The Playboy Boss’s Chosen Bride
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 FIFTEEN

CHAPTER ONE

JAKE DEVILA finished shaving and slapped some Platinum around his jaw, a cologne that had most women sniffing with interest. But not his prim and proper personal assistant, the indomitable Merlina Rossi. She invariably wrinkled her nose at it as though it was offensive.

He grinned to himself in the vanity mirror.

The idea that had come to him last night was sure to blast her usually impenetrable composure.

He really enjoyed getting to her, sitting back and watching the fireworks explode in her amber eyes. The eyes of a tiger, he’d often thought, and wondered if she’d ever unsheathe her claws and cut him to ribbons. Could be exciting—all that repressed passion bursting out, attacking him.

Unfortunately such a loss of control would probably lead to the end of the game and he didn’t want that. Mel—she hated being called Mel and her endurance of it was another source of amusement to him—was his salt, a piquant contrast to the sugar of all the other women who sweetened his life. He’d miss her if she walked out on him. Still, he couldn’t give up the exciting sense of brinkmanship with her. It was irresistible.

Must be close to eighteen months since she’d come to work for him—the perfect Girl Friday, following his instructions to the letter, keeping his business and social diary on track at all times, fronting for him when he was committed elsewhere. He remembered now that it was this last requirement which had started the entertaining clash of wills.

The memory kept the grin on his face as he left the bathroom and walked into his dressing-room to select the clothes he’d wear today. Out of the many résumés he’d ploughed through to find the gem he was looking for, he’d picked Merlina Rossi’s because she’d been P.A. to the editor of a teen magazine, which suggested she would be tuned into the teen market, by far the most profitable one for Jake’s business, Signature Sounds.

She’d turned up to the interview in a loose-fitting black business suit, her long brown hair pulled back and held away from her face by severely placed tortoiseshell combs. She had a sensual look about her—a full-lipped mouth, large thickly lashed eyes, a golden tan to her skin, very curvy figure—probably her Italian genes coming to the fore, and she seemed intent on minimising their impact.

Not my type, Jake had thought. His preference ran to tall, slim, leggy blondes who specialised in maximising their impact, sophisticated women who aimed to win in the desirability stakes. He was perfectly happy to accommodate their female egos on that score, though he knew they always had their eye out for someone who would accommodate them even better. He’d lived in that world all his life, and observation and personal experience had taught him not to get emotionally attached to any of the women who walked through it.

‘Enjoy them, my boy,’ his grandfather had advised. ‘The trick is not to take them too seriously or they’ll take you.’

At the time his grandfather had been in the throes of his fourth divorce settlement and Jake remembered asking, ‘Why do you keep marrying them?’

‘Because I love weddings,’ had come the blithe reply.

His grandfather could afford them, regardless of the end cost.

Jake didn’t care to part with his own wealth so cavalierly. He’d worked for it and wasn’t about to give any woman an easy ride with it just because she was sexually attractive. Work was something he did take seriously. He enjoyed being successful with his business and was very careful about selecting good people to help him maintain and build its success.

Merlina Rossi was in that category.

Definitely a prize find on many levels.

The initial interview with her had revealed she had a quick intelligence and would probably be very competent at doing whatever he required. However, the one thing that had niggled him was her strait-laced appearance. It was old-fashioned, out of step with his thinking, and if she wasn’t flexible enough to change it…

‘If you want the job, you’ll have to dress for it,’ he’d said. ‘Your image is all wrong.’

It had been fascinating to see a flush rise up her long neck and flood into her cheeks, even more fascinating that she’d managed to keep her cool. ‘It would be helpful if you’d explain what image you require,’ she’d stated primly.

‘Not that of a forty-year-old woman,’ he’d tossed at her, his interest totally captivated by her determination to rise above any discomfort. Did Merlina Rossi have true grit? Was she a survivor against all odds? ‘Your résumé says you’re twenty-nine. Is that correct?’

‘Yes.’

He’d strolled around his desk, propping himself against the front of it, his gaze deliberately sweeping her from head to foot as he explained, ‘You should be dressing young, not old. We sell Signature Sounds to the owners of cell-phones and that market is predominantly young. If you’re to represent me and my business you have to have street credibility.’

She’d calmly appraised him from head to foot. ‘Does that mean jeans and T-shirt?’

It would have done, but the devil in him had been stirred by her slow, flat-eyed taking in of his appearance. ‘No. That’s fine for the guys who work for the company.’ Including himself which she’d already noted. ‘I would want you reflecting up-to-the-minute trends in young fashion. Jeans don’t really make that statement for a woman since they’re a constant. Let your hair down and show some flair, Ms Rossi.’

‘My hair is down,’ she’d said in a tight, challenging tone.

Which had instantly compelled Jake to take the point one challenging step further. ‘Ah, yes, your hair. Might I suggest a more modern style? Something razor cut would be more in keeping with the image we want to present.’

Her cheeks had absolutely flamed and the devil in Jake had revelled in the fiery heat. Such a wonderfully tantalising question—would she play or would she fold?

‘Are you asking for spikes?’ she’d asked, the amber eyes spiking him as though he were a chicken she’d like to turn over a slow-burning fire.

Although tempted to fan the flames higher, Jake had realised a line was being drawn and she’d walk out if he went too far. Down boy, he’d told himself, deciding he could have a lot more fun with Ms Rossi down the road if she came on board with him.

‘No.’ He’d cocked his head, considering what might suit her well. ‘Maybe a fringe and wispy bits framing your face and neck. Discuss it with your hairdresser. What you need is a trendy style to jazz yourself up. Understood?’

She made no comment on his suggestions, cutting straight to the major point. ‘Are you offering me the job?’

