by Miranda Lee
‘I’d rather you didn’t come up,’ she said tautly as she pushed open the door and unfolded herself from the passenger-seat.
Clearly Guy wasn’t about to insist, since he hadn’t alighted from behind the wheel. His face was the grimmest she had seen in many a month.
But then, her boss was not one who liked to make a mistake. Samantha could see that he would think he had erred drastically last night. He had made what he had considered a brilliant choice for the mother of his child, a woman of a similar cold mind to his, only to find out he’d been wrong.
‘See you Monday morning,’ she threw over her shoulder as she walked off, head held high.
The car growled behind her as it swung out of the driveway and leapt up the road.
Samantha would have liked to sink to the ground in a flood of tears. Instead she squared her shoulders and kept walking up the pathway that led into the building. As she approached the foyer area a movement overhead attracted her attention, and she looked up in time to see Tom crawling up the ivy on the wall to Lisa’s balcony on the second floor. Unfortunately Lisa herself was leaning over the balcony railing, encouraging him, and from the look on her face she had witnessed Samantha’s entire scene with Guy.
Just what I need, Samantha groaned, knowing the infernal girl would be down the stairs in a minute or two, pretending to be getting her washing but only wanting to probe for gossip.
Which was exactly what happened. No sooner had Samantha trudged up the stairs, let herself in and put the kettle on for a cup of tea than there was a knock on the door. With a resigned sigh she went to answer it. Lisa was standing there, smiling, waving a couple of letters. ‘You forgot to bring in your mail yesterday,’ she said, and held out the letters.
Samantha gave them both a brief glance. One was from her mother, the other from Aunt Vonnie. She drummed up a polite smile for her caller. ‘Care to come in for a cuppa?’
‘Don’t mind if I do.’ Lisa sashayed into the living-room, an attractive redhead in jeans and bright green jumper. She curled up in one of the two comfy armchairs. ‘I came down earlier to get my washing, but you weren’t in. Then when I went down to recover yesterday’s mail from my box I saw you hadn’t collected yours and I thought, that’s strange. Samantha not getting her mail, then not coming home all night. Not like her at all. Then I saw you being deposited personally by the big man himself. That certainly raised my eyebrows, I can tell you. Care to tell me what gives? You and he got a thing going, have you?’
Any other time Samantha might have been able to come up with something to allay Lisa’s curiosity, but she was flat out of façades and excuses. With a speed that stunned both of them she leant on the kitchen counter and burst into tears.
Lisa jumped to her feet, all initial fluster. But then she astounded Samantha with such genuine concern and warmth and sympathy that in no time Samantha was feeling awfully guilty for ever thinking the girl was anything less than a saint.
Lisa hugged her and soothed her, then took her by the shoulders and settled her gently on Samantha’s flowered divan, got her tissues, patted her hand and insisted she stay put while she made the cup of tea, serving it with heaps of sugar in it. ‘For shock,’ she was told sweetly.
Samantha took tea without any sugar but didn’t say a word, she was so overwhelmed by such a show of human kindness.
Never one to make close friends, she wasn’t used to the way girlfriends, particularly, could generously support members of their own sex. In the next hour, however, she was to discover there was a whole world of affection and friendliness waiting out there, if only one would open oneself to it. She even found herself telling Lisa all about herself, and how she had been in love with her boss for years and, though she had resigned, she had last night finally gone to bed with him.
Of course she said nothing about her and Guy’s now defunct plan to have a baby—that was too scandalous to voice aloud—letting the girl think that her upset was because, while the sex was good between them, her boss wanted to leave it with a one-night stand, so to speak, with no further involvement.
‘What a bastard!’ Lisa grimaced, curling her lip. ‘Probably thought he’d have a bit, just because you’re leaving, I’ll bet. He didn’t say he loved you, did he?’
‘No!’ Samantha defended, feeling guilty that Guy was being painted so black in Lisa’s eyes. Though, damn it all, he was hardly lily-white!
‘It’s typical of those good-looking, successful bachelor types,’ Lisa scorned. ‘They always think all they have to do is snap their fingers and we girls will come across.’ She dissolved into giggles at some private joke. ‘The trouble is,’ she spluttered, ‘we usually do!’
