by Jessica Hart
“You’re Skye Henderson?”
Instead of looking suitably dazzled, the puzzlement in Lorimer’s eyes deepened to what Skye recognized as suspicion.
“I have to admit that you’re not exactly what I was expecting,” he said at last.
“Aren’t I?” she said a little nervously. “What were you expecting me to be like?”
“Let’s say that I was expecting someone a little less…colorful.”
Dear Reader,
It’s raining men! Welcome to Harlequin Romance’s new miniseries, Holding Out for a Hero. Every month for a whole year we’ll be bringing you some of the world’s most eligible men. They’re handsome, they’re charming but, best of all, they’re single! And as twelve lucky women are about to discover it’s not finding Mr. Right that’s the problem—it’s holding on to him!
This month it’s the turn of award-winning author Jessica Hart with The Right Kind of Man (#3406). In the coming months look out for books with our Holding Out for a Hero flash by some of Harlequin Romance’s best-loved authors: Leigh Michaels, Betty Neels, Lucy Gordon and Rebecca Winters. Next month it’s the turn of Jeanne Allan with Moving in With Adam.
This is one series you don’t want to miss!
With best wishes,
Some men are worth waiting for!
The Right Kind of Man
Jessica Hart
For all at B.V.
CHAPTER ONE
‘FRANKLY, Miss Henderson, you’re quite unsuitable for the job.’
Skye looked at the man sitting behind the desk in dismay. Lorimer Kingan was one of those quiet, angular, unsmiling Scots with dark Celtic looks and an air of granite strength. What was it she had said to Vanessa? ‘He’ll be a pushover.’ Her blue eyes dropped to the implacable line of his mouth and a peculiar sense of recognition shivered slowly down her spine. Lorimer Kingan might be many things, but a pushover was definitely not one of them. She had never met anyone less likely to be bowled over by her charm.
The interview had got off to a bad start. Lorimer had stood up as she was shown into his office, and his dark gaze had swept over her, from the wild golden curls to the contrasting jade strips across the toes of her turquoise suede shoes, in one comprehensive glance. Skye felt as if she had been examined, assessed and dismissed as a dizzy blonde before she had even opened her mouth.
It wasn’t an entirely unjustified assessment, she was honest enough to admit to herself, but it was no part of her plan to tell Lorimer Kingan that. And anyway, she had changed. She was tired of being a dizzy blonde. Charles and her father were convinced that she was hopelessly scatty, but she was going to show them that she was perfectly capable of being sensible and surviving on her own. Unfortunately, to do that meant somehow persuading Lorimer that she was the epitome of a dedicated, efficient and professional PA. Reminded of her resolve, Skye had squared her shoulders and given him her best smile as he’d gestured her to the chair in front of his desk. Few men were proof against Skye’s smile, but Lorimer was evidently made of sterner stuff. It had simply bounced off him, unnoticed, as he’d sat back behind his desk and picked up her c.v.
She had sat trying to look calm and composed as he reread her details, but his frown was making her nervous. Had he guessed just how wildly she had exaggerated? Vanessa had been appalled when she found Skye gaily typing out a shamelessly inaccurate c.v. on her word processor, but Skye had brushed aside her objections. ‘It’s only a few white lies,’ she had said airily. ‘Nobody ever checks a c.v.’ Now she wasn’t so sure. Lorimer Kingan looked like a man who would check everything.
After what seemed to Skye a very long time, he had put down the c.v. and looked at her. Somehow she felt that he should have had icy grey eyes to go with his air of cool implacability, but instead they were a deep, dark blue and made her think of wild water and brooding hills shrouded in mist. They were also uncomfortably acute.
He had glanced from her to the c.v. and then back again, evidently puzzled. ’You’re Skye Henderson?’
‘Yes,’ said Skye. She tried her smile again. At least he seemed to notice it this time, although the effect wasn’t quite what she had anticipated. Instead of looking suitably dazzled, the puzzlement in his eyes deepened to curiosity then to what Skye recognised with a sinking feeling as suspicion.