‘Yes. Providing that…’

‘I fit the image.’ She’d stood up and held out her hand to seal the agreement—all brisk business. ‘Understood and agreed upon, Mr Devila. When do you want me to start?’

She had certainly socked it to him with the image, Jake reflected, putting on his usual casual gear for work. Mel Rossi was not only salt, but pepper, too—red-hot pepper when she put her mind to it.

She’d come strutting in that first day, looking very with it and sexy, her new hair-do swinging, the fringe on her high-heeled boots swinging, not to mention her curvaceous hips in the mini-skirt swinging, and the large ornate buckle of her low-slung belt had been centred just above the apex of her thighs, conjuring up images that had nothing at all to do with company business. Every guy who worked for him had been distracted.

But she’d just sailed around as though what she wore was nothing more nor less than a stipulated uniform, completely impersonal. She didn’t flirt. There was no female wrangling, getting smitten guys to do any part of her job for her. She was Miss Efficiency. Had been from the word go. And Jake had to live with what he had brought upon himself.

So he had developed the game. Battle of the sexes. Exciting, exhilarating, sweetly satisfying. It could be said that Mel was the sex he had when he wasn’t having sex. All in the mind and that was where it had to stay. However tempted he was at times, getting physical with her would be a big mistake. Any number of women were willing to share his bed. There was only one Mel Rossi and he didn’t want to lose the delicious sizzle of the contest between them.

The idea that had come to him last night was sublime.

Mel wouldn’t just sizzle, she would burn.

Jake could hardly wait for today’s battle to be joined.

Merlina checked her appearance in the full-length mirror attached to the door of her clothes cupboard. Floaty, almost ankle-length skirts were in, a welcome change from the minis which invariably made her feel uncomfortably exposed to Jake Devila’s endlessly provocative gaze. Not that this outfit would stop him from looking her over and smiling that smug little smile of his, taking personal credit for jazzing up her image. Personal satisfaction, too.

It always got under her skin but she never let it show. She held it firmly in her mind that she dressed for the job, not for him, though if she was completely honest with herself, she had become addicted to flouting her femininity in front of him, addicted to the sexual charge that simmered between them. And it wasn’t good for her.

It dominated her life far too much, causing her to lose interest in other men. Here she was, looking down the barrel of being thirty years of age, and her current life was completely focused on a sexy devil who had absolutely no interest in getting married and having children. If ever a man epitomised the label of swinging bachelor it was Jake Devila. And he had all the attributes to go with it.

He was gorgeous; big brown eyes twinkling with wickedness, ridiculously long curly eyelashes that a woman would kill for, expressive eyebrows that worked like exclamation marks to whatever he was saying, very thick, finger-inviting, wavy black hair, a strong straight nose, a strong square chin, a soft sensual and highly provocative mouth and dimples in his cheeks.

Dimples!

Merlina wished she wasn’t so hopelessly fascinated by them.

The rest of him was eye candy, too. He had the physique of a prime athlete; broad shoulders, muscles where there should be muscles, not an ounce of flab anywhere, his whole body perfectly proportioned to his height, which was also perfect—tall without being too overpoweringly tall.

The man was born with not only a silver spoon in his mouth but a whole canteen of silver cutlery, and everything dished out to him on a silver platter. He came from a very wealthy family and he’d made millions himself with Signature Sounds, his own clever idea, tapping into pop culture. At thirty-five he had the world at his feet, including a stack of beautiful women—topline models, A-list socialites, television stars, all rolling through his social diary and no doubt his bed.

Despite meticulously carrying out her duties as his personal assistant, Merlina suspected Jake regarded her as his play-thing at work. He liked sparring with her. He liked baiting her. He liked giving her challenging tasks to see if she would perform as requested. The man was a playboy through and through. She knew it, yet couldn’t stop herself from taking pride in successfully jumping through all his hoops and meeting his demands.

He couldn’t defeat her.

No way.

She wouldn’t let him.

Even so, she was more and more acutely aware of having become locked into an obsessive relationship with her boss—the exhilaration, the colour, the excitement he brought to her life. She admired the cleverness of his mind—the way he attacked business situations and fired enthusiastic creativity in his employees. His generosity in always giving recognition and rewards to those who came up with good marketable ideas also won her heartfelt approval.

Being with him was a constant buzz. There was so much about him she loved. And hated. Mostly because he wasn’t ever going to view her as a partner he’d always want at his side. Not for everything. That truth was too clear for her to ignore. Or to hope for it to change. Jake Devila organised his life into games where he held the controlling hand, directing play, and the only game she had a part of was exclusive to the work-place.

Nevertheless, despite this knowledge and all her wary defences, he’d sucked her right into an emotional whirlpool and kept tugging her more deeply into it all the time. If she didn’t climb out of it, she’d end up losing all respect for herself. Eighteen months with Jake Devila was really all she could afford. Her rational mind told her so.

Once she turned thirty, playtime had to be over and the serious business of finding a life partner for raising a family had to begin. She had only so many good child-bearing years, as her Italian papa kept reminding her, muttering that she had already wasted most of them in pursuing highflying careers.

Her sisters were married with families.

Her brothers were married with families.

She wanted that, too…but on her own terms, not her family’s. She had refused to let her father browbeat her into moving straight onto what he considered the appropriate life path for his daughters. Not until she was good and ready, she had vowed. There was no freedom in living up to parental expectations all the time. She had the right to be her own person and find out who she was by herself.

Except she wasn’t her own person around Jake Devila.

She had to face up to that, put a stop to it and move on.

Soon.

Or she’d fritter away what was left of her good child-bearing years, consumed by this dreadfully compulsive attraction to a man who’d never think of sharing the kind of future she really did want deep down in her heart.

