The Boss's Forbidden Secretary

When she had first met Neil, he’d appeared to be charming and easygoing, willing to live and let live. But in reality—like some weak people—he had been spoilt and peevish, a bully at heart.

Her companion, she was oddly certain, would be neither spoilt nor peevish, and while he might be masterful, she couldn’t see him being a bully.

Watching him, she noticed that he ate with a healthy appetite, but neatly and noiselessly.

Unlike Neil, who, in spite of his somewhat effeminate good looks and his general air of delicacy, had tended to bolt his food. Rather like a greedy schoolboy who hadn’t yet learned either manners or self-control.

She had discovered, to her cost, that the same went for his sexual appetite.

They had been married only a matter of months when, after drinking too much wine, he’d tried to force himself on her.

Failing, he had lashed out at her, calling her a lot of things, amongst which ‘a frigid bitch’ was the kindest by far.

Sighing, she pushed thoughts of the unhappy past aside and, glancing up, found herself looking into eyes the grey of woodsmoke—fascinating eyes that tilted up a little at the outer edge.

Her head whirling, and a strange tingle running along her nerve ends, she tore her gaze away.

Sensitive to her mood, Ross asked, ‘Problems?’

‘No, not really.’

Though he obviously didn’t believe her, he let the matter drop, and they continued the meal in companionable silence.

‘More coffee?’ he queried when they had both finished eating.

‘No, thank you.’

‘Then I’ll get rid of this.’ He rose to his feet and put the trolley outside.

Returning to his seat, he suggested, ‘Suppose we have a “wee dram” before we turn in, as Mrs Low’s husband advised?’

Though normally she never drank spirits, wanting to keep him with her a little longer, she agreed, ‘Yes, why not?’

He opened the bottle and, having poured a finger of whisky into both glasses, handed her one.

Raising his own glass, he toasted, ‘Here’s to the future, and our better acquaintance.’

His words, and the look in his eyes, brought a surge of warmth and excitement, and she found herself yearning for something this man seemed to offer. Something poignant. Something magic. Something that would last a lifetime. True love, perhaps…?

Telling herself not to be foolish, she tore her gaze away with an effort and took an incautious sip of her drink. The strong spirit made her cough.

His lips twitched, but, hiding his amusement—if indeed it was amusement—he said, ‘Just to prove that I’ve lived in England for a long time, I’ll act like a Sassenach and ask if you’d prefer some water with it?’

‘Yes, I would,’ she answered gratefully, and started to rise to fetch it.

But Ross was already on his feet, and he pressed her gently back into the chair. ‘Stay where you are. I’ll get it.’

He disappeared into the bathroom and returned after a moment with glass of water. ‘Say when.’

When there was about twice as much water as whisky, she said, ‘That should be fine, thank you.’

‘Try it and see.’

She tried a sip and, breathing a sigh of relief, told him, ‘Much better.’

Putting the rest of the water by the whisky bottle, he smiled at her.

His teeth gleamed white and even, and his mouth, with its intriguing hint of controlled passion, made her feel strange inside.

Becoming aware that she had been staring at him, she looked back into the glowing fire. But the cosy familiarity had gone, leaving an awareness, a rising excitement, a sexual tension.

Needing to break the silence and return to the more mundane, she swallowed and, her normally clear voice decidedly husky, asked, ‘Are you up here for Christmas, Mr Dalgowan?’

‘Yes, and New Year. But won’t you call me Ross? It seems ridiculous to stand on ceremony.’

‘Of course, if you call me Cathy.’

‘How long are you in Scotland for, Cathy?’

Reminded of just why she was in Scotland, and flustered by the innocent question, she answered, ‘I’m not quite sure… Christmas and New Year…’

‘Do you have anyone important in your life? A partner, perhaps?’

Unwilling to talk about her brief and disastrous marriage and the subsequent divorce, she answered briefly, ‘No.’

Though they had only just met, and he knew scarcely anything about her, Ross felt a rush of gladness that shook him with its strength and vehemence.

After Lena, he had taken care to avoid any emotional entanglements, keeping the occasional liaison light, casual, a simple, straightforward exchange of pleasure, with no looking back and no regrets when they parted.

