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A Boss In A Million
HELEN BROOKS


Max Hunter's last secretary had called him a boss in a million, and Cory soon discovered that she was now working for a man who more than lived up to his reputation!Cory tried to concentrate on her work, not Max. After all, she'd started dating another man– a man whom Max decided wasn't good enough for her. The simplest way to convince Cory of her mistake was holding her captive until she admitted it was Max she really wanted!









“You’re the boss.”


“Yes, I am, aren’t I?” Max agreed musingly.

Cory was determined he wasn’t going to intimidate her. She stared at him, keeping her face bland.

“The thing is, Cory, I’ve decided not to go back to the office today. And you are staying here until tomorrow morning.” He had the audacity to smile as he added, “There are five guest bedrooms to choose from.”

“Who do you think you are, Max Hunter? Employing me as your secretary did not mean you had the right to my soul as well.”

Max jerked Cory into his arms before she realized what was happening. “Now, as it happens, it’s not your soul I had in mind.”




HELEN BROOKS lives in Northamptonshire, England, and is married with three children. As she is a committed Christian, busy housewife and mother, her spare time is at a premium, but her hobbies include reading and walking her two energetic and very endearing young dogs. Her long-cherished aspiration to write became a reality when she put pen to paper on reaching the age of forty, and sent the result off to Harlequin.

Look out for MARRY ME?, a new two-part series by Helen Brooks, coming soon!




A Boss in a Million

Helen Brooks







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




CONTENTS


CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN




CHAPTER ONE


‘LONDON? Oh, Cory, don’t. Don’t leave. Things will work out for you here; I know they will. Just be patient.’

Cory Masters stared back into the face of her friend, her dear friend, the man she had known all her life and loved just as long. How could she tell him that the reasons she had just given for leaving her sleepy little rural home town nestled deep in the green folds of North Yorkshire were lies? The real cause of her intended flight to the anonymity of the metropolis was him, Vivian Batley-Thomas.

Cory smiled brightly, her deep sea-green eyes with their fascinating hint of purple determinedly clear and open and giving no hint of her inward turmoil. ‘It’s all arranged, Vivian.’ She flicked back an errant strand of silky dark brown hair that had blown across her cheek as she continued, her voice cheerful, ‘I had the interview a week ago but I didn’t think I stood a chance of getting the job when I saw some of the opposition, but then this morning Mr Hunter’s secretary phoned. I start in four weeks’ time so I can have a few weeks with her showing me the ropes before she leaves to follow her husband to his new job in the States at the end of May.’

‘But if you were thinking of something like this why didn’t you say?’ Vivian asked bewilderedly, his voice holding a slightly plaintive note and his boyishly handsome face set in a dark frown. ‘And there’s the wedding and everything; Carole was relying on you to help her with all the arrangements—she just hasn’t got a clue regarding anything practical.’ His voice was indulgent rather than critical and then it changed as he added, ‘You are the chief bridesmaid after all.’

‘I know.’ The smile was being kept in place by sheer will-power now. If anyone knew, she knew. Chief bridesmaid to the beautiful newcomer to the market town who had captured Vivian’s heart from the first time he had seen her at one of the local barn dances. Carole James, with her long blonde hair and deep blue eyes, hourglass figure and the sort of legs that went on for ever. And she was nice too, Cory thought wretchedly. A bit giggly and helpless, and she’d definitely never win Mastermind, but nevertheless nice.

‘And I can still be Carole’s bridesmaid so don’t worry. Most of the arrangements can be sorted before I go—that won’t be a problem—and you’ve already booked the church and the village hall with your uncle, haven’t you?’ Vivian’s uncle was the local vicar. ‘And I’ll be home for the odd weekend before September if there’s anything Carole needs help with,’ she added soothingly.

‘Of course there’ll be things she’ll need help with.’ Vivian’s voice was both anxious and irritated, and for a moment Cory’s pain was swallowed in anger.

How could he be so…so thick? she asked herself silently. They had always lived in each other’s pockets from the day they had first started kindergarten together, and with their families living only three doors from each other had spent all their childhood and youth in each other’s homes. His parents were almost as close to her as her own. And even when they had gone to their respective universities and met other people none of their relationships had come close to what they had with each other.

Not that anything had ever been said exactly. But it hadn’t needed to be. She had known he was the one for her and vice versa. Or so she had thought… More fool her, she added bitterly.

‘Vivian, I know Carole has no family of her own but your mother will advise in any way she can.’ Cory forced her voice to be calm and unruffled. ‘The village hall is booked for the reception already and your mother knows the caterers your uncle suggested. There’s really no problem. Everything is in hand.’

‘But she was relying on your moral support—’

‘She’ll have you for moral support for goodness’ sake!’ It was a snap; Cory’s patience only went so far. Her mother was a redhead and in a certain light the deep auburn highlights in her own dark brown hair bore testimony to the fact that she had a good number of her mother’s vibrant fiery genes in her.

‘So you really intend to go?’ Vivian asked tightly after a small but very pregnant pause, his mouth pulling into a thin line.

‘Yes, I really intend to go.’ Cory’s voice was equally tight. She’d go tomorrow if she could. She’d had quite enough the last few months of watching Vivian billing and cooing with the curvaceous blonde, and the engagement party the week before had been an ordeal she wouldn’t wish on her own worst enemy. It was over six months to the middle of September, and she would never survive the course if she had to remain in Thirsk all that time. For some strange reason Carole seemed determined to make her her best friend.

‘Then there’s nothing more to be said,’ Vivian said stiffly, and then, in repudiation of that statement, he continued, ‘But why you couldn’t have put your career on hold for a few more months and carried on working at Stanley & Thornton’s I don’t know. You say you want a change and that a new job and surroundings will stretch you, and I can understand that at your age—’ she’d hit him, she really would, she’d hit him! ‘—but another six months wouldn’t have made any difference in the overall run of things.’

‘Perhaps at my great age I didn’t think I’d got time to hang about,’ Cory bit out sharply as Vivian walked towards the door. Carole, at just twenty years of age, was four years younger than Cory and Vivian and had already pointed the fact out several times in her cute, open-eyed way that made Cory feel like Methuselah. ‘Maybe I thought I’d got to grab at life before it passed me by?’ Even as she spoke the words she realised there was more than a little self-prophecy in them. She should have left Yorkshire years ago.

Vivian didn’t pause in his retreat from her mother’s pleasant rose-coloured lounge, and after a second or two, when she heard the front door bang behind him, Cory took a long, deep, reviving breath and forced back the hot tears that were burning the back of her eyes, blinking desperately as she raised her chin high.

No more. No more crying! She willed herself to stand perfectly still and for her heartbeat to return to normal. She had cried enough tears in the last few months to fill the ocean and she was tired of feeling so desperate. She was leaving Thirsk in four weeks’ time and even if the post of secretary to the illustrious head of Hunter Operations didn’t work out—she hadn’t mentioned to Vivian or her parents that the offer was conditional—she wouldn’t be back to stay. She’d rather crawl through red-hot coals of fire.

All her dreams, all her aspirations since she had first learnt to toddle, had been tied up with the tall, handsome man who had just left the house so abruptly and she was going to have to learn how to face the rest of her life without him, and, having learnt it, to carve a future for herself. It wasn’t the path she would have chosen, it certainly wasn’t the path that was going to bring her the sort of cosy family joy and harmony she had foreseen for herself, but there had been enough crying over spilt milk and she didn’t like the person she was turning into.

Her back straightened and her shoulders pulled back as she emphasised the thought. She wasn’t a whinger. She’d never been a whinger, and enough was enough. She was young, she was intelligent, and there was life after Vivian Batley-Thomas…gorgeous as he was. No! The last thought had crept in all by itself, and Cory frowned determinedly. She couldn’t afford to think like that any more, even for a moment. Gorgeous he might be, available he wasn’t. End of story.



‘Cory, how nice to see you again, and please, call me Gillian.’

It was a cold April morning four weeks later, and, having taken up residence in her compact but attractive bedsitter the Friday before, Cory had just nervously entered the high-rise offices of Hunter Operations. The building was big, flamboyant and luxurious, and left the neat little offices of Stanley & Thornton’s, Engineering Specialists, in the cold, but Gillian Cox’s smile was warm and went some way to alleviating the panic Cory was feeling as she faced the chairman’s secretary on this, the first morning of the new job.

‘Hello, Gillian.’ Amazingly her voice sounded nearly normal. ‘It’s nice to see you again too. How are you?’