‘Merlina, what are you doing?’ her sister called out. ‘The pancakes I cooked for you are getting cold.’

‘I told you I didn’t want any, Sylvana,’ she answered in exasperation, grabbing her handbag from the bed and heading out to the living area of her small apartment.

‘You’re too skinny. You need feeding up.’

Merlina gritted her teeth. Everyone in her family said that and she was fed up with hearing it. Just because they were all happy to be well padded did not make her skinny. She was simply thinner by comparison. The image she had to maintain could not be done with any excess weight and her figure was naturally curvy, which made following fashion trends challenging enough as it was.

‘I had some yoghurt and fruit earlier on. I don’t want anything else,’ she stated, more than ready to say goodbye to the sister who’d come up to Sydney from Griffith to have laser treatment on her eyes, and who was staying overnight so she wouldn’t feel rushed this morning.

Sylvana was seated at the kitchen servery, focused on feeding herself a stack of pancakes dripping with maple syrup. Already plump and working on getting plumper, Merlina thought as she said, ‘I have to get going. I hope your short-sightedness gets fixed so you won’t have to wear glasses any more.’

A fork loaded with pancake was halfway to her mouth which stayed gaping as she stared in shock at Merlina. ‘You’re not wearing that to work!’

That was obviously the outfit she’d so carefully put together; the long floaty skirt in a pretty floral pattern of greens and pinks, a woven pink-tan belt circling her hips, a dark green cropped cotton singlet, several long gold chains dangling from her neck, gold hoops in her ears and high-heeled dark green sandals on her feet.

Of course, her sister was wearing her usual respectable black: tailored pants right up to her waist and a long, loose T-shirt that covered up unsightly rolls of flesh.

‘I’m expected to dress like this for my job, Sylvana,’ she bit out, feeling her cheeks flame at the implied criticism.

‘With bare skin around your waist?’

‘It’s a hipster skirt which happens to be very fashionable right now.’

‘Your navel would show if the belt slipped a bit.’

‘So what?’

‘Papa would have a fit if he saw you displaying yourself like that in public.’

‘This is the city, Sylvana. I don’t have to answer to the Italian community in Griffith. No tongues are going to wag about me here, and yours had better not wag when you go home. Understood?’

Sylvana huffed. She was two years younger than Merlina, but being married and settled properly with a husband and young family apparently gave her the right to pick her wayward sister apart. ‘It was bad enough when you got your beautiful hair cut in that raggedy fashion,’ she started in again. ‘I don’t think this job is doing you any good.’

‘It’s my choice,’ Merlina fired back, though she’d been coming to the same conclusion herself. For different reasons. ‘I’m going now. Please make sure the door is locked when you leave. And give my love to the family when you get home.’

‘Now you’ve got all snippy,’ Sylvana threw at her.

‘I wonder why,’ flipped off her tongue as she passed the kitchen servery on her way to the front door.

‘Wait!’ Sylvana scuttled off the stool she’d been sitting on, rounded the bench and enveloped Merlina in a big squashy hug. ‘I didn’t mean to upset you. I just care about you, that’s all.’

‘Then please stop trying to put me in a box where I don’t belong. We’re different people. I like my hair style. I like my clothes. I like my job. So just let me be. Okay?’ She kissed her sister on the cheek and eased away. ‘Goodbye and good luck at the eye clinic.’

Sylvana said she was sorry for upsetting her and thanked her effusively for her hospitality as Merlina finally made good her escape.

Almost.

‘Merlina, did you know you can see through that skirt? You need a petticoat on,’ Sylvana called after her.

She waved and walked faster, rolling her eyes at her own scandalous behaviour in daring to break the rules of respectable dressing. All Jake Devila’s doing, though he didn’t know he’d done her a favour in stipulating his image requirements. Fulfilling them had actually been liberating, forcing her to shed inhibitions about showing off her body. She’d always secretly envied girls who did, wishing she could feel as free about it.

Her job with Jake was the excuse, the permission, the goad to actually do what she’d wanted to do. Not that she went overboard with being sexually provocative. At least, she didn’t think so. She wasn’t wearing a G-string under this skirt. In fact, her hipster panties were far more modest than the bottom half of a bikini, which was something she’d never made the leap to wear, still sticking with a one-piece maillot for swimming.

Sylvana was just being stick-in-the-mud-Italian respectable. Merlina decided there was no reason to feel guilty about any of the changes she’d made to her appearance.

Having her hair cut had been a shock at first because it had always been long. Not that it was all short now, only the fringe and the wispy bits that feathered her face. The top layer ended just below her ears and actually waved because it wasn’t carrying so much weight. The bottom layer was shoulder-length and it had a wave, too, making the style easy to keep looking good. It also definitely complemented her modern clothes.

Jake Devila had been the driving force behind her more modern makeover but this was her now, and she did like it. What’s more, she wasn’t going to revert to stodgy suits when she left him, though she might have to tone the pop culture clothes down a bit. Bare midriffs could be frowned upon in other work environments.

Whatever…the experience of working for Jake hadn’t been all bad. In fact, it had been stimulating on many levels. Nevertheless, as she travelled on the train from Chatswood where she lived, to Milson’s Point where Signature Sounds was located in a prime position overlooking Sydney Harbour, Merlina kept telling herself it had to end.

Soon.

Very soon.

CHAPTER TWO

LIFE could not be better, Jake happily decided, relaxing back into the large blue-grey leather chair which was perfectly contoured to give both comfort and support, lifting his feet onto his executive desk, linking his hands over his chest, his heart and mind feeling totally content with his world.

Mel, of course, disapproved of this unbusinesslike pose. Any minute now she would come in and stare at the soles of his shoes, refusing to greet him until he put them back down on the floor and sat up straight.