Now he found himself doubting that that would be enough with this woman.

He sat quietly watching her, and holding her breath, aware that somehow the answer mattered, she seized the opportunity to ask, ‘How about you?’

‘No, no one.’

She was breathing a sigh of relief when he added, ‘I did have plans to marry earlier this year, but they didn’t work out. Though Lena was born in Scotland, and in fact our families lived quite close, she loved the bright lights of London and refused to live anywhere else. Whereas I wanted to live in the country.

‘When she couldn’t bring me round to her way of thinking, she left me for a wealthy businessman who lives in Park Lane and never leaves London…’

Cathy heard the underlying bitterness in his voice, and knew that his fiancée’s defection still hurt.

‘Now, if we happen to be in Scotland at the same time, she makes a point of calling to see me when she’s visiting her father.’

It smacked of turning the screw, and Cathy frowned, hardly able to believe that any woman could treat him that way.

Seeing her frown, and misinterpreting it, he apologized quickly, ‘I’m sorry. Maybe I shouldn’t have got on to such a personal topic, but I wondered if you were perhaps travelling up to join someone?’

Instinctively sure that this man was special, she hesitated, momentarily tempted to try and explain about Carl and the deception she had reluctantly agreed to take part in.

Though, as Carl had frequently pointed out since he had first broached the scheme, it was an innocent enough deception and would do no one any harm. And it would only be necessary until he’d been able to prove his worth.

‘I have exactly the qualifications the Bowans are looking for,’ he had told her, ‘but they were adamant that they would only employ a married couple.’

Then with a sigh he had said, ‘Everything would have been fine if Katie hadn’t walked out on me and we’d got married as planned. But as it is I badly need your help. And honestly, Sis, it won’t be too bad. All we need to do is get on with our respective jobs and pretend to be husband and wife.’

However, intrinsically honest, Cathy was far from happy, and had it been anyone other than her beloved younger brother she would have refused point-blank to be a part of it.

As it was—with his life in ruins after the woman he loved had run off with his best friend—Cathy had found it impossible to deny him the chance to do what he’d always wanted to do.

But her heart sank at the thought of trying to explain all that to Ross Dalgowan…

And after promising Carl she wouldn’t breath a word to a soul, how could she?

Turning her back on temptation, she shook her head. ‘Not really.’

Her companion seemed satisfied, but, far from happy, she felt the colour rise in her cheeks and hoped he would put it down to the heat of the fire.

CHAPTER TWO

ROSS helped them both to more whisky, then, taking Cathy by surprise, observed, ‘You have the most beautiful and fascinating eyes.’

With a self-deprecating smile, he added, ‘But I’m afraid I’m telling you something you already know.’

Cathy had often wished that her eyes were the same deep blue as Carl’s, and her voice was a little unsteady as she admitted, ‘I’ve always considered that they were no particular colour, just nondescript.’

‘Far from it. Not only are they a lovely shape, but they seem to change colour with the light, as opals do. A moment ago they looked blue, now they look green and gold, like an April day.’

She might have thought he was merely chatting her up, but he spoke quietly, thoughtfully, as if he meant exactly what he said.

Watching her blush deepen, he said contritely, ‘But now I’ve embarrassed you.’ Then, smoothly changing tack, he asked, ‘Are you London born and bred?’

‘No, both my brother and I were born in Kent. We only moved to London when my parents—my father was a doctor and my mother a physiotherapist—got posts at one of the London hospitals.’

‘I see. Are either you or your brother in the medical profession?’

‘My brother trained as a physiotherapist, and I had hoped to be a doctor.’

Reaching to put a couple of fresh logs on the fire, he probed, ‘Hoped to be?’

‘I left school just before I was eighteen, when both my parents were killed in a plane crash.’

‘You and your brother weren’t involved in the crash?’

She shook her head. ‘No. To celebrate twenty years together they decided to go on a second honeymoon.’ Though she did her best to speak dispassionately, even after almost seven years the sense of loss still showed.

‘Is your brother older than you?’

She shook her head. ‘No, a year younger.’

