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The Billionaire Boss's Innocent Bride
Lindsay Armstrong


From mousy PA…Alexandra Hill is worlds away from Max Goodwin’s usually glamorous staff, but this CEO needs a secretary – and fast. So he hires Alex, with one condition: a makeover! Alex turns from dowdy secretary to stunning beauty – and Max’s thoughts turn from professional to very personal indeed… To boss’s wife!Max’s playboy lifestyle couldn’t be more different from Alex’s convent school upbringing, but Alex doesn’t want to be just mistress to a billionaire. Only Max decided long ago that he would never take a wife…







Max said nothing, but his eyeswere hooded and heavy. ‘Perhapsthis will make you understandhow highly desirable you are,Alex, for once and for all.’ And heput his arms around her.

She stood frozen in the circle of them as his heavy blue gaze followed the line of her throat.

It was everything she’d dreamt about, their kiss. The taste, the feel, the joy at the sheer fineness of Max Goodwin, in all his tall, beautifully built splendour, thrilled her and filled her with exquisite sensations. But not only that. With the feeling that to be in his arms was like no other place on earth.

And all the complications of loving Max Goodwin melted away as if they’d never existed…

When he raised his head abruptly she thought it was so he could say something personal and intimate that would put the perfect seal on their togetherness.

He didn’t. He stared down at her, and she could see his tortured expression before he closed his eyes briefly and then put her away from him.

The look in his eyes was brooding and sombre. ‘I should never have done that.’


Lindsay Armstrong was born in South Africa, but now lives in Australia with her New Zealand-born husband and their five children. They have lived in nearly every state of Australia, and have tried their hand at some unusual—for them—occupations, such as farming and horse-training—all grist to the mill for a writer! Lindsay started writing romances when their youngest child began school and she was left feeling at a loose end. She is still doing it and loving it.

Recent titles by the same author:

FROM WAIF TO HIS WIFE

THE RICH MAN’S VIRGIN

THE MILLIONAIRE’S MARRIAGE CLAIM

A BRIDE FOR HIS CONVENIENCE

THE AUSTRALIAN’S CONVENIENT BRIDE




THE BILLIONAIRE BOSS’S INNOCENT BRIDE


BY

LINDSAY ARMSTRONG




www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


CHAPTER ONE

ALEXANDRA HILL arrived home in Brisbane on a particularly chilly May morning.

She’d been on a skiing holiday in the Southern Alps with a group of friends. And while it had been freezing in Canberra when she’d boarded the flight muffled up in a scarf and ski jacket, she hadn’t expected to be grateful for these items of clothing in sub-tropical Brisbane even in winter.

But as it went on to be the coldest May day on record, she was still wearing her coat when she stepped out of the taxi she’d taken from the airport—to find her boss waiting for her on the doorstep of her small terrace house in Spring Hill.

Simon Wellford, ginger-haired and chubby and whose brainchild Wellford Interpreting Services was, threw his arms around her. ‘Thank heavens! Your neighbour wasn’t sure if you were due home today or tomorrow. I need you, Alex. I really need you,’ he said passionately.

Alex, who happened to know Simon was happily married, removed herself from his clutches and said prosaically, ‘I’m still on holiday, Simon, so—’

‘I know,’ he interrupted, ‘but I’ll make it up, I promise!’

Alex sighed. She worked for Simon as an interpreter and had come to know him as somewhat impulsive. ‘What emergency this time?’ she enquired.

‘I wouldn’t call it an emergency, definitely not,’ he denied. ‘Would you call Goodwin Minerals anything but an absolute coup?’

‘I don’t know anything about Goodwin Minerals and I don’t know what you’re talking about, Simon!’

He clicked his tongue. ‘It’s huge, it’s a blue-chip mining company and it’s going into China. Well—’ he waved a hand ‘—they’re about to embark on negotiations here in Brisbane with a Chinese consortium, but one of their Mandarin interpreters has fallen sick and they need a replacement. Almost immediately,’ he added.

Alex dropped her tote bag onto her roller suitcase. ‘On-site interpreting?’ she queried.

Simon hesitated. ‘Look, I know you’ve only done document and telephone work for me, Alex, but you’re damn good at it!’

Alex put her hands on her hips. ‘If we’re talking mining here, are we also talking technical terms?’

Simon glanced at her keenly as he thought, I wish we were—then said, ‘No. It’s for the social events they need you. They…’ he hesitated ‘…wanted to be assured you’d be comfortable in formal social circumstances.’

‘So you told them I don’t eat my peas with my knife,’ Alex remarked, then started to laugh at his injured expression.

‘I told them you came from a diplomatic background. That seemed to reassure them,’ he said a little stiffly because, if the truth be told, he did have one reservation about Alex and this job and it was neither her manners nor her fluency in Mandarin…it was the way she dressed.

He’d never seen her in anything but jeans, although she did have a variety of long scarves she liked to wind round her neck—and her hair was obviously a bit of a trial to her. She also wore glasses.

A classic bluestocking, one could be forgiven for thinking. Not that it had ever mattered how she dressed, because telephone interpreting and document translation were all behind-the-scenes stuff. In fact she did a lot of it from home. You would expect no less than a high social scene from the prominent Goodwin Minerals, though.

He broke his thoughts off with a jerk of his chin. He could sort that out later; getting the job was the important thing and he was running out of time.

‘Hop in the car, Alex,’ he instructed. ‘We’ve got an interview with Goodwins in about twenty minutes.’

She gazed at him. ‘Simon—you’re joking! I’ve just arrived home. I need to shower and change at least and I’m not even sure I want to do this!’

‘Alex…’ he strode across the pavement and opened the passenger door of his car ‘…please.’

‘No, hang on, Simon. Do you mean to tell me you committed me to an interview and you committed Wellford’s to this job with Goodwin Minerals when you weren’t even sure I was coming home today?’

‘I know it sounds a bit, well…’ He shrugged.

‘It sounds exactly like you, Simon Wellford,’ she told him wearily.

‘Great men seize the moment,’ he responded. ‘This could lead to an awful lot of work coming our way from Goodwins, Alex. It could be the making of Wellfords—and,’ he paused suddenly before saying, ‘Rosanna’s pregnant.’

Alex blinked at her boss. Rosanna was Simon’s wife and this would be their first child so the future of the interpreting service would be especially important now.

‘Why didn’t you say so at the beginning?’ she demanded, then her gaze softened and she beamed at him. ‘Oh, Simon, that’s wonderful news!’

Once in the car, some of the difficulties associated with this mission came back to her, however.

‘How am I going to explain the way I’m dressed?’

Simon glanced at her. ‘Tell ’em the truth. You’ve just arrived back from a skiing holiday. We’ll be dealing with a Margaret Winston, by the way. She’s Max Goodwin’s principal private secretary.’

‘Max Goodwin?’

‘The driving force behind Goodwin Minerals—don’t tell me you haven’t heard of him either?’

‘Well, I haven’t. Simon—’ Alex clutched the arm rest as he wove his way through the city traffic ‘—do you have to drive so fast?’