Mel had standards.

She’d make a good schoolmistress.

Or a nanny.

Which conjured up a number of enjoyable fantasies.

His gaze moved idly to the large picture window at the other end of his office. It gave a splendid view of the Sydney Harbour Bridge and he spotted a group of climbers making their way to the top of the great coathanger arch for the view from up there. They had a great morning for it—blue sky, bright sunshine, no smog. Something he should do one day, Jake thought—climb every mountain…

The tune of the old song hummed through his mind. He’d mention it to the boffins in the back rooms later this morning—get the disc jockeys and the sound mixers listening to it for application possibilities. There had to be a recording of it in their music library. Could be some part of it they could work up for the older generations who didn’t like weird sound patterns for the call-tune on their cell-phones.

Now that he thought of it, that song came from the most popular musical of all time—The Sound of Music by Rodgers and Hammerstein. Big favourite with the oldies. Signature Sounds needed much more penetration on that market. Lot of spending power there not being tapped. Problem was, older people didn’t use the Internet as readily as the kids, and that was where the sales were made. But if they could be reached through the kids…he had to get his computer guys thinking laterally.

Yep—got to climb every mountain.

Julie Andrews, who played the nun-nanny in the movie, was dancing around in his mind when the knock on his office door came and Mel waltzed in. She halted and stared at his shoes on the desk, just as Julie Andrews would have undoubtedly done when she played Mary Poppins, nose turning up in disdain at such an offence to proper standards of behaviour.

Respect, respect, respect, he silently chanted as he lifted his feet and swung them in a slow arc to the floor, grinning at Mel as he did so. She might act like a nanny but she sure didn’t look like a nun! In fact, Julie Andrews was comprehensively wiped from his mind as the vision in front of him took instant priority.

‘Ve…ry nice!’ he remarked, taking in the artful combination of colours, the in-your-face display of feminine curves, and the tantalising eroticism of the long, swirling, almost see-through skirt. Very hot, he was thinking, but if he said that to Mel, she’d probably regard it as some form of sexual harassment and take him to the cleaners.

‘Good morning, Jake,’ she said primly, ignoring his comment on her new outfit.

She was probably ticking off in her mind that she’d met the image standard once again. Miss Efficiency never failed. But Jake had a challenge for her today.

‘It is, indeed, a good morning, Mel,’ he rolled out cheerfully. ‘I’ve had some ideas. Got your notebook with you?’ She was holding it in front of her like a shield, but Jake was just as good as she was at ignoring what he didn’t want to acknowledge.

‘Yes,’ she answered, refusing to be baited, as usual.

Always being correct was a shield, too. Jake dearly wanted to blow that shield apart and get to some really vulnerable part of Mel Rossi—revelations of the woman within. ‘Take a seat,’ he invited with relish.

Only bucket armchairs in blue-grey leather were available so she had to settle in one of them. Jake suspected she would have preferred a straight-backed wooden kitchen chair. Instead of relaxing into the chair, she perched on the front of the seat and crossed her legs so she could prop her notebook on her uppermost knee.

The fullness of her skirt fell on either side, and Jake discovered, with satisfaction, that he actually could see her legs through the floaty floral fabric. Not that he’d never seen them before. It was simply more alluring to view them this way.

‘I’m ready,’ she declared—a warning that he should stop looking at her legs and get on with business.

Jake lifted his gaze to hers and smiled. ‘Of course you are,’ he almost sang, overflowing with good humour. ‘Ready, willing and waiting for the challenges I’m about to put to you today.’

And his smile grew into a huge grin.

I hate him.

The thought burned through Merlina’s mind.

Jake Devila was never going to take her seriously as a person, or as a woman, or even as another human being who had feelings to be considered. He didn’t care about her. He simply amused himself playing with her.

It was just plain crazy to be sitting here with her heart thumping like mad and her stomach all gooey because he had looked her over with very male appreciation, and his dimples were winking at her. That grin on his face was a sure sign he had diabolical mischief on his mind.

He rolled his chair forwards and lay his forearms on the desk, leaning towards her, his eyes twinkling, and she waited like a besotted fool to hear his brilliant ideas, then ran around like a maniac to meet whatever challenges he threw at her today.

I’m just a puppet on a string dancing to his tune, she told herself. Which probably wouldn’t be so bad if it wasn’t the only tune in her life but it was. And she had to move on from it. Her sense of self-worth insisted it was the only way to survive as an individual. But right now he had her locked into this moment, almost breathless with anticipation for what would come next.

‘We need a think-tank meeting later this morning,’ he said. ‘All departments to attend. I want to throw around ideas for targeting the older market.’

It was a relief to hear him talking business. ‘What time for the meeting will I put on the memo?’ she asked matter-of-factly.

‘Eleven-fifteen. After morning coffee to get their brains active and before lunch so they can then chew over what’s been discussed,’ came the prompt reply.

‘Right!’ she said, making a note of the time.

‘Get that memo out first, Mel.’

‘Will do. Anything else before I attend to it?’

‘Yes. Yes, there is,’ he drawled, a wicked gleam in his eyes.

She concentrated on keeping her composure while waiting for him to elaborate.

He sat back in his chair, waving one hand casually as he said, ‘My grandfather’s birthday is coming up.’

So is mine, she thought.

‘He’ll be eighty.’

I’ll be thirty.

‘I want to do something special for him.’

He paused, watching her like a hawk, waiting to see which way its prey would jump.

Merlina patiently returned his gaze with limpid eyes, deliberately emptied of all emotion. She wasn’t going to let him feed off her this morning! However, he paused for so long, she finally said, ‘Are you asking me for suggestions?’

