by Miranda Lee
Her heart jumped into her throat and stopped there. Good God! Surely he couldn’t possibly mean what she hoped he meant?
‘Such as what?’ she managed to get out.
‘Such as a minor partnership, a share in the company.’
Samantha’s heart dropped back into place. Oh, what an idiot she was to even dream for a minute that he could mean anything else. Where were her brains?
I’ll tell you where, a cruel voice lambasted. In your stupid damned female hormones, that’s where! Once this man gets within three feet of you, off goes your head and on goes a pumpkin!
‘I...’ She cleared her throat and tried again. ‘I’d still have to say no.’
‘Have to?’ he repeated, taken aback. He stared at her for several seconds, but she volunteered no further information. Finally he shook his head in exasperation. ‘Something’s going on here that I don’t quite understand.’
Making a disgruntled sound, he turned away and stripped off his crumpled jacket, throwing it over the back of a chair. The tie followed. In seconds the buttons were released on his cuffs and he was starting to flip open the ones on his shirt front.
Samantha was glued to the spot, her heartbeat taking up the tango as more and more bare male chest was revealed. First there was just a V of tanned flesh, but then there was a sprinkling of dark curly hair and the light and shade of various muscles, honed to perfection by the many hours he spent in the gym. As the last button gave way she forced herself to turn and walk towards the door.
‘But never you fear,’ he called after her. ‘I’ll work it out. In the end I’ll know just why you’re leaving me. And it’s got nothing to do with needing a break or... Good God!’
She spun round at his shocked tone, only to find herself staring not at his startled expression, but at his completely naked torso. Desperately she lifted her eyes up to his, but the damage had been done, and her peripheral vision was still taking in far too much taut male flesh.
She was panic-stricken at the directions her mind kept taking. Surely her thoughts and feelings must be showing in her face, her eyes?
‘You’re not pregnant, are you?’ he accused.
She was wildly tempted to laugh in his face. Instead she put her energies into trying to get a hold of her thoughts. The exercise was not entirely successful.
‘No, Guy,’ she said stiffly. ‘I’m not pregnant.’
He looked relieved, then annoyed with himself. ‘No. Stupid of me. You wouldn’t be. Not you. Sorry.’ He yawned, spreading out the blanket with a flick of his wrists. ‘I guess I’m not thinking straight this morning. I’ll talk to you about it again tomorrow, make you see reason.’
‘Tomorrow’s Saturday,’ she pointed out curtly.
‘Oh...so it is.’ He crawled in under the blanket and laid down his head with a sigh. ‘Monday, then. Wake me around two, will you, Sam, like a good girl?’
She woke him at one because a call had come through from the hospital that his father’s tests had shown massive blockages of the arteries. The doctor needed immediate permission for a triple bypass. Without it, the chance of a second fatal attack was inevitable and imminent.
Samantha offered to accompany Guy to the hospital but he insisted she stay and hold the fort at the office. In truth, she was glad about this decision, for it gave her the opportunity to regather her defences where he was concerned.
Truly, she was getting worse! Never before had her love for him deteriorated into being so openly lustful. Of course, she had fantasised making love to him, but in the privacy of her night-time dreams, not here in the office. Neither had her fantasies been so blatantly sexual before. They’d always been loving and romantic, sweet and tender.
There’d been nothing sweet and tender in what she had wanted this morning on sighting Guy’s bare chest. Her desires had been very basic, to say the least. And they hadn’t completely receded either. The encounter had left her feeling physically restless, definitely agitated, decidedly angry.
She had been up and down ever since Guy had left the office, walking around, making coffee, staring out of windows, watching the rain.
This was sexual arousal such as she had never felt before, she admitted in the end. The sort of sexual arousal one read about but never envisaged feeling oneself. Intense...compelling...oddly without conscience.
It kept urging her not to run away from her job and her feelings, not to take any notice of things like pride and self-respect. You want this man, a wicked little voice whispered in her ear. If you can’t win his love then settle for his lovemaking. And you haven’t got a hope in Hades of getting even that if you leave. He’ll forget you as quickly as he forgot Debra. If you want something in this world, girl, you have to go after it!
