Melting her boss’s frozen heart...

Shy computer expert Lauren Taylor can handle any tech issue—it’s the clients she finds more challenging! Especially when she realizes her new boss, brooding tycoon Matt Dalton, is the first man she ever kissed...

Haunted by his parents’ infidelities, Matt’s mission was to save his ailing father’s company, then leave. Except Lauren’s compassion begins to melt his defenses. He never planned on sticking around, but another earth-shattering kiss later, could Lauren give him a reason to stay?

9 to 5

Falling for the boss...

They’re working side by side, nine to five... But no matter how hard these couples try to keep their relationships strictly professional, romance is undeniably on the agenda!

But will a date in the office diary lead to an appointment at the altar?

Find out in this exciting series!

The Tycoon’s Reluctant Cinderella

by Therese Beharrie

Available now!

A Bride for the Brooding Boss

Bella Bucannon

www.millsandboon.co.uk

BELLA BUCANNON lives in a quiet northern suburb of Adelaide with her soul-mate husband, who loves and supports her in any endeavour. She enjoys walking, dining out and traveling. Bus tours or cruising with days at sea to relax, plot and write are top of her list. Apart from category romance, she also writes very short stories and poems for a local writing group. Bella believes joining RWA and SARA early in her writing journey was a major factor in her achievements.

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To my special husband, whose extra help enabled me to conquer the challenge of a deadline.

To Brett for expert advice, once he and other friends had stopped laughing at the idea of technically inept Bella’s heroine being a computer problem investigator.

To the Paddocks Writing Group for support and encouragement, and to Flo for her advice and belief in me. My grateful thanks to you all.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

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 SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Extract

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

LAUREN TAYLOR ALIGHTED from the taxi, smiling in surprise. A multi-storey glass and cement edifice had replaced the six-storey building with a bank at ground level she remembered from years ago.

Anticipation simmered through her veins. A rush job. Urgent—which usually meant challenging.

Her initial reaction to her employer’s Monday morning call had been to refuse. She had managed to squeeze in a much-needed week off and had planned on some ‘me’ time—seeing movies, reading in the park, aimless walking... The promise of an additional week on completion of the assignment, plus a bonus, had won her over. A few days of Adelaide in March wouldn’t be too hard to take.

The flight delay at Sydney airport the next afternoon meant it was three o’clock by the time she’d booked into her hotel and caught a taxi to the address. A quick phone call to a brusque Matthew Dalton raised some apprehension but he was the one with the critical dilemma.

Dalton Corporation’s reception area on the eighteenth floor suited the building. A patterned, tiled floor drew the eyes to a curved redwood desk and up to the company name, elaborately carved in black on a gold background. Sadly the lack of human presence, along with the almost complete silence, detracted from the impact. The three doors in her sight were all shut.

Scrolling for the contact number she’d used earlier, she stopped at the sound of a crash from behind the second door along. Followed by a loud expletive in a woman’s voice.

Lauren knocked and opened the door.

A blonde woman stood leaning across a desk, her hands shifting through a pile of papers, a harassed face turned towards Lauren. A document tray and its previous contents lay scattered on the floor.

‘You want Mr Dalton.’ Uttered as a hopeful statement. ‘Sorry about this. I’m usually more organised. Last door on the left. Knock and wait. Good luck.’

Her words heightened Lauren’s unease as she obeyed, instinctively smoothing down her hair before tapping on the door. The light flutter in her pulse at the raspy ‘Come in’ startled her. As did the unexpected allure in the deep guttural tone.

* * *

Without looking up, the man with a mobile held to his left ear gestured for her to enter and take the seat in front of his desk. Matthew Dalton was definitely under pressure. No jacket or tie, shirt unbuttoned at the top, and obviously raked through, thick chestnut-brown hair. He continued to write on a printed page in front of him, occasionally speaking in one-or two-word comments.

Lauren sat, frowning at the oblique angle of his huge desk to the wall-to-wall, floor-to-ceiling windows with an incredible view of the Adelaide Hills. Made of dark wood, it held only a desktop computer, keyboard, printer, land phone and stacked document trays. The only personal item was a plain blue coffee mug.

The man who’d requested her urgent presence swung to his right, flicking through pages spread on the desk extension. His easy fit in the high-back leather chair with wide arms suggested made to measure. And he needed a haircut.

She continued her scan, fascinated by the opulent differences from the usual offices where she was welcomed by lesser employees. From the soft leather lounge chairs by the windows to the built-in bar and extravagant coffee machine, this one had been designed to emphasise the power and success of the occupier.

The down light directly above his head picked up the red tints in his hair, and the embossed gold on his elegant black pen. She shrugged—exclusive taste didn’t always equate with business acumen. If it did she might not be here.

Reception had been bare and unmanned, the blonde woman agitated. How bad was the company’s situation?

Normally tuning out sounds was an ingrained accomplishment. Today, nothing she tried quite prevented the gravelly timbre skittling across her skin, causing an unaccustomed warmth low in her abdomen. She steadied her breathing, mentally counting the seconds as they passed.

Then the man she believed to be a complete stranger flicked a glance her way. Instantly, with a chilling sensation gripping her heart, she was thrown back ten years to that night.

* * *

The dinner dance after a charity Australian Rules football game organised by interstate universities and held here in Adelaide. Limited professional players were allowed and her parents insisted the whole family come over in support when her elder brother agreed to represent Victoria.

The noisy function seemed full of dressed-to-kill young women draped over garrulous muscular males, many of whom twitched and pulled at the collars of their suits. Though only two or three years separated her from most of them, at sixteen it was a chasm of maturity and poise. Unfamiliar with the football scene and jargon, she blushed and stammered when any of them spoke to her.

Escaping from the hot, crowed room, she found a secluded spot outside, at the end of the long balcony. Hidden by tall potted plants, she gazed over the river wishing she were in her hotel room, or home in Melbourne. Or anywhere bar here.

‘Hiding, huh? Don’t like dancing?’

The owner of the throaty voice—too much enthusiastic cheering?—was tall. Close. Much too close. The city lights behind him put his face in shadow.

