Praise for Natalie Anderson:

‘Natalie Anderson is one of the most exciting voices in steamy romantic fiction writing today. Sassy, witty and emotional, her Modern Heat are in a class of their own…an extraordinary new talent who can blend passion, drama, humour and emotion in one unforgettable read!’

—Cataromance

‘MISTRESS UNDER CONTRACT is a fantastic contemporary romance full of intense emotions, funny moments, blazing sexual tension and moving romance; don’t miss it!’

—Pink Heart Society

‘Natalie Anderson’s HIS MISTRESS BY ARRANGEMENT is a charming romance of childhood friends reconnecting. It’s both fun and flirty, and conveys the wonderful feeling of finding someone you can truly be yourself with.’

—Romantic Times BOOKreviews

Jared James was bad—bad-mannered, bad-tempered, badly behaved and bad for her.

He picked up her hand. Immediately she tried to pull it away, but his grip became lethal and she stopped trying to resist. His hold instantly softened, but he didn’t let go, instead pulling so her wrist crossed the armrest and he could study her fingers more closely.

Her erratic breathing stopped altogether. Her skin sizzled where it was in contact with his.

‘I don’t believe these pretty hands have ever known hard work.’ He turned her hand over and the index finger of his free hand made circles in the centre of her palm.

It tickled, and she wanted to pull it away, but at the same time…at the same time…the rest of her started to—

Want.

A smile softened his mouth. The kind of smile that he’d never turned on her before—one that both tempted and made her nervous. It deepened, becoming the kind of smile that would have a woman on a bed and spread in seconds.

Oh, no. She couldn’t let him do this—she couldn’t fall again just like that…

Possibly the only librarian who got told off herself for talking too much, Natalie Anderson decided writing books might be more fun than shelving them—and, boy, is it that! Especially writing romance—it’s the realisation of a lifetime dream kick-started by many an afternoon spent devouring Grandma’s Mills & Boon®…

She lives in New Zealand, with her husband and four gorgeous-but-exhausting children. Swing by her website any time—she’d love to hear from you: www.natalie-anderson.com

Hot Boss,
Boardroom
Mistress

by

Natalie Anderson

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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I still can’t believe I’ve been fortunate enough

to have one story published, let alone getting to this—my

tenth title. But my real luck was when a certain

editor pulled my manuscript out of the pile

and saw something she could develop.

So, to the hugely supportive Sally: for all your help

and effort, I cannot thank you enough.

Chapter One

AMANDA snatched a second to glance up, checking the manufacturer’s plate detailing the date and location of construction, on the upper inside of the door frame. Yes, it was real, it had been built in a proper factory and fingers crossed it wouldn’t fall out of the sky with her in it. Only once she’d scanned it did she step over and onto the plane. She’d never board without seeing that little rectangle of metal with its punched-in lettering first.

Ritual reassurance achieved, her gaze dropped again, right to the floor, thus avoiding the censorious glares of the air stewards as they grimly gestured to her seat. She knew they were cross, had heard the huffing and puffing from the internal phone system. Taking two steps down the narrow aisle she could feel the equally burning glares of the passengers—having held them up for a full five minutes. Not that long in the grand scheme of things, but seemingly an eternity for plane passengers. She could hear their murmurs of grumbling discontent.

Too bad. She tilted her chin and tried harder to ignore them. This had been an emergency—too many people were counting on her. Thank heavens for her old university buddy Kathryn who’d got her onto the flight last minute and managed to get the ground staff to hold the plane for her as she’d sprinted down the corridor. One second later and that door would have been shut. And if she hadn’t got this, the last flight out today, she might not have made it back to Auckland tomorrow in time for the meeting. The risk of fog in the early morning was too great. So she’d made the hour drive from Ashburton to Christchurch in record-breaking time—just keeping within the legal speed limits—and then Kathryn had worked her magic.

Without so much as a glance at the person occupying the window seat next to her aisle one, she pushed her laptop bag into the stowage compartment in front of her feet. She’d get it out again as soon as they had levelled out and get to work. The flight was only a little over an hour but every minute counted. This pitch had to be perfect—the company needed the business to stay afloat and she needed to keep her job. Money mattered—and yes, it was a life and death thing.

She snapped together her safety belt; the plane was already taxiing down the runway and the stewards were quickly covering the mandatory safety basics. She could just about recite the phrases with them—having made this trip too many times in the last two months. It was only then that she noticed that she was seated in the small business class section. She hadn’t travelled in this exclusive section of a plane in years.

Bless Kathryn.

But as the plane paused at the head of the runway the old anxiety sharpened. She put her head back, closed her eyes and mentally ran through all the probabilities—facts and figures and how it was planes actually stayed up in the air…

It didn’t work. The cold sweaty feeling spread.

She’d think about the pitch—that would take her mind off it.

Impossible.

She’d think about Grandfather.

Equally impossible.

Her heart was beating high in her throat—clogging, choking. And she was sweating more than when she’d been challenging the record for fastest airport dash ever. The last thing she could do now was have a panic attack and cause more disruption to the others on the plane. But her heart pounded harder, louder.

Just think about breathing.

Her lungs jerked, resisting as she took a breath. The engines roared. Her blood competed, trying to beat a louder noise in her ears. She curled her fingers around the edge of the arm rest, clinging on tight. Squeezing her eyes tighter, she concentrated on flexing her muscles. Never mind that she was supposed to start at her toes and tense then relax them, it was all she could do to focus, to stay aware. Now was not the time to faint. Or scream. Or worse.

Breathing. In and out—was how you did it.

‘Of course, someone inconsiderate and selfish enough to hold up a plane? It could only be you, Amanda.’

She opened her eyes and turned her head. That voice had cut through the din like a diamond on glass—silencing everything.

Eyes darker than the dead of night stared back at her, framed by thick black lashes. The bridge of his nose had a slight bump from an ancient break, his cheekbones were high, his forehead broad. His lips were full, but there was no hint of a smile. Not for her.

It was a face she knew better than her own, yet she hadn’t seen it in years.

‘Hello, Jared.’