He laughed. ‘Oh, I doubt very much you’d be tuned into what entertains my grandfather, Mel. He still drinks champagne at breakfast. In fact, when I was a little boy, he told me to call him Pop instead of Grandpa because he was such an expert at popping corks.’

Her tightly guarded mind had a malfunction and lost control of her tongue, letting wayward words roll off it. ‘Perhaps you also have an equally pertinent reason for calling me Mel instead of Merlina.’

‘Lethal weapon,’ he rolled out, grinning at her again.

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘The movie, Lethal Weapon. Stars Mel Gibson.’

‘You associate me with a male actor?’

Granted Mel Gibson always gave great performances in his movies, but he was a man, and how on earth could Jake Devila look her over the way he did if he thought of her as a man? Merlina wished she hadn’t opened up on this sore point. She was just sick to death of being called Mel instead of her proper name. That particular thorn had been in her side throughout the whole period of her employment at Signature Sounds and obviously the urge to take it out and deal with it had got the better of her.

‘Never mind,’ she muttered, raising her guard again. ‘I apologise for deviating from your grandfather’s birthday. Please go on.’

‘Believe me…the image I have of you has nothing to do with Mel Gibson’s masculinity,’ he said provocatively.

‘I’m relieved to hear it.’ Though she didn’t want to hear any more. Clearly he was enjoying himself at her expense and frustrating him by not rising to the bait was the safer course. However, she couldn’t resist a hit back before dismissing the subject. ‘I was beginning to wonder how perverse your perception was. But again I apologise. Totally irrelevant. You were saying you wanted to do something special for your grandfather,’ she reminded him with determined purpose.

‘You don’t want your curiosity satisfied?’ he teased.

‘I’m quite sure I don’t,’ she said dismissively.

‘Because curiosity killed the cat and you won’t risk it?’

His eyes danced mockingly.

Her brain overheated. Retaliation steamed straight out of it. ‘When you were a little boy, Jake, someone should have taught you not to toy with cats. They have claws.’

‘You’re right,’ he agreed. ‘I should have had a nanny just like you, Mel. No doubt you would have turned me into a fine upstanding man.’

He was loving this exchange. Absolutely exulting in it.

She kept her mouth firmly shut. Not another word was going to escape her lips until he got back to business. His lips were twitching with amusement and his dimples were flashing devilment. She couldn’t stop herself from glowering back at him but she did keep her mouth firmly shut.

He pointed a finger at her. ‘Now that’s just what I mean…why you remind me of Mel Gibson. Lots of pent-up energy that you know is going to explode into action when its fuse is lit.’

His eyes were dancing with excitement at the prospect of her losing her cool and blowing up. Merlina was sizzling inside but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of a steaming reply. That would mean he’d won his point. She grimly maintained her dignity and he finally sighed his surrender to her brick wall defence.

‘Right! To get back to my grandfather…’

Ah, yes, Merlina thought, still glowering. The champagne cork-popping Byron Devila was notorious for his numerous marriages, just about rivalling King Henry the Eighth on that score. Jake probably took after him in the playboy stakes. The only difference was his grandfather married his playthings. Probably a generational thing. It wouldn’t have been so socially acceptable to have a string of temporary bed-partners in the years of his prime.

‘…I want you to organise a cake.’

‘A cake,’ she repeated, tearing her smouldering gaze from the twinkling mischief in his and assiduously writing the word in her notebook.

‘A very special cake. Eight tiers should do it,’ he went on. ‘One for each decade of his life.’

Merlina wrote 8 tiers. She thought it a bit excessive, but…hers not to reason why, hers but to do or die!

‘And I want eighty candles spread around the edge of the tiers.’

‘That’s going to make it hard for him to blow them all out,’ she remarked.

‘You’d be surprised how hale and hearty my grandfather is,’ came the bland reply.

She flicked a derisive glance at him. ‘Do you really want to give his lungs such a demanding workout on his birthday?’

He smiled. ‘Good of you to care about him, Mel, but I didn’t mean for the candles to be real.’

‘Just decorative candles? They’re not to be lit?’

‘Decorative, yes. Very decorative.’

She rolled her eyes and wrote decorative only.

‘They won’t be real, any more than the cake will be real,’ Jake said helpfully.

It didn’t help. Merlina felt her mind moving towards meltdown. Her hand tightened its grip on the solid reality of her pen and very slowly she lifted her gaze from the notebook on her knee, intent on staring her tormentor down until he behaved himself as a proper boss should. ‘Please explain,’ she said in a dead-pan voice.

He laughed, setting off fireworks in her head—fizzy Roman candles and rockets that zoomed up and exploded.

She hated him, hated him, hated him.

Most of all, she hated how deeply he affected her.

Every cell in her body was jangling with awareness of him, the rippling joy in his laughter and the brilliant vivacity it brought to his all too handsome face.

I’m possessed by the devil, she thought, and somehow, somehow, I have to expunge him from my consciousness and be totally free of him.

‘I’m afraid a call to Cakes for Special Occasions won’t do it, Mel,’ he drawled, having finally sobered up enough to speak.

She remained silent, waiting for appropriate instructions.

‘You’ll have to scout around, but I’m guessing that stage prop people could supply what I want.’

A fabricated cake, not a real one.

She refocussed her scattered mind and asked, ‘What height do you have in mind and how wide should the bottom tier be?’

‘I think six feet high should do it. And the top tier should be wide enough for a woman to emerge from the top of it.’

A woman!

‘The tiers should graduate down to complement that width and provide steps for the woman to descend.’

He wanted a woman coming out of the cake!

‘Inside, there should be some mechanism that opens the lid of the cake and slowly lifts the woman up to her full height above the top tier. Like a mini elevator.’