For a few seconds she felt high on a surge of positive thinking, but she was quickly dumped down, swamped by reality, rather than daydreams. How could she successfully seduce a man who had never shown any signs of being sexually attracted to her? It seemed an impossible problem.
She sat back down at her desk and thought and thought.
So what if he’s never thought of you in that way before? she finally resolved. You’re a reasonably attractive woman, aren’t you? He’s a highly sexed man, with needs that aren’t being met at this moment. You could meet them, couldn’t you? All you have to do is convince him how convenient it would be for you to be his mistress. Good heavens, men are doing it all the time, sleeping with their secretaries. And love rarely comes into it on their side. It was mostly nothing more than a sexual convenience, from what she had seen and heard.
The word ‘convenience’ stuck out like a sore thumb in Samantha’s mind. That was the hook which would appeal to Guy most of all.
It came to her quite abruptly, the daring proposition.
What, she thought, wide-eyed and heart thudding, would Guy say if I offered to stay on as his secretary, provided he became my lover?
She could see it now. He would be initially surprised, then thoughtful. Finally he would look up and say, ‘Good idea, Sam.’
The phone rang, making her jump as though she had been found with her hand in the biscuit tin. A guilty conscience, she recognised, and snatched up the receiver.
‘Haywood Promotions.’
‘It’s me, Sam.’
She swallowed. Guy... His voice brought home to her that her boss was a flesh and blood man, not a fantasy person who could be made to react as one wanted. This man was one of the most handsome, intelligent, successful, dynamic men in Australia, who could snap his fingers and have just about any woman he wanted. He was not about to be manipulated into an affair by a silly secretary. If she made her ridiculous proposition he would look at her as if she was mad. And probably laugh.
If, by the remotest possibility, he took the proposal seriously he would want to know why. Girls these days could get sex wherever they wanted it. They didn’t have to blackmail their bosses for it.
It wouldn’t take him long to figure out she’d fallen in love with him and, by golly, her exit would come pretty fast after that. Guy Haywood was not in the business of keeping love-struck women in his office, or in his life. She suspected there had been a few ladies in the past who had fancied him as more than a lover and that they had been given short shrift indeed.
The daring proposition went out of the window.
Which was just as well, she thought wretchedly. She wouldn’t have had the guts to do it, anyway.
‘Yes,’ she said flatly. ‘What do you want?’
‘You sound terrible. Look, Sam, you have to tell me what’s going on with you. It’s bothering me and I can’t wait till Monday. Is it anything I’ve done? For pity’s sake, tell me if it is.’
It’s something you haven’t done, she thought miserably. Why can’t you be a normal boss and make a pass at your secretary? Why can’t you take me out to dinner and then to a motel? I won’t mind. Really I won’t.
‘It’s nothing you’ve done,’ she told him. ‘You’ve been a perfect gentle
man to work for.’ Unfortunately...
‘Then what is it, dammit?’
‘It’s exactly as I said, Guy. I want to change the direction of my life. And I want to get out of Sydney.’
‘Aah... Now I get it. It’s a man, isn’t it?’
She hesitated, then decided the truth would do quite well. ‘Yes, Guy. You’re right. It’s a man.’
‘What’s the problem?’ he probed. ‘Is it that he wants you and you don’t want him, or the other way around.’
It perversely amused her that he didn’t use the word ‘love.’ It just wasn’t in his dictionary when it came to man-woman relationships. ‘The other way around,’ she admitted.
Guy digested that for a few seconds. ‘I see... You never talk about your personal life to me, do you? I just realised I don’t know much about you in that regard. Have you been having a...relationship with this man, a...close relationship?’
She smiled wryly to herself. For all Guy’s wordliness, he couldn’t seem to come out with the bare facts in front of her. Truly, did he think that at twenty-five she was a total innocent? Why not ask her straight out if she was sleeping with the man? Still, it gave her the opportunity to mislead him without actually lying. ‘Oh, yes,’ she said. ‘Very close.’
