Hot Nights with the...Australian: The Master Player / Overtime in the Boss's Bed / The Billionaire Boss's Innocent Bride

Hot Nights with an

Australian

The Master Player

Emma Darcy

Overtime in the Boss’s Bed

Nicola Marsh

The Billionaire Boss’s Innocent Bride

Lindsay Armstrong

www.millsandboon.co.uk

The Master Player

About the Author

Initially a French/English teacher, EMMA DARCY changed careers to computer programming before the happy demands of marriage and motherhood. Very much a people person, and always interested in relationships, she finds the world of romance fiction a thrilling one, and the challenge of creating her own cast of characters very addictive.

I dedicate this book to all the readers who have travelled through my worlds and shared the smiles and the tears with me.

CHAPTER ONE

HE watched her. The launch party for the new hit television show was packed with celebrities, many of the women more structurally beautiful than the one he watched, but to Maximilian Hart’s mind, she outshone them all. There was a lovely simplicity about her that attracted both men and women, a natural quality that evoked the sense she would never play anyone false. The quintessential girl next door whom everyone liked and trusted, Max thought, plus the soft sensuality in her femininity that made every man want to go to bed with her.

There was nothing hard, nothing intimidating about the way she looked. Her blonde hair was in a soft short flyaway style that invariably seemed slightly ruffled, not sprayed into shape. There were dimples in her cheeks when she smiled. Her face had no sharp lines. Even her nose ended in a soft tilt. And her body was how a woman’s should be—no bony shoulders, no sticklike arms, every part of her sweetly rounded and curved, not voluptuously so, not threatening to other women but very inviting to any man.

Though her eyes were the real key to her attraction, their luminous light blue colour somehow suggested that her soul was open for listening to and empathising with anything you wanted to tell her. Nothing guarded about those eyes. They drew you in, showing every emotion, transmitting an almost mesmerising vulnerability that stirred a man’s protective instincts as well as the more basic ones.

The wide generous mouth was almost as expressive as the eyes, its soft mobility reflecting the same feelings from a grimace of sympathy to a scintillating smile of shared joy. She had the gift of projecting whatever you wanted from her and you believed she truly felt it, not an actress playing a part. It was a gift that could turn her into a huge star, and not just in the television show he’d bought and had rewritten to showcase what he’d seen in her.

Oddly enough, he wasn’t sure she wanted to be one. Her domineering mother wanted it. Her ambitious script-writer husband wanted it. She did what they wanted, never raising any objection to it but there had been occasions when Max had glimpsed a lost look on her face—moments when she thought no-one was watching, when she wasn’t required to be someone else’s creation, when she was not on show.

She was on show tonight and the party people were flocking to her, wanting to share her spotlight, fascinated by her unique charisma whether they wanted to be or not. The crowd around her kept shifting, changing, forced to give way to others who wanted a piece of her if only for a little while. Although Max noted that those most closely connected to her life left her to shine alone.

It didn’t surprise him. Neither her mother nor her husband enjoyed the role of background person, which they inevitably became if they attached themselves to her in public. He tore his gaze away from her to glance around, unsurprised when he spotted her mother schmoozing up to a group of television executives, increasing her network of contacts she could use. Max had disliked dealing with her. Unavoidable since she had appointed herself her daughter’s agent. He kept any business meeting with her short and coldly rebuffed any attempt at a more personal connection with him.

Pushy, full of her own ego, Stephanie Rollins was the worst kind of stage-mother. Her vividly dyed carrot-red hair yelled notice me, remember me, even without its butch shortness, which accentuated her abrasive attitude of I’m as good as any man and better than most. Though there was nothing butch about her body, which she dressed with in-your-face sexiness; cleavage on show, tight skirts, extremely high heels to bring attention to her shapely legs.

