A Bride For The Brooding Boss

Dalton Corporation was in trouble. His only choice was to trust her on the corporate level. He had little reason to trust her, or any other woman, personally. Especially as her manner said she’d judged him for some transgression made by someone else.

Had she suffered the same indignity as he had? The soul-crushing realisation that you’d been used and played for a fool. The embarrassment of how close you’d come to committing to someone unworthy, incapable of fidelity or honesty.

The dark-haired image that flared took him by surprise. Any affection he’d felt for Christine had died when she’d proved faithless. He hadn’t seen her since he’d walked out of her apartment for the last time after telling her the relationship was over, and why. He’d rarely thought of her either.

They’d both spent nights in each other’s homes but he’d held back from inviting her to live with him. Looking back that should have been a red flag that he had misgivings. Thankfully he’d told no one of his plans to propose to her.

Admitting he’d been stupid for assuming mutual friends and lifestyle expectations would be a good basis for a modern marriage hadn’t been easy. He wasn’t sure he’d ever consider that life-changing step again.

God, he hated being here handling this mess. He’d hated even more being in London where people gave him sympathetic looks and wondered what had happened.

Letting out a heartfelt oath, he banished both women from his mind. There were emails to read and respond to, and he’d promised his mother he’d be there for dinner. He grabbed his coffee mug, feeling the urgent necessity for another caffeine boost.

* * *

Nearly two hours later he pulled into the kerb outside his parents’ house, switching off the engine to give himself time to prepare for the evening ahead. He regretted the loss of unwavering respect for his parents, wished he’d never found out his father had been having affairs. He’d lost a small part of himself when he’d come home that evening nine years ago, and had never been able to obliterate what he overheard from his mind.

‘I suppose this one’s as gullible as the rest and believes she has a future with you. How many more, Marcus?’

‘Man wasn’t meant to be monogamous. If you want a divorce, be prepared to lower your standard of living.’

‘Why should I suffer for your indiscretions? I’m giving up nothing.’

Somehow his mother’s acceptance of his father’s infidelities made her complicit. In disbelief he’d fled to his room, changed into a tracksuit and taken off, pounding the footpath trying to drive what he’d heard from his mind. His hero had fallen. He’d returned to a silent, dark house where, for him, nothing would ever be the same.

He scowled, thumping the wheel with an open hand. He’d always been confident, sure of himself and his judgement of cheating and affairs. Now he felt remorse as his father had turned into a stranger who’d made drastic mistakes in the last eighteen months, sending Dalton Corporation on a downhill path.

Pride dictated he fix those glitches and return the company to profit status, along with preserving its good name. Only then could he consider his own future, and for that he’d need a clear head. The only people he’d give consideration to would be family and his partners in London.

He started the engine, and drove through the elaborate gates, grimacing as he entered the luxurious house. This was his father’s dream, a symbol of wealth and prestige, bought during Matt’s absence abroad. He hadn’t told his mother their financial status was in jeopardy. If Lauren Taylor was as good as her reputation, and he’d inherited any of his father’s entrepreneurial skills, he might never have to.

* * *

Adelaide had a different vibe from the city Lauren remembered. Not that she’d seen much of the metropolitan area when she’d lived here, or much of anywhere besides ovals and training grounds. Beaches in summer, of course—swimming and running on the sand were part of the family’s fitness regimen.

As she’d strolled past modern or renovated buildings a window display advertising Barossa Valley wine triggered a light-bulb moment. The Valley, the Fleurieu Peninsula and the Adelaide Hills, plus many other tourist areas, were all within easy driving distance, and she’d been promised a two-week vacation as soon as the assignment ended. All she’d need were a map, a plan and a hire car.

She picked up Chinese takeaway, and spent the evening poring over brochures and making notes. In full view from her window a group of young athletes were training in the parklands over the road. On the side-lines some adults watched and encouraged. Others sat on the grass with younger children, playing games or reading with them.

Her eyes were drawn to a man sitting with a boy on his lap, their heads bent as small fingers traced words or pictures in a book. Her chest tightened and she crossed her arms in a self-hug. Why didn’t she have any memories of those occasions? Why had she never asked either parent to read to her or share a favourite television show with her? She’d always been too afraid of rejection.