No doubt a woman in spangles and a G-string!

‘And the cake should be on rollers so it can be wheeled out to my grandfather at the optimum moment.’

A gift of a woman to his playboy Pop!

‘You’re not writing any of this down, Mel,’ he chided.

‘It’s being imprinted on my brain,’ she answered truthfully.

‘As long as you get it right.’

‘Don’t worry. I’ll get it right.’

‘Okay! Now the woman…’

Oh, yes, having unwrapped the decorative cake, what precisely was to emerge on cue?

‘She has to be a blonde.’

Of course. Jake had obviously inherited his taste in blondes from his grandfather.

He grinned at her. ‘And curvy like you, Mel. A Marilyn Monroe type.’

A treacherous thrill ran through her entire body. Jake was comparing her to the number one sex goddess of the movie world.

‘Pop doesn’t like his women skinny,’ he went on, bursting her bubble.

Jake did like his women skinny. No doubt about that. Every one he took up with was pencil-thin. She had no chance at all of ever being taken up by him. Only her family thought she was skinny. Besides, she obviously had Mel Gibson’s dangerous edge—Lethal Weapon—which wasn’t sexy to a man who liked his women easy come, easy go, no complications.

‘You should be able to hire one from the models who do photo shoots for Playboy-type magazines,’ Jake suggested.

Merlina was goaded into speaking out. ‘You realise this cake act is very old-hat stuff. And male chauvinism at its worst.’

‘Absolutely,’ he agreed, then waved his hand in an appeal for understanding. ‘My grandfather still believes in marriage. Can you believe it?’ He shook his head. ‘Very old-hat. He’ll love this. It’s a scene from his favourite movie, made in 1966.’

She arched her eyebrows, aiming to get a hit at him. ‘You seem to have movies on the brain this morning.’

‘They mirror life,’ he flipped back at her.

‘Right!’ Her teeth snapped. She ground them open enough to ask, ‘What is the title of this movie? If I can find it in a video shop, I’ll watch it in order to know exactly what you’re describing.’

‘It’s called How to Murder Your Wife, starring Jack Lemmon and Virna Lisi.’

‘I can understand why it’s your grandfather’s favourite movie,’ she remarked with silky savagery. ‘He’s had seven wives so far, hasn’t he?’

‘Divorce from his seventh is about to come through,’ Jake confirmed.

And how many playmates are you up to? Seventy-seven?

The problem was, she’d probably become the seventy-eighth if he focused that kind of interest on her. But he wouldn’t. She knew he wasn’t going to. Ever. Yet sometimes when he looked her over…

‘There’s no real murder in it,’ Jake informed her. ‘It’s a comedy. Jake Lemmon is at a bachelor party and the cake is wheeled in. Virna Lisa pops out of it, their eyes meet, and choong!’ He raised his arms in mock despair. ‘It’s the end of his swinging bachelor life.’

What she needed was some choong-power over Jake Devila. Before she rode off into the sunset of employment elsewhere, she would really like to sock it to him. Just once. Ending his swinging bachelor life was probably in the realm of pure fantasy. Maybe choong-power was, too, but…a wild idea was dawning in her mind, spreading light in the dark places she had nursed for the past eighteen months.

‘Just for the record, in case I can’t get a copy of the movie, what was Virna Lisi wearing when she emerged from the cake?’ It couldn’t have been too risqué, she thought. Not in an American film made back in the sixties.

‘A bikini.’ His brow wrinkled as he worked on the recollection.

A bikini…

To Merlina’s whirling mind, it represented the final liberation, absolutely appropriate as the cut-off line to the Jake Devila experience which had served to break many conservative shackles from her upbringing. Wearing one in such a public spotlight would definitely be a mark of the confidence she would take with her when she left him. And her family would never know. It would just be for herself.

‘I think it was made out of flowers. Very feminine,’ he said.

She smiled, liking the description.

Quite acceptable.

And achievable.

Jake’s frown deepened, his eyes sharply scanning hers, suspicious of her sudden good humour.

Her smile broadened as she uncrossed her legs and rose to her feet. ‘Now that I’ve got the full picture, I’ll go to work on it.’

He looked surprised at her willingness to proceed.

‘What date is your grandfather’s birthday?’ she asked, since he hadn’t yet given it.

‘Next month. Fourteenth of February. St Valentine’s Day.’

‘Then maybe we should have the tiers of the cake shaped like hearts instead of circles,’ she blithely suggested.

He jolted forward, leaning his forearms and his elbows on the desk again, his gaze trying to penetrate the workings of her mind. Apparently she’d given him a reaction he had not anticipated and Merlina felt giddily triumphant.

‘St Valentine’s Day is for lovers,’ she trilled at him. ‘Hearts and flowers. Agreed?’

He sighed and slumped back in his chair, sardonically muttering, ‘Agreed. I take it you’ll do this for me.’

‘Oh, yes. I’ll do it, Jake. Trust me. I’ll do it.’

She was grinning as she sailed towards the door, gleefully knowing she’d beaten him at his own game this time. It didn’t occur to her that she might have just been sucked more deeply into the whirlpool. Her exhilaration said she was on top of it, making her way out. With a bang!

‘Don’t forget the memo,’ he threw at her grumpily.

She opened the door before looking back to resoundingly declare, ‘I never forget.’

Jake broodingly watched her step out of his office and close the door behind her, punctuating her exit-line.

Somehow she’d turned the tables on him.

Mel Rossi was, without a doubt, the most provoking woman he’d ever met!

He’d had her simmering, even boiling, on the edge of blowing her top, then Kaput!—all sweetness and light, ready to play ‘Happy Days Are Here Again.’