Everything was used as a weapon in her fight to win her own way and there was nothing Max liked about her. Even the name she’d chosen for her daughter—Chloe—seemed deliberately artful, aimed at being remembered. Chloe Rollins. It rolled off the tongue, yet it always struck a false note with Max. It seemed too contrived for the person he saw in Chloe. Something simple would have suited her better.

Mary.

Mary Hart.

His mouth twitched with amusement at the fanciful addition of his own surname. Marriage had never appealed to him. He didn’t want a wife. Sexual urges were satisfied with one woman or another and his butler and cook did everything else a wife could do. Besides, Chloe Rollins already had a husband and Max didn’t believe in poaching other men’s wives, not even for a casual affair. Having a messy private life had no more appeal than having a messy business life. Max stayed firmly in control of both.

He wondered what use her husband was making of this party and his gaze roved around the crowd, seeking the handsome charmer Chloe had married, Tony Lipton. He was well named. The guy was full of glib lip but Max didn’t think much of his writing ability. None of the lines he came up with had any emotional punch. They invariably had to be edited, sharpened by other writers on the script-writing team for the show. Tony Lipton wouldn’t be on the team at all but for his inclusion in the deal with Chloe.

Interesting … he was not currying attention. He was right off at the edge of the party crowd, half-turned away from it and having what looked like a very tense exchange with Chloe’s personal assistant, Laura Farrell. Angry frustration on his face. Angry determination on hers. Tony grabbed her arm, fingers digging in with a viselike grip. She wrenched herself free of it and whirled away from him, her face set in seething resentment as she barged through the crowd, making a beeline for Chloe.

Max’s instinct for trouble was instantly alerted. There were media people here. He did not subscribe to the view that any publicity—however bad—was good publicity. Any distraction from the success of the show was not welcome, particularly anything unpleasant centred on the star.

He moved, carving his own way through the crowd, but he was coming from the opposite side of the room—impossible to intercept Laura. She reached Chloe first, shoving past the cluster of people surrounding her, moving into a stance of close confrontation, her body language screaming fierce purpose, her hands curling around Chloe’s shoulders as she leaned forward and whispered something venomous.

Definitely venomous.

The shock on Chloe’s face—the totally stricken look—told Max this was big trouble. Fortunately he was only a few seconds behind Laura, close enough for his tall and powerfully built physique to shield that look from most of the nearby spectators.

‘Get out of my way, Laura,’ he commanded, the steely tone of his voice startling the woman into releasing Chloe and swinging around to face him.

He moved swiftly, cutting straight past her, curling an arm around Chloe’s waist, scooping her close to his side, walking her away from the source of her distress, his head bent towards her, talking intently as though he had something important to impart, his free arm held out in a warding-off gesture that would deter anyone from interrupting the tête-à-tête.

‘Don’t make any fuss,’ he dictated in a low urgent voice. ‘Just come with me and I’ll take you to a safe place where we can deal with this problem in private.’

She didn’t respond. She stared blankly ahead and walked like an automaton, carried forward by the force of his momentum. It was as if she had suddenly become a shell of a person with nothing going on inside. Max reasoned that whatever Laura had told her had to have been one hell of a shock to reduce her to this state.

His immediate aim was to protect her, protect his investment in her, and he did it as ruthlessly as he went after anything he targeted. He didn’t care what her mother or her husband thought of his action. He steered her straight out of the Starlight Room—the premier function room in this five-star hotel—ignoring calls for his attention, quelling any pursuit of them with a forbidding look. No-one wanted to get on the wrong side of Australia’s television baron. He had too much power to cross, and Max had no scruples about using it as it suited him.

He’d booked the penthouse suite for his convenience tonight. Wanting to enjoy his own private satisfaction in Chloe Rollins, he hadn’t invited his current mistress to the party so there was no risk of any acrimonious scene if he took Chloe there. It provided a quick and effective escape for her.

He didn’t bother asking for her consent. She wasn’t hearing anything. Didn’t seem to be aware of anything, either. There was no word or sign of protest from her as he led her into an elevator, rode up to the top floor, escorted her into his suite, locked the door behind them and saw her seated in a comfortable armchair.

