Blackmailed Into Her Boss's Bed

by Sandra Marton

  But she’d simply laughed and spouted some nonsense about preparing for every possible contingency. Which was what she always did, she reminded herself as she started down the stairs. It was one of the reasons why she had nothing to worry about tonight.

  What could possibly go wrong?

  * * *

  An hour later, she breathed a sigh of relief. The cocktail party was in full swing, and it was going as smoothly as silk. Talia made a cursory appearance, just long enough to check the trays of hors-d’oeuvre and the stock at the bar. The Miller executives seemed to be having a great time. They’d been subdued at first, standing in little clusters, talking quietly. Every now and then, an anxious face would turn to the doorway. But as time passed and they sipped their drinks, their inhibitions fell away and the level of noise and laughter grew.

  On her second trip through the ballroom, Talia overheard a snatch of conversation that confirmed what she had already suspected. ‘Maybe we’ll luck out,’ one man said to another. ‘Maybe the old man’s been detained in New York.’

  Talia breathed a sigh of relief as she pushed open the swinging door that led back to the kitchen. So, Logan Miller hadn’t shown yet. Maybe that explained why things were going so well. Everything was moving along as she’d planned—even though they were one server short. Her assistant hadn’t complained about it, but of course Talia knew they were.

  She’d been watching for the man she’d had the run-in with earlier, and he hadn’t shown up. It was just as well. If he’d been there—

  ‘Oof! Sorry, Talia, I didn’t see you there.’

  The saucier had stepped down hard on her foot. Talia smiled determinedly. ‘My fault,’ she said, taking a step back. ‘I’ll just—’ She whirled around as a pot clattered to the tile floor. ‘Sorry,’ she said quickly. ‘I didn’t mean…’

  The head chef looked at her. ‘Sounds like there’s a pretty good party going on out there. Why don’t you go have a drink or something?’

  Talia laughed and shook her head. ‘Not me. I’m just the hired help—they don’t want me crashing their party.’

  He sighed. ‘Listen, boss, I’m trying to do this diplomatically but the truth is, you’re in the way. We’d all be grateful if you’d skedaddle. We’ll yell if we run into trouble.’

  She nodded. It was a nice thing to say, but trouble was highly unlikely. The staff were efficient and well trained, and they didn’t need her underfoot. Her job was planning and co-ordinating; the chef was right, she really was in the way right now.

  Talia smiled, snatched a cracker from a tray as it went by, and walked to the door. ‘Call if you need me,’ she said, and she stepped out into the dusk.

  She felt as if she’d walked into another world. The noise of the kitchen vanished, replaced instantly by the silence of the soft September evening. A breeze carried up from the sand, fragrant with the rich scents of the Pacific, mingling with the clean tang of pine drifting down from the rounded hills that rose behind the inn. Talia stood still for a moment, face lifted to the sky, and then she began walking slowly along the gravel path that wound uphill, through the pines to the grove of redwoods towering beyond them.

  It was hard going, thanks to the pitch of the land and the height of her grey suede heels, but she decided to make the best of it. For starters, the air smelled too sweet and fresh to go back inside. For another—for another, she was just as glad to put off the time she’d have to check things again. For all she knew, the man she’d met this afternoon might have changed his mind and shown up to work, and she didn’t really want to face him again. It was silly, but that was the way she felt.

  And then there was Logan Miller. She knew what to expect there—his letters, and now the attitude of his employees, had prepared her for the worst. Still, she’d done the job he’d asked of her, and so far she seemed to have done it well. Miller would have to be satisfied, which meant that her boss would be, too. Her promotion would be rock-solid.

  In a couple of years, if all went as planned, she’d have enough money saved and enough experience under her belt to start a small catering firm of her own. It was something she’d thought about and planned for a very long time. And then she’d have everything she wanted: she wouldn’t need anyone or anything any more.

  If she owed her mother’s memory anything, she sometimes thought, it was that her very irresponsibility had been a kind of legacy.

  ‘You are the most determined young woman, Talia,’ John Diamond had once said, and he’d laughed. ‘Did you learn that at Cornell?’

