“How did she get in here?” he demanded of Lisa.
“The lady has a key. You appear to hand them out like candy bars at Hallowe’en. But don’t let me interrupt. I’ll just get my things and go.” She headed for the dressing room, but Alex stopped her. He had leapt out of bed stark naked, and now grabbed her by the shoulders.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Lisa, this is all a terrible mistake. Surely you can see that?”
“I can see everything,” she snorted, “and so can your lady friend. But then, there’s nothing she hasn’t seen before.”
Alex let fly with a string of curses in Greek, while grabbing the sheet from the bed and wrapping it around himself. Free of his hold, Lisa headed for the door.
“Not so fast,” he growled, and caught her arm. “You must have seen her come in here. Why didn’t you stop her? You’re my wife, for heaven’s sake.”
“Was,” she said trenchantly.
JACQUELINE BAIRD began writing as a hobby when her family objected to the smell of her oil painting, and immediately became hooked on the romance genre. She loves traveling and worked her way around the world from Europe to the Americas and Australia, returning to marry her teenage sweetheart. She lives in England, in Northumbria, the county of her birth, and has two sons. She enjoys playing badminton, and spends most weekends with husband Jim, sailing their Gp. 14 around Derwent Reservoir.
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by Miranda Lee
Harlequin Presents #2099
JACQUELINE BAIRD
Husband on Trust
Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ONE
LISA raised her hands above her head, stretched, and yawned. With only a fine cotton sheet covering her body she felt decadent and deliciously languorous, due entirely to the expert administrations of her very new husband last night.
The door to the ensuite bathroom opened and Lisa’s gaze automatically turned to the man walking into the bedroom. Six feet plus of pure masculine perfection, he was naked except for navy silk boxer shorts hugging his lean hips. He was also strikingly handsome, his strong dark features cast in the classic mould of the Greek male of legend, and he was hers, Lisa thought on a swift, involuntary breath. His thick black hair was still damp from the shower, a stray droplet of water easing its way down his strong throat and lower, to be captured by the curling black body hair that dusted his broad chest.
A lazy smile curved her full lips. ‘Alex,’ she said softly. Just saying his name was a pleasure. Sometimes she felt like pinching herself to make sure the last few weeks had not been a dream.
In the process of pulling on a crisp white shirt, he turned his dark head and his eyes clashed with hers. ‘I know that tone of voice, wench, but forget it. I have to be in London by eight-thirty.’ He grinned and continued dressing, stepping into grey tailored trousers.
‘Spoilsport.’ She pouted, and moved across the bed, allowing the sheet to slip to her waist. ‘Do you have to leave so early?’ she queried huskily, and was rewarded by Alex’s renewed attention. He walked over to the bed and, bending down, brushed his mouth over hers; her lips parted, hoping to prolong the kiss, but abruptly he straightened up.
‘Not this morning, Lisa, I have no time.’ And, turning, he crossed the room, picked up his jacket and eased himself into it. ‘I told you that yesterday, when we drove up here. Today I have meetings lined up in London, morning, afternoon and late into the evening,’ he flung over his shoulder, as he picked up his wallet and keys from the dressing table. ‘And from what your stepfather said last night, you have a busy day ahead of you.’
Lisa sighed; Alex was right. They had arrived back in England last night and travelled straight to her home in Stratford-upon-Avon. On the death of her mother nine months ago, Lisa had inherited the major share in the family company, Lawson Designer Glass and her mother’s job as managing director. Her stepfather, Harold Watson, was the marketing director.
‘You’re right; I know,’ Lisa grudgingly conceded, and, sitting up, she swung her long legs over the side of the bed. She grasped the sheet and wrapped it around under her arms, sarong-style and stood up, flicking a glance at Alex as she did so.
‘Amazing! You hide yourself in a sheet.’ A dark brow rose quizzically. ‘I have seen everything many times, no?’ he drawled, and, turning his back on her, he picked up a silk tie, and slipped it under his shirt collar.
Lisa hesitated and, realising how ridiculous it was to cover herself in front of him, she let the sheet fall to the floor. A month ago she would have died if any man had seen her naked, but Alex had cured her of almost all her inhibitions. Her gaze lingered on his broad back; the exquisitely tailored jacket hung perfectly off his wide shoulders, the few tendrils of black hair curling over the collar an endearing dent in a picture of sartorial elegance, she thought with a grin. At that moment Alex turned back round and caught her staring.
His deep brown eyes flared for an instant, as his glance swept her from head to toe. Lisa was a tall girl, five feet nine inches, but perfectly proportioned, with high, firm breasts, a narrow waist, slim hips and legs that went on for ever. The three weeks of their honeymoon, which they had spent sailing around the Mediterranean on Alex’s yacht had given her skin a golden glow, the sun adding natural streaks of platinum to her long blonde hair.