‘Rushed off my feet, half insane and heading for a nervous breakdown. Other than that, fine.’ Gillian’s smile widened. She had kindly come to Reception to welcome Cory personally and now walked her over to the lift, saying brightly before pressing the button, ‘You must be dying to meet Max; it’s not often one doesn’t get to meet one’s boss until the first day of employment, is it?’

‘No.’ Cory’s voice was weak. She’d thought that herself!

‘But he’s back from that awful Far East session of conferences and tours, and it’s proved very fruitful which is the main thing. And you’ll get on fine with him, Cory, really. He’s a boss in a million. If it hadn’t been for Colin landing such a wonderful job in the States I’d never have dreamt of leaving Hunter Operations, especially after fifteen years with Max, but it’s very important to Colin that we begin the cocktail round and so on as soon as possible. You know how these huge conglomerates work,’ she added cheerily.

No, she didn’t, but she didn’t like to say so.

Gillian was still talking when the lift stopped at the exalted top floor and as the doors slid open to reveal lush thick cream carpets and brushed linen walls, the hushed calm was rudely shattered by a very irate, very male voice bellowing, ‘Gillian? For crying out loud, woman! Where’s that fax from Katchui?’

Cory’s eyes shot to the doorway halfway down the wide corridor and to the big dark man filling it, but Max Hunter had eyes for no one but his cool and apparently unruffable secretary who, after a quick aside for Cory to wait in her own office directly opposite them, glided forward, saying calmly, ‘It’s on your desk, Max, where it’s been for the last three days, but no doubt you’ve buried it under that mountain of paperwork you’ve been looking at all weekend.’

Gillian disappeared through the doorway but it was a moment or two before Cory could force her legs to take her into the other woman’s office, which would soon become hers if this job worked out. Although, having now seen the formidable Max Hunter, she had her doubts about that very thing, she thought a trifle ruefully.

The man in the doorway had been big, very big—at least six feet four—and broad with it. He wasn’t old; Gillian had told her Max Hunter’s father—who had started the Hunter empire in the late fifties—had died fifteen years ago when his son had inherited at the tender age of twenty-three, but her glimpse of the hard male face and black hair dusted with silver had suggested a man some few years older than his thirty-eight years. And his manner…Cory breathed deeply as she sank into one of the plumply upholstered easy chairs dotted about Gillian’s vast quarters. His manner didn’t exactly tally with this supposed ‘boss in a million’ that Gillian had been so enthusiastic about at her interview.

‘All’s calm again on the western front.’ Gillian was beaming as she bustled through the interconnecting door between her office and that of Max Hunter. ‘He’d got Mr Katchui hanging on on the phone and Max hates to be anything less than one hundred per cent in control,’ she said brightly. ‘Typical man.’

Cory nodded without saying anything; she’d gathered that much for herself. She smoothed down the slim pencil skirt of the new navy blue suit that had cost her an arm and a leg, cleared her throat and had just opened her mouth to ask something intelligent when Gillian completely took the wind out of her sails as she leant forward and said, her voice urgent, ‘Don’t take any notice of how Max is, Cory—his manner and how he talks and everything. He really is a lovely man underneath it all. We’ve always got on great.’

‘You have?’ Cory needed every bit of reassurance she could get.

‘Definitely.’ Gillian nodded firmly. ‘But he just takes a bit of getting used to. He’s very sure about what he wants and even more so about what he doesn’t, and he doesn’t suffer fools gladly. Well, he doesn’t suffer them at all actually.’ She grinned at Cory who bared her teeth in feeble response.

‘And he has very rigid views about people,’ Gillian went on.

This was getting worse by the minute!

‘I interviewed ten applicants on his behalf, you know, and, knowing Max like I do, you were the only one who met his criteria. Some of them were too officious and some not officious enough, one or two had a baby glint in their eyes and dealing with maternity leave and all that paraphernalia would drive Max mad; he’s awful to temps. And he doesn’t appreciate women who titivate all the time, or clock-watch, and he expects one hundred per cent discretion at all times of course.’ She smiled sunnily, her face serene.

‘Of course.’ Cory gulped audibly. She had to take all this as a compliment that she was the one Gillian had thought fitting, she told herself desperately, but right at the moment it was hard. ‘Well, you’ve told me what he doesn’t like, Gillian,’ she said carefully. ‘Perhaps I’d better know the positive side too?’

And then a deep cold voice brought both their heads turning as it said expressionlessly, ‘In essence the five Bs—brains, backbone, breeding, boldness and…’ The pause was deliberate.

‘And?’ She had had to force herself to speak; close to, this man was positively devastating but she dared not let his effect on her show. She had been right in thinking his face was hard, but it was more than that, much more. The dark tanned skin was pulled tight over a chiselled bone structure that was disturbingly masculine, the aquiline nose and strong mouth increasing the impression of severity. But it was the eyes—amazingly beautiful tawny-gold eyes shaded by thick black lashes—which gave his gaze a ruthlessly piercing quality that was totally unnerving and more than a little formidable.

She had never in all her life seen eyes like this man’s, and when added to his overall height and breadth—which she now saw was made up of muscle and bone and not fat—and the perturbingly cruel nature of his magnetic good looks the end result was almost paralysing. She couldn’t believe this was her boss.

‘And beauty,’ he finished laconically, and in the split second before he smiled and moved forward to shake her hand Cory was conscious of that golden light shooting right down to her toes.

She recovered quickly, jumping to her feet and putting out her hand which was swallowed whole in his huge fingers, but she made sure her grip was firm and strong even if her answering smile quivered a little. She guessed he was joking about the beauty—Gillian was immaculately and expensively dressed, and her greying hair was expertly cut in the latest style, but not even her nearest and dearest could have called the homely-faced woman remotely beautiful.

‘So you’re the paragon Gillian was so delighted to unearth,’ he said thoughtfully. His voice had a smoky, husky tone and a faint accent she couldn’t quite place, and was utterly in keeping with the dynamic whole. It made her toes want to curl.

‘I’m Cory Masters, Mr Hunter.’ She had retrieved her hand as soon as possible; the feel of his hard, warm flesh was not improving the state of her nerves. ‘It’s very nice to meet you.’

‘Likewise, and the name’s Max by the way,’ he returned easily.

Max. How on earth was she going to be so familiar as to call him by his first name? Cory thought feverishly. The thought was daunting.

‘Short for Maximilian,’ he continued imperturbably, only a slight narrowing of the brilliant gaze suggesting he was aware of the hasty withdrawal. ‘My father liked to tell the tale that I was christened after one of his favourite film characters, Maximilian the robot, in the film The Black Hole?’ Cory had never heard of it but she nodded anyway. ‘But he admitted privately the name came from the Roman emperor Maximilian I, and that it is from the Latin maximum meaning greatest.’ He eyed her lazily, his mouth quirking.

Robot or Roman emperor, the name fitted, Cory told herself with a faint touch of hysteria. He was easily the most overwhelming individual she had ever come across, and she had committed herself to work for this man as his secretary-cum-personal assistant. She must be mad! She was way, way out of her league here.

‘Now, I understand from Gillian that for the next couple of weeks you are mainly going to observe and digest,’ he said coolly. ‘The following month you will assist and hopefully by the last week will have become autonomous. Ask any questions you like, dig, delve, call Gillian in the middle of the night if you feel so inclined, but don’t bother me. I don’t know how the office out here works and I don’t want to; that’s what I pay a secretary for. I expect you to be able to put your finger on anything I want at a moment’s notice, and I never accept excuses. Is that clear?’ he added smoothly.

‘Perfectly.’ There was something in his tone that had put Cory’s back up although she couldn’t have explained what, and now she found herself saying, before she could stop herself, ‘I take it from this morning’s incident that you expect your secretary to be as fully conversant with every item on your desk as she is of her own?’ She had kept her tone pleasant, even conversational, and in the pause before he spoke again she could almost see the razor-sharp brain trying to assess exactly where she was coming from.

‘Absolutely,’ he agreed with apparent unconcern, but again the amber eyes had narrowed just the merest iota and Cory knew her little jibe about the buried fax had been received, analysed, and filed away under the correct heading of sarcasm.

Which made her crazy, she told herself in the next instant, when after a curt nod of his head he turned and disappeared back through the interconnecting door, shutting it sharply behind him. Why start off on the wrong foot right from word go? Oh, she should have kept her mouth well and truly shut! She was her own worst enemy. Her father was always saying the same about her fiery, volatile mother, and somehow in Max Hunter’s authoritative presence all her father’s calm, placid genes had died and all her mother’s reckless ones had come rushing to the fore.