‘That must have been tough,’ he said simply, but his face held compassion, as if he understood.

‘It was for a while, but we managed.’

Seeing that talking about it made her sad, he let the subject drop, asking instead, ‘Have you been to the Cairngorms before?’

‘No, but I’ve always wanted to. I love mountains.’

‘It’s a beautiful area,’ he agreed, ‘but, apart from on the fringes, relatively isolated. There are no roads in the heartland, I’m pleased to say, so it’s best seen on foot, on horseback or on skis…’

For a while he talked about Scotland, and his low, pleasant voice, combined with the meal she had just eaten, the warmth and the unaccustomed whisky, made her feel sleepy and contented.

She was just stifling a yawn when he asked, ‘Getting tired? If you want me to leave so you can go to bed…?’

Feeling bereft at the thought of him going, she denied, ‘No, no…I’m not really tired. It’s just the warmth of the fire…’

‘Well, when you do want me to go, don’t hesitate to say so.’

While the logs sparked and crackled and the blizzard raged outside, they talked idly, casually. But beneath the surface an unspoken, yet much deeper kind of communication was taking place.

Eventually, with evident reluctance, Ross rose to his feet, and remarked, ‘You’ve still got a fairly long drive tomorrow, so I really must go and let you get some sleep…’

Since her divorce, hurt and bitterly disillusioned, Cathy had steered clear of men, freezing off any that had shown the slightest desire to get too intimate.

But now the thought of Ross Dalgowan leaving made her heart sink, and she faced the fact that, though she knew virtually nothing about him, she wanted him to stay.

Taking a deep breath, she said, ‘Oh, but I should feel guilty if you were uncomfortable when there’s more room here than I need.’

‘There’s absolutely no reason for you to feel guilty. Where I sleep really isn’t a problem. I’ve no objection to stretching out on one of the couches in the lounge.’

‘They’re much too short,’ she pointed out a shade breathlessly, ‘and you would have no privacy.’

Already he knew that this woman was different, special—not the kind he could lightly walk away from—and, remembering his decision to avoid emotional entanglements, he knew he should go. But very tempted to stay, to see what came of it, he hesitated.

Seeing that hesitation, she went on in a rush, ‘The bunk beds don’t look particularly inviting, but if you want stay in the suite—which you can do with pleasure—at least you’ll be able to shower and take off your clothes.’

‘The thought of not having to sleep in my clothes makes your offer practically irresistible,’ he told her with a grin.

‘Then stay.’

‘Well, if you’re sure?’

‘I’m sure.’ To leave no doubt in his mind, she added, ‘The bathroom’s yours when you want it.’

Shaking his head, he told her, ‘Ladies first.’

While Cathy found her toilet bag and night things, he resumed his seat by the fire.

When she had showered, wearing a plastic cap to keep her hair dry, she cleaned her teeth and put on her nightdress.

Looking in the mirror while she removed the pins from her thick coil of fair hair and brushed out the long silken mass, she saw that her cheeks were a little flushed and her eyes were bright, as though something wonderful had happened to her.

Warning herself that she mustn’t get carried away, she pulled on her robe, tied the belt and, picking up her pile of clothes, returned to the bedroom.

Just the sight of him made her heart leap.

He was sitting staring into the fire as though lost in thought, the ruddy glow turning his face into the mask of an Inca god.

Putting her clothes beside her bag, she took a deep breath and told him, ‘Your turn now.’

He rose, his glance running over her slender figure in the clinging ivory satin. She saw his grey eyes darken to charcoal, then saw the little lick of flame that had nothing to do with the firelight.

For a moment they gazed into each other’s eyes, before, turning on his heel abruptly, Ross made his way into the bathroom, and a moment or two later she heard the shower running.

Finding her knees were trembling, she sank down in the chair she had occupied previously, while her thoughts tumbled over one another in a joyous confusion as she went over the events of the evening spent with Ross.

Some kind of magic had taken place, as though they had both been caught in a spell. He felt it, too, she was certain.

Then, like a dark cloud, came the doubts. Perhaps she was wrong, mistaken. She had been mistaken about Neil, about his feelings. After that fiasco, could she—dared she—trust her own judgement?