‘I don’t want to be late. He’s a very powerful man, Max Goodwin, and—’

‘Simon!’ Alex interrupted urgently, but it was too late. A delivery truck pulled out unexpectedly in front of them and, despite a liberal application of the brakes, they bumped into the back of it.

Simon Wellford clutched the steering wheel and groaned heavily as he stared at the crumpled tip of his bonnet. Then he turned his head to Alex. ‘Are you all right?’

‘Fine, slightly jolted, that’s all. How about you?’

‘The same.’ He flinched as the driver of the truck, a burly annoyed-looking man, hove into view. ‘But this just about wrecks it all.’

‘How far away are we?’ Alex asked.

‘Only a block but—’

‘Why can’t I go on my own? You won’t be able to leave the scene for a while but I can go, can’t I? What’s her name again?’

Simon sat up. ‘Margaret Winston, and it’s Goodwin House, next block on the left, fifteenth floor. Alex, I’ll really owe you if we get this,’ he said intensely.

‘I’ll do my best!’ She got out of the car, but before she closed the door Simon said, ‘If all else fails, dazzle ’em with your Mandarin!’

She laughed.

In the event it wasn’t only Margaret Winston Alex found herself confronting, it was Max Goodwin as well, and a Chinese gentleman, Mr Li, all of which contributed to her rather breathless disarray on top of having run the last block to Goodwin House.

But it was Margaret Winston, middle-aged, her brown hair exquisitely coiffured and wearing a tailored olive-green suit, who showed Alex into Max Goodwin’s impressive office.

A wall of windows looked down on the Brisbane River as it flowed around leafy Kangaroo Point beneath the Storey Bridge. A sea of royal-blue carpet covered the floor. There was a vast desk at one end and some fascinating etchings of Brisbane, in its early days, framed in gold on the walls. At the other end there was a brown leather buttoned three-piece lounge suite set about a coffee table.

And Max Goodwin himself was impressive.

For some reason Simon’s brief summing-up had led Alex to expect a tough, rugged man, even perhaps leathery, as the billionaire mining magnate who headed the company.

Max Goodwin was anything but that. In his middle thirties, she judged, he was the most intriguing-looking man she’d seen for years. Not only was he a fine physical specimen beneath the faultless tailoring of his navy-blue suit, he also had rather remarkable dense blue eyes. His hair was dark and the planes and angles of his face were sculpted finely and his mouth was thin and chiselled.

There was absolutely nothing gnarled and leathery about him, although he could well be mentally tough, she thought, even downright dangerous. There was a kind of eagle intensity to those dark blue eyes that gave every intimation of a man who knew what he wanted—and got it.

Her next thought was that she wasn’t what he wanted at all…

It was a feeling he confirmed when, following the introductions and after a lingering assessment of her, he rubbed his jaw irritably and said, ‘Oh, for crying out loud! Margaret—’

‘Mr Goodwin,’ Margaret Winston broke in purposefully, ‘I have not been able to get anyone else, tomorrow afternoon is approaching fast and Mr Wellford assured me Ms Hill here is extremely competent and has a comprehensive command of the language.’

‘That may be so,’ Max Goodwin stated, ‘but she looks about eighteen and as if she’s run away from her convent school.’

Alex cleared her throat. ‘I can assure you I’m twenty-one, sir. And forgive me for suggesting this but is it wise to judge a book by its cover?’ She paused, then bowed and said it all over again, in Mandarin.

Mr Li stepped forward at this point and introduced himself as one of the interpreting team. He engaged Alex in a detailed conversation, then bowed to her and said to Max Goodwin, ‘Very fluent, Mr Goodwin, very correct and respectful.’

The silence that followed was filled with tension as Max Goodwin locked gazes with her, and then he studied her comprehensively from head to toe again.

Maybe not eighteen, he decided. But without any trace of make-up, with her slippery, shiny mass of mousey hair coming loose in all directions from the knot she’d tied it in, with her steel-rimmed spectacles, her tracksuit and sheepskin boots—she’d taken off a bulky jacket on arrival but there was still hardly any shape to her—she did not look soignée and that was what he needed!

Unless—he had another look at Ms Hill—well, it mightn’t be impossible. She was fairly tall, always a plus when you were a little on the dumpy side, figure-wise. Her hands were actually slim and elegant, her skin was actually rather creamy, and her eyes…

He narrowed his own and made a request. ‘Would you take your glasses off for a moment?’

Alex blinked, then did as requested and Max Goodwin nodded. Her eyes were a clear, fascinating tawny hazel.

‘Uh,’ he said, ‘thanks, Margaret, I’ll handle this for the moment. Thank you, Mr Li. Please sit down, Miss Hill.’ He gestured to a brown leather armchair.

Alex took a seat and he sat down opposite and laid his arm along the back of the settee. ‘Tell me about your background,’ he went on, ‘and how you come to speak Mandarin.’

‘My father was in the Diplomatic Corps. I had—’ she smiled ‘—what you could call a globe-trotting childhood and languages seem to come easily to me. I picked up Mandarin when we lived in Beijing for five years.’

‘A diplomatic background,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘So, do you see yourself working as an interpreter as your career?’

‘Not really, but it is a good way of keeping up my skills, and keeping the wolf from the door,’ she added humorously. ‘But I’m thinking of aiming for the Diplomatic Corps myself. I haven’t long been out of university, where I majored in languages.’

He ruffled his dark hair. Then he said abruptly, ‘Would you object to a makeover?’

She stared at him and the silence lengthened during which she, quite ridiculously, noted his pale grey tie with navy polka dots and the fact that he had a small scar at the outward end of his left eyebrow.

She cleared her throat. ‘You obviously don’t think I look the part. I—’

‘Do you think you’d feel the part?’ he broke in. And he reeled off a list of functions that made Alex blink: cocktail parties, a luncheon, a golf day, a river cruise, a dinner dance amongst them.

‘Look,’ she interrupted in turn, ‘I think we may be wasting each other’s time, Mr Goodwin. I simply don’t have the wardrobe to cater for all that and I may not have the—what’s the word?—elan for it either. Straight interpreting is one thing, this is quite another.’

‘I’d provide the wardrobe. You could keep it.’

‘Oh. No. I couldn’t,’ she said awkwardly. ‘It’s kind of you but, no, thank you.’

‘It’s not kind at all,’ he replied impatiently. ‘It would be a legitimate expense in this instance, therefore tax deductible. And it’s not as if it would be part of me “keeping” you in return for specific favours.’

Alex’s lips parted. ‘Definitely,’ she said tartly.

He grinned suddenly, his eyes alight with wicked amusement. ‘Why not, then?’

Alex wriggled in her chair, then folded her hands in her lap. ‘I would feel—I would feel uncomfortable. I would feel bought even if not for the usual reasons.’

Max Goodwin eyed the ceiling. ‘Give ’em all back to me, then. I’m sure I could find someone who’d appreciate them.’

‘That would be more appropriate,’ she mused, ‘but there’s something else. To be perfectly honest, I would feel a certain amount of chagrin that you don’t consider the real me good enough.’

‘It’s not that,’ he said through his teeth. ‘I just don’t want you to feel like Cinderella. OK, yes—’ he raised his hand ‘—I also need the other side to take you seriously, therefore a slightly more sophisticated aura would be a help.’