She stepped back. The self-absorbed young men whose interests were limited to exercise, diet, sport, and the women these pursuits attracted held no appeal for her. Men like her brothers’ friends who teasingly came on to her then laughed off her protests. Never serious or threatening, merely feeding their already inflated egos. Shy and uncomfortable in crowds, with a tendency to blush, she was fair game.

‘I saw you slip out.’ She detected a faint trace of beer on his breath as he spoke. When he took a step nearer, causing her to stiffen, a fresh ocean aroma overrode the alcohol. Not drunk, perhaps a little tipsy.

‘We won, you should be celebrating. You do barrack for South Australia?’ Doubt crept into the last few words, the resonance telling her he’d be more mature, maybe by two or three years, than she was. So why seek her out when there were so many girls his age inside?

‘Y... Yes.’ How could one word be so hard to say? How come her throat dried up, and her pulse raced? And why did she lie when she didn’t care about the game at all?

He leant forward. ‘I did kick two goals even if I missed out on a medal. Surely I deserve a small prize.’

He was like all the others. Her disappointment sharpened her reply.

‘I’m sure you won’t be disappointed inside.’

‘But an elusive prize is much more rewarding, don’t you think?’

Before she could take in air to answer, he gently covered her lips with his.

And she hadn’t been able to take that breath. Hadn’t been able to move. Hadn’t been able to think of anything except the smooth movement of his mouth on hers.

The urge to return the kiss—have him deepen the kiss—had shaken her. Terrified her. The quick kisses from the boys she knew were just being friendly had been gentle, nice. Never emotionally shattering.

Why did she sigh? Why were her lips complying, pressing against his, striving to be in sync? Until the tip of his tongue flicked out seeking entry and she panicked.

Frantically pulling away, she fled past him to the safety of the packed ballroom and a seat behind her parents and other adults in a remote corner. As she drank ice-cold water to wet her dry throat, she realised all she could recall was a glimpse of stunning midnight-blue eyes as his head had jerked back into the light.

* * *

The same midnight-blue eyes that had fleetingly met hers a moment ago.

Why was she so certain? She just knew.

Would he recognise her? He’d had a drink or two and it had been dark. She finally had a reason to be thankful for her mother’s instructions to the hairdresser. Darker colouring with extensions woven into a fancy hairdo on top, plus salon make-up, had altered her appearance dramatically.

She’d been a naive teenager who’d panicked and run from an innocent kiss. He’d been an experienced young man who’d have known scores of willing women since.

Gratitude that she hadn’t seen his face flowed through her veins as she studied the man to whom she’d attributed so many different features over the years in her daydreams. If, along with those memorable eyes, she’d imagined high cheekbones, a square firm jaw and full lips, she doubted she’d have slept at all. Even his lashes were thicker and darker than she’d pictured.

She dipped her head whenever he looked at her, wasn’t ready for eye-to-eye contact. Forced steady breathing quelled her inner trembling.

Matt Dalton’s mind ought to be totally focused on the information he was receiving. Instead his eyes kept straying to the brunette sitting rigid on her seat, politely ignoring him. The one who’d caused a tightening in his gut when he’d glanced up at her.

In an instant he’d noted the sweet curve of her cheek framed by shoulder-length light brown hair. If she hadn’t dropped her gaze, he’d also know the colour of her eyes.

Shoot! He asked the caller to repeat the last two figures. Blocking her out, he carefully wrote them down. After ending the call, he clipped all the pages together, and dropped them into a tray.

He could now concentrate on this woman, and her technical rather than physical attributes. Her employer’s high fees would be worth it if she found out what the heck had happened in the company’s computer system.

‘Ms Lauren Taylor?’ He pulled a new document forward.

She turned, and guarded brown eyes met his.

He immediately wished they hadn’t as a sharp pang of desire snapped through him and was instantly controlled. Women, regardless of shape, colouring or looks, were off his agenda for the foreseeable future. Probably longer. Betrayal made a man wary.

‘Yes.’ Hesitant with an undertone he didn’t understand.

He’d requested her services on a recommendation, without any consideration of appearance or demeanour, which for him were unimportant. The female colleagues he’d associated with overseas were well groomed, very smart, and always willing to offer their opinions. His equal on every corporate level.

Lauren Taylor was neatly dressed in a crisp white blouse under a light grey trouser suit, and wore little make-up. With her reputation, she ought to project confidence, yet he sensed apprehension. Was it a natural consequence of her temporary assignments or the confidentiality clause creating a desire to keep a distance from company employees?

No, this ran deeper, was more personal. He cleared his thoughts, telling himself his sole interest was in her technical skills, conveniently discounting his two reactions towards her.

‘I’m Matt Dalton. I contacted your employer because I’m told you’re one of the best computer problem investigators. My friend’s description. Was he exaggerating?’

A soft blush coloured her cheeks, and her eyes softened at the compliment. They were actually more hazel than brown with a hint of gold flecks, and framed by thick brown lashes. He growled internally at himself for again straying from his pressing predicament.

‘I don’t...I rarely fail.’ She made a slight twitch of her shoulders as if fortifying her self-assurance.

He gave a short huff. ‘Please don’t let this be one of the times you do. How much information were you sent?’

‘The email mentioned unexplained anomalies a regular audit failed to clarify.’

‘Two, one internal, one external. The detectable errors were fixed but no one could explain the glitches or whatever they are, and I need answers fast.’ Before his father’s condition became public and the roof caved in.

‘May I see the reports?’ Again timidity, which didn’t fit the profile he’d received, though to give her credit she didn’t look away.

‘In the top drawer of the desk you’ll be using along with a summary of our expectations, file titles et cetera. I assume you can remember passwords.’

She frowned, making him realise how condescending he sounded. Was he coming over as too harsh, overbearing? Her impression of him wouldn’t be good either.

‘Staff turnover has been high in the last two years, sometimes sudden with no changeover training. Recently I found out passwords had been written down and kept in unlocked drawers.’

She waited, and he had the feeling he was being blamed for some personal misdemeanour. He decided he’d divulged as much as she needed to know to start. Anything else necessary, she’d learn as the assessment progressed.

