Welcome to the www.blinddatebrides.com member profile of: Kangagirl (AKA Marissa Warren)

My Ideal Partner…

I’m a very ordinary girl, looking for Mr Nice and Ordinary to date, with the possibility of for ever and a family one day, if it’s what we both want. You should be willing to respect my rights in a partnership of honesty, openness, affection and friendship that will create the strong foundation we need to be together and stay together. You should be gainfully employed, in a job that puts food on the table and pays the bills rather than being the core of your existence. Therefore Mr Tall, Dark and Driven need not apply!

My Details… | You’ll match if you…
Age: 29 years young | Are between 29 and 35 years
I live: in Sydney | Either live in Sydney or want to live here
Marital status: single | Are also single, but with a child would be okay
Occupation: secretary | No corporate high-flyers

Read the rest of Kangagirl’s profile here www.blinddatebrides.com

www.blinddatebrides.com is running 25 chat rooms, 248 private IM conferences, and 15472 members are online. Chat with your dating prospects now!

Private IM chat between Kangagirl, Sanfrandani and Englishcrumpet:

Kangagirl:

So what do you think? I feel I’ve been honest in my profile. I did think about saying I was ‘young at heart’, but I didn’t want men to think I was frivolous. After all, twenty-nine is young, really. And it doesn’t read like I want babies, does it? Because I don’t. Though I wouldn’t rule out a man with babies on his mind. You know, for his sake.

Englishcrumpet:

I think it’s a good profile. It should net you plenty of invitations from nice, ordinary guys. If some of them have children, that’s fine. Children are nice. I rather like the one I have!

Sanfrandani:

And here’s hoping Mr Ordinary turns out to be exactly what you want.

Kangagirl:

Oh, believe me, he will be. There’s no way I’d get involved with a corporate high-flyer again. So long as I’ve ruled that out, I’m happy!

Sanfrandani:

So you’re determined to get your Happy Ever After?

Kangagirl:

Yes—and once I have, you two are next in line!

Australian author Jennie Adams grew up in a rambling farmhouse surrounded by books, and by people who loved reading them. She decided at a young age to be a writer, but it took many years and a lot of scenic detours before she sat down to pen her first romance novel. Jennie is married to her own real-life hero, and together they share a hers-and-theirs family of three adult children. Jennie has worked in a number of careers and voluntary positions, including transcription typist and pre-school assistant. Jennie makes her home in a small inland city in New South Wales. In her leisure time she loves long, rambling walks, starting knitting projects that she rarely finishes, chatting with friends, trips to the movies, and new dining experiences.

Jennie loves to hear from her readers, and can be contacted via her website at www.jennieadams.net

NINE-TO-FIVE BRIDE

BY

JENNIE ADAMS

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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Dedication

For Fiona Harper and Melissa McClone.

How much fun was this?

For Joanne Carr and Kimberley Young, with thanks for making the www.blinddatebrides.com trilogy a reality.

And to the special man in my life—I won’t tell we

agreed on marriage on our first date if you don’t!

CHAPTER ONE

‘YOU want us to turn this smaller bridge into a clone of the historic Pyrmont Bridge. I’m sorry, but we can’t do that for you. The sites simply don’t compare.’ The boss of the Sydney-based Morgan Construction, Building and Architecture braced his feet on the uninspiring bridge in question, drew a deep breath and blew it out as he addressed the middle-aged man at his side.

Rick Morgan’s rich voice held an edge of command and control that shivered over Marissa Warren’s senses. The three of them stood atop the small Sydney bridge while the Morgan’s boss explained the company’s stance on the refurbishment plans. Rick could bring about virtually any architectural feat, be it in refurbishment or new construction. What he wasn’t prepared to do was break his own code of working standards.

A pity Marissa couldn’t push away her equally unfeasible reactions to the man. She hadn’t expected an attack of awareness of the company’s big boss. The girls in the office swooned about Rick, but Marissa was no longer interested in hot corporate types. Been there, so over that.

It must be the sway factor of the bridge getting to her. Or the sea wind pressing hard against her back trying to disrupt her balance. Those must be responsible for the odd feelings coursing through her.

Anything other than genuine attraction to this corporate high-flyer who owned the large company that employed her. Since she’d started at Morgan’s six months ago she hadn’t said more than ‘good morning’ to the boss in passing and, frankly, close proximity to a man with power on his mind made her want to run in the other direction, as fast as her pink glow-in-the-dark joggers could take her.

It hadn’t exactly worked out well for her the last time, had it? Tricked, taken advantage of and publicly dumped, all in the name of career advancement. Michael Unsworth’s, to be precise.

Marissa tugged her gold blouse into place over the chocolate skirt and noted Rick’s words on her steno pad. Not noticing him. Not the charisma, nor the stunning grey eyes fringed with thick black lashes. Certainly not the leashed sensuality that seemed an integral part of him. So totally not noticing any of that.

Anyway, she’d just recently finished telling her Blinddatebrides.com friends Grace and Dani, aka Englishcrumpet and Sanfrandani, about her utter commitment to finding her Mr Ordinary. Though she’d only known Dani and Grace over the Internet a matter of weeks, they were wonderful women and understood and encouraged Marissa’s dating goals. She meant to find that Mr Ordinary, to prove to the world… Well, simply to prove she could control her own destiny, thanks very much.

‘This bridge isn’t a key thoroughfare, Cartwright. It doesn’t impact on port access for large seafaring craft.’ Rick’s strong tanned hand gestured to emphasise his words. ‘It isn’t a Heritage listed structure and its refurbishment won’t make it look like one. The work needs to be about strength, durability and safety in keeping with the established design. The company’s initial assessment explained this.’

The bridge spanned two small juts of Sydney’s coastline. It rested within the city’s sprawling confines but was far from core harbour material. Here there were no stunning views. No Sydney Harbour Bridge. No shell-shaped Opera House rising as though directly from the water.