Why had they never noticed her quietly waiting for some of the attention claimed by her boisterous brothers? If it had been intentional maybe it wouldn’t hurt so much. Being overlooked cut deeper than deliberately being ignored. And she’d never been able to summon up the courage to intentionally draw attention to herself.

The boy looked up, talking with animation to his father. Eyes locked, they were in a world of their own.

It conjured up the image of Matt Dalton holding her gaze captive as they’d talked. Even thinking of those weary blue eyes spiked her pulse, and memories of that long-ago kiss resurfaced. Her balcony secret she’d never revealed to anyone. Never intended to.

* * *

Lauren chose a different route to work in the morning. She felt more herself, determined to show her new boss she was the professional his friend had recommended.

Last night no matter how many positions she’d tried or how often she’d thumped the pillows, sleep had eluded her. Reruns of her two encounters with Matt Dalton had kept her awake until she’d given in, got up, and researched the company. Something she normally avoided to keep distance and objectivity.

There’d been no reference to him, only a Marcus Dalton who’d become successful by investing in small businesses, and persuading others to participate too. The website hadn’t been updated since November last year, indicating there’d been difficulties around that time.

No, wait. She’d been asked to assess twenty-one months. So the anomalies had been discovered only recently but long-term deception was suspected.

The sleep she’d eventually managed had been deep and dreamless, surprising since her last thoughts and first on awakening had been of full grim lips and jaded midnight-blue eyes.

* * *

The door adjacent to Mr Dalton’s was still locked. From the piles of folders on his desk and extension, he’d arrived very early. He appeared even wearier, the shadows under his eyes even darker.

Lauren tried to ignore the quick tug low in her abdomen, and the quickening of her pulse.

‘Good morning, Mr Dalton. Would it be possible to have the outer door unlocked so I won’t disturb you going in and out?’

Or be disturbed by my immature reaction to you.

Intense blue eyes scanned her face, reigniting the warm glow from yesterday.

‘Good morning, Ms Taylor. I’m not easily disturbed.’

Of course you’re not. You’re a cause not a recipient. Ignite a girl’s senses with a soul-shattering kiss then forget her. Though to be fair she’d been the one to run.

‘My watch alarm is set for an hourly reminder to relieve my eyes, stretch and drink water. To ease my back, I sometimes walk around or up and down a few flights of stairs.’

‘Not a problem.’ He glanced at the bottle in her hand. ‘Keep anything you like in the fridge under the coffee machine or there’s a larger one in the staffroom.’

Without looking, he flicked a hand towards a door in the wall behind him. ‘There’s an ensuite bathroom here or, if you prefer, washrooms on the far side of Reception.’

Why the flash of anguish in his eyes? Why was she super alert, her skin tingling during this mundane conversation?

‘Thank you.’ She turned towards the bench, away from his probing gaze, popped her drink bottle and morning snack into the fridge, then went to her desk. Keeping her eyes averted didn’t prevent his masculine aroma teasing her nostrils as she passed him.

She settled at her new station and, while the system booted up, filled in the personnel document he’d left for her. Once everything was laid in her preferred setting, she stood by the window to stare at the distant hills for a slow count of fifteen.

Now she was ready to start.

For two hours, apart from a short break for her eyes, she focused on the screens in front of her. But like a radio subliminally intruding into your dreams, some part of her was acutely aware of each time the man next door spoke on the phone or accessed the filing cabinets in this room.

The feeling in the pit of her stomach now was different, familiar, one she found comfortable, the exhilaration of the chase. The minor errors matched those in the audits. The one anomaly she found was puzzling enough for her to recheck from the beginning, puzzling enough to tease her brain. A challenge worthy of the fee her boss charged Dalton Corporation.

She headed for the ensuite to freshen up ready for coffee, cheese crackers and relief time. There was one door on her left, another along the corridor to her right.