He’d have to come up with another idea because he refused to be defeated by her. He was going to break into the woman she was inside. It was just a matter of time.

CHAPTER THREE

JAKE had to hand it to his grandfather. He certainly knew how to throw a party. The old Vaucluse mansion and its magnificently landscaped grounds had been designed for hospitality on a grand scale and even at eighty—probably because he was eighty—Byron Devila was not about to give up his reputation of being the host with the most! He was still going strong and demonstrably proving it this afternoon.

The old man had not lost his pulling power, either. Not only was the crème of Sydney society here, but all the establishment from Melbourne, as well, along with a full complement of A-list celebrities. Jake noted that the Devila family had also come in force—four generations of them. He was running into relatives everywhere amongst the guests. Not that he was close to any of them—too many divorces fragmenting ties.

‘Your grandfather is a real romantic, isn’t he?’ his partner for the party—Vanessa Hall of catwalk modelling fame—remarked, lifting her hand to smell the red rose attached to the white lace wrist-band she’d been presented with on arrival, along with all the other female guests.

Jake couldn’t help smiling cynically as he answered, ‘He knows the way to a woman’s heart.’

Mel had been right about playing the St Valentine’s Day card with the cake. His grandfather was using it big-time at this party. The florist who’d supplied the masses of roses arranged on pedestals everywhere had surely made a fortune from this one order. A silver dish of heart-shaped Belgium chocolates sat on the drinks trays being carried around by the waiters. French champagne bubbled in every glass. And a string orchestra was playing old love songs.

Vintage stuff on the romance front!

‘Fantastic idea—having an English tea-party,’ Vanessa burbled on. ‘I just love dressing up like this. So feminine!’

With filmy hats and frills and flounces, and men in morning suits and top hats, it could have been a day at Royal Ascot, or Ladies’ Day at Melbourne Cup week—definitely playtime for the rich and famous.

‘You look radiantly beautiful in pink, Vanessa,’ Jake rolled out, responding to the coquettish glance she fluttered at him.

Her blue eyes twinkled delight. Jake privately thought that if she’d wanted to go all girly, she should have had her long blond hair curled into ringlets instead of leaving it straight. Attention to detail was the keynote of a successful image. Mel was an expert at that.

‘And you look absolutely divine in your pin-striped morning suit,’ Vanessa tossed back at him.

Ah, the fun of flirting, Jake thought, but not nearly as much fun as the verbal duelling battles with Mel Rossi. He was going to miss them while she was away on vacation. The temporary assistant she had organised would not provide anything like the same stimulating challenges. All next month without Mel would be dead flat.

Vanessa did not give his mind any exercise. On the other hand, she certainly provided considerable physical exercise in bed, enjoying sex every bit as much as he did. Strait-laced Mel would probably only approve of the missionary position. Though sometimes when those golden-amber eyes of hers cast him a particularly sultry look, hot and heavy with suppressed passion, he wondered…

She’d given him that look just before he’d left work yesterday.

‘Everything set for tomorrow?’ he’d asked.

‘If the plan you supplied of your grandfather’s place is correct and the cake can be easily wheeled out to the rear terrace, the presentation should go without a hitch,’’ she’d stated with confidence.

‘That was a stiff fee for the woman you’ve hired,’ he’d remarked—not criticising, just commenting, but it had raised Mel’s hackles.

‘She had to have fittings for the floral bikini, rehearsals to ensure the lift mechanism in the cake is worked properly and I didn’t think your grandfather would appreciate anyone who came cheaply. I decided on quality.’ Her eyebrows had arched in challenge. ‘Do you have a problem with that, Jake?’

‘Not if she’s worth her hire.’

‘Well, you can be the judge tomorrow.’

This final declaration had been accompanied by the sultry look—positively burning with passion. Maybe she had resented being given a task reeking of male chauvinism, and was making him pay for it in her own way. Not that he cared about the cost. Only the result mattered. And no doubt Mel’s professionalism would produce the goods. Nevertheless, he now had a hot interest in the quality of the woman who emerged from the cake.

Red and white candy-striped umbrellas shaded the tables set out on the back lawn for afternoon tea. It was a glorious day, the heat of the summer sun alleviated by a light cooling breeze from the harbour—perfect for sitting outside and enjoying the ambience.

White lace cloths adorned the round tables. Chairs upholstered in red surrounded them. Each place was set with a plate, cup and saucer in delicate bone china, accompanied by brilliantly polished silver cutlery and a starched white linen napkin in a silver holder.

When everyone was seated, the waiters served tea from elegant silver teapots and placed ornate five-tiered cake-stands on the tables. From top to bottom, the tiers provided cucumber sandwiches, shortbread kisses, date scones, savoury puff pastries and a selection of rich cakes.

‘This reminds me of High Tea at the Empress Hotel on Vancouver Island,’ one of Jake’s fellow guests at his table commented appreciatively, setting off comparisons with other grand hotels around the world.

From the happy buzz around the tables, it was obvious the party was a huge success. Speeches were merrily called for and merrily given. Jake waited until the final pièce de résistance—dishes of chocolate coated strawberries with clotted cream—had been served before excusing himself from the table and using his cell-phone to give the ‘Go’ command to the stage-hands whose job was to wheel in the birthday cake.

He quickly alerted the orchestra to start playing ‘Happy Birthday’ when the cake came to a halt, then moved to his grandfather’s table where Byron Devila was playing host to his four daughters—by different wives—and their current spouses.

Jake’s mother had long ago discarded his father, a musician who’d been a mistake of her youth. Not that she didn’t still look youthful in her fifties. Her artfully blond hair took years off her age and her relatively unlined face was as pretty as ever. Amazing what cosmetic surgery and almost unlimited funds could achieve.

