A Daring Proposition

Once the kettle was on the boil for a much needed cup of coffee she went into the adjoining washroom to make repairs to her face and hair.

The reflection that confronted Samantha would not have won cover-girl of the year. But neither would it have got the wooden spoon award for looks. She had good skin and a balanced bone-structure, clear hazel eyes, a straight nose, well-shaped lips and an elegant neck, shown to perfection by the way she always wore her hair up.

Samantha was well aware that she could probably cut a more striking appearance if she let her long, wavy brown hair flow out over her shoulders, if she replaced her light natural make-up with a more dramatic look, then dolled herself up in figure-hugging feminine frippery, rather than the tailored suits and blouses she chose to wear. Even when going out at night she didn’t wear sexy evening gear, opting for trousers—usually black—and silk shirts in neutral colours. But she was comfortable the way she was, and felt foolish and self-conscious whenever she tried a different look.

A sardonic smile crossed her lips as she tried to picture how Guy would react if she came into the office wearing a flashily styled, brightly coloured dress.

Her heart turned over at the thought that he might not notice a single thing.

The sound of a door opening and shutting made her jump. Surely it couldn’t be Guy this early?

She hurried from the washroom and gawped at the sight of her boss leaning against the kitchenette doorway and looking not at all well. Shocked eyes ran over his dishevelled appearance. He hadn’t shaved; no comb had touched his hair. And his charcoal-grey suit looked as if he’d slept in it.

‘My God, Guy, what’s happened to you?’ she blurted out.

CHAPTER TWO

GUY remained grimly silent, levering himself away from the door-jamb and scooping a packet of cigarettes out of his jacket pocket. Samantha stared in amazement. Surely he wasn’t going to smoke, was he? He certainly wouldn’t if his date with sexy Debra had reached its logical conclusion. In bed.

Samantha watched with heartbeat suspended as he extracted the last cigarette from the gold box and shoved it in his mouth. He tossed the empty container in the direction of the waste-paper basket in the corner. It fell in, a perfect goal.

Her heart started thudding as he fished his lighter out of his trouser pocket, flicked it to flame and lit the cigarette, snapping the lighter shut afterwards and drawing in deeply.

Her relief was so gut-wrenching that she felt like crying. Oh, God! What had she come to with this man?

‘Dad’s in hospital,’ he said abruptly. ‘Heart attack. He’s in Intensive Care.’

Samantha’s heart twisted with dismay and guilt. There she’d been, consumed with Guy’s sex life, and he had spent the night worrying at his father’s possible deathbed.

‘Oh, how awful for you,’ she cried. She knew how close he and his father were. Mr Haywood senior was always popping in to the office for a chat with his son, and Guy often went fishing with him at weekends. He would be devastated if his dad died. He already looked devastated.

Samantha wanted to hug him, hold him, comfort him. But how could she? All she could do was try to say the right things. ‘I hope he’ll be all right,’ she added gently. ‘What hospital is he in?’

‘St Vincent’s.’

‘Well, that’s the best place he could be,’ she soothed. ‘What do the doctors say? What are his chances?’

Guy heaved a weary sigh. Smoke curled around his head. ‘They’re reservedly hopeful. Apparently if you survive the first few hours after the initial attack you have a good chance of a complete recovery. At least, that’s the theory,’ he added with a caustic edge to his voice. ‘He looks like death warmed up.’

‘You don’t look much better.’ Samantha walked over to the small kitchen counter next to the sink and turned off the boiling kettle. ‘Let me get you some coffee.’

He flashed her a grateful glance. ‘Thanks. It’s been a long night. It was after midnight when the call came from the hospital. Debra and I had just got back to my place after the show. We raced straight to the hospital. I’ve been there ever since. The doctor finally insisted I go home, but I didn’t want to go back to an empty house.’

‘Empty?’ She looked up from where she was spooning instant coffee into two brown stoneware mugs. ‘Why is it empty?’

A couple of years ago Guy had sold his terraced house in Paddington and bought a harbour-side mansion, more suited to entertaining on a large scale. At the same time he had hired a childless couple to live in to be cook-housekeeper and handyman-gardener. In their fifties, Leon and Barbara Parker were devoted to both their generous employer and his beautiful home. ‘Where are Barbara and Leon?’

