Blackmailed Into Her Boss's Bed

by Sandra Marton

  Not that she cared. Not that it mattered one bit…

  But she had lain awake for hours, throat constricted, until finally she’d heard Logan’s footsteps and the sharp tap of high heels returning to the lift as the doors had whispered shut.

  The next day, the woman had appeared in the office. Talia had smelled the perfume, heard the staccato footfalls, and known at once who was behind her. She’d turned quickly, just in time to see her knock at Logan’s door.

  It had felt as if a giant fist had caught hold of her heart. The woman had been beautiful—dark-haired, dark-eyed, she had been as exotic as a jungle cat. Talia had watched as the door had opened. Logan had risen from behind his desk and come towards his visitor.

  ‘Darling.’ Her voice had matched the sultry perfume. ‘Have I surprised you?’

  Logan had hesitated; then his eyes had met Talia’s and a tight smile had curved across his mouth. ‘Delightfully,’ he’d answered. And then his head had dipped towards the woman in his arms and the door had swung shut.

  Later that day, for the first time in weeks, he’d sent for Talia and had told her to plan the dinner that was to take place tonight.

  ‘We’ll be five at the table. Senhor Branco, Senhor Santos. Myself.’ His smile had been perfunctory. ‘And you, of course.’

  ‘But you said five…?’

  ‘Yes. I’ve asked Senhor Branco to bring his daughter, Vitoria.’ Logan had looked like a cat contemplating a canary. ‘Perhaps you saw her earlier, Talia. She stopped by my office at lunchtime.’

  The room had suddenly seemed to fill with the woman’s cloying scent.

  ‘I don’t recall,’ Talia had said coolly. ‘Did you have any special menu in mind?’

  Logan had shrugged dismissively. ‘I’ll leave the specifics to you. Just be sure you plan something rather special. You know the kind of thing I mean. Cocktails first. Several courses for dinner, a different wine with each. And arrange for extra staff.’ His teeth glinted. ‘It’s going to be a rather important evening.’

  A rather important evening. Perfume had seemed to fill her nostrils again; it had been difficult to answer, but she’d managed. ‘Will there be anything else?’

  ‘Yes.’ Logan’s gaze had moved over her with cool disinterest, as if she were a piece of office furniture that needed refurbishing. ‘Be sure you dress accordingly.’

  ‘I had no intention of wearing jeans and a sweatshirt,’ she’d said stiffly.

  Logan had laughed. ‘I wasn’t trying to insult you, Talia. It’s just that I’ve told my guests this is to be black tie. I simply want you properly gowned.’

  Her chin had lifted. ‘I’m afraid I’ll have to disappoint you, Logan. I have no long dress with me.’

  Logan’s mouth had twitched. ‘Then buy something.’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘I said, buy what you need. Charge it to me.’ The look on her face had made him laugh. ‘To the company, then. It’s a business expense.’

  Finding something appropriate had been difficult. Bianca had taken her to one of Sao Paulo’s finest shops, gushing over everything the proprietor had brought out, but Talia had vetoed them all. Did ‘long’ also have to mean backless and frontless? Finally, in desperation, she’d settled on a black silk gown with a jewel neckline and batwing sleeves that went to the wrist.

  ‘It seems—I don’t know, a little revealing, don’t you think?’ she’d asked Bianca.

  Her assistant had clucked her tongue. ‘N;atao, Talia. It is most proper.’

  Talia had hesitated, then given in. She had been weary of trying on dresses for a dinner party she’d dreaded attending. ‘All right. But this slit has to be closed,’ she’d said, indicating the open slash that went from thigh to hem.

  ‘No problem, Senhorinha,’ the sales assistant had said after consultation with Bianca, and she’d smiled and made quick motions with her hands as if she were sewing with needle and thread.

  Now, staring into her bedroom mirror, Talia frowned. The alteration hadn’t been done—how had she missed seeing that? She took a tentative step, watching herself in the mirror as she did, and she moaned softly.

  Every movement was accompanied by a flash of long, nylon-clad leg. And she’d been right, the damned gown did cling to the curves of her body. As for her hair—one comb had already slipped free. With an oath, Talia pulled out the other and tossed it aside. Her hair tumbled to her shoulders in a dark auburn cloud. What to do? Her hair, her gown…

  The ring of the phone pierced the silence. Talia glanced at the clock, then paled. There was no need to take the call. She knew it would be Logan, angrily demanding her presence. Well, she thought, so much for the way she looked. It would just have to do.