Alex chewed her lip. Part of her would like to decline, she decided. There was plenty about Max Goodwin that rubbed her up the wrong way—sheer arrogance, for one thing. How pleasant would it be to turn the tables on him, though? To prove to him she would not be an embarrassment to him, something he’d barely, just barely, stopped short of saying?

She looked down at herself rather ruefully at that point. She’d had no opportunity to explain why she looked rather dishevelled or why she was dressed the way she was—on a point of pride she wouldn’t deign to do so now anyway.

But it was a challenge and it could be really interesting.

And there was Simon and his company to consider, not to mention the coming baby…

‘I guess I could give it a go,’ she said, ‘although—’ she shrugged ‘—I didn’t that long ago leave my convent, for what it’s worth, Mr Goodwin, only about a year ago.’

Something like amazement touched his eyes. ‘You were a nun?’

‘Oh, no. But my parents died when I was seventeen and a boarder at the convent, so I stayed on. The Mother Superior was related to my father—my only living relative. And I boarded with them during my time at university. She died last year.’

‘I—see. Well, I was going to say that explains it, but what does it explain?’ he asked himself rhetorically and smiled whimsically.

‘It probably explains why I’m a bit of a plain Jane, why I’m used to a simple, useful life,’ she told him gravely. ‘It doesn’t mean to say I can be imposed upon.’

He stared at her. ‘You’re worried that I might be tempted to take advantage of you, Miss Hill?’

‘Sexually? Not in the least,’ she returned serenely. ‘I would imagine I’m quite out of your league, there, Mr Goodwin. Anyway, for all I know you could be married with a dozen kids.’ She paused, as for some reason not clear to her Max Goodwin appeared to flinch.

Then he said, ‘I’m not married.’ He frowned. ‘What, just as a matter of interest, would you imagine my “league” to be?’

‘Oh—’ Alex waved a hand ‘—glamorous, sophisticated women of the world.’

He grimaced, but didn’t deny the charge. And he said, ‘If you’re not worried about being imposed upon in that way, what are you worried about?’

‘I get the feeling you’re a master at getting your own way whatever the cost,’ Alex said candidly, and took her glasses off to polish them on her scarf. ‘I wouldn’t take kindly to that,’ she said calmly, but quite definitely, and repositioned her glasses.

But it seemed as if Max Goodwin suddenly had his mind on other things. And, indeed, he had, as it occurred to him he’d never seen such remarkable eyes and was it his imagination or—was he unable to resist them?

Of course not, he reassured himself. It was her very correct, fluent Mandarin, obviously. All the same…

‘Have you ever tried contact lenses?’ he found himself asking.

Alex blinked behind her glasses at the abrupt change of topic but, not only that, at the impression she’d got that Max Goodwin had gone from businesslike to personal somehow—but surely that was ridiculous?

‘Yes, I do have a pair, but I prefer my glasses,’ she said slowly and with a slight frown.

‘You should persevere with your lenses,’ he told her and stood up. ‘OK, let’s get this show on the road.’ He strode over to his desk and buzzed for Margaret Winston.

Margaret, when she came, didn’t see a problem in the making over of Alex Hill; she looked relieved instead. Then she became practical.

She named a leading department store and told them they had a customer-service department that assisted in putting together wardrobes, co-ordinating cosmetics and even had their own hair salon. She would get right onto the phone to them, she said, and organize a consultation immediately.

‘Thank you, Margaret, that’s excellent news. By the way, am I running late again?’

‘Yes, Mr Goodwin, you are—I’m just about to ring ahead and advise them.’

‘Thanks. Uh—I’d really like to brief Miss Hill. When am I going to have time to do that?’

Margaret thought for a moment. ‘I’m afraid it’s going to have to be after hours,’ she said a little helplessly. ‘Six o’clock this evening, for an hour, is about all the free time you have left.’

‘That OK with you, Miss Hill?’ He swung back to Alex.

She frowned. ‘Where?’

‘Here. I have a penthouse on the top floor. Just use the penthouse buzzer and give your name—Margaret will pass it on to the staff up there.’ He held out his hand to Alex.

She didn’t offer him her hand. She said instead, ‘Brief me?’

Max Goodwin dropped his hand. ‘Yes, brief you on these negotiations,’ he said and added precisely, ‘that is all. And for the simple reason that it may not only be social chit-chat you’ll be translating, because many a meaningful conversation has been held outside a conference room. So I’d like you to be aware of some of the nuances behind these talks.’ He raised a satirical eyebrow at her. ‘All clear?’

Alex shrugged. ‘I only asked.’

‘Because, despite what you said to the contrary, you couldn’t help wondering if I had something else in mind?’

Alex smiled suddenly. ‘If you had known my Mother Superior, you would also know that “penthouses” and “after hours” are all things sensible girls should avoid like the plague. I guess that habit of suspicion becomes a bit engrained. I really am over it now, though—I’ll come.’ She held out her hand, quite unaware of the startled look in Margaret Winston’s eyes, then the small smile of approval that good lady allowed herself before she left.

But it was when he took her hand and shook it that Alex discovered something curiously mesmerizing about Max Goodwin. Was it pure animal magnetism? she wondered. A heady assault on the senses because, even if he was arrogant and incredibly high-handed, he was also good-looking and impressive with those broad shoulders and narrow hips so that he wore his beautifully tailored suit to perfection?

Was it the sneaking suspicion that, despite those blue eyes and the suit, he’d be quite capable of throwing you across the back of his horse like a disobedient squaw and cantering off with you?

Don’t be ridiculous, Alex, she chided herself immediately…

But it wasn’t only that tantalizingly dangerous appeal to him, she reflected. There was a vitality to him that was hard to resist. There was the fact that she might despise his ways and means, but she found him an interesting, worthy opponent to cross swords with.

There was that wary little feeling she’d experienced earlier that he’d crossed some boundary into the personal with her—was that really why she’d been a bit dubious about this after-hours meeting in the penthouse?

On the other hand—and this took her by surprise and shook her a little as she reclaimed her hand—there was the curiously fascinating detail that she came up to just above his shoulder height…


CHAPTER TWO

AT FIVE minutes to six that evening, Alex barrelled into the foyer of Goodwin House with her hair and scarf flying and a variety of shopping bags hanging from her arms.

She looked around breathlessly for the penthouse buzzer and was intercepted by the commissionaire. She gave him her name and told him who she needed to see. He looked doubtful for a moment but led her to the penthouse lift—he had the grace to look apologetic when her name was received in the affirmative and the lift doors opened on cue.

‘Thirty-fifth floor is what you need, ma’am. Have a good evening!’

Alex pressed thirty-five and prepared to part company with her stomach—she didn’t like lifts, but this one turned out to be painless. And on the thirty-fifth floor it opened directly into Max Goodwin’s penthouse.

It wasn’t Max who greeted her, however, it was a man of about forty who said pleasantly, ‘Miss Hill, I believe? I’m Max’s domestic co-ordinator, Jake Frost. I’m afraid he’s running a few minutes late. Would you care to come through to the lounge and may I get you a drink? Oh—I’ll take the shopping bags.’