She hardly heard the bellow of the engine as the plane kicked off from the ground. Head pressed back against the seat, she couldn’t look away from the cool derision in his face.

‘It must be at least ten years,’ he drawled. ‘I’d have thought things might have changed but I guess not.’

It was nine years. Nine years, seven months.

‘Some things change, some things don’t.’ She flicked a glance over his clothes. Jeans. Jared always wore jeans—in school, out of it, when working the ride-on mower, when stacking boxes of files, when cleaning cars…

Under the blazing summer sun and on the coldest winter morning, Jared wore jeans. Maybe he knew how fit he looked in them?

But as she looked at the dark stitching she saw the jeans were different now. His jeans today were designer—not old and faded with dust on the thigh, holes in the knees and fraying ends. She looked up at the black wool jersey—fine merino.

Yes, some things changed.

The plane soared higher and she barely noticed.

Jared James—of all people. The trickle of cold sweat slid down her spine while her heart thudded even more uncomfortably. Well, today had been awful—why should she have thought its last few hours would improve any? She leaned around, looking longingly down the aisle at the rest of the plane. Hoping to spot a spare seat, but all she could see were shoulders and bits of leg protruding all along the edges.

‘You’d go to cattle class just to avoid me?’ he murmured. ‘How touching.’

She twisted further, trying to scan the window seats as well as the aisles. Surely there must be another seat. She couldn’t be held responsible for her actions if she had to stay near him. Not tonight.

‘You’re still only thinking of yourself?’ His brows lifted. ‘Look how busy that woman is.’ He pointed at the steward, efficiently pulling out the trolley to serve refreshments. ‘Are you really going to bother her more?’

Amanda felt both embarrassment and rage burn through her like twin rockets heading to Pluto. The twisting mass of resentment Jared inspired in her had been on the backburner for nine years, seven months and now it blasted off with enough power to make that longest journey.

Some things could never be forgotten.

He was wrong—things could and did change. Like her cringe-tastic crush. Two years in the brewing, it had taken only one night for him to destroy it.

Because of him she’d been forced to leave the town she’d spent all her life in. Because of him her relationship with her grandfather had been damaged. Because of him she’d had to live out her last years at school in loneliness and isolation.

And ever since there was never a time when she returned home without thinking of him—seeing his shadow on the land, hearing his heavy-booted tread along the path. Always she had the momentary wondering of where he’d gone, what he’d done—before quickly stamping out the errant thoughts. She didn’t want to know; she didn’t want to think of him.

Because she had cared. No matter what he thought she really had cared. And he’d left a wrinkle on her heart that she couldn’t iron out no matter how hard she tried—no matter how much she told herself she was over him. Such a mistake—a young girl seeing a hero where there was only a heartless youth. His action had resulted in a punishment far more severe than her silliness had warranted.

Why had she been so foolish to have believed herself to be in love with him?

Then she turned back to face him and saw exactly why. No inexperienced sixteen-year-old could possibly resist those darkly handsome looks. His Latin colouring—the olive complexion and almost-black, dangerously gleaming eyes, the thick dark hair that had always had that slightly rough, tousled look. Mystery, rebellion, a hint of scarring—he was too intriguing, too much of an enigma for her not to be curious. Add to that the toned physique honed by hours of hard, heavy work. And then there was the attitude. No man had attitude like Jared James.

She hadn’t been immune—no female in town had. But she had been the most foolish.

‘Amanda Demanda.’ His laugh rasped across her like a sand-roughened desert wind.

The old name still had the power to hurt. She’d known about it. Had heard it muttered behind hands when she’d walked past. But no one ever said it to her face, only Jared. And now he’d managed to do it more than once.

His eyes taunted her, mouth teased her. But there was no warm humour. Amanda’s chin lifted. There was only one way to handle this. Icy politeness. Manners maketh the woman, right? And manners weren’t something Jared tended to bother with—at least not with her. Not that she could really blame him. There’d been a time there when she’d been rottenly ill-mannered towards him—rudely insisting he carry out her orders around the property. It had been an immature girl’s method of getting his attention and it hadn’t succeeded. At least, not in the way she’d desired. So then she’d tried something far more stupid. Having heard the way the girls talked about him, looked at him—the rumours that he was a dangerous, demanding kind of lover, and one they all wanted. She’d naively thought that if she offered him everything she’d get the kind of attention she craved from him.

So stupid. His reaction had cost her the last of her girlhood and she could never forget or forgive that.

Well, she didn’t want his attention now. Now she’d give him nothing but ‘nice’—converse a little, do some ‘pleasant’ catching-up, and then excuse herself into her work. As much as she’d like nothing more than to blast him and then flounce off, she’d made enough of a scene on this flight already; besides, there wasn’t another seat available.

She dropped her gaze for a millisecond as she inhaled some calm and then turned fractionally further towards him with the biggest smile she could manage. OK, so it was tiny, but it was there. ‘So, Jared, how have you been?’

His eyes narrowed. ‘Busy.’

Naturally. Jared had always been busy. Every spare moment outside school he’d been working—making the money that his father had been too drunk to be able to. ‘Visiting old friends?’

Incredibly his face closed up even more. ‘This was a transit stop for me. It should have just been ten minutes to load the passengers from Christchurch. But it was fifteen because of you. I’m flying up from Queenstown.’

She ignored the dig. ‘Been skiing?’

‘Snowboarding.’

‘How nice.’ But Jared in jeans with snow-dusted hair wasn’t an image she wanted to envisage. He’d be so cool on the mountain. He was too damn cool, too good-looking and sitting too close. And with a skittering pulse she knew that a twenty-five-year-old woman might not be any more immune to his looks than a sixteen-year-old had been.

She tried to inhale deeply, trying to suppress that scary realisation and bring her anger back to the boil. That was enough polite chat for her to get away with. The plane had levelled—she’d barely noticed the ascent after all, what with the shock of finding her first crush seated beside her. And he’d crushed her all right. All her secret dreams and fantasies. He’d exposed her and changed the course of her life. Not that she’d ever let him know it. Masking her breathlessness, she reached forward and lifted up her laptop bag. Time to retreat behind a screen and extreme concentration, although admittedly that kind of concentration was going to be tricky. Her mind whirled as fragments of memories she’d tried to bury deep long ago started floating up to the forefront of her brain and her blood pounded harder than it had been just prior to take-off.