‘Gone interstate for a nephew’s wedding.’ A scowl crossed his handsomely ravaged face. ‘The bane of the human race, weddings! Look what happened to this office when you went to one. Not only do they put people out by having to go to them, but in a couple of years it’s all down the drain anyway when the besotted fools become unbesotted and get divorced!’

Samantha shook her head. She could never agree with Guy’s cynical attitude to marriage. The divorce rate in Australia wasn’t that bad. OK, so his father had married and divorced three times over the past twenty-five years, but his first marriage—to Guy’s mother—had not ended that way. Guy had told her that the first Mrs Haywood had died of kidney failure when he was ten years old.

‘Not all marriages end in divorce,’ she pointed out sensibly. ‘And not all people marry just for sex.’

‘Most men do,’ he scorned. ‘And what happens? Six to eighteen months later the passion dies, and so does the marriage. If they stay together longer than that it’s probably only for the sake of the children. Believe me, I know.’

It crossed her mind that his father and mother might not have been too happy in their marriage. Not that she thought this an excuse for Guy’s cynicism. Nor for the callous way he treated the women in his life. Two wrongs did not make a right, she always believed. But it did make her understand him better.

‘Some men might marry just for sex,’ she argued calmly. ‘But some men don’t. Look, this is hardly the time for a deep and meaningful discussion on marriage. You’re dead on your feet. Why don’t you have a nap on the chesterfield in your office?’ she suggested as she added the boiling water to the coffee. ‘I’ve a pillow and blanket in the bottom of the old filing cabinet here.’

His laugh was dry. ‘What don’t you have in the bottom of that thing?’

‘Never you mind,’ she chided. ‘It’s my personal emergency store.’

‘Well, this is certainly an emergency.’ He scooped up his coffee, which he took black and unsweetened, and turned to leave. ‘Drag them out and bring them in in ten minutes, will you? I’ve got a few phone calls to make first.’

He began to walk away, then turned and gave her a look that was dangerously close to admiration. Samantha felt it jolt her all the way down to her toes.

‘I’ll bet the smell of hospitals doesn’t make you feel like fainting,’ he said.

She frowned. ‘No. Why?’

‘Darling Debra couldn’t stay with me at St Vincent’s for more than five minutes. Said she was going to pass out.’ His tone was definitely derisive. ‘Truly, Sam, some women are really pathetic when it comes to the realities of life. Thank God my secretary isn’t one of them!’

He smiled at her then, an exhausted but wickedly sexy smile. ‘Though she could do with some straightening out on the motives of the male race. Perhaps when I feel more on top of things I’ll give you the benefit of my wisdom and experience and save you future heartache. Tell you all you should know about us bad boys.’

Suddenly a black cloud passed over his face. ‘Oh, I forgot. You’re leaving...’

She swallowed. ‘Not for two months.’ Did her voice sound funny to him? It did to her. God, why did he have to smile at her like that, and why did it have to reduce her insides to jelly?

His eyes narrowed in black puzzlement. ‘I thought you’d change your mind, you know. I was sure you would.’

‘My resignation stands,’ she reaffirmed, a little too fiercely.

His face turned stubborn, his strong jaw squaring. ‘We’ll see about that, Samantha Peters. We’ll see!’ And he stalked off into his own office, leaving her feeling both annoyed and unnerved.

If he thinks he can talk me out of leaving he’s sorely mistaken, she thought irritably. He doesn’t really care about me personally. All he cares about is having his own way, having his damned ship run like clockwork.

It worried her momentarily that on the whole he tended to get his way in most things.

Well, not this time, she decided. Definitely not!

Ten minutes later she steeled her agitated nerves and took the pillow and blanket in, finding Guy still on the phone.

‘Yes, I’m sorry too, Debra,’ he was saying in a distinctly bored voice.

Samantha’s spirits soared, despite everything. Clearly dear Debra’s desertion in the line of fire last night had not been a big hit. Once a person blotted their copybook with Guy, that was usually the end of them. A typical Scorpio, he was not at his best when it came to forgiving and forgetting.

‘No, I can’t see any night of mine free for quite a while,’ he said brusquely. ‘I’ll be visiting Dad in the hospital each evening and I’ve got a hitch or two at work...’ This with a baleful glare at Samantha. She returned it with a sanguine smile.

