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The Boss's Convenient Bride
Jennie Adams
Claire Dalgliesh is shocked–no, stunned–when Jier cool, controlled boss declares that he needs a convenient wife–and the woman he's selected for Ithe job is her! Claire may have a crush the size of Australia on her gorgeous boss, Nicholas Monroe, jbut she's not going to walk up the aisle with him. Not without love.Claire soon discovers she has ,no choice but to throw herself headlong into the wedding preparations. But what will Nicholas do when he discovers Claire's secret: that she has no intention of becoming his wife…?


“Perhaps it’s time I told you exactly
whom I have in mind
for this relationship.”
Claire unconsciously straightened. “Please do.”
“You, Claire,” Nicholas said, “happen to be the only woman I can imagine filling the role of my wife.”
“You can?” She tried to clear the croak out of her throat. “Um, that is, you can?”
He nodded. “You keep a cool head. You look at things in a sensible manner. Business partnerships thrive on sensible, unemotional standards, and so will the kind of marriage I have in mind.”


From city girl—to corporate wife!
They’re working side by side, nine to five….
But no matter how hard these couples try to
keep their relationships strictly professional,
romance is undeniably on the agenda!
But will a date in the office diary lead to
an appointment at the altar?
Find out in this exciting miniseries.
If you love office romance stories—
BUSINESS-ARRANGEMENT BRIDE
by Jessica Hart
#3917

The Boss’s Convenient Bride
Jennie Adams




www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
JENNIE ADAMS
From an early age, Australian author Jennie Adams was most at home perched on a gatepost on the family farm, with her nose in a book. Her love of reading expanded into writing at age eleven, when she began a four-year tenure as a very bad poet. A gap followed while Jennie pursued a number of careers. Bank officer, piano teacher and legal secretary to name a few. She met and married the love of her life, and had two children—who soon became teenagers who knew everything, and who are now the two most treasured young adults in her life. She then realized she wanted to write the romance novels she loved to read. The pursuit of that dream eventually led to the sale of her first Harlequin® novel, THE BOSS’S CONVENIENT BRIDE.
This is Jennie’s first novel!
Other Novel by Jennie
HER MILLIONAIRE BOSS #1835
For my cherished friend Bronwyn.

CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE (#u7c6ec476-73bc-56b9-bec8-9e9b008cc9f7)
CHAPTER TWO (#ufde79ff7-2f0f-5623-b43f-d661dba0b5dc)
CHAPTER THREE (#u072b363e-6cff-5dee-a4fe-41de3d35b92a)
CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ONE
‘I’M THIRTY-TWO years old, and tired of being fêted and pursued as one of Sydney’s most eligible bachelors.’ Nicholas Monroe, millionaire owner and boss of Monroe Global Security Systems, leaned back in the leather desk chair and crossed his suit-clad arms.
His gaze was sharp, direct and controlled, save for a very mild hint of irritation Claire would have missed if she hadn’t come to know the enigmatic face so well in the past six months.
‘I can see how that could become wearying after a while.’ Claire’s imagination went into overdrive, conjuring situations he might have endured. ‘All those women jumping out from behind pot plants to accost you, telling you they want to have your babies—and all for the sake of your money, really. Not that I’m saying you aren’t appealing in your own right.’
She smoothed her chainstore pleated skirt across her knees, and hoped the pulse that beat at the base of her throat wasn’t visible beneath the crisp white blouse.
He was attractive, all right. Far beyond what was fair and reasonable in her opinion. All dark hair, tanned skin, and interesting angles to blend with the deep, velvety voice. He even smelled good, in a way that made her want to bury her face in him and just breathe him in for the next century or three.
The thought caused a familiar little catch in her chest, right about where her heart was located.
‘There haven’t been hordes of pot-plant-hiding females.’ His mouth curved. ‘But I’ve had my share of unwanted attention. And, contrary to what the media seems to believe, I really don’t enjoy having my name on every Top Ten Bachelor list in existence. Frankly, it’s an annoyance I could do without.’
‘Especially as you move into this new, more settled phase of life that you want.’
Claire hoped she looked and sounded intelligent, understanding, enlightened. Anything other than completely oblivious as to where he was headed with this conversation and wholly besotted by him into the bargain.
Aside from all the happy-fuzzy feeling he brought out in her, she struggled just to ignore the way his shirt stretched across his muscled chest. Which probably made her as bad as all those pot-plant-hiding women.