‘I have to admit that you’re not exactly what I was expecting,’ he said at last. His voice was dry with an irony that made it impossible to know exactly what he was thinking.
‘Aren’t I?’ she said a little nervously. ‘What were you expecting me to be like?’
‘Let’s say that I was expecting someone a little less…colourful.’ The unsettling blue eyes rested on Skye, a vibrant figure in a short wool skirt and a baggy jumper that matched the brilliant colours on her shoes, and his expression of somewhat sardonic amusement deepened. He tapped her c.v. with his pen. ‘Your career history is most impressive. I imagine that anyone who’s held down the sort of jobs that you’ve had needs to be both discreet and efficient.’ He studied her with a sort of impersonal speculation that made Skye shift uncomfortably in her chair. Curls the colour of silver gilt rioted uncontrollably about her vivid face with its dancing eyes and the wide, generous mouth that always seemed to be on the verge of curving into a smile, no matter how hard she tried to purse her lips into a serious expression. In spite of her efforts to look sensible, it appeared that Lorimer was unconvinced. ‘You’ll forgive me if I say that discreet isn’t a word that immediately springs to mind when one looks at you. I must confess that I was expecting someone a little more professional in appearance,’ he went on, and Skye couldn’t decide whether he sounded amused or sarcastic. Either way, he wasn’t impressed.
She met his eyes as confidently as she could. ‘My last boss believed in judging people by their work, not by their appearance,’ she said. ‘After all, you don’t type any quicker if you’re wearing a grey suit.’ It certainly didn’t make any difference to her. She typed slowly no matter what she was wearing.
‘Perhaps not,’ Lorimer agreed with a glint of humour. Skye just hoped it wasn’t at the thought of her in a grey suit. ‘However, I’m sure that someone with your qualifications and experience doesn’t need me to tell you that there’s a lot more to being a secretary than typing.’ Now he was definitely being sarcastic! ‘She also has to reflect the image of the company. My clients are a conservative lot, and I can’t help feeling they might be wary of suddenly finding themselves dealing with a cross between a rainbow and a one-woman carnival. We’d have to issue sunglasses in Reception in case they were dazzled by the sight of you!’
‘You don’t look very dazzled,’ Skye pointed out rather sourly. This interview would be a lot easier for her if he were!
‘Ah, but then I’m a particularly difficult man to impress!’ Lorimer countered smoothly.
He could say that again! Skye suppressed a sigh, but she wasn’t ready to give up yet. ‘I’ll change,’ she offered generously. ‘I’ll wear brown tweed every day.’
The crease at the corner of his mouth deepened into what was almost, but not quite, a smile. ‘Far be it from me to demand such a sacrifice!’
She hastened to reassure him. ‘I wouldn’t mind, honestly. I’ll be very quiet and wear whatever you want. Your clients won’t even notice me.’
Lorimer looked at her. She was leaning forward persuasively, long legs tucked under her chair, her face vivid. Brightly coloured parrot earrings swung out through her curls and brushed her cheeks.
‘You’re not the kind of girl who doesn’t get noticed,’ he said, the undercurrent of sarcasm in his voice relaxing into reluctant amusement.
Skye didn’t know whether to feel put out at his refusal to take her seriously, or intrigued at
the way the glimpse of warmth altered his expression and hinted at a dis quietingly attractive man beneath the forbidding exterior. None of this was going to plan. Lorimer’s letter inviting her to the interview had been so encouraging that she had been convinced that getting the job was a foregone conclusion. Vanessa had pointed out that any businessman worthy of the name would want some proof that his prospective secretary was everything that she had claimed, but Skye had pooh-poohed the idea, certain that all she would have to do was smile and look pretty. Now it looked as if Vanessa had been right.
Vanessa usually was right, Skye remembered belatedly. She only hoped that her friend wasn’t right about Charles, too.
‘Really, you won’t even know I’m there,’ she insisted with an edge of desperation, and Lorimer raised a derisive eyebrow.
‘That’s hardly a recommendation,’ he said with some astringency. ‘You’re unlikely to prove a very effective assistant if I can’t even tell whether you’re in the office or not!’