The humiliation felt as raw, real and recent as ever. She wanted to shrivel up and be washed away like a slug down a drain. Instead she calmly lifted the lid of her laptop, determined to maintain poise and dignity. She wasn’t sixteen any more.

She politely accepted the coffee from the air steward, sat back as the woman passed another to Jared.

‘What about you, Amanda—you been busy?’ he asked after taking a sip from the steaming cup.

Oh, so he’d mastered some rudimentary conversational skills, then, had he? And only just remembered?

‘Very.’ She, on the other hand, was over it.

There was a sound that might have been a snort or a laugh. She had to look at him—just to make sure he wasn’t choking to death or something. She encountered an expression of disbelief so dry she could have been transported to the Sahara.

‘Sweetheart, you don’t know the meaning of the word.’ He spoke casually, sat casually but those eyes of his were still sharp and dark and digging right through her.

‘Jared,’ she said softly but firmly. ‘You don’t know me any more.’

He had no idea of how her life had played out. Maybe back then she’d been the spoilt, wilful, foolish girl he so clearly thought she still was. But she’d grown up—finally taken on responsibility.

‘I know enough.’ His piercing look roved right over her.

He couldn’t see much, she reasoned as her temperature began to rise. Not beneath her brown wool coat. Several years old, it was classic enough to still wear and it hid the skirt and shirt that had been the height of fashion several seasons ago.

But despite the thick wool of the coat and the opaque stockings covering her legs, she felt as if Jared’s gaze were stripping her close to naked. It was the sexual, animal element of him—she’d recognised it all those years ago as the woman in her had become awakened. But she’d had no idea of the power of it. And while she’d had no hope of resisting it, she’d had no hope of coping with it either.

Yet even now, as she observed the thick lashes almost resting on his cheek as he looked down her arm, her blood raced and she was so tempted to beat that spark into a flame—just to see what would happen. Because the one wild taste she had got back then had become the measure for all.

And then she remembered the aftermath.

Jared James was bad—bad-mannered, bad-tempered, badly behaved and bad for her.

He picked up her hand. Immediately she tried to pull it away but his grip became lethal and she stopped trying to resist. His hold instantly softened but he didn’t let go, instead pulling so her wrist crossed the arm rest and he could study her fingers more closely.

Her erratic breathing stopped altogether. Her skin sizzled where it was in contact with his.

‘I don’t believe these pretty hands have ever known hard work.’ He turned her hand over and the index finger of his free hand made circles in the centre of her palm.

It tickled and she wanted to pull it away but at the same time…at the same time…the rest of her started to—

Want.

More circles teased.

Her fingers quivered in his as she shuddered in a wisp of air.

A smile softened his mouth. The kind of smile that he’d never turned on her before—one that both tempted and made her nervous. It deepened, becoming the kind of smile that would have a woman on a bed and spread in seconds.

Oh, no. She couldn’t let him do this—she couldn’t fall again just like that…

‘Hands like these are all about pleasure.’ He walked two fingers even more lightly across her palm and then lifted his head to catch her wide-eyed, mesmerised gaze on the full. ‘Aren’t they, Amanda?’

Chapter Two

AMANDA curled her fingers into a fist and jerked it free of Jared’s, burning with embarrassment. And what made it worse was her suspicion that he knew that embarrassment wasn’t all she was burning with. All grown-up maturity and attempts at politeness escaped her. She glared at him. Breathing again. Hating the effect he had on her—the effect he’d always had—smile or not.

But he, the swine, was laughing. Those dark, bottomless, devilish eyes were creased at the corners. She daren’t look at his mouth. She daren’t…but her eyes slid and then she did. Oh, it was that smile again, only now it was tainted with a touch of sarcasm.

This was just too humiliating. To bump into the man who had been the cause of so much heartache and discover he still could make the world tilt with just a look?

‘Will you excuse me, Jared? I have some work to get on with.’ Cool practicality could be her only defence. She’d deal with her hormones later.

‘Really, Amanda?’

‘Actually yes. Contrary to what you may think, I’m not independently wealthy and do actually have to earn money to be able to eat.’

‘But not at this hour surely?’

She glanced at her watch. A little after nine and it meant that there was still about an hour of this hellish flight to go. She stared at the laptop screen, wishing she could disappear into it like in some weird sci-fi movie.

‘You know you were always beautiful, Amanda, but you’re even more beautiful now.’ He sounded coolly detached, as if he were discussing the weather.

‘Do you think?’ She almost managed a disinterested inflexion but choked on the last word and then was unable to stop herself looking at him again.

He took the opportunity to give her another searing once-over.

‘Very much. A little pale, perhaps a bit thin, it’s hard to see under that coat, but your cheekbones are a little gaunt. Been burning the candle?’

Not in the way he meant. While there had been many sleepless nights, not one of them had been spent partying or clubbing or indulging in wild, hedonistic sex. His gaze lifted as that last option popped into her head, and his knowing smile came slow.

‘As I said, I’ve been busy.’ She turned back to the screen, back to work, back to oblivion—please.

He sat angled side on, obviously watching her, waiting. In the end she couldn’t resist. What he’d said…had he really thought she was beautiful back then? If that was the case, then why had he done it?

She gave up the mental gymnastics and looked at him, decided to brazen it out. ‘You had your chance.’

‘Meaning I won’t get another?’ His eyes were all daring now.

She looked straight into them, cool as she could. ‘No.’

His smile curved into a gentle crescent—like a stretch of sand along a beautiful beach that tempted you to race across it and dive in. ‘Your mouth says one thing, your body another.’

‘Oh, please.’ Sarcasm flooded from her that time. ‘You think that line’s going to get you anything but a knock-back?’

‘Too close to the truth?’

‘Too much male chauvinist.’

‘Tell me no and I’ll listen. Whether you mean it or not.’ He leaned closer to her, holding her gaze with his as he spoke soft and slow. ‘I’ve never needed to pressure a woman. Usually they come on to me.’