She regretted choosing the latter the moment she saw the iron-smooth black and silver patterned quilt covering a king-sized bed. For a nanosecond she pictured rumpled sheets half covering a bare-chested Matt, his features composed in tranquil sleep. She blinked and pivoted round. Not an image she wanted in her head when she locked eyes with this cheerless, work-driven man.

On her return to the office, his posture enforced her last description. His chin rested on his hands, his elbows on the desk, his attention fully absorbed by the text on his screen.

Stealing the opportunity to observe him unnoticed, she stopped. A perception of unleashed power bunched in his shoulders, a dogged single-mindedness showed in his concentration. The untrimmed ends of his thick hair brushed the collar of his shirt, out of character to her perception of a smart, city businessman.

His mug had been pushed to the edge of his desk, presumably empty. She picked it up, startling him.

‘Would you like a refill?’

He nodded. ‘Thanks. Flat white from the machine, one sugar. How’s it going?’

‘Progressing. Do you want details?’

His eyes narrowed.

She pre-empted his next remark. ‘People who hire me have varying knowledge of technology and require different levels of explanation.’ Many don’t like to betray their ignorance in the field. ‘My daily report will be comprehensive.’

‘Do whatever’s necessary to get results. I’ll read the report.’ Again an undertone of irritation further roughened his voice, a darkening glint of angst flashed in his eyes.

Matt made a note in red at the top of the paper in front of him, and regretted being repeatedly terse with her. He closed his eyes, clasped his neck, and arched his back. He felt bone tired from sitting, reading, and trying to make sense of his father’s recent actions.

He wished he could shake the guilt for not being around, for not noticing the subtle changes on his trips home for family occasions. Maybe if he’d spent more one-on-one time with Marcus he would have. Instead he’d apportioned blame without considering it was their lives, their marriage. For nine years he’d kept physical and emotional distance from two of the most important people in his life.

He heard the soft clunk of a mug on wood. By the time he straightened and looked, a steaming coffee sat within reach, and Lauren was disappearing into her room. She’d discarded the light jacket she’d worn on arrival. Tired as he was, the male in him appreciated her slender figure, her trim waist. The pertness of her bottom in the grey trousers.

Inappropriate. Unprofessional.

As he drank the strong brew the sound of a quirky ringtone spun his head. The friendliness of Lauren’s greeting to someone called Pete rankled for no reason. Her musical laughter ignited a heat wave along his bloodstream.

He strode to the ensuite to splash water on his face and cool down.

* * *

‘Hey, it’s nearly twelve o’clock.’

Lauren started, jerking round to see her temporary boss standing in the doorway, the remoteness in his eyes raising goosebumps on her skin. She blinked and checked her watch.

‘Two minutes to go. Are you keeping tabs on my schedule?’ Some clients did.

‘Not specifically.’ He moved further into the room, closer to her desk. To her.

Her pulse had no right to rev up. Her lungs had no right to expand, seeking his masculine aroma.

‘Your work’s high intensity.’ His neutral tone brought her to earth.

‘I’ve learnt how to manage it. Results take patience and time.’

He gave a masculine grunt followed by a wry grin. ‘The latter’s not something we have plenty of. Take a lunch break. I need you fully alert.’

Eight floors by foot before taking the elevator to the ground helped keep her fit. She smiled and walked out into the light drizzle. Adelaide was like a new city waiting to be explored. Chomping on a fresh salad roll, she strolled along, musing on that dour man, wondering what, or who, had caused the current situation. And why Marcus Dalton was no longer in charge.

Matt was clearly related. He bore a strong resemblance to the photograph on the website she’d accessed. Even with the ravages of the trauma he was under, he was incredibly handsome with an innate irresistible charisma. Was he married? In a relationship?

She chastised herself, chanting silently, Never let anyone get to you on assignments. Stupid and unprofessional, it could only lead to complications and tears. However, she had never been in this situation before...she’d never been kissed by one of her clients.

* * *

‘There’s definitely a recurrent anomaly. Finding when it started may tell me how and what,’ Lauren informed Matt as she gave him her report prior to going home.

She was leaning towards it being deliberate because of the number of identical anomalies. No reason to mention she had no idea how it had been achieved.

