Blackmailed By The Boss

She’d never felt so acutely conscious of a man before.

It was as if she had suddenly regressed to being a very young teenager again, hormones racing all out of control.

He was barring her way. “Are we going to call a truce, Charlotte?”

“A truce?” She looked up at him uncertainly.

“Well, we can’t go on like this, can we?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“I think you do. I’m sorry about what’s happened.”

She wondered which particular thing he was sorry about—notching her up on his bedpost or accusing her stepmother of fraud?

KATHRYN ROSS was born in Zambia, where her parents happened to live at that time. Educated in Ireland and England, she now lives in a village near Blackpool, Lancashire. Kathryn is a professional beauty consultant, but writing is her first love. As a child she wrote adventure stories, and at thirteen was editor of her school magazine. Happily, ten writing years later, Designed with Love was accepted by Harlequin Presents®. A romantic Sagittarian, she loves traveling to exotic locations.

Blackmailed by the Boss

Kathryn Ross

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER ONE

THERE was no excuse, it was probably one of the most stupid things she had ever done in her life—apart from getting involved with David of course, that went without saying, but this… Her thoughts trailed off. This was incomprehensible it was so stupid.

She turned her head slightly on the pillow and looked across to the other side of the bed. They had left the bedside lamp on last night, so she could see him quite clearly—it hadn’t been a dream, he was still there and fast asleep. Charlotte felt panic rising like a spring inside her, gushing like iced water through her veins. Jordan was her father’s business partner, for heaven’s sake; and more than that he was her boss. How could she have let this happen?

Her eyes drifted over his features; he looked different asleep, less formidably handsome…more vulnerable. It was an absurd thought; Jordan Lynch was anything but vulnerable; in fact he was one tough cookie, a dynamic businessman with a never-ending stream of glamorous girlfriends who just seemed to fall at his feet. Charlotte had watched them come and go and she had sworn she would never be one of his conquests. So what had happened? It wasn’t even as if she could blame it on drink—two glasses of sparkling water was hardly mind-altering.

She cast her mind back to yesterday. She remembered her eyes had connected with his through the glass partition of the office. And she remembered thinking that he had the sexiest eyes on earth, before hurriedly looking away again. But that wasn’t so unusual; she was a red-blooded woman after all, and very often she’d glance at Jordan and admire the sheer male perfection of him. But it didn’t mean anything, it was a transitory thought that probably went through every woman’s head at least once when they looked at him.

She had applied herself back to her work, reminding herself that he may be thirty-eight, single, wealthy and gorgeous, but his latest girlfriend was a twenty-three-year-old sultry Latin-American model. And anyway he wasn’t her type—he was too arrogantly sure of himself; good-looking but knew it.

In fact Charlotte had quite enjoyed pretending she didn’t notice him. Being coolly dismissive when everyone else was fawning around him appealed to her rebellious side. She hadn’t particularly agreed with her father taking him on as a partner last year. They had been doing fine without him, then along he’d come with his newfangled ideas and his haughty manner. The first couple of months the air had been a bit frosty between them. But since then things had thawed slightly. To be honest, she’d had to get on with him because her father was rarely here these days and Jordan was running the show.

Then the phone on her desk had rung…

She’d ignored it, thinking her assistant, Frank, would pick it up in the main office. But it had continued to ring until in desperation she’d snatched it up. ‘Charlotte McCann speaking; how may I help?’

‘Hi, Charlie, it’s Melanie. Just thought I’d touch base with you, see how you are. Bearing up, I hope?’

‘Oh…hi, Melanie.’ Charlotte’s heart sank as she heard the sympathetic tones radiating from the other end of the line. Everyone was talking to her like that these days. She knew people meant well but she hated it. ‘I take it you’ve heard?’

‘Yes, Erica told me. I couldn’t believe it; David always seemed such a solid, dependable type.’

Something twisted inside Charlotte. ‘Yes, well, obviously appearances can be deceptive.’