Unlike Pyrmont, with its massive central swing span, this bridge was just a smallish, nondescript one tucked away on a commercial section of shore.

‘You’re not listening to what I want.’ Cartwright’s mouth tightened.

‘I’ve listened. As did the Project Manager who liaised with you initially. The advice in his report was sound.’ Overhead, a seagull offered a cry to the pale blue sky as it searched the ocean below for food.

Rick had a strong face to match his strong tone. Wide cheekbones and a firm square jaw that, even at nine-thirty in the morning, revealed a dark beard shadow beneath the skin. A tall vital man with thick shoulders and defined musculature beneath the perfectly cut charcoal suit and pale green shirt.

Marissa didn’t want to be aware of him, but she couldn’t seem to help it.

‘We can make something truly stupendous of this area.’ Cartwright repeated his mantra.

Again.

For about the tenth time, paying apparently no attention at all to Rick’s explanation.

The company boss growled softly beneath his breath.

It was not a sexy growl!

Marissa inhaled the tang of sea air and Rick’s citrusy aftershave cologne and stopped herself from closing her eyes in what would have been a completely inappropriate appreciative sigh.

Instead, she forced her attention to Cartwright’s rounded face. Maybe she could help… ‘Since you’re limited with what you can do in terms of refurbishing this bridge, perhaps you could implement some onshore improvements to emphasise the dock area and make the most of that aspect of things?’

‘My thoughts exactly, Marissa. Something more commercially viable.’ Rick cast a quick glance her way, offering a small nod of approval. The quirk of his lips that went with that approval made her tummy flutter.

Okay, so the company boss could show appreciation as well as look good. He still fell under the Tall, Dark and Aggressive about Success category.

She reminded herself rather desperately that that definition was one hundred per cent not right for her. Despite what her headed-for-thirty-years-of-age and back in the dating pool hormones might suggest otherwise. What did they know, anyway?

Enough to make her join a dating site, and to recognise an appealing man when she saw one?

The first had been a sensible, well-considered decision, nothing more, and, as for the second…

‘Not going there,’ Marissa muttered towards the foaming sea and tossed her head of curly hair before she remembered the hard hat squashed over the top of it.

Fine, so the impact was lost a little. And she hadn’t actually been thinking about emotions. She’d made her choices clinically. That was all she needed to remember. Marissa grimaced and shoved the hat out of her eyes.

‘Are you all right?’ Rick leaned his head close to hers. The grey of his eyes deepened with a combination of amusement and interest as his gaze roved over the hard hat, her face, the hair sticking out about her cheeks and neck.

‘I’m fine, thank you.’ He probably wondered why she’d tossed her head like that. ‘It was nothing, really. I had a twitch.’

In the brain. It started when I looked into your eyes this morning as you said, ‘Good, you’re here,’ in that deep, toe-curling voice and it hiccups back every time I look at you or listen to you.

‘Er…a twitch that made my head nod and the hat fall forward.’

Toe-curling, authoritative voice, Marissa. Get it right if you’re going to think it at all.

‘I see.’ Though his lips didn’t move, Rick’s eyes smiled.

Marissa stared at that charming expression and thought, deadly. The man was deadly to her senses.

‘A central steel swing span—’ Cartwright began again.

‘Would require a whole new bridge, one far larger than this one and located in deeper water.’ Rick raised a hand as though to push it through his hair—also covered by a hard hat, except in his case he looked good in it—and dropped it to his side again. ‘As Hedley told you in his assessment.’

‘Hedley isn’t management level,’ the man spluttered. ‘He doesn’t understand some of the committee members’ vision for the project. We could have the bridge swing open and closed at certain times of the day—a ceremonial thing even if only smaller craft passed through. It could create a major tourist attraction.’

‘But you don’t have the funds or planning permission to make that kind of change,’ Rick pointed out gently, ‘nor the conditions or traffic to demand it.’

‘I have influence where the approval is concerned.’ Cartwright suddenly turned to glare in Marissa’s direction. ‘Are you getting all this, girly? I don’t see that pen moving.’

‘It’s a stenographer’s pencil,’ Marissa corrected kindly while Rick’s big body stiffened at her side. ‘I’ve written down every new piece of information you’ve provided and, actually, I’m almost thirty. Not quite a “girly” any more.’

‘Miss Warren is part of the Morgan’s team. She is not—’

‘Not at all perturbed,’ Marissa inserted while a flow of gratified warmth filled her.

Rick drew a breath. His gaze locked with hers and the starch left him. His voice dipped about an octave as he murmured, ‘Well, you really don’t look…’

‘That old?’ She meant her response to sound cheerful, unconcerned. Instead, it came out with a breathless edge, the result of that considering gaze on her. Of the way he had championed her, despite never having worked directly with her until today.

And perhaps a little because of her need not to feel quite as ancient as she did in the face of her looming birthday. ‘Thank you for thinking so.’

Thank you very, very much and you look appealing yourself. Very appealing.

Did hormones have voices? Whispery ones that piped up right when they were least welcome?

First chance we get, Marissa thought, those hormones and I are having a Come To Mama meeting and I’m telling them who’s in charge of this show. Namely, me.

Stupid birthdays, anyway. They should be cancelled after twenty-five and never referred to again.

You’ll have found Mr Right by your birthday and won’t have time to notice that over a third of your estimated life span has passed you by while you wasted some of it on Michael Unsworth, the cheating, lying, using—

‘Well. What was it we were saying?’ Marissa forced a smile. She mustn’t think of Michael, or of Rick Morgan’s charismatic presence.

‘We were discussing this bridge…’ Prosaic words but Rick’s gaze moved over her with a delicious consciousness before it was quickly masked.

He was attracted to her!

Her hormones cheered.

Marissa frowned.

He couldn’t be attracted. At all. Why would he be?

