The Boss's Convenient Bride

She didn’t like that Sophie had hidden the truth from Tom—any more than she liked that her sister had dumped almost all of the financial responsibility for this onto Claire. But it was too late now. They were in too deep. There was no going back.

‘If you declined my marriage offer, you’d go back to the clerical pool earlier than planned.’ Nicholas’s words brought her train of thought to an abrupt halt. ‘After today’s discussion, I would prefer to go onward working with someone less aware, shall we say, of my personal aspirations.’

He delivered this verdict on her fate without a blink, even though he had just issued her with a devastating and thoroughly untenable ultimatum. His shoulders tensed beneath the suit. ‘Not that I expect a negative outcome.’

What was she supposed to do now?

You’ll be able to fix it, Claire. You always know what to do. Sophie’s words rose to haunt her.

I love my sister, and I will protect her, and one day she’ll realise how much I care about her and love me back. She loves me even now. She just isn’t very good at showing it, that’s all.

Claire would figure a way out of this—because Nicholas couldn’t send her back to the clerical pool yet, and that was all there was to it. ‘Why demote me if I say no? It would result in a massive pay-cut for me. That doesn’t seem fair.’

Now that she had her feelings under a bit more control, it frustrated her that she was trying to be noble, not to have a mercenary bone in her body. And here was Nicholas, threatening to take her nice fat paycheque away from her unless she married him.

As administrative assistant to the boss she received five times her normal salary, and she needed every cent.

‘Janice isn’t due to return for ages yet.’

‘I’m aware of that.’ His reserved tone matched the cool green flecks in his eyes. The jut of his jaw sent warning signals blasting over her. ‘Just as you’re aware that this position has never been guaranteed. You could have found yourself back in the clerical pool at any time, for any number of reasons. Or for no reason, if I happened to decide I wanted to make a change.’ He sat forward in his chair with a jerk. ‘Let’s get to the point. What’s your answer?’

Did she have a choice? It would be madness to accept him. Yet how could she say no? She had to have that extra money.

‘What you’ve outlined,’ she ventured, knowing it was a last-ditch effort to stave off the inevitable but unable to stop herself anyway, ‘doesn’t sound a very cosy sort of relationship.’

Heat sparked into his eyes for just a moment, in a wave of scalding intensity. ‘Oh, I think you’d find we’d be perfectly cosy.’

The sheer sensual power of his statement stole her breath. She reacted to him with a responding wave of sexual heat. She might have disabled her emotions, but her hormones were a little more difficult to subdue, apparently.

‘I never realised you—’ She broke off, and this time her sense of panic was even greater.

Things were spiralling out of control. She felt as though she had accidentally climbed onto a roller-coaster on top of a high building—wind blasting her, everything whirling around, nothing firm beneath her searching feet.

‘You weren’t meant to realise.’ He laid his hands on the mahogany desk. Large, well-formed hands, that had never touched her beyond the brushing of fingers to give or receive a file, or to pass a telephone.

Hands that, if she married him, would travel her body in all the ways she had imagined and more. But in lust, just lust, she reminded herself.

‘Until I made the decision to marry you,’ he said, ‘it would have been a mistake to let you see that.’

‘I understand. I guess that’s—ah—a level-headed outlook to take at this point.’ She barely knew what she was saying, but she would need to be level-headed if she hoped to find a way through this situation that wouldn’t end in disaster.

That meant she had to overcome her panic. To get her heart to stop thundering and her senses to untangle from the swirling uproar they’d got themselves into. ‘You’ve taken me by surprise with all of this.’

Unable to endure looking into that magnetising face a moment longer, she rose from the chair and moved to the bank of floor-to-ceiling glass that overlooked the bay. The seas of Sydney Harbour outside appeared calm, virtually unruffled.

In contrast, Claire was a churning cauldron of panic and stress and disillusionment. ‘Do you really never want love? A melding of hearts as well as minds?’ She kept her back turned, addressing the words to his shadowy reflection in the glass. Surely some small part of him longed for those things? ‘Don’t you believe that can happen sometimes? To some people at least?’

‘No. Love—the kind you’re referring to—is nothing more than an illusion.’

