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“Let’s start again. Imagine you’re in love with me,” Mary ordered him.
Tyler blew out an irritable breath, but turned obediently back to study her.
She looked different tonight, he realized, looking at her properly for the first time. Her hair was a soft cloud around her face. She was wearing a floaty sort of skirt, and a top with a plunging neckline that emphasized her generous cleavage. Beneath it she wore a lacy camisole, the discreet glimpse of which hinted deliciously at hidden delights, and made Tyler’s head spin suddenly with images of sexy lingerie and silk stockings.
He swallowed. “All right,” he said. “I’m imagining.”
The odd thing was that the more he looked at her, the more he could imagine it. Not the whole being in love thing, obviously, but it wasn’t that difficult to imagine wanting to kiss her, wanting to discover if those lips were as sweet as they looked, wanting to unwrap that top and see what that lace was concealing.
“What am I supposed to say?” Tyler asked
“Make me believe that you love me,” she said.
Jessica Hart
Vibrant, fresh and cosmopolitan, Jessica Hart creates stories bursting with emotional warmth and sparkling romance!
Jessica Hart won the prestigious RITA® Award for Best Traditional Romance 2005!
You’ll love her sparkling stories—they are the essence of feel-good romance!
Barefoot Bride #3939
www.millsandboon.co.uk
Jessica Hart was born in West Africa, and has suffered from itchy feet ever since, traveling and working around the world in a wide variety of interesting but very lowly jobs, all of which have provided inspiration to draw from when it comes to the settings and plots of her stories. Now she lives a rather more settled existence in York, where she has been able to pursue her interest in history, although she still yearns sometimes for wider horizons. If you’d like to know more about Jessica, visit her Web site, www.jessicahart.co.uk
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ONE
WHERE had he seen her before?
Tyler watched the woman across the room as she smiled and shook hands with a group of men in suits. He had noticed her as soon as she arrived, and it had been bugging him ever since that he couldn’t work out why she seemed so elusively familiar.
It wasn’t as if she was the kind of woman who would normally catch his eye. Apart from that luminous smile, there was nothing remarkable about her at all. She had nondescript features and messy brown hair, and she was squeezed into a suit that was much too small for her. Stylish and beautiful she definitely wasn’t.
And yet…there was something about her. Tyler couldn’t put his finger on it and it was making him cross. He was a man who liked to know exactly what he was dealing with, and he was irritated by the fact that his gaze kept snagging on this very ordinary-looking woman who was taking not the slightest notice of him.
He had been watching her for nearly an hour as she circulated easily around the crowded room. She obviously had the ability to relate to people that he so conspicuously lacked, according to Julia, anyway.
‘You’re a lovely person, Ty,’ his best friend’s wife had told him with her usual candour, ‘but honestly, you’ve got the social skills of a rhinoceros!’
Tyler scowled at the memory.
Unaware that his glower had caused several of the people around him to flinch visibly, he took a morose sip of champagne and surveyed the crowded foyer of his new building. He hated occasions like this. He couldn’t be bothered with all the social chit-chat that woman seemed to be able to do so well, but his PR director had insisted that a reception to mark the opening of his controversial new headquarters would be politic. So now he was stuck here in a roomful of civic dignitaries and businesspeople, all of whom seemed to be hovering, hoping for a chance to ingratiate themselves, to lobby for his support for their pet schemes or to suggest mutually beneficial business opportunities. They all wanted to talk to him.
All except her.
She hadn’t so much as glanced his way all evening.
Some councillor was boring on about the city’s local transport plan, and Tyler let his gaze wander over the room once more, wondering how long it would be before he could decently leave. Why had he agreed to such a tedious PR exercise anyway?
Suddenly he realised that he couldn’t see the woman any more, and he felt oddly jolted to have lost her. Frowning, he searched the crowd with hard eyes. Had she gone? Surely she would have—
Ah, there she was! She had found a quiet corner by herself and was easing off her high-heeled shoes. Tyler saw her grimace. Her feet were obviously killing her. If she had any sense she would go soon, and he would never find out who she was. The thought was oddly unsettling.