To have muscles like that, he had to work out regularly. She pictured him sleek with perspiration, doing bench presses in some trendy city gym, and stifled a groan.
‘Do you plan to announce a big change of lifestyle to the media in the hope it will get them off your back? Some actors take up an interest in monk-like religion for a while. Something like that would certainly prove a deterrent, since it would take you out of the running for a relationship.’
‘That’s an interesting option.’ The look he gave her suggested he might think she had rocks in her head. ‘I have to confess I hadn’t actually thought of taking to any kind of priesthood to solve this particular set of challenges, but thanks for the thought.’
‘I can’t imagine you celibate, myself,’ Claire blurted, then wondered if she should just bite her tongue off now and be done with it. Crushes did that to people. Made them say and do things they normally wouldn’t.
Much good it did her to have this crush, anyway. He wasn’t her type, and certainly wouldn’t be interested in her. Millionaire bosses didn’t fall for clerical pool upstarts. Not in the real world. No matter how gooey those upstarts might feel about their boss.
What had made Nicholas speak of personal things anyway, this fine January morning, ensconced in the opulent Sydney office suite overlooking the harbour? His life had been the key topic for the last five minutes. Plans, aspirations, intentions. All of them private, not business-related.
It made her uncomfortable. What had she to do with his desire to ‘settle his life, move on to a new phase’?
‘Are you really on every list?’
‘Every one.’ He gave a tight upward tilt of his firm lips. ‘Apparently there are others who can’t imagine me being happy alone, either.’
‘I guess it’s supposed to be kind of flattering, finding yourself on bachelor lists. Women who read those lists would want to…’ Spend hours making slow, languorous love with you. She coughed. ‘Get to know you better, I’m sure. If they had a chance. You know. Nice women. Ones who don’t hang around behind potted palm trees.’
Claire Dalgliesh. Shut up this minute. Before you stick your foot any further down your throat.
‘Perhaps you’re right.’ He smiled that killer smile that sent her insides crazy every time. ‘I can’t say I’ve ever given it a lot of thought.’
‘Um, no.’ Good one, Claire. Comparing women to pot-plant-lurkers. Of all the inane things she could have said. ‘I don’t suppose you would have.’
He leaned back in his chair in the seemingly casual pose he had used a hundred times before, but his eyes were watchful. Assessing. ‘You and I have worked together closely for the past six months, since Clerical moved you up to fill in as my personal assistant.’
‘I’ve enjoyed it.’ His change of subject was off-putting. She hoped he wasn’t about to tell her she was no longer needed. That would be an utter disaster. She couldn’t stand the thought of not seeing him every day. Not talking with him, or laughing with him. ‘It’s a great job. I’ve valued the opportunity to get involved in the company at this level.’
‘And Clerical did the right thing in recommending you for the position. You’ve done well.’ He pulled a file from the top drawer of his desk, flipped briefly through its pages, and dropped it in front of him.
Claire recognised her personnel file, and her heart started to thump. He was going to dismiss her back to her old job in the pool. But why?
‘In fact, you’ve not put a foot wrong since you started in the downstairs division three and a half years ago. Your record’s impeccable.’
‘Thank you.’ Her brain jittered around, weighing up whether it should fly into a full-blown anxiety attack or not. So far the odds were for the attack. ‘I do my best.’
He nodded, as though pleased. ‘I’ve come to know you, Claire. You’re honest, reliable, straightforward.’
At that, Claire felt a twinge of discomfort. She had worked hard, and had been completely transparent in every way possible. But she wondered what he would think if he knew she was keeping secrets from the law, and paying off a blackmailer into the bargain.
‘I try to do my work to the best of my ability. I’m committed to Monroe’s.’
‘And I’m committed to the plans I have in mind for the future, Claire.’ He leaned forward. ‘I want you to be clear about that.’
‘Clear. Yes. Certainly.’ She nodded and hoped that she looked clear, for in point of fact she was still mystified.
‘I’ve said that I want to change my life. The bachelor-related attention is a side issue.’ He dismissed those hundreds, probably thousands of women with a flick of one elegant wrist. His steely gaze pinned hers. ‘What matters to me is that I settle my future the way I want it to be settled. It’s something I feel is past due. In short, my plan is marriage. To a suitable woman. Of my choosing.’
‘Marriage?’ The last solution Claire would have imagined he’d choose. She crossed her legs, uncrossed them again. Moved to smooth her already smoothed skirt, and stopped herself, jerking her hands back into her lap to clench around her notepad. ‘I’m sure you’ll find marriage very helpful if you want to become more settled.’