His words were clipped and she continued to stare through the glass of the high-rise suite, oblivious now to the harbour activity below.

‘People want to believe in some fairytale ideal, to believe that some transitory feeling can actually keep their marriages together.’ His tone harshened. ‘In truth, marriages survive or not, depending on the level of determination of the partners to make a go of it—and on their suitability in the first place.’

‘How sad.’ She spoke the words beneath her breath, and then turned to face him. To search for the reason he held such an unrelenting, rejecting view on the subject. ‘Your parents are divorced, aren’t they? Is that why—?’

‘Don’t think I had a disastrous childhood, Claire. I didn’t.’ He inclined his head, all sign of emotion carefully locked away once more behind the corporate mask. ‘Yes, my parents are proof that what I say is true, but I would have formed that conclusion anyway. Given the divorce statistics, it’s the only logical thing to believe.’

‘And logic is everything?’ Had he wrapped himself so deeply in reasoning that he could no longer see the emotional side of life? She didn’t want to believe it. There had to be a live, feeling man in there somewhere.

Just waiting to be rescued with the warmth of a woman’s love? With the warmth of her love? She would have to be crazy even to try it. Doubly crazy to try it in her current circumstances.

‘That’s right.’ Unaware of her thoughts, he gave her an approving glance. ‘Compatibility is what counts. If two people can work together for the same goals, that makes them a really strong team. We’ll have that, Claire, and we’ll be happy. I’m certain of it.’

‘Happy.’ But love could happen. He was wrong about that. Not that it made any difference to her now. She searched the aristocratic face, with its winged brows and firm, straight nose, and forced herself to accept the dictates of fate—and her situation.

They would never reach marriage, she would make certain of that, but she would have to agree to the idea for now. She drew a deep breath and willed her voice not to quiver.

‘I accept your proposal.’

CHAPTER TWO

THE grooves beside Nicholas’s mouth deepened, curved into something more than sternness but less than a smile. ‘Thank you, Claire. You’ve made me a happy man.’

A certain stiffness eased out of his posture. He had probably been poised to banish her back to the clerical pool post-haste if she said no to his preposterous marriage proposal!

‘You might end up sorry you ever asked.’

In fact, I’m quite sure of it. Although I doubt you’ll be half as sorry as I am right at this moment.

She glanced at the calendar on the wall. Today was Thursday. On a Thursday three months ahead exactly, Sophie would finally be out of the clutches of her ex-boss. The day and date for that final payment were stamped indelibly on Claire’s consciousness.

She recalled another significant Thursday from a history lesson long since gone. The Wall Street Crash of 1929 had occurred on a Thursday, and it had eventually led to the Great Depression.

At this point the comparison seemed apt.

Well, the words had been spoken now. They couldn’t be taken back. But she could and would take control of what happened next. Of everything that happened from here on. She had to if she didn’t want to go mad.

‘As I said, I accept your proposal, but I do have conditions.’

‘Do you?’ One brow rose in haughty enquiry. ‘Spit them out. I’m all ears.’

All ears and aggressive waiting. She couldn’t let him intimidate her.

‘What I would like to suggest is a six-month engagement period.’ Her glance was direct, determined. Calm, she hoped. ‘We may have worked together for a while, but I couldn’t go ahead with such a major step as marriage without getting to know you a whole lot better than I do now.’

In a written contract she would have referred to this as the escape clause. The six-month period would allow plenty of time for her to make the final payment to Sophie’s blackmailer, break off the engagement, and walk away. Nicholas would have to accept it. Would have to accept that she had left room for doubt right from the start.

I’m sorry, Nicholas, but on reflection I’ve decided I can’t marry you after all. We just wouldn’t suit, you see, because I’m a romantic and you’re—well, you’re not.

There would be no position for her then, even in the clerical pool. Indeed, it would be unbearable to stay on. She would leave Monroe’s, and Nicholas, for ever. It was a price she would have to pay.

‘Unless you had planned to wait longer than that to marry, anyway?’

‘No.’ The uncompromising word suited the man who had uttered it. ‘I see no point in prevaricating once my mind is made up. In fact, I’d prefer to make the period of engagement three months.’