‘Most of the errors were from incorrectly entered data, exacerbated on occasion by amateur attempts to fix them. Apparently not too hard to find and correct if you know what you’re doing.’

‘But surely the accountant...?’ Her hands fluttered then her fingers linked and fell back into her lap. ‘Why weren’t they picked up at the time?’

Damn, she was smart. And nervous.

‘The long-term accountant left, and was replaced by a bookkeeper then another. Neither were very competent.’

Her eyes widened in surprise. For a second there was a faint elusive niggling deep in the recesses of his mind. As her lips parted he forestalled her words.

‘I’d like you to analyse from July 2014 up to the present date. Everything your employer requested is in the adjacent office. How soon can you start?’

Too abrupt again but it was imperative he find out what had been going on. The sooner the better. Four weeks ago, at his original inspection of his father’s company accounts, would have been best.

‘If I can see the set-up now then I can begin early tomorrow morning. Being a short week because of Easter doesn’t allow much time.

‘Are two days enough?’

‘Doubtful if I’m a last resort. I have a family commitment in Melbourne for the weekend then I’ll come back.’ She made it sound like an obligation rather than a pleasant reunion.

‘That’s acceptable.’ He flicked his hands then put them on the edge of the desk to push to his feet.

‘Human error and deliberate action are different. Is it the latter I’m searching for?’

He sank back into his chair. She was too smart.

Lauren had been in critical corporate situations before and recognised desperation, even when well hidden. This man was heading for breakdown. His taut muscles, firm set lips and weary dark eyes all pointed to extreme stress.

And her question had irritated him so he definitely suspected fraud, probably by someone he’d trusted. She certainly wasn’t going to push it now. Not when she’d behaved like the skittish child she’d thought she’d conquered years ago.

‘I won’t make guarantees I might not be able to keep. I can only promise to do my best. Having the straightforward errors already adjusted helps.’

He relaxed a little, and his lips curved at the corners, almost but not quite forming a smile.

‘Thank you.’

He rose to an impressive height, letting his chair roll away, indicating a door to her left.

‘Through here.’

Lauren picked up her shoulder bag and followed, wishing she were one of those women who were comfortable in killer heels all day. And an inch or two taller. Having to tilt her head gave him the advantage. When he suddenly stopped and turned, her throat tightened at the vague familiarity of his cologne. Not the same one, surely? Yet she recognised it, had never forgotten it. And this close, the lines around his mouth and eyes were much more discernible.

‘I apologise. I should have offered you a coffee. Do you—?’

‘No. No, thank you.’ The sooner she was out of his presence, the better. Then she could breathe and regroup. ‘You’re obviously busy.’

His relief at such a minor point enforced her opinion of the strain he was under.

‘Like you wouldn’t believe. Any answers you find will be extremely welcome.’

He opened the door and ushered her in, the light touch of his fingers on her back shooting tingles up and down her spine, spreading heat as they went. Unwarranted yet strangely exciting.

The décor in the much smaller room matched his office, and included two identical armchairs by the window. But the position of the desk was wrong, standing out from the wall facing the door they’d entered. She walked round to check the two desktops and a keyboard, all wired up ready to go. He followed, stopping within touching distance.

‘Your employer asked for the duplication. Easier for comparisons, huh?’

‘Much. What’s the password?’

He told her. While she activated the computer, he removed a blue folder from the drawer, and placed it on the desk.

‘Anything else you require?’

‘I’ll need a copy of the report for highlighting and a writing pad for notes.’

‘Help yourself to anything in the cupboard. The copier is in Joanne’s office off reception.’

‘The blonde lady?’

‘Yes, currently we don’t have a receptionist. If you have any questions regarding your task ask me. If it’s office related Joanne or any one of the other five employees can help.’

He walked out, not giving her a chance to say thank you, leaving his heady sea-spray aroma behind. Did he treat everyone in the same offhand manner?

Lauren felt like pounding the desk. She’d handled ruder employers who’d been under less pressure with poise and conviction. I’m-the-boss males with autocratic, archaic, even on occasion sexist, views were certainly not an endangered species. It didn’t wash with her. They were in a predicament and she was the solution so she made it clear: no respect and she walked.

The personal aspect here had shaken her composure, giving the impression she doubted her abilities. She’d show him. Tomorrow she’d be the perfect detached computer specialist.

She selected stationery from the cupboard, skim-read the printed files, then spent ten minutes perusing the computer data prior to closing down. The few pertinent notes she’d written would save time in the morning.

Carrying the audit reports, she tried the door leading to the corridor. Finding it locked, she went into Matt Dalton’s office. He was standing, sorting papers on his desk. His gaze was less than friendly to someone he’d hired to solve his problems.

‘I’ll copy these then I’ll be leaving. What time is the office open in the morning?’ Polite and stilted, following his lead. The fizz in her stomach could and would be controlled.

‘I’m here from seven. Do you need transport?’

‘I’ll sort that out.’

‘Good.’ He returned to his papers.

She swung away, heat flooding her from head to feet at his dismissive action. All her fantasies came crashing down. Spoilt, rich, I-can-take-what-I-want teenager had become arrogant, treat-hired-staff-with-disdain boss. Was that why people had left without notice? She’d never wished bad karma on anyone, but she was coming close today!

Long deep breaths as she went out helped to settle her stomach and stop the trembling of her hands.

Before re-entering Mr Dalton’s office, printouts in hand, she reinforced her prime rule of contract work. Never, never, ever get involved. Someone always ended up heartbroken.

Swearing the oath was easy. Sticking to it when confronted with those hypnotic blue eyes that invited her to confess her innermost secrets was tougher than she’d expected. Especially when his lips curled into a half-smile as he said goodbye.

She stabbed at the ground-floor button, angry that she’d smiled back, dismayed that even his small polite gesture had weakened her resolve. The thrill of the chase ought to be in his computer files, not in dreaming of—She wouldn’t dream of anything. Especially not midnight-blue eyes, firm jaws or light touches that sent emotions into a frenzy.

