by Miranda Lee
He rose immediately after Grace retreated and closed the door, thus giving Cleo a complete view of his attractions. Which were considerable.
Cleo already knew he was a handsome man, a tall, fair-haired god with the kind of even facial features and good bone structure that made male models and movie stars so photogenic. But in the flesh, he was more than that. Maybe it was his sparkling blue eyes, or his sexy mouth, or his tall, broad-shouldered frame, which was superbly housed in the type of business suit that screamed Italian tailoring. His effect on Cleo was instantaneous and quite startling. Her female hormones—which she’d believed dead and buried—leapt into life, threatening to bring an unwelcome and humiliating heat to her neck and face.
Luckily, she managed to keep her reaction restricted to just a racing heartbeat and a squishy feeling in her stomach, but it was the disorientating effect on her brain that rattled her the most. She could hardly think straight!
Cleo was still out of kilter when he said something in greeting, then reached out his hand to shake hers, accompanying the gesture with a winning smile that showed perfect white teeth. Her own returning smile felt robotic, her teeth clamped tightly together as the corners of her mouth lifted only slightly. She must have put her own hand out as well, because suddenly it was encased within the warmth of his, his other hand reaching to cover their handshake at the same time, keeping her fingers solidly captive in his clasp.
It was possibly a well-practised ploy, Cleo was to think later—after her brain started working again—but it worked brilliantly at the time, making her warm to him even further as well as want him in a way she’d never wanted a man before.
This last appalling thought snapped her out of her uncharacteristically muddled state of mind. How could she possibly want Byron Maddox like that? And so quickly? It had taken her weeks to go to bed with Martin. And she’d been deeply in love with him. Yet within seconds of meeting Byron Maddox all she could think about was how it would feel to lie naked in his arms, to have his mouth explore every part of her.
Cleo was shocked by her desires. He’d be good in bed, she just knew it. After all, he’d had plenty of practice. Martin had been a virgin when they met, as had she. They’d both been highly embarrassed after their first fumbling attempts at sex. They’d worked things out eventually and she’d quite enjoyed herself at the beginning of their relationship. But not all the time. No, definitely not all the time.
Cleo stared into Byron Maddox’s blue eyes with the certainty that she would enjoy herself every time with this man.
But it was all just fantasy, she knew, using her hard-won strength of character to control her rampant desires and face reality. Cleo knew full well that she would never have the opportunity to find out what kind of lover Byron Maddox was. She was not the sort of woman this bachelor playboy took to bed. She wasn’t blonde, or beautiful, or sexy. She was a very ordinary brunette with no fashion sense and zero sex appeal.
Well, that was life, she supposed. Her life, anyway. It was perverse, however, that after not caring about men or sex since Martin’s death, the one man she found fascinating in that regard was totally out of her reach.
Which was just as well, she thought, as she carefully extracted her hand from his and found her best business face. She already had a difficult mission to achieve today with this man. She didn’t need the distraction of trying to seduce him as well—the ridiculous impossibility of that mission evoked a wild urge to laugh. She smothered the impulse much more easily than she was smothering her highly unwanted cravings.
‘I am so sorry Scott wasn’t able to keep his appointment with you,’ she said with cool politeness. ‘Hopefully, I can tell you everything you need to know over lunch.’
* * *
Byron doubted it. Because he wanted to know quite a lot. Not just about McAllister Mines but about Cleo Shelton, PA extraordinaire. And a woman of contradictions.
Byron was usually a good judge of females but this one had him stumped. When she’d first walked in he’d been taken aback by her appearance. Dull was his initial thought. Dull and boring. He hated boring. He also hated black pant suits and drab black pumps and severe, scraped-back hairstyles. He liked women to look like women.
But when he came closer to her, he’d seen she wasn’t as plain as he’d originally thought. Or as old. No more than thirty. She had lovely unlined olive skin and fine dark eyes. Her mouth was a little wide but her lips were nicely shaped. It was her lack of lipstick—or any make-up at all—that gave a colourless first impression. Her hairdo did little for her as well. Talk about unflattering!
