by Helen Brooks
How dared he lecture her on what she should do and what she shouldn’t?
“Being a mother as well as the sole breadwinner does carry certain responsibilities,” Kay said testily. “Not that you’d know anything about that, of course. We can’t all please ourselves and burn the candle at both ends.”
“You don’t even get a light near the wick,” Mitchell said relentlessly, rising to his feet and placing his empty glass on the mantelpiece before walking over to her. “Come here,” he said very softly, stopping just in front of her chair and holding out his hand to pull her up.
Her panicky heartbeat caused her breathing to become quick and shallow, but she managed to sound reasonably firm when she said, “No.”
He bent down, taking her half-full glass from her nerveless fingers and placing it on a small table at the side of the chair. She stared up at him, her eyes deep brown pools. He was going to kiss her again, and it was only in this very instant that she admitted to herself how much she wanted him to.
Anything can happen behind closed doors!
Do you dare to find out…?
Welcome again to DO NOT DISTURB!
Mitchell Grey is a confirmed bachelor with a painful past. But that is until he meets single mom and successful business owner Kay Sherwood. Drawn together, they soon realize that they cannot resist the passion that flares between them—and they discover that they definitely don’t want to be disturbed!
Join Presents® author Helen Brooks on a yuletide journey to love, one that you will not want to put down.
So what happens when Kay allows herself to succumb to her desire for Mitchell?
Turn the pages and find out!
Helen Brooks
THE CHRISTMAS MARRIAGE MISSION
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER ONE
THE offices were lush, very lush—all muted tones of ochre and buttery yellows on pale maple flooring, and, although Kay could sense a discreet urgency behind the glass doors she was passing on her way to the big chief’s domain, the overall air of tranquillity was not disturbed. The glass lift that had transported her from the thickly carpeted reception to the fifth floor had been the last word in elegance too.
She knocked on the door with the nameplate reading ‘Miss Jenna Wright, Mr Grey’s secretary’, and waited until the woman inside raised her head from the word processor in front of her before opening it. Nevertheless, the beautiful cold face in front of Kay did not return her smile, and such was the expression in the carefully made up green eyes that Kay found herself speaking coolly as she said, ‘I’ve a package for Mr Grey. I understand it is urgent.’
Still the woman did not smile or speak, merely holding out her hand for the large manila envelope with an imperiousness that was insulting all by itself.
Mr Grey’s secretary obviously thought it beneath her to speak to a humble delivery agent, Kay thought wryly, aware that the woman’s gaze had taken in every crease and mark on her biking jacket and leathers. She walked across to the large desk and placed the envelope in the red-taloned hand waiting for it, and it was only then the thin, scarlet-painted mouth opened briefly to say, ‘Wait outside until Mr Grey has looked at it.’
Charming. Kay turned abruptly, aware her cheeks were flushing, and left the office without another word. She stood quietly for a second in the corridor outside, willing the colour in her cheeks to subside before she was forced to speak to the other woman again, and then walked over to where an area was set aside for visitors. Seating herself on one of the big plump sofas, she reached for a glossy magazine. When Mr Grey’s secretary wanted her—and she had already been told by the firm who had hired her to take the documents to Grey Cargo International there would be a reply—she could jolly well come and find her!
In spite of her irritation, as the minutes ticked by Kay found herself engrossed in the story of a massively fat woman who had decided to have her stomach stapled. The article chronicled the highs and lows of the woman’s two-year fight to become the size twelve she’d been before her husband had left her after their two children had died in an accident. Kay was so taken up with the battle that she found herself grinning like a Cheshire cat when the ‘after’ picture showed a slim, confident, smiling woman on the arm of a new man, and she was just muttering what she would have liked to have done to the first husband who had deserted his wife when she’d needed him the most—thereby contributing to the eating disorder she’d developed—when she became aware she wasn’t alone.
She raised defensive brown eyes, expecting to see the perfectly coiffured figure of the secretary in front of her, and then froze for a second as an amused smoky voice said, ‘Interesting?’
The man was tall, six feet two at least, and aggressively handsome in a hard, cold way, his silver-blue eyes and black hair holding no signs of softness or warmth, and his lean, powerful body intimidating.
‘I…I’m sorry?’ It was all she could manage through the wave of shock that had her rooted to the seat.
‘The magazine.’ He gestured at it almost impatiently. ‘Is it the latest fashion, or a new hairdo which is so riveting?’
The condescension was so overtly patronising that it worked like an injection of adrenalin. Kay jumped to her feet, pushing back her mass of thick curly red-brown hair, which always exploded into riotous disarray every time she took off her crash helmet—and which she had long since given up trying to control—and took a deep breath. ‘Neither,’ she said icily. ‘Just an article which reaffirms what swines men are, actually, although perhaps that’s not very fair on pigs.’
He blinked. ‘Right.’ There was a brief pause and she noted with some satisfaction that both the amusement and condescension had vanished when he said coldly, ‘You are the courier, I take it?’