CHAPTER TWO

MATT STARED AT the open doorway, perplexed by his reactions to a woman so unlike the outgoing, assured females he usually favoured. He raked his fingers through his hair. They were strangers, so why the censure in her alluring eyes when they’d met? It irked. It shouldn’t have affected his attitude but he knew he’d been less than welcoming.

His finding her delicate perfume enchanting was also disconcerting. And she’d stiffened when he’d touched her. Had she felt the zing too? Please not. He had enough complications to deal with already.

Would it make her job easier if she knew the whole story? Loath to reveal family secrets to outsiders, he’d tell her only if it became relevant to her succeeding. Despite his friend’s glowing report, he’d been less than impressed.

Dalton Corporation was in trouble. His only choice was to trust her on the corporate level. He had little reason to trust her, or any other woman, personally. Especially as her manner said she’d judged him for some transgression made by someone else.

Had she suffered the same indignity as he had? The soul-crushing realisation that you’d been used and played for a fool. The embarrassment of how close you’d come to committing to someone unworthy, incapable of fidelity or honesty.

The dark-haired image that flared took him by surprise. Any affection he’d felt for Christine had died when she’d proved faithless. He hadn’t seen her since he’d walked out of her apartment for the last time after telling her the relationship was over, and why. He’d rarely thought of her either.

They’d both spent nights in each other’s homes but he’d held back from inviting her to live with him. Looking back that should have been a red flag that he had misgivings. Thankfully he’d told no one of his plans to propose to her.

Admitting he’d been stupid for assuming mutual friends and lifestyle expectations would be a good basis for a modern marriage hadn’t been easy. He wasn’t sure he’d ever consider that life-changing step again.

God, he hated being here handling this mess. He’d hated even more being in London where people gave him sympathetic looks and wondered what had happened.

Letting out a heartfelt oath, he banished both women from his mind. There were emails to read and respond to, and he’d promised his mother he’d be there for dinner. He grabbed his coffee mug, feeling the urgent necessity for another caffeine boost.

* * *

Nearly two hours later he pulled into the kerb outside his parents’ house, switching off the engine to give himself time to prepare for the evening ahead. He regretted the loss of unwavering respect for his parents, wished he’d never found out his father had been having affairs. He’d lost a small part of himself when he’d come home that evening nine years ago, and had never been able to obliterate what he overheard from his mind.

‘I suppose this one’s as gullible as the rest and believes she has a future with you. How many more, Marcus?’

‘Man wasn’t meant to be monogamous. If you want a divorce, be prepared to lower your standard of living.’

‘Why should I suffer for your indiscretions? I’m giving up nothing.’

Somehow his mother’s acceptance of his father’s infidelities made her complicit. In disbelief he’d fled to his room, changed into a tracksuit and taken off, pounding the footpath trying to drive what he’d heard from his mind. His hero had fallen. He’d returned to a silent, dark house where, for him, nothing would ever be the same.

He scowled, thumping the wheel with an open hand. He’d always been confident, sure of himself and his judgement of cheating and affairs. Now he felt remorse as his father had turned into a stranger who’d made drastic mistakes in the last eighteen months, sending Dalton Corporation on a downhill path.

Pride dictated he fix those glitches and return the company to profit status, along with preserving its good name. Only then could he consider his own future, and for that he’d need a clear head. The only people he’d give consideration to would be family and his partners in London.

He started the engine, and drove through the elaborate gates, grimacing as he entered the luxurious house. This was his father’s dream, a symbol of wealth and prestige, bought during Matt’s absence abroad. He hadn’t told his mother their financial status was in jeopardy. If Lauren Taylor was as good as her reputation, and he’d inherited any of his father’s entrepreneurial skills, he might never have to.

* * *

Adelaide had a different vibe from the city Lauren remembered. Not that she’d seen much of the metropolitan area when she’d lived here, or much of anywhere besides ovals and training grounds. Beaches in summer, of course—swimming and running on the sand were part of the family’s fitness regimen.

As she’d strolled past modern or renovated buildings a window display advertising Barossa Valley wine triggered a light-bulb moment. The Valley, the Fleurieu Peninsula and the Adelaide Hills, plus many other tourist areas, were all within easy driving distance, and she’d been promised a two-week vacation as soon as the assignment ended. All she’d need were a map, a plan and a hire car.

She picked up Chinese takeaway, and spent the evening poring over brochures and making notes. In full view from her window a group of young athletes were training in the parklands over the road. On the side-lines some adults watched and encouraged. Others sat on the grass with younger children, playing games or reading with them.

Her eyes were drawn to a man sitting with a boy on his lap, their heads bent as small fingers traced words or pictures in a book. Her chest tightened and she crossed her arms in a self-hug. Why didn’t she have any memories of those occasions? Why had she never asked either parent to read to her or share a favourite television show with her? She’d always been too afraid of rejection.

Why had they never noticed her quietly waiting for some of the attention claimed by her boisterous brothers? If it had been intentional maybe it wouldn’t hurt so much. Being overlooked cut deeper than deliberately being ignored. And she’d never been able to summon up the courage to intentionally draw attention to herself.

The boy looked up, talking with animation to his father. Eyes locked, they were in a world of their own.

It conjured up the image of Matt Dalton holding her gaze captive as they’d talked. Even thinking of those weary blue eyes spiked her pulse, and memories of that long-ago kiss resurfaced. Her balcony secret she’d never revealed to anyone. Never intended to.

* * *

Lauren chose a different route to work in the morning. She felt more herself, determined to show her new boss she was the professional his friend had recommended.

Last night no matter how many positions she’d tried or how often she’d thumped the pillows, sleep had eluded her. Reruns of her two encounters with Matt Dalton had kept her awake until she’d given in, got up, and researched the company. Something she normally avoided to keep distance and objectivity.

There’d been no reference to him, only a Marcus Dalton who’d become successful by investing in small businesses, and persuading others to participate too. The website hadn’t been updated since November last year, indicating there’d been difficulties around that time.

No, wait. She’d been asked to assess twenty-one months. So the anomalies had been discovered only recently but long-term deception was suspected.