‘I’m really sorry, Charlie. You must be devastated.’

‘Not really. Actually I’m feeling pretty positive about the situation; it’s probably for the best.’ Charlotte scribbled her pen rather violently through a memo Frank had left on her desk. ‘Things had been cooling between us for some time now.’

‘Even so, it’s tough when a relationship ends,’ Melanie purred. ‘Listen, why don’t you come for supper tomorrow? I’m having a lot of the girls over and it would be lovely to see you.’

And talk about the entire story in gory detail, Charlotte finished for her silently. She didn’t want that—she’d rather forget it. ‘It’s a bit short notice, Mel… I’m pretty tied up—’

‘Now, listen, it would do you good. Cindy Smith will be here and Janice Pike, and you haven’t seen them for ages.’ Melanie cut across her in a no-nonsense tone.

Janice Pike! Biggest gossip in London! Charlotte shuddered as she imagined what the evening would be like. They might as well bring along a bright light and a pair of thumbscrews to make it complete.

‘It’s not that…’ She paused as Jordan came into the office and she mouthed to him that she wouldn’t be a minute.

He perched on the edge of her desk, looking very suave in a dark suit with a pristine white shirt beneath. She probably should have taken that as a signal to hang up, but she ignored him, telling herself that she could take a few minutes to chat to a friend when she was always in the office half an hour earlier and half an hour later than anybody else.

‘So what is it?’ Mel persisted, never one to give in easily.

Charlotte took a deep breath and improvised wildly. ‘The fact is, I’m seeing someone and it’s early days…you know what it’s like when you’re in the “getting to know someone” stage.’

‘Well, yes…’ Melanie sounded stunned.

She noticed that even Jordan looked surprised—his dark eyebrows rose slightly.

‘Gosh, that was quick, Charlie!’ Mel drawled. ‘I must say, you don’t hang about.’

‘Well, it is four and a half weeks since David and I split up.’ As soon as she said the words she knew they were a mistake. When you were still counting the days, did it mean you weren’t over someone? ‘Anyway, I’m going to have to go, Mel.’ She tried to wind up the conversation before she made things worse. ‘Jordan has just walked into my office and I mustn’t delay him.’ That, at least, was the truth.

‘Sorry about that,’ she said as she put the phone down. ‘Now, I’ve got those details ready about the latest designs, and I’m happy to say it’s all coming on really well.’ As she spoke she was running an eye over the drawings that lay before her on the desk.

‘I didn’t know you were dating someone new.’ Jordan ignored her words and instead zoomed in on the very thing she wanted to gloss over.

She hesitated and for a moment contemplated lying to him as well, and then shrugged. What was the point in pretending?

‘I’m not.’ She didn’t glance up; instead she shuffled the papers in front of her, trying to get back to the work. ‘I want to talk to you about the budget for the new scheme—’

But Jordan wouldn’t let the subject go. ‘So why did you tell someone you were dating?’ he persisted, stopping her in her tracks.

‘Because…’ she leaned back in her chair, running a flustered hand through her long blonde hair. ‘Well, I suppose I didn’t want Melanie to know that the most exciting thing I’ve done recently is watch a rerun of Dallas and order a take-away pizza.’ The truth just popped out and she was surprised by his reaction because he seemed to relax somewhat, as if he found it terribly amusing.

‘Oh, I see.’

‘Not that I haven’t had offers, of course,’ she continued swiftly, feeling cross with herself for telling him that. ‘But I’ve just been too bogged down with all of this.’ She flicked the work in front of her derisively.

‘Yeah, I know you’ve been working very hard,’ he replied seriously.

Something about the way he looked at her set off a prickle of awareness inside that was deeply disturbing.

‘Anyway, I know I’m nearly over budget on the curtaining for these apartments.’ She returned the conversation very firmly to work. It wasn’t the first time he’d had that effect on her and she supposed it wouldn’t be the last. But it didn’t mean anything; it was because he was a predatory male, and she read the danger signals loud and clear.