Well, it was better than delivery girl, which she was sure was how the secretary would have referred to her. Kay nodded. ‘Yes, I am,’ she said coolly, her heart beginning to thump harder as it dawned on her this must be Mitchell Grey himself.
He said nothing for a moment, but then he didn’t have to—the arctic eyes said it all. Kay was well aware that at a slender five feet five she wasn’t the average courier, but, as her firm dealt only with the delivery of documents, letters and small packages, brawn didn’t come into it. Her ancient but trustworthy 100 cc motorbike could nip through the traffic jams that sometimes snarled up Romford town centre, which was all she asked of it.
‘How long have you worked for Sherwood Delivery?’ The words themselves were innocuous enough; his tone suggested the firm must have been crazy to take her on.
It was therefore with a great deal of inward pleasure, none of which was betrayed in her cool voice and blank face, that Kay said, ‘Ever since I formed the company three years ago.’
He didn’t blink this time, which said a lot for his self-control, Kay had to admit, but she just knew she had surprised him again, even though his face was deadpan. He continued to watch her steadily, the silver-hued eyes narrowing, before he walked across to where she was now standing.
Kay was immediately aware of feeling dwarfed, which in the circumstances was not pleasant, but she instinctively raised her small chin as she waited for his response.
‘Sit down, Miss…?’
‘Sherwood. Mrs Sherwood.’ And game, set and match to me, I think, Kay thought delightedly. It might teach him not to make so many high-handed assumptions in the fut
ure at least?
She saw him glance at her ringless hands as she took the seat she had just vacated, but as she watched him seat himself opposite the sofa she made no attempt to explain further. It was none of his business.
‘Three years.’ He sat back, one ankle resting on the other knee in a very masculine pose. ‘Why haven’t I heard of your company before this?’
Keep calm and don’t gabble, Kay warned herself silently. He was no doubt well aware of the faintly menacing air he gave off and probably well versed in the art of subtle—and not so subtle—intimidation. But he didn’t frighten her, not for a minute!
‘Probably because we are still very small,’ she said evenly. ‘We deal with files, documents, letters, photographs—that kind of thing.’ She knew it had been an urgent document she had delivered to him today from a firm of solicitors in the town, a document that needed a signature, but that was all she had been told.
‘Your husband is a partner in the company?’ he enquired softly.
‘No.’ It had been all the explanation she’d been going to give but, when the silence stretched and lengthened unbearably, she found herself saying stiffly, ‘I’m divorced. I founded the company after we’d parted; he was never involved with it.’ She glanced at the envelope in his hand, her voice dismissive when she said, ‘If the document is ready, I’ll take it now, shall I? I understand it’s urgent.’
He didn’t reply to this. What he did say—the cool, smoky voice deep and low—was, ‘I would like to be able to understand how you got started, Mrs Sherwood. Small business ventures are fascinating, don’t you think? What prompted you to choose such an…unusual career move?’
Career move? Kay stared at him, her big brown eyes betraying none of the whirling confusion in her head. Not so much a career move as survival.
For a moment she was tempted to spring up, grab the letter and make a dash for it, but common sense prevailed. She didn’t like his cold contemplation one bit, and sitting here in these lavish, grand offices in her old scuffed leathers opposite a man who looked as if he was clothed by Armani at the very least, was not her idea of fun. But insignificant as he made her feel, she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of thinking he had unnerved her.
She resisted the impulse to fiddle with her hair, deeply regretting that she hadn’t taken the time to pull it back into a pony-tail as she normally did when she removed her helmet, and marshalled her racing thoughts. The bare outline, that was all he needed to hear. Nothing personal.
And then he completely threw her off balance just as she was about to begin when he said, ‘How old are you, anyway, if it isn’t a rude question?’
It was. Very rude, in Kay’s opinion. Resentment darkened the brown of her eyes to ebony, but she managed to keep her voice under control when she said crisply, ‘I am twenty-six,’ her tone adding silently, Not that it’s any of your business.
The carved lips twitched a little. ‘You don’t look a day over eighteen.’
If she had a pound for every time she’d been told how young she looked she would never need to work again, Kay thought irritably. And she hated having it drummed home. Unfortunately her elfin features combined with a liberal dusting of freckles across her nose contributed to the overall image of a teenager, and when she tried to remedy the situation she always ended up looking like a little girl playing at dressing up.
She reminded herself that the customer was always right—although in her experience they rarely were—and took a deep breath. ‘You asked how I got started,’ she reminded him evenly. ‘It was almost by chance, actually. I was asked to pop a letter in to someone as a favour one day; the sender knew I lived in the same street and the letter was urgent.’
He interrupted her, asking smoothly, ‘Who was the sender?’
‘My boss.’ It was meant to be succinct.
‘And you were working for…?’ He had ignored her tone.
‘A small accountant’s.’ And she’d hated every minute, loathed it, but it had been a job and she had needed one desperately. Having left university with a degree in Business Studies, she’d felt she ought to put it to use but from the first day had felt like a square peg in a round hole.