The sleep she’d eventually managed had been deep and dreamless, surprising since her last thoughts and first on awakening had been of full grim lips and jaded midnight-blue eyes.

* * *

The door adjacent to Mr Dalton’s was still locked. From the piles of folders on his desk and extension, he’d arrived very early. He appeared even wearier, the shadows under his eyes even darker.

Lauren tried to ignore the quick tug low in her abdomen, and the quickening of her pulse.

‘Good morning, Mr Dalton. Would it be possible to have the outer door unlocked so I won’t disturb you going in and out?’

Or be disturbed by my immature reaction to you.

Intense blue eyes scanned her face, reigniting the warm glow from yesterday.

‘Good morning, Ms Taylor. I’m not easily disturbed.’

Of course you’re not. You’re a cause not a recipient. Ignite a girl’s senses with a soul-shattering kiss then forget her. Though to be fair she’d been the one to run.

‘My watch alarm is set for an hourly reminder to relieve my eyes, stretch and drink water. To ease my back, I sometimes walk around or up and down a few flights of stairs.’

‘Not a problem.’ He glanced at the bottle in her hand. ‘Keep anything you like in the fridge under the coffee machine or there’s a larger one in the staffroom.’

Without looking, he flicked a hand towards a door in the wall behind him. ‘There’s an ensuite bathroom here or, if you prefer, washrooms on the far side of Reception.’

Why the flash of anguish in his eyes? Why was she super alert, her skin tingling during this mundane conversation?

‘Thank you.’ She turned towards the bench, away from his probing gaze, popped her drink bottle and morning snack into the fridge, then went to her desk. Keeping her eyes averted didn’t prevent his masculine aroma teasing her nostrils as she passed him.

She settled at her new station and, while the system booted up, filled in the personnel document he’d left for her. Once everything was laid in her preferred setting, she stood by the window to stare at the distant hills for a slow count of fifteen.

Now she was ready to start.

For two hours, apart from a short break for her eyes, she focused on the screens in front of her. But like a radio subliminally intruding into your dreams, some part of her was acutely aware of each time the man next door spoke on the phone or accessed the filing cabinets in this room.

The feeling in the pit of her stomach now was different, familiar, one she found comfortable, the exhilaration of the chase. The minor errors matched those in the audits. The one anomaly she found was puzzling enough for her to recheck from the beginning, puzzling enough to tease her brain. A challenge worthy of the fee her boss charged Dalton Corporation.

She headed for the ensuite to freshen up ready for coffee, cheese crackers and relief time. There was one door on her left, another along the corridor to her right.

She regretted choosing the latter the moment she saw the iron-smooth black and silver patterned quilt covering a king-sized bed. For a nanosecond she pictured rumpled sheets half covering a bare-chested Matt, his features composed in tranquil sleep. She blinked and pivoted round. Not an image she wanted in her head when she locked eyes with this cheerless, work-driven man.

On her return to the office, his posture enforced her last description. His chin rested on his hands, his elbows on the desk, his attention fully absorbed by the text on his screen.

Stealing the opportunity to observe him unnoticed, she stopped. A perception of unleashed power bunched in his shoulders, a dogged single-mindedness showed in his concentration. The untrimmed ends of his thick hair brushed the collar of his shirt, out of character to her perception of a smart, city businessman.

His mug had been pushed to the edge of his desk, presumably empty. She picked it up, startling him.

‘Would you like a refill?’

He nodded. ‘Thanks. Flat white from the machine, one sugar. How’s it going?’

‘Progressing. Do you want details?’

His eyes narrowed.

She pre-empted his next remark. ‘People who hire me have varying knowledge of technology and require different levels of explanation.’ Many don’t like to betray their ignorance in the field. ‘My daily report will be comprehensive.’

‘Do whatever’s necessary to get results. I’ll read the report.’ Again an undertone of irritation further roughened his voice, a darkening glint of angst flashed in his eyes.

Matt made a note in red at the top of the paper in front of him, and regretted being repeatedly terse with her. He closed his eyes, clasped his neck, and arched his back. He felt bone tired from sitting, reading, and trying to make sense of his father’s recent actions.

He wished he could shake the guilt for not being around, for not noticing the subtle changes on his trips home for family occasions. Maybe if he’d spent more one-on-one time with Marcus he would have. Instead he’d apportioned blame without considering it was their lives, their marriage. For nine years he’d kept physical and emotional distance from two of the most important people in his life.

He heard the soft clunk of a mug on wood. By the time he straightened and looked, a steaming coffee sat within reach, and Lauren was disappearing into her room. She’d discarded the light jacket she’d worn on arrival. Tired as he was, the male in him appreciated her slender figure, her trim waist. The pertness of her bottom in the grey trousers.

Inappropriate. Unprofessional.

As he drank the strong brew the sound of a quirky ringtone spun his head. The friendliness of Lauren’s greeting to someone called Pete rankled for no reason. Her musical laughter ignited a heat wave along his bloodstream.

He strode to the ensuite to splash water on his face and cool down.

* * *

‘Hey, it’s nearly twelve o’clock.’

Lauren started, jerking round to see her temporary boss standing in the doorway, the remoteness in his eyes raising goosebumps on her skin. She blinked and checked her watch.

‘Two minutes to go. Are you keeping tabs on my schedule?’ Some clients did.

‘Not specifically.’ He moved further into the room, closer to her desk. To her.

Her pulse had no right to rev up. Her lungs had no right to expand, seeking his masculine aroma.

‘Your work’s high intensity.’ His neutral tone brought her to earth.

‘I’ve learnt how to manage it. Results take patience and time.’

He gave a masculine grunt followed by a wry grin. ‘The latter’s not something we have plenty of. Take a lunch break. I need you fully alert.’

Eight floors by foot before taking the elevator to the ground helped keep her fit. She smiled and walked out into the light drizzle. Adelaide was like a new city waiting to be explored. Chomping on a fresh salad roll, she strolled along, musing on that dour man, wondering what, or who, had caused the current situation. And why Marcus Dalton was no longer in charge.