He stood from his chair, the sleek lines of his body hard beneath the tailored grey suit.

In moments he was at her side. His broad shoulders loomed over her lighter frame, crowding her, making her aware of him all over again. Of his strength, his scent, and the aura of power that surged through every square inch of him, calling to every part of her.

‘That’s more than enough time for you to get to know me in any way you feel is lacking at this stage. I see no need for us to wait longer.’

Claire fought the pull of attraction that urged her to forget reason, to break out of her caution and give him whatever he wanted. With interest.

‘Five months would be better.’

She gave him the benefit of a determined look down the length of her nose. Not an easy feat when she had to look up at him to do it. When she wanted to melt into a puddle at his feet and agree to anything he suggested, and then some.

His irritation showed in the deepening furrow between the sharp, piercing eyes. ‘Four months.’

Claire ran mental calculations. If everything went okay she should be able to manage it. Provided they didn’t go into extravagant plans that could get too complicated too soon. ‘All right. I’m willing to accept that. Four months it is.’

All she needed now was a little time to pull herself together. To get control of the maddening awareness that arced and jolted through her, that insisted she get closer, despite how stupid that would be. To stop her foolish emotions from trying to do cartwheels of excitement because Nicholas had asked her to marry him. She could rest assured that his emotions hadn’t been anywhere near the building at the time.

He smiled. The cat that had got the cream. ‘We’ll marry on the first Saturday after those four months are up. So you’re even gaining a couple of days on top of your bargain. You should be pleased. You negotiate well.’

‘When I’m falling in with your terms.’ It felt more like a sentence than an agreement. She couldn’t share his pleasure.

‘Something like that,’ he agreed.

From here, she could reach out and touch his jaw if she wanted. Could trace the tanned skin that even this early in the day carried a hint of dark beard stubble. Could ruffle his thick black hair. The knowledge that she did want to do all of those things didn’t help her state of mind.

‘What of your other conditions?’ For a moment heat had darkened his eyes again, but it was masked now. He glanced at the view, then turned back to her. ‘You’ll be well provided for should I drop dead early, if that’s the kind of thing you’re wondering about.’

‘It’s not.’ She drew a steadying breath. This was the tricky part. ‘I’d like to keep our engagement secret, then marry quietly when the four months is up.’

‘Why?’ The warmth melted away as though it had never been.

Because that way there’ll be no fuss when I call it all off.

‘I don’t like fanfare, and my sister…’ In this instance Sophie would prove conveniently useful. ‘Sophie’s out of the country. She and Tom are taking an extended vacation in Europe. After that they plan to visit some of our neighbouring countries, to drum up good feeling for Australia.’

‘Along with good feeling for Senator Tom Cranshaw.’ Nicholas knew of her brother-in-law’s political aspirations. His bland comment was a statement of fact, nothing more. ‘What do they have to do with keeping things secret until our marriage?’

‘My sister is all I have in the way of family. I want to tell her about this face to face.’ I’ll never breathe a word of it to her at all, and I’m sorry for letting you believe otherwise, but I have no choice. ‘It would upset me if she read it in the newspapers, or heard it some other impersonal way.’

‘Why not simply phone her?’ His stark tone left no room for argument. ‘Give her the news, and we can get on with our plans without worrying about secrecy.’

‘Not good enough.’ She injected an equal measure of determination into her answer. ‘It has to be face to face. That’s it.’

After what seemed interminable minutes, but was probably only seconds, he spoke. ‘How long will she be gone?’

‘As of today?’ The section of Claire’s brain labelled Calendar materialised on the insides of her eyelids. ‘Three and a half months.’ Two weeks after the final blackmail payment had to be made. Given Claire’s predicament, the time-frame was convenient. ‘I want my sister at my wedding. I don’t want to marry until after she gets back, and I’m determined to tell her my news in person.’

‘All right. We keep things quiet. But the moment your sister returns to Australia you tell her, and we go ahead with our small, discreet wedding on the date we’ve agreed.’ He didn’t seem particularly pleased, but nor did he seem aggravated beyond measure. ‘In the end it makes little difference how we go about it, I suppose, as long as the marriage goes ahead.’