Samantha found herself laughing with her. ‘You’re so right,’ she agreed, grinning like a fool.
When they finally quietened Lisa gave her friend a more serious look. ‘What are you going to do? Quit right now or go back for the final four weeks?’
Samantha dragged in a deep breath and expelled it wearily. ‘I can’t quit,’ she said unhappily. ‘I...it would let him down, and he’s really not that bad. It’s not as though he wasn’t totally honest about last night. He...he doesn’t know I love him either.’
‘Huh! He still needs a good kick up the bum,’ the girl grumbled. ‘Still, I suppose, by staying, there’s a better chance of his getting some come-uppance!’
‘Come-uppance?’ Samantha frowned.
‘Sure thing. Tease the hell out of the devil. Give him some of his own medicine back!’
‘But...but...’
‘Come on, don’t let the side down. We women have to fight back occasionally. He wouldn’t have gone to bed with you even once if he didn’t fancy you a bit, and, believe me, you could make him fancy you a whole lot more if you put your mind to it. Why should you be the only frustrated one? All you have to do is get rid of those ladylike suits you wear, don some sexier gear, slap on some brighter make-up and drown yourself in exotic perfume. Go for the jugular, honey. And I don’t mean the one in his neck!’
Samantha was amazed by the girl’s vehement and very down-to-earth words, but also undeniably stirred by them. She was right. By God, she was right! Why should she drift away like a wimp, take his rejection lying down? She’d give him a real eyeful over the next four weeks and, by golly, if he wasn’t smoking like a bush campfire by the end of the month it wouldn’t be for her want of trying.
Rebellious gleams flashed into her eyes and Lisa squealed with delight. ‘You’re going to, aren’t you? Oh, goodie, goodie, goodie.’ She jumped to her feet and clapped excitedly. ‘Well, come on, come up to my flat and we’ll play sexy dress-ups. I’ve got loads of outfits you can borrow till you can restock your wardrobe. There’s this one dress...and on your body, honey, it’ll knock your boss’s eyes out!’
CHAPTER EIGHT
IT DIDN’T knock Guy’s eyes out. Not literally.
But he certainly ground to a halt when Samantha stood up casually and offered to get him a cup of coffee the moment he walked in on the Monday morning. Her upstanding position gave him a clear view of the way the red wool crêpe dress transformed her figure into an hourglass, a wide self-covered belt cinching her tightly in at the waist, making her full bust and curvy hips even more pronounced.
Lisa had said that, even on her own more slender body, the red dress had drawn a lot of male stares.
‘On your figure, honey,’ she’d drawled, ‘it would rejuvenate a jaundiced octogenarian with arthritis and a squint.’
It certainly was drawing Guy’s attention—or perhaps it was her loosely flowing hair or extra make-up that he was staring at. Whatever, he did his best to cover any sexual interest by adopting one of his bland business faces, complete with feigned indifference. And it was feigned. Samantha had seen the brief but definite flash of desire in his eyes when they’d clamped on the thrust of her breasts as she rose. Now, as he walked on, she detected a clenching of the muscles along his jawline.
‘No, thanks,’ he said with tell
ing sharpness. ‘I’ll make my own when I’m ready.’
A weird sense of triumph rippled through Samantha as she stood there and watched his discomfort. Lisa had been right. He did fancy her. How could he not after what they had shared? Guy was very much a lover of female flesh, the epitome of male virility. Once having been made aware of a woman sexually—even if by unusual circumstance—he wouldn’t be able to switch off that awareness so easily. Especially if visually reminded of it.
He strode over to drop his briefcase down beside his desk, then returned to stand in the doorway, looking at her. No desire now, only a faint sardonic derision.
‘Going to a party after work?’ he said mockingly.
Samantha had anticipated he would question her changed appearance, and was glad she had a ready-made excuse. It wasn’t even a lie, either. During her dressing-up session with Lisa she’d finally read the letters Lisa had collected for her. Aunt Vonnie’s contained nothing out of the ordinary but her mother’s had supplied the rather unnerving news that her old friend Norman was coming to Sydney for a few days and wanted to see her.