He could ask someone, he supposed, but the group around him were still droning on about Park and Ride schemes.
Or he could go over and ask her himself.
‘Excuse me,’ he said brusquely—who said he didn’t have social skills?—and, leaving the rest of them in mid bus lane, as it were, he headed across the room towards her.
In her quiet corner near the lifts, Mary was surreptitiously wriggling the toes on her left foot and wishing she had the nerve to take off her right shoe as well.
The shoes had seemed a good idea when she’d put them on too. The news that Tyler Watts, the North’s very own bad boy made good, was moving the headquarters of his phenomenally successful property company out of London and back to York had riveted the business community, while his construction of a cutting edge building on the river front had divided opinion across the city. It had outraged conservationists and delighted others who claimed it as stunning proof that the city could not only hold on to its historical heritage but also stake a claim as being at the fore-front of architectural design in the twenty-first century.
Either way, the champagne reception to celebrate its opening was certain to be the networking opportunity of the year, and Mary was determined to make the most of it. She wouldn’t be the only one lobbying for a contract with Watts Holdings, and she might make some useful contacts even if she didn’t get the big one.
So she had chosen her outfit carefully. This was her first public outing as a professional woman since Bea’s birth, and she wanted to look elegant and…well, professional. A smart suit and stylish shoes would create the perfect impression. Mary knew; she had read all the magazines.
Sadly, the magazines didn’t tell you what to do when you realised, five minutes before you were due to go out, that you were a good two sizes larger than you had been the last time you put on your best suit. Nor did they remind you what agony it was standing around on high heels, and that was before you tried walking on what some bone-headed architect had decided was cutting edge flooring, apparently forgetting that a glassy sheen was more appropriate to an ice rink than an office building.
Mary sighed and switched shoes, giving her right foot a break. As so often in her life, she reflected glumly, there was a huge gap between imagination and reality. She had pictured herself charming the assembled employers of York, so impressing them with her professionalism that they were queuing up to get her to solve their recruitment problems, but it hadn’t worked out like that. Oh, everyone had been very pleasant, but they had all wanted to talk about Tyler Watts, not business, and while no one had been rude enough to point out that her jacket was straining across her ample bust, no one had offered her any work either, and she had been burningly aware that professional was the last thing she had looked.
All she had got out of the evening was pinched toes and a sore back.
Mary took a slug of champagne, put down her glass and squeezed her poor foot back into its shoe. She would make one last effort to meet the Human Resources director of Watts Holdings, she decided, and then she would give up.
It was at that point that she detected a ripple of interest around her and looked up from her shoe to see none other than Tyler Watts bulldozing his way across the room, groups parting and stepping back sycophantically to make way for him.
Not that he noticed or acknowledged them, Mary noted sourly. That was typical of him. In her brief meetings with him in the past he had struck her as the most arrogant and ruthless person she had ever met and she was in no hurry to renew her acquaintance with him. She might want a contract with Watts Holdings, but she had no desire to deal with the man at the top, thank you very much.
Extraordinarily, he seemed to be heading straight towards her. Mary glanced around her, in case there was someone interesting standing behind her shoulder, but she was momentarily isolated.
If she didn’t do something about it sharpish, he would be on top of her and there would be no avoiding him.
Picking up her glass from the table beside her, Mary turned to slink behind the group on her left, but she was too hasty and hadn’t reckoned on the slippery floor. The next thing she knew, one of her wretched heels was skidding out from beneath her and she pitched forwards.
There were indrawn breaths around her as everyone anticipated an almighty crash, but she never hit the floor. A hard hand caught her under her elbow, swivelling her up and round until she was upright once more. More or less upright, anyway. One of Mary’s arms was still flailing madly as she tried to regain her balance, and the polished floor wasn’t helping at all.
