The Marriage Risk

“You’re still my boss,” Lucy countered.

“Time you stopped putting your life into neat little pockets,” James told her. “Forget playing safe. Take a risk.”

He caught her totally off guard, hauling her in to him with a thump that left her breathless. Or maybe it was the impact of feeling a vital wall of muscle connected to her wobbly frame that stole her ability to breathe.

“Now melt,” he commanded gruffly.

And Lucy melted.

Some of our bestselling authors are Australian!

Emma Darcy…

Helen Bianchin…

Miranda Lee…

Lindsay Armstrong…

Look out for their novels about the Wonder of Down Under—where spirited women win the hearts of Australia’s most eligible men.

Coming soon:

Marriage at a Price

by Miranda Lee

The Marriage Risk

Emma Darcy

MILLS & BOON

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CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER ONE

‘AND how is my ever delightful and worthy Miss Worthington this morning?’

Lucy gritted her teeth against a seething wave of resentment, almost hating the man who clearly had no idea how such blithely tossed off words lacerated her heart.

The breezy greeting from her boss probably meant he’d spent a highly pleasurable night with his latest woman. His voice lilted with macho smugness, a sure sign of sexual satisfaction, and his playful play on her surname accentuated the fact that Lucy wasn’t the type he’d toss in his bed, however delightful she might be to work with. Worthy women didn’t excite him.

Though if her breasts were big enough to fill and overflow a D-cup bra, he might consider her more bed-worthy, Lucy thought caustically, ungritting her teeth and turning from the filing cabinet to direct a bland smile at the sexy wolf who employed her as his sensible secretary.

‘Good morning, sir,’ she piped sweetly.

James Hancock was the classic tall dark and handsome prototype, with the potent addition of a shrewd business brain and the kind of charm that won friends and influenced all the right people. He was thirty-four, in the prime of life, had the well-earned reputation of being a dynamic agent in the entertainment field, which helped make him an A-list bachelor in Sydney society, and he was definitely exuding an air of being on top of his world.

His rakish black eyebrows lifted. ‘Sir?’

She cocked her head on one side, returning his quizzical look. ‘Weren’t you cueing me to greet you formally with your Miss Worthington?’

He laughed, his blue eyes twinkling devilish delight. ‘The comeback queen strikes again. What would I do without you to entertain me, Lucy?’

Resentment crawled down her spine and loosened her tongue. ‘I imagine you’d quickly find someone else to score off.’

‘Score off?’ he repeated incredulously. ‘My dear Lucy, the scoring honours invariably go to you.’

‘Really? I hadn’t noticed.’

She picked up the files she’d extracted from the cabinet and carried them to her desk, ready to hand them over to him.

‘It comes naturally to you,’ he assured her, grinning from ear to ear. ‘One of the joys of office hours, hearing your salty down-to-earth comments. They invariably reduce all the hype in this business to what’s real and what isn’t. An invaluable talent.’

‘Invaluable enough to be worth a raise in salary?’

‘Ouch!’ He mockingly slapped a hand against his forehead. ‘She strikes again.’

‘Pure logic, James,’ she pointed out with limpid innocence while savagely wanting him to pay for seeing her as nothing but a bottom line sounding board when it came to dealing with his high-flying clients. ‘You’ll need to check these files while answering this morning’s e-mails. Is there anything else you need from me right now?’ she asked, pressing for him to enter his own office and leave her alone to get over the frustrations he aroused in her.

He ignored the files, shaking an admonishing finger at her. ‘You’re a money-grubber, Lucy Worthington.’

She shrugged. ‘A woman has to look out for herself these days. I just don’t believe in free meal-tickets.’ Which was a neat little jibe at the women he favoured, women who traded on lush physical assets to get where they wanted.

‘Ha!’ James crowed. ‘I gave you free tickets to tonight’s charity bash.’

‘Oh?’ Lucy viewed him with sceptical eyes. ‘You’re not expecting anything of me, like being conveniently on hand to fix up some last-minute hitch with the program?’