  Butterflies were playing loop-the-loop in her stomach. She took a final breath, then let it out. ‘Break a leg, kid,’ she whispered aloud, and then she opened the door and stepped into the hall.

  * * *

  The start of the evening bore all the markings of disaster. Talia was even later than she’d thought: as she stepped out on the landing, she heard the murmur of voices and she knew Logan’s guests had arrived. There’d be no time now to check the thousand and one last-minute details of the dinner she’d planned. If he was angry, how could she blame him?

  Her high heels clicked loudly on the stairs. Silence settled on the little assemblage below, and faces turned to watch as she descended. It took all Talia’s concentration to keep from touching her unruly curls or clasping the slit in her dress. Her glance met Logan’s.

  Something flamed suddenly within the green depths of his eyes. For an instant, it was as if they were alone. Her step faltered and she bowed her head. When she lifted it and looked at him again, she could see how mistaken she was. What she saw in his eyes was anger. But he was more than angry, he was furious—she could see it in the set of his mouth, the tautness of the skin over his cheekbones.

  The woman standing beside him cleared her throat. ‘Logan,’ she said in softly accented English, and she put her hand on his arm.

  ‘How nice of you to join us,’ he said.

  ‘I’m sorry. I was delayed. I—’

  He gave her a look of dismissal so cool it made her flush. ‘I believe you know these gentlemen—Senhor Santos and Senhor Branco.’

  ‘Yes. We’ve met. I—’

  ‘How lovely you look, senhorinha,’ Branco said, raising her hand to his lips.

  Santos smiled. ‘You were worth waiting for, senhorinha.’

  ‘And this is Senhorinha Branco.’ Logan put his arm lightly around the shoulders of the woman beside him and drew her forward. ‘Vitoria, this is Talia Roberts.’

  Vitoria Branco was dressed in a flaming-red velvet gown cut almost to her navel, half exposing an upthrust, creamy white bosom. ‘Of course,’ she purred, ignoring the hand Talia held out to her, ‘your cook. How charming.’

  Logan laughed. ‘Not quite, darling. Talia’s in charge of our catering programme.’ He looked at Talia. ‘That’s why she’s here tonight. Isn’t that right, Talia?’

  He was right. But why did his explanation seem like an insult? ‘Yes,’ she said, smiling politely.

  Vitoria’s delicate brows arched. ‘Sim? Would you, then, be kind enough to refill my glass? I am drinking white wine.’

  Talia’s smile did not falter. ‘Of course. May I offer you something, Senhor Branco? Senhor Santos?’

  Frederico Branco stepped forward and took her elbow. ‘Indeed you may. I should like the pleasure of your company, senhorinha.’ He cast a cool eye at his daughter. ‘Toria, surely you can find the wine yourself?’

  Vitoria Branco ignored the gentle admonishment. ‘It’s all right,’ she said, linking her arm through Logan’s, ‘Logan will take care of me.’ She smiled up at him. ‘You will, won’t you, darling?’

  There was a brief pause, and then Logan laughed softly. ‘Of course.’

  Talia watched as he drew Vitoria closer to him as they walked across the living-room. The woman’s dark
head was tilted up to his, she was smiling at him with easy intimacy…

  ’Senhorinha?’

  She started. Roberto Santos was standing beside her, a pleasant smile on his tanned face.

  ‘Forgive me, senhor, I’m afraid I was wool-gathering. Were you talking to me?’

  Santos nodded. ‘I was saying how delighted I was when I learned you would be joining us this evening. It is always a pleasure to dine with executives from Miller International.’

  His words were gracious and, she suspected, meant to take the sting out of what had just happened. She smiled gratefully. ‘Thank you, senhor. The pleasure is mine, as well.’ She looked from Santos to Branco. ‘Would either of you like an aperitif?’

  Santos grinned. ‘Ah, how wonderful. The lady is bright, beautiful, and a mind-reader, as well.’ He took her hand and folded it into the curve of his arm. ‘Tell me, my dear, what would it take to convince you to leave Miller and come to work for my firm instead?’