Mortified, she managed to stand on two feet once more. ‘Thank you so—’ she began breathlessly, and then the words died on her lips as she looked up and found herself staring into Tyler Watts’s glacial blue eyes.
Her first thought was that he must have moved at the speed of light to reach her in time, her second was that he was incredibly strong. She was not exactly a lightweight, but he had caught her and hauled her upright with a single hand.
It was only then that she noticed the stain on the front of his shirt. Somehow, in all her skidding and flailing, she must have knocked the glass in his hand.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she said nervously.
She didn’t want to be nervous, but there was something about Tyler Watts that made you feel edgy. You had to admit, the man had presence, and it wasn’t anything to do with looks, although the dark, beetling brows and grim lines of his face were intimidating enough on their own. He exuded a restless, driven energy that reverberated around him and left people half thrilled, half mesmerised by a mixture of awe and apprehension when he was around.
Not a man you would choose to knock drink all over.
Good move, Mary, she thought with an inward sigh. She had thought her aching feet were the low point of the evening, but apparently not.
Tyler’s fingers were still gripping her arm just above the elbow, but as Mary’s eyes dropped to them he released her.
‘Are you all right?’ he asked brusquely.
‘Yes, I’m fine. Thank you.’ She managed a nervous laugh and resisted the urge to rub her skin where he had held her. Her whole arm was tingling and throbbing from his grip and it was making her feel a bit odd.
‘This floor is lethal in heels,’ she tried to explain in case he thought she’d been over-indulging in the free champagne. ‘But that’s trendy designers for you,’ she said, conscious that she was babbling but too rattled by his nearness to think sensibly. ‘What clot thought a floor like this would be a good idea?’
‘That would be a clot like me,’ said Tyler Watts with a sardonic look.
If a black hole had yawned at Mary’s feet at that moment, she would gladly have jumped into it and disappeared. How could she have said anything so stupid? Criticising the design of the building that marked the culmination of a spectacularly successful career to a man whose business she desperately needed was not a good move.
‘You’ve obviously never tried walking on it in high heels!’ she said, deciding that her only option was to make a joke of it, but Tyler was unamused.
‘The other women seem to be managing to stay upright,’ he pointed out. ‘Perhaps it’s your shoes that are the problem, not my floor?’
They both looked down. The shoes were Mary’s favourites—or had been until they had started hurting so vilely—and she had chosen them deliberately because they reminded her of her days in London when she had been slim—well, slimmer—and sharp and successful. They were black with white polka dots, so you could get away with wearing them with a suit, but the peep toes and floppy bow were fun when you didn’t want to be too serious.
Maybe the heels were a bit high, Mary conceded to herself, but what kind of office floor was designed without stilettos in mind?
Tyler looked down at the shoes, noticing in passing that she had surprisingly nice legs, and shook his head at their impracticality.
‘I suggest you wear something more sensible next time.’
Mary opened her mouth to say that being sensible was good advice coming from a man who had chosen a floor like an ice rink, but she managed to stop herself in time. She was supposed to be drumming up business, not alienating potential clients.
‘I’ll do that,’ she said instead, and if there was a suspicion of gritted teeth about her smile, she didn’t think Tyler Watts would notice.
She hadn’t really wanted to talk to him but, since he was there, she had better make the most of the opportunity. Somehow she had to convince him that she was a competent businesswoman and not just a tactless idiot in silly shoes. If he were to be impressed enough to recommend her to his Human Resources director, her problems would be over.
Her most pressing ones, anyway.
Summoning a bright professional smile, Mary held out her hand. ‘I’m Mary Thomas,’ she said.
The name didn’t ring a bell with Tyler, but then it wasn’t a particularly memorable one. In fact, there was nothing particularly memorable about her now that he had a chance to study her more closely. She had beautiful skin and intelligent grey eyes, but her round face was quirky rather than pretty, with eyebrows that didn’t quite match and features that all seemed to tilt upwards, giving her a humorous look.
None of which explained why she seemed so familiar.