‘Good. Thank you.’ Claire let out a single, shuddering breath. She was a long way from being out of the woods, but she could handle this. Once her nerves stopped jumping and the panic subsided and she could use her lungs properly again….

It was doable. Wasn’t it?

‘We’ll sign the Notice of Intended Marriage and other necessary papers today.’ Nicholas gestured for Claire to return to the desk.

Maybe if she were seated again he would be able to ignore the way the navy skirt and soft cream blouse clung lovingly to every curve and indent of her shapely figure. Then again—his gaze skimmed over her once more—maybe not.

The sooner he had this matter signed and sealed, the better. He didn’t like loose ends, and wanting Claire Dalgliesh had definitely turned into a loose end since he had decided he would like her as his marriage partner. At times it was all he could do to banish thoughts of her from his mind.

‘You really were sure of me, weren’t you?’ Her husky voice slid through his senses, causing a tightening in his gut, a tautening of muscles as his body reacted to that unconscious sexiness.

From the top of her deep gold hair to the toes of her slender, tanned feet she exuded her own brand of sensual appeal—the more effective because it appeared to be completely unconscious. Her brown eyes held untapped secrets that called a challenge to him.

He wanted to see her in the heat of passion, to see what those rich orbs would reflect then. Desire? Lust? The thought of her nails raking his back, of her moaning his name slid through his mind, and he drew a sharp, controlling breath.

‘Sure of you?’ Maybe. ‘What I’m sure of, Claire, is that this is right.’

Something deep down told him that. He convinced himself it was the same instinct that had made him a success and kept him that way in business.

Claire slid into the seat across the desk from him, crossed her long legs, and reached for the documents. Her hands were shaking, he noted. ‘Don’t we need a marriage celebrant or a justice of the peace present for something like this?’

‘We do.’ He pressed a button on his phone system. ‘Would you send the Reverend up, please?’

‘You already had him here? How long…’ She cleared her throat as she flicked through the prepared sheets. ‘How long does it take to give notice that you plan to marry?’

‘A month and a day.’ He had investigated this marriage idea from all angles before he approached her. Could tell her anything she wanted to know about it. He couldn’t explain his sense of eager expectation, though, other than to put it down to the kind of feeling he got when he was approaching the closure of a particularly important deal. ‘If I had to I could get it back to a week, or even a day.’

Claire looked first shocked, then nervous. ‘Oh.’

Nicholas spotted movement beyond the door, and rose swiftly to usher the middle-aged cleric into the room. ‘Thank you for waiting, Reverend. We’re set to go ahead now.’

He introduced the man, then indicated the top form in front of Claire. ‘Can you type your details straight in, Claire? We’ll take care of the rest in a moment.’

‘Yes, of course.’

It was a short time only before she returned to them.

Once the details were covered, and a time agreed for the ceremony, the Reverend stood to take his leave. Nicholas wasn’t interested in bandying pleasantries now that their business was over, and the man seemed to sense that.

‘If you have any questions, or would like to discuss anything further,’ the Reverend said, ‘I’m more than willing to make myself available. Otherwise, please contact me when you’re ready to talk about the style of marriage service, and so on.’

After the Reverend had left, Claire turned to Nicholas. Her smile seemed forced. ‘What church is he from? I would have thought most places would be booked up at least a year in advance.’

He named the denomination, and shrugged. ‘I give financial support to the charitable arm of that particular organisation. I didn’t ask about their booking schedule, but obviously our request wasn’t a problem for him. I’ve booked the church, however, if you don’t want to marry there, we can move it to a court house.’

The thought of marrying her in that clinical environment bothered him. He shook the feeling off. Of course it made no difference.

‘Oh, no. The church is fine. I have…no objection to traditional weddings.’ She glanced at her desk. ‘Was there anything else before I get back to work?’

‘Lunch with the Forresters at one p.m. And buzz through to John Greaves and tell him I want his progress report on the Campbell job right away.’ A sense of relief crept through him. ‘Choose a nice place for lunch with the Forresters,’ he added. ‘Then phone the wife to line it up. They’ll be en route somewhere up the coast at this moment, in their yacht, but you have her cellphone number on file. If they’re running late, we’ll do dinner tonight instead.’