‘Anyway,’ she continued, trying to ignore the intent gaze, ‘I started to think a bit. I knew there was always the Post Office and the railway, to say nothing of special services and so on, but when I made a few enquiries I found that lots of companies sent urgent messages—files, documents and so on—by taxi or by means of a large company car. Sometimes a Rover car or something equivalent with a chauffeur would travel twenty miles for one letter. I’m cheaper and faster.’
“I’m sure you are, Mrs Sherwood.’ It was very dry.
Kay continued to look somewhere over his left shoulder as she went on, ‘I drafted and designed a leaflet and a local printer ran it for me—’
‘What did it say?’
She did look at him then—she hated being interrupted and twice in as many minutes had ‘the customer is always right’ scenario flying out of the window. He was gazing at her quizzically, his big body lazy and relaxed and his arms draped either side of the back of the sofa, and the sharp words she had been about to voice died in her throat as sheer sexual magnetism hit her like a bolt of lightning.
There was a small—and for Kay—fraught silence before she managed to pull herself together and say quickly, ‘Something along the lines that we could give fast, direct, door-to-door service for delivery of documents and letters etc. anywhere in the Romford area. Same-day service guaranteed and to phone for immediate attention.’
‘We?’
‘My brother was out of work at the time and he was available to man the phone and see if my idea worked. It did, so within two months I’d given my notice and joined him. We started off with just the motorbike—’ she indicated her leathers ‘—but now we have two vans and one of my brother’s friends works for us. We have our own office in town since last year and so much work we’re thinking of taking on someone else.’
He sat up straight, the movement causing a response in Kay she could well have done without. ‘Impressive.’ He nodded slowly. ‘Have you a business card?’
‘Sure.’ She had flushed scarlet but she couldn’t help it—the red hair went hand in hand with a porcelain skin that was prone to blushing. She fumbled in her leathers and brought out one of their neat little cards, handing it to him as they both rose to their feet.
‘I mustn’t keep you any longer.’ He passed her the manila envelope, suddenly dismissive.
He was towering over her again and as he reached out and shook her hand, enclosing her small paw in his long, lean fingers, it took all of Kay’s control not to snatch her hand away as she felt the contact of his flesh. Which was crazy, ridiculous, she told herself desperately, as were the ripples in her blood as the faint but delicious smell of him teased her nostrils for a second or two.
‘Goodbye, Mrs Sherwood.’ Mitchell Grey was fully aware that the small, slender girl in front of him had appeared to tell him plenty but in fact had said nothing—about herself, that was. With her mop of shoulder-length curls and Pollyanna freckles that stood out on her creamy skin like sprinkled spice, she was definitely not his type. No way. His women were elegant, exquisitely dressed and cosmopolitan, and more importantly they knew the score. A good time and plenty of fun and laughs on both sides while it lasted. And he always made sure it didn’t last too long, he thought grimly, watching her until she disappeared from view into the waiting lift.
So what had made him want to know more about—he consulted the card in his hand—Kay Sherwood? he asked himself silently, vaguely irritated with himself. A scrubbed and sweet-sixteen type if ever he saw one. Although she wasn’t sixteen, was she. And she was a married woman—or had been married, someone who had started a fledgling business in the present uneasy climate and succeeded at it too.
His frown deepened. Most people who started up in business on their own gained their first business experiences
in another job. Then they adapted a special skill or special knowledge to a new idea, or branched out on their own thinking they could do better than the company they worked for. The young woman who had just walked out of the office—Mitchell refused to dwell on the memory of the rounded bottom under the leathers swaying provocatively as she’d disappeared—had plunged in without all that, which showed she had plenty of guts and determination. So what was her story?
And then he mentally shrugged all thoughts of Kay Sherwood away. He was already late for a business appointment in the heart of London and his chauffeur had been waiting for fifteen minutes. What was he standing here for? The hard, astute business brain kicked in and he strode over to the lift, now utterly focused on the coming meeting, which he knew would be a difficult one. As the doors opened he slipped the business card in the top pocket of his jacket, but not before a small separate section of his mind had filed away the name and telephone number for future reference.
‘So what was so bad about him asking you a few questions about the business, Kay?’ Kay’s mother’s brown eyes were puzzled, understandably so, Kay had to admit. When she actually repeated what Mitchell Grey had said word for word it didn’t convey anything of the man’s arrogance or the atmosphere that had been present between them.
‘He was—well…just altogether irritating,’ she finished lamely.
Leonora stared at her daughter for a moment more before saying diplomatically, ‘Well, forget about him now, okay? It’s doubtful if your paths will ever cross again and you’ve enough on your plate to concern yourself with as it is. You haven’t forgotten it’s the school’s autumn fête this evening?’
‘The twins wouldn’t let me.’ Kay smiled wryly and her mother smiled back.
‘They’re two live wires,’ Leonora Brown admitted ruefully. ‘But you were like that at their age, into everything and the whole world one gigantic adventure.’