He hadn’t known what to make of her, especially when he saw the look she gave him as he walked towards her. For a few seconds her eyes had glittered the way a girl’s eyes glittered when sexual attraction raised its delightful head. When he’d shaken her hand, he’d felt heat in her palm, plus a slight quivering up her arm. And oddly, he’d responded in kind, suddenly finding his own hormones sparking as well. He’d liked the way she’d stared at him. Liked it a lot, his sexually charged imagination filling with images of how she would look without those dreadful clothes on, her mouth gasping wide with pleasure.
But then abruptly, everything changed. She pulled her hand away and, when she spoke, her voice was as cool as her eyes. Given the way she was dressed, he didn’t believe she was playing hard to get. She was no seductress. Byron knew, however, that he hadn’t made a mistake in his assessment of her initial attraction to him. For some reason, she was pulling back from it, hiding it away as though it didn’t exist.
It was then that he noticed the simple gold wedding band on her left hand.
Byron swore in his head. So that was the reason. Admirable, but still annoying. He’d been looking forward to finding out more about her, to peeling back the layers of her enigmatic personality and discovering exactly what made her tick.
Not much point now. Byron only enjoyed that kind of conversation if it led to bed.
Which it still could do... She might be separated, or divorced. Women didn’t always get rid of their wedding rings. And there was no engagement ring, he noted with a surge of excitement.
Byron’s somewhat desperate reasoning frustrated him. What in hell did it matter? He didn’t do married women, no matter how unhappy they were. He also wasn’t partial to divorcees—too much emotional baggage. Besides, he was in search of a wife, not an affair.
Back to the business at hand!
‘I’m not absolutely sure that mining is my cup of tea,’ he said matter-of-factly. ‘But I’d like to hear what you have to say, Cleo. It will be up to you to convince me over lunch of the benefits of putting my money into McAllister Mines. Do you mind me calling you Cleo?’ he added after seeing her flinch slightly at his familiarity.
‘Whatever you prefer,’ she returned with a stiff little smile.
‘Good. And you must call me Byron. And speaking of lunch,’ he went on, glancing at his watch, ‘perhaps we should go downstairs. There’s an excellent restaurant in this building, on the thirtieth floor. Our reservation isn’t until one but it won’t matter if we’re early. We could have a drink or two. You don’t have to drive home, do you?’
‘No. I always catch the train.’
‘Excellent.’
‘What about you?’
‘I own the penthouse in this building.’
CHAPTER FOUR
HOW PREDICTABLE, CLEO thought ruefully as he cupped her left elbow and steered her from his office. A penthouse pad to go with his penthouse lifestyle.
Still, Byron Maddox was exactly as she had expected. A charmer, who, despite his obvious intelligence and business acumen, lived the life of a playboy. Cleo wondered why he had bothered to get engaged those two times. Neither engagement had lasted long, and each time the press had had a field-day, which was why she’d been able to find so many articles about him on the Internet.
What Cleo hadn’t expected, however, was that she would fall victim to his charm. Or was it just his looks th
at had fired up her female hormones? He was, after all, exceptionally handsome.
Yes, possibly it was just that. She wouldn’t be the first girl to lose her head over Byron Maddox. Though she was hardly a girl. She was twenty-nine, for pity’s sake. Not that Cleo had any intention of actually losing her head over him. Still, it was proving awfully hard not to react to the touch of his hand at her elbow, not to freeze in fear or to shiver in ecstasy, making her wonder what it would feel like to have those long, elegant fingers on other parts of her body. And in other parts of her body.
Stop it!
Cleo carefully scooped in a deep breath, then let it out slowly.
‘Have a good lunch,’ Grace said jauntily as Byron guided Cleo past his PA’s desk.
‘Indeed we will,’ Byron replied cheerfully.
Cleo smiled through gritted teeth.
The restaurant was called Thirty—named, no doubt, after the floor it was on.