She did not relax against the soft cushions. Max wasn’t sure she even knew she was sitting down. He moved to the bar and poured a generous measure of brandy into one of the balloon glasses provided. He poured himself a Scotch, intent on appearing companionable rather than intimidating, when the brandy jolted her back to life.

She wasn’t comfortable with him, never had been. He didn’t set out to charm people and was probably too forceful a personality for her to easily like. But right now he was the man in charge and he wanted her to accept that situation, give him her trust, confide the problem and let him resolve it because clearly she was incapable of dealing with it herself and he needed his star actress to keep performing as only she could. Maximilian Hart did not take losses on any project he engineered.

‘Drink this!’

A large balloon glass was shoved forcefully at the hands lying listlessly in her lap. Her dulled mind registered that she had to take it or it would tip over and spill its contents. She wrapped both hands around it to hold it steady.

‘Drink!’

The hard command rattled her into lifting the glass to her lips. She sipped and liquid fire seared her palate and burned a path down her throat. Heat scorched up her neck, flooded into her cheeks and zapped her brain out of its numbed state. Eyes filled with pained protest automatically targeted the man who had made this happen.

Maximilian Hart.

A shudder ran through her at the realisation that he was standing over her, the power that always emanated from him kicking into her heart and causing her stomach muscles to contract.

‘That’s better,’ he said, satisfaction glinting in the dark eyes that shone with too much brilliant intelligence, invariably giving her the impression that nothing could be hidden from him. He’d seen it all, knew it all, and cared only for what advantage it could give him in the world he was master of.

It was a relief when he turned away from her, putting physical distance between them as he strolled over to the armchair facing hers on the other side of a sofa and a glass coffee table, which was placed to serve any occupants of the lounge suite. He sat down, folding his long, strong body into the chair, his elegant hands casually nursing a drink of his own.

He was a strikingly handsome man, though that was a totally inadequate description of him. The dark good looks—black hair, strongly chiselled face, deeply set brown eyes, tanned skin, perfectly sculptured mouth—added to his air of distinction, but it was the aura of indomitable power that gave him a charismatic impact, which made all the rest seem merely a fitting outer framework for the dynamic person who could take over anything and make it work.

Somehow it heightened his sexuality, almost to the point of mental and physical assault on everything that was female in Chloe. She wanted to recoil from it, yet could not switch off the magnetism he exerted, tugging out feelings she shouldn’t have with this man. It was alarming to find herself alone with him.

Her gaze jerked around, taking in what was obviously an executive suite. With a king-size bed. Which instantly reminded her of the one Tony had insisted they buy for their bedroom.

Had he used it with Laura?

Is that where he’d so carelessly committed the worst betrayal of all?

‘What did Laura Farrell tell you?’

The question pulled her gaze back to Maximilian Hart, forcing her to meet his riveting dark eyes—no escape from telling him the truth. She could feel the pressure of his will-power pounding on her mind and knew he wouldn’t tolerate any evasion. Besides, it couldn’t be covered up. Laura didn’t want it covered up. And neither did she. No argument in the world could make her resume her marriage after this.

‘She’s been having an affair with my husband.’ A double betrayal—a woman she’d trusted as a friend and the man who’d pretended to love her. ‘She’s pregnant … carrying his child.’ The child Tony had denied her because this new television show was too big an opportunity to pass up. Her mouth wobbled at having to speak the final sickening words. ‘He won’t leave me for her because I’m … I’m his cash cow.’

She closed her eyes as bitter tears welled into them.

‘He certainly won’t want to leave you,’ came the cynical comment. ‘The critical question is … will you leave him?’

A huge anger erupted through her, cracking open a mountain of old wounds she had buried in getting on with the life her mother had pushed her into from infancy onwards, cutting off other options, leaving her no choice but to follow the path set down for her. Her marriage to Tony was part of that … the baby she’d been talked out of having. No more, no more, no more, screamed through her mind.