‘Thank you, thank you.’ She also divested herself of her jacket and scarf. ‘And just a soft drink would be nice—shopping can be exhausting and thirst-making.’

‘It would appear you’ve done quite a bit of it,’ Jake remarked as he relieved her of the carrier bags.

‘It’s not for me,’ Alex assured him. ‘I mean, it is, but I’ll be giving it all back. It’s not as if I’m ruinously spendthrift or anything like that.’ Her eyes twinkled suddenly behind her glasses. ‘Oh, dear. Does it really matter what people think of me?’

Jake Frost took a moment to take a more personal, less professional look at the new interpreter. He’d been told about her and not thought much one way or the other about it. Now he decided she was charming even if she was not at all the kind of woman Max Goodwin usually…

But what am I thinking? he wondered. This is business.

All the same it was with a genuine smile that he said, ‘I think it would be a shame not to enjoy it just a little bit, even if you are giving them all back.’

A few minutes later, Alex had a tall, frosted glass in her hand as she admired the view from Max Goodwin’s penthouse. It was a beautiful view over the river and the city in the last of the daylight as lights started to twinkle on and she identified some of the landmarks.

The lounge behind her was spacious and absolutely eye-catching. The carpet was sea green, the couches were covered in apricot cut velvet with poppy-red cushions and the occasional tables were enamelled black.

A magnificent Chinese cabinet in black-and-gold lacquer dominated one wall and on another a marvellous, almost full-length abstract painting took pride of place and brought a bouquet of beautiful, swirling colours to the room.

‘Hello, Alex,’ a voice said behind her, and she turned to see Max Goodwin stroll into the lounge.

He’d obviously just showered, his hair was still damp, and he was now wearing jeans and a sweater. He walked over to the bar and poured himself a drink.

‘Do sit down,’ he invited.

Jake came in as she took a seat. ‘I’ve rung ahead to say you might be a little late, Max. I’ve put the wine in a cooler bag for you—’ he indicated the bag on the bar ‘—and here are the flowers.’ He picked up a bunch and laid them back again. ‘So I’ll get going, if you don’t mind.’

‘Sure. Cheers!’ Max Goodwin saluted his domestic co-ordinator and sat down opposite Alex. ‘Well, how did you get on this afternoon?’

‘Fine,’ Alex said. ‘I think. But look, Mr Goodwin, if you’re running late again maybe we could find some other time for this?’

‘No, it doesn’t matter if I’m a bit late, there is no other time, and I’m determined to enjoy this drink.’

Alex shrugged. ‘I just wouldn’t like to make you late for your date.’

He looked amused. ‘My date, as you put it with a certain amount of disapproval, Miss Hill, is with my grandmother. She’s in a nursing home at the moment so the wine and the flowers are to cheer her up.’

‘Oh.’ Alex took her glasses off and polished them. Had she sounded disapproving and if so why? Had the subconscious impression been growing in her that Max Goodwin was something of a playboy? Helped along no doubt by the wine and the flowers, those good looks and that impressive physique and the fact that he wasn’t married. Along with, of course, that unexplained little trill of wariness she’d experienced at the interview this morning.

But assuming she’d misread that, wasn’t all the rest of it akin to judging a book by its cover?

‘I’m sorry,’ she said and smiled suddenly at him, ‘if I sounded disapproving. I, well, it seems one of my impressions of you is that you could be a bit of a playboy but I don’t really have any concrete evidence so I shall discard it.’

For a long moment he was speechless.

Alex glanced at her watch. ‘Should we begin the briefing?’ she suggested, her eyes a serious hazel behind her repositioned glasses, but with her lips still quirking.

Max Goodwin recovered himself. ‘Thank you,’ he said gravely, ‘for being prepared to revise your opinions. Naturally, I don’t see myself as a playboy, although our definitions could vary—’ he grimaced ‘—but perhaps it’s not a good idea to go into that. And—’ a lightning look of wicked amusement flew Alex’s way ‘—to be honest, disapproval of any kind doesn’t often come my way so I’ll look upon it as a salutary experience. OK, on to the briefing.’

When he stopped talking Alex had a fair idea of the gist of the negotiations he was undertaking as well as a familiarity with the territories they covered. It would be a huge coup for Goodwin Minerals if they scored this breakthrough into the Chinese market, she realized.

Then he glanced at his watch and drained his beer. ‘I should get going. Thank you for your time, though.’ He stood up and retrieved the cooler bag from the bar and a colourful bunch of gerberas, white daisies and asparagus fern wrapped in cellophane.

It was when they got to the foyer and she collected her bags and jacket that he said humorously, ‘I hope you haven’t parked too far away, Alex?’ He ushered her into the lift.

‘I don’t have a car.’

He frowned and hesitated before pushing a button. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I don’t drive.’

He looked at her for a moment as if she might have escaped a lunar landscape, and Alex had a secret desire to laugh.

‘So how do you get about?’

‘Buses,’ she said gravely. ‘I also have a bicycle. And, very occasionally, taxis.’

‘Where do you live?’

She told him.

‘That’s on my way.’ He pushed the basement button and the doors closed. ‘I’ll give you a lift.’

‘You really don’t need to do that, Mr Goodwin,’ she protested. ‘I’m quite used—’

‘Alex,’ he said with his eyes glinting, ‘a piece of advice, don’t argue with me. Especially not when I’m being at my best because it may not last that long.’

The lift came to rest at the basement floor and the doors slid open.

‘Well—’ She temporized.

‘Besides which,’ he added, eyeing her carrier bags, ‘you’ve got an awful lot of loot on you by the look of it, all paid for with my money—you could get robbed, mobbed, anything, and I wouldn’t appreciate that.’

‘Are you saying so long as the “loot” was OK, you wouldn’t mind what happened to me?’ she demanded.

‘Now that is putting words into my mouth,’ he drawled. ‘But enough of this chit-chat, let’s go!’

Alex had no choice but to follow him as he strode across the garage towards a gleaming navy-blue Bentley that looked brand-spanking new.

‘Wow!’ She pulled up and couldn’t help gazing at the car admiringly, her ire dissolving somewhat. ‘I don’t know much about cars but this is something else!’

‘Yes, a beauty, isn’t she? So damn classy—if she were a girl I could marry her.’

Alex had to laugh as he unlocked the boot and they deposited her bags, the flowers and the wine in it, then he unlocked the doors and she climbed into the cream leather and walnut interior. It even smelt beautiful inside.

‘Is it a conscious decision not to drive?’ he queried as he nosed the car up the garage ramp and onto the street. ‘A “greenie” decision?’

Alex wrinkled her nose. ‘I would love to say so, and I do think too many of them are wrong, but it’s a practical decision. I don’t have a garage and I’m so used to taking buses and so on.’ She waved a hand.

‘What is your economic situation?’ he asked with a sudden frown.

Alex watched the city street slide beneath the bonnet of the Bentley. It had rained while she’d been upstairs and the slick surface was reflecting myriad lights as the tyres hissed over them.