Thank heaven her mother had thought not to give him her home address. She had, however, supplied Norman with the phone number and address of Haywood Promotions and, since he’d been due to arrive some time over the weekend and was staying at an inner-city hotel, it was highly likely he would drop by either today or tomorrow. At the time of the news Samantha had cringed away from seeing Norman again. Now it gave her a certain amount of pleasure to be able to throw the possibility of another man’s interest in Guy’s face.
‘Well?’ Guy went on, more testily this time. ‘Are you or are you not going out after work? There has to be some reason for this.’ He waved a dismissive hand in the direction of the red dress.
Samantha looked boldly back at him and tried to ignore his body, resplendently housed in a pale grey three-piece suit that had a slight sheen to it, and accessories that would have put a dent in most people’s weekly pay-packet: white silk shirt, black and grey striped tie, black leather shoes. His dark hair was slicked back from his handsome face in that way that suggested he had not long been in his shower.
Unfortunately, thoughts of showers brought other disturbing images. It irritated Samantha that she had vowed to disturb him, not the other way around. Pique had her dampening her hot thoughts behind a hardening heart.
‘No,’ she stated brusquely. ‘A friend might be taking me out to lunch.’
‘Really? Anyone I know?’
Samantha was startled by the vibrating tension in Guy’s voice. He began walking slowly towards her.
‘No, I wouldn’t think so,’ she said, whirling away to hurry into the kitchenette, forgetting momentarily about the back of her dress. But she quickly remembered when cool air whooshed in the slit that ran from the back of her neck to the waist.
‘Would you be cold in that dress?’ Guy asked drily as he followed her into the kitchenette.
Battling a fierce blush and a sharp loss of confidence—this type of garment was really not her style—Samantha gave a brilliantly offhand shrug. ‘Most places are air-conditioned these days, and I have a jacket.’ She nodded towards the black crêpe blazer that completed the outfit and was hanging on the coat-rack beside the small refrigerator.
She could feel him behind her, staring at the strip of bare flesh. ‘Is this old friend the man you love?’ he asked at last in a low, taut voice.
She turned slowly and was taken aback by the glittering anger in his eyes. ‘No,’ she replied evenly. ‘Anyway, why should you care if it were?’
For a second she thought he was going to slap her. Yet he didn’t lift a finger. But something flashed in his eyes that was swift and violent and quite frightening, and she had difficulty stopping herself from visibly flinching away.
‘I’m merely checking,’ he ground out, ‘that you don’t have sex with anyone else till we know if you’re pregnant or not. I have no intention of financially supporting some other man’s child.’
So that was it, she thought with a bitter despair. Not jealousy. Or sexual possessiveness. Merely a protecting of his male pride and his precious bank balance. Oh, Lisa, Lisa, you don’t know this man. He’s not your everyday fool. He can’t be manipulated that easily. Heavens, he can get his sex wherever he wants and from women he infinitely prefers to me!
Something shrivelled inside her with this acceptance, and she felt totally stupid and embarrassed in the dress. Her own pride, however, kept her outer shell erect, her eyes steady, her chin up. ‘I am not promiscuous, Guy, if that’s what you’re implying. I never have been and I never will be.’
‘Really? Well, answer me this, my suddenly sexy secretary. This old friend of yours. Have you ever been to bed with him?’
God, but she tried hard not to colour. Damnably hard. But she was doomed to failure.
As guilty heat flooded her face Guy’s reaction was quite astonishing. His face darkened also, a slash of red across his cheeks. She could have sworn he was jealous now. Jealous and angry. But in the end she conceded that it was probably only fury at having to accept she had seemingly fooled him about her character. Without saying a word, he spun away and stormed off into his office, slamming the door behind him.
Samantha let out a shuddering sigh. She felt confused and terribly unhappy at the incident. The only thing she could be certain of any more was that in just under four weeks she would leave here with head held high, for there would be no more red dresses, no more pathetic attempts at sexual teasing, no more humiliation. If she didn’t have her own self-respect, she had nothing!