‘But I want to use the more expensive sheer muslin for the front windows. I mean, what’s the point of building somewhere with fabulous views and then spoiling it with the window dressing? It’s like buying a fantastically expensive dress and teaming it with horrid shoes. Spoils the whole image.’ She looked up and fixed him with wide, fervent green eyes. ‘So can I up the budget?’

‘Again?’ His voice was dry. ‘What are you doing, gold-plating the whole apartment block?’

‘The windows will sell the place,’ Charlotte said firmly. ‘Women will walk into those apartments and fall in love with them at first sight.’

‘That’s what it takes, is it—good window dressing?’ Jordan grinned. ‘OK,’ he shrugged, ‘you’re the interior designer. I’ll go with your recommendation and I’ll up the budget.’

‘Great—’

‘On one condition.’ He cut across her.

‘What?’

‘Have dinner with me tonight.’

The invitation took her aback. She looked up into his hazel eyes and all sorts of warning bells rang. ‘I can’t, Jordan. I’m sorry, but I’ve far too much on.’

‘One evening won’t make much difference on the work schedule. And anyway, there are a few things I think we should talk about.’

She had been left unsure as to whether he was asking her out to discuss business or asking her out on a date.

Charlotte freeze-framed the memory now as she lay in bed. She was still unsure about that.

She stared at the ceiling and analysed that invitation. They’d eaten together a few times over the last year, usually business lunches, sometimes with her father, sometimes alone. They’d never ended up naked in bed together the next morning!

Jordan moved in the bed, rolling over onto his side so that he was facing her. For a moment she thought he was waking up and her nerves jangled alarmingly, her heart pumping as if she’d been running on the treadmill at the gym. He settled down and continued to sleep. She noticed how dark his hair was against the white of the pillow, and how the sheets had slipped from his shoulders, revealing a tanned torso that was enticingly muscled. Remembering how tenderly those strong arms had held her last night, she felt her stomach dip in another pang of alarm.

This was terrible. She didn’t want to think about what had actually transpired. She was going to have to get out of here, and fast, before he woke up. Because she couldn’t face him. The whole thing was mortifyingly embarrassing.

Slipping a foot out of the bed, she sidled across from beneath the covers, trying to ease herself out so as not to create a sound or a draught. She ended up on her hands and knees on his floor and there she crouched for a few moments, trying to get her breath back, casting her eyes frantically around for her clothes.

Even as she was kneeling there she registered the ridiculousness of the situation. She was a thirty-two-year-old businesswoman, for heaven’s sake—in fact, thirty-three in a few months’ time—and here she was, almost hiding under a man’s bed! She needed to be adult about this, she reasoned with herself. People had sex these days and they didn’t agonise about it, they just enjoyed it.

But the logical words didn’t cut much ice with her. Trouble was, she had never got with the modern programme—had never done the casual-sex bit. She needed to be in love with a man before she slept with him. All right, it was old-fashioned, but that was just how she was. So what had happened to change that last night?

She heard the bed creak as Jordan moved again. Her head shot up as she saw his hand dangling over the side, almost touching the top of her blonde curls. Any moment now he was going to lean over and ask her what she was doing crouching on his floor.

She waited for it, prepared to lie that she was looking for her contact lenses. But she didn’t wear contact lenses, and he probably knew that.

Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to stand up. She needn’t have worried—he was still asleep, this time sprawled over onto her side of the bed. Not that it was her bed, or her apartment. Darting a look around the room for her clothes, she could only see his shirt on a chair, so she picked it up and held it in front of her. At the same time Jordan’s hand seemed to be searching in the small space beside him, then he opened his eyes.

‘Hi.’ He smiled at her sleepily, then sat up slightly, his eyes moving over the long length of her legs to the shirt she held in front of her.

She, on the other hand, found her eyes drawn to his chest, which was broad and hairy and brought memories from last night trickling through her consciousness like red-hot lava.

‘Are you OK?’ he asked huskily.