She dashed away the tears with the back of her hand and glared at the man who was querying her response to the situation. ‘Yes,’ she answered vehemently. ‘I won’t let you or Tony or my mother sweep this under the mat. I don’t care if it hurts my image. I’ll never take him back as my husband.’

‘Fine!’ he said with a casual gesture of dismissal. ‘I just wanted to know how best to deal with the situation, given our abrupt departure from the Starlight Room.’

‘I won’t go back there, either,’ she threw at him in full-blown rebellion. ‘I don’t want to see or talk to Tony or be anywhere near him. Nor do I want to listen to my mother.’

He regarded her thoughtfully for several moments, the powerful dark eyes probing, assessing, speculating, making her feel like a butterfly on a pin being minutely examined. She wrenched her gaze away from his and took a gulp of brandy, wanting its fire to burn away the humiliation of being nothing but a cash cow to the people who had brought her to this.

Maximilian Hart was no different, she savagely told herself. He only cared about her because of the huge investment he’d made in the television show, redesigning it as a vehicle for what he perceived as her special talent. Whatever that was. Though she was grateful to him for getting her out of the Starlight Room. She couldn’t remember him doing it but he’d obviously observed the impact of Laura’s revelation and acted to minimise its effect on the launch party.

The show must go on.

But not tonight.

Not for her.

‘Since you don’t wish to be reached by your very tenacious mother, nor your husband, who will undoubtedly be plotting how to dump this on Laura Farrell and make himself out to be the innocent victim of a woman deranged with jealousy …’ He paused a moment watching for her reaction to that scenario.

Chloe was rattled by it.

‘Which, I assure you, would be a lie,’ he went on sardonically. ‘I observed them in very intimate conversation together just prior to her assault on you. She was furious with him. The connection between them was not fantasy.’

‘The baby would prove it anyway,’ she muttered bitterly.

‘Not if Laura is persuaded to have an abortion.’

Chloe looked at him in horror.

He shook his head. ‘Not by me.’

Tony. And her mother. She knew without him telling her they would both see that as a way out of an unsavoury scandal, a way of smoothing everything over so she would keep going as they directed. Her head started to throb at the thought of all the arguments they would subject her to.

‘I’ve got to get away from them. Got to …’ She was barely aware of saying the words out loud. Her mind was desperately seeking some way of escape, but everything she had was tied up with Tony and her mother … her money, her home, her whole life.

‘I can protect you, Chloe.’

Startled by a claim she had not been expecting, she stared at him in anguished confusion. The look of arrogant confidence on his face reminded her of how powerful he was. The dark eyes bored into hers with a relentless strength that set all her nerves twittering. Of course, Maximilian Hart could protect her if he wanted to. But what would that mean?

‘You need to move to a safe refuge where the security is so tight no-one can reach you unless you want them to,’ he said matter-of-factly. ‘It’s no problem to me to arrange that.’

A peaceful haven, sheer heaven, she thought, though practical issues instantly raised difficulties. ‘I’d have to go home to get my clothes.’

‘No. Professional movers can pack and deliver them to you.’

‘I don’t even have my credit card with me.’

‘I’ll put a lawyer to work sorting out your financial situation. In the meantime I’ll set up a bank account for you that will cover your needs until you’re in charge of your own money.’

She winced. ‘My mother will fight to keep control.’

‘I doubt she has more weapons than I have,’ he drawled, ruthless intent gleaming in the brilliant dark eyes.

He was right.

Her mother was no match for him.

Freedom shimmered in front of her.

‘Trust me, Chloe. There is nothing I can’t do to set you on an independent path. If that is what you want.’

Seductive words, pulling her his way. Yes teetered on the tip of her tongue. Only the sudden sharp sense that she’d be walking out of one form of possession straight into another held it back.