‘I’ll get right on it.’ She turned to leave, giving him a glorious view of the stretch of her skirt across the trim expanse of her buttocks as she moved.

‘Oh, and Claire?’

‘Yes?’

‘I’ll want you with me. So organise a temp from downstairs to cover in your absence, and to help with any catching up later.’

He smiled—pleased with her, pleased with his plans. Pleased that from now on Claire would be spending a great deal more of her time in his company. It would be…fun. He frowned a little, then gave himself a mental shake.

‘In fact, put someone on standby to help out whenever we want for the rest of the week. I may decide to take you out with me at other times as well.’

She inclined her head. ‘As you wish.’

He paced towards her. For a moment, awareness and anticipation were revealed clearly on her face. She expected him to kiss her, and her gaze softened, igniting a responding something in him.

Nicholas pushed the reaction down. Did she want him to seal their marriage agreement in the traditional way? In the way romantics dreamed of? He wouldn’t do that. He would kiss Claire when he chose, for his own reasons. But he knew it would be soon. Very soon. He stopped abruptly, several steps away.

‘Don’t you want to ask me about the future of your position with the firm? You seemed very interested in it earlier.’

Her gaze flew to his and locked there. ‘I don’t want to give up this job.’ For a moment she looked panicked, but then she stuck her chin out in clear challenge. ‘Despite my eminent replaceability, which you’ve made more than clear, I happen to like my role as your assistant. I even believe I do it rather well.’

She was good at her job. She’d been very efficient, these past months, while Janice recovered from her car accident that had almost killed her. Had he threatened Claire with a return to the clerical pool simply to make her agree to marry him? He didn’t want to think he could be that calculating, but was there a tiny possibility?

No. Only desperate people behaved that way, and Nicholas Monroe didn’t get desperate. He hadn’t done so when his middle-aged assistant had almost up and died on him, and he certainly wasn’t desperate about Claire, either. She suited his purposes, that was all. He thrust the thoughts from him.

‘Then you stay on.’ At least until they married. For one thing, he wanted her where he could see her, touch her, whenever and however he pleased. She would have to get used to that, to accepting his acts of possession. ‘I think that will work very well.’

‘I…uh…’ She cleared her throat. ‘Okay.’

He let his gaze wander blatantly over her, his desire a blaze that heated his skin, that made him prickle and itch beneath the conservative constraints of the suit. Sex and companionship. That was what they would share.

It would be a good marriage. A smart one. Between two well-suited people. ‘We’ve discussed this enough for now. Let me know if there are any problems arranging our lunch with the Forresters.’

‘I will.’ She gave a cool nod and tucked a stray wisp of hair behind her left ear, but a pulse beat sharp and strong at the base of her throat.

She wanted him as much as he wanted her, and the thought pleased him. Immensely. This was what it was all about. ‘Thank you, Claire. That’s all for now.’

‘Okay.’ A cautious smile touched her full lips. Her mouth was unconventionally wide, her nose slightly too strong to meet the stereotype of typical femininity. He rather liked both aspects. He also liked it when she smiled for him.

Smile, pant, gasp. He wanted it all—and why not? She would soon be his wife.

Nicholas allowed himself a second satisfied smile, careful to turn his back first, so she didn’t see it. Then he turned his mind back to business. Because Monroe’s was, after all, about business.

Marriage proposals aside, work was what made Nicholas Monroe tick.

CHAPTER THREE

AFTER her boss’s shock proposal, Claire had wanted time to think, but she didn’t get it. Theirs was a busy office, and it felt like only minutes before they were on their way to meet Nicholas’s clients. They were discussing the Forresters now.

‘Jack is dangling a carrot for us, that’s all.’ Nicholas manoeuvred his silver Porsche effortlessly through the traffic. ‘If we win him over, Monroe’s gets the chance to install and maintain security systems in more than a dozen marinas up and down the New South Wales and Queensland coasts. He owns a hell of a lot more property than that, too. Hotels, motels, restaurants. You name it. He also holds a lot of sway in the business community. A recommendation from him would go a long way. If we got security on all his properties, we’d be talking serious money at that point.’