‘I guess the honeymoon is over and work beckons for both of us,’ she said huskily, hiding a smile. She could tell he was rethinking the need for an early departure. From the moment she had met Alex he had awakened a sensuality in her twenty-three-year-old soul that she had not known she possessed. She had taken one look at him in the lounge bar of a local hotel and had fallen in love on the spot. It had been the same for Alex; they’d spent the next day together and by the evening he had proposed marriage. She would have slept with him there and then, so overwhelming was the passion she felt for him. But Alex, with iron self-control, had insisted they wait until they were married. Four weeks later they had been. Her wedding night had been a revelation: Alex was the perfect lover—he had fulfilled all her wildest dreams, and then some!
‘I have a feeling our honeymoon will never be over,’ Alex declared throatily, and, stepping towards her, he lifted his hand to stroke the soft curve of her cheek. The simple touch was enough to make her pulse race and her stomach clench with excitement. His dark eyes holding hers, his hand trailed tantalisingly down to her shoulder and traced over her breast and waist before hauling her hard against his long length, his head sweeping down to capture her mouth with his own. The kiss was deep and devouring, and when it ended Lisa stared up at him, totally enslaved, her heart bursting with love for him.
‘But for today it is,’ he added, letting her go. ‘We don’t have time to discuss it now, but you are going to have to sort something out about Lawson’s. I want you with me, Lisa, not tied to a desk.’ He paused. ‘Well, not unless it is my desk,’ he qualified, his dark eyes dancing with wicked amusement.
‘Naughty man!’
‘It is not me who is stark naked!’ he drawled mockingly and, with a swift pat on her derriere, he added, ‘Go shower, and I’ll go make the coffee.’
Ten minutes later, having showered and wearing a long blue towelling robe, Lisa strolled into the kitchen of
the elegant ten-roomed house that had been her home for as long as she could remember. Alex was leaning casually against the worktop, a coffee cup in one hand, a mobile phone in the other, talking in rapid-fire Greek. He glanced across at her as she walked in and indicated the coffeepot with a wave of his cup, but didn’t stop talking.
Lisa poured herself a cup of coffee and sat down at the breakfast table, her blue eyes lingering on his rugged profile. His black hair was swept back from his broad forehead; thick black eyebrows arched over deep-set brown eyes; his nose was a straight classic line and his mouth a sensual invitation—perfectly sculptured lips, the bottom one slightly fuller than the top. But at the moment, they were tight with anger.
The honeymoon was certainly over. Alex Solomos the entrepreneur was back. Lisa knew he was the owner of a large company, Solomos International, which his father had started as a small construction firm in Athens. But since Alex had assumed control the company had expanded into a variety of different interests worldwide, all successfully.
Taking a sip of her coffee, it struck Lisa quite forcibly that although he was her husband she did not really know a lot about the man she had married. He was Greek, an only child. Alex had told her that his parents had divorced when he was seven and his father had married again and again, almost wrecking his business in the process. Until Alex had stepped in and taken control after the third divorce, insisting his father must make a prenuptial agreement in any future marriage. Two more marriages had ensued, which was why, Alex had explained, they must have a prenuptial agreement. He could not have insisted on his father doing so and then refuse to do so himself. Lisa had agreed, and had quite happily signed on the dotted line.
Lisa had met his mother on her honeymoon, when Alex had berthed the yacht in the harbour at Kos and they had spent the night in a luxurious villa overlooking the sea with the elegant silver-haired woman. In her halting English she had told Lisa Alex was named after Alexander the Great. The old lady had explained her family was partly of Macedonian descent, the same as his namesake, a man who had conquered the whole of the known world centuries ago, including the island of Kos.
A vivid mental image of Alex, his naked body entwined with hers on the large bed in the villa, flooded her mind. She had teased him about Alexander the Great. ‘I hope you don’t take after the man in every respect, because, according to most historians, although the man was married he was gay.’
Alex had responded with, ‘Then I must prove otherwise, wife,’ and had proceeded to make love to her until they were both satiated by passion. Afterwards she’d quite happily conceded he was great, in at least one department…
Thinking about it now brought a dreamy smile to her lovely face. She lifted the coffee cup to her mouth and drained it, her glance straying once again to Alex’s long body. She could easily see the connection. He was a stunningly attractive man, and with the same type of ruthless energy and drive that conquered worlds. Which, when she thought about it, made it all the more amazing that he had fallen in love with her and married her… In the last three weeks Alex had introduced her to the world of the senses, as well as to the sophisticated lifestyle of some of his wealthy friends.
Suddenly he clashed the phone down, and Lisa’s eyes widened at his thunderous expression. ‘Bad news?’ she asked.
‘My father.’ He strolled towards her, running a hand through his thick black hair. ‘But nothing for you to worry about.’ He dismissed her enquiry with a shake of his dark head. ‘I must leave. It is a two-hour drive to London, providing the traffic is not snarled up. I don’t have time to waste.’
Lisa stood up and slipped her arms around his waist, the familiar warmth of his body, the husky male scent of him making her heart flutter in her breast. ‘I’ll see you tonight.’
He glanced down at her upturned face, a wry smile curving his firm lips. ‘No. My last meeting is scheduled for seven-thirty this evening, and tomorrow morning I have an eight o’clock breakfast meeting. You stay here, pack what you need, and have it sent to the London apartment. We will make that our base for now. But we will have to discuss something more permanent. Get your own work up to date and then I suggest you consider employing someone to take your place. Talk it over with Harold. You seem to be fond of your stepfamily. Something I’ve never managed to achieve,’ he concluded dryly.