‘Right.’ Gillian’s voice was neutral. ‘Let’s get you acquainted with all the companies under the Hunter Operations umbrella first. There’s a breakdown on that desk over there with all relevant facts and figures. Most of it is confidential. I’ve also done a rough précis of the main people, both within Hunter Operations and without, whom you’re likely to deal with, and any background—hang-ups, problems, difficult to communicate with or easy, that sort of thing—to help you along a bit. Could you destroy those sheets in the shredder once they’re in your head because at least half of them would feel inclined to have me up for libel if they read them?’

‘Thank you.’ The other woman’s smile was infectious and it made Cory feel a little better, although she found her hands were trembling when she took the seat at the desk Gillian indicated. Max Hunter was probably congratulating himself right now for the trial period stipulated in the job offer, she thought grimly, smoothing back a shining strand of dark hair which had escaped the prim French pleat at the back of her head, and she couldn’t really blame him. But she intended to make sure that if, or perhaps she should say when, he decided not to make her a permanent offer he wouldn’t be able to use the quality of her work or her dedication as the excuse.

Cory was deep in a very interesting and, she had to admit, somewhat aspersive review of Max Hunter’s current main competitor when she heard the buzzer on Gillian’s phone. ‘Yes, Max?’ There was a moment or two of silence and then, ‘Oh, yes, that’s fine with me. I’ll just check… Cory?’

Cory lifted her head enquiringly to Gillian’s slightly bemused voice, and saw the older woman was staring at her with a studiously blank face which gave absolutely nothing away.

‘Max was wondering if you are doing anything for lunch? He suggests taking us to Montgomery’s as a little celebration of your first day at Hunter Operations. I’m free, are you?’

‘Montgomery’s?’ The name meant nothing to Cory—she had only been in London just over a week—but from the other woman’s tone it clearly wasn’t a fast-food restaurant. ‘Yes, that would be lovely,’ she managed faintly. And then, once Gillian had relayed their acceptance, she asked, ‘What exactly is Montgomery’s, Gillian?’

‘It’s a restaurant,’ Gillian said carefully. ‘A very…nice restaurant. I’ve been there once or twice before and the food is very good.’ She was trying to be offhand but the message was clear.

‘Right.’ Cory’s heart sank still further. No doubt men like Max Hunter took their secretarys to such places all the time, but she hadn’t had Gillian’s experience. She just hoped she didn’t let anyone down. This was probably some kind of a test?

The remainder of the morning sped by as her brain tried to assimilate a hundred and one facts, and just before twelve, at Gillian’s urging, she made use of the little pink and white cloakroom attached to the secretary’s office to freshen up before lunch.

‘What are you doing here, Cory?’ She took a long breath as she stared at the wide-eyed girl in the mirror. The discreetly elegant hairdo, the circumspect make-up, the expensive suit and Italian leather shoes—this wasn’t her. Who was she trying to fool? She wasn’t going to carry this off, no way, no how. She should never have tried for this job—it was way, way out of her league. Huge, anxious, sea-washed green eyes looked back at her, and she gave a nervous swallow in the same moment she realised the palms of her hands were damp. Calm down, girl. Calm down.

She had to carry this off. She continued to stare into the mirror as she gnawed at her bottom lip, and then hastily splashed cold water over her wrists before re-touching her make-up and spraying a few drops of perfume on to cool skin. She had her bedsit now, and in spite of the fact that it was only one large room tucked away in an old house in Chiswick it was costing a small fortune. She needed every penny of her six-week probationary salary, but Gillian had stipulated a hundred per cent increase once the position became permanent, and that would be good money—very good money. Of course she could get cheaper accommodation, but she had fallen in love with the lovingly restored Victorian house with its gracious sense of the past, and her bedsit—right at the top of the house and affording a panoramic view over roaming rooftops and a huge expanse of light-washed sky—was an oasis of peace amidst London’s bustle.

‘Cory?’ Gillian’s voice just outside told her it was time to go, and she took a hard, anxious pull of air, smoothing down the fitted jacket of the linen suit and tweaking the collar of her jade-green blouse into place before she left the small sanctuary.

The two women had just slipped on their coats when the door to Max’s office opened. He moved lazily towards them, his powerful body possessed of an animal grace that was entirely natural and all the more formidable because of it. There was no polite ‘All ready?’ or any other preliminary small talk; he merely gestured with one hand towards the outer door, his hard-boned face cool and closed, and as he did so Gillian’s telephone began to ring.

‘Leave it.’ It was an order and Gillian nodded, but then, after her answering machine had cut in and just as Max was closing the door behind him, they heard a man’s voice say after the beep, ‘Gill? Gill, if you’re there pick up the phone, love. It’s urgent.’

‘It’s Colin.’ Max had already swung the door wide again and as Gillian hurried to the phone with a muttered, ‘I’m sorry,’ he leant lazily against the outer wall in the corridor outside, his gaze switching to Cory with alarming suddenness and pinning her to the spot. She stared back at him, willing her nerves not to show.

‘How was the first morning?’ he asked in that husky dark voice that sent her nerve-endings into hyperdrive.

‘Good.’ She nodded in what she hoped was a brisk fashion, and prayed he would put her burning cheeks down to the central heating which was of the hothouse variety. This was stupid, this was so stupid, Cory told herself angrily as she frantically searched her blank mind for something to say. She was supposed to be working for the man from nine to five—or six or seven, whatever the day demanded—five days a week, but at this rate she wouldn’t survive the day, let alone the first week.

She had been so composed and cool and calm at that initial interview back in February. The pain and misery of Vivian’s engagement party two days before had been so vivid in her mind that a kind of numb fatalism had guided her through the ordeal of Gillian’s hundred and one questions and practical tests; she’d felt then that the worst that could possibly happen had happened, so what was the success or failure of a job interview compared to Vivian marrying someone else? In fact she’d still felt like that right up until… When? This morning at nine o’clock. When she’d looked into a pair of narrowed tawny eyes set in the coldest face she had ever seen. And also the most attractive, she added wryly.

‘Good?’ He drawled the word slowly with a hint of mockery. ‘Care to elaborate on that enigmatic statement?’

No, she wouldn’t, and she wasn’t mad about his supercilious attitude either. Funnily enough the thought brought two of Max’s aforementioned Bs—backbone and boldness—into play, and she heard herself saying, her voice firm now and aiming at polite reserve rather than the cutting coldness she would have loved to display, ‘It would be foolish of me to venture an opinion after just three hours, don’t you think? But certainly Gillian has been extremely helpful and kind.’ She raised her chin and straightened her shoulders.

‘It would be impossible for Gillian to be anything else.’ There was genuine warmth in his voice for the first time and it made the smoky effect lethal. ‘She’s a secretary in a million.’

‘That’s just what she said about—’ Cory stopped abruptly. She wasn’t at all sure Gillian would appreciate her repeating her earlier comment, besides which, this man’s ego was big enough as it was. But it was too late. He’d homed in like a nuclear missile.

‘About?’ he questioned softly, but she knew they were both aware of what she had been about to say. It was there in the eyes.

‘About you,’ Cory admitted grudgingly. ‘She said you were a boss in a million.’

‘And you doubt that very much.’ The hint of laughter was unmistakable. Cory was too surprised to do anything but stare at him, her green eyes with their mercurial violet tinge wide and her full-lipped mouth slightly agape as she searched her mind for a response.

Max Hunter seemed to be enjoying himself. She watched him settle more comfortably against the wall, and there was a definite measure of satisfaction in the deep voice when he said, ‘True or false?’ as black eyebrows rose mockingly.

He was as unlike her previous employer as it was possible to be! The thought flashed through Cory’s head and brought small, strutting Mr Stanley, with his formal, ritualistic working mode and almost phobic fear of any relaxing of office protocol or decorum, there in front of her for a moment. He would no more have a conversation like this with his secretary than fly to the moon! Mind you, she wasn’t Max Hunter’s secretary, not yet, and perhaps he never intended for her to be? Perhaps she didn’t want to be? And she agreed with Gillian’s statement—Max Hunter was certainly a boss in a million all right. It was just the way he’d earned the title she and his secretary differed on, Cory thought caustically.

It was the last thought that opened Cory’s mouth and enabled her to say, with suspect sweetness, ‘I’m sure Gillian is absolutely right, Mr Hunter, when she says you’re one on your own?’