But she was quite a few years older now, and much less naive. And Ross was nothing at all like Neil. Apart from the physical attraction she felt, there was so much about him that drew her—a warmth, a sensitivity, a quiet inner strength, a reliability.

She didn’t hear him return, but some sixth sense made her glance up to find he was standing only a few feet away quietly watching her.

He was freshly shaven, his corn-coloured hair was still slightly damp and trying to curl, and he was wearing one of the navy-blue towelling robes that had been hanging behind the bathroom door.

‘Are you sure you’re happy about a perfect stranger sharing your suite?’ he asked.

Looking up at him, she spoke the exact truth. ‘You don’t seem like a stranger. I know it sounds incredible, but I feel as if I’ve always known you.’

He took a step forward, and stooped to brush a strand of hair back from her cheek.

She caught her breath.

His hands closing lightly around her upper arms, he lifted her to her feet. Gazing down at her, he said softly, ‘Yes, I was sure you felt the same rapport, the same sense of closeness. It was there when I looked in your eyes.

‘But though I’m certain we have something special going for us, it’s early days yet, so if you want me to use one of bunk beds…?’

She didn’t. But, too shy to say so outright, she bent her head and mumbled, ‘What do you want?’

He lifted her chin and studied her face.

A couple of hours in her company had confirmed his first impression that she was the loveliest thing he’d ever seen.

There was no trace of hardness or worldliness about her; instead mingled with a faint aura of sadness was a certain innocence, a sweetness, a vulnerability that touched his heart.

His voice a little husky, he said, ‘You can’t possibly not know. I want to hold you, to kiss you, to feel your naked body against mine. I want to take you to bed and make love to you until we’re both up there with the stars, then I want to sleep with you in my arms.’

All her life she’d been cautious, inhibited, and after her disastrous relationship with Neil she’d felt frozen through and through, certain she’d never feel the warmth of true love, the pleasure of being held in caring arms.

Now, however, her inhibitions gone—driven away by the unaccustomed whisky, perhaps?—she longed to reach out and take the happiness that this man seemed to be offering.

But suppose she was frigid, as Neil had charged?

Ross had been watching her face, the changing expressions, and now, with a slight sigh, he released her arms and stepped back.

His voice level, he told her, ‘Don’t worry, I’ll take the couch…’

He was turning to walk away when she whispered, ‘Don’t go. Please, don’t go.’

‘I think I’d better.’ Wryly he added, ‘It might prove too much of a temptation if I slept on one of the bunks.’

‘But I don’t want you to sleep in the other room.’

‘Are you sure? A moment ago you looked seriously worried at the thought of me sharing your bed.’

‘No, no… It wasn’t that,’ she said. ‘But I…I don’t usually behave like this.’

‘I never thought you did. But, as I said, it’s early days yet, so if you’re not happy…’

‘I am happy,’ she assured him. ‘Please stay.’

With a little inarticulate murmur he rested his forehead against hers, melting her heart with the tenderness of the gesture, and bringing unexpected tears to her eyes.

As he lifted his head, twin teardrops escaped and trickled down her cheeks.

He kissed them away softly, before touching his lips to hers.

She was still trembling from the delight of that kiss when he drew her close and kissed her again.

Contact with his firm, muscular body turned her very bones to jelly, and she melted against him, her lips parting helplessly beneath the light, yet masterful pressure of his.

With a little murmur of satisfaction he deepened the kiss while he unfastened her robe and slipped it off her shoulders, letting it puddle at her feet.

As he kissed her, his hands moved over her seductively, tracing her slender hips and buttocks through the thin satin of her nightdress before moving up again to the soft curve of her breasts.

Feeling her body’s instinctive response, he cupped the weight of one breast in the palm of his hand and rubbed his thumb over the firming nipple.

He heard her soft gasp, and, slipping the satin straps from her shoulders, he sent the nightdress to join the robe at their feet. Then, taking one pink, velvety nipple in his mouth, he teased its fellow between his finger and thumb.

For a while, with a skill and delicacy that Neil had totally lacked, he pleasured her, before pulling back the covers and lifting her onto the bed.