The morning dragged by, an eternity of small hells, for it seemed that was the day everyone and anyone chose to drop in and see Guy. And, consequently, the red dress!
Most made no direct comment, merely raised eyebrows and gave curious looks, but shortly before noon Frankie appeared, flushed with his recent success.
‘Hi, doll-face. The boss in?’ he quipped as he marched in, flinging the door shut behind him. Frankie never walked. He marched. Suddenly his eyes snapped round to stare at her loose hair, then lower. ‘Wow! What have you done to yourself? My God, I won’t be able to keep my hands off you if you go around looking like that. Hell, put me in solitary confinement! Throw me in the stockade! Lash me to the mast!’
‘Aren’t you mixing your metaphors, Frankie?’ Guy said in dry amusement as he came through his door and pumped his favourite client’s hand in greeting. ‘Lashing to the mast is a naval expression.’
‘Navel!’ Frankie groaned and put the back of his left hand to his forehead in mock distress. ‘Don’t start talking about bare flesh or I’ll faint with desire. How do you stand it, dear friend, having this vision of loveliness at your beck and call?’
‘With great difficulty,’ Guy intoned flatly, and threw Samantha a black look. She cringed inside, especially at the dark fluttering that crept into her stomach with his derisive glance. Even when despising her, he could still affect her sexually, she realised. It was mortifying in the extreme.
She was infinitely relieved when Guy drew Frankie into the inner sanctum, saying he had new material to discuss with him for his television spot. It was as she was relishing the respite from tension that Lisa rang.
‘How’s it going?’ was her first question. ‘Is he squirming yet?’
‘I’ll tell you who’s squirming,’ Samantha confessed unhappily. ‘Me. Truly, Lisa, I appreciate the loan of the dress and everything, but I can’t handle it. Everyone’s been staring at me as if I’ve just landed from Mars—that is, the ones who aren’t making openly lustful remarks. As for Guy... He’s been looking at me as if he’s just discovered I’m a call-girl—with potential diseases to boot!’
‘Oh, sure! I’ll bet he’s just acting. I’ll bet underneath it all he’s suffering like hell,’ the other girl scoffed.
‘What if he is? He’ll just go out and get himself another woman, not me.’
Lisa sighed. ‘I guess so. Gee, what a shame.
I thought he’d be so turned on by your stunning figure on display that he’d sweep you into his office and take you on the desk.’
‘Lisa!’
‘Only a figure of speech, dearie. Of course, you would show some resistance, then melt at the appropriate moment. Oh, well... “The best-laid schemes o’ mice an’ men...”’
‘Do...do you really think I’ve got a stunning figure?’ Samantha asked hesitantly. Having once been overweight and the butt of jokes, she found it hard to believe the evidence of her own mirror. Though she knew she had enviable breasts, she had always thought her hips and bottom were too curvy, and that she was too tall.
Lisa sighed impatiently. ‘Whatever am I going to do with you? Of course you’ve got a stunning figure. Mind-blowing! No red-blooded man could resist it. Oh, yes, I know, you told me all about those little blonde dolly-birds your boss seems to like. But that’s not your fault. The man’s obviously got a problem. Maybe he’s afraid to grow up emotionally, to have a woman in his life he might actually want to commit to, one with some real beauty and brains.’
‘You think so?’
‘I’d bet my drinking money on it.’
Samantha fell silent. There could be something in what Lisa had said, about Guy resisting emotional maturity. Perhaps, Samantha mused, it was because he had never had a role model in his life to copy. She had been blaming his mother and stepmothers for his emotional flaws, when perhaps she should have been looking at his father.
Martin Haywood, the charming rogue who’d consistently failed in marriage and maybe countless other relationships. Was it because he’d been unlucky in his choices of women? Or because he had deliberately made those choices, deliberately picked the sort of superficial sexy female who was great in bed for a while, but impossible for a man of intelligence to really love?
Possibilities and probabilities whirled in her mind. But then she sighed, for what would a successful analysis of Guy’s behaviour prove anyway? Only that he was screwed up and she shouldn’t be getting mixed up with him, that in the end he would hurt her, even if she did succeed in getting into his bed again, even if she talked him back into having a baby together.