Honestly, there was no pleasing him! ‘A minute ago you said you didn’t want anyone to notice me,’ she pointed out sulkily.
Lorimer was beginning to lose patience. ‘What I want,’ he said bitingly, ‘is an efficient, reliable secretary who understands the concept of moderation, not one who appears to think that the only alternative to overwhelming people is to go to the other extreme and fade away entirely!’
To Skye, it all sounded horribly familiar. Moderation, efficiency, reliability…why did men set so much store by them? Her father had spent years trying to din them into her, without any noticeable success, and even Charles seemed to find such dreary qualities irresistibly attractive. Skye couldn’t understand it, but, if that was what he liked, that was how she would be. That was why she was here.
She set her chin doggedly. ‘I am moderate,’ she said. ‘I’m extremely moderate.’
Lorimer sighed and picked up her c.v. once more. ‘You seem very anxious to persuade me to give you the job, and yet I wouldn’t have thought it was the obvious next step in your career plan. If you’re as high-powered as you claim to be, surely you should be able to get a job anywhere?’
The sarcasm had crept back into his tone. Skye didn’t like the way he had stressed ‘claim’, for all the world as if he didn’t believe a word of her c.v.!
‘Of course,’ she said, trying to sound blase. ‘But I’ve decided to change direction and try something completely new.’ That was true enough. A proper job was a new direction for her.
‘I see.’ Predictably enough, Lorimer was looking sceptical. ‘I suppose you are aware that this is only a temporary job?’
‘The advertisement said you wanted someone for three months,’ said Skye, who had applied for that very reason. She might be determined to prove that she could hold down a proper job, but she didn’t want to have to prove it for too long. Three months sounded about right.
‘That’s right,’ said Lorimer. ‘Catriona, who’s been my secretary for four years now, has had to leave work earlier than she had planned. She’s expecting a baby next year, but she’s got high blood-pressure and the doctors have told her that she’ll have to take things very easy for the next few months. Originally, we’d arranged that she would work up until Christmas, and Moira Lindsay would take over in January. That’s still the plan. Moira is exceptionally well-qualified to do the job and I don’t want to lose her, but she’s committed to organising a big Pro-Am competition until December. Unfortunately, the next three months are going to be busy, so I need someone who’s prepared to work hard, but there’s no question of it turning into a permanent job.’
‘That suits me.’ Skye beamed at him hopefully. If Charles hadn’t discovered that they were made for each other by Christmas, he never would. He would, though, Skye reminded herself fiercely. She had to think positive.
Lorimer’s eyes were narrowed suspiciously. ‘You say you want to change direction…why didn’t you just find yourself a different job in London?’
‘I wanted to make a completely fresh start,’ said Skye grandly.
‘So you came to Edinburgh?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why?’
‘I’ve told you,’ she said a little crossly. ‘I wanted to make a complete break and start afresh somewhere new.’
‘And I’m asking you why you chose Edinburgh,’ said Lorimer through his teeth. ‘What made you decide to come here, rather than Cardiff or Penzance or Manchester or any of the other places where you could have started afresh?’
Skye hesitated, wondering what he would say if she told him that the reason was six feet tall, devastatingly handsome and answered to the name of Charles. He was unlikely to be impressed.
Lorimer was waiting for her answer, his head bent as he made some neat notes on her c.v. Skye studied him with guileless blue eyes, glad of the opportunity to look at him without that hard stare boring into her. The angle of his head emphasised the severe planes of his face and the forceful nose. His mouth was stern. Not a sentimental type, she decided. He would never understand about Charles. In fact, she thought glumly, Lorimer Kingan didn’t look like the kind of man who would have any time for love at all. Then she looked at his mouth again, remembering how reluctant amusement had tugged at one corner, and deep inside her doubt uncurled along with a strange, spreading warmth. He wouldn’t love easily, but if he did…
‘Well?’ Lorimer’s impatient voice broke into her thoughts and Skye was startled to find herself staring into his blue eyes. Her eyes were blue, too, but hers were the colour of an English summer sky dancing with sunshine, while his were deep and dark and, right now, distinctly unfriendly.