  Frederico Branco clucked his tongue. ‘For shame, Roberto.’ He grinned as he took Talia’s free hand and tucked it into his arm. ‘Santos is as impolite as my daughter,’ he said with mock severity. ‘One should never talk business on an empty stomach—especially when such a lovely woman is at hand. Now behave yourself, Roberto, or the senhorinha will think us all barbarians.’

  Santos and Branco never left her side after that. They watched her with frank admiration, hung on every word she spoke. They seated themselves on either side of her at dinner, regaling her with stories about Brazil’s jungle interior. Logan interrupted once or twice and the men responded politely, but they always found a way to turn the conversation back to Talia. She knew she should feel flattered by their attention. Both were handsome—’Good catches, these two,’ Bianca had gushed. Santos, a bachelor, was about Logan’s age, darker and shorter, but very good-looking. Branco, a widower in his late forties, was vigorous and attractive.

  She told herself that only a fool wouldn’t have been pleased to be the centre of their interest. But, as the evening progressed, she found herself glancing at Logan more and more. She flushed the first time he looked up and his eyes met hers. Quickly, she turned away and smiled at Frederico Branco. ‘Tell me about yourself, senhor,’ she said.

  The next time her eyes met Logan’s, she was even more flustered. His expression was grim, and she knew he must still be angry at her for having been late. And now, here she was, paying scant attention to his guests which was, as he’d so coldly reminded her, the job she was here to do.

  She swung her attention to Roberto Santos and gave him a dazzling smile. ‘Would you care for more wine, senhor?’

  But no matter how she tried, she couldn’t keep from looking at Logan. She told herself it was Vitoria Branco she was watching. Who wouldn’t be fascinated to see a spider spin its web?

  But if that were true, why did her throat close at the sight of those long crimson fingernails raking lightly along the back of Logan’s hand? Why did her heart ache each time Vitoria threw back her head and laughed?

  Logan was strangely silent. At first, Talia thought it was because Vitoria’s behaviour had him entranced. But, as the hours wore on, she grew puzzled. He kept looking at her, throwing her taut glances that were unreadable. Finally, as the little group sat in the living-room, chatting and sipping brandy, the glances became more strained until he looked like a man ready to explode.

  Talia’s heart tripped crazily. He was furious, and all his rage was directed at her. But why? What had she done? He couldn’t still be angry because she’d been late. And the meal had gone well—everyone had said so.

  A lump rose in her throat. Maybe—maybe he regretted having asked her to be his hostess. Vitoria could have handled the role; it would have befitted her new part in Logan’s life. Talia was, after all, only his employee, just as the Branco woman had implied.

  ‘…Absolutely the most—how do you say?—the most delicious meal I have ever had, Talia. How can I thank you?’ Frederico Branco’s words drew her back. He had risen to his feet, and now he was smiling down at her.

  ‘Are you leaving, Senhor Branco?’

  Logan rose, too. ‘Yes.’ His voice was curt. ‘Didn’t you hear me, Talia? I suggested we cut things short.’

  She looked at him in surprise. ‘No, I didn’t. I—’

  ‘Have I your permission to call you, Talia?’

  She started at Roberto Santos’s murmured question. ‘I—I…’ Her eyes met Logan’s fierce stare, and she blanched. ‘I’m afraid I’m leaving Brazil,’ she said finally. ‘But thank you for—’

  ‘Leaving?’ Branco’s brows rose. ‘But I want to show you Brasilia. Logan, surely you can convince her to stay on.’

  Logan’s lips drew back from his teeth. ‘I’ve tried, Frederico, but you know how it is. Sometimes, no matter what one does, an employee is just not satisfied.’ His eyes glittered darkly. ‘And it’s too bad, isn’t it? I mean, she’s good at what she does. Why, she even managed to convince you that she was happy to be here tonight, when actually it’s just part of her job.’

  Silence fell over the room. It took all Talia’s courage to hold her head high and rise to her feet. ‘It’s been a very long day,’ she said carefully. ‘If you’ll excuse me…’

  She heard Branco and Santos protest, but she was already moving quickly across the living-room towards the stairs. It seemed miles before she reached them and forever until she reached the landing. A voice called after her—Santos, she thought, but she didn’t look back. Quickly, she opened the door to her rooms and stepped inside.