But what did it have to do with reviewing her work performance? Nevertheless, he wanted to get married, and that had ramifications of its own.
As the idea sank in, a jealous, possessive part of her objected violently. She didn’t want him to marry. Didn’t want to see some wife hanging off his arm at every turn. Fair enough that Claire herself couldn’t have him. She knew that. But did he have to rub it in so thoroughly?
Suddenly, illumination struck. There could only be one reason for him to tell her all this. He must want her to help him make it happen. He wasn’t going to send her back downstairs. He’d talked up her efficiency and other qualities, so she would do her best for him with this, too.
Diabolical man. Just how much was a temporarily promoted admin assistant with a stupid crush supposed to be able to take? A lot, apparently. And she would take it, drat him, because she always did her professional best.
She lifted the notepad and poised her pencil above it. ‘What sort of help can I give you? Do you have a lady in mind already? Or shall I get up a list of likely candidates? A few names come to mind, and I suppose I could scan the society columns for more.’
Would you like to see X-rays of their teeth? Hip span measurements? To hear their views on plastic surgery and liposuction for possible future reference? I can arrange all that, and more. Maybe if she remained flippant she wouldn’t be tempted to cry.
‘What particular attributes are you looking for?’
‘No.’ The solitary word cut across her questions. ‘Let me explain the rest.’
He paused. In anyone else Claire might have believed it was a glint of vulnerability that flashed through the sharp hazel eyes, and as quickly disappeared. But Nicholas Monroe? Vulnerable? The idea was ludicrous. He simply wouldn’t suffer from that kind of weakening attack. He wouldn’t allow it.
The object of her thoughts cleared his throat. ‘The thing is, I don’t believe in romance. I’ve observed a lot of relationships, and I’ve seen what happens when people think they’re in love. Their personalities alter. They go from sensible to irrational, seemingly overnight.’
‘I see.’ Beyond those two words she didn’t know how to respond. Couldn’t imagine anything that she could possibly say that would be even mildly appropriate. He was discussing love. Disparaging it, in fact. How did one respond when one’s boss did that?
‘Yes.’ He laced his fingers together on top of her file. The gesture looked almost possessive, but Claire rejected this thought as soon as it formed. She was becoming fanciful. Imagine how much her boss would dislike that!
‘When people believe they’re in love,’ Nicholas went on, ‘every sane thought goes out of their heads. Simple matters become the most complicated on earth. If their partner wakes up grumpy one morning, they worry it’s the end of the relationship. They tell lies because they’re afraid the other person will fall out of love with them if they’re too truthful.’
Claire’s heart thunked into her shoes for a second, before she reminded herself this wasn’t about her. She wasn’t a liar, anyway. Keeping your own counsel about your problems was another thing entirely. But how could he feel like that?
‘All right. I guess you obviously don’t want those sorts of complications in your life.’ She hoped her tone was sufficiently bland that he wouldn’t guess that his attitude had shocked her.
‘Correct. What I want is someone sensible, who won’t be swayed by silly emotional ups and downs. Someone I’ll be able to tolerate at my side for decades to come. A woman who respects, as I do, that the concept of being in love is an illusion.’
‘Tolerate. Yes, right. And no being in love.’ This was more like the man she knew and worked for. The vulnerability angle summarily banished, she wrote the words ‘Must be able to tolerate husband who does not love her’ at the top of her notepad.
With effort, she held off from adding anything about liposuction or teeth. Then, with a confidence that was born purely of blind hope, she added, ‘We’ll find someone appropriate for you. Don’t worry.’
Claire could do this. It wasn’t as if she really cared about Nicholas.
‘I’ve already found her.’
Who is she? I’ll rip her throat out. Claire’s pencil drew a deep, squiggly line across the page and tore through to the pages below. She forced her hand to stop, and looked up, feigning a calm expression she didn’t feel. ‘You have?’
‘Indeed.’ He seemed quite pleased about it, too. ‘You understand, Claire, that I’ve been very impressed with your work performance?’
They were back to that again. ‘I appreciate it.’
‘We’ve tested our ability to get along with each other.’ Abandoning his connection with her file, he unravelled his long, lean fingers and began to tick points off on them. ‘At times we’ve disagreed on subjects, solutions to problems, ways to move on a matter.’