She transferred her gaze quickly to his face to find his eyes resting on her with a kind of tender concern.

‘Of course I’m OK.’

He raked a hand through the thick darkness of his hair. ‘It’s just…well, I thought you were on the floor for a moment.’

‘I always start the day with a good crawl around on the bedroom floor.’ She hadn’t planned the sarcasm—it just slipped out. ‘It helps to tone the body.’

He smiled. ‘Your body doesn’t need much toning,’ he murmured, looking admiringly at the shapely long legs and the curves that were now hidden behind his shirt.

‘I was looking for my clothes, actually.’ Her voice seemed to have risen two octaves.

‘I think you’ll find them in the lounge, but what’s the hurry?’ He glanced at the illuminated numbers on his bedside clock. ‘It’s only early.’

How could he be so relaxed? As if this was nothing? Wasn’t he even the slightest bit embarrassed? OK, maybe he was used to waking up with different women in the morning, but they had to work together, for heaven’s sake!

Before she could reply the telephone on the other side of the bed rang. As he rolled over to answer it Charlotte glanced through the open bedroom door and caught sight of her clothes lying in a heap on the lounge floor. Thank heavens for phones, she thought as she hurriedly launched herself out through the door before he could turn around. Firmly she closed it behind her.

Never had she dressed as quickly in her whole life. Pants, stockings, skirt were all put on with record-breaking speed. Then, just as things were going so well, she couldn’t find her bra. She looked along the cream leather settee and lifted a few cushions, but still couldn’t find it. Hearing the phone go down in the other room, she gave up and instead threw her blouse on, buttoning it up with scant regard for anything other than the need to escape. Her bag was on the coffee-table, and the only thing hanging up was her coat out on a stand in the hallway. She practically flew to it, then out through the front door. Not waiting for the lifts, she ran down the stairs of the luxury apartment block as if being pursued by the devil himself.

It was only when she was outside in the cool darkness of the early-morning air that she realised she had no car. She had taken a taxi to meet Jordan at the restaurant last night and then they had walked back to his place.

She put her head down as it started to rain and turned towards the nearest underground station.

It was rush hour. Charlotte stood well to the right on an escalator that trundled slowly down into the bowels of the earth; a never-ending stream of people hurried past her, their shoulders brushing against hers, but she was barely aware of them. There was a constant thundering sound as trains sped through the passages below and a warm vortex of air spiralled upwards, blow-drying the rain from her blonde hair. Charlotte felt numb, as if she wasn’t really there.

How could she have done that? she kept asking herself. How could she?

A busker stood in one of the tunnels, his voice echoing eerily as he sang about how much love hurt. The sound was accompanied by the silvery clinking of the coins that people threw on the way past. Maybe, like her, they agreed with his sentiment. Charlotte dug deep in her pockets and added her coins to his collection.

She had found out from David just how much love could hurt.

Maybe that was the reason some people…like Jordan…abandoned the idea of love completely and chose to just concentrate on the physical side of things. She had never really agreed with that way of thinking before, but now…now she wasn’t sure how she felt about anything. Because buried away in the deepest recess of her mind was the knowledge that last night had been extremely pleasurable.

There was a train waiting on her platform and she raced towards it, just squeezing in before the automatic doors closed. She stood, hemmed in by the sheer volume of people, and grabbed at a handrail to steady herself as the train left the station. Then she closed her eyes and thought again back to last night.

She had insisted on meeting him at the restaurant. Somehow arriving under her own steam had made her feel more in control of the situation. It meant she would be able to leave when she wanted instead of having to wait for him. Charlotte liked to be independent.

They had started off talking about work. Jordan had made her laugh; he had a very dry, very witty sense of humour. She remembered a few women had cast envious eyes over towards their table and she had felt almost proud to be the one who was getting his undivided attention.

She realised now, that should have been her first warning signal.

‘So where is your girlfriend tonight?’ she had asked him when there was a pause in the conversation.

‘Benita and I split up a couple of weeks ago.’