He nodded and dropped the report in a tray. ‘How’s the hotel? I asked Joanne to book somewhere not too far out.’

‘Oh.’ Was he trying to be sociable? Make amends for his abruptness? ‘Very nice, and my room overlooks the parklands.’

‘Not too noisy on that corner?’

She couldn’t suppress her grin. ‘I live in Sydney, remember. You tune it out or drown it with music.’

His gaze held hers for an eon, or longer. The darkening in the midnight-blue coincided with heat tendrils coiling through her from a fiery core low in her abdomen. Her eyes refused to break contact, her mouth refused to say goodbye. Her muscles refused to obey the command to turn her away.

It was Matt who broke the spell, flinching away and shaking his head. His chest heaved as his lungs fought for air. He clenched his fists to curb the impulse to—no, he wouldn’t even think it.

‘Did you bus or taxi?’ He didn’t particularly care but was desperate to keep the conversation normal. To ignore those golden specks making her eyes shine like the gemstones in his mother’s extensive jewellery collection. His voice sounded as if he’d sprinted the last metres of a marathon.

‘I walked. It’s not that far.’

His eyebrows shot up. ‘Walked?’ To and from a bus stop or taxi rank was the furthest most women he knew went on foot, apart from in shopping centres.

She shrugged. ‘Beats paying gym fees and clears my head.’

‘I guess. Just take care, okay.’ He had no reason to worry, yet he did.

‘Always. Good afternoon, Mr Dalton.’

‘I’ll see you tomorrow, Ms Taylor.’

As soon as she’d gone he slumped in his chair, stunned by his reaction to her smile, quick and genuine, lighting up her face. His pulse had hiked up, his chest tightened. And his body had responded quicker and stronger than ever before.

His fingers gripped the armrests as he fought for control. This shouldn’t, couldn’t be happening. Women, all women were out of bounds at the moment. Even for no-strings, no-repercussions sex. She was here on a temporary basis. She was an employee, albeit once removed.

He groaned. She was temptation.

He forced his mind to conjure up visions of the life he’d left behind in London, crowded buses and packed Tubes, nightclubs, cafés and old pubs. Teeming, exciting. Energising. Attractive, fashionably dressed women in abundance. Great job, great friends. And one woman he’d thought he’d truly known.

It had been a near perfect world prior to his trust going down the gurgler and his existence being uprooted into chaos. Now he had little social life, even less free time, and collapsed wearily into a deep dreamless sleep every night. And woke early each morning to the same hectic scenario.

CHAPTER THREE

MATT WAS PACING the floor, talking on the phone when Lauren arrived Thursday morning, hoping for a repeat of yesterday when she’d been left pretty much alone all day. He’d been absent when she’d finished so she’d left her report on his desk.

On the way to her room she returned the preoccupied nod he gave her, grinning to herself at the double take he gave her suitcase and overnight bag. She’d booked out of the hotel, confirmed she’d be returning on Monday and been promised the same room.

She did her routine and began work, fully expecting an apologetic call some time from her eldest brother, who’d been delegated to pick her up on arrival in Melbourne. She’d long ago accepted she was way down on her family’s priority list.

Her priority was to complete her designated task. Her expertise told her a human hand was involved. If—when, Lauren, think positive—she solved what and how, fronting Matt Dalton was going to be daunting. The few occasions she’d had to implicate someone in a position of trust had always left her feeling queasy, as if she were somehow to blame.

In two days she’d become used to the sound of him in the background like a soft radio music channel where the modulations and nuances were subtle, never intrusive. Every so often the complete silence told her he’d left the office. Occasionally someone came in. Few stayed more than a couple of minutes.

There was no sign of him when she went to the fridge, though an unrolled diagram lay spread out on his desk. She resisted the impulse to take a peek, and consumed her snack while enjoying the view from her window.

Matt’s return was preceded by his voice as he walked along the corridor not long after she resumed work. She glimpsed him as he strode past her doorway to the window, ramrod-straight, hand clenched. Not a happy man.

His temper wouldn’t improve when her report showed all she’d written down so far today was a slowly growing number of random dates.