The first time that had happened Claire had worried for a whole day that she might have blown her job. She conjured up what she hoped was an agreeable sort of smile. ‘We have. But we’ve always managed to work things out.’
‘Exactly.’ He carried on with his points. ‘Sometimes I’ve been short with you. At other times you’ve been frustrated with me. We’ve weathered the crises, the deadlines, the days when everything went sour. We’ve coped well because we’re both straightforward people, and particularly because neither of us has brought our emotions into the working relationship. I admire that about you, Claire.’
‘You do?’ She tried to clear the croak out of her throat. ‘Um, that is, you do?’
He nodded. ‘You keep a cool head. You look at things in a sensible manner. Business partnerships thrive on sensible, unemotional standards, and so will the kind of marriage I have in mind.’
‘I’m…glad…you feel that way.’ I’m stunned you feel that way. That you have such a cynical view of love. That you believe people devalue themselves somehow if they allow their emotions to come into play. ‘I’m sure you’ll be very comfortable in the kind of relationship you have in mind.’ With whatever poor woman you believe will fit your criteria. Claire was beginning to believe that she, herself, really would be better off out of it.
‘Then perhaps it’s time I told you exactly who I have in mind for this relationship.’
She unconsciously straightened. ‘Please do.’
‘You, Claire,’ he said, ‘happen to be the only woman I can imagine filling the role of my wife.’
The words did pass through her eardrums. It was just that her brain would only absorb them to a certain degree. All she knew was he wanted to get married and he already had the woman picked out. He hadn’t needed to mention any of this to her, and make her heart break out in chilblains, let alone make her think she would have to measure hip spans.
A spark of anger flared. So what? She didn’t even care. ‘I’m sure that would be exactly—What?’
Did she have wax in her ears? Claire could think of no other explanation for mishearing him so completely.
‘Pardon me, but I thought you just said that I—’
‘I said it.’ He lowered his head and proceeded to stare her down through the lock of thick black hair that had flopped over onto his high, intelligent forehead. Waiting. Expectantly. For her to say something.
She did. And she hardly had to work at all to keep her hand from reaching for that errant lock and smoothing it in one long, sensual, inviting sweep. The man had asked her to marry him.
How wonderful! To marry the boss, the man of her dreams. Her stomach did a backflip. Panic stirred to life somewhere at the centre of her psyche and threatened to shut down all systems permanently. She couldn’t comprehend this.
‘Right. I see. You think I would be the best choice for the position of Mrs Nicholas Anthony Monroe, now that you’ve decided there should be one? A Mrs Monroe, I mean.’
Even as she spoke she expected him to laugh and tell her this was all some sort of joke or something. He had to laugh, right? But he didn’t. Her boss really had just asked her to marry him.
Her lungs did their best to fold in on themselves, but Claire forced herself to breathe deeply and slowly through her nose. She could deal with this. It was a piece of cake.
No, I can’t deal with this. It’s mad. Insane. Totally off the planet. And he has to know it.
She scrambled to pull her stunned thoughts together. There had to be some way to understand this. To get it to make sense. He wanted to marry her. Out of the blue. Without any warning whatsoever. It was fantastic. Unbelievable. Terrifying.
It was a completely unemotional invitation. Claire’s joyous bubble popped. He might as well have asked her to pull a report, or update the virus software on their inter-office computer network. ‘Why?’
‘Why you, Claire?’
Yes. Out of all the women he could have asked, why ask her? She nodded mutely.
‘I’ve come to know you, and I’ve realised what a trophy you would be. I want you at my side.’
‘I see. A prize. Sans emotions, of course.’ She tried to make it sound as though she were amused.
It was true that she had a brain like an electronic organiser, but that was a small, insignificant part of her overall make-up. She was also caring, emotional, feeling. What a way for him to describe her. She might as well go out and throw herself off the edge of a cliff right now.
But he wasn’t finished with her yet. ‘You’re also naturally charming, and capable enough to cope with any hostess duties that might come your way.’
‘Thank you.’ She took care to keep the sarcasm from her tone, but there was something innately insulting in such a cold assessment of her character. In this man thinking she would appreciate being seen as nothing more than an animated wife-doll who would stand at his side and make all the right noises.
‘You’d have anything you wished, of course—within reason.’ He waved a hand. ‘As my wife, you would enjoy a wealthy lifestyle.’
All those millions, offered so casually. Had he any idea what he was throwing out there? She wasn’t avaricious, but he couldn’t know that. Couldn’t know just how driven she was in the money department at the moment.