‘Oh! I’m sorry.’

He shrugged. ‘These things happen—as you know. Have you seen anything of David recently?’

She shook her head. ‘I think he’s still in the States on business.’

‘Do you still have feelings for him?’

The intensely personal question took her aback and she hesitated, not knowing what to say.

‘According to your father, he was never right for you.’ Jordan filled the gap drily.

‘Has my father been discussing my private life with you?’ She was instantly annoyed.

‘Only in passing.’ He shrugged easily. ‘You went out with David for a long time, didn’t you.’

‘Two years. How long were you with Benita?’ Swiftly she changed the subject back in his direction.

Jordan frowned. ‘I don’t know; I’m not one for counting much any more.’

‘Any more?’

‘When I was married to Nadine I used to count anniversaries, important dates—you know, the usual kind of thing.’

His statement intrigued her. She had heard he had been divorced, but that was all, because Jordan was extremely aloof when it came to talking about his past. Charlotte had assumed, because he seemed such a womaniser, that he had ended the marriage. ‘It sounds as if you loved her very much.’

‘I did.’ His voice was heavy. ‘But it didn’t do me a lot of good. Sometimes loving someone isn’t enough.’

‘Well, she was obviously just the wrong person for you.’

He smiled at that. ‘You’re not going to go all Pollyanna-like on me, are you?’

‘No.’ She felt herself blushing and he smiled.

‘I’ve enjoyed tonight, Charlie; thank you.’

‘I’ve enjoyed it too.’ She was aware that she didn’t really want the evening to end.

Jordan took out his wallet to pay the bill and she fumbled for her handbag.

‘We’ll go Dutch,’ she said firmly.

‘Dutch?’ He stared at her as if she was speaking that language.

‘Yes. I like to pay my own way, thank you.’

His lips twisted in a wry curve. ‘Well you can pay next time,’ he said dismissively, putting his credit card on the silver salver. ‘How’s that?’

Before she could make a reply to that he had switched the subject. ‘Have you heard anything from your father recently?’

‘Not since Ruth rang to tell me they wouldn’t be coming home from France at the appointed time. Dad must really love it out there because it’s not like him to want to take extra time off work. You know what he’s like, a complete workaholic.’

‘And she didn’t say anything else?’

‘No. It was a very brief conversation, but then it always is with my stepmother. She’s usually in a hurry.’ Charlotte frowned. ‘Why?’

‘I just wondered.’ The waiter brought the counterfoil for him to sign. ‘You get on all right with Ruth, don’t you?’ he asked casually as he handed the piece of paper and the pen back.

‘Yes. She seems to make Dad happy.’ She paused and frowned. ‘Everything is all right with Dad, isn’t it? You have spoken to him since he’s been away?’

‘Of course.’ Jordan rose smoothly to his feet. ‘He is my business partner; he couldn’t be away for seven weeks without being in contact.’

He had put his hand at her back as they had walked out of the restaurant. It had just been a light touch but Charlotte had been extremely conscious of it.

The train jerked to a halt and her eyes flew open. It was her station; she struggled to step out, battling amongst the hordes getting in.

The April rain was cold against her skin as she emerged again onto the streets above. But her mind was still tuned into the night before. They had walked back towards his apartment and he had invited her in for coffee. ‘You may as well wait for a taxi in the comfort of my place,’ he had said easily.

So she had followed him up to the stylish penthouse apartment. She had never been to his home before, and it had felt different being somewhere with him that wasn’t work-related at all. It had made her suddenly self-conscious. And when he had reached to take her coat, she had felt more acutely aware of him than she had ever done.

As he disappeared through to the kitchen to make the coffee she had wandered around the lounge, admiring the décor. ‘Who did the interior design to this apartment?’ She called out the question to him through the open door.

‘I don’t know. I wasn’t particularly interested in interior designers until I met you.’

She smiled at the compliment. Then noticed a photograph of a little girl, about three years of age, with dark shiny hair and a mischievous grin.