  Tears slid down her cheeks as the door closed after her. Dear God, she thought, why had Logan been so cruel? Kicking off her shoes, she padded into the bedroom and switched on the light. There was no justification for the way he’d treated her. Unless—unless he’d been waiting all this time to get even with her for what had happened in Rio.

  The sudden hum of the lift intruded. Talia caught her breath, listening to the silence of the empty apartment. They were gone, then. All of them. Santos and Branco, Logan and Vitoria. It would be hours before he returned, she thought, and suddenly she could see them together, the woman’s midnight hair spread over Logan’s chest, her crimson mouth on his.

  Talia hurried to the wardrobe and flung it open. She pulled out her suitcases and tossed them on the bed. Clothing followed, flying on to the bed in a mad flurry, and then she unzipped her gown and added it to the tangle. Packing would take no time. She’d be gone before Logan returned, and to hell with the three-month contract, to hell with John if he didn’t like it.

  The bedroom door banged open like a gunshot. Talia cried out and spun towards the sound.

  Logan smiled lazily from the open doorway. His jacket was gone, as was his tie. His shirt was unbuttoned to the waist. There was a dark and dangerous look in his eyes. ‘You left rather abruptly, Talia. You never said a proper goodnight to our guests.’

  Instinct told her not to let him see the depths of her fear. She made herself move slowly to the bed, made herself reach slowly for the discarded silk gown.

  ‘Get out of my room,’ she said, holding the gown to her.

  He smiled. ‘That’s not very friendly.’

  ‘Logan, did you hear me? I said—’

  ‘I heard you.’ His smile twisted. ‘You certainly managed to be nicer than that to your pals.’

  ‘My pals?’

  ‘Yes. Santos and Branco. They were purring around you like tomcats.’

  ‘I don’t know what that’s supposed to mean. I—’

  She gasped as his hands shot out and clasped her shoulders. He smelled of anger and brandy, and her fear grew.

  ‘Don’t be modest. You had those poor bastards going crazy. If a man didn’t know better, he’d almost think you had some blood in your veins.’

  ‘You’re drunk,’ she said, as calmly as she could. ‘And you… Dammit, Logan!’ Her voice rose unsteadily. ‘Let go. You’re hurting me.’

  ‘It was a waste
of time, you know. Santos wouldn’t hire a woman if she were St Joan herself. As for Branco—the only thing he’d offer a woman is the kind of thing you’ve already turned down.’ His mouth twisted. ‘From me.’

  Be calm, she told herself. He’s just trying to scare you. ‘What do you want, Logan?’

  His bark of laughter was quick and harsh. He reached out lazily, his hand curving over hers, grasped the gown she held clutched to her breasts, and wrenched it from her. It fluttered to the floor like petals from a black flower.

  Talia shuddered as he looked at her. In her black lace teddy, she felt more exposed than if she’d been naked.

  ‘So lovely,’ Logan said softly. ‘And so calculating.’

  ‘Get out of my room, Logan. Stop this now, before—’

  His arms closed around her and he drew her to him. She felt the quick stir of his body against hers.

  ‘Is that the way you get your kicks, Talia? Turning men on and off?’

  ‘Stop it,’ she hissed. ‘Damn you—’

  ‘The trouble is, sooner or later you’re going to find a man who won’t play your game.’ His eyes swept over her face. ‘A man who gets his fun taking what he wants, whether you’re willing to give it or not.’

  I always get what I want, Talia, one way or another.

  ‘No! Logan…’

  She cried out, struggling desperately as he bent to her, but Logan was on fire, burning with terrifying savagery. His mouth fell on hers with ruthless intent, his lips moving on hers with a passion that made no pretence at tenderness.

  When he lifted his head, his eyes were cold as emeralds. ‘Make it easy on the both of us. No more games.’

  Talia felt as if she could hardly breathe. ‘Please,’ she said, ‘I beg you…’

  He laughed. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Beg me. I think I’d like that.’

  His mouth dropped to hers again. When he raised his head, she was dizzy. ‘You bastard,’ she whispered. ‘You…’

  He forced her backwards until she felt the press of the wall against her shoulders. Logan put a hand on either side of her, his palms flat against the wall, his arms rigid, imprisoning her with his strength.