‘My parents did have a nest egg that came to me,’ she told him. ‘After—’ she stopped for a moment and swallowed ‘—after the accident they died in, my Mother Superior was appointed my trustee. My school fees were paid out of it, and my university expenses et cetera, and there was enough left for me to buy a terrace house, so I’m actually a woman of some substance even if I don’t have a car!’ She turned to him with a cheery grin.

But Max Goodwin noticed the added sparkle to her eyes behind her glasses, tears, he suspected, and felt a spark of pity for this orphan.

He said only, though, ‘Good on you! Is this it?’ He pulled the Bentley up outside a row of terrace houses in the inner suburb of Spring Hill.

‘Yes. Thank you very much for this. I suppose I’ll see you again at…’ Alex glanced at him enquiringly ‘…well, the cocktail party tomorrow afternoon?’

‘Yes.’ He paused. ‘What have you got on tomorrow morning? I just thought you might be interested in the state-of-the-art conference room and meeting the other interpreters.’

‘I would, normally, but it seems I have all sorts of other appointments tomorrow morning. Hair, nails, facials.’ She grimaced.

Max Goodwin frowned and turned to study her. He’d opened his door to retrieve her stuff from the boot so the overhead light was on.

‘You don’t—you don’t,’ he said ashis dark blue gaze roamed over the very au naturel girl he’d hired as an interpreter—actually rather refreshingly natural, he found himself thinking suddenly, ‘need to go overboard.’

Alex hid a smile. ‘Mr Goodwin, since I have it on good authority I would feel like Cinderella otherwise, I intend to do what is necessary not to feel that way. But I don’t intend to go overboard. If anything, I was a restraining influence.’

It dawned on Max that this girl had turned the tables on him, that, far from being crushed by his makeover request, she was even laughing at him. ‘How so?’ he queried with a tinge of foreboding.

‘I kept reminding your Mrs Winston, who is a dear actually, and the wardrobe co-ordinator, that, while I didn’t need to look like Cinderella, I didn’t need to outshine the guests either. And it’s only the clothes you’re paying for.’

He narrowed his eyes. ‘That’s not necessary, Alex.’

She shrugged. ‘It is to me. That side of it is rather personal and it’s not a question of it would probably be like a drop in the ocean for you—it’s my pride. So please don’t you argue with me, Mr Goodwin.’

Max found himself laughing involuntarily as Alex put up her chin and stared haughtily at him. ‘Very well, ma’am,’ he replied with his lips twitching. ‘Let’s get your things.’

He not only got them out of the boot for her, he carried some of them up the short path from the pavement to her front door.

‘Give me your key. I’ll open the door for you.’

‘I—it’s probably under that flowerpot,’ she said unthinkingly and pointed to a pot bearing lavender.

‘I don’t believe you,’ he said as he deposited the bags he was carrying onto the garden bench and lifted the pot. ‘This is the first place a would-be thief would look! Not that,’ he added, ‘it would do him much good tonight because it’s not there.’

He straightened, dusted his hands and eyed the eleven other pots grouped around her front door ominously then somewhat bemusedly. ‘What is this? They’re all herbs if I’m not mistaken.’

‘Yes. I like to use them in cooking.’

He turned his attention back to her. ‘That’s fine, but it’s insanity to hide your door key like that. So where should I look next? The basil, I recognize that one and the mint of course, also the parsley—’

‘I do make a random choice every day,’ she broke in nervously, ‘and I only do it in the first place because I have a horrible habit of losing keys. Hang on!’ She banged her forehead with the heel of her hand. ‘I’ve been away, haven’t I? So it must be in my bag. Let’s see.’

She started to rummage through her bag, then clicked her tongue exasperatedly and upended the tote onto the bench seat.

‘How many times a day do you have to do this?’ he enquired.

‘Not that often,’ she told him. ‘What’s more, it’s all your fault. Ah! Here it is.’

His eyebrows shot up. ‘My fault? I don’t see—’

So she interrupted him to tell him how her day had panned out thanks to his urgent need of a Mandarin speaker.

‘Is it any wonder I’m not quite as organized as I should be?’ she finished severely, only to realize he was shaking with silent laughter.

‘It’s not funny,’ she said as he opened the door for her.

‘It is funny,’ he disagreed. ‘Where’s the light?’

‘Just round the corner but you don’t need to—’

‘I have no intention of coming in, Alex,’ he said somewhat dryly, ‘just in case your Mother Superior is issuing all kinds of red alerts or clear-and-present-danger signals from up above—I’m sorry,’ he said abruptly as her expression changed. ‘Strike that. All right—’ he looked down at her ‘—I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon. Thank you for putting up with—all the difficulties of the day.’

But for a moment, before he left, his eyes roamed over her in a rather narrowed, probing way that puzzled her.

Then, with a light, quick flick of his fingers on her cheek, he was gone.

She was not to know that as he drove off Max Goodwin was surprised to find himself thinking that, were he free, he would enjoy taking his new interpreter out for a meal. He had a favourite little seafood restaurant that something told him she would enjoy; it was unpretentious but comfortable and the food was the work of a chef who really understood his sauces and combined them with whatever was the fresh catch of the day.

Come to think of it—he steered the Bentley round a roundabout—he hadn’t taken a female companion there for ages, although it had not been so much the lack of females to escort around. No, there had been a plethora of upmarket social events on his calendar, and several perfectly groomed, expensively dressed, perfumed women on his arm, one at a time naturally, to share them with him, but looking back had it all seemed curiously—empty?

Which raised the question—was the way that Alexandra Hill seemed to be beckoning him an indication he was tired of the high life or perhaps specifically ‘glamorous, sophisticated women of the world’—to quote Miss Hill herself.

He frowned suddenly because that, of course, led him straight back to the thorny question of one particular sophisticated, glamorous woman of the world…

But although Alex was not privy to Max Goodwin’s rather surprising train of thought, she was still puzzled as she closed her front door on the wet night.

What had she sensed in the moment when he’d studied her so carefully? Some sort of a frisson between them?

She touched her cheek with her fingertips where he had touched it, and found herself breathing deeply as she recalled the tall, exciting essence of her new employer; the deep blue of his eyes, how they crinkled when he laughed, his broad shoulders, his hands…

She stared into space, then shook her head as she warned herself not to get fanciful.

She’d redecorated the house herself gradually, using white for the walls to show off the interesting artefacts and pictures gathered from all over the world in her earlier life.

There was a lovely kelim rug hanging on one wall of the lounge and she’d made the covers of her scatter cushions for her ruby settee from songket, hand-woven Malay fabric threaded with silver and gold, that she’d bought in a market in Kuantan.

It had been a wonderful life, her earlier life. Not only had her father achieved consul status in the diplomatic service, but she’d grown up sharing both her parents’ interest in scholarly pursuits. She’d also inherited their talent for languages.

Then it had all come crashing down.

Her parents had been killed in a train crash a long way from home. She probably would have been on the train herself if it hadn’t been decided she should complete her last couple of years of schooling in Australia. It had been a life-saving decision, although it had been hard to handle at the time; it had also been a wise one. She’d made some long-term friends close to home who had been denied to her in her globe-trotting childhood.