‘Max,’ he corrected smoothly, ‘and I’ve been insulted less prettily in my time. Do you work as well as you fence, Cory?’

She wasn’t going to win a war of words with this man. For the second time in as many minutes Cory found herself with her mouth open and she shut it quickly with a little snap. ‘Better,’ she said brightly. This job was a non-starter. She knew it.

‘Then we’ll get on just fine.’ He levered himself straight.

It was as he turned to face the doorway through which Gillian was walking that Cory noticed the scar on the right side of his neck. It was long and jagged, starting above his ear in his hair and disappearing down into the collar of his shirt, and spoke of a savage accident. The scar itself was silver but due to his dark tan it stood out quite distinctly from the surrounding skin, and for a moment or two Cory couldn’t take her eyes off it. She had averted her gaze by the time he turned to her again, but it had really shocked her. What on earth had happened to him?

‘I’m sorry I’ve kept you both waiting.’ Gillian was flushed and flustered, and when her voice wobbled a little and she added, ‘It’s Colin—he’s not well,’ Max took the older woman’s arm as the three of them entered the waiting lift.

‘What is it?’ he asked with surprising gentleness. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘Oh, nothing, not really.’ Gillian breathed in deeply. ‘A touch of food poisoning, they think. Colin says it’s not serious.’

‘But you’re missing him, and no doubt he’s missing you.’

‘Uh-huh.’ Gillian nodded and then managed a fairly normal smile as she included Cory in her rueful grimace. ‘Pathetic, isn’t it? But the last eight weeks are the first time we’ve been apart in our twenty years of married life and it feels so strange. Still, at least Colin’s found a gorgeous apartment out there and everything is going to be done when I arrive on the doorstep in six weeks’ time.’

Six weeks. Six weeks! And then—if she was still here, that was—there would be only Max Hunter and herself and no comforting, homely Gillian around. Cory missed her step as she followed the older woman into the lift and immediately a warm firm hand fastened on her elbow. ‘Careful.’ He was just behind her and his six feet four towered over her five feet five as she turned to murmur her thanks. ‘We don’t want you breaking your neck on the first day, do we?’ he added evenly. ‘And certainly not in this building. I can do without a lawsuit for industrial injury.’

‘I wouldn’t dream of suing you for something that was my own fault,’ Cory answered hotly as though the accusation were a reality.

‘No?’ It was blatantly cynical, his firm, cruel mouth twisting mockingly at the fierceness of her protest.

‘No.’ She stared up at him, her mouth very firm, and they were both unaware of the interested spectator watching the little drama in front of her. ‘That would be positively immoral.’

‘Immoral…’ He considered the word lazily.

Cory was instantly aware she had chosen an unfortunate turn of phrase but it was too late to retract it. She’d have to bluff.

‘And you are always…moral, Cory?’ he asked quietly, with hateful butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-my-mouth innocence.

‘Always.’ This wasn’t going to work. This job definitely wasn’t going to work. For some reason he didn’t like her; there was veiled antagonism in his every word, his every glance, and she wasn’t imagining it. He had been gentle, understanding even, with Gillian, but with her it was almost as though he was trying to catch her out all the time, Cory thought tightly. He was a cold, hard, macho brute of a man—everything she detested in a male, when she thought about it—and she hadn’t made the move to London to live in a perpetual state of tension and stress.

‘Then Gillian has chosen well.’ It wasn’t what Cory was expecting and she was eternally glad the lift chose that precise moment to open its silent doors and deliver them in Reception. ‘Now, a nice relaxing lunch, I think?’

His voice was even and distant suddenly, and, ridiculous though it was, Cory felt as though the man now escorting Gillian and herself through the ingratiating smiles and nods in Reception was an entirely different creature from the one she had seen so far. He was cool and remote and self-assured, every inch the powerful tycoon and entrepreneur, as he strode through the hushed and immaculate surroundings and out through the gleaming brass and glass doors which one of the reception staff had fallen over themselves to open.

A blue and silver Rolls-Royce was parked at the kerb outside the building with magnificent disregard for yellow lines, and as Max led the two women towards it Cory had the notion she was taking part in a flamboyant movie, and any moment a director would be leaping in front of them and shouting, ‘Cut! It’s a take.’

The chauffeur had opened the rear door of the limousine the moment he had caught sight of Max, and now, as Cory followed Gillian into the rich leather interior, she wished there were a little more room in her skirt. Discreet, calf-length and prim it was, cut for scrambling in and out of breathtaking vehicles like this one it wasn’t, and she was vitally conscious of Max Hunter just inches behind her and no doubt with his eyes on the material straining over her backside.

She was hot and pink by the time she was seated next to Gillian, but then, as Max joined them on her other side and his hard male thigh rested against hers, she knew what a pressure cooker felt like. He was her boss. He was just her boss. Say after me…

If her life had depended on it Cory couldn’t have told anyone how long it took to reach Montgomery’s, the route the Rolls took through the heavy lunchtime traffic or even what the three of them discussed en route. Every fibre of her being, every cell in her body was concentrated on not making the biggest fool of herself ever, but she must have sounded fairly coherent and behaved normally because Gillian’s nice round face was quite cheerful and relaxed when the limousine eventually glided to a halt outside the sort of establishment that just reeked of class and wealth.

Of course the glass of champagne might have helped. When Max had leant forward and opened the polished wood cocktail cabinet in front of their seat Cory had determinedly stopped her mouth from falling open—twice in one morning was quite enough—but her eyes had widened all the same. The glasses were tall and exotic and chilled, the champagne was pink and frothy and tasted like all the summers she had ever experienced rolled into one, and Max’s toast—‘A welcome to the newest member of Hunter Operations’—brought the colour that had just receded from her cheeks flooding back again.

‘I don’t remember you doing this for me when we first started working together, Max?’ Gillian had already said, with her first sip of champagne, that it would go straight to her head, and certainly as her employer helped both women out of the car Gillian was as flushed as Cory as she grinned at Max.

He smiled easily. ‘I wasn’t sure how to treat a secretary in those days, Gillian, if you remember. I’ve learned as I’ve gone along.’

Cory envied the other woman’s quiet familiarity with their boss. Of course Gillian was a good few years older than Max and very happily married to boot, and she’d known him for years, but Cory just knew she would never, never, be able to adopt the almost motherly approach that Gillian did so well and which, at heart, was the basis for all good boss/secretary relationships. He just scared her to death. He did what?

Immediately the thought formed she caught it in horror. She wasn’t frightened of Max Hunter—she’d never been overawed by any man, even her old headmaster who was a tyrant of the first order and had scared everyone rigid. She was not frightened of Max Hunter! That was the most ludicrous, stupid, crazy notion she’d ever had! It was the champagne. It had to be the champagne.

‘Cory? Is anything wrong?’

Gillian’s gentle voice brought her out of the whirling maelstrom of her thoughts, and to the realisation that she was standing in the middle of the crowded pavement with people weaving around her. Hardly the pose for a young, dynamic secretary!

‘Shall we?’ Gillian gestured towards the building in front of them and as Cory’s eyes focused on Max she saw he was holding open the door of the restaurant, an expression of great patience on his face, but it was the look in the beautiful and compelling amber eyes that bothered her. They were narrowed and intent and piercingly steady, and they brought to mind a wildlife programme she had seen just the other night, when a quite magnificent tawny-eyed lion had been watching his prey—a delicate and fine-boned wildebeest—with frightening and fierce single-mindedness.

And then he blinked and smiled, heavy lids and thick black lashes sweeping down, and when he looked at her again he was just an unusually arresting and powerful man. A man any woman would think worthy of a second glance, a man of intimidating intelligence and undeniable presence but, nevertheless, just a man.

The meal was simply wonderful, and seated as they were in a quiet and private alcove, where they could see and yet not be seen, Cory found herself relaxing enough to enjoy the good food. From the moment they had been seated Max had set out to be a charming and amusing dinner companion, keeping the two women entertained with a monologue of witty and slightly wicked stories, and by the time Cory had spooned the last delicious morsels of feather-light crêpe Suzette into her mouth she had been lulled into a comfortable state of false security.

So it made it all the more shocking when, Gillian having disappeared to the ladies’ cloakroom a moment or two earlier, Max turned to Cory and held her eyes with his own as he said calmly, ‘Well, Cory? Have you decided whether to turn tail and run or stay yet?’ He raised those cruel black eyebrows again.