Matt was clearly related. He bore a strong resemblance to the photograph on the website she’d accessed. Even with the ravages of the trauma he was under, he was incredibly handsome with an innate irresistible charisma. Was he married? In a relationship?

She chastised herself, chanting silently, Never let anyone get to you on assignments. Stupid and unprofessional, it could only lead to complications and tears. However, she had never been in this situation before...she’d never been kissed by one of her clients.

* * *

‘There’s definitely a recurrent anomaly. Finding when it started may tell me how and what,’ Lauren informed Matt as she gave him her report prior to going home.

She was leaning towards it being deliberate because of the number of identical anomalies. No reason to mention she had no idea how it had been achieved.

He nodded and dropped the report in a tray. ‘How’s the hotel? I asked Joanne to book somewhere not too far out.’

‘Oh.’ Was he trying to be sociable? Make amends for his abruptness? ‘Very nice, and my room overlooks the parklands.’

‘Not too noisy on that corner?’

She couldn’t suppress her grin. ‘I live in Sydney, remember. You tune it out or drown it with music.’

His gaze held hers for an eon, or longer. The darkening in the midnight-blue coincided with heat tendrils coiling through her from a fiery core low in her abdomen. Her eyes refused to break contact, her mouth refused to say goodbye. Her muscles refused to obey the command to turn her away.

It was Matt who broke the spell, flinching away and shaking his head. His chest heaved as his lungs fought for air. He clenched his fists to curb the impulse to—no, he wouldn’t even think it.

‘Did you bus or taxi?’ He didn’t particularly care but was desperate to keep the conversation normal. To ignore those golden specks making her eyes shine like the gemstones in his mother’s extensive jewellery collection. His voice sounded as if he’d sprinted the last metres of a marathon.

‘I walked. It’s not that far.’

His eyebrows shot up. ‘Walked?’ To and from a bus stop or taxi rank was the furthest most women he knew went on foot, apart from in shopping centres.

She shrugged. ‘Beats paying gym fees and clears my head.’

‘I guess. Just take care, okay.’ He had no reason to worry, yet he did.

‘Always. Good afternoon, Mr Dalton.’

‘I’ll see you tomorrow, Ms Taylor.’

As soon as she’d gone he slumped in his chair, stunned by his reaction to her smile, quick and genuine, lighting up her face. His pulse had hiked up, his chest tightened. And his body had responded quicker and stronger than ever before.

His fingers gripped the armrests as he fought for control. This shouldn’t, couldn’t be happening. Women, all women were out of bounds at the moment. Even for no-strings, no-repercussions sex. She was here on a temporary basis. She was an employee, albeit once removed.

He groaned. She was temptation.

He forced his mind to conjure up visions of the life he’d left behind in London, crowded buses and packed Tubes, nightclubs, cafés and old pubs. Teeming, exciting. Energising. Attractive, fashionably dressed women in abundance. Great job, great friends. And one woman he’d thought he’d truly known.

It had been a near perfect world prior to his trust going down the gurgler and his existence being uprooted into chaos. Now he had little social life, even less free time, and collapsed wearily into a deep dreamless sleep every night. And woke early each morning to the same hectic scenario.

CHAPTER THREE

MATT WAS PACING the floor, talking on the phone when Lauren arrived Thursday morning, hoping for a repeat of yesterday when she’d been left pretty much alone all day. He’d been absent when she’d finished so she’d left her report on his desk.

On the way to her room she returned the preoccupied nod he gave her, grinning to herself at the double take he gave her suitcase and overnight bag. She’d booked out of the hotel, confirmed she’d be returning on Monday and been promised the same room.

She did her routine and began work, fully expecting an apologetic call some time from her eldest brother, who’d been delegated to pick her up on arrival in Melbourne. She’d long ago accepted she was way down on her family’s priority list.

Her priority was to complete her designated task. Her expertise told her a human hand was involved. If—when, Lauren, think positive—she solved what and how, fronting Matt Dalton was going to be daunting. The few occasions she’d had to implicate someone in a position of trust had always left her feeling queasy, as if she were somehow to blame.

In two days she’d become used to the sound of him in the background like a soft radio music channel where the modulations and nuances were subtle, never intrusive. Every so often the complete silence told her he’d left the office. Occasionally someone came in. Few stayed more than a couple of minutes.

There was no sign of him when she went to the fridge, though an unrolled diagram lay spread out on his desk. She resisted the impulse to take a peek, and consumed her snack while enjoying the view from her window.

Matt’s return was preceded by his voice as he walked along the corridor not long after she resumed work. She glimpsed him as he strode past her doorway to the window, ramrod-straight, hand clenched. Not a happy man.

His temper wouldn’t improve when her report showed all she’d written down so far today was a slowly growing number of random dates.

‘Dad!’

His startled tone broke Lauren’s concentration.

‘Sorry, mate, I’ll call you back. Dad, what are you doing here?’

He came into her view and stopped. By craning her neck, she could see him clasping a greying man to his chest.

‘You came alone?’ There was genuine concern in his tone.

‘Haven’t been in for weeks so I thought I’d come and find out what’s happening.’ Apart from the slower pace of the words, the voice’s similarity to Matt’s was defining.

‘Everything’s going smoothly. Come and sit down. We’ll talk over coffee.’

Blocking his father’s view of her, he guided him towards the seating, then continued talking as he passed her door on the way to make the drinks. Without breaking step he made a quick gesture across his throat when their eyes met.

‘There’s a new espresso flavour you’ve never tried, rich and aromatic.’

He wanted her to shut down and not let his father know what she was doing. What if Marcus came in here? Asked who she was? As far as she knew, it was still his company. And it was his son’s fault she couldn’t escape through the locked door.

The papers and folder were slipped into the drawer, a fresh page on the pad partially covered by random notes for show. Acutely conscious of the mingled sounds of the coffee machine and Matt’s muted voice making a call, she reached for the mouse.

Matt slid his mobile into his pocket, and picked up the two small cups. What the hell had prompted his father’s arrival? If his mother was aware he’d come into the city, she’d be worried sick. Had Ms Taylor understood his silent message? Could things get any worse?