Irritated by his inability to place her, Tyler took her hand and shook it. ‘Tyler Watts,’ he introduced himself briefly.
‘I know,’ said Mary, acutely aware of the feel of his fingers closing around hers and pulling her hand away rather sharply.
‘You do?’
‘Everybody knows who you are,’ she told him, nodding around the crowded lobby. ‘You’re famous in York. Everyone here wants to talk to you and do business with the new expanded Watts Holdings.’
‘Including you?’ he asked.
‘Including me,’ Mary agreed. ‘Except that I was hoping to meet Steven Halliday rather than you.’
The dark brows snapped together. ‘What’s wrong with me?’ he demanded.
‘There’s nothing wrong with you,’ said Mary hastily, more intimidated than she wanted to admit by his frown. ‘I just thought it would be more appropriate to talk to Mr Halliday. I understand he’s your Director of Human Resources?’
More appropriate and a lot easier. Mary didn’t know what Steven Halliday was like, but he had to be a whole lot better to deal with than the glowering Tyler Watts, who famously gave his staff a mere thirty seconds to make their point. She would really rather talk to someone with a bit more patience, not to mention a few listening skills.
To someone who wouldn’t insist on looming over her with that ferocious frown and those unnervingly pale, polar-blue eyes that seemed to bore into you. It was hard to keep your cool when faced with that mixture of arrogance, impatience and sheer force of personality.
‘He is,’ Tyler admitted grudgingly. ‘What do you want to talk to him about?’
‘I’m in recruitment.’
This was the perfect time to produce one of those cards she had had printed at such expense. Mary had been dishing them out all evening, though, and she just hoped that she had some left.
Digging around at the bottom of her bag—really, she must organise it—her fingers closed around a card just as the pressure of her hand snapped the fragile chain and the whole thing lurched downwards, spilling most of the contents over the floor, where they skidded merrily over the glossy surface.
Mary closed her eyes. Excellent. Fall over, knock drink over him, insult his design taste and tip her handbag all over the floor…Could she look any more of a fool, and in front of the man with the power to make or break her precious agency, too?
Pink with embarrassment and irritation with herself, she stooped to gather up keys and lipstick and business cards—there were plenty left, it appeared—plus a sundry collection of pens, safety pins, tissues, scraps of paper with scribbled lists, a couple of floppy disks, an emery board and a plastic baby spoon.
A biscuit left in an opened packet ended up at the tip of Tyler’s perfectly polished shoe and Mary scrabbled to retrieve it. That explained all the crumbs in the bottom of her bag anyway. It must have been there for ages, and the wonder was that she hadn’t eaten it.
Tyler bent and picked up a spare nappy, which he handed to Mary with an expressionless face.
‘Thank you,’ she muttered, shoving it into the bag along with the rest of the stuff and straightening.
She was amazed that he was still there, and couldn’t think why he hadn’t walked off in disgust long ago. Why had he come over in the first place, in fact? she thought with a trace of resentment. She had been perfectly all right, minding her own business and not doing anything stupid, and then he had turned up and transformed her into a blithering idiot.
But Tyler showed no sign of walking off. He just stood there, looking daunting, and waited for her to explain what she was doing there.
Tyler was, in fact, bitterly regretting having come over to talk to her. He had moved instinctively to catch her when she’d fallen, not realising how heavy she would be, and he was lucky she hadn’t taken him down with her. As it was, she had managed to knock the champagne he’d had in his free hand all over him. Always fastidious, Tyler was very conscious of the stain on his shirt and, as for his tie, it was probably ruined, he thought crossly.
Not content with that, she had criticised his floor, and he didn’t take kindly to criticism from anyone, let alone someone who wore ridiculously inappropriate shoes and evidently possessed a handbag as messy as the rest of her. Everyone had turned to look as the contents scattered over the floor, and they had probably noticed him there too with a nappy—a nappy, of all things!—in his hand and a spreading stain on his shirt, and no doubt looking a fool.