‘What?’ It was too loud—she knew her voice had been too loud and that was quite the wrong tack to take with this man. She needed to be calm, unflustered and in control, she thought feverishly as she watched him settle back in his seat and continue to survey her through slits of brilliant light that brought the poor wildebeest to mind again. Although at least on the plains there was somewhere to run.

He was the sort of man who was intimidating even when he wasn’t intending to be, and she wasn’t sure if he was intending to be now or not. He was so big, that was part of the problem—so masculine and uncompromisingly virile. Everything he did, every little gesture or movement, was so controlled and disciplined and it was formidable. He had an aura of authority, but not in a comforting or reassuring way—at least she didn’t find it so, Cory told herself nervously. Hunter by name and Hunter by nature…

Oh, for goodness’ sake, girl, pull yourself together! The rebuke was loud and angry in her head. She’d be crediting him with supernatural powers next and wouldn’t he just love that?

The thought acted in much the same way as a douse of cold water on her fluttering panic, and Cory forced herself to take several silent breaths before she smiled and said, her voice as cool as she could make it, ‘I really don’t know what you are talking about, Max.’

There, she’d said his name without the slightest pause or hesitation, even giving it a slightly scornful intonation.

‘No?’ The gold was very clear around the bottomless black pupils. ‘You mean to say you weren’t considering whether you’d come back tomorrow or just call it quits?’ he asked silkily.

‘No, I wasn’t.’ And she hadn’t been, not really. Admittedly she had wondered whether he would pull the plug on her, but she hadn’t seriously considered leaving herself. Whatever else, she wasn’t a quitter, and she said so now. ‘I agreed to take the position for a trial period to see if things worked out and I would honour that whatever,’ she said firmly. ‘And it works both ways—you might decide I’m not suitable,’ she added reasonably.

‘I knew within the first five minutes whether you were suitable or not,’ he said softly. ‘In business you have to be able to determine the credibility of someone fast.’

‘Snap decisions?’ She raised disapproving eyebrows and hoped he hadn’t guessed she was acting a part—his previous admission had sent her stomach haywire and churned up that wonderful lunch.

‘No, measured appraisals due to years of hard experience and a natural distrust of my fellow man,’ he corrected her swiftly, his tone faintly mocking. ‘I never make mistakes, Cory. Not any more.’

‘Oh, you used to be just like the rest of us, then? Human?’ The second the words were out she was horrified. You didn’t speak to your employer like that, she told herself silently—not if you still wanted him to remain your employer, that was. Mr Stanley would have had a heart attack on the spot! But Max Hunter wasn’t Mr Stanley.

‘You see?’ There was a measure of amusement in the narrowed eyes and she knew her embarrassment was showing. ‘I’d rather have you in my corner than someone else’s. Besides which…’ He paused, swallowing the last of his coffee in one gulp before he continued, ‘As my secretary and personal assistant you’ll be working with me very closely and of necessity the days are often long ones—eleven, twelve hours. I couldn’t stand anyone who didn’t speak her mind and I don’t like boring women, Cory.

‘I can forgive anyone anything if they are honest and acting from the heart. I don’t like deception or hypocrisy and I don’t like prissy thinking along the lines of “the boss is always right.” I am—’ he eyes were gleaming with laughter now ‘—but if you thought so too, where would the spark be? And you don’t have to like me, so don’t worry your head on that score,’ he added abruptly. ‘Because you don’t, do you?’

It wasn’t a question, it was more of a statement, and one which Cory was utterly unable to answer.

He laughed out loud now at the look on her face and the sound was husky, rusty even, as though he didn’t do it too often.

‘Don’t get concerned,’ he said softly, his voice soothing. ‘Believe it or not I look on that as another of your admirable attributes. Part of Gillian’s amazing success all these years has been because she has her Colin whom she adores to distraction, and our working relationship has been just that…a working one.’

He was telling her he didn’t want her fancying him! Cory didn’t know whether to be relieved or furious, but she veered towards the latter. What an ego! What an outsize, monstrous ego!

‘Power and wealth can be a potent aphrodisiac to some women. Now, whilst that’s all to the good in certain situations—’ the deep voice held a note that suddenly made her shiver as her nerve-endings sensitised ‘—at work it’s just a damn nuisance and sometimes downright dangerous. You’ll be party to some very confidential papers as my secretary and the old adage of “Hell hath no fury” is still alive and well, believe me,’ he finished coolly.

‘Mr Hunter.’ She had probably been as mad as this previously in her life but she couldn’t remember it. ‘I would no more dream of acting in the way you’ve described than of…of flying to the moon,’ Cory snarled angrily. ‘Even if I thought you were the best thing since sliced bread.’

‘Which you don’t,’ he put in softly, his eyes gleaming.

‘No, I don’t!’ she affirmed with furious emphasis.

‘You see? The perfect solution for both of us. I get a secretary I can trust and who—from the references Mr Stanley among others supplied—is more than adequate not to mess anything up with misplaced emotion. You get a position which will only serve to further enhance your career, you get to travel a bit, see new places with the added advantage of it all being paid for, and a handsome salary to boot. Ideal, eh? And of course you’re out of the little home-town trap. Why exactly did you decide to leave Yorkshire anyway?’ he added with a suddenness that took Cory by surprise. ‘You were happy there for the last twenty-four years.’

She stared at him a moment, getting a bland, expressionless gaze in return, and then forced herself to speak quietly and calmly when she said, ‘It was time to spread my wings, that’s all. My qualifications are excellent—’ she raised her chin slightly at this point; it didn’t come naturally to blow her own trumpet ‘—and at twenty-four I felt the next stage of my career was overdue. I—’

‘I’m not asking for a résumé of what was written on your application form and CV.’ He was terse. ‘I mean the real reason. Was it a man?’ he asked with audacious coolness.

Cory was quite unaware of the shadow of pain that passed over her face in the second before the fury hit, but then her eyes were shooting bright green sparks and she straightened in her chair, her chin thrusting out and her hands clenched fists in her lap. ‘I think I ought to make one thing perfectly clear before we go on another minute,’ she said icily, her voice belying the fiery colour in her cheeks. ‘I do not discuss my personal life with anyone unless I want to. If you offer me this job permanently you will be entitled to all of my working days and the very best I can do, both for you and Hunter Operations, but you will not automatically have the right to take over my life. My private life is my own business and absolutely no concern of yours.’

So it had been a man. Max Hunter surveyed the taut, angry figure in front of him, his face betraying none of his thoughts. And she wasn’t over him yet, not by a long chalk. ‘You’re absolutely right of course.’ Gillian was making her way back to their table and now he stood, his voice merely pleasant and not at all put out as he added, ‘I think we’re all ready to leave? And Cory?’

She was in the act of rising, Max having pulled out her chair for her, and now, as she turned to face him, he was so close for a moment that she caught the scent of delicious aftershave on clean male skin and took an involuntary step backwards, bumping against the table and rattling the coffee cups. ‘Yes?’ she asked defensively.

‘The offer is permanent; it was from five past nine this morning.’




CHAPTER TWO


THE next few weeks were something of a revelation to Cory, not least because she found, after the initial couple of days which passed in a tangled blur, that she was actually enjoying her job. No, enjoy was too weak a word. She was loving it; she couldn’t wait to get to the office every morning, and that in spite of the million and one facts that were thrown at her every minute—or so it seemed—the hours flew by on winged feet.

She had had her good days and bad days at Stanley & Thornton’s, and her position as secretary to the managing director had been both an interesting and extremely responsible one, but working for Max Hunter was something else. And that was the understatement of the year.

Nevertheless, on the morning of Monday, the seventeenth of May, when Cory awoke to clear blue skies and brilliant sunshine, and the realisation that from this day on it was just her juggling the hundred and one balls that Gillian had seemed to manage so effortlessly, she felt more than a little nervous and the butterflies in her stomach were going crazy.

Not that Max Hunter had been anything other than completely professional and detached from that first lunchtime, she reminded herself quickly as she flung back the covers and knelt on her bed to look out of the big picture window at half of Chiswick’s rooftops. And patient when he’d had to be, calm, unruffled—at least with her. However, she suspected he’d made a special effort during her settling-in period, and with Gillian there—who practically seemed to read his mind and know what he wanted before he knew himself—he’d had no reason to be anything else. She had observed enough to know he was not a naturally patient man, also that his bark could be every bit as bad as his bite with lesser mortals who stepped out of line.