‘Here, Dad, try this. Tell me if you like it.’ He sank into the other armchair, torn between the desire to hug his ailing father, and the recurring craving to demand why he’d cheated on his wife. So many times.

He’d never understood why so many people he knew treated cheating casually, as part of modern life. To him it was abhorrent. Why claim to love someone and then seek another partner? Why stay with someone who had no respect for your affection?

He had never declared the emotion, deeming that would be hypocritical, but had always insisted on fidelity. He’d found out the hard way that for some people promises meant nothing.

It churned Matt’s stomach that his father considered affairs a normal part of life, his due entitlement as a charismatic male. The man he’d revered in his youth and aspired to become had seen no reason why they should affect his marriage.

He was torn between the deep love of a son for his father and distaste for his casual attitude to being faithful. And behind him, hidden by the wall in Matt’s eye line, was the room where he brought the women. His coffee turned sour in his mouth.

Marcus sipped his drink cautiously, savouring the taste.

‘Mmm...good, real coffee. I’ll take a pod home and ask Rosalind to buy some.’

‘Take a box.’ Matt cleared his throat, hesitant to ask the vital question. Please don’t let the answer be he drove. ‘How did you get here, Dad?’

‘Caught a cab at the shopping centre near home.’ He glared at the desk, set not too far away. ‘You’ve twisted my desk.’ It was an accusation.

‘Don’t worry, it suits me that way. We can always put it back.’ He’d never place it in the former position that had given the user a direct eye line to the person working at the desk next door.

‘Hmph. Now I need the bathroom.’

Marcus put his cup on the table, and went to the ensuite. Matt let out a long huff of breath, and took another drink of the hot, stimulating liquid. A glance at his watch told him his cousin should be here in a few minutes.

Swearing softly when his desk phone rang, he strode over to answer. He missed his father’s return as he searched his in-tray for the letter the caller had sent.

Lauren stopped typing as Marcus came into her office. The eyes were a similar colour, the facial features bore a strong resemblance, but he lacked the firm line of his son’s jaw, his innate sense of character.

‘You’re new. What happened to Miss...?’ He tapped his palm on his forehead. ‘Um, long dark hair, big blue eyes.’

‘I believe she left. Can I help you?’

His gaze intensified, then he came round to stand beside her, and stared at the screen.

‘She was a good typist. Fast and accurate.’

‘Dad.’

Matt stood in the doorway, the same forbidding expression he’d worn at her interview directed at her. She lifted her chin, determined not to be part of whatever games this family was playing.

The older man spoke first. ‘There’s too many changes, Matthew. My girl was good. She left. People kept leaving.’ Slow with pauses at inappropriate times. ‘Who hired this one?’

He tapped her on the shoulder as he spoke, and she involuntarily flinched, knew from the frown on Matt’s face he’d seen. He came over, and wrapped his arm across his father’s shoulders.

‘Let’s leave Ms Taylor to her work, Dad. Come and finish your coffee?’

Although Matt barely glanced at her screen, he gave her a reassuring nod as he led his father out. He’d seen the bogus letter she’d started typing up.

‘It’ll be cold.’

She heard the outer door open, and saw Matt’s body sag in relief.

‘Here’s Alan, Dad. He and I will drive you home and Mum will brew you another when we arrive.’

They moved out of her sight and she heard muffled exchanges then Matt’s clearer words.

‘Give me a minute. Grab that box of pods from the bench.’

He came into her room, his grateful expression telling her she’d pleased him, creating fissions of pleasure skittling from cell to cell.

‘Quick thinking, Ms Taylor, thank you. I’ll be gone for an hour or so. Joanne has a key to lock my office if you go out.’

He paused, swallowed as if there was more he wanted to say but couldn’t find the words, then disappeared leaving her with a bundle of questions she’d never be game to ask.

The man she’d just met hadn’t looked all that old but his behaviour and actions were certainly not those of a fast-thinking entrepreneur who’d built a thriving business.

She deleted the text as soon as she heard the door close, and brought up the files she’d been scanning. The events replayed in her mind as she sat, hands lightly resting on the keyboard.

Matt had been protective yet somehow detached from his father, desperate to get him out of here. He’d called this Alan to come and help, not wanting to escort him alone.

From Marcus’ remark she deduced Matt had taken over his office. A woman had worked in here so he’d been elsewhere, probably the empty room by reception. Had Marcus kept such tight control Matt had no idea what was happening in the accounts and records?

That would explain his underlying antipathy and hostile manner but why towards her? She was his solution, his last resort. She was used to being warmly welcomed and treated with respect.

Matt was an enigma, his words and tone not always matching his body language and often conflicting with the message in those stunning blue eyes. He resented whatever it was that sparked between them, and must have a reason she couldn’t fathom.

At all costs she had to find and fix his problems and get away without him finding out they had a past.

* * *

Matt quietly placed his keys into his desk drawer, wondering what he was going to say to Lauren.

My father has Alzheimer’s. He’s losing his memory. He’s lost most of his good staff in the last year, and he’s possibly screwed up the company.

His condition had escalated in the last month and Matt’s mother was finding it harder to cope. Some very tough decisions would have to be made in the near future.

Matt would never blame Marcus for anything that could be attributed to that hellish affliction. But it was his father’s screwing around that had sent him to the other side of the world. If he’d been here, possibly working with him, he’d have noticed the deterioration in time to prevent this debacle.

He would have. His fingers bunched. He squeezed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth. He would have.

Only the family, their doctor and a few select friends knew. Matt believed his chances of success hinged on keeping it a secret, and Lauren’s employer had emphasised her discretion and trustworthiness. He was about to test it to the max.

She stopped working as he came to her doorway, her face inscrutable, her eyes wary. His stomach clenched.

‘We’d better talk. Please come in here.’

Once they were seated by the window he paused to think, weighing up how much to tell her.

‘There aren’t the words to thank you enough for your understanding today. The man you saw isn’t the same person who started this company. He has Alzheimer’s.’

She leant forward. ‘I suspected something like that. I’m sorry. It must be so hard on your family.’ Empathy rang true in her voice and showed in her expression.