‘Why would you do this for me?’ The words tumbled out on a wave of fear—fear that he meant to mould her into what he wanted, and the promise of independence was the lure to trap her into something worse than she had known.

‘I don’t want any disruption to the delivery of this show, which has been—and is—a project I’ve planned for a very long time. You’re the key player in it, Chloe. I need you functioning as only you can. If that means freeing you of every distressing influence, ensuring you won’t be got at by people who’ll cause you grief, I’ll do it. Throw a blanket of security around you that no-one can break without your permission. All I ask in return is that you keep working on the show for as long as your contract runs.’

Protecting his investment.

It made sense.

Maximilian Hart was always linked to success, never failure.

This wasn’t a personal thing to him. It was business. He simply didn’t want her private life adversely affecting what he had put in place.

Her fears suddenly seemed ludicrous. Strangely enough, she felt a surge of confidence that she could do as he asked—keep playing her part in the show—if she didn’t have to deal with her mother or Tony or Laura while she did it.

‘I’ll make them go away,’ he said softly, somehow tapping straight into her thoughts. ‘Just say the word, Chloe.’

Her battered mind started swimming with a vision of a white knight fighting all her dragons instead of a dangerous Svengali of a man planning to use her for some devious purpose of his own. It was more than seductive. It propelled her into accepting his offer without any further fretting over it.

‘It is what I want,’ spilled from her lips.

‘Yes,’ he said as though he’d known it all along and had only been waiting for her to confirm it. He rose from his chair with the air of a man relishing the sniff of battle. ‘You’ll be absolutely safe waiting for me here. You probably need to eat something. Order whatever you like from room service. Make yourself comfortable and relax, knowing you don’t have to face harassment from any source tonight.’

‘Where are you going?’

‘Back to the Starlight Room.’ He smiled a smile of intense private satisfaction. ‘By the time I’ve finished there, I doubt anyone will have the desire to harass you about your decision.’

Her decision.

An independent decision.

She felt weirdly awed by it as she watched the man who’d made it so easily possible walk away to begin putting it into effect. Maximilian Hart. Who had the power to do whatever he set out to do. And he was about to use his power to free her from the life she’d wanted to escape from for as long as she could remember.

CHAPTER TWO

‘WHAT’S going on, Max?’

The question was shot at him the moment he re-entered the Starlight Room—it was Lisa Cox, the editor for the entertainment section in one of the major newspapers, sniffing a story that might have more sensational value than a report on a launch party and waiting to pounce on the major source for it. She was a sharp-faced woman with big curly hair, inquisitive eyes and a dangerous tongue.

‘You whip out of here with Chloe, who looked like death,’ she swiftly put in. ‘You come back alone …’

‘Chloe is resting,’ he blandly stated.

‘What’s wrong with her?’

‘The energy drain of the party, continually responding to people without pausing to eat or drink. I think she needed a fast sugar-hit,’ he said with a frown of concern.

‘Does she have diabetes?’

‘I’m about to speak to her mother about Chloe’s condition, if you’ll excuse me.’

He stepped aside, his gaze already scanning the crowd for a carrot-red head.

‘Is this going to be a problem for the show?’ Lisa threw at him.

He returned a freezing-off smile. ‘No. Someone needs to take better care of her. That’s all. And I’ll make sure it’s done.’

Closure on that issue. No gossip to pursue.

Stephanie Rollins had moved to the far corner of the room, obviously involved in a heated discussion with Tony Lipton and Laura Farrell. They were unaware of his return, probably the only three people in the room who were since the crowd literally parted to make way for him as he took the most direct path to where they stood.

Laura Farrell was tall, model-slim, straight brown hair falling to her shoulder blades, wearing an elegant black dress, in keeping with her personal style of always appearing in good classic clothes. She had amber eyes—cat’s eyes. Max had seen envy in them when she was looking at Chloe. Contempt, as well. As though Chloe was stupid and didn’t deserve her status as a star.