‘Completely free,’ he insisted loftily.

‘How novel!’ She smiled. ‘I might just keep you to that, James.’

‘A reward for all the good work you’ve done in putting the program together.’

Since the tickets were a thousand dollars each and her salary was already generous, Lucy couldn’t, in all conscience, imply she wasn’t well rewarded for the job she did. ‘Thank you. I shall look forward to relaxing and enjoying myself tonight,’ she said dismissively while still doubting the tickets were entirely free of obligation.

Why would he give them to her if he didn’t want her there for some reason?

His eyes twinkled. ‘It will be my pleasure to see you enjoying yourself, Lucy.’

He did have a motive. She could feel it in her bones.

‘Who are you bringing?’ he tossed at her as he finally picked up the files she’d supplied.

‘A friend.’

One eyebrow lifted teasingly. ‘A male friend?’

Did he think her so sexless she couldn’t have one? Lucy struggled to maintain a calm demeanour. ‘Yes. Is that a problem for you?’ The challenge slid off her tongue before she could stop it.

‘Not at all. Glad to hear it.’

He went off smiling, carrying the files he needed, leaving the door between their two offices open so he could call out to her when he wanted to.

Lucy sagged onto the chair behind her desk, shaken by the thought his last words had conjured up. Had he suspected she only had female friends? That she might even be a lesbian, because she didn’t openly adore him like all the other women who came through these offices?

A wave of wretched misery churned through her stomach. She should get herself out of this job. It was eating up any kind of normal life she might have, being with James Hancock every working day, constantly wanting him, being jealous of every woman who took his eye.

He was never going to view her as anything other than an efficient secretary. Eight months she’d been with him—eight months of a helpless sexual awareness she couldn’t control or even dampen. Lust at first sight, she now thought with sick irony, and it hadn’t worn off.

No other man had ever drawn such a strong physical response from her. In fact, she had never really understood why other women got themselves in such a mess over men, losing all perspective and self-respect, too, when they were badly let down. Being sensible had been Lucy’s long-held belief on how one should conduct one’s life. Indeed, her mother had drilled it into her from early childhood and Lucy had come to see it saved her from a lot of grief.

But being sensible couldn’t seem to override what James Hancock made her feel. Over the years she had admired the physiques of other men, but it wasn’t just physique with James. Somehow he emanated a sexual energy that was quintessentially male, and as much as she’d tried to block it out, it always got to her, stirring up a hornet’s nest of hormones.

Despairingly she propped her elbows on the desk and rested her head in her hands. The truth was, she didn’t feel she really belonged to herself any more, and she didn’t like the person she was becoming. What right did she have to think bitchy thoughts about women she didn’t know, just because James favoured them over her? It was pure sour grapes and if she didn’t stop it, she’d end up sour all through.

She should move on. Give in her notice and go.

It was the sensible thing to do.

Today was Friday. First thing Monday morning her resignation would be on his desk.

No doubt James would have his latest gorgeous model on his arm tonight at the charity ball for the Starwish Foundation, and no doubt it would ram home to her how hopeless it was to spend any more time craving what would never be available to her.

Come Monday she would definitely have screwed herself up to hand in her notice and put James Hancock behind her. For good!

So…she was bringing a man. Interesting to see what kind of man Lucy favoured, James told himself as he settled at his desk and switched on the computer. She never chatted about her private life and he couldn’t deny he was curious. Most women opened up to him but not Lucy.

She was one very buttoned up lady who never lost her head over anything. Which made her the perfect assistant in his line of work, with half his clients all too ready to throw a fit of temperament if any little upset occurred. Put Lucy in the eye of a storm and she could ground everyone in no time flat by coming up with the most sensible response to the situation.

An accountant he decided. That was the kind of man Lucy would approve of—a nice, safe accountant, solid and dependable, someone who’d never broken a law in his life and never would, a nine-to-five man, regular in his habits, serious-minded, considerate of her needs, probably wore spectacles with fine gold rims and very conservative clothes. That was Lucy’s taste—neat and conservative.