‘What was that? Oh...well, the doctor was quite pleased with him when I rang just now. He’s conscious and they’re going to do some test or other on him this morning to see what the main trouble is... Yes, I’ll give you a call some time. As far as that other matter is concerned, I don’t think there’s any point in your changing managers at this stage. Alex is looking after you quite well from what I can see and, to be frank, I’m not taking any more clients at the moment... Yes, you do that. Bye.’

By the time the receiver was placed in its cradle Samantha could see that Debra had already been forgotten. C’est la vie, she thought, not without a certain malicious pleasure. She herself might be making an exit from Guy’s life but it didn’t stop her feeling female satisfaction over another woman’s failure.

The object of all these thoughts reached for another cigarette and lit up. There were already several butts in the ashtray beside him, and Samantha felt compelled to speak up.

‘Your father was a smoker,’ she warned carefully. ‘I’m sure you already know smoking is one of the major factors contributing to heart trouble.’

He leant back in the chair and dragged deeply. Icy blue eyes lanced her face. ‘The one thing I don’t need from women,’ he said coldly, ‘is mothering.’

Another day she would have ignored his rudeness. But not today. ‘Good,’ she retorted, and dumped the pillow and blanket on the leather sofa. ‘Make up your own bed, then!’

She was about to add that in future he could make his own damned coffee too, but, in truth, he often made his own, never having been one of those bosses who got his secretary to do personal tasks. He looked after himself very well.

‘For pity’s sake, Sam, don’t go getting touchy on me,’ he snapped, jerking forward in the chair. ‘I’m not in the mood.’ But he did stub out the cigarette. ‘Besides, why should you care what I do? In sixty days you won’t have to watch me commit slow suicide any more.’

He rose from behind the desk and began walking around towards where she was standing near the sofa. It crossed her mind that he had no right to look so disgustingly attractive when he was such a mess.

‘You know what, Sam?’ he said as he drew near. ‘I don’t think you’ll go through with it in the end. I don’t think you’ll be able to actually leave when it comes to the crunch.’

‘Really?’ She folded her arms in a defensive gesture. ‘And what makes you think that?’ For all her outward composure, inside she felt rattled. There was still a small part of her that agreed with him.

‘Because, my dear Sam...’ he stopped barely an arm’s length from her, giving her the full blast of his most confident face ‘...I saw the way you looked when we were going through the files yesterday, and later, when we were discussing plans for that tour. This job is the staff of your life. It’s your bread and butter. Your soul. Now don’t deny it. You’ve been with me since shortly after the start. You’re as much an integral part of Haywood Promotions as I am. We’re a team, you and I. An inseparable team!’

Those beautiful blue eyes bored into hers and she wanted to run as fast as she could, away from his intuition, away from his knowledge, away from him!

‘What would you say,’ he asked in his most persuasive voice, ‘if I offered you something very different from being just my secretary?’

Her heart jumped into her throat and stopped there. Good God! Surely he couldn’t possibly mean what she hoped he meant?

‘Such as what?’ she managed to get out.

‘Such as a minor partnership, a share in the company.’

Samantha’s heart dropped back into place. Oh, what an idiot she was to even dream for a minute that he could mean anything else. Where were her brains?

I’ll tell you where, a cruel voice lambasted. In your stupid damned female hormones, that’s where! Once this man gets within three feet of you, off goes your head and on goes a pumpkin!

‘I...’ She cleared her throat and tried again. ‘I’d still have to say no.’

‘Have to?’ he repeated, taken aback. He stared at her for several seconds, but she volunteered no further information. Finally he shook his head in exasperation. ‘Something’s going on here that I don’t quite understand.’

Making a disgruntled sound, he turned away and stripped off his crumpled jacket, throwing it over the back of a chair. The tie followed. In seconds the buttons were released on his cuffs and he was starting to flip open the ones on his shirt front.

Samantha was glued to the spot, her heartbeat taking up the tango as more and more bare male chest was revealed. First there was just a V of tanned flesh, but then there was a sprinkling of dark curly hair and the light and shade of various muscles, honed to perfection by the many hours he spent in the gym. As the last button gave way she forced herself to turn and walk towards the door.

