Yet she’d shopped for hours to find him the right gift for his birthday last year. She’d even cooked him a cake!

‘Molly,’ her mother called out through the bathroom door. ‘What’s taking you so long in there? Your breakfast’s been on the table for a full five minutes.’

‘Coming!’

Breakfast that morning was a small glass of orange juice, one boiled egg, one thin slice of wholemeal toast, one teaspoon of margarine and black coffee. A big improvement on the minute bowl of cereal Molly usually ate.

Ever since her father had died of a heart attack two years before at the relatively young age of fifty-one, her mother had become obsessed with health and dietary matters. Nothing passed their lips these days that exceeded the strict fat and calorie limits which were now Ruth McCrae’s culinary bible.

This meant mealtimes held little joy for Molly, who had a chronically sweet tooth. She found it all a bit trying, yet could not deny that her once plump curves had benefited from this change of eating habits. She’d dropped two dress sizes and would now not shrink from going to the beach—if she hadn’t freckled like mad.

‘Wow!’ she exclaimed as she sat down at the kitchen table. ‘This looks really good.’

‘Well, it is your birthday, love,’ Ruth said. ‘I’m going to cook you a special dinner tonight as well.’

Molly could not help wondering what a ‘special’ dinner constituted these days. She’d bet it wasn’t baked pork with crackling and crispy roast potatoes, followed by a big chocolate cake and coffee with cream in it. ‘That’ll be nice, Mum,’ she said, and picked up her knife, ready to attack the boiled egg.

‘Aren’t you going to open your card?’ Ruth asked plaintively.

Molly could have kicked herself. She put down her knife and picked up the long white envelope propped against the fruit bowl. Inside was a sweetly sentimental card and a couple of lottery tickets which promised first prize of half a million dollars.

‘I’m sorry I couldn’t afford more,’ her mother said apologetically.

Molly glanced up with a bright smile. ‘Don’t be silly. This is great. I might win a fortune and then we could both go for a trip around the world.’

‘Oh, I wouldn’t want to do that. I like my home too much. But you could go, I suppose,’ she added hesitantly.

Molly could see that this idea did not sit well with her mother. Perhaps she was already regretting giving her daughter the chance—however slim—of becoming rich and possibly flying the nest.

Ruth McCrae was a naturally shy woman, who’d become even more reserved and reclusive since her husband’s death. She rarely left the house except to go shopping, and that was only down to the small local shopping centre which also housed the library branch where Molly worked. She had no close friends and lived for her house, her garden and her daughter.

Once in a while, Molly found her mother’s dependence on her stifling. But on the whole she accepted her fate without undue distress. She was, after all, her mother’s daughter, which meant she was a quiet, undemanding girl with few unsettling yearnings.

The only yearning which could disturb her dreams—as well as her equilibrium—was Liam. Even then, she’d learned to control her unrequited passion for him. Clearly, he’d never guessed what smouldered behind her cool green eyes whenever they looked upon his handsome face.

And he never would.

This realisation suddenly brought another stab of anger. But this time none of it was directed at Liam. All of it was channelled straight at herself.

You’re a fool, Molly! If it was one of your girlfriends pining after some man who was way out of their reach, you’d tell her to forget him and move on. It’s about time you took your own advice.

Forget Liam. Move on!

Molly picked her knife up again and sliced the top off her egg with one decisive stroke. That was going to be her from now on. Decisive.

And her first decision was to stop fantasising about Liam and move on!

CHAPTER TWO

MOLLY was standing at the library computer, running the wand over the first of the huge pile of returned books, when something caught her eye. Something bright and red.

She glanced up through the glass doors to see a shiny red car turning its brand-new nose into the empty parking space right outside the library.

It brought no flash of recognition, despite being a very memorable model. Not quite a sports car, it was still stylish and expensive-looking. A newcomer to the area, no doubt, not knowing that this particular library branch was closed to the public on a Wednesday morning.

Molly was about to return to the job at hand when the driver’s door opened and a heart-joltingly familiar head of hair came into view, gleaming golden under the summer sun.