Nothing was worth sacrificing her ideals about love and marriage, though. Not even a convenient way to end her cash problems a little more quickly. Not that she would ever take advantage of marrying him to get money. Besides, her efforts to take care of the situation were going okay. She was getting there. Slowly.
Nicholas was, ironically, the key to her plan, but as her high-paying boss, not as a potential life mate conveniently loaded with the green stuff. Claire was well shot of him, too, if this was the best he could offer.
‘I don’t know what to say.’ Or perhaps she just didn’t know how to say it. Or whether there would be consequences to saying it. She had seen him crush business opponents who got on the wrong side of him. Just how would he react to her turning him down? It was the smart choice. Despite everything, her heart protested at this. But she quelled the reaction.
‘Don’t you, Claire? I believe you’ll say yes.’ His gaze held hers briefly before it dropped away. One long finger drummed on the desktop, then stopped abruptly. ‘It’s a valid offer. One I think you’ll understand and appreciate.’
‘You think I’ll agree?’
A part of her was tempted. The part that was still stupidly attracted to him, against all odds. But one irrefutable fact remained. A fact that happened to be important to her. Nicholas didn’t love her. His feelings came nowhere near that. From his attitude right now, she imagined they never would.
Her chin lifted in determined defiance. She didn’t love him, either. Oh, maybe a little…But, no. She really, really didn’t love him. At all. He attracted her, yes, but it wasn’t the same thing. Those other little twinges hadn’t meant anything. Really. At least she had been smart enough not to fall for him completely.
She put her notepad and pencil down on the edge of the desk as her heart began to beat hard again. ‘Theoretically, if I didn’t take you up on this offer, what would happen?’
‘Examining all the angles, Claire? You never can contain that thoroughness, can you?’ Again his gaze sloughed over her and slid away, and again his face closed into an arrogant, confident mask.
‘Not really, no. It’s too ingrained in my nature.’
She had always been the thinker, the one to worry about consequences, while Sophie took life by the throat and couldn’t care less.
The chalk and cheese sisters, their parents used to call them, and it was apt. Sophie still played at life without a safety net. And Claire still worried about, and dealt with, consequences.
Hence Sophie’s stupid action of ‘borrowing’ money from her boss to fund the high-flying lifestyle she thought would impress the man she wanted to marry.
Sophie had lost track of the extent of her borrowing. She had snared Senator Tom Cranshaw in the end, but a month before the wedding was due to take place the man she was working for had discovered what she had done and decided it would be a good opportunity to blackmail her.
Either she met his demands to pay instalments of money that added up to far more than what she’d stolen, or he would reveal her actions to both the police and the press. Sophie would go to jail for embezzlement, and, because he was about to marry her, the Senator’s career would take a hit from which he would probably never recover.
Sophie had run crying to her sister, of course. Confessing all and begging for help. That had been over a year ago, and Claire was still working her way through the mess, with one final payment to take care of three months from now.
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.’
‘He’ll sign up with us.’ Claire watched the other vehicles move by, the traffic lights ahead change from red to green. She was trying hard to keep her racing thoughts under control, to stop herself from sliding back into the emotional basket weaving that had been going on since he proposed.
In out, in out, round and round and round, in an unending whirl. It wasn’t easy to control it, but she couldn’t let him see how truly rattled she was. Later, when she was alone, she could indulge in a nice, private meltdown.
‘We’ve got the best security systems in Australia,’ she said now. ‘Possibly in the whole Southern Hemisphere. Once he’s tried them, he’ll see that, and move all his property over to us.’
The city teemed, as usual. And this discussion with Nicholas was predictable, too. It showed him at his most businesslike and unemotional. The familiarity should have helped her to relax, but she was beyond that at the moment.
For Nicholas might have been mouthing business matters, but any time he looked at her his eyes were full of a powerful sensual heat that left her panting. When she had given the necessary agreement to his marriage proposal, she hadn’t considered how much he might physically want her, or that he would be totally unafraid to show it. Nor how deeply that open wanting would affect her.
Her senses responded. That was bad.
Her emotions responded. That was far worse. Hope kept trying to well up in her heart, and she kept having to squash it down again.
His emotions weren’t involved. She needed to remember that.
Endeavouring to ignore her reaction to the fire in his eyes, she forced herself to focus on the discussion. ‘If Mr Forrester is smart enough to build a business empire, surely he’s smart enough to appreciate the kind of technology Monroe’s has on offer.’