Cleo liked its spacious feel and unfussy decor, the floors done in large, pale grey tiles; the tables were covered with dark grey linen tablecloths and set with elegant cutlery and glasses. The white walls were broken up by a multitude of long rectangular windows, the high ceiling painted black with subtle recessed lighting. There was a black circular bar in the centre of the room, which wasn’t too glitzy.
They were led past the bar to a far table set for two—but which would have accommodated four guests—situated next to a window that had a view of the botanical gardens, the Opera House and the harbour beyond. The waiter assigned to look after them was named André and was quick to pull out Cleo’s chair for her. Byron seated himself opposite and immediately ordered cocktails for them both without consulting the drinks menu, or her.
Now, if anything was certain to annoy Cleo—as well as dampen any unwanted desires—it was a man who didn’t consult. She had little appreciation of chauvinism; of men who thought they knew better than women. There’d been a time when she’d been happy to play the compliant little woman, deferring to Martin in all matters. But those days had long passed. Any man these days who dared to make decisions for her did so at his peril. Only the fact that she was supposed to be winning this man over for her boss had her holding her tongue.
But she suspected already that Byron Maddox was not a suitable investor for McAllister Mines. Scott wanted a hands-on partner, not just a money man; someone to take some of the day-to-day load off him, leaving him more time for his wife and future family. Sarah had confided to her before she left on their second honeymoon yesterday that she was pregnant, news that had made Cleo very happy indeed. She’d been seriously worried about their marriage for a while. Scott had been over the moon, of course. What a lovely genuine man he was.
‘I possibly should have asked you what drink you preferred,’ Byron said, interrupting her train of thought. ‘But the cocktails here are to die for and I wanted you to experience at least one.’
‘How thoughtful of you,’ she said, gritting her teeth.
* * *
‘So,’ he said, picking up the two leather-encased menus sitting in the centre of the table, handing her one then opening the other. ‘What do you fancy, Cleo?’
Still you, she conceded with a smothered sigh.
She could hardly take her eyes off him. But she did, dropping her gaze to the menu.
‘The seafood here is very good,’ he said. ‘But so are the steaks. Do you want an entrée to begin with? I would recommend the scallops, if you like seafood.’
Cleo’s appetite had fled since she was not used to being affected like this by a man. Her thoughts kept straying into strange territory. The temptation to flirt was extreme, and very perturbing. It had rattled her.
Her stomach contracted as she stared blankly at the menu. ‘I’m honestly not very hungry,’ she admitted at last. ‘I haven’t been sleeping all that well lately. Things have been rather hectic at work. And stressful,’ she added.
When Cleo glanced up she was surprised to see a spark of genuine sympathy in those sexy blue eyes of his.
‘You poor thing,’ he said, his kind words rattling her even further. ‘Scott did dump you in it, going away suddenly like that when his business was in trouble. But if you’re not sleeping then you definitely need to eat,’ he went on cheerfully. ‘Unless, of course, you’re so catatonic that you’ll fall asleep with your head in the soup.’
His smile—plus his good humour—bewitched her even more than his looks. Before she knew it, she found herself smiling back at him.
‘I’m not that bad. But my head is a little fuzzy.’
He laughed. ‘It’s going to be even fuzzier once you get the cocktail I ordered into you. When I said it was to die for, I wasn’t just talking about the taste. The alcoholic content is off the Richter scale. Ah, here it is.’
It was, as he’d warned her, deadly. But delicious. And decadent. And not designed to dampen desire.
On the plus side, it did relax her, at the same time rendering her a little reckless. She didn’t flirt with him exactly. But she let him order the food for her, as well as a bottle of white wine. Before she knew it, she was blurting out all the pitfalls besetting the mining industry at the moment. By the time dessert arrived—a light dish of fresh tropical fruits topped with a mango-flavoured yoghurt—Cleo realised suddenly how unwise she’d been and did her best to redress the situation.
‘Of course, things will turn around eventually,’ she told a seemingly fascinated Byron. ‘The prices of iron ore will go back up, as will coal and most of the other minerals. It’s just a matter of time.’