A moment later he blinked that consciousness away and turned to stare at the other man. ‘Unless you have something new to add to the discussion, Cartwright, perhaps we could wind this up.’

Focusing on work was a great idea, really. If her heart had already done a little flip-flop dance, well, that didn’t matter. She would simply force all systems back into submission because control was the thing.

Control her destiny and it couldn’t hurt—control—her, and that was exactly how she wanted things to be.

Rick cleared his throat. ‘Mr Cartwright, your committee members will have my report before your eleven o’clock meeting this morning.’

‘There’s no need to send it to everyone. I’ll deliver it at the meeting.’ The man actually seemed to believe that Rick would agree to this.

‘I assure you, it will be no trouble to see the report into the hands of the whole committee.’ Deep voice. Steel-edged politeness.

Marissa had arrived at work this morning expecting to be stultifyingly bored with office filing for at least the next several days. Instead, Rick’s secretary had propped himself up in her doorway and croaked out his request that she meet his boss on site so he could take himself off to the doctor.

Next minute Marissa had been whipping along in a taxi, and then she’d found Rick waiting for her at the bridge site like a knight in shining hard hat.

Well, not really a knight. No horse. But he’d listened patiently as she’d given a flurried explanation to go with her sudden appearance, then he’d said, ‘Yes, I know. Shall we?’ and had cupped her elbow to escort her onto the bridge.

That constituted contact, which was why she could blame this entire blip in her reaction to him on her senses, not her intellect.

Rick went on, ‘The report will explain why your ideas won’t work, and will agree with my assessor’s initial report and recommend the committee works directly with him from now on. Had there not been a temp from downstairs manning my office the day you made your appointment, you’d have been informed that you should meet with the Project Manager today, not me.’

Having a temp make an inappropriate appointment for him explained how Rick had ended up wasting his time on this meeting. Marissa had wondered. Her attraction to him didn’t explain anything, except her hormones apparently hadn’t read her Blinddatebrides profile or her list of requirements in a prospective mate.

Date. Prospective date. And this man wasn’t one. She expected all of her to take note.

‘You’ll be billed for this discussion. I hope your interactions with our company will remain amicable and be a little more focused in the future.’ Having made it plain that the man’s efforts to bypass the proper channels hadn’t come free of charge, Rick nodded. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse us.’

Good. It was over. They could get back to the office and Marissa could forget this weird awareness of the boss and return to her real work. In this instance, taking care of the backlog of filing Gordon had left behind before he’d gone on holiday and, once that was done, a long list of non-urgent hack work he’d left for her.

Rick’s firm fingers wrapped around her elbow.

Instant overload.

Nerve-endings. Senses. Her gaze flew to his. He was already watching her. His fingers tightened.

For a frozen heartbeat his gaze became very intent indeed. Then he shook his head and swept her away along the bridge and she started to breathe again and reminded herself of her focus.

Nice. Ordinary. Guy.

Someone to have babies with. If they wanted to. At some point when they decided they’d like that. No rush at all. Again, Marissa was the leader of this particular outfit, not her clock or her hormones or anything else.

She frowned. What did she mean, clock? As in ticking biological clock? How silly. She simply wanted someone steady and dependable and completely invested in building a solid relationship of trust, friendship and affection with her.

Sure, that might mean a family one day, but she didn’t feel driven to have children. Just because she found herself noticing mothers with babies in supermarkets and shops and on the street…

No. The Big 3-0 didn’t stand for B. A. B. Y.

Not at all.

It only stood for birthday-she-didn’t-want-to-think-about.

Hmph.

And just because she’d noticed the Morgan’s boss…

‘Tom explained he was unwell before he sent you out here to meet me?’ Rick spoke the words as he steered her along. ‘Did he give you his travel pack?’

‘I met with Tom briefly at the office before his wife whisked him away to go to the doctor.’ Marissa tapped the bag that slapped against her hip with each step.

Rick must be around six foot two inches tall. Much of it appeared to be strong, ground-eating legs, not that she wanted to think about his legs, or even his anatomy in general. ‘And, yes, I have Tom’s travel pack.’

The shoes that went so nicely with her chocolate-brown knee-length skirt were also shoved in the tote.

‘You’ll need it for dictation on the trip back to the office.’ He hit the base of the bridge without slowing his pace, though he took care to make sure she could keep up.

As he walked forward he dropped his hold on her and drew out his mobile phone. The conversation when the number picked up brought an edge of concern to his face and deepened the grooves on either side of his firm, moulded lips.

Would those grooves crease appealingly when he smiled?

Not interested in the answer to that. Not interested in the lips that would form the smile, or the abandoned feeling in one particular elbow either.

‘You’ll recover, though?… What’s the treatment?… Can Linda get some time off work? If she can’t, I’ll arrange nursing care for you.’ He listened for a moment and some of the tension in his face eased. ‘Okay. You’ve got it covered then, but if you think of anything you need, you let me know, and don’t worry about work. I’ll cope.’

He paused. His grey gaze examined her, frankly assessing her before he spoke again. ‘It wasn’t your fault I ended up at this meeting this morning, Tom. We agreed to put a temp in the chair that day and she apparently didn’t know any better than to book me for this appointment instead of the Project Manager. Cartwright took advantage of that fact.’

The second pause lasted longer, or maybe it felt that way because his gaze stayed on her the whole time. ‘Yes, I know and I suppose you’re right. I’d had the same thought.’ His tone softened. ‘Now let Linda put you to bed, man. I’ll check in with her later.’

Before Marissa could get all mushy over that obvious concern for his employee, or feel uneasy as a result of his focus on her, he closed the phone.

‘Is Tom—?’ She got that far with the question before he brought them to a halt beside a large slate-coloured four-wheel-drive car.

People called them cars. Marissa told herself this was a muscular extension of its owner. All strong lines and height and breadth and power. It was twice as tall as an ordinary car, and it should stand as a warning to her. There was no softness to be found here, no gentler side, just sheer strength.