‘Unfortunately, he kept his illness a secret from everyone, including my mother. We have no idea how long he faked his way until the progression sped up and his errors in the business became obvious. I’d have come home sooner if I’d known.’

‘You weren’t here?’ She recoiled, eyes big and bright, fingers splayed.

She didn’t know? There’d been no reason to tell her but he’d assumed she’d guessed. He nodded. ‘I’ve been living in England for seven years.’

‘Oh. Did you ever work here with your father?’

‘In my late teens. My interests are in different fields of business.’

A pink blush spread up her neck and cheeks.

‘Is something wrong?’ He tensed, flexed his shoulders, and his hand lifted in concern.

Lauren cursed her lifelong affliction. What could possibly be wrong?

Only that the instant he mentioned his teens she remembered the balcony. Only that the sight of his mouth forming the words had her lips recalling the gentle touch of his.

‘No, and I promise never to divulge any personal or company information to anyone.’ Her hands clasped in her lap, she could barely take in that he’d shared this most personal secret with her. Now she understood.

His unplanned return from abroad to take control of a company in financial trouble explained the tension, the curtness. The urgency. She couldn’t begin to imagine the daunting task he’d had thrust upon him.

‘I’d appreciate it.’

‘You’re welcome. That’s why you wanted my scanning hidden from him and called a friend for help.’

‘He has good and bad days. Normally he becomes agitated whenever anything to do with the company is mentioned yet today he gave the taxi driver the correct address for the office. There was no hesitation in finding his way here or to the ensuite.’

‘And he remembered the girl who worked here, though not her name.’

‘He would.’ The bitterness in his voice shook her and she jerked back, receiving a half-smile in apology as he continued.

‘I was told her departure a few months ago was acrimonious to say the least. There were others who left because of his behaviour too, but replacements have to wait until you succeed and we sort everything out.’

She’d go and new staff would come. There’d be another woman at her desk, chosen by him...what was she thinking? This was not a valid reason to be depressed. Did he prefer blondes or brunettes?

Must. Stop. Thinking like this.

She snapped herself out of it and went to stand. ‘On that note, I’d better get back to my task.’

He stood, and held out his hand to help her. The warmth from his touch spread up her arm, radiating to every part of her. She doubted even ice-cold water would cool her down. She prayed he couldn’t detect her tremor and didn’t demur as he kept hold.

‘I am truly grateful, Lauren. I owe you big time and I never forget a debt.’

The message in his smouldering dark blue eyes painted a graphic picture of the form his gratitude might take, scrambling every coherent thought in her brain. Her throat dried, butterflies stirred in her stomach and it felt as if fluttering wings were brushing against every cell on her skin.

His grip tightened. Her lips parted. He leant closer.

The phone on his desk shattered the moment, and he glowered at it as he moved back, and reluctantly released her. She caught the arm of the chair to avoid collapsing into it.

His rasping, ‘We’ll talk again later,’ proved she wasn’t the only one affected.

As he picked up the handset he added, ‘Alan’s my cousin, family.’

The instant he answered the call he was in corporate mode. That irked because she needed time to compose herself, cool her skin, but he clearly didn’t. When she returned from the ensuite, he was leaning on his desk, phone to his ear, watching for her. His engaging smile and quick but thorough appraisal from her face to her feet and back threatened to undo her freshen up. Not so calm and composed after all, just better at covering it up.

* * *

Lauren closed down early, allowing time for the ride to the airport, loath to suspend her search for four days. She had an inkling of an idea she’d heard somewhere but couldn’t remember where or when. There’d be plenty of time to dwell on it in Melbourne.

Collecting her luggage, she took her report to Matt, whose stunned face and glance at his watch proved he’d forgotten her early departure.

‘That late already? Have you ordered a taxi?’

‘I’ll be fine. I’ve noticed they always seem to be driving past.’

He grinned. ‘Unless you need one. I’ll finish this page and drive you.’

‘There’s no—’

‘Humour me.’

* * *

Lauren’s knowledge of cars was limited—there wasn’t a necessity to own one in Sydney—but she recognised the Holden emblem on the grill. Matt’s quiet assurance as he eased into the traffic didn’t surprise her.

‘Did you drive in Europe?’

‘Yes, rarely in London, a lot through the country. Nowhere is too far if you can put up with dense traffic and miles of freeways. So different from Australia. Driving in Paris was a unique experience. Have you travelled?’

‘A week in Bali with friends two years ago. We’re planning a trip for this year if we can decide on a destination.’

She was aware of him glancing at her, but she kept her focus on the road where his should be.

‘You mentioned family in Melbourne. Do you visit often?’

‘Three or four times a year. This is my niece’s first Easter.’

Matt willed her to look his way. She didn’t. The ten-to-fifteen-minute drive in heavy traffic was hardly conducive to a meaningful discussion. That would have to wait until she returned.

‘Why did you move to Sydney?’ Why did he want to know? Why the long silent pause as she considered his question?

‘Why did you go to London?’

Because I couldn’t stand the sight of my parents feigning a happy marriage when it was a complete sham.

Because even moving into a rented house with friends in another suburb hadn’t given him sufficient distance.

‘Rite of passage to fly the nest and try to climb the corporate ladder without favour from associates of my father.’

‘And you succeeded. It’ll all be waiting for you when you’ve got Dalton Corporation back on track. Your family must be glad to have you home even under sad circumstances. I’m sure they’ve missed you.’

Matt picked up on the nuance in her voice, but didn’t respond as he flicked on his indicator and turned into the airport road. So she had an issue with family as well. She’d rather not go.

He pulled into a clear space at the drop-off zone and switched off the engine. Before he had a chance to walk round and assist her, Lauren had unlatched her seat belt and jumped out.

He wiped his hand across his jaw, fighting the urge to reassure her, feeling he’d left so much unsaid today. He’d make time when she came back. She was coming back, and that pleased him.

She let him lift her luggage from the boot, and seemed reluctant to say goodbye.

‘Thank you for the lift, Mr Dalton. I’ll see you on Tuesday.’

‘My pleasure. Enjoy your long weekend.’

I don’t understand why, but I’ll miss you.

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