Liam.

Her heart leapt. So he had remembered her birthday. He’d even come in person. She could hardly believe it!

Her happiness knew no bounds as she watched him close the car door and stride up onto the pavement and across to the front doors. He smiled at her through the glass as he tap-tapped on the wooden frame.

‘Can’t they see we’re closed?’ Joan complained from where she was sitting at her desk, flipping through one of the new publisher catalogues. She could not see who was knocking. If she had, she would not be so anxious to send the unwanted visitor away. Joan might be a happily married thirty-three-year-old woman with three children, but she still had an eye for a good-looking man.

Liam was just that—and more. At thirty, he was in his physical prime, his elegant body in perfect tune with his equally elegant face. Six feet two inches tall, his lean frame made him look even taller, as did his choice of clothing. He had this thing for jackets, wearing them all year round.

In winter they ranged from soft suede numbers to tweedy sports coats. In summer he chose linen or lightweight wool in neutral colours, and teamed them with cool T-shirts during the day and silk shirts at night. Ties rarely graced his neck. In fact, Molly had never seen Liam dressed formally.

Today he was wearing stonewashed blue jeans, a navy T-shirt and a loose cream linen jacket with sleeves pushed up to the elbows. His streaky blond hair was longer than when she’d seen him last, falling to his ears from its side parting and flopping with its usual rakish charm across his high forehead. He looked slightly wind-blown and utterly gorgeous.

Molly immediately put her ‘moving on’ decision on hold for a good five years. Thirty, she decided anew, was soon enough to give up all hope.

The fact that Liam was standing where he was at this very moment had to give her some hope. Fancy him abandoning his precious business on a working day to drive the fifty miles from Sydney to Gosford, just to see her on her birthday.

‘For pity’s sake!’ Joan snapped when Liam knocked a second time. ‘Can’t they read? The library times are on the darned door!’

‘It’s someone I know,’ Molly said. ‘I’ll just go let him in.’

Joan jumped up from her desk. ‘But it’s almost...’ The sight of Liam’s handsome self stopped her in her tracks. ‘Mum. Yes, by all means let him in,’ she murmured, primping her glossy black waves as Molly hurried out from behind the reception desk and across the functional grey carpet.

Molly wasn’t worried that Liam would find Joan attractive. As pretty as she was, she was a married woman.

Liam believed in keeping his sex life simple.

‘One girl at a time,’ he’d once confided in Molly. ‘And never anyone else’s.’

It was a surprisingly conservative attitude in this day and age, especially coming from a man who looked like Liam, who had women throwing themselves at him all the time.

He had a similarly strict attitude to marriage. Only one per lifetime, which was why he’d always said he would not bother with marriage till he was in his thirties and financially secure. He didn’t want to make a mistake in finding his perfect partner.

‘In the meantime,’ he’d joked to her one day, ‘I’m having a lot of fun auditioning possible future candidates for the position of Mrs Liam Delaney.’

It had always terrified Molly that one of those future candidates might capture Liam’s love as well as his lust. Fortunately, that hadn’t happened, and Molly had taken heart from the failure of his various very beautiful girlfriends to last more than a few months.

But his latest was a bit of a worry. A statuesque blonde who went by the name of Roxy, she’d already lasted six months—a record for Liam. He’d even brought her home with him for the Christmas break, during which time Molly had had many opportunities to see Roxy’s physical assets. What she could do for a bikini was incomparable!

But I’m not going to think about Roxy right now, Molly told herself as she turned the key and swept open the door. Today is my birthday and my very best friend has come to celebrate it with me.

‘Liam!’ she exclaimed, smiling up into his dancing blue eyes.

‘Hi there, Moll. Sorry to interrupt. I know you’re working but I simply had to show you my new car. Picked it up this morning at one of those dealerships just the other side of Hornsby and couldn’t resist taking it for a spin. Before I knew it I was on the expressway and heading north. I was over the Hawkesbury Bridge before you could say boo, and was about to turn round when I thought, What the hell, Liam? You haven’t had a day off in ages. Drive up to Gosford and visit your mum.’