Really? Because Rick had seemed quite considerate, as well as all those other things.

‘Tom is ill with what appears to be a hard-hitting virus. Ross River fever, the doctor thinks.’ Rick removed his hard hat and ran his hand through his hair for real. Thick dark hair with a glint or two of silver at the temples. He was thirty-seven years old, her boss Gordon had told her, with degrees in both civil engineering and architecture.

Rick had used those and other skills to forge his way to massive success consulting on structural refurbishment and undertaking new construction work. Bridges, buildings, roads, he’d covered all of it and now had a team of several hundred people working under him, just in the office side of his business alone.

That was what Marissa needed to remember. The word ‘driven’ probably didn’t begin to describe him.

Driven. Willing to do anything to get what he wanted, no matter how that impacted on others? Like Michael Unsworth?

‘Ross River fever can be quite debilitating while it lasts, can’t it? Tom did look very unwell this morning.’ Marissa had worried for the man until he’d assured her that his wife would soon be there to collect him. She didn’t want her thoughts on Rick, and she pursued the conversation with that in mind. ‘I hope Tom recovers quickly and fully.’

‘Linda will make sure he rests, and I’ll be keeping an eye on his progress…’He used the remote on his keyring to unlock his car. Even the movement of those strong, long-fingered hands appealed.

‘I’m glad I could fill in for Tom this morning, though the meeting turned out to be a bit of a waste of time for you.’ Marissa wrestled with the strap of her hard hat and finally got the thing off. Wrestled to get her thoughts into submission at the same time. A quick shake of her head took care of any hat hair possibility, though she knew that nothing would keep her curls down for long.

‘I appreciated that you got yourself here quickly when Tom couldn’t. Make sure you hand your taxi receipt in for reimbursement.’ He had his hand out, reaching to open the passenger door. It paused mid-stretch as his gaze locked onto her head and stark male awareness flared in the backs of his eyes. ‘Your hair—’

‘Is it a mess? I’m afraid I can’t do a whole lot with it, though I do occasionally tie it back or put it up.’ She uttered the words while she tried to come to terms with the expression in his eyes, with the reciprocal burst of interest it raised in her. Goosebumps tingled over her nape and down her arm. ‘It’s just that it takes ages and I was busy this morning,’ she finished rather lamely while she fought not to notice those reactions.

‘“Mess” wasn’t really what I was thinking.’ He murmured the admission as though against his will, and then, ‘Let me have the hat.’ His fingers brushed hers as he took it from her.

Warmth flowed back up her arm again from the brief contact.

Totally immune to him, are we? Doesn’t look like it, and he definitely did notice you just now. You saw it for yourself.

Oh, shut up!

He tossed the hats onto the back seat and ushered her towards the front one. ‘Hop in. This was my third stop this morning. I have quite a bit of dictation for the trip back to the office. It’s up to you whether you speak your notes into a recorder or write them down, but there are deals in progress, so we need to get moving.’

‘I’m quite willing to be occupied.’ And you see? The Morgan’s boss was highly focused on his work, his success. All those things Michael had cared the most about, had used her to achieve. Marissa hopped, or rather, he boosted her up into the high cab of the car and she landed in the seat with a bit of a plop. It was a soft, comfortable, welcoming seat, contrasting with the strength of the vehicle itself.

Not that she thought Rick Morgan had a soft side to match his car. She couldn’t let herself think that. He was off-limits to her in any case and she needed her hormones to accept that fact without any further pointless comparisons.

The manoeuvre had also left rather a lot of leg exposed and she quickly tugged the skirt back into place.

Rick’s gaze locked onto that expanse of leg and he caught his breath. Blinked twice. And then he strode around the front of the vehicle with his shoulders thrown back and a shuttered expression on his face that made her more conscious of him than ever.

He couldn’t want her. In fact he was probably wondering why on earth he had noticed her at all. She would seem like part of the furniture to him. Like a coffee table with sturdy blocks keeping it low to the ground. Well, women her height didn’t have slender legs that went on for ever, did they? Not that she was comparing herself to a coffee table.

‘I’ll take written notes.’ She didn’t want to speak aloud in front of him for who knew how long, repeating everything he said. That would feel far too intim—uncomfortable. ‘It’ll be more efficient.’

‘Then let’s see what we can do about cementing the positive outcomes that are riding on this morning’s earlier visits.’ He set the car in motion while she prepared herself—a man with power and achievement on his mind.

Michael Unsworth had been all about those things too, in the most arrogant of ways, though it had taken her way too long to see that, to see beyond his surface charm. He’d led her on, taken credit for all her hard work for him as though he’d done it all himself and, when she’d called him on that, he’d dumped her, had claimed their secret engagement had never existed. She was more than over all that, of course. It had happened months ago and she’d told him what a snake he was at the time.

Yes. Totally moved on. Her ongoing tendency to occasionally blare raging I don’t need a man style music in her apartment at night notwithstanding.

She happened to like the musical accompaniments to some of those particular songs, and if she truly felt that way she wouldn’t be trying to find a man she liked on a dating site, would she?

And you don’t think you’re so keen to find a man because Michael dumped you and your birthday will be the anniversary of the day you believed you and he became ‘secretly’ engaged as well as making you officially ‘old’? You’re not out to prove something? Several somethings, in fact?

She was simply out to do something positive and proactive about her future. She didn’t even care if she found a man before she turned thirty. The dating site was a way to look around. If nothing eventuated, no big deal.

And this awareness of her boss… Well, it would go away. He might be somewhat nice, but that didn’t change his corporate status. She would ignore her consciousness of him until it disappeared.

‘Yes.’ She was ready, under control and safe from the temptation of a corporate boss with power on her mind. Marissa clutched her pencil and hoped that was true!