He was standing looking down at her, admiring her flawless skin, the firm, beautifully shaped breasts, the enticing flare of her hips, and the long, slender legs, when she opened dazed eyes.

Smiling down at her, he discarded the towelling robe, switched off the bedside lamp, and, stretching out beside her, with hands and mouth he explored her body, finding every erogenous zone and producing the most exquisite sensations, the kind of singing pleasure she had never known before.

He whispered softly how beautiful she was, how desirable, how much her body delighted him, while he brought her to a fever pitch of wanting.

Just for an instant when he moved over her she felt a touch of panic. Suppose she couldn’t respond? Suppose he was disappointed?

But as though sensing her fear, he kissed her gently, reassuringly, and the panic died.

Then in the flickering firelight, while the blizzard beat at the window panes with frozen fingers, he made love to her, tenderly, passionately, so that she was caught up and carried along by the wonder of it.

Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined love could be like this, and after a climax of such intensity that she thought she might die, she slowly drifted back to earth to lie in a blissful haze.

After a while, her breathing and heart-rate returned to something approaching normal, and she became aware that his fair head was pillowed on her breast.

She lay quietly, savouring the pleasure of it, until he stirred and lifted himself away.

At this point Neil had invariably turned his back, leaving her cold and unsatisfied, with a leaden feeling of depression, of failure, as though the fault was hers.

And though this time she was warm and satisfied, the remembrance of that failure was descending like a fog when Ross leaned over her and, taking his weight on his elbows, kissed her mouth deeply, tenderly.

Then, his lips wandering over her face and throat, punctuating the words with soft, baby kisses, he told her how infinitely desirable she was, how warm and responsive, and how much he had enjoyed making love to her.

His words and his kisses dispersed the miasma as sunlight dispersed mist, and, her heart light, her spirits rising, for the first time in her adult life she felt happy, fulfilled, like a real woman.

He turned on his back, and, as though he didn’t want to lose contact, he gathered her to him and, his body half supporting hers, settled her head on the comfortable juncture between chest and shoulder.

She lay contentedly, enjoying the strong beat of his heart beneath her cheek, the feel of his skin against hers, the clean male smell of him and the scent of his aftershave.

Never in her wildest imaginings could she have visualized all her dreams coming true like this. To have an unspoken longing, a tenuous hope, a hidden desire become wonderful reality so fast seemed almost unbelievable.

He was everything she had ever wanted in a man, and she thanked fate for the snowfall that had brought him into her life.

Though she wanted to stay awake for a while to savour the magic of it all, in the blink of an eye she was asleep—deeply, dreamlessly.

Some time during the night Ross awakened her with a kiss and a soft caress, and they made love again.

For Cathy it was a rocket trip to the stars, and when it was over she lay in his arms, blissfully happy, and once more thanked fate for bringing him into her life.

Her last thought before sleep claimed her once more was that now their instant and mutual attraction had become so serious so quickly, over breakfast she must explain about Carl and the deception she’d agreed to.

She could always ask him to keep it to himself until Carl had managed to prove his worth and was able to tell his employers the truth…

In the early hours of the morning she started to dream. She was lying contentedly in bed in the arms of her lover, while they made wonderful plans for their future together.

Then in her dream she heard the urgent shrill of a phone, and, summoned away, her lover left her side.

Cold and bereft, she wept soundlessly, heartbroken, until he returned and she felt the brush of his lips as he kissed her softly.

But it was a goodbye kiss.

She put her arms around his neck and tried to keep him, to make him stay, but as though she was embracing a wraith he slipped from her grasp and walked away, and in the way that dreamers do she knew he was gone for ever.

Still, she searched for him everywhere, through strange, empty rooms and on every busy street, scanning faces as they went past, and in despair stopping anyone who looked remotely like him.

Then she saw him walking just ahead of her and, filled with joy, she ran after him and caught his arm. But when he turned to face her it was Neil and, his eyes cold and uncaring, he pulled his arm free and pushed her roughly away.

Though the disturbing dreams went on, they grew vague, hazy, until eventually she fell into a more settled slumber.