If there was one thing Tyler hated, it was feeling ridiculous.
Actually, there were lots of things that he hated, but looking stupid had to be way up there at the top of his list.
He wished he had never been sucked into Mary Thomas’s chaotic orbit, but now that he was here he couldn’t think of a way to leave. If they’d been in a meeting, he could just have told her that her thirty seconds were up but, as it was, she was looking pink and flustered and he didn’t feel able to turn on his heel and walk off, no matter how much he might want to.
‘What sort of recruitment?’ he asked after a moment, deciding to pretend that the whole bag incident had never happened.
Mary only just stopped herself from sighing in time. She had been willing him to make an excuse and leave, at which point she could have slunk off home and enjoyed her humiliation in comfort.
This was a fantastic opportunity for her. Half the room would give their eye teeth to be in her position, with Tyler Watts’s apparently undivided attention. She should be making her pitch and sounding gung-ho, but it was hard when your feet were aching, your toes pinched, your jacket was gaping and you had just humiliated yourself three times in as many minutes in front of the man you had to try and impress, and when you would really much rather be stretched out on the sofa in front of the television with a cup of cocoa.
But lying on the sofa wouldn’t get her agency off the ground. It wouldn’t get her a home of her own, or make a new life for Bea.
Lying on the sofa wasn’t an option.
Mary took a deep breath and, mentally squaring her shoulders, handed Tyler a business card and launched into her carefully prepared spiel.
‘I understand you’re expanding your operation in the north now that you’re making York your headquarters, so if you need people with accountancy, clerical, computer or secretarial skills, I hope you’ll think of my agency. I can find you the best,’ she told him with what she hoped was a confident smile.
‘I don’t deal with junior staffing decisions,’ said Tyler, frowning down at her card.
‘I’m aware of that, which is why I was hoping to meet Steven Halliday here.’ Mary kept her voice even and hoped that she didn’t sound as desperate as she felt. ‘I have worked for Watts Holdings in the past myself, so I understand the company ethos and how it operates,’ she went on. ‘That’s a huge advantage when it comes to finding suitable staff, as I’m sure you are aware.’
But Tyler wasn’t listening. ‘You’ve worked for me?’ he said, a very faint light beginning to glimmer.
‘It’s nearly ten years ago now, so you won’t remember me,’ said Mary, a little unnerved by the way the pale, polar-blue eyes were suddenly alert as they rested on her face. ‘I worked in Human Resources here in York. Guy Mann was director then.’
‘Ah…!’ Tyler let out a hiss of satisfaction. He had it now.
Mary Thomas…Of course.
‘I do remember you,’ he said slowly. ‘You were the one who spilt coffee all over the conference table at some meeting.’
Of course, he would remember that. Mary bit her lip and averted her eyes from the stain on his shirt. ‘I’m not usually that clumsy,’ she said.
‘And you stood up to me over that guy…What was his name?’ Tyler clicked his fingers impatiently as if trying to conjure the name out of thin air.
‘Paul Dobson,’ Mary supplied, since there was no point in pretending she didn’t know.
‘Dobson…yes. You told me I was wrong.’ He eyed her with new interest. Very few people dared to tell him he was wrong about anything.
It was all coming back. He could remember the shocked silence around the table as Mary Thomas had spoken out, the scorn in her voice, how taken aback they had all been, as if some gentle kitten had suddenly puffed up to twice its size and lashed out without warning.
‘I hope I put it a bit more diplomatically than that,’ said Mary, her heart sinking. He would never give her work if he associated her with trouble.
‘There was no diplomacy about it,’ said Tyler. ‘You told me flat out that I was wrong and should be ashamed of myself.’
He had been furious at the time, Mary remembered, marvelling now that she had ever had the nerve, but when she risked a glance at him she was sure she detected a gleam of something that might even have been amusement in the chilly blue eyes. It had a startling effect, lightening the grimness of his features and making him seem suddenly much more approachable.