CHAPTER TWO

RICK turned his car into the traffic and started to dictate. First came the report for Cartwright’s committee meeting. Then a bunch of short memos to be emailed to various department heads regarding the other projects he had visited this morning. Marissa’s pencil flew across the pages while she remained utterly conscious of his presence at her side.

In the confines of the big car she registered each breath and movement as he managed the congested traffic conditions with ease. Maybe joining a dating site had raised her overall awareness of men in a general sense?

That might explain this sudden inconvenient fixation on Rick.

He paused, glanced at her. ‘All right? Are you keeping up?’

‘Yes.’ She waved the hand with the pencil in it and didn’t let on for a moment that it ached somewhat from the thorough workout. ‘Gordon always dictates when we’re out on site work.’

Which had been all of three or four times since she’d started with her middle-aged boss six months ago, and Gordon always paused to ponder between each sentence.

‘Take this list down then, please.’ Rick went on to give a prioritised outline of workaday items—phone calls to be made, documentation to be lifted from files and information to be gathered from other departments within the company.

He had crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes. They crinkled when he scrunched his face in thought or gave that slight smile, and made him look even better. Gorgeous, with character.

Whereas Marissa had spent over a hundred dollars on a miracle fine line facial cream last week, an action that had puzzled the younger of her Blinddatebrides friends Dani, and made Grace laugh, albeit rather wryly.

When Rick wound up his dictation, she gestured at the steno pad now crammed with instructions. ‘Someone’s going to be busy. There’s also a BlackBerry in the pack Tom gave me. Do you want me to read you the day’s list?’

In case he’d missed something in the estimated ten hours of straight work he’d just hammered out for whoever got the job of replacing Tom in his absence? She pitied those girls in the general pool on the first floor. Maybe he’d take two of them. Not her problem, in any case.

After this trip, Marissa would take her fine line wrinkles and go back to Gordon’s office.

Rick probably wouldn’t be in a good mood about the first floor help, though, given his last temp from there had booked an appointment for him to go out on a matter someone else should have handled.

‘Yes, check through and see what I’ve missed, would you?’ He signalled, slowed and turned and she realised with a start that they were back at their North Sydney office building. The city pulsed with busyness around them before he took the car underground, but she could only focus on his busyness.

Note to self about go-getter busyness, Marissa: it is not an endearing or invigorating trait.

She quickly pulled the electronic organiser from Tom’s travel pack in her tote. Scanned. Read. Tried not to acknowledge the burst of irrational disappointment that swept through her.

‘There’s a notation of “Julia” for twelve-thirty.’ He wouldn’t hear the slight uneven edge in her tone, would he? How silly to care that he was seeing someone. She should have realised that would be the case. It shouldn’t matter to her that he was! ‘That’s the only thing listed that you haven’t brought up.’

Of course the listing could be for any reason. Hairdresser appointment. An hour with his gym trainer. Or a pet schnauzer he walked faithfully once a day.

Dream on, Marissa.

‘Ah, yes.’ His face softened for a moment before he turned into his parking space and opened his door.

A go-getting corporate shark who had no business noticing the help if he was already involved. Probably with some sophisticated woman, maybe the daughter of a fellow businessman, or a corporate high-flyer herself. She’d be stunningly beautiful and her face cream would work like a charm, if she needed it at all.

You’re being ridiculous. He barely noticed you in passing and he certainly didn’t seem thrilled once he realised he had. Nor do you want to be thrilled or notice him.

Marissa released her seat belt, shoved the PDA back into her tote bag and drew out her work shoes.

With her head bent removing the joggers, she said in what she felt was a perfectly neutral tone, ‘Feel free to go on ahead. I can either stop by the first floor general pool for you and ask them to send someone up, or bring the PDA and my notes to whoever you’ve chosen to replace Tom. You can pre-lock this monster so I just have to shut the door, I assume?’

‘Thanks for the kind offer.’ Rick watched as Marissa Warren pushed a second trim foot into a shapely shoe. She had beautiful ankles. And legs. And a sweetness in her face that had tugged unexpectedly at something deep inside him from the moment he’d seen her up close for the first time this morning.

He’d noticed her in the office, of course. He noticed all the staff. As owner and manager, it was part of his job to remain aware about who worked for him, though the company was so big nowadays and employed so many people that he didn’t always have anything specific to do with some of the workers.

In any case Marissa was completely unsuitable as a woman he should notice, legs or not. He wasn’t prepared to risk commitment and the failure that could go with it, and he didn’t tangle with the kind of women who might want it. Marissa struck him as a woman who would want all sorts of pieces of a man that Rick might not have the ability to give. Not that he’d ever wanted to.

‘I’ll wait for you.’

She didn’t realise yet there would be no parting. But this didn’t have to be about anything beyond work requirements. And, ultimately, he didn’t have a whole lot of better options.

‘If you insist,’ she muttered, and pushed her joggers into her tote bag.

Why he couldn’t seem to take his gaze from her, he simply couldn’t explain. Yet she’d drawn his attention from the moment she’d arrived at the bridge, that hard hat rammed down on her head like armour plating.

Most of the women in the office were either in their forties or fifties, married and/or otherwise committed, or giggling twenty-year-olds. Marissa didn’t fit either of those groups. She didn’t seem the type to giggle.

Maybe that explained this odd attraction to Gordon Slaymore’s secretary.

Rick got out, closed his door, moved to her side and pulled hers open. ‘Ready?’

‘Yes. It was kind of you to wait, though unnecessary.’ She stood at about five foot five inches in height with a compact body that curved in all the right places. Brown eyes sparkled one moment and seemed to guard secrets the next and that wealth of hair caressed her face and nape in all its curly wildness. Her nose was strong and straight, her mouth soft and inviting in a girl-next-door kind of way.

He shouldn’t want to know about the guardedness or cheerfulness. Definitely needed to steer clear of the girl-next-door part. ‘Let’s go, then.’