  No, she’d thought, I learned it when Grams told me the circumstances of my birth. But she hadn’t said that, of course, she’d simply smiled and said she’d learned all kinds of things at university.

  The path had grown steep. Talia stopped, drew in a deep breath, and looked over her shoulder. The inn was barely visible, half-hidden by the pine trees. She should really go back, she thought. The cocktail hour would be over soon, and dinner would be starting. You could never tell what might happen then. Once, she’d seen someone take a bite of something, gasp, and fall to the floor in an allergic attack. Only quick thinking on the part of one of the servers had saved the woman’s life.

  She thought again of the man in the kitchen. Where was he tonight? Not that she cared, one way or the other. It was just that he’d looked as if he could have used the few dollars he’d have earned this evening. Well, that wasn’t really accurate. There’d been something about him, an aura she just couldn’t nail down that had seemed to overwhelm everything else. He’d looked like a beach bum, yes, but there’d been more to him than that.

  She clucked her tongue in annoyance. What was the matter with her? She was tired, that was it, and why wouldn’t she be? She’d flown in early this morning and she hadn’t stopped since. This walk had revived her a bit, she had to admit that. All right, she’d go in a little further, just into the redwood grove ahead, although it did look awfully dark and gloomy and…

  She heard the footfalls behind her just as she reached the first stand of giant trees. Footfalls? No, not that. Something was pounding hard along the gravel path behind her. And it was breathing hard. In the silence of the evening, the sound of air being drawn in an out of its lungs was raspingly loud.

  Her heart constricted. Talia had grown up in a small city back East, and had spent the last few years in San Francisco. The closest she’d come to country living was the four years she’d spent at Cornell University in New York State, and although the campus was in a beautiful outdoors setting it hardly qualified as wilderness.

  Images of bears, cougars, or something even worse jostled each other for attention in her mind. She stood rooted to the gravel path, trying to decide whether it was wiser to turn and face what was coming or to head further into the artificial night of the redwood forest. Face it, she thought. But, just as she turned, the creature that was pursuing her ran her down.

  It came at her quickly, a dark blur that rounded the bend and entered the trees with a speed that sent it crashing into her. Talia felt the jarring slap of muscle against flesh, caught the sharp tang of salt and something muskier, and then she went down in a tumble of limbs and grey flannel.

  ‘For God’s sake, woman, what the hell were you doing?’

  The thing that had run her over had a voice. Relief flooded through her as she realised that it was a man—a very sweaty, irritable one, from the feel and sound of him—and then she felt her own anger rising.

  Talia pushed at his chest as he lay above her. ‘Will you get off me?’ she demanded. ‘Dammit, where do you think you are?’

  The man caught her wrists as she flailed at him. ‘That’s it,’ he said, ‘add insult to injury. It isn’t enough you were playing statues in the middle of the path—’

  ‘This is a walking path, not a running path. Why weren’t you watching where you were going?’

  The torrent of words halted as she stared into the face poised above hers. It was dark in the redwood grove; the man’s face was s
triped with shadow. But there was no mistaking the thatch of sun-streaked hair that fell across his forehead or the darkly blazing eyes set above those high cheekbones.

  Talia’s heartbeat stumbled. The man straddling her was the surfer-cum-waiter she’d met in the kitchen earlier.

  He seemed to recognise her at the same moment. A smile curved across his mouth, then vanished. He sat back a little so that she felt the weight of him against her thighs. ‘We meet again,’ he said, and she flushed.

  ‘Let me up.’

  The smile came again. ‘Ask nicely.’

  Talia gritted her teeth. ‘I said—’

  ‘Perhaps you didn’t hear me. I told you to ask nicely.’

  ‘Dammit! Get up. Are you deaf?’

  He laughed coolly. ‘I’m just not good at taking orders. I’ve been told it’s my major failing.’ The grasp on her wrists tightened. ‘Now ask politely if you want me to get off you.’

  ‘Damn you…’

  He smiled. ‘Actually,’ he said softly, shifting his body against hers, ‘I’m rather comfortable where I am.’