A second passed before Amanda blinked. Finally absorbing what he’d said…what he’d meant…what he was reminding her of…

‘I was young.’ She couldn’t cover the wobble in her voice.

‘You’re not so young now.’

For a long second she fought the urge to tip her coffee over him. Instead she lifted the cup with trembling fingers, clamped them round the plastic.

‘Ask me again,’ he murmured. ‘The answer might be different this time.’

She forced herself to take a deep sip instead, not caring how scorching the wretched stuff still was—it was nothing on the way her insides were boiling already.

‘It wouldn’t take much to get me to say yes.’

She nearly spat the coffee out all over him. ‘Dream on, Don Juan.’

He laughed then. A deep chuckle that was so rude, so outrageous and so damn genuine. ‘Is that it?’ He shook his head, looking both sorrowful and scornful. ‘So refined, Amanda. What happened to that wilful, take-what-she-wants girl?’

And then she got it. He was teasing her—just winding her up. He didn’t mean a word of it and had played her for the fool she was. The more polite she’d got, the more impolite he’d got, until she snapped and he laughed. And he’d known exactly the angle to take…her attraction to him.

Humiliation times fifty.

Did he do this to every woman? She was certain he could be charming if he wanted—but women would fall at his feet even if he wasn’t. Just as she had. Yet here he was flying back from a holiday solo—clearly there was no wife. Was there really no lover?

But, of course, she gave herself a mental slap, there’d be more than one lover.

‘Have you been to Ashburton recently?’ If he was determined to talk, she’d control the topic and from now on it would be safe.

‘Not for nine years, seven months.’

Satisfaction flashed through her like wildfire. So he knew exactly how long it had been. He’d left town the week of her birthday. She hadn’t seen him again since that night.

‘Why not?’ She genuinely wanted to know.

He turned, seeming to study the safety-belt sign in front of them, and when he turned back his eyes were bland. ‘No reason to.’

No person. No family. No love.

She’d longed to give him love. She and the rest of the female population. Angry Jared James, whose mother had left him and whose father had boozed so much he was barely cognisant and certainly not ‘there’ for his son. Alone and isolated and gorgeous.

‘Not even curiosity?’

‘What could there possibly be to be curious about?’ His answer was curt.

‘Quite.’ Determined not to feel wounded at the question, she focused on feeling pleased because his lack of interest meant it more than likely that he wouldn’t know about her grandfather. Not many people did, but in a small town it was hard to keep secrets—especially when he’d been such a public figure. But he deserved dignity and Amanda was working harder than she’d ever worked in her life to try to ensure that he got it. And for some reason it was important to her that Jared not think badly of Grandfather—he could think what he liked about her, but not the old man.

She turned back to her screen. Read the same sentence five times over before getting the gist of it and trying to move on to the next. But it was hopeless. She might as well tinker with colours and formatting.

The pitch was at ten a.m. tomorrow and it was vital they win it. The consultancy had been hit hard by changes in the economic climate and was teetering on the brink of closure. But if they could secure this contract it could be enough to see them through and they could build on it. It seemed to be her luck that when she’d finally landed a well paid job in the big city, it was far from certain. And she needed certainty—her grandfather was counting on her.

But now, with her concentration shot, she knew she was in for a long night of uncomfortable memories mixed with nerves and adrenalin. She might as well pop the migraine pills already. Except she couldn’t possibly be woozy tomorrow.

Rats. Why did Jared James have to be on this flight tonight?

Jared sat back as not so deep inside him irritation duelled with amusement. Eventually amusement got the upper hand. It took a while though and its dominance was precarious. She’d looked so cucumber fresh when she’d appeared—despite the thick wool coat. Only the hint of a flush had touched those pale cheeks when she’d walked on board, blanking the passengers. Not even a small smile of apology or embarrassment sent in their direction. Nothing.

Amanda Winchester. Owned the world and acted like it. She was everything he wasn’t, and all those years ago she’d had everything he hadn’t. Money, leisure and freedom, whereas he’d had nothing, worked 24/7 and been imprisoned by the broken background from hell.

He’d changed though. Moved up in the world. Indeed here he was sitting in her class—he’d earned the right. But a sudden flash of discomfort made him stretch and shift in his seat. Despite being able to pay the fare a zillion times over, seeing her brought that old feeling back: the desperation to control, to escape, to succeed, and to have—not just material things. And with it came the bitterness that he’d felt towards her—back then she’d symbolised all he’d lacked and been everything he’d wanted.

He stared at her, unable to look away. She hadn’t changed. Still spoilt. Still selfish. Oh, sure, now she had the ice-princess thing going on the surface. All polite poise and butter-wouldn’t-melt-ish. But the fact was he knew what she was really like and her behaviour proved it. What Amanda wanted, Amanda got—even if it meant two hundred people got held up because of her.

An over-indulged minx and damn if she didn’t still stir his blood—more so now, incredibly enough. He’d never forgotten the sight of her in that get-up…her pale skin had seemed luminous next to the black silk. Where on earth had she got it from? Mail order?

Nine years, seven months rolled away just like that and he was hit hard in the groin by a need that had never been indulged—and the accompanying frustration because she’d been forbidden. He gritted his teeth at the memory and then forced relaxation as he tried to think—reminding himself it was a long time ago and he was no longer the less-than-nothing youth he’d been back then.

In fact, he mused as he sucked in a breath, it might be all right to want her now. One night with Amanda Winchester wasn’t necessarily taboo—not any more. Not now they were both out of that town and all grown up. That thought doused the discomfort and roused the hunter in him.

So as she oh-so-determinedly ignored him he cast his eyes over her screen. Not caring about how rude he was—in fact he was doing it deliberately, wanting to annoy her into betraying herself again. She was a spoilt, demanding brat all the way. She’d tried testing her new-grown claws on him all those years ago, but he bet she’d be one hell of a vixen now. And yes, if she asked again, his answer would be very different. The wilful, wanting teen would translate into a wild, wanting woman. Hadn’t he just caught a glimpse of it in her eyes? Hadn’t he been unable to resist touching her—just a little, to see if that spark would flare? And it had. How would she burn if he touched her where he really wanted to?