‘But never you fear,’ he called after her. ‘I’ll work it out. In the end I’ll know just why you’re leaving me. And it’s got nothing to do with needing a break or... Good God!’

She spun round at his shocked tone, only to find herself staring not at his startled expression, but at his completely naked torso. Desperately she lifted her eyes up to his, but the damage had been done, and her peripheral vision was still taking in far too much taut male flesh.

She was panic-stricken at the directions her mind kept taking. Surely her thoughts and feelings must be showing in her face, her eyes?

‘You’re not pregnant, are you?’ he accused.

She was wildly tempted to laugh in his face. Instead she put her energies into trying to get a hold of her thoughts. The exercise was not entirely successful.

‘No, Guy,’ she said stiffly. ‘I’m not pregnant.’

He looked relieved, then annoyed with himself. ‘No. Stupid of me. You wouldn’t be. Not you. Sorry.’ He yawned, spreading out the blanket with a flick of his wrists. ‘I guess I’m not thinking straight this morning. I’ll talk to you about it again tomorrow, make you see reason.’

‘Tomorrow’s Saturday,’ she pointed out curtly.

‘Oh...so it is.’ He crawled in under the blanket and laid down his head with a sigh. ‘Monday, then. Wake me around two, will you, Sam, like a good girl?’

She woke him at one because a call had come through from the hospital that his father’s tests had shown massive blockages of the arteries. The doctor needed immediate permission for a triple bypass. Without it, the chance of a second fatal attack was inevitable and imminent.

Samantha offered to accompany Guy to the hospital but he insisted she stay and hold the fort at the office. In truth, she was glad about this decision, for it gave her the opportunity to regather her defences where he was concerned.

Truly, she was getting worse! Never before had her love for him deteriorated into being so openly lustful. Of course, she had fantasised making love to him, but in the privacy of her night-time dreams, not here in the office. Neither had her fantasies been so blatantly sexual before. They’d always been loving and romantic, sweet and tender.

There’d been nothing sweet and tender in what she had wanted this morning on sighting Guy’s bare chest. Her desires had been very basic, to say the least. And they hadn’t completely receded either. The encounter had left her feeling physically restless, definitely agitated, decidedly angry.

She had been up and down ever since Guy had left the office, walking around, making coffee, staring out of windows, watching the rain.

This was sexual arousal such as she had never felt before, she admitted in the end. The sort of sexual arousal one read about but never envisaged feeling oneself. Intense...compelling...oddly without conscience.

It kept urging her not to run away from her job and her feelings, not to take any notice of things like pride and self-respect. You want this man, a wicked little voice whispered in her ear. If you can’t win his love then settle for his lovemaking. And you haven’t got a hope in Hades of getting even that if you leave. He’ll forget you as quickly as he forgot Debra. If you want something in this world, girl, you have to go after it!

For a few seconds she felt high on a surge of positive thinking, but she was quickly dumped down, swamped by reality, rather than daydreams. How could she successfully seduce a man who had never shown any signs of being sexually attracted to her? It seemed an impossible problem.

She sat back down at her desk and thought and thought.

So what if he’s never thought of you in that way before? she finally resolved. You’re a reasonably attractive woman, aren’t you? He’s a highly sexed man, with needs that aren’t being met at this moment. You could meet them, couldn’t you? All you have to do is convince him how convenient it would be for you to be his mistress. Good heavens, men are doing it all the time, sleeping with their secretaries. And love rarely comes into it on their side. It was mostly nothing more than a sexual convenience, from what she had seen and heard.

The word ‘convenience’ stuck out like a sore thumb in Samantha’s mind. That was the hook which would appeal to Guy most of all.

It came to her quite abruptly, the daring proposition.

What, she thought, wide-eyed and heart thudding, would Guy say if I offered to stay on as his secretary, provided he became my lover?

She could see it now. He would be initially surprised, then thoughtful. Finally he would look up and say, ‘Good idea, Sam.’

The phone rang, making her jump as though she had been found with her hand in the biscuit tin. A guilty conscience, she recognised, and snatched up the receiver.

‘Haywood Promotions.’

‘It’s me, Sam.’