‘Do…not…panic.’ She spaced the words out slowly, her heart hammering. ‘You’re going to be fine, just fine.’

Of course, if she was being absolutely honest, it didn’t help that he often worked at his desk with his jacket off and his tie loose or flung aside altogether. She nipped at her lower lip, shaking her head at her own absurd foolishness. It shouldn’t matter, she knew it shouldn’t matter—he was only her employer for goodness’ sake—but the first time she had walked into his office, on her second day at Hunter Operations if she remembered rightly, and seen him frowning over a load of scattered papers on his huge desk, his massive shoulders and broad physique accentuated by the thin blue silk shirt he was wearing, she’d done a double take.

Thank goodness he had been more interested in the report he’d been looking at than her entrance, she thought now, as her cheeks flushed at the memory of how she had felt.

His tie had been hanging either side of his collar on that occasion and the first two or three buttons of his shirt had been undone, revealing a hard tanned throat and just the beginning of a smidgen of body hair below his collar bone, and she hadn’t been able to believe what it had done to her.

Not that she was attracted to him. The thought was fierce and one which came into play several times a day without fail. Not in the slightest. It was just that after little Mr Stanley, with his bald head and paunch and unfortunate tendency to sniff all the time due to chronic catarrh, Max Hunter’s particular brand of aggressive male virility was something of a shock. But she’d master what was after all nothing more than an animal response, a fleshly, purely physical thing. Of course she would. No problem.

She just hoped it would be sooner rather than later, she admitted to herself the next moment with a deep sigh. This stupid…awareness of him made her jittery and nervous, and although she was careful to hide it she was constantly on edge in his presence.

Cory breathed in and out a few times, her gaze wandering round the big light sun-washed room, and coming to rest on a huge cake tin perched on top of the small fridge in the minute kitchen in one corner of the bedsit.

She had been home for the first time this weekend, and before she had set off back to London, her mother had packed her faithful little Mini with enough food to keep an army for a month.

Her brow wrinkled as she thought of the two days she had just spent in Yorkshire. She had relished the time with her parents—she had always been close to the pair of them and they had had a riotous evening out on the Saturday when all three of them had eaten and drunk far too much—but meeting Vivian again for the first time in six weeks had been hard. Well, more than hard if she were honest.

As soon as he had spied her bright red Mini parked outside the house on Saturday morning—she had travelled down late on Friday night after Gillian’s farewell party—he had been knocking at the door, and it had been all of three hours before she could get rid of him. Get rid of him? The thought stopped Cory in her tracks as she made to walk across the room. She’d never want to get rid of Vivian, would she? She hadn’t meant it like that, not really. It was just that she felt awkward now he was engaged to Carole—that was it—uncomfortable and unsure of how she should behave. And he had seemed so…unhappy? No. The denial was immediate. Of course he wasn’t unhappy, just harassed with all the wedding arrangements and so on. And that was perfectly understandable; of course it was.

She shook her head slightly as she walked across the room. She was going to have a shower in the small bathroom across the landing directly opposite her door, and then fix herself toast and coffee before she got ready for work. She had plenty of time—she had woken a good hour before her alarm was due to ring—but she wanted to get into the office nice and early and have Max’s post opened and ready for him on his arrival at Hunter Operations. She intended to start as she meant to carry on, and that would involve one hundred per cent commitment. But that was all right—certainly for the next few years at least. The last thing, the very last thing she was looking for after the heartache of the previous few months was a romantic involvement of any kind. Work was safe—you knew where you stood with career ambitions and the like—it was men who were the unknown quantity and liable to cause you heartache and grief.

A pair of hard amber eyes suddenly shot into the screen of her mind and she paused, her hand outstretched towards the big bath sheet on the little stool by the door, as she told herself that was different. Max Hunter was her boss, that was all, and any nervousness or flutters she felt about him were quite legitimate when you considered her financial security was in his hands. And that was the only reason, the only reason, that this magnetism problem was getting to her. It was. For definite.



Cory arrived at Hunter Operations at a quarter past eight, but when she walked into her office and looked through the open interconnecting door into Max’s domain she realised he must have been in residence for half the weekend, from the amount of papers strewn about his desk and floor. The man was a workaholic!

‘Good morning.’ His voice was preoccupied. And she had opened her mouth to make the necessary response when he continued, ‘Can you be ready to fly out to Japan this evening?’ His tone suggested he was asking for nothing more unusual than a cup of coffee.

‘Japan?’ The therapy of a leisurely soak in hot bubbles followed by toast and coffee on her tiny balcony immediately vanished as she gazed at him in amazement.

‘Uh-huh.’ He didn’t raise his head as he spoke but she saw he was frowning at the papers in front of him. ‘This deal with Katchui is getting too complicated; I need to get over there and sort a few things out face to face. You can’t beat flesh contact.’

He looked at her then, two piercingly sharp rays of golden light holding her to the spot before he lowered his head again. ‘Two first-class tickets any time after three this afternoon; see to it, would you? And I need some coffee, black and strong, and a sandwich. Ham, turkey, beef—not salad or cheese. I need nourishment, not punishment,’ he added dryly.

‘Right.’ She tried to make her voice brisk and secretarial rather than bemused and stunned, which was how she felt.

‘And I need that tape on your desk typed up before midday; if we need to make any changes we’ll have to do it before we leave.’

‘How…how long do you expect us to be away?’ Cory asked faintly. Talk about life in the fast lane; this was express mode.

‘Five days, a week at the most.’ Again the amber light raked her face. ‘It’s not a problem?’ It was said in a tone that suggested it had better not be.

‘No, no, of course not.’ A week in a foreign country with Max Hunter for company? she thought weakly. And he asked if it was a problem? But it went with the territory and she had known that when she’d accepted the position; it was just that she had expected a few more weeks to get…acclimatised.

The morning sped by on winged feet, and once she had presented the report for Max’s eagle-eyed scrutiny at just gone eleven Cory dashed back home and frantically threw clothes and other necessities into a case, dug out her passport, and was back in the office before twelve and straight back at work.

It was almost half past one when it suddenly dawned on Cory that she hadn’t let her mother know about the trip, and she had just dialled the number and heard the receiver being lifted at the other end when Max chose that moment to put in an appearance with a sheaf of papers in his hand and a preoccupied expression on his face.

Blast! Cory heard her mother speak the number and didn’t like to put the phone down. He never came to her; in all the weeks she had been at Hunter Operations the buzzer had invariably summoned Gillian into the inner sanctum. She spoke quickly into the phone. ‘Hi, it’s Cory. I’m just ringing to let you know I’m going on a business trip to Japan for a few days, so don’t worry if you ring the house and there’s no answer.’

‘Japan?’ Her mother was all agog. ‘How exciting, dear. I’m glad it wasn’t this weekend anyway; we had a lovely time, didn’t we? It was wonderful to see you; your father and I so enjoyed it.’

‘It was wonderful to see you too,’ Cory said uncomfortably, vitally aware of the big dark figure on the perimeter of her vision.

‘And Japan, you say? Well, well. Now make sure you take some travel sickness pills—you know how you are—and—’

‘I’m sorry, I’m going to have to go.’ She knew, without looking at him, that he was scowling. There were dark vibrations coming across the airwaves. ‘And I’ll look after myself, don’t worry. I’ll phone you as soon as I get back.’

‘All right, darling, and thank you for letting us know. I hope everything goes well and that you have a lovely time. Love you.’

‘Love you.’ It had been their stock goodbye all through her days at university and since she had been in London and Cory didn’t think twice about it. Until she raised her head and looked into Max’s face, that was.

‘Quite finished?’ It was expressionless and even but she knew exactly how he meant it, and immediately she rebelled. He had told her in the first week that the making and receiving of private calls was quite acceptable, as long as she chose the appropriate time and didn’t talk to her long-lost cousin in Australia every day, but this was the first call—the very first call—she had made. And she wouldn’t have had to do that if he had given her more notice about the Japan trip, either! Well, he certainly needn’t think he was browbeating her or making her feel guilty, she told herself hotly. Even Mr Stanley had allowed her more licence than this.

‘Yes, thank you.’ It was cold and curt and told him his attitude had been noticed and was not appreciated.

‘Then perhaps you’d do a better job on these predicted sales figures than Mr Mason’s secretary has. I can only just work out what they mean and I don’t expect Mr Katchui to have to wade through columns and columns of unnecessary rubbish.’ His voice was clipped and terse, as though she were the one at fault. ‘Whatever we’re paying the woman it’s too much,’ he finished on a growl.