‘I appreciate your confidence in our ability, both to produce and to impress.’ His voice held a slight smile. ‘Ah.’ He slotted the car into a parking space. ‘Only a short walk away.’
‘Does everything always fall into place for you?’ She covered the wistful question with a flippant smile, not wanting him to guess how she envied the apparent smoothness of his life, while hers had been in a mess even before this day started. It was far worse now, and, like Wall Street’s Black Thursday, was only going to go downhill from this point.
Pessimistic, aren’t you?
Huh. Actually, she wasn’t being pessimistic. For once she was doing just as Nicholas would like, and assessing the situation with her rational mind. Which told her she was in up to her neck and sinking.
‘You know, I think I’ll enjoy being a married man.’ He tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow and moved into the crowd on the footpath. ‘It really will be a pleasure to get that side of my life settled. Now that I’ve taken the step, I don’t know why I didn’t do something about it ages ago.’
Claire’s rational side was quickly elbowed aside by a very personal affront. Ages ago? As in, before he’d even met her?
It’s all clinical to him. Given the circumstances, you should be grateful that’s the way he feels about it.
She didn’t feel grateful. She felt offended. Thoroughly hurt that he might have chosen some other woman and been just as happy about it.
You’re not really marrying him, remember? It’s all moot.
And this was exactly why she was going to end up in therapy.
Her fingers clenched around his forearm.
His muscles tensed in response, and that set the whole see-saw reaction in motion again. Desire, counter-desire. Emotional thrust, logical parry. She resisted the urge to tip her head back and yowl.
‘I’m glad you’re happy with your plans.’ She murmured it in the blandest tone she could manage, and then pointed to a shopfront ahead of them, determined to distract herself. ‘Have you ever been to Danny’s Bakehouse? They serve a Jamaican Cheesecake Log that’s to die for.’
And I could do with a slice right now. Or two. Or three. Scoffing cheesecake might not alter this situation, but it would suffuse it with a cheesecake-coated glow. That would surely be something positive?
‘I haven’t been there.’ Nicholas turned his head to glance at the shop, and in that moment someone bumped her in the crush, jostling her against her boss’s side.
An uneasy slither of tension climbed through her. She looked up, right into the gaze of the one person in the world she didn’t want to see.
‘Oops. Have to be careful these days.’ He wore an ill-fitting suit over a slight paunch of a stomach. His balding head of hair was slicked back with something greasy. He ran a small photocopier repair business—and he was Sophie’s blackmailer.
Gordon Haynes was a nondescript-looking man. He looked unthreatening. But when Claire searched his eyes, there was something dark and possibly unbalanced there that made her skin crawl.
This had to be a chance meeting. One that he was taking advantage of, but had not planned. She lifted her chin and stared him in those chilling eyes, refusing to let him rattle her. After the barest moment, when their gazes locked, he disappeared into the depths of the passing crowd and Claire breathed again.
‘Are you all right?’ Nicholas searched her face with his gaze. ‘Did someone bump you?’
‘I’m fine.’ She squared her shoulders and forced the encounter from her mind. ‘It was nothing.’
They made their way to the restaurant without further incident, and, once inside, quickly located the other couple and moved to join them.
‘I should have asked for a potted history.’ Claire’s fingers tightened around her bag. ‘Subjects I could raise with the wife, for starters.’
Nicholas’s proposal had thrown her so far out of reality that she hadn’t even considered how she would contribute to this lunch. She did now, and gave herself another opportunity to develop an ulcer.
‘She lives for the marina, loves shopping and sailing.’ Nicholas’s response was calm. ‘Don’t worry about it. I’m sure you’ll find something to talk about.’
‘I’m just a little on edge right now.’ The understatement made her feel slightly hysterical. She tried to maintain her poise as his hand moved to the small of her back to guide her through the maze of tables. It wasn’t easy.
A little on edge? Try a lot!
They had always maintained a strict, impersonal relationship. Now all she seemed to want was his touch. His nearness. His heart, soul, and all the family secrets. He was giving her the touch and the nearness part, and was upsetting her equilibrium in the process.
And she should have been running a mile in the other direction. Doing her best not to even think about that side of things while she worked out just how she was going to get out of this crazy situation in one piece.
What if he wanted them to be intimate before the actual marriage? Feeling the way she did about him, how would she hold back? The more she thought about things, the more complications just seemed to keep coming.
‘Naomi, Jack—may I introduce my assistant?’