  Talia closed her eyes, then opened them again. He was watching her narrowly, the smile twisted across his mouth. She was a long way from the inn, she thought suddenly, and a chill raced along her spine.

  She swallowed. ‘All right.’ Her voice was wooden. ‘Get up. Please.’

  He hesitated. Then, in one fluid motion, he let go her wrists, rose to his feet, and held out his hand. Talia looked at it, then at him, and turned her face away. She got to her feet stiffly, wincing as she did.

  The man moved quickly. His arm slid around her waist. ‘Are you hurt?’

  ‘No. I’m fine, no thanks to you.’

  She tried stepping away from him, but his arm tightened around her. The smell of salt and musk came again, and she realised suddenly that it was him she was smelling, a sensual combination of sweat and some male essence that emanated from him.

  ‘Don’t be so bloody stubborn,’ he said. ‘Tell me what’s wrong. Is it your ankle?’

  She shook her head. ‘I—I don’t think so, no. I just broke my heel, that’s all.’ Her eyes met his and she saw once again that dark intensity that she’d seen that afternoon. Her breath caught. ‘Let go of me.’ She waited a moment, then swallowed. ‘Please.’

  ‘I’ll help you back to the inn,’ he said. ‘Lean on me.’

  His arm curved around her, moulding her to the muscular strength of his body. He was wearing the same T-shirt and shorts she’d seen him in earlier; both were soaked and clung to him like a second skin. She stumbled as he drew her to him; when she reached out to steady herself, her hand fell on his arm. His skin was warm and damp, taut under her fingers, the muscles beneath hard and powerful. Talia’s pulse leaped crazily, and she pulled back as if she’d touched her hand to a hot stove.

  ‘No.’ Her voice sounded ragged, and she swallowed. ‘No,’ she repeated, more evenly this time. ‘I’m fine. If you’d just—’

  ‘What are you going to do, walk back barefoot? Dammit, let me help you.’

  Suddenly, his very nearness seemed to overwhelm her. There was a strange constriction in her chest; her head was reeling. In all her carefully ordered life, she had never felt the confusion this man seemed to inspire. ‘Just get your hands off me,’ she said. ‘Do you hear me? I swear, if you don’t…’

  He grew very still. ‘If I don’t?’

  Talia swallowed. ‘I’ll—I’ll report you. I’ll—I’ll…’

  The man clasped her by the shoulders and forced her to face him. ‘I saw the way you looked at me today,’ he said softly. ‘You liked what you saw, Miss Roberts. But you were damned determined not to admit it.’

  Colour flooded her cheeks. ‘You flatter yourself.’

  He laughed. ‘Do I?’

  In the second before he kissed her, Talia knew what he was going to do. But there was no time to stop him—he pulled her into his arms with a speed that took her breath away. One hand tangled in her hair, tilting her head back, while the other cupped her chin.

  ‘No.’ Panic turned her voice thready. ‘Don’t—’

  His mouth silenced her. Talia raised her hands and slammed them against his chest, but he only shifted her more closely against him, imprisoning her with his strength. His mouth moved on hers, hard and deliberate, and gradually he forced her lips to open to the demand of his. His kiss became an invasion of her senses: she tasted his heat, felt the mockery of passion his tongue made as it sought hers.

  The assault of his embrace flamed through her, scorching a path the length of her body. Talia grew still in the stranger’s arms; her lashes fell to her cheeks as a strange lethargy spread through her. She swayed in his arms and he murmured something incomprehensible against her mouth, his kiss gentling, deepening.

  His hand slid to her waist, and she felt the light press of his fingers just beneath her breast. For a tick of eternity, she felt abandoned by time and reality. A nameless fear welled within her, more of herself than of him.

  With a sob of desperation, Talia pushed hard against his chest and twisted free of his embrace.

  ‘Are you always this brave,’ she said, after her heart had stopped racing, ‘or is it because I’m a woman that you think you can take what you want?’

  He laughed. ‘If you mean do I always get what I want, the answer is yes.’

  His voice was harsh, his tone contemptuous, and Talia thought she’d never hated anyone as she hated him. Anger fuelled her courage. ‘Then this will be the first time you don’t.’