He blinked to refocus his eyes from the internal fantasy that was going to get him very uncomfortable if he didn’t shut it down. Too long since he’d had a lay—that was the problem. As he shifted in his seat again he saw what it was she was working on.

Hell, no way!

He took a moment to regulate his reaction and then asked, ‘So what do you do to earn money to eat, Amanda?’

‘I’m in advertising.’

He smothered another snort. Of course she was. She could sell ice to an Inuit, had that knack of getting people to say yes. But not him. Not unless he controlled the situation.

‘Which agency?’ He figured it’d be one of the top two.

‘Synergy.’

He clamped his jaw to stop it falling open. It was the wild card he’d selected. By far the smallest of the three agencies he’d shortlisted for the pitch, and, from what he’d heard on the grapevine, the one most in need of securing the contract tomorrow.

He was glad he’d found out. Forewarned meant forearmed and now he had the time to plan his strategy. No way could he work with her, but at least he was spared the shock of having her walk into his office tomorrow.

He took a sidelong glance at her coolly remote expression. He was not gentleman enough to give her warning. But then, he’d never pretended to be a gentleman. In fact, he spent the rest of the flight trying to suppress the most ungentlemanly thoughts.

As the plane descended he watched the way she was gripping the arm rest between them and figured it wasn’t worth fighting her for it. ‘Don’t you like flying, Amanda?’

‘Not much.’ Her lips barely moved as she answered.

‘Don’t like being out of control, huh?’ The almost admission of a weakness amused him.

‘I have a strong self-preservation instinct.’

He chuckled. A strong selfish instinct, more like. Not to mention lazy. He would never forget the tone she’d used to order him around on her grandfather’s farm and the way she’d sat at a distance with such indolence and watched him carry out her wishes.

Finally they landed and the second the seat-belt sign was switched off she was standing, bags in hand—arrogantly asserting her priority status without even being conscious of it. Her sense of entitlement was so ingrained. Jared counted to ten as he waited behind her while the stewards opened the doors. Her high heeled boots gave her an extra inch, meaning the top of her head made it to his mouth. He breathed in, caught the gentle scent of her shampoo, and his flare of anger became a flare of something else.

The first thing he’d do would be to free her hair from those clips—see if it was as long and golden as it had been back then. She’d always worn it loose—he’d seen it, like a flag heralding her arrival, and he’d known not to look. She’d been out of bounds but she’d pushed it. She wasn’t out of bounds now.

He shortened his stride to stay alongside her as they walked along the corridors. She pushed buttons on her mobile and so did he. He had five messages. All of them could wait. It seemed she had none—or at least none urgent enough to warrant immediate attention. They got to the ground floor and the signs pointing to the luggage carousels. He, like she, ignored them and headed straight for the exit.

‘Don’t you have baggage to collect? Not your snowboard?’ she asked.

‘I like to travel light.’ Habit from the old days, he figured. When he’d finally got out of Ashburton he’d taken almost nothing with him. Nothing but a bunch of memories—and most of them were bad. It wasn’t that he didn’t have the material possessions now—if anything he’d have to admit he had too many. So he kept his snowboarding gear and a complete wardrobe at his holiday home in Queenstown.

It was an odd relief to see that she was disconcerted by his presence—to know that he affected her too, just as she did him. Not that he’d let her know it.

Oh, yes, despite her polite façade it was as obvious as anything that she wanted him to go. Just to be perverse, he stayed close. She was slowing now as they reached the exit. But there was no one to meet her. No boyfriend waiting at the gate to pull her close and kiss her like crazy.

He shouldn’t care, but he was pleased about that too. No rings on her fingers, no calls on her mobile. They went through the automatic doors together. He expected to see her dive straight into the nearest taxi but instead she paused.

‘Lovely to see you again, Jared.’

Lovely? Oh, sure, like she really thought that. Why couldn’t she be honest about it?

‘It was interesting seeing you too, Amanda,’ he said casually. ‘Who knows? Maybe we’ll see each other again soon.’

She gave a plastic smile, turned and walked. Fast.

He watched her for a moment, appreciating the neat ankles and slim calves as her legs clipped along. He wished he could see more of her. She’d had long, slim legs as a girl—damn the wool coat. He forced his head to turn away, figuring she must have her car parked in the long-stay area.

He headed to the short-stay building and got into his car. It felt good to be back and now he had some fun to look forward to. He was going to enjoy seeing her perform tomorrow. Pulling out of the building, he looped round and caught sight of her—waiting for the bus service? No way. He’d pulled over before it hit that it could be a bad idea—not tonight. Maybe after tomorrow.

But the words popped out regardless. ‘Can I give you a lift somewhere?’ What the hell was she doing at a bus stop anyway?

Her gaze was cool as ever. Those blue eyes lancing through him like beams of dry ice—burning cold. ‘Thank you very much, Jared, but I’m OK.’

He stared hard at her. Under the light from the streetlamp above the shadows under her eyes seemed more pronounced. So did the shadows in them. She looked slim. She looked pale. She looked tired. And suddenly he wondered whether she really was OK.

‘It’s winter and it’s dark.’ Wasn’t that good enough reason to say yes?

She glanced down the street as if praying the bus would suddenly come into view. Her reluctance made his irritation resurge. So it was him that wasn’t good enough.

‘Who am I?’ he growled. ‘The big bad wolf?’

‘Of course.’ Her chin tilted. ‘You know you are, Jared.’

Chapter Three

WOLF or not, Amanda should have taken up Jared’s offer of a ride. She’d seen him slide into the sleek black sedan that had been parked in a priority space and knew it would be the ultimate in comfort on wheels. Not some low-to-the-ground flashy sports car—that would be too small for legs the length of Jared’s. He was a big, strong man and he had the equivalent in a motoring machine. But she’d refused—cutting off her nose to spite her face, as it turned out. The bus had been late and had then broken down on the side of the motorway, delaying her even further. It had been almost midnight before she’d got back to her room and, as she’d predicted, sleep had been elusive, brief and peppered with memories and dreams she wished she could forget.