‘Right.’ She would have got down without touching him. The intention to do so flared in her eyes.

Given the way he reacted the few times they’d touched, he should have allowed exactly that but some bizarre sense of perversity made him clasp her hand and help her. Then, because he didn’t want to release his hold on her, wanted to stroke that hand with his fingertips, he dropped it altogether, closed the door and locked the vehicle.

He wanted to kiss her until they were both breathless from it, and when she joined him in the lift the urge to do that came very close to overwhelming him.

While he fought urges he usually had no difficulty controlling, Marissa reached out a small, capable-looking hand towards the panel. No doubt to press for the first floor and the help she thought he wanted.

Instead, he pushed the button that would take them directly to his floor, and thought how he would like to taste those softly pouting lips.

This wasn’t happening. It didn’t happen to him. He was no green youngster who reacted this way to a woman. He’d found her easy enough not to notice until now and he planned to go on not noticing her.

‘Gordon’s on holiday.’ The abrupt announcement wasn’t exactly his usual smooth delivery, but at least it got them back onto a business footing. ‘You probably only had maintenance and catch-up work planned, you have some experience behind you and can keep up with my pace of dictation. I’ve decided it will be best if you assist me during Tom’s sick leave.’

‘You want me?’ An expression rather close to horror flashed across her face before she quickly concealed it.

‘I don’t imagine I’ll find anyone any better qualified and as easily available as you are.’ He’d meant to state the words in a calm, if decided way. Instead they almost sounded bewildered. And perhaps a little insulted. He had to admit that her reaction had been refreshingly honest and appeared to come straight from her heart. Emotional honesty hadn’t exactly been abundant from some of the people in his life.

And just where had that unhelpful thought come from? A very old place!

After a moment she murmured, ‘Well, I’m sure it won’t be for long.’

The grudging acceptance wasn’t exactly effusive and it left him wanting to…impress her with how amenable he could be as a boss.

‘Gordon has four weeks off, doesn’t he?’ Rick pushed away his odd reaction and forced his attention to matters close to hand. ‘I seem to recall that from a brief talk I had with him before he left. I’m sure that will allow more than enough time for Tom to recuperate and return. If not, we’ll simply deal with it. You can make whatever arrangements are needed to replace yourself in Gordon’s office. Put a temp in there and have the first floor supervisor monitor the temp’s progress.’

‘Yes, of course. I didn’t meant to sound… Well, I was just surprised, that’s all.’

Oh, she’d meant it, but he pushed that aside too.

‘Then, if you have no other questions…?’ He paused and she shook her head. ‘Good. We’ll just get on with it, then.’

With his unwelcome awareness of her firmly set aside and filed, he whisked her out of the lift and into the hub of his work.

He would simply rein in his odd response to her and they would get along just fine.

Expediency. It was all about what was best for the company.

CHAPTER THREE

To: Sanfrandani, Englishcrumpet

From: Kangagirl

I had to cancel the after-hours second drink with

the bank clerk guy. Work issues. I’ve been

roped in to work for the big boss for the next

while. Totally out of my control and since I don’t

know how long things will be busy and the bank

clerk might want to see other women in the

meantime, I didn’t ask him to reschedule. Still,

it looks like there will be one or two perks with

this temporary job. I peeked ahead in the

BlackBerry and we have a special meeting

scheduled for tomorrow, a group of Asian businessmen.

We’re taking them to an animal

petting zoo.

From: Sanfrandani

Ooh. What sort of animals?

From: Englishcrumpet

Kangaroos? I’ve always wanted to see one of those. I hope the different work goes well for you, Marissa.

‘What did his last servant die of? I wonder.’ Marissa muttered as her fingers flew at lightning speed to produce yet another memo that needed to be rushed urgently to one of their departments.

She absolutely did not enjoy the pace and challenge of working in Rick’s sumptuous office suite with its thick beige carpet and burnished gold walls and stunning view over Sydney Harbour. And its frenetic pace. Maybe this workload was why Tom had gone down with a virus.

Except Ross River virus wasn’t something one contracted due to stress. And the company boss did not fascinate Marissa more and more with each breath she took. He wasn’t tremendously adept at his work, and appealingly sexy as he went about it. He was…obsessed by it. Yes, that was it.

He’d probably prove to be a terrible boss, never giving the poor overworked secretary a second thought after that initial consideration. And she’d refused to look his way for at least the last five minutes, anyway, so there.

Rick dropped another pile of papers and three tapes into her tray. ‘You’re coping all right? Not feeling too pressured? I know there’s a lot of work, but we can take things steadily.’ His gaze caught and held hers with quiet sincerity.

Which rather shot holes in her thoughts about him. She was far better off viewing him as a workaholic quite prepared to take her down with him! ‘I’m managing. Thank you.’

He lingered in front of her desk for a moment and his gaze moved from her hands to her face and hair before coming back to her eyes. For one still moment she couldn’t seem to look away and he…didn’t seem to be able to either. Then he cleared his throat. ‘That report hit the right places before eleven a.m.?’

‘Report…’ Oh, yes. Right. Well, he’d proofed the thing just minutes ago and she’d sent it. Except…Marissa forced her gaze from him to the square-framed clock on the far wall of the office space and realised it was now twelve twenty-five.

‘I faxed the report on time to each committee member. You must be due for your lunch appointment.’ She must be due to remember he had that appointment, and what that meant. The man was not available. There was Julia in his life, not that Marissa imagined herself in Rick Morgan’s life. Not in that way.

He doesn’t have a photo of a woman on his desk.

Maybe he carries it in his wallet, or has it tattooed on his right biceps.

Oh, for crying out loud!

‘We’ll start again at one-thirty. Your meals can go on my account at the cafeteria while you’re working for me, unless you prefer to eat elsewhere.’ He simply announced this, in the same way any generous, thoughtful employer taking care of his employee would. ‘If you need anything from your desk in Gordon’s office get it as quickly as you can when you come back from your break.’