‘Right.’ Cory’s jaw was set as she took the proffered report. ‘We will need to leave here no later than half past two; the flight is at four.’ Her voice was as terse as his and just as cold.

She had been so busy concentrating on avoiding touching his hand that her grasp on the papers was minimal, and as the last page became adrift and began to fall she made a grab for it at the same time as Max bent to retrieve it. They didn’t exactly make contact, but as her brow brushed against his and the warmth and smell of him encompassed her the effect on Cory was like a powerful electric shock, and the rest of the papers fanned out in a graceful arc about his bent head as she shot backwards.

‘Oh, I’m sorry.’ This time her lunge forward resulted in their heads cracking together with enough force to make Max see stars for a moment or two, and she was aware of her illustrious boss staggering a little and saying something extremely rude before he took a visible hold of himself and said, ‘Leave them, leave them for crying out loud. I’ll do it.’

Cory took a very long deep breath as she watched him bend his knees and gather up the pages, and she tried to ignore the way powerful shoulder muscles bunched under thin silk and the way the pose brought expensively cut trousers tight across lean thighs.

‘Thank you.’ It was succinct in the extreme but all she trusted her voice to say. She was just grateful it wasn’t a croak.

‘My pleasure.’ He glared at her once on straightening before banging the crumpled papers on her desk and turning on his heel, disappearing through his door and slamming it behind him.

Wonderful, absolutely wonderful. Cory stared after him as she willed her heartbeat to return to normal. Not content with aiming to knock him out once, she’d had to go back for a second shot at the title! She bet she knew what he was thinking as he sat in there: Come back, Gillian; all is forgiven. The thought brought a weak smile in spite of her embarrassment. In all the six weeks she had been with Gillian she had never once seen the older woman anything but composed, placid and patient when dealing with her volatile boss. Well, they said variety was the spice of life…

Max didn’t risk poking his head out of his office until ten minutes before they were due to leave and, as luck would have it, just as she typed the last number on the neat and concise sales figures she had displayed clearly enough for a child to understand.

‘Just finished,’ Cory said brightly as she pressed the print key. She didn’t look directly at him; she just couldn’t.

He walked across to her desk and stood waiting a moment without speaking, and then, as she handed him the first methodical and compact page of figures, glanced at it intently before raising his eyes and giving her one of his rare and devastating smiles. ‘Excellent. You’ve checked it all?’ he asked briefly.

‘Yes.’ She didn’t add that she’d found several of the columns on the original report had been wrong and that she’d had to go back to Mr Mason to confirm what was what. She had an idea that his secretary wasn’t going to last long anyway.

‘Right.’ He had put down the first sheet of paper and was fastening the collar of his shirt and pulling his tie into place as he said, ‘Time to get moving, I’m afraid. You’re all ready?’

Ordinary though his actions had been, there was a curious intimacy to them that Cory couldn’t have explained but which made her cheeks flush, and now she busied herself tidying the other printed pages and handing them to him as she said, ‘Yes, I’m ready.’

Was the rest of his body the same golden-brown as his face and throat and arms? With his great height and muscled lean frame he must look pretty sensational unclothed… A sudden shiver at the thought awoke her to what she was thinking, and she was weak-kneed with relief that he had turned and gone back to his own office to fetch his things, shutting the door behind him.

What was the matter with her? she asked herself faintly. Had she gone stark staring mad? She couldn’t afford to harbour any thoughts like that about Max Hunter. It was all the more disconcerting because she had never, ever let her imagination run riot with anyone else, even Vivian. But Vivian wasn’t like Max. The thought opened her eyes wide as she plopped down on her seat and then leapt up again to tidy her desk and fetch her suitcase and jacket from her washroom, all the time telling herself she was his secretary, his secretary, for goodness’ sake, and she would be out on her ear if he so much as caught a glimmer of what she was thinking. He would misconstrue it, think she fancied him or something, and she didn’t. She didn’t. She really didn’t.

Due to a last-minute call from the States and then one from Mr Katchui himself, Max didn’t join her in the outer office until nearly three, but the drive from the offices in Brentford to Heathrow was straightforward and Max’s chauffeur drove the car competently and fast through the heavy afternoon traffic.

The couple of package holidays Cory had been on in the past just didn’t prepare her for the sort of treatment afforded the exalted first-class passengers, but she couldn’t enjoy it to the full with every nerve-ending screaming. It was being with him like this. He was obviously the type of man who automatically took care of the woman he was with, and although it was nice—it really was—to be folded into him by his arm round her waist as he used his body as a barricade to protect her in the chaos of the terminal, not to have to carry her heavy case, to be whisked through the usual mind-numbing red tape in a way that made her breathless, it was disconcerting as well. In fact it was more than disconcerting if she was truthful.

And she was vitally aware of the little stir his presence caused among the female contingent too—not that Max seemed to notice. The older women and the very young ones weren’t too bad—the former discreet and the latter somewhat awestruck, but there were a couple of predatory females in the VIP lounge in particular who were quite blatant in their appreciation. And it rankled. The more so because they totally ignored her as though she didn’t exist.

Once on the plane—and never in her wildest dreams had she imagined air travel could be so luxurious—Max’s jacket and tie were immediately discarded and he settled back in his seat with all the appearance of being utterly relaxed. ‘Take your shoes off, loosen anything that needs loosening and prepare for a long journey,’ he drawled lazily as the amber gaze took in her tenseness. ‘We’re nearly twelve hours in the air and the time difference means we land around midday Tokyo time. We’re meeting Mr Katchui late afternoon, and it’s going to be a long twenty-four hours whatever way you look at it. Once we’ve eaten try and catch a few hours’ sleep.’

Cory nodded carefully. Yes, she’d try, and she would also aim to be the efficient, cool secretary a man in his position had the right to expect, she told herself flatly.

Sexual chemistry had its places, but the office was not one of them, she reflected soberly as she undid the buttons of her thin linen jacket and eased her court shoes off her feet. She just didn’t recognise this side of herself when she thought about it. She had never considered herself to be a particularly sensual person; her love for Vivian had care and fondness and warm affection at its core, and of course she had thought he was a very attractive man, she added quickly. Very attractive. But there had been no stirring of her senses, a little voice in her head reminded her, or at least not in the same way as Max Hunter got under her skin.

‘And don’t look so worried.’ He leant across as he spoke, his voice low and soft as Cory sat rooted in her seat. ‘I would never have taken you on as my secretary if I didn’t think you were up to the job. You may not have noticed but I’m not a natural philanthropist.’ And then, when she just stared at him, ‘That was meant to be amusing but don’t feel obliged to smile just because I pay your salary,’ he added with dry self-mockery.

‘Don’t worry, I won’t.’ It had been his nearness that had frozen her reaction—he had been so close she could see the little black regrowth of his beard beginning to show through the tanned smoothness of his chin and smell his aftershave, which was a subtle blend of something wicked, but now she forced a grin as she spoke and was rewarded by an answering quirk of his mouth.

‘No, I didn’t think you would.’ He’d settled back in his seat and now the amber eyes narrowed, and he surveyed her for a good ten seconds before he added, ‘Whoever he is, he isn’t worth all the heartache, Cory. Take it from someone who knows.’

‘What?’ Her mouth straightened as her eyes widened in surprise. ‘Who on earth are you on about?’ she asked ungrammatically.

‘This bozo who’s been giving you the run-around.’ His voice was quite without expression. ‘Because he has, hasn’t he?’

‘I really don’t have the faintest idea what you’re talking—’

‘What’s happened?’ he continued evenly, ignoring her interruption with his normal arrogance. ‘Has he suddenly realised his mistake since you’ve been down in London and talked you round?’

‘No one has talked me round,’ she said indignantly.

‘It doesn’t look like that to me.’

What on earth was he talking about? she asked herself silently. He didn’t know anything about Vivian, did he? Not that there was anything to know, she added bitterly. There never had been, not really. It had been a one-sided love affair in every sense of the word. ‘Max, I’m telling you, no one has talked me round,’ she insisted jerkily. As far as Vivian was concerned there had never been anything to talk about; she was just good old Cory, friend, comforter, confidante, mug. Mug? Where had that come from?

She didn’t have time to explore the shock declaration her mind had thrown up before Max said, his tone astringent, ‘Then why did you tell him not to worry about you and that you love him?’

‘I told Vivian I love him?’ The words were out before she had got her brain engaged, but he seized on them like a dog with a bone, his eyes glittering and his mouth tight.