‘Goddammit, Sam, you haven’t been having an affair with a married man, have you?’
She was taken aback by his shocked, even judgemental tone. That was certainly the kettle calling the pot black. Though to be honest she had never known him to have an affair with a married woman.
‘No, Guy,’ she denied firmly. ‘He’s not married. And never likely to be.’
‘Aah, so that’s it. The blighter won’t marry you.’
‘Not in a million years!’
‘That’s no reason to quit Sydney and a perfectly good job.’
‘I think it is.’
‘I aim to talk you out of going.’
‘You can try. Meanwhile I’ll ring the head-hunters and line some interviews up for you.’
‘Don’t bother,’ he snarled.
‘Guy...’ There was no mistaking her exasperated tone.
‘If I have to I’ll take Mrs Walton,’ he said with a sigh. ‘At least I know her. The last thing I want is one of those ambitious, vampirish secretaries who try to run the show, their boss included.’
‘She’ll be thrilled,’ Samantha said. ‘I’ll ring her right away.’
‘You do that.’ He let out another sigh. ‘God, Sam, hospitals are depressing places.’
‘How is your father?’ she asked with genuine concern. She didn’t know Martin Haywood very well, but what she had seen she couldn’t help liking. He was a charming rogue, just like his son.
‘Not good. The triple bypass is scheduled for tomorrow morning, most unusual for a Saturday, it seems. They only have theatre during the weekend if it’s a life and death matter, so I’m not getting my hopes up.’
‘He’ll have the best of care,’ she reassured.
‘Maybe so. But I feel very pessimistic about it all.’
‘He’s not old, though. What is he? Late fifties?’
‘Fifty-seven. But he’s abused himself over the years. No proper exercise. Wine...women...’
Samantha thought it best not to add anything about the smoking at this moment, knowing Guy himself was probably puffing away like mad at the other end of the line. He always did when he was tense or worried about something.
‘I’ve only just realised I might have to face his dying and, damn it all, Sam, I don’t like it. I don’t like it one bit!’
He sounded terribly distressed, which made Samantha feel guilty. She’d picked a rotten time to resign on him, but it had to be done, even more so after what had happened earlier today. Out of sight was out of mind, she hoped. And if it was cowardly of her to run away then she was a coward! There was no viable alternative. If there were she would take it.
‘I wish there were something I could do to help,’ she murmured truthfully.
Any normal secretary could have offered to cook him a meal, since his housekeeper was away, but she didn’t dare. Her feelings towards Guy had tipped over a dangerous edge today and it worried her that she wouldn’t always be able to control them. Best she keep well away from him in any social sense. It would be hard enough dampening down these newly wayward desires at work without inviting disaster elsewhere.
‘There’s nothing you can do for me,’ Guy stated, ‘except stay on as my secretary.’
‘Please, Guy, drop it.’
‘All right,’ he sighed. ‘I’ll drop it. For now... See you Monday morning, Sam.’
He hung up.
Monday morning, she mused, replacing the dead receiver. That was three days away. In three days she should have herself firmly under control again.
CHAPTER THREE
AS FATE would have it, Samantha was not to see Guy the following Monday. Or the Tuesday for that matter. His father’s operation had been a technical success, but his recovery less so. He remained in Intensive Care in a coma, with Guy hardly leaving the hospital except to ring the office.
‘You’d think one of those precious ex-wives of his would have shown up to see how he’s faring, wouldn’t you?’ he growled during his second call for Tuesday. It was four-fifteen in the afternoon. ‘I let each one of them know about the operation and they all mouthed meaningless wishes for Dad’s welfare, but not an appearance between the three of them.’
‘You sound tired, Guy,’ Samantha said gently. ‘Why don’t you go home and have a proper night’s sleep?’
‘Can’t.’
‘Why ever not?’
‘Dad needs me.’
‘But he’s unconscious,’ she pointed out. ‘You can’t really do anything.’