She jabbed the button to summon the elevator. She wasn’t late. Having woken before sunrise and knowing there was nil possibility of more sleep, she’d got up and ready hours ago. Even now she had no need to race up the stairs, for she was still over an hour early. But she wasn’t the first in the office. Bronwyn was already there, carefully studying the mock-ups.

‘Hey, Bron.’ Her manager was lovely and talented and Amanda wanted to help keep her small company afloat.

There were four of them and Amanda was the most junior, but she’d been the one to come up with the concept that they’d run with for this pitch and Bronwyn had insisted she lead the presentation. Amanda figured her boss was too fair for her own good.

‘Are you sure you want me to be the one to do this?’ she asked.

‘Of course—it’s your idea, your freshness, your conciseness, and you have a fantastic presentation style. I wish I could bottle it and sell it. I’d be a squillionaire overnight.’ Bronwyn looked at her. ‘Are you feeling nervous?’

‘A little.’ More like a lot. There was too much resting on it and they all knew it.

‘I’ll be there. Just give me the look and I can help you out.’

‘I’ll be OK.’ Amanda put her bag down. While it was wonderful to have been given the opportunity to really prove herself, she needed to do more than that. She needed to win. Grandfather was depending on her. She’d put all her hope on the new medication—but it cost the earth.

At nine-thirty she and Bronwyn got into the taxi. Sean and Danielle stood and waved them off as a gesture of solidarity. Amanda checked her reflection in the car window. But in the two minutes that had elapsed since she’d exited the bathroom her tight, precise French plait was still tight and precise. Not a hair out of place, no lipstick on the teeth, no creases in her skirt. She was—outwardly—as ready as she could be.

Fresh was a medium-sized local beverage company that specialised in fresh-made juices and smoothies. Headed by the gregarious iconic Kiwi actor Barry Stuart, it already had high brand recognition and good market share. But now the brief had changed—Barry wanted his face off the product. They wanted a new campaign that would get results, and an ad agency that would drop everything and come running. Demands would be high, but the results would be worth it—generating enough business to keep the company afloat.

It was a fifteen-minute drive to the factory on the edge of the CBD. They waited in the spacious foyer for several minutes. Amanda avoided her nerves by studying the paintings showcased on the bright white walls—a small but solid selection of emerging New Zealand talent. Someone had a good eye.

The funkily clad receptionist took a call in quiet tones and then came over to them.

‘If you’ll follow me.’ She guided them to the lift and pressed the button for the third floor. Once there she led them to a large meeting room with wide windows looking across the city.

‘If you’d like to set up in here. Barry and the CEO will be in shortly.’

Amanda glanced at Bronwyn—she’d thought Barry was the CEO. Bronwyn shrugged and got the mock-ups from the portfolio she was carrying. Amanda pulled her laptop from her bag, scoping for power sockets.

‘Hello!’ The loud tone heralded the unmistakable arrival of Barry. The smile that he pulled from everyone flashed onto Amanda’s face. He had the kind of presence that made everyone relax even when you’d never met him. So familiar—like the friendly uncle who spent his Sundays turning the sausages at the family barbecues. Then she saw who had come into the room behind him and her heart arrested.

Jared? What was he doing here? She looked behind him to see if someone else was coming in. But with a glint in his eye he closed the door.

There was a painful thumping in her chest as her heart remembered to work and made up for the gap by going triple-time.

She’d never known what it was Jared had done after leaving town. It wasn’t as if she could ask Grandfather. She’d have been mad to mention his name to him—not after what had happened. She swallowed back the memories. Not now.

But she suddenly knew he must have done OK because he was standing here with Barry as if he owned the place.

Oh, no. No, no, no.

Maybe he was the financial guy? Please?

She couldn’t help staring. Couldn’t stop either. He looked incredible. The Jared she’d known nine years ago would never have worn a suit. Certainly not one made to measure. For one thing he wouldn’t have had the money, for another he wouldn’t have cared to. But today he looked as if he were born in it—so neatly and naturally it skimmed his broad frame. It was dark, the shirt navy, the tie dark too.

And those eyes—they drew you into their darkness. Like velvety night in the most remote countryside, they held the promise of a million stars once you got to the heart of it.

Bronwyn was talking, introducing herself and Amanda to Barry and Jared. But Amanda was standing still and silent like a French mime artist with stage fright.

Barry was laughing as he made the return introductions. ‘I’m just the front man. Truth is I sold out the controlling share of the company a couple of years ago but my boss likes to keep private. It’s Jared here. You should be talking your talk to him.’

So it was the worst. Jared was the CEO—the person she had to win over today.

As if that would ever happen.

Jared spoke, inclining his head towards Bronwyn but keeping his eyes on Amanda. ‘I’m sorry for the confusion.’ The look in his eyes said he wasn’t sorry at all. The look in his eyes grew in sharp amusement.

‘But it shouldn’t make much difference.’ He kept talking. ‘Fresh is a privately held company and I’d prefer it that you don’t disseminate the management information. At this stage Barry is still very much the face of the company—until you guys do your stuff, of course.’

He smiled suddenly. That killer charm of a smile again. It was all too rare but when it flashed it had any female in the immediate vicinity weak at the knees and needy in the womb.

Amanda, still recovering from her exposure to it last night, felt a double impact.

Last night. Her brain clicked on—whirring while she read the continued amusement in his expression—and the implication became obvious. Her blood beat faster. He was not surprised to see her here. He had an expectant air—he’d known she was going to be at this meeting.

Her anger built as images from the flight flashed—she’d been working on the presentation, or at least trying to, for half the time in the air. He’d been right beside her; he’d have seen her screen easily. In fact, she knew he had. And she’d even told him for whom she worked.

But he had said nothing. Given no clue that they were destined to meet again today. It had to have been deliberate. A red mist of rage swirled before her eyes as she remembered his parting words about maybe meeting each other again ‘soon’. Totally deliberate.

The swine. The arrogant, calculating swine.