Right, and she was finished with fantasising about tattooed biceps too. Julia. Remember Julia?

‘We’re in for overtime, aren’t we?’ She asked it with an edge of desperation as she popped up out of her seat. The movement had nothing to do with feeling needed and energised and as though Rick wouldn’t be able to function as well without her help. She wanted a lunch break, that was all.

She’d travelled the ‘feeling needed’ road already, hadn’t she? The indispensable-secret-fiancée road until Michael Unsworth had no longer needed her slaving away on his behalf.

The smile on her face dissolved at the thought. She snagged her tote bag and headed for the office door. ‘I will eat at the cafeteria. I often do, anyway. Have a lovely time with Julia.’

‘Thank you.’ He let her walk to the door before he spoke again. ‘Could you bring me back two beef and salad rolls and a bottle of orange juice after your meal? I won’t actually be eating lunch while I’m gone.’

Again, there could be a hundred reasons for that. Only one flashed through her mind, though, and to her mortification her face became red-hot as a barrage of uninvited images paraded through her clearly incorrectly functioning brain.

‘Certainly.’ She bolted through the door and promised herself she would dedicate her entire lunch break to locating and lassoing her common sense and control, and tying them down where they belonged. ‘I’ll see that the meal is waiting when you return.’

She did exactly that after eating a sensible salad lunch that wouldn’t get her hips into trouble and she didn’t think about her boss. Not once. Not at all. She was a professional and she didn’t give a hoot what Rick did with his time.

Marissa followed up this thought by rushing from the building to the convenience store situated at the end of the block. It was perfectly normal to buy an entire six-pack of raspberry lemonade and just because that was her comfort drink of choice didn’t mean anything. Bulk was cheaper.

With a huff Marissa turned from placing the drinks in the fridge in the suite’s kitchenette beside the boss’s lunch and OJ and made her way to Gordon’s office.

There’d be a temp tomorrow. For today the general pool was a little short-staffed so the office was silent as she collected the framed photo of her Mum and Dad taken last year just after they’d downsized into their two-bedroom home in Milberry, and a small tray full of bits and pieces—nail files, amazing hand cream to go with the amazing face cream, breath mints.

She also picked up the laminate of cartoon cuttings she’d collated a few months ago—cheery ones, joky ones, sarcasm about pets and life and getting up in the mornings. It made an entertaining desktop addition and there was no significance to the fact that she had avoided any cartoons to do with ageing.

Everyone got a day older each time they rolled out of bed in the morning. That was life. It was certainly no big deal to her. And she’d left off cartoons about babies, children and families because…this was a laminate she’d wanted for work, and those things didn’t fit into that world.

And the fact that you purchased a pair of baby-gauge knitting needles recently and two balls of baby-soft wool?

It had been an impulse buy. One of those things you did and then wondered why you had. Besides, she hadn’t bought any knitting patterns to go with the wool and, if she did decide to use it, she’d knit herself a pair of socks or something.

She would!

Back in her new office, Marissa shoved the laminate onto the left half of the desk and quickly buried it beneath her in-tray and various piles of folders, typed letters and other work.

When her boss walked in and fell on the lunch she’d brought as though starved to death, Marissa kept on with her work and didn’t spare him a glance. If she had a ‘spare’ anything, she would invest it thinking about which man she might date next off the Blinddatebrides website.

Silly name, really, because she wasn’t desperate for marriage or anything like that. They’d had a special on and there were lots of nice everyday men out there, and her thirtieth birthday wasn’t looming.

It was still weeks away, even if Mum had fallen eerily silent about it, the way she did when she got the idea to spring a surprise on her daughter. Marissa didn’t want a surprise party—or any kind of party—and she hoped her Mum had understood that from her hints on the topic.

There was no big deal about wanting to find a man before she turned thirty anyway, and nor was Marissa’s pride in a mess because she’d been duped and dumped.

She had her whole world in complete control, and she liked it just fine that way!

‘Good afternoon, Rick Morgan’s office, this is Marissa.’

Rick sat at his desk and listened as Marissa answered yet another phone call and took a message. He’d told her he didn’t want to be disturbed while he worked his way through the report that had been delivered.

Yet he hadn’t managed to tune out his awareness of her as she beavered away at her desk.

Maybe it was the way her hands flew across the computer keys that had him glancing her way over and over. Or the fact that when she thought herself unobserved her interest in the materials she processed showed all over her expressive face.

Frowns and nods of approval came into play until she finally printed out each piece of work with an expression of satisfaction. Would she be as open and responsive—?

That wasn’t something he needed to know, yet the thought was there, along with others. Rick finished reading the report and scooped up the signed letters that needed to be mailed.

‘You like hard work, don’t you.’ It wasn’t really a question but he set the signed letters down on the corner of her desk and waited for her to answer anyway. That was another problem he appeared to have developed. He couldn’t seem to stop himself from getting up from his desk and finding a reason to visit hers.

Once there, his gaze seemed to have a will of its own, roving constantly over her face and hair, the nape of her neck, the hands that moved with such speed and efficiency over the computer keyboard. He wanted those hands on him.

No. He did not want Marissa Warren’s hands on him. Yet there was something between them. It had been there from the moment they’d met at the bridge this morning and he’d let her come to the most predictable conclusion about Julia because of that.

Now he wanted to explain, wanted her to know he was free—but he wasn’t, was he? Not to get involved with his temporary secretary, or any other woman who wanted more than a casual physical interlude with him. He’d made his choice about that.

‘Do I like hard work?’ Her gaze flipped up to his. Almost immediately she veiled the sparkle in her eyes. A shrug of one shoulder followed. ‘I guess I like to think I’m as efficient as the next person and there seems a lot to be done in this office at the moment. Or perhaps it’s always this busy?’