‘What about Scott’s nickel refinery?’ he asked. ‘I heard that it was on the point of bankruptcy.’
Cleo knew there was no saving the refinery. Not at the moment. But to say so would be the kiss of death to any potential investor in McAllister Mines. As much as she didn’t think Byron was the right man for the role of Scott’s business partner, neither did she want to be responsible for killing off his interest entirely.
‘The refinery is in deep trouble, no doubt about that,’ she admitted. ‘But it’s not bankrupt.’ Not yet, anyway.
‘Hmm,’ he said. ‘I don’t like to be a doubting Thomas, Cleo, but I won’t take your word for that. Before I commit myself to any kind of investment, I always have it thoroughly investigated. Do you have any objections to me sending my accountant over to check your books?’
Cleo was not surprised by the request. It was a perfectly reasonable one, which Scott had anticipated before he left. ‘That will be fine,’ she said, relieved that the diamond mine was doing well at least. And the two gold mines Scott owned. The rest of McAllister Mines were borderline, the prices for iron ore, coal and cobalt at an all-time low.
‘Good,’ Byron said. ‘I’ll send him over first thing tomorrow morning. Meanwhile, I’d like to go and inspect the refinery for myself.’
Now that surprised her.
Cleo frowned. ‘You do know it’s way up in North Queensland?’
‘That’s all right. I have my own plane. The site will have a runway, surely.’
‘Well, no, it doesn’t. It’s served by road and railway. You’ll have to land at Townsville and drive the rest of the way. It’s about thirty kilometres.’
‘No trouble. I’ll have Grace organise a suitable vehicle to meet us at Townsville airport.’
Cleo blinked. ‘Us?’
‘Yes, you’re coming with me.’
CHAPTER FIVE
BYRON ENJOYED THE shock on her face, almost as much as he’d enjoyed her loosening up over the course of the meal.
Now, suddenly, she was looking very worried.
‘Is there a problem with your coming with me?’ he asked. ‘Would your husband object?’
‘What?’ Her eyes flew to her left hand where she twisted the gold band on her left finger for a second or two before looking up again. ‘No. Martin won’t object,’ she said with a somewhat sad sigh. ‘He can’t. He...he died some time ago.’
Shock—and som
ething else—had Byron sitting up straight in his chair. So she was a widow. Not unhappily married, or divorced. Just a lady with a sad past and likely way too much emotional baggage.
Byron knew he should steer well clear. He didn’t need to deviate from the path he’d set himself. Which was finding the right girl to marry. Clearly, Cleo wasn’t that girl.
But despite all that he was finding her perversely attractive. Even more than he had back at his office. As she’d let down her defences, he’d seen more evidence that she found him as attractive as he found her. The way her eyes had sparkled at him every now and then. Quite lovely eyes, they were. The loveliest feature she had. Though her mouth was very kissable too. You just didn’t focus on it without lipstick. He couldn’t really see her figure underneath that ghastly pant suit, but she wasn’t overweight. He suspected there was a nice curvy shape under there somewhere. Byron liked curves.
It was a truly weird situation, one fraught with danger. He should not be thinking about having sex with her. A wise man did not mix business with pleasure. But he was thinking just that. Oh, yes, he definitely was.
‘How long ago?’ he asked, hiding his lustful thoughts behind a quiet voice.
‘Just over three years.’
A long time for her to be without a man. And it was obvious by the way she’d presented herself today that she hadn’t been out there, dating again. Cleo had the look of a woman still in mourning, a woman who’d forgotten what it was like to be a woman.
Until today, that was...
Byron sensed that something had changed for Cleo today. His male ego suggested it was he who’d changed her. He knew he was attractive to women, having been blessed with the kind of face and body women fancied. Even when girls didn’t know he was filthy rich, they came onto him. Byron didn’t think Cleo was interested in his money. He doubted she was seriously interested in him at all. Otherwise, she’d jump at the chance of being alone with him.