‘Dad!’

His startled tone broke Lauren’s concentration.

‘Sorry, mate, I’ll call you back. Dad, what are you doing here?’

He came into her view and stopped. By craning her neck, she could see him clasping a greying man to his chest.

‘You came alone?’ There was genuine concern in his tone.

‘Haven’t been in for weeks so I thought I’d come and find out what’s happening.’ Apart from the slower pace of the words, the voice’s similarity to Matt’s was defining.

‘Everything’s going smoothly. Come and sit down. We’ll talk over coffee.’

Blocking his father’s view of her, he guided him towards the seating, then continued talking as he passed her door on the way to make the drinks. Without breaking step he made a quick gesture across his throat when their eyes met.

‘There’s a new espresso flavour you’ve never tried, rich and aromatic.’

He wanted her to shut down and not let his father know what she was doing. What if Marcus came in here? Asked who she was? As far as she knew, it was still his company. And it was his son’s fault she couldn’t escape through the locked door.

The papers and folder were slipped into the drawer, a fresh page on the pad partially covered by random notes for show. Acutely conscious of the mingled sounds of the coffee machine and Matt’s muted voice making a call, she reached for the mouse.

Matt slid his mobile into his pocket, and picked up the two small cups. What the hell had prompted his father’s arrival? If his mother was aware he’d come into the city, she’d be worried sick. Had Ms Taylor understood his silent message? Could things get any worse?

‘Here, Dad, try this. Tell me if you like it.’ He sank into the other armchair, torn between the desire to hug his ailing father, and the recurring craving to demand why he’d cheated on his wife. So many times.

He’d never understood why so many people he knew treated cheating casually, as part of modern life. To him it was abhorrent. Why claim to love someone and then seek another partner? Why stay with someone who had no respect for your affection?

He had never declared the emotion, deeming that would be hypocritical, but had always insisted on fidelity. He’d found out the hard way that for some people promises meant nothing.

It churned Matt’s stomach that his father considered affairs a normal part of life, his due entitlement as a charismatic male. The man he’d revered in his youth and aspired to become had seen no reason why they should affect his marriage.

He was torn between the deep love of a son for his father and distaste for his casual attitude to being faithful. And behind him, hidden by the wall in Matt’s eye line, was the room where he brought the women. His coffee turned sour in his mouth.

Marcus sipped his drink cautiously, savouring the taste.

‘Mmm...good, real coffee. I’ll take a pod home and ask Rosalind to buy some.’

‘Take a box.’ Matt cleared his throat, hesitant to ask the vital question. Please don’t let the answer be he drove. ‘How did you get here, Dad?’

‘Caught a cab at the shopping centre near home.’ He glared at the desk, set not too far away. ‘You’ve twisted my desk.’ It was an accusation.

‘Don’t worry, it suits me that way. We can always put it back.’ He’d never place it in the former position that had given the user a direct eye line to the person working at the desk next door.

‘Hmph. Now I need the bathroom.’

Marcus put his cup on the table, and went to the ensuite. Matt let out a long huff of breath, and took another drink of the hot, stimulating liquid. A glance at his watch told him his cousin should be here in a few minutes.

Swearing softly when his desk phone rang, he strode over to answer. He missed his father’s return as he searched his in-tray for the letter the caller had sent.

Lauren stopped typing as Marcus came into her office. The eyes were a similar colour, the facial features bore a strong resemblance, but he lacked the firm line of his son’s jaw, his innate sense of character.

‘You’re new. What happened to Miss...?’ He tapped his palm on his forehead. ‘Um, long dark hair, big blue eyes.’

‘I believe she left. Can I help you?’

His gaze intensified, then he came round to stand beside her, and stared at the screen.

‘She was a good typist. Fast and accurate.’

‘Dad.’

Matt stood in the doorway, the same forbidding expression he’d worn at her interview directed at her. She lifted her chin, determined not to be part of whatever games this family was playing.

The older man spoke first. ‘There’s too many changes, Matthew. My girl was good. She left. People kept leaving.’ Slow with pauses at inappropriate times. ‘Who hired this one?’