‘Vivian? Is that his name?’ It was magnificently scornful but he didn’t seem as pleased that he was right as normal. ‘I’ve always thought it far more appropriate for a woman than a man,’ he said scathingly, ‘but then I suppose it depends on the type of man.’

This was getting out of hand. Cory took a deep breath and prayed for composure. ‘Max,’ she managed to say quite calmly, ‘I think we’re getting our wires crossed here.’ The phone call. The flipping phone call! ‘I haven’t talked to Vivian since the weekend and I certainly haven’t told him I love him. If you’re referring to earlier in the office I was talking to my mother.’

‘Your mother?’ He blinked once and she had the rare—the extremely rare—opportunity of seeing Max Hunter lost for words.

‘Yes, my mother,’ she answered, her tone tart, but inwardly the sight of her esteemed and authoritative boss literally gaping was really rather satisfying. ‘You didn’t give me much notice about this trip if you remember,’ she continued coolly, ‘and surprisingly I do have a life outside Hunter Operations, and there are people who might worry about me if I don’t answer my phone for a week.’

He recovered almost immediately. ‘Like the aforementioned Vivian?’ he asked pointedly. ‘The name did slip off your tongue.’

Why, oh, why had she been so foolish? She stared at him in exasperation as she wondered how much to tell him. He was watching her closely, observing her reaction in that big-cat, unnerving way of his, the pale amber shirt he was wearing accentuating the vivid gold of his eyes and increasing the impression of an animal about to spring. Oh, get a hold of yourself, woman! She forced herself to lean back easily in her seat as the thought hit. Max Hunter was a man who liked to hold all the cards—she had seen enough of the way he operated over the last six weeks to know that—and as far as he was concerned his secretary was an appendage of himself and therefore as much under his control as his own right arm.

Gillian’s life had been an open book—marriage at twenty-five to her childhood sweetheart, and a mutual decision, on finding out that they couldn’t have children, to put all their energies into their careers—and that was fine…for Gillian. But she didn’t see that a baring of her soul had any relevance to the way she conducted herself as Max Hunter’s secretary.

‘Vivian is a friend,’ she said at last, her voice flat. ‘A dear and old friend and I have known him for years. Okay?’

‘No, it isn’t.’ And then, as her eyes turned a dark jade and the violet tint was eclipsed by stormy grey, he added, ‘I need to know you’re with me, one hundred per cent with me, Cory, and that’s the bottom line. I don’t need a secretary who’s pining from unrequited love or anything of that nature; it just won’t do. It would affect your work and you know it.’

‘How dare you?’ She glared at him angrily. This was too much.

‘I dare because it is necessary,’ he said grimly, and never had the dark, brooding quality to his powerful charisma been more evident. ‘I rely on my secretary too much to be mealy-mouthed.’

‘Look, Max…’ She paused, biting back the hot retort she had been about to make as several thoughts flashed through her mind. He was paying her a very good salary—an excellent salary—and the experience and credibility she would gain as his secretary and personal assistant would be enormous. There were hundreds of girls out there—probably just as well qualified as her—who would bite Max’s hand off if he offered them the chance of working with him. All in all he probably had every right to demand that one hundred per cent commitment, and it wasn’t a problem anyway. It really wasn’t a problem! So why hadn’t she bitten the bullet and told him so?

‘Vivian is a childhood sweetheart who is marrying someone else,’ she said flatly, ‘and I am not—I am not—pining for him.’ And she wasn’t. The knowledge hit her like a ton of bricks and made her voice shaky as she continued, ‘I want to make a success of this job, I really do, and you are going to have to take that as read because I am not going to beg and plead to try and make you believe me.’ She looked at him straight in the eyes as she spoke.

‘You don’t have to.’ Suddenly his voice was amazingly soft. ‘Can I ask you one more thing?’

She nodded. She would have liked to have said no but her courage wasn’t endless and the sooner this was finished the better.

‘If he asked you for another chance tomorrow and meant it, what would you say?’ he asked gently. ‘And the truth, now.’

‘I don’t know.’ His face was intensely sexy. It wasn’t the moment to have such a thought but it was there and Cory just went with the flow. It was so strong, hard-boned, and the dusting of silver in his jet-black hair brought an experience to the magnetism that was lethal. How many lovers had he had in his time?

‘You don’t know?’ He shook his head slowly, his mouth quirking. ‘How long do you think you have loved this guy, Cory?’ he asked quietly. ‘This soon-to-be-wed childhood sweetheart?’

‘Forever.’ It probably wasn’t tactful but it was the truth.

‘Forever?’ He echoed her words with another shake of his head. ‘And yet if he came grovelling tomorrow, declaring undying love, you’d have to pause before you knew whether you would be prepared to take him on or not?’ he asked pointedly. ‘Is that right?’

Put like that it sounded awful. Cory stared at him, her green eyes mirroring her confusion as her creamy skin flushed with hot colour. Why did he have to twist things like that?

‘Cory?’ he prompted determinedly. ‘Is that right?’

‘You’re twisting things.’ It was weak but it was all she could manage through the whirling bemusement his probing had caused.

‘Am I?’ He smiled slowly, his eyes warm.

And then everything in her life before was reduced to nothing, and all her concepts of commitment, love, prudence, discretion were blown to smithereens as he leant forward and his mouth descended on hers, his gaze never leaving her face. His lips merely brushed hers in a light, momentary touch that was over before it had begun, and then he had reclined back in his own seat again and shut his eyes before she could say anything or even move, his voice very even as he said, ‘The guy is an idiot who doesn’t deserve you and you know it at heart. Forget him and get on with your life, Cory. You’re young and beautiful and it’s time to move up a gear and have fun. Work hard and play hard for the next few years; there are plenty of fish in London’s pool and you don’t want to splash around in the shallows forever.’

He had kissed her. Cory was eternally thankful that the shudders of sensation that continued to flow from that one brief embrace were hidden, but even so her face was scarlet and she was glad Max’s eyes were shut. And yet you could hardly call that fleeting, transitory contact a kiss, she told herself in the next instant as the voice of common sense took over. Take hold, Cory.

He had meant it as an encouraging conclusion to their conversation, as his final words had proved, a positive statement for her future, and it had meant as little to him as a pat on the back. It wasn’t his fault that she had found it…devastating. But she had. Oh, she had. She just couldn’t help it.

She leant back in her own seat and shut her eyes, willing her burning cheeks to return to normal. No, it was his fault, she told herself crossly some seconds later; he was just so totally male. There were some men whom women would find it easy to regard as friends or colleagues and have platonic relationships with, there were others who, due to their attractiveness or sexual charisma or whatever, made the comrade thing a little harder to achieve, and then there was Max Hunter. He was one on his own, there was no doubt about it, and it wasn’t just she who thought so either, she comforted herself silently. She had seen his effect on the female of the species over the last few weeks and it was blistering. He reduced the most intimidating, hardboiled businesswomen to purring pussycats when he wasn’t trying, and when he was… Well, he was lethal. And he knew it and used it too.

She nipped at her bottom lip, finding it a relief to admit to herself at last that she was just like every other female and fancied him rotten. But he was her boss and therefore the main work colleague she would be dealing with day after day, and this attraction she felt—which was a purely physical thing and as such could be controlled with a little will-power—had to be kept strictly under lock and key. He had made it plain, ruthlessly plain, on her first day at Hunter Operations that all he wanted in a secretary was an efficient, pleasant and intelligent machine—any gooey feelings or romantic inclinations would mean she would be out on her ear faster than she could say Jack Robinson.

She nodded at the thought, feeling a surge of adrenalin that she now saw things so clearly. She had it all under control, of course she did, and that was good—very good. There was no need to panic or get alarmed. She could be as cool as the next girl.

The kiss having been put in its proper perspective and the little pep talk finished, her mind turned back to the disturbing revelation she had had about Vivian. Did she really think he had taken her for a mug? she asked herself with determined honesty. The answer was loud and clear. She hadn’t been imagining all those times he had waxed lyrical about the future, their future, even if he hadn’t been specific. And the kisses they had shared, his tenderness, his reliance on her. She had cosseted him and fussed over him, and when she had been at university and had had the odd date or boyfriend—something they had both agreed they would do—it had been as if he’d been there with her, as a silent and condemning spectre. He’d always gone quiet and hurt when she had spoken of other men, in spite of the fact he had been seeing girls himself, and she had fallen for it, she admitted now with silent wrath. She had, completely.




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