He smiled a rueful smile, showing perfect teeth and a charming dimple. ‘It wasn’t till I pulled into the driveway that I remembered today is her golf day. Took all the wind out of my sails, I can tell you. But no way was I going back to Sydney without showing someone. Naturally, I thought of you. So what do you think of it?’ And he waved in the direction of the car. ‘It’s one of the new Mazda Eunos 800s. The Miller Cycle version. Great red, isn’t it?’ he finished.

Every drop of joy drained out of Molly. Liam hadn’t come for her birthday. He’d come to show her a pathetic car. Worse, she hadn’t even been his first choice of viewer. She’d run a very poor second. As usual!

Something hard curled around her heart, setting it in concrete and trapping her love for him deep inside. Molly determined it would never see the light of day again. She glanced coldly over at the offending car and shrugged dismissively.

‘If you’ve seen one red car, Liam,’ she said coolly, ‘you’ve seen them all.’

There was no doubt he was taken aback by the icy indifference of her tone, for his eyebrows shot up and he stared at her with bewilderment in his beautiful blue eyes.

Molly was disgusted with herself for instantly feeling guilty. So much for her first foray into hating Liam! But she was determined not to weaken this time. Enough was enough.

‘You know me, Liam,’ she went on brusquely. ‘I’ve never been a car person.’

‘That’s because you’ve never learned to drive, Moll. You’d appreciate cars much more if you were ever behind the wheel. Come on, come for a short spin with me.’ He actually took her arm and began propelling her across the pavement.

‘Liam!’ she protested, wrenching her arm away from his hold and planting her sensible shoes firmly on the pavement. ‘I can’t. I’m at work.’

‘But the library’s not even open,’ he argued. ‘Surely they won’t miss you for a couple of minutes?’

‘That’s beside the point,’ she said sternly. ‘You might be your own boss, Liam, and can come and go as you please, but most people can’t, me included. Besides, it’s almost morning tea and I have to be here for that.’

The rest of the staff had all chipped in to buy her a cake. It was a tradition in the library whenever one of them had a birthday. No way was she going to run out on her real friends to indulge Liam’s ego.

‘I don’t see why,’ he said stubbornly.

No, you wouldn’t, Molly thought mutinously, and toyed with telling him, just so he could feel terrible for a full ten seconds.

The decision was taken out of her hands when Joan popped her head out the door.

‘Come on, birthday girl. Greg’s brought your cake along and all twenty-five candles are alight and waiting. So get in here and do the honours. You can bring your hunk of a friend, if you like,’ she added, looking Liam up and down with saucily admiring eyes. ‘We’ve more than enough cake for an extra mouth.’

Molly relished Liam’s groan. To give him some credit he did look suitably apologetic once Joan disappeared.

‘God, Moll, I had no idea it was your birthday. There I was, blathering away about my new car, and all that time you must have been thinking how damned selfish I was being.’

Frankly, she was enjoying his guilt. It had a deliciously soothing effect on her damaged pride. ‘That’s all right, Liam. I’m used to your not remembering my birthday.’

He winced anew. ‘Don’t make me feel any more rotten than I already do.’

Molly almost gave in. It was awfully hard to stay mad at Liam. He didn’t meon to be selfish. He was, unfortunately, the product of a doting mother and far too many God-given talents. Brains and beauty did not make for a modest, self-effacing kind of guy. Liam could be generous and charming when he set his mind to it, but in the main he was a self-absorbed individual who rarely saw beyond the end of his own classically shaped nose.

God knows why I love him so much, Molly thought irritably.

But then her eyes travelled slowly from his perfect face down over his perfect body, and every female cell she owned clamoured to be noticed back.

But the only expression in his eyes when he looked down at her was remorse. When he forcibly linked arms with her, she glared her frustration up to him.

‘Don’t be mad at me, Moll,’ he said with disarming softness.

‘I’m not mad at you,’ she returned stiffly.