‘Well?’ she echoed blankly, so distracted by his mouth that she had completely forgotten his question.
‘I asked why you chose to come to Edinburgh,’ said Lorimer with exaggerated patience. ‘Is it a state secret, or is it just that words of one syllable are too complicated for you to understand?’
Skye flushed at his acid tone. ‘I—er—I wanted to get away from London for a while,’ she improvised. Really, if she had known he was going to ask all these questions, she’d have done a bit more preparation.
‘Why?’ he said again.
‘Personal reasons,’ said Skye loftily, hoping that he would assume her reluctance to discuss the matter meant that it was something embarrassing and drop the subject, but the prospect of embarrassment evidently didn’t bother Lorimer.
‘Man trouble, I suppose?’ he said, sitting back in his chair and surveying her critically.
Skye looked back at him warily. ‘Why should you think that?’
‘Because you look like the kind of girl I invariably associate with men or trouble, and usually both.’
If only she could fire up in righteous indignation! Skye contemplated denying the whole idea, but honesty forced her to accept that she probably wouldn’t sound very convincing. The truth was, she was usually in trouble of some kind, and, yes, it was usually something to do with men too, though how Lorimer Kingan had guessed that she couldn’t imagine.
Sometimes, her life seemed to be one long muddle…but all that was going to change now that she had met Charles, she reminded herself. He was the one who had made her realise how much her father spoilt her, and it was his preference for cool, capable women that had stung her into renouncing her previous happy, haphazard life. All she had to do was stay in Edinburgh so that he had a chance to realise how much she had changed, and how perfect they could be together.
If only she hadn’t told him that she was working for Lorimer Kingan! Now she had landed herself in more trouble. She had to persuade Lorimer to give her the job. The alternative was too horrible to contemplate: telling Charles that she had lied, telling her father that she had failed, creeping back to London in disgrace. Always prone to dramatic exaggeration, Skye pictured herself pining away alone in some garret. The fact that all the garrets in her part of London had long been converted into top-floor flats, or that she had a large, adoring family a
nd wide circle of affectionate friends, none of whom would allow her to pine, was conveniently forgotten. If she didn’t get this job, she would die of a broken heart and it would all be Lorimer Kingan’s fault!
Despair at this affecting and extremely unlikely scenario moved her to inspiration. ‘I came to Edinburgh to be with a friend,’ she said desperately, assuming a selfless expression. ‘Her fiance jilted her just before the wedding, and Vanessa’s absolutely devastated.’ This would be news to Vanessa who had never been engaged and was perfectly happy working for an up-market skiing company, but Skye was committed to her story now and crossed her fingers in her lap. ‘I don’t want her to be on her own too much, so I said I would come and stay with her for a couple of months until she was over the worst. That’s why a temporary job would suit me so well,’ she continued, blue eyes innocent. ‘I don’t want to commit myself to a permanent job, but I need to support myself while I’m with Vanessa. I can’t let her down.’
Skye was rather pleased with this image of herself as a noble, supportive friend, but Lorimer was unmoved. ‘I’m sure it’s very admirable of you,’ he said with the ironic inflexion which seemed so typical of him. Skye couldn’t work out how it was that he kept his face utterly straight and yet managed to convey the impression that he found her utterly ridiculous. ‘Moved as I am by your affecting story, I’m afraid I’m going to have to disappoint you and your unfortunate friend.’
‘But why?’ Skye’s eyes were wide and blue with dismay at the finality in his voice. He must have a heart of stone. Either that, or he hadn’t believed a word.
‘Frankly, Miss Henderson, you’re quite unsuitable for the job.’ Lorimer pushed back his chair and got to his feet, prowling restlessly over to stand by the window looking out at the Georgian houses on the other side of the road. It was a bright, cold October day and the sun caught the elegant facades, making the polished-brass plates gleam and throwing shadows of the smartly painted wrought-iron railings against the pale stone.