So she hadn’t been entirely alone and, of course, there’d been her father’s cousin, the Mother Superior of her convent.

But as the only child of only-child parents, whose own parents had all passed away, it had been a crushing blow. And although out of the tragedy a habit of fortitude and independence had grown, she still, in her innermost moments, suffered from it. She told herself it was foolish to fear getting too close to anyone in case they too were wrenched from her, but that cold little fear persisted.

And she knew it was why she was fancy-free at twenty-one, and wondered if she’d always be the same.

But she had been fortunate to inherit that fairly substantial nest egg and to be able to put herself through university and, later, acquire her house and finally put her convent days behind her. Not that she’d found them a trial.

When she’d finished school and gone straight on to university, she’d been taken on as a lay member of the staff and in return had helped out with the younger boarders. She was handy with kids, especially tearful, a-long-way-from-home ones, probably because she’d been through a lot of school changes and scene changes herself.

And it had been quite a change, moving into her flat after convent life even as a lay member of the community where one could never be lonely or idle. But after the first sense of disorientation, she’d grown to value her very own space and the things she could do with it.

She was also fortunate to have a congenial neighbour. Patti Smith was an energetic widow in her late fifties and she was fun to be with. They looked after each other’s gardens, mail and so on when either of them were away. Patti, a former nurse, was now retired.

Alex put her keys down on the dining-room table, her bags on the settee and moved around, switching on a couple of lamps.

In the warm soft light the room looked peaceful and inviting, and it brought her a special pleasure to know that she’d bought some of the furniture second-hand and restored it herself.

She slipped her boots and several layers of clothing off, although she’d reduced some of what she’d been wearing while shopping, and took a shower. Then she padded through to the kitchen, which was possibly her greatest triumph.

She’d transformed it from a dark and dingy nightmare to light and white with open-fronted shelves to show off her colourful crockery and basket containers.

She made herself a cup of tea and a sandwich, and carried it all through to the bedroom where she emptied her carrier bags onto her bed.

She looked down at the pile and thought with a tinge of irony that she might have been a restraining influence but the clothes were lovely all the same. Margaret Winston might have accepted her suggestion that she shouldn’t outshine the guests, that perhaps dark colours and simple lines would be the most suitable, but she’d insisted on the best quality available.

Alex had quailed inwardly at the prices, but Margaret had confided that they’d be but a drop in the ocean for Max Goodwin.

The result was beautiful materials, linen, silks, fine wools and crêpes. There were three pairs of new shoes and sets of exquisite underwear.

But a frown grew in her eyes as she stared down at it all. Very lovely, but quite different from her normal attire. Would the flair to wear them come from them? she wondered.

Then a strange little thought struck her. How would Max Goodwin view her in these elegant clothes?

To her amazement she felt her pulse beat a little heavily at the thought, and she had to take several deep breaths. She had also to remind herself that she needed to be very, very professional in her dealings with him…

The next day seemed to fly past.

The cocktail party was to be held in the penthouse, starting at six p.m. but Margaret Winston had asked her to be there by five-thirty. In the meantime, she did have a bevy of appointments and there’d been a message from Simon on her answering machine requesting her to pop in and see him.

But before she went anywhere, her neighbour Patti popped in for a few minutes.

‘Knock, knock! I peeked, I cannot deny it, although I wasn’t going to admit it,’ she said dramatically, ‘but I’m dying of curiosity! Who was the gorgeous man who brought you home in a Bentley, no less, last night?’

Alex had to laugh. ‘My new boss,’ she explained. ‘My very temporary boss, so don’t get your hopes up.

Patti sighed regretfully, then she brightened. ‘You never know!’

At midday, Alex stared at herself in something like disbelief.

The foils had come out of her hair, it had been trimmed, washed and blow-dried and the result was rather incredible. Not only that, her eyebrows had been neatened, her lashes had been tinted and her nails manicured.

But most of all it was her hair that amazed her. No longer mousey and unmanageable, wheat-fair highlights had lifted the colour, it now had body, bounce and shape as its slight tendency to curl had been taken advantage of.

‘Like it?’ Mr Roger, the hairdresser, enquired.

Alex swung her head and watched her hair sway elegantly. ‘It’s—I can’t believe it. But—’ she turned to him urgently ‘—I won’t be able to keep it looking like this!’

‘Of course you will!’ he replied, looking a little hurt. ‘It’s all in the cut and what I cut stays cut until the next cut, believe me. And you can still tie it back, put it in bunches, whatever! Mary,’ he called to the make-up girl over his shoulder, ‘let’s do her face. Really go for the eyes, talk about amazing, they are!’ He turned back to Alex. ‘And please don’t tell me you’re going to wear those glasses, lovey, because I couldn’t bear it!’

‘I won’t,’ Alex promised with a laugh. ‘I wouldn’t dare—I’ve brought my contacts.’

He patted her shoulder. ‘Anyway, come in and get it combed before any of your big “do’s” if you’d like to.’

‘Oh, my goodness!’ Simon Wellford said and dropped his pen as Alex slid into a chair across his desk. ‘I mean—’

‘It’s OK!’ Alex smiled at him sympathetically and explained rather humorously about the makeover she’d undergone. ‘I got a bit of a shock myself,’ she added. ‘To think, I’ve been battling with my hair for as long as I can remember and all it needed was one man to cut it, style it, and colour it. Mind you,’ she confided, ‘it cost an arm and a leg.’

‘It’s not only your hair.’ Simon’s gaze took in her carefully made-up face. ‘It’s your face and—no glasses now. It’s amazing. Although—’ his gaze dropped lower ‘—same kind of clothes.’

‘Ah. Not this afternoon, though. So what did you want to see me about?’

Simon reached for a folder. ‘Goodwin Minerals faxed through a confidentiality clause. I’ve had our lawyer have a look at it and he sees no problems, but it means that anything you learn during these negotiations has to stay confidential.’ He handed her a pen.

Alex signed the document with a flourish. ‘Of course.’

‘And they faxed through the programme of engagements you’ll be required to attend.’ He pushed another piece of paper across the desk to her.

‘Cocktail party tonight, lunch tomorrow at the Sovereign Islands, then a three-day break until a golf day at Sanctuary Cove, a day out on a boat on the river, a day at the races and finally a dinner dance—Sovereign Island again,’ Alex read and ticked off her fingers.

Simon looked a question at her.

‘I have seen this—Mrs Winston went through it with me. I was just going through the outfits we got for each occasion,’ she explained and added, ‘I think I’m going to enjoy the three-day break after tomorrow’s lunch. But what’s at Sovereign Island?’ she asked.

‘It’s on the Gold Coast. He has a house down there—make that a mansion.’ Simon looked wry, then opened a drawer and produced a gold badge with her name in navy enamel letters and the company logo artfully inscribed on it. ‘What do you think? Quite classy.’

Alex ran her fingers across the surface. ‘Yes.’ She put it in her bag.

‘So—’ Simon sat back and looked at her narrowly ‘—you reckon you can handle this, Alex?’

‘Have I ever let you down, Simon?’

‘No, but telephone interpreting and document translation is not the pressure thing on-site interpreting is.’