  ‘There’s always a way, Talia.’ His eyes were cool as they moved over her. ‘Haven’t I just proved that?’

  Her hand was a blur as it rose between them, but he was faster. He caught her wrist before she could strike him, his fingers curving tightly around the slender bones, and she drew a sharp breath.

  ‘Let go of me. Do you hear me? I—’

  Laughter drifted towards them. There was the sound of feet scuffling on the gravel path, and suddenly a young couple stepped into the redwood grove. Talia recognised the boy—he was one of the servers she’d hired, and from the way she was dressed the girl was, too.

  The couple’s laughter faded and they stood staring at Talia and the man. The little tableau remained still and silent and then, suddenly, he let go of Talia’s hand and stepped back.

  ‘Until we meet again, Talia,’ he said softly, and then he turned to the boy. ‘Help Miss Roberts to the inn. She’s had an accident.’

  The couple sprang apart, the boy moving quickly to Talia’s side. ‘Yes, sir.’

  Talia shook her head. ‘I’m fine. It’s only my shoe. I…’

  Her words trailed away as the man turned and began running easily down the path. ‘Sir’, the boy had said, the word taut with deference. A little while before, it would have seemed ludicrous that anyone would address a man wearing T-shirt, frayed shorts and scuffed running shoes with such respect. But the stranger’s tone and bearing had suddenly commanded it. ‘Until we meet again,’ he’d said.

  The breath caught in Talia’s throat. Suddenly, she knew beyond doubt that they would.

  CHAPTER TWO

  JOHN DIAMOND examined the tray before him as if the chicken pieces laid out on it might suddenly spring up and attack him. ‘What did you call this stuff?’ he asked, picking up the serving fork and gingerly moving aside a pineapple ring.

  Talia smiled. ‘I didn’t call it anything,’ she said, watching as he put some chicken on his plate and cut into it. ‘It’s labelled batch number seven—although the kitchen staff’s been calling it Chicken Hawaiian.’

  John put his fork to his mouth, chewed slowly, then swallowed and made a face. ‘How about calling it a mistake and letting it go at that?’ he said, pushing his plate aside and taking a long sip from a glass of iced water. ‘Much too sweet—nobody wants anything that sugary today.’ He glanced towards the closed door that connected the executive dining-room to the kitchen. ‘What’s next? Or don’t I want to know?�
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  ‘Something involving artichokes, fillet of sole and capers.’ Her boss rolled his eyes and Talia laughed softly. ‘Well, you asked Staff to come up with some exotic offerings, John.’

  ‘Remind me to tell them exotic doesn’t mean inedible, hmm?’ John’s mouth drew up in a good-humoured smile. ‘What the hell, that’s what our monthly Surprise Luncheon is for, isn’t it? Better to test out new concoctions on ourselves than on our clients. And we average far more successes than failures.’ He took another sip of water, then set down his glass and looked at Talia. ‘Speaking of successes, I’ve had glowing reports about the Miller Weekend.’

  Talia looked up. ‘I meant to thank you for sending me a copy of the letter from the inn,’ she said. ‘I’m glad they thought it went well.’

  Her boss shook his head. ‘Not just the inn. I had a letter from Miller himself yesterday.’ He paused as the connecting door swung open and a waitress appeared bearing a covered platter. John sniffed as she set it down and took off the cover, and then he sighed. ‘Capers and artichokes, hmm? Do us a favour, Ann. Ask the kitchen to send out a couple of omelettes, will you? Thanks.’ He waited until the girl had hurried off, and then he covered the offending dish and shoved it aside. ‘You win some and lose some, I guess.’

  Talia leaned forward. ‘You heard from Logan Miller?’

  Her boss nodded. ‘Yeah. The big man himself.’ He looked at her and smiled. ‘He was impressed. Very impressed. Good food, good service, everything planned to the last detail…’

  ‘As if he’d know,’ she said impatiently. ‘I told you, he never showed up. Well, I suppose he did, I know he was listed as speaker at their general meeting and as chairman at some workshop, but I never laid eyes on him. He wasn’t at the cocktail party Friday evening or the dinner either night or—’