‘Yes, yes, I am. Harold worshipped my mother, and he has always been brilliant with me. But…’ She got no further.
‘Good,’ Alex cut in. ‘Spend the evening with him; he will be glad of your company.’ His dark head bent and he brushed the top of her head with his lips, before curving his hands around her upper arms and putting her away from him.
Lisa was not sure she liked the arrangement. The thought of even one night without Alex was hard to bear. Although she knew it made sense. ‘Are you trying to get rid of me already?’ she tried to tease. But she realised Alex was already gone, if not in body then certainly in spirit.
‘No. But I have neglected business long enough. As long as you work, we are going to have to get used to spending time apart. Not desirable, but in the present circumstances inevitable.’ And, slipping his hand into his pocket, he withdrew a bunch of keys and removed one. ‘Here is a key to the penthouse. I will inform Security to expect you.’ He handed her the key. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’
‘Yes.’ Lisa had only been to his apartment once, on their wedding night, when Alex had introduced her to the joys of love for the very first time. She would have reminded him but he didn’t give her the chance.
He glanced at his gold Rolex. ‘I must go. Make sure you are in London by six tomorrow night, Lisa. We are dining with my father at seven thirty.’ And, with a brief kiss on her open mouth, he spun on his heel and walked out. Lisa followed him into the hall, in time to see him open the front door and disappear through it without a backward glance.
‘Was that the door?’ a gruff voice queried from the top of the stairs.
Lisa turned around ‘Yes, Harold.’ She smiled up at the elderly man descending the staircase. ‘Alex has just left. Give me ten minutes to get dressed and then I’ll get breakfast.’ Running lightly up the stairs, she gave her stepfather a little peck on the cheek as she passed him.
Later, when the two of them sat side by side at the breakfast table, the bacon and egg Lisa had cooked long since eaten, they lingered over their coffee, talking about work.
‘Mary, your PA, has been wonderful,’ Harold said firmly. ‘In fact, no disrespect to you, dear, but I think the woman could almost handle your job.’
‘Thanks very much. Glad to know I was missed,’ Lisa drawled mockingly.
‘I didn’t mean it like that, Lisa, but you are very much a new bride, and your husband has to come first. You should be at Alex’s side, not sitting here with me.’
‘Yes, I know. Alex said pretty much the same. As it is, I won’t see him until tomorrow—pressure of work…’ She shrugged her shoulders and, with a rueful smile at Harold, she pushed her chair back from the table and stood up. ‘Tonight I’ll be dining with you but right now we’d better get to the office.’
They took Harold’s car, a blue Jaguar, and after pulling up in the courtyard of Lawson Designer Glass, Lisa slipped out and viewed her surroundings with a contemplative air. The firm had been the brainchild of her parents. She remembered her mother describing to her how she had met Peter Lawson at a dance in Oxford, and had fallen in love on the spot. He had been the only child of the main partner of the Lawson Lee Glass Factory in Stratford-upon-Avon, a long rambling place that sat alongside the river. Her mother had been an accountant. They had married, and by the time they were thirty, and Lisa had arrived, her grandfather and the silent partner Lee, had died.
Her parents had transformed the factory into one of the leading producers of Tiffany lamps and designer glass in Europe. The Lee heirs had had no interest, other than the twice-yearly dividend, and had made no objection to the change of name to Lawson Designer Glass. Her mother had looked
after the financial side, and her father, the more artistic, had simply loved designing. Unfortunately he had died in a car crash when Lisa was nine. Two years later her mother had married Harold Watson, a man who had worked for the firm as sales manager for several years and was a true friend.
Lisa had worked here in the school holidays, and then after graduating from university full time. She loved the place; it had been her whole life so far, but now she had Alex. Juggling a husband and a business would be no easy matter. There were going to have to be some changes.
In fact the changes had already started with the death of her mother last year from stomach cancer. Three short months after the diagnosis her mother had been gone. But when she was dying she’d confided in Lisa; she had loved Peter completely, they had been soul mates, and she had thought it her duty to carry on with his work after he died. Her marriage to Harold, she’d admitted, had not been built on the same kind of love.
Harold had been alone ever since his first wife had left him with a small son to look after years before. That small son had been a twenty-seven-year-old man, with his own commercial estate agent business in London, by the time Lisa’s mum had married Harold. As her mum had later confessed, it had been more for companionship than love on her part, but she had hoped Harold would be a good father figure for Lisa.
In that respect her mother had been right. Lisa adored Harold, and the brief visits of his son Nigel had not really impinged on her life. Except for the year when she was sixteen and Nigel had made a pass at her. But, as she’d already been a big girl, she had quickly disabled him with a hard knee to the groin, and it had not been a problem. On the subsequent rare occasions they had met they’d managed to uphold a polite façade.
Smoothing the fine linen of her short skirt down over her hips and adjusting the collar of her jacket, Lisa entered the building, a worried frown pleating her brow.
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