‘Yes, I can. I can talk to him, let him know it’s important to someone for him to pull through. I’ve read where coma patients can hear more than people realise.’
‘Yes...I’ve read that too.’ Samantha thought it wonderful for a grown man to love his father so much, and would have dearly liked to be by Guy’s side at the hospital, helping him in a more personal way during this time of trial. But a secretary could hardly presume to take such an intimate role and she supposed she was helping by looking after his business in his absence.
‘I’ve lined up the bookings for the tour,’ she said, knowing that talking about work would distract him from his worry for a little while.
‘Already?’
‘Mrs Walton helped me. She came in for a few hours yesterday and today. Of course, I couldn’t get the Entertainment Centre for Sydney. That’s booked out solid for a year. It’ll have to be the racecourse. Open-air stuff. Risky, I know. We’ll have to insure against rain. Oh, and the Midday Show want Frankie for a regular spot. His guest appearance last week was a big hit.’
Frankie Myers was the only comedian Guy handled. Mostly he concentrated on rock singers, musicians and bands. But Frankie was a special case. A Vietnam veteran, he’d initially made a modest living doing a stand-up comedy routine in hotels and clubs. But a growing drinking problem had shown him to be an unreliable gig and, in the end, no one would hire him. He’d been on skid row when Guy had literally tripped over him one night eighteen months ago in the gutter near his home. He’d recognised him, taken him inside, cleaned him up, dried him out and told him he’d make him a success if he gave up drinking for good.
Frankie did just that, and Guy had kept his side of the bargain, helping him update and polish his material and finding him work. But to get a regular spot on the top daytime programme on Australian television would mean unlimited exposure and a guarantee of success.
‘That’s terrific,’ Guy said, his voice smiling. ‘He deserves a break, the poor bastard.’
‘He’d never have done it without your encouragement and help.’
‘True.’ Modesty was not one of Guy’s virtues. ‘Anything else to report?’
‘No. Nothing I can’t handle.’
‘I don’t know whe
n I’ll be in...’
‘Don’t worry. Mrs Walton and I will keep the home fires burning.’
‘You’re a girl in a million, Sam. See you.’
Samantha’s heart turned over as she heard the line go dead. Oh, Guy... You like me. I know you do. And liking can turn to love, given the chance.
Darn it all, she thought with a surge of irritation. Why couldn’t I have been born tiny and blonde?
When the phone rang again twenty minutes later she was about to pack and go home. She looked at the phone with a measure of distaste. She seemed to have spent the whole day on the thing and had had enough.
‘Hayward Promotions?’ she said somewhat impatiently as she snatched it up.
‘It’s your boss again. Guess what? Dad’s conscious. Sam, I think he’s going to make it!’
She let out a shuddering sigh of relief. ‘That’s wonderful, Guy. I’m so happy for you.’
‘I’ll be in first thing in the morning. Well...not quite first thing. Around elevenish. I have some sleep to catch up on.’
He was gone before she could say another word, leaving her with a ridiculous grin on her face. Guy’s happiness would always be her happiness.
What would there be, she worried later as she stepped outside into a still soggy Sydney, to make her happy when she didn’t see him any more?
There seemed to be no answer for her.
The office got back to relative normality after that—if battling to block out one’s dangerously escalating desire for one’s boss could be considered normal.
Guy’s father made rapid improvement. In fact he was discharged from hospital and sent home within two weeks of his becoming conscious, refusing to go to Guy’s place, hiring a private nurse and housekeeper to look after him in his own penthouse apartment. Martin Haywood was not short of a dollar, having made a fortune as an inventor of an engineering process that had revolutionised high-rise building methods.
But, despite his father’s recovery, Samantha could sense something troubling Guy. If he’d regularly tried to persuade her not to leave she might have thought she was the problem, but he seemed to have almost forgotten that soon she’d be gone. Many a time she would go into his office to find him standing at the window across the room, staring blankly out over the building tops. Then when she spoke to him he would turn round, and it would be several seconds before he’d even focus on her.