‘Oh, yes, you are. And you have every right to be. But I’ll make it up to you tonight, if you’ll let me.’

‘Tonight?’ she echoed far too weakly.

‘Yes, tonight,’ he said firmly. ‘But for now I think your colleagues are waiting for you to blow out those twenty-five candles.’

With typical Liam confidence he steered her into the library and proceeded to charm everyone in the place. It annoyed Molly that he gave her openly curious workmates the impression he was a boyfriend of sorts. He even extracted her promise in Joan’s goggle-eyed presence to go out with him later that evening. She initially refused dinner—no way was she going to disappoint her mother—but grudgingly agreed to after-dinner coffee somewhere.

Molly told herself afterwards that she would never have agreed to go out with him at all if she’d been alone with him. She would have sent him on his way with a flea in his ear! She didn’t need his pity, or his guilt.

The moment his new red Mazda roared off up the road back in the direction of Sydney, Joan settled drily knowing eyes on her.

‘Well, you’re a dark horse, Molly, aren’t you?’ she said as they walked together back into the library. ‘I’ve always thought of you as a quiet little thing and all this time you had something like that on the side.’

Molly silently cursed Liam to hell. All he ever caused her was trouble and heartache. ‘Liam’s mother lives next door,’ she explained with more calm than she was feeling. ‘I’ve known Liam for years. We’re just good friends.’

‘Oh, sure. He drove all the way up from Sydney to wish you a happy birthday because you’re just good friends. You know what? I’ll bet you’re one of those girls who go home from the office at night, and perform one of those ten-second transformations. You know the type. Off come the glasses and the straitlaced clothes. Down comes the hair. On goes the sexy gear, make-up and perfume, and—whammo!—instant heat!’

Molly had to laugh. It would take more than ten seconds to transform her!

‘You can laugh,’ Joan scoffed. ‘But I’m no one’s fool. And you’re far prettier than you pretend to be. I always did wonder why you never seemed to be on the lookout for a fella. I was beginning to think all sorts of things till glamour boy arrived on the scene today. He gave me a case of instant heat, I can tell you. And I saw the way you looked at him when you didn’t think anyone was noticing. You’ve got it bad, Molly. I know the signs. So why haven’t I heard of this paragon of perfection before? Why all the mystery and secrecy? Is he married? A womaniser? A bad boy? Look, you can trust me with your deep dark secrets,’ she whispered. ‘I won’t tell anyone.’

Molly laughed a second time. ‘There’s nothing deep or dark to tell. I repeat...we’re just good friends. As I said before, Liam used to live next door. We went to school together, though not in the same class. He was doing his HSC when I was only in my first year.’

‘Well, there’s nothing remotely boy-next-door about him any more,’ came Joan’s dry remark. ‘He has city written all over him. Not to mention success.’

‘I’m well aware of that, believe me. I’m not blind. But there’s never been any romance between us, and there never will be. He has a steady girlfriend. Goes by the name of Roxy.’

‘Roxy,’ Joan repeated, her nose wrinkling. ‘Don’t tell me. She’s a stunning blonde with boobs to die for, hair down to her waist and legs up to her armpits.’

Molly was startled. ‘You know her?’

‘Nope. Just guessed. Men like your Liam always seem to have girls like that on their arm.’

‘He isn’t my Liam,’ Molly said tightly.

‘But you’d like him to be, wouldn’t you?’

Molly opened her mouth to deny it. But her tongue failed her when a thickness claimed it. Tears pricked at the back of her eyes.

Her Liam.

What a concept. What an improbable, impossible, inconceivable, unachievable concept! To keep clinging to it was not only demeaning to her personally, but depressing in the extreme.

‘There was a time when I did,’ she said at last, her tone clipped and cold. ‘But not any more. I have better things to do with my life than pine for the impossible.’

‘Impossible? Why do you say it’s impossible?’

‘For pity’s sake, Joan, you’ve seen him. You yourself said men like Liam go for girls like Roxy, not mousy little things like me.’