‘I want to retire,’ Barry was saying in his jokey manner. ‘He keeps working me too hard.’

Amanda didn’t smile back. Too angry, she turned. This just couldn’t be happening. She needed to win this pitch, Synergy needed the account, and she needed the money for Grandfather. She pressed her lips together, refusing to unleash the venom she ached to vent.

The men got seated on the other side of the table and Bronwyn sat too, leaving Amanda to launch into the presentation.

She switched on the screen. But it stayed blank. She switched it off and then on again. Still blank.

‘Mandy?’ Amanda hoped that the sharp hint of panic in Bronwyn’s voice was audible only to her.

‘One moment please,’ she said. This was so not what they needed right now.

The power cord led right past the chair where Jared now sat. As she bent to check the plug was pushed right into the socket he murmured, ‘Mandy? You’re never a Mandy.’

She straightened and met his eyes for one furious moment. He was laughing—laughing. She knew her face was flushed, could feel it growing all the more so as she absorbed the full extent of this living nightmare. Was this just some trivial joke for him? From the expression in his eyes he wasn’t expecting anything much at any rate. He was out to enjoy himself, not take her seriously.

For a moment hopelessness swept over and almost sank her. Had this blown all chances of them actually winning the contract?

Heck no, she couldn’t allow that to happen. Her fighting spirit kicked in. Their pitch was a good idea, it was her first chance to prove herself and more than anything she needed the money. And now she had quadruple the incentive. She was going to ace this presentation and really show him exactly what she was made of.

She made herself smile at him—as if there were nothing wrong—and then stepped back to her computer. She saw the question in Bron’s eyes and gave her a smile to reassure her—hoping she’d read her strange new skin tone as a sign of nerves, not fury. This time the cords were in right at both ends and light flickered on the screen. All systems go.

She paused, looked at Barry with his broad, unmistakable grin and then she looked at Jared. No grin, but all cynical challenge and underlying amusement. He really didn’t think she could do it. She inhaled, mentally tossed the ball high and hit him with her most powerful serve.

Twenty minutes later Jared had his fingers to his tie, discreetly trying to loosen it, wondering why the hell he’d worn it in the first place. Barry had already ribbed him about the suit—his usual work attire was jeans and a shirt. He’d hardly worn a suit since his banking days. The casual vibe of the company was half the reason he’d bought it and he only wore suits on the days when he needed to assert authority. So what was it about today that he felt the need to assert authority?

It was only Amanda—only the half-naked nuisance of a girl he’d walked away from almost a decade ago. Only the one he hadn’t been allowed—and stupidly the one he’d wanted most.

He hadn’t known what to expect from the pitch. But he certainly hadn’t expected to be impressed. And he was impressed. After a few minutes there he’d even stopped thinking about how delectable she looked and focused on what she was saying. What she was saying made sense.

Damn.

He’d never expected Amanda to turn the tables on him. He’d anticipated a flaky presentation. He’d anticipated a move afterwards. Take her out for a drink. Then somehow get to a place where they could light the fireworks between them and let them explode in a one-night extravaganza. Instead he got her cool ice-princess approach—concise delivery, punchy lines, and, once she’d got going, genuine enthusiasm. So bloody polished, so bloody perfect.

She’d always felt out of his league. And somehow she still did. Somehow just seeing her sent him into a sort of time warp where he was a teen again and fighting his way out of his lot in life. He’d been so at the mercy of those around him—dependent on generosity. He couldn’t afford to make a wrong move—not then. But damn this feeling—he was the one in control of everything now, wasn’t he?

He refused to relinquish that control.

Yet almost helplessly he watched her, able to see so much more of her today than he could last night. And she was incredible. Her hair was still tied up but looked as gold as it had been all those years ago. Her girlish curves had softened into the fuller shape of a woman. Still trim but with full breasts and a slim waist that was accentuated by the neatly tucked-in blouse and skirt. He wasn’t listening again—hearing only the racing of the blood in his veins. Heading south.

He looked down at the table forcing himself to concentrate on the words, not on the image of her.

Amanda was winding down her spiel, talking up the bit about the benefits of going with their agency and not one of the others she knew he was seeing later in the day. She was tired. Had been talking non-stop for nearly twenty minutes and she had no idea—none—about how it was going down. There’d been no questions, nothing. Barry had added a couple of smiles and nods while Jared had been the bronze statue across the way. The sense of hopelessness was returning—especially as she saw she’d lost his attention and he had a huge frown on.

‘Synergy is a New Zealand-owned company—’

‘Why is that a positive?’ Jared finally interrupted in a rough tone. ‘Wouldn’t we be better off with an overseas conglomerate that has a vast pool of talent and resources from around the globe?’

‘We can offer a unique viewpoint into your local market.’

‘How up to the minute are you?’ He fired the question.

‘As up to the minute as you can get.’ She fired right back.

‘So you’d say you’re “in touch” with the trends, then, are you?’

‘Oh, believe me, Mr James,’ she descended into sarcastic sultriness, ‘we’re in touch.’

There was a silence as Jared met her gaze coolly, triumph suddenly kindling in the dark depths of his eyes. Her heart pounded and her spine prickled as she recognised danger. She broke away, looking down to her notes.

Bronwyn and Barry were both quiet, Amanda snatched a quick glance at both. There was a question in Bronwyn’s eyes and a hint of panic—contrasting sharply with the amusement written all over Barry’s face. Amanda realised that the line between professional and personal had been crossed—she’d crossed it. The challenge in the air had been thrown up by her.

Jared suddenly smiled as he reached out and needlessly moved a piece of paper on the table. It was the merest flash of teeth, revealing his moment of satisfaction further. He’d needled her deliberately. And she’d risen to the bait all too easily. Again.

Rats.

She flashed a quick, vitriolic look at him. He must have sensed her attention because his eyelids lifted and his eyes met hers—veiled with apparent blandness, almost boredom.

Jerk.

But those hideous years at Eastern Bay School for Girls saw her regain her precarious control. She spoke quickly, clearly. ‘By choosing a New Zealand partner you’re helping strengthen your home economy. You’re helping to keep good talent onshore, and good businesses working, which is precisely what you like to do, isn’t it, Mr James? Isn’t that one of the fundamentals of your own company policy? To generate jobs locally?’