‘I know,’ she agreed. ‘But I spent a couple of hours last night immersing myself in a Mandarin DVD—I feel quite ready.’

He gazed at her. ‘Well, it’ll be mostly small talk, I imagine, but—good luck! You do realize this could bring us a lot of work?’

Alex rose. ‘Simon, that must be the sixth time you’ve told me that—I do. And if you don’t mind I’m off to smell the roses, metaphorically speaking, so—’

‘What’s he like? Max Goodwin?’

Alex turned back to him and searched her mind. ‘Very—clever, I would say. Very used to getting his own way. Very rich.’ She turned towards the door.

‘That I never doubted,’ Simon said dryly. ‘It’s an old family and there’s been a lot of wealth in it for a long time. His grandmother was the daughter of an Italian count and his sister is married to an English baronet. Still, there’s a rumour going round town that a son he never knew existed has made an unexpected appearance in his life.’

Alex turned back again and blinked at her boss. Simon Wellford had a sister, Cilla, who had married rather spectacularly and he often shared titbits of celebrity gossip with his staff.

‘Never knew existed?’ she repeated. ‘How on earth can that happen?’

Simon shrugged. ‘Who knows? There’ve been a few women in Max Goodwin’s life. But word has it, he was, to put it mildly, not amused.’

Alex sat down again. ‘How could you be “not amused” about your own child?’

Simon drummed his fingers on the table. ‘Don’t ask me, Alex. Cilla is a bit piqued because she hasn’t, to date, got any further details.’ He pulled a face as if struck by a sudden thought. ‘And if I were you I wouldn’t put the question to him either.’

Alex sat back. ‘As if I would,’ she said tartly.

‘Well, I don’t know about that. I’ve got the feeling you’re something of a—’ Simon Wellford hesitated ‘—a “do-gooder”.’

‘I’m not. I am,’ Alex corrected herself, ‘but in a strictly non-meddling way. And this has nothing to do with me, although I still can’t understand it.’ She frowned.

Simon sat up and pushed his fingers through his gingery hair. ‘I’m sorry I ever told you! Look, don’t let it affect your dealings with Goodwin,’ he requested urgently.

‘Of course I won’t. I intend to be entirely professional about this, Simon,’ she told her boss, ‘believe me.’

‘Good.’

At five-thirty, as the autumn dusk was gathering, Alex arrived at the penthouse and her jaw dropped at what she saw.

The last time she’d visited the curtains had been closed on the side of the lounge that led to a pool deck. Now they were open and the pool sparkled with underwater lighting. Not only that, the deck had been screened from the cool night air and bore a startling resemblance to what could be a set of the musical South Pacific.

There was a dugout canoe bobbing on the pool, there was a small sandy beach, tropical foliage—real palm trees and hibiscus bushes. There were waiters and waitresses wearing leis, sarongs and grass skirts, there was the lovely music playing softly in the background. The tables that bore the canapés and drinks were covered in palm thatch and strewn with frangipani blooms.

It was all so professionally done, so real, you could imagine yourself on an island in the South Pacific.

Alex closed her mouth and turned to find Margaret Winston at her elbow. ‘This is just brilliant,’ she breathed.

Margaret smiled. ‘We do our best. Now, let me look at you.’

Alex looked down at herself. She wore a filmy black blouse dotted with coin spots of pale grey over a black camisole and a fitted black skirt that came to just above her knees. Her legs gleamed smooth and long beneath sheer stockings and she wore black suede pumps.

It was a restrainedly elegant outfit, she felt, and, although she’d been amazed at her hair, she had no real idea of the remarkable transformation she’d undergone.

But before Margaret got a chance to comment, Max Goodwin came up to them.

He made a fleeting but comprehensive study of Alex, stifled an expletive and said instead with obvious dissatisfaction as he turned to his secretary, ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, Margaret! What’s this?’


CHAPTER THREE

IT WAS Margaret Winston who saw Alex freeze with a trapped look in her eyes like a deer caught in headlights.

It was Margaret who protested, ‘But, Mr Goodwin, she looks wonderful!’

‘Wonderful?’ Max Goodwin grated. ‘She looks—’

He didn’t get to finish because Alex came alive and whirled on her heel and ran for the lift.

He caught her with her finger on the button and took hold of her elbow. ‘If you’ll allow me to finish, Alex,’ he said tersely, ‘I was about to say you look drop-dead gorgeous.’

Alex’s head came up and she looked at him incredulously. ‘You’ve just made that up,’ she accused huskily. ‘Please let me go.’

‘No. Come with me.’ The pressure on her elbow increased and he steered her out of the foyer into a side room, a smaller, more informal sitting room with comfortable armchairs done in restful shades of green. He closed the door behind them. ‘I meant it,’ he said.

‘But that doesn’t make sense.’ Alex clasped her hands in front of her and prayed she wouldn’t burst into tears. ‘Why would you be angry about that?’

He shoved his hands into his pockets. ‘Because it’s the last thing I need at the moment, an interpreter who’s going to steal the show. Not only that, I can’t allow for anyone to believe that we are on more intimate terms as well.’

Alex’s colour fluctuated, but she said steadfastly, ‘I don’t think there is the slightest chance of that!’

‘My dear…’ Max Goodwin stood back from her and allowed his dark blue gaze to sweep her from head to toe again ‘…believe me, it would occur to me if I saw you with someone else. You look wonderfully slim and elegant, black obviously suits you, it makes your skin look like cream velvet, your eyes are stunning, they look green today—and why the hell didn’t you tell me you had legs to die for?’ he added irritably.

‘Because it’s none of your business,’ she flashed back, then blushed. ‘I mean, they’re just, well, legs.’

‘No, they’re not,’ he contradicted. ‘They’re the best pair of legs I’ve seen for years. For that matter how did you manage to look…like you did yesterday morning?’

Alex plaited her fingers. ‘It was the clothes. I also had thermal undies on.’ She paused.

‘Go on, this is absolutely fascinating,’ he drawled.

Alex grimaced. ‘You did ask.’

For a moment Max Goodwin exhibited no expression at all, then his lips twisted into a faint smile. ‘You were lucky it was such a cold day up here.’

‘I was,’ she agreed, then looked perturbed. ‘I still don’t know whether to believe you.’

‘I’m not in the habit of lying.’

‘But—’ she shook her head a little dazedly ‘—you were the one who wanted me to look more—more with it. I actually was rather convinced you were afraid I might be an embarrassment to you.’

‘For my sins, so I was.’ He smiled austerely. ‘You know, even if you were expecting me to make some crushing remark about your appearance, I wouldn’t have thought it would have bothered you a lot.’

Alex blinked at this disclosure.

He shrugged. ‘I was pretty much convinced you didn’t give two hoots about what I thought.’

She thought through this and a slow tide of pink coloured her cheeks again as she wished fervently she could assure him she didn’t. But of course it was too late for that. She bit her lip.

‘I—’ she began tentatively. ‘That is…look—’ she gestured frustratedly ‘—it must be a “girl” thing. I mean, it must be the one area where I really don’t know what I’m doing.’ She paused and gathered composure. ‘I couldn’t help wondering if I’d ended up looking completely wrong,’ she told him tentatively.