James nodded to himself as he brought up the e-mail inbox on the monitor screen. He was sure he was right but Lucy had been with him eight months and all that time there’d been an elusive quality about her that nagged at him. More so, the longer they’d been together. It was worth giving her the tickets to get those tantalising flashes of something else brooding behind Lucy Worthington’s buttoned up exterior sorted out in his mind.

He’d even started thinking about her when he was with other women, missing her sharp wit, wondering what she might be like in bed. And that had to be stopped. He was not going to mess with the best secretary he’d ever had. Besides which, Lucy would probably be horrified at some of the thoughts he’d been harbouring lately. Seeing her with a man of her choice—almost certainly an accountant—would definitely affirm her not-to-be-played-with status.

The telephone rang. He picked up the receiver.

‘Buffy Tanner for you on line one,’ Lucy stated crisply.

‘Thank you.’ He smiled as he pressed the button to take the the call. Nothing hidden about Buffy. She let it all hang out. And that was fine by him. Very relaxing.

‘Hi, Buffy,’ he said warmly, bringing her lush curves to mind.

‘James darling, I’m sorry to be calling you in business hours, but I might not be able to catch you later. What time did you tell me I have to be ready by for tonight?’

He winced. Punctuality was not Buffy’s strong point. ‘Seven-thirty. And we must leave on the dot. I did warn you.’

She sighed. ‘I have a long shooting schedule today. A new swimwear range at Bondi Beach. I’ll be a mess. Will it matter if we’re a bit late?’

‘Yes, it will matter. It’s my people doing the show tonight. I have to be on hand. If you want to cry off…’

‘No, of course I don’t.’

He could hear her pouting. A very sexy pout it was, too, but right now he felt impatient with it.

‘Seven-thirty, Buffy. Be ready or I’ll go without you,’ he said irritably and cut the connection, thinking Lucy wouldn’t keep her man waiting. She was a very precise time-keeper, always ensuring that appointments were kept.

With a niggling sense of discontent, James applied himself to answering the e-mails that required an immediate response. He worked through them, adding the printouts to the files, making notes of things for Lucy to check. She never slipped up on details, which was another thing he liked about her. He could count on Lucy getting things right. No excuses. Meticulous attention to detail.

He called her into his office, his instructions already clipped onto the files for her attention. He smiled over his own judgement of her as she walked in, wearing her all-purpose navy suit, smart, classic, timeless, typical of what a sensible career woman would buy. It would take her anywhere and never go out of fashion.

The skirt ended modestly, just above her knees. No micro-minis for Lucy. Yet what could be seen of her legs—nicely shaped calves and fine ankles—suggested the full length of them could form quite a distracting sight. Just as well they weren’t on show, James told himself, mentally approving her choice of apparel which neatly skimmed her cute little figure.

Being below average height, Lucy could never be called statuesque, but she was certainly built in pleasing proportion, and the way she twitched her pert bottom at times was definitely distracting. And tempting. James stifled these wayward thoughts and fixed his gaze on her face.

It was a finely boned face, not strikingly pretty, though if all the make-up tricks of a beautician were applied to it, James fancied it could look quite stunning. It, also, was perfectly proportioned, though the spectacles she wore gave it a prim look, which was accentuated by the way her hair was pulled back and pinned into a chignon from which no tendrils ever escaped.

The thought of unpinning what was obviously a wealth of soft brown hair presented a tantalising prospect. Would Lucy come undone in other ways? And if he took her spectacles off, what would he see in her eyes?

As it was, all he saw was a bright intelligence looking at him expectantly, nothing but business on her mind.

Piqued by her apparent indifference to what many other women considered his attractions, James found himself blurting out, ‘Is he an accountant?’ and could have instantly kicked himself for letting her get under his skin to this extent.