‘Tom and I work hard, but there’s more to contend with right now than is usual, even for us.’ To move his gaze from her, he shifted it to a photo of an older couple that she’d added to her desk. The woman had curly hair, cut shorter. Her parents…

Was she an only child or did she, like him, have siblings? An intriguing-looking laminated sheet covered the left half of the desk. Much of it had work strewn on top but the bits he could see appeared to be cartoon cuttings.

Her foibles and family history shouldn’t interest him. Another sign of trouble, and yet still he stood here, courting time with her when both their interests would be better served if he didn’t.

‘Will it be a problem for you to work longer hours for the next few days?’ That was what he really needed to know. ‘Is there someone at home who’ll mind?’

Marissa’s answer was only relevant to him in terms of how it impacted here.

Except his body stilled as he waited for her response, and that stillness had little to do with concerns about his working life.

‘Tom has welcomed the longer hours because he and Linda are saving to buy a house.’ The words left his mouth in an explanation he hadn’t intended to give. ‘He’s used to my ways and knows his way around this office. He copes.’

‘I can manage any work Tom would have done.’ She spoke the words with her chin in the air. An answer, but not all the information he had wanted.

‘I don’t doubt that.’ He wanted her to know he thought well of her. Wanted her to…think well of him. The last time he’d experienced this particular care about another’s opinion of him, he’d been twenty years old and convinced he was in love, until the girl had started talking about the future—theirs—and he’d wanted to run a mile.

Just like his father, except Stephen Morgan was in a family and he did his running a little differently. Rick hadn’t even tried for a less than overt approach. He’d got out of that relationship so fast he’d probably left the girl spinning and he’d avoided commitment ever since.

‘I’m not…tied to any home responsibilities.’ Marissa offered this information cautiously, as though she’d prefer not to have given it.

‘Then I won’t worry too much if I do have to ask you to work extra hours.’ Rick stared into the warm brown eyes fixed unerringly on him and the moment stretched out, expanded to encompass not only the words they had exchanged but also what they weren’t saying. The sparkle in the air between them. His awareness of her, hers of him, the denial of both of them.

Sexual attraction. That was all it was, but even so it wasn’t wise and he had to realise that and move them past it. He drew a deep breath. ‘It’s clear you can cope with the workload. You’ve handled yourself very well so far today. I appreciate your efforts.’

‘Th-thank you.’ A pleased expression lifted the corners of her mouth and softened her eyes. ‘I’ve simply done my job.’

Something about that softening brought back the urge he’d had earlier in the lift to kiss her senseless, and he lowered his tone of voice to a low rumble. ‘So I’ve observed.’

‘I can work whatever hours are needed. I’d just appreciate knowing so I can gear my social life accordingly.’ She cleared her throat and couldn’t quite seem to meet his gaze. ‘I cancelled a drink after work today because I figured I wouldn’t be out by five.’

Rick wanted to say there’d be no time whatsoever for her to spend on ‘drinks’. Presumably with some man. He noted at the same time that she must be looking. Looking, but not seriously involved right now.

But women who looked and carried photos of their parents with them did want depth and permanency, and that kind of relationship was not on his agenda.

‘I should get on, if that was all.’ She reached for the pile of letters to be mailed, began to calmly fold them into the window envelopes she had waiting on her desk.

Dismissed by his temporary assistant. Rick gave a snort of amusement and reluctant admiration before he swung away. ‘I’ll be in my office and…er…I promise there won’t be any more correspondence brought out for you to type today. I know your tray is still loaded.’

‘No.’ She didn’t look up. ‘You’ll just hold it over for tomorrow so I won’t get stressed out. I won’t anyway, but that’s okay. I understand the tactic. Gordon does the same thing.’

Now he’d been compared to a fifty-year-old.

Rick disappeared into his office, pushed the door closed so he wouldn’t be tempted to listen to Marissa taking phone calls or watch her as she worked, and decided that it was very different working with her rather than Tom.

That explained his ongoing interest in her. He half convinced himself he believed this. Well, maybe a quarter. He immersed himself in his work.

At twenty minutes to six that evening Marissa stuck her head around his door. ‘Your presence is requested at an emergency conference.’

He’d started to believe they might have nearly caught up on their workload. So much for that idea. ‘Which department heads? What’s the problem?’

She pushed the door open fully and read a spiel of information from her steno pad.

Rick gave a mild curse. ‘Where? Have they assembled already?’

‘Conference Room Two, and yes.’ She had her tote bag on her shoulder and a determined glint in her eyes. Her computer was shut down and her desk cleared. Whatever work she had remaining she had tidied away. ‘I assume you’ll want us to join them immediately. If it ends quickly, we can come back.’

He got to his feet. ‘I’ll secure my office.’

She swept in beside him while he sorted files and locked them away. ‘Anything on screen that needs to be saved before I shut this down?’

‘No. Nothing, but I can do that.’ He locked the final cabinet and swung round.

She’d clicked out of applications as he spoke and she stood there now, bent at the waist, leaning in to press the button on the back of the computer.

Rick’s senses kicked him hard. She would have to possess the most appealing bottom to go with those equally devastating legs, wouldn’t she? And he would have to notice it instead of being completely unaware of her, as he needed to be. He didn’t want to notice her, or be impressed or intrigued by her or find her different or interesting or highly attractive!

If he’d thought it would help, he’d replace her with someone from another department but no other personal secretary had a boss on holiday. He certainly wasn’t about to subject himself to some child from the general pool again. And, for goodness’ sake, he could control this.

He always controlled the way he reacted to women. There was no reason why this situation should be any different. In fact, because she worked for him and he never, ever, mixed work with his social interactions that way, it should be easier still.

Yes, and it’s been dead easy so far, hasn’t it?

‘Let’s move.’ He hid a grimace in his chin. ‘Here’s hoping the meeting doesn’t go on too long.’

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