‘No. The opposite.’

Alex gazed at him wordlessly for a long moment. She’d never thought much about men’s tailoring before and was not to know his suit was made from the finest wool/cashmere blend, but anyone could see it fitted perfectly. The smooth charcoal-grey fabric was beautifully stitched along the lapels and he wore a white shirt with a broad stone stripe and a tie with tiny emerald hexagon motifs. Gold cufflinks glinted at his wrists.

His shoes simply looked as if they had cost a fortune. And add to the whole his dark good looks…

Talk about stealing the show, she thought suddenly. Max Goodwin could be the one to do it. So why wasn’t he married? Why had he eluded it until his middle thirties and why was he not amused to discover he had a son?

‘Ms Hill?’

Alex came out of her thoughts with a little start. ‘Sorry. You said?’

‘I said nothing. You were looking at me as if I were—I’m not quite sure.’ He narrowed his eyes. ‘Reprehensible? Or some kind of specimen that was completely foreign to you?’

Alex chuckled involuntarily, a little breath of sound. ‘That could be it. But—look, do you want me to race home and change?’

He took his time about replying, studying her a little askance as if he was going to take issue with what she’d said first, then he glanced at his watch and shook his head. ‘We don’t have the time anyway. We shall have to make do. Just ignore any excessive adulation that comes your way and—’

Alex broke in, ‘I am not a silly, impressionable young girl, Mr Goodwin!’

‘No. But you may never have appeared in public as if you could grace the cover of Vogue. Plus, it is only human nature for people to wonder if I’m bedding you as well as employing you!’ He looked irritated again. ‘What was I saying? Ah. Just ignore the adulation and don’t leave my side. By the way—’ he frowned as if at a sudden thought ‘—did you say you were a restraining influence?’

Alex nodded after a moment with just the hint of a smile in her eyes. ‘There was a much shorter skirt I could have had with this top.’

‘And Margaret would have been happy with it?’

Alex narrowed her eyes, suddenly sensing dangerous ground for some reason. ‘I can’t remember. I did try on an awful lot of clothes. Does it matter?’

‘No,’ Max Goodwin said somewhat grimly at the same time as he thought, I don’t believe you, Ms Hill. And what game is Margaret playing at? Pairing me off with this girl?

He paused his thoughts as it suddenly struck him that this Alex Hill was not only drop-dead gorgeous, she was refreshingly different and unusually engaging and in any other circumstances he would be intrigued by her on a different level altogether. A physical, personal level that had much more to do with those stunning legs and eyes, that lovely slim body rather than her fluency in Mandarin…

He shook his head and broke off that train of thought abruptly.

‘Oh.’ Alex swung her small bag on its long chain off her shoulder and opened it to produce Simon’s badge. ‘This should help.’ She pinned it onto her blouse. ‘Surely I look like part of the staff now?’

Max didn’t reply.

The cocktail party lasted for two hours.

Alex didn’t once leave Max Goodwin’s side and was happy not to do so because, as he’d predicted, she did attract some attention.

People, mostly men at first, were anxious to be introduced to her and were taken aback to discover she was actually working. Then, as she spoke her fluent Mandarin, many of the wives were also intrigued and struck up conversations with her.

After the first shock of it, she managed to handle it as briefly and courteously as possible and for the most part she clung stringently to her role and concentrated fiercely.

The one occasion that nearly tripped her up was, gallingly for Alex, exactly what Max had predicted might happen.

Paul O’Hara was introduced to her as an intern working in Max Goodwin’s office as part of his pursuit of a Master’s degree in Business Management. And, Max Goodwin had revealed with a grin, he was a cousin. He was about twenty-five, fair and pleasant-looking with humorous grey eyes. He also took one look at her and the stunned admiration that gripped him was all too clear to see.

But then—Max Goodwin had turned away by this time—a frown filled those grey eyes as Paul O’Hara looked from Alex to Max’s back, and his gaze came back to her with a clear question along the lines of, Are you his property?

Alex blushed and her lips parted, but how could you refute something like that in the middle of a cocktail party when you were working? What had it to do with a man she’d just been introduced to anyway?

So she tilted her chin imperiously and turned away.

It took an effort of will, though, to gather her concentration, but, fortunately, this first social event was less formal than what was to come and there were no welcome speeches, no ‘meaningful conversations outside the conference room’ for her to deal with.

It was mostly introductions as the South Pacific background enchanted many of the guests and obviously melted a lot of constraints. So it was a success, the opening cocktail party, a lively throng that was a blend of Chinese businessmen and the top management echelon from Goodwin Minerals, also, in many cases, accompanied by their stylish wives.

But as the last guests departed Alex looked wordlessly at Max Goodwin and drew a deep breath she let out very, very slowly.

His eyes crinkled at the corners. ‘That was quite a performance, Ms Hill. I salute you. But would I be right in thinking you’re exhausted?’

‘I feel as if I’ve been through a wringer,’ she said candidly.

‘Then go through to the green room,’ he instructed. ‘I’ll bring a restorative.’

Alex hesitated. ‘I should be going home.’

‘In a while. Here we go.’ He scooped two glasses of champagne from a passing waitress. ‘After you.’

She hesitated a moment longer, then did as she was told. This time, her second visit to the green room, she sat down on a settee and removed her shoes with a genuine sigh of relief. ‘Sorry,’ she murmured as she arched her feet and accepted her glass from him. ‘New shoes.’ She studied her feet, then lifted her head to him. ‘That was quite a party. I guess it’s going to take some deconstructing.’

‘Margaret and Jake are experts at it—they’re like generals in the field,’ he said with a glimmer of a smile. ‘They’ll both stay the night downstairs and by tomorrow morning you’d never know the South Pacific had come to town.’

He sat down opposite in an armchair and sipped his champagne. He’d only had one glass during the party, and she, of course, hadn’t drunk at all.

Alex took a sip herself and smiled suddenly. ‘Now that is nice.’

‘It should be—it’s very expensive champagne. Your convent didn’t warn you off alcohol and all the darker things it could lead to?’ he queried rather dryly.

Alex made herself more comfortable. ‘Naturally they didn’t approve of it and I very rarely indulge in it, but thanks to my father I can distinguish between the good and the bad.’

Max Goodwin watched her with a frown in his eyes. ‘You have—’ he paused ‘—an innate composure about you, Alex. I guess that comes from living in a Diplomatic Corps environment.’

She shrugged. ‘It could.’ She looked at him with a mischievous sparkle in her eyes. ‘Does that mean I passed more than one test tonight?’ she teased.

Max Goodwin rubbed his jaw. ‘You certainly did.’ He got up and pulled his jacket off, loosened his tie and stretched.

‘So,’ he said, ‘we have the formal luncheon tomorrow, down on the Gold Coast—I have a house there—and then you’ll have a three-day break as the negotiations get going in earnest. I—’ He looked down at her. ‘What’s wrong?’

Alex swallowed and told herself fiercely she’d never speak to herself again if she blushed like a schoolgirl. Because the fact of the matter was, the sight of Max Goodwin stretching had affected her rather drastically.




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