In response to Nicholas’s introductions, Claire nodded her hellos to the couple already seated at the restaurant table. ‘Mrs Forrester, Mr Forrester.’
Nicholas held her chair. His hand brushed her nape as he stepped away to take his own seat. A mesmerising touch. She shivered, hot and cold at once. That’s right, Claire. You’re doing a great job of staying calm and unruffled.
‘I hope you enjoyed smooth sailing?’ Although Nicholas had addressed his comment to the other couple, and seemed absorbed in them, Claire sensed his continued awareness of her.
‘A pleasant enough trip.’ Jack Forrester had shrewd blue eyes set in a sun-weathered face, and looked to be somewhere in his early fifties. He winked at Claire in a jovial manner, but she sensed the sharpness of a keen mind behind the cheery façade. ‘We like to take the opportunity to sail whenever we can.’
Claire wouldn’t get out on the open sea for anything. She even avoided the harbour ferry whenever possible, sometimes at great inconvenience to herself. But she smiled dutifully back, determined not to do anything that might put this man off now that she had managed to stir an ember or two of work-related zeal back to life in herself.
The meal passed well enough, but Claire never lost her awareness of Nicholas, or of the numerous touches he managed to bestow on her.
Seriously. What if he wanted to make love on the office floor next? What would she do then?
Fall apart in his arms, most likely.
Maybe an affair wouldn’t be so bad.
And maybe that’s the stupidest thought you’ve ever had. You’re holding out for love, remember? An emotion Nicholas doesn’t even pretend to want to embrace.
Try telling her hormones that right at this moment. Try telling her heart. She groaned.
‘Claire?’
At Nicholas’s prompt, she turned. She hoped he hadn’t read her lascivious thoughts. ‘I’m sorry. What did you say?’
‘Dessert has arrived.’ He gestured towards the cart. ‘Can I tempt you into something?’
Like bed, with a serving of loving kindness on the side?
Drat it, Claire. You have to stop thinking that way. Either way!
She ground her teeth. The other couple had already made their selections. A baked soufflé topped with a berry sauce for the husband, and a bowl of fruit salad for the wife. So innocuous. Why, then, did Claire find herself picturing Nicholas naked, nibbling soufflé and fruit salad from her navel?
I’ll never see those foods in the same way again.
‘The mixed sorbet,’ she declared, and sucked in a shuddering breath.
Nicholas chose a platter of cheese and crackers, and to her great relief they settled to further discussion. She even managed to feel half in control of herself—until they reached the convivial stage and Nicholas draped his arm across her shoulders in casual possession.
Casual? Ha. One look at his face told her his thoughts exactly. She could no longer pretend any doubt in the matter. This was nothing casual, but all possession. His of her!
He ought to be careful. Next thing he knew, it would be her tossing him down on the office carpet so she could have her way with him.
There was something vividly erotic about a man playing games with the ends of one’s hair, she found. And who was to say that a man couldn’t be in lust first and then fall in love later?
‘Would you pass me the water?’ The request emerged as a strangled croak.
‘Certainly.’ He released her to reach for the carafe.
Great. She could breathe again. But then he leaned so close to her while he refilled her glass that she could smell the scent of his skin, could count the individual lashes that graced those enigmatic hazel eyes. Could feel the sensual tension emanating from him.
‘Thank you,’ she ground out.
He raised his eyebrows. ‘You’re welcome.’
She turned hastily away from him. ‘Mr Forrester—Jack. How did you and Naomi build up your amazing empire? You’ve achieved incredible things with your properties and investments.’
Jack flirted a little with her as he answered, a born charmer, but Claire didn’t think there was anything in it really. She smiled in a general sort of way, and encouraged him to elaborate about his various business ventures.
‘Hard work, my dear.’ Jack winked again, and leaned forward across the table as though to dispense a particularly juicy secret. ‘If a man sets his mind to it, he can get pretty much whatever it is he wants in this life.’
‘Not everything.’ Nicholas’s hand closed over Claire’s shoulder in an almost painful grip. ‘Some things are off limits.’
For the tiniest moment Forrester’s gaze rested with shrewd, assessing sharpness on Nicholas. Then he laughed and toasted him with his coffee.
Naomi Forrester looked on in some bemusement. As well she might. Nicholas was acting like a possessive—well, boss-cum-fiancé. And Claire, although she definitely shouldn’t have, liked it. She stifled a second groan.
The conversation wound up quickly after that, and they left the restaurant soon after.