‘I’ve got a special surprise coming up for you, Pop,’ Jake announced.

‘Splendid! I do love surprises!’

His grandfather was in fine form. No doubt he’d stirred the jealousy pot amongst the four half sisters, mischievously pitting them against each other. He’d also done a lot of table-hopping, spreading his charm around all the female guests. Jake wondered if he’d already targeted his next wife now that his seventh divorce had been finalised.

He was still a fine figure of a man. And handsome. His flashing brown eyes had not lost their sparkle. The lines on his well-tanned face—no age spots in evidence—were mostly laughter lines and whatever sag he had around his jaw was hidden by the neatly trimmed grey and black beard. His nose retained its perky tilt and the moustache beneath it accentuated the captivating sensuality of his strongly carved mouth. Highly mobile black and grey eyebrows made up for the fact he was almost bald.

Too much testosterone, Jake thought, and wondered if his own hair would suffer the same fate as he grew older. Not that it mattered, he decided. He liked to think he’d still be sexually active when he was his grandfather’s age.

‘If you’ll just turn your chair around to face the terrace,’ he instructed, ‘your surprise is about to take centre stage.’

‘Centre stage?’ his grandfather mused as he rose to his feet, eyes flashing with excited speculation. ‘It’s got to be a troupe of dancing girls.’

‘Oh, Dad!’ his youngest daughter chided.

‘He’s never going to act his age,’ an older one advised her.

‘Why should he when he doesn’t have to?’ Jake’s mother slid in, giving her father a sweetly indulgent smile, bolstering her favourite daughter status.

‘Hey! Take a look at that!’ one of the party guests called out in amazement.

All attention was immediately swung towards the terrace, zeroing in on the monster cake which was making its appearance stage right. It was being wheeled in from the wide garden path by four guys dressed in white with Happy Birthday, surrounded by the outline of a heart, printed in red on their T-shirts.

Nice touch, Mel, Jake thought, and took a mental note to compliment her on it when she came back to work.

His grandfather laughed and clapped Jake on the shoulder. ‘You didn’t!’ he cried, his eyes dancing with the memory of his favourite movie.

‘I did!’ Jake answered with happy satisfaction in his grandfather’s delight.

‘Is she a match for Virna Lisi?’

‘We’ll see.’

‘I’m bursting with anticipation.’

So am I, Jake thought. The cake was a masterpiece of decorative art—scrolls and flowers, probably made of plaster of Paris, edging the tiers, red satin ribbon tied in bows beneath them. The candles actually held electric globes and were alight, which meant power had to be supplied by a small generator inside the cake. Another brilliant idea by Mel! So far this production had definitely upstaged the movie.

‘Eight tiers,’ Jake pointed out. ‘One for each decade of your life, Pop.’

‘And the best is yet to come,’ was the resounding reply.

Certainly a tribute to positive thinking! Jake hoped he’d feel the same way when he was eighty.

Grandfather and grandson stood side by side, watching the cake come to a halt. Once it was in position at the centre of the terrace, two of the stage-hands brought a roll of carpet from the back of the bottom tier.

‘Lay it out, boys!’ Byron called, happily stepping forward to meet the end of it.

Red carpet, of course! Another plus score for Mel’s initiative. She deserved a bonus for this.

Fortunately the orchestra had the sense to hold off starting to play until the scene was completely set. Jake couldn’t resist trailing his grandfather, standing just behind his shoulder to get a full frontal view of the quality woman Mel had hired. There was an excited buzz of anticipation from the party crowd behind them. Without a doubt, this act was going to be talked about for a long, long time. People actually gasped as the lid of the top tier slowly lifted back.

The orchestra swung into action, producing a rousing rendition of ‘Happy Birthday.’ Everyone sang enthusiastically. A blonde head started to emerge from the top of the cake—lustrous shiny hair in a soft, wavy Marilyn Monroe style, a flyaway fringe swept across the forehead. Her eyes were lowered, lids shaded in a smoke-grey, crescents of long dark lashes brushing her cheeks. A very sexy mouth was emphasised by glossy red lipstick.

It wasn’t until her face and neck had completely emerged from the cake that recognition hit Jake and it came like a massive explosion inside his head.

Forget the deceptive blonde hair.

What he was looking at was Mel Rossi’s face.

Unmistakable!

The shock of it totally rattled Jake’s sense of reality. Never in a million years would he have imagined his prim and proper personal assistant taking on the role of blond bimbo in a birthday cake! It was completely beyond belief. Yet here she was, undeniably emerging, the lush curves of her body on stunning display.

The bikini she wore was fashioned out of red roses. They had to be artificial flowers but looked very real, and Jake’s mind instantly conjured up a vision of this Mel artfully posed nude on a red satin sheet being showered by American Beauty rose petals. With himself doing the showering. It was a stimulating vision. A very arousing vision.

She even had a red satin heart-shaped cushion dangling from a red ribbon around her wrist. Jake’s heart was not in such good shape. It was thumping wildly as his gaze followed Mel’s slow elevation from the cake, right down to sexy, red, high heeled sandals on her feet.

‘Wow!’ his grandfather breathed on a sigh of sheer awe. ‘You’ve outdone yourself, my boy!’

Jake was speechless.

He hadn’t heard the birthday song end but it obviously had because people were applauding, men whistling, cries of ‘Bravo!’ rang in his ears. His mesmerised gaze travelled back up to Mel’s face, just as she lifted her lashes.

And…choong!

Her eyes shot sizzling bolts of heat straight at him.

Nothing was suppressed in that look!

Even his toes curled.

Amid the chaos of the moment, some deeply intuitive sense in Jake Devila told him his relationship with Mel Rossi had just been changed…forever!

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