Her smooth creamy forehead creased as her eyebrows lifted above the colourless rims of her spectacles. ‘To whom are you referring?’

Instead of dismissing the slip—the only prudent thing to do at this point—James lost his head completely to a potent mixture of compelling curiosity and a rebellious rush of seriously displaced hormones.

‘Your partner for the ball tonight,’ he shot at her.

She looked incredulous. ‘You want to know if he’s an accountant?’

‘Is he?’

‘Do you need an accountant on hand for some reason?’

‘No, I don’t need one.’

Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. ‘Then why are you asking?’

Why, indeed? James gritted his teeth. He was getting no satisfaction here and was fast making himself look foolish. His mind zapped through possible escape routes.

‘Conversation always goes more smoothly if I’m prepared with a knowledge of people’s backgrounds. Your partner is the only one I won’t know at our table.’

She stared at him. Her chin took on a mulish tilt. Her shoulders visibly squared. In fact, her whole body took on a tense rigidity. Even her hands clenched. James had the wild notion she was barely stopping herself from stepping forward and hitting him. Which, of course was ridiculous! He’d made a reasonable statement. He did like to be prepared with background information before meeting anyone. She knew that.

Though he had to concede this was more personal than professional ground. Her private partner wasn’t exactly his business. Maybe it was simply the effect of the glass lenses but her eyes looked very glittery and he was definitely sensing some dagger-like thoughts being directed very sharply at him. But dammit all! He was going to meet the guy tonight so what was she getting so uptight about?

‘Why do you think my escort for the ball is an accountant, James?’ she bit out, her voice dripping with icicles.

‘Well, is he?’ he persisted, frustrated by her evasive tactics.

‘Generally speaking, people consider accountants boring,’ she stated, once again denying him an answer.

‘Not at all. Obviously they’re very intelligent, very clever, very astute,’ he put in quickly.

‘Boring,’ she repeated as though she was drilling a hole in his head. ‘Boringly worthy for Lucy Worthington.’

Uh-oh! James saw the red rag waving. He instantly gestured appeasement. ‘Now, Lucy, I have never thought you boring. You know that,’ he pressed earnestly. ‘And I can’t imagine you tolerating a boring man. You’re taking this the wrong way. I was merely wondering…’

‘What kind of man I’d bring.’

The intense focus of her eyes was like an electric drill, sparks flying as it kept tunneling into his brain to the true core of his question. James shifted uncomfortably. He didn’t like the sense of her seeing right through him. No doubt about it—he’d dug himself a hole and somehow he had to climb out of it with some fast face-saving.

‘It would be helpful if you’d give me his name, Lucy,’ he said reasonably, dropping the background issue which had stirred her into this totally unacceptable attack. ‘It would save any slip-up with introductions.’

Her mouth thinned. Her eyes glittered even more sharply. He sensed her fierce urge to cut him to ribbons and perversely enough—given the tricky situation he’d brought upon himself—he felt quite pumped up by the passion she was emitting. Nothing cool and collected about this Lucy. Clearly he’d tapped into the real flesh and blood woman beneath the navy suit and James found himself actually getting excited—aroused by the prospect of the inner Lucy emerging. If she did step forward to tangle with him physically…

‘Josh Rogan,’ she said.

‘What?’

‘You asked for his name,’ she tersely reminded him.

James gave himself a swift mental shake as deflation set in. The navy suit had won again, damn it! The Lucy he’d wanted to experience was in full retreat. Which was just as well, he told himself, quelling the madness of imagining her sprawled across his desk while he satisfied a rampant desire for the most intimate knowledge of her. It was absurd to have this sudden burst of sexual fantasies about his secretary when he had Buffy Tanner more than willing to satisfy his carnal needs.

‘Josh Rogan,’ he repeated, grateful that Lucy had her head on straight and was heeding what was appropriate in the work-place between boss and secretary. However, something about the name she’d given niggled him. ‘Isn’t there a lamb curry called Josh Rogan?’