Once clear of the building, Claire turned to Nicholas. ‘Did we impress him? I couldn’t tell.’
‘We’ve made one more step with Forrester. For today, that’s enough.’ Nicholas settled Claire into the car and began the trip that would take them through the harbour tunnel and into the market suburb where he lived.
He could feel the tension pulling at his shoulders, and was disgusted with himself for it. All Forrester had done was flirt a bit with Claire, and Nicholas had wanted to separate the man’s limbs piece by piece with his bare hands. Caveman.
He had to get control of this tendency to overreact about Claire. It was totally in contrast to the way he wanted to move their relationship forward. Calm, cool and unemotional. That was the plan.
‘Forrester is the kind of man who enjoys watching his business associates go through hoops in an effort to snare him. He won’t be easy to win.’
‘I don’t like that he’s playing with you.’ Claire seemed indignant, and Nicholas smiled. For all her intelligence and enthusiasm for her work, she was unaware of just how cutthroat the business world could be.
‘I’m playing with him, too.’ He shrugged. ‘It’s the way of it.’ He tucked thoughts of the business lunch aside for examination later, and turned the subject to a matter that meant more to him at the moment. ‘Before we go back to the office, I want to collect something from my house.’
‘Oh, okay.’
Claire didn’t have a lot else to say, but he didn’t mind the quiet. It allowed him to reflect on the success of his plans so far. Four months from now—four months and two days, to be exact—they would be married. Despite that incident with the jealousy, which had been a simple glitch, he liked the idea of marrying Claire more and more.
When they arrived at the house, Claire gazed about with apparent interest. ‘How long have you had a home here? I’d have pictured you in an apartment, to tell the truth.’
‘I bought this place six years ago.’ He swung the car into the driveway of a large two-storey home. Roman columns supported a porch that stretched the full width of the house on the lower storey. Above, a balcony circled around to the back.
The deep gold brick came from an Outback town that had the only kiln of its kind in Australia. Although the house wasn’t modern in design, it was original, and it pleased him. He had an urge to try to convince Claire that she’d love it here, and squashed it. He didn’t have to impress her.
‘I thought you should see where you’ll be living.’
‘It’s very nice.’ She seemed sincere, but reluctant to say more, and quickly turned her attention to the flowerbeds.
Nicholas refused to acknowledge any sense of relief at her approving assessment.
‘Those borders are pretty.’ Claire gestured towards the blooming plants and bushes. ‘I’m a closet gardener, you know. A frustrated one, at my apartment complex, but I’d have a great big garden if I had the opportunity.’
Was this what she’d meant by getting to know each other better? That they should share small, intimate details about each other?
He decided he could live with her revelations, and maybe come up with a few simple ones of his own. It wouldn’t kill him to try, particularly if all they had to talk about were innocuous things like gardening. ‘You can take over the care of the garden when we’re married, if you like. Come and see the interior.’
Nicholas led the way to the front door, disarmed the security system, and stood back to allow her to precede him. ‘We’ll start upstairs and work our way down.’
He showed her the bedrooms, exchanging casual conversation with her as they made the tour. After the first few minutes she relaxed, and so, he found, did he. Claire did like his home, and there was nothing wrong with him feeling a bit of pride about that.
His feeling of ease left him abruptly when they stepped into the master bedroom. Her eyes turned to deep velvet brown, and a pink flush suffused her cheeks before she quickly looked anywhere but at him.
His pulse leaped, but he only said, ‘The view is rather spectacular from here at night.’ He threw the drapes open. ‘That’s one of the reasons the living room and kitchen are above stairs, rather than below. Would you like to see?’
‘That would be nice.’ She moved past him, the flags of colour in her cheeks still very much in evidence. ‘It’s a treat to see the harbour from a different perspective—although I appreciate the view of it from your office, too.’
Who cared about sights like the Opera House and Sydney Harbour Bridge? He wanted to ravish her, here and now. The temptation made him clench his hands as she passed him.
I’ll have her in my bed when the time is right. Not because of some impulsive, and thoroughly controllable urge.
Anything else would smack of being driven, and nothing drove Nicholas Monroe to act in any way that he didn’t first plan, then initiate in his own time.
‘I could live out here.’ Her words floated back to him, and he moved to join her on the balcony. ‘You can see every bit of movement on the harbour so clearly.’
Their shoulders brushed, and he allowed himself to enjoy the scent of her, the warmth of her skin. ‘The Forresters’ yacht must be out there somewhere.’

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