She’d done her homework—spent a good twenty minutes talking to one of the delivery drivers who supplied cartons of the juice to the café nearest to her work. He’d been delighted to talk about the company he worked with. In the last couple of years, he’d said, Fresh had expanded its production significantly. And it ran an in-house mentoring scheme and had a high number of employees who’d come from troubled youth intervention programmes—getting kids off the street and into a job. She’d been surprised—not aware that Barry had such a do-good streak.

But now she knew it was Jared at the helm it made more sense—given his own background. Yet the mentoring wasn’t something they used in publicity—once the driver had let it slip, he’d then done so much making light of it she knew it was important. So why didn’t Jared want it advertised?

She met his hard gaze and refused to look away.

‘Why do you want to go away from personality-based advertising?’ Bronwyn piped up, clearly aware of the edge between Amanda and Jared.

‘He’s sick of seeing my face everywhere.’ Barry grinned.

‘So why not rebrand it with your own name and face?’ Bronwyn asked.

Amanda said nothing, just watched Jared’s expression close down.

‘You could call it JJ’s Juice?’ Bronwyn laughed.

Barry laughed too.

Jared didn’t.

It wasn’t long before silence reigned. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Bron blushing—realising she’d made a gaffe. The only one not wincing was Barry.

‘You’re not necessarily going to head the company long-term,’ Amanda said quietly. She didn’t know where she got the prescience from but she knew she was right. ‘And you don’t want it limited or dominated by one personality.’

He met her gaze for a moment longer and then looked away.

‘You know him.’ Bronwyn stated the obvious the minute the taxi doors were closed.

‘Yes.’ Amanda sighed, not wanting to meet her boss’s eyes, but honesty compelled her to.

‘In a way that means we’ll get the contract or we won’t?’

Amanda paused and then shook her head sadly. ‘I don’t know.’ She pulled the tie from her hair and loosened the plait, its tight do hurting her head. ‘Probably the latter. I’m really sorry. I had no idea he was going to be there.’

‘Nor did I. Keeps his cards close, doesn’t he? Doesn’t want to be in the public eye at all. I wonder why?’

Amanda could hazard a guess. Privacy was important to Jared. He’d hated the whole town knowing his business—all the girls feeling as sorry for him as much as they wanted him. He wouldn’t want to be showcased as the underprivileged-kid-done-good. He had too much pride for that.

Bronwyn opened her mouth but closed it again. Next time she opened it she got the question out. ‘How well do you know him?’

It was the inevitable question and Amanda knew exactly what it was she was asking. ‘Not that well.’

‘OK.’ Bronwyn smiled. ‘So how do you know him?’

‘We grew up in the same town. But I haven’t seen him for years.’

‘There’s something, though, isn’t there, between you?’

You’d have had to be made of stone not to have picked up on the tension between them. Bronwyn wasn’t an idiot. And Amanda knew she wasn’t going to let her get off this track without offering up some of the detail.

‘A kiss.’

‘Only one?’

‘He stopped it going further.’

One frightening, exhilarating, life-changing kiss. So often she wished it had never happened. Yet other times, usually when she was kissing someone else, she was glad it had. Because it had been the one kiss that had given her a glimpse of what it could really be like. Amanda had gone in for a lot of kissing in her quest to find a man who could better it. She’d yet to succeed.

She’d romanticised it of course. That was the problem. With the passage of time that hazy memory had become something more than it had really been.

Amanda glanced across to see Bronwyn’s glance resting on her—amusement mixed with chagrin swirling in her expression. ‘Well, it’ll be interesting anyway.’

‘I’m really sorry, Bronwyn. I’d never have come along today had I known.’

Bronwyn shrugged. ‘If your past is going to make as much difference as all that, then maybe we don’t want his business. If he’s unprofessional enough to allow personal issues into his decision-making processes, then we’re better off without him, right?’

‘Right.’ Amanda wanted to smile but couldn’t. No way were they better off without his business. They needed his business no matter what.

‘But for what it’s worth, I think your presentation was stellar. Whatever history you two do or don’t have, it certainly put fuel in your fire. You could have sold me a three-week-old wet newspaper.’

Amanda flushed once more—this time from pleasure rather than mortification. And then the warm feeling subsided. No matter how good she’d been she was sure Jared wouldn’t give them the job.

At that moment Jared was staring at the painting hanging in the far corner of his office, for once not getting any sense of calm from the vast landscape it depicted. He tugged off the tie and undid the top button of his shirt.

This was business. He had to make this decision based on what was best for the company. Which was the pitch more likely to work and which was in tune with his vision? And who could he work with closely to get what he wanted?

What he wanted or who he wanted?

He frowned and turned away, looking out of the window and down the road where a few minutes ago a taxi had driven off, taking the infuriating Amanda away.

Damn.

Because he’d liked her pitch. He’d liked the idea. And there was a part of him that wanted to give the job to that company because he wanted to see it succeed—not go under, swallowed up by the global advertising giants. He’d stepped in and stopped this juice company from being taken over by a large offshore firm; it was part of what had driven him to work the hours he had and take the risks he had. They’d paid off too, those risks. Now he was contemplating another.

Could he really work with her?

He frowned. Ridiculous. Of course he could. A little lust attack could easily be stamped out. Because no way could he follow through on the idea of a one-night fling with her if they were to be working together. That would be messy and Jared loathed messy. He worked most of the time, he played outdoors some of the time and he scored even less of the time. The three were kept very separate. So what if he wanted her? He’d wanted her before and said no; he could do that again no sweat. Definitely.

The question was, could she work with him? Could she keep her professionalism up?

And that, he realised, was what he wanted to know. Could the spoilt princess cope with him giving the orders? His mouth stretched into a smile, slow and wide. How funny for the boot to be on the other foot. Amanda Winchester answering to his call for once.

It shouldn’t matter. Jared was not the kind who liked to abuse his power—but in this case, in this unique case, the temptation was irresistible.

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