He was almost sure of it, the suspicion instantly growing that Lucy was paying him back by giving a false name that would embarrass him when he used it tonight.

‘No,’ she said with a fine edge of scorn. ‘The curry is called Rogan Josh.’

‘Oh!’ He frowned. Was she playing him up or not?

Her mouth softened and curled. ‘Actually, I don’t think Josh would mind your confusing him with the curry.’ Her hips gave a wicked little wiggle as she added, ‘He is hot stuff.’

Hot stuff? Lucy with hot stuff? Unaccountably James felt his temperature rising. ‘I’ll keep that in mind,’ he snapped. ‘You can take these files now. I’ve made notes for you.’

‘Fine!’

She smiled at him as she stepped forward and scooped them up from the desk. Then she sashayed out of his office with all the feline grace of a cat, waving its tail in his face.

James sat brooding over this aspect of Lucy Worthington for some time. He was definitely right about her. There was much more to Lucy than met the eye. The navy suit was nothing but a front, designed to put him off seeking the real truth about the kind of woman who burned inside it.

Good thing he’d given her those free tickets. It was going to be interesting—illuminating—to see how she behaved with her hot stuff tonight. Hair down, sexy dress, full make-up on, no spectacles…if her Josh Rogan was truly hot stuff, he’d expect that of her.

A zing of anticipation tingled through James. It had nothing to do with looking forward to having Buffy Tanner on his arm tonight. He didn’t even think of the swimsuit model with the lush curves and sexy pout.

Tonight he was going to see the unbuttoned Lucy Worthington in action!

CHAPTER TWO

LUCY was still boiling mad as she stomped up the stairs to her first-floor apartment in Bellevue Hill at six o’clock that evening.

An accountant!

A boring old accountant!

O-o-o-o-h, she wanted to punch James Hancock’s lights out with Josh tonight. She wanted to see him sitting at their table, looking like a stunned mullet as her partner outshone him, which Josh was perfectly capable of doing, the ultimate party guy when he was in brilliant form—huge charisma, pouring out his energy in bursts of winning charm. And he was as handsome as sin.

It was handy that he lived right next door to her in this old apartment block. All she had to do was ask and either Josh or his partner, Larry Berger, would help her with anything she needed help with. Gay men, she had decided long ago, could make the very best friends for a woman.

Even before she had known Josh was gay, back in their school days, she had really liked him as a person and they’d been good friends. He was kind and sensitive and supportive, as well as being great fun.

She had been grateful to have him as her boyfriend then, being able to go out as a couple without any of the hassle of being pressured to have sex. Some boys could get mean and nasty in pushing their wants. Some men, too, she’d found in later years. Even the few relationships she’d enjoyed for a while had lost their shine with the build-up of selfish demands. On the whole, her mother was right. Men wanted women on their own terms and being fair didn’t come into the equation.

Josh was always sweet relief from all that. His company had no price-tag on it. He was safe and safe was good. She couldn’t get into any trouble with Josh Rogan. He didn’t feel any sexual desire for her and she didn’t feel any for him. In fact, he was the perfect foil to her ungovernable feelings towards James Hancock, whom, in her wilder fantasies, she’d like to handcuff to her bed and watch him go mad with lust for her.

Which she knew was absurd!

James Hancock was never going to see her as anything but his worthy secretary. But no way was she going to let him think the only man she could attract was a boring accountant!

Having emerged from the stairwell, she bypassed her apartment door and strode straight to Josh’s, ringing his doorbell with an emphatic need for a swift response.

He was satisfyingly prompt in opening the door. ‘Lucy love!’ His eyebrows arched over merry brown eyes. ‘A change in plan?’

‘Yes,’ she snarled as a fresh rush of venom spilled onto her tongue. ‘My beastly employer thinks my escort this evening will be an accountant.’

‘Like…boring?’

Very quick on the uptake was Josh. ‘Exactly,’ she confirmed. ‘In retaliation I told him you were hot stuff.’