She swallowed. Guy... His voice brought home to her that her boss was a flesh and blood man, not a fantasy person who could be made to react as one wanted. This man was one of the most handsome, intelligent, successful, dynamic men in Australia, who could snap his fingers and have just about any woman he wanted. He was not about to be manipulated into an affair by a silly secretary. If she made her ridiculous proposition he would look at her as if she was mad. And probably laugh.

If, by the remotest possibility, he took the proposal seriously he would want to know why. Girls these days could get sex wherever they wanted it. They didn’t have to blackmail their bosses for it.

It wouldn’t take him long to figure out she’d fallen in love with him and, by golly, her exit would come pretty fast after that. Guy Haywood was not in the business of keeping love-struck women in his office, or in his life. She suspected there had been a few ladies in the past who had fancied him as more than a lover and that they had been given short shrift indeed.

The daring proposition went out of the window.

Which was just as well, she thought wretchedly. She wouldn’t have had the guts to do it, anyway.

‘Yes,’ she said flatly. ‘What do you want?’

‘You sound terrible. Look, Sam, you have to tell me what’s going on with you. It’s bothering me and I can’t wait till Monday. Is it anything I’ve done? For pity’s sake, tell me if it is.’

It’s something you haven’t done, she thought miserably. Why can’t you be a normal boss and make a pass at your secretary? Why can’t you take me out to dinner and then to a motel? I won’t mind. Really I won’t.

‘It’s nothing you’ve done,’ she told him. ‘You’ve been a perfect gentleman to work for.’ Unfortunately...

‘Then what is it, dammit?’

‘It’s exactly as I said, Guy. I want to change the direction of my life. And I want to get out of Sydney.’

‘Aah... Now I get it. It’s a man, isn’t it?’

She hesitated, then decided the truth would do quite well. ‘Yes, Guy. You’re right. It’s a man.’

‘What’s the problem?’ he probed. ‘Is it that he wants you and you don’t want him, or the other way around.’

It perversely amused her that he didn’t use the word ‘love.’ It just wasn’t in his dictionary when it came to man-woman relationships. ‘The other way around,’ she admitted.

Guy digested that for a few seconds. ‘I see... You never talk about your personal life to me, do you? I just realised I don’t know much about you in that regard. Have you been having a...relationship with this man, a...close relationship?’

She smiled wryly to herself. For all Guy’s wordliness, he couldn’t seem to come out with the bare facts in front of her. Truly, did he think that at twenty-five she was a total innocent? Why not ask her straight out if she was sleeping with the man? Still, it gave her the opportunity to mislead him without actually lying. ‘Oh, yes,’ she said. ‘Very close.’

‘Goddammit, Sam, you haven’t been having an affair with a married man, have you?’

She was taken aback by his shocked, even judgemental tone. That was certainly the kettle calling the pot black. Though to be honest she had never known him to have an affair with a married woman.

‘No, Guy,’ she denied firmly. ‘He’s not married. And never likely to be.’

‘Aah, so that’s it. The blighter won’t marry you.’

‘Not in a million years!’

‘That’s no reason to quit Sydney and a perfectly good job.’

‘I think it is.’

‘I aim to talk you out of going.’

‘You can try. Meanwhile I’ll ring the head-hunters and line some interviews up for you.’

‘Don’t bother,’ he snarled.

‘Guy...’ There was no mistaking her exasperated tone.

‘If I have to I’ll take Mrs Walton,’ he said with a sigh. ‘At least I know her. The last thing I want is one of those ambitious, vampirish secretaries who try to run the show, their boss included.’

‘She’ll be thrilled,’ Samantha said. ‘I’ll ring her right away.’

‘You do that.’ He let out another sigh. ‘God, Sam, hospitals are depressing places.’

‘How is your father?’ she asked with genuine concern. She didn’t know Martin Haywood very well, but what she had seen she couldn’t help liking. He was a charming rogue, just like his son.

‘Not good. The triple bypass is scheduled for tomorrow morning, most unusual for a Saturday, it seems. They only have theatre during the weekend if it’s a life and death matter, so I’m not getting my hopes up.’

‘He’ll have the best of care,’ she reassured.

‘Maybe so. But I feel very pessimistic about it all.’

‘He’s not old, though. What is he? Late fifties?’

‘Fifty-seven. But he’s abused himself over the years. No proper exercise. Wine...women...’