The Boss's Secret Mistress

The Boss's Secret Mistress
Alison Fraser

An affair just wasn't on her agenda!Lucas Ryecart: driven, demanding, dynamic. Impossible to work with, but impossible to ignore!Tory Lloyd: pretty plucky and puzzled. Lucas, the new CEO of her company, is determined to make her his mistress!Together they make a great team, in the boardroom and in the bedroom. But Tory knows that it's only a matter of time before Lucas discovers her heartbreaking secret, and surely then he won't want her anymore…?

“I don’t know why, Mr. Ryecart. It’s not as if I could fire you.”

Lucas made an exasperated sound. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it! Can’t you forget our respective positions for a single moment?”

“No, since you ask, I can’t forget. Neither would you, I imagine, if you were in my position.”

“Underneath me?” he suggested.

“Yes!” She’d walked right into it.

“If only you were.” His eyes made a leisurely trip down her body and back again. The elevator arrived and Lucas stepped in with her. Tory wanted to step out again, but it seemed an act of cowardice. What could he do in the five seconds it took for the elevator to reach the ground floor?

He could hit the emergency button. Tory didn’t realize that was what he’d done until the elevator lurched to a halt.

“You can’t do that!”

He grinned. “For now, let’s talk.”

“I don’t want to talk.”

He drawled, “Fair enough. Let’s not talk.” And with one step he closed the distance between them….

The Boss’s Secret Mistress

Alison Fraser

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER ONE

‘LUCAS RYECART?’ Tory repeated the name, but it meant nothing to her.

‘You must have heard of him,’ Simon Dixon insisted. ‘American entrepreneur, bought up Howard Productions and Chelton TV last year.’

‘I think I’d remember a name like that,’ Tory told her fellow production assistant. ‘Anyway, I’m not interested in the wheeling and dealing of money men. If Eastwich needs an injection of cash, does it matter where it comes from?’

‘If it means one of us ending up at the local job centre,’ Simon warned dramatically, ‘then, yes, I’d say it matters.’

‘That’s only rumour.’ Tory knew from personal experience that rumours bore little relationship to the truth.

‘Don’t be so sure. Do you know what they called him at Howard Productions?’ It was a rhetoric question as Simon took lugubrious pleasure in announcing, ‘The Grim Reaper.’

This time Tory laughed in disbelief. After a year in Documentary Affairs at Eastwich Productions, she knew Simon well enough. If there wasn’t drama already in a situation, he would do his best to inject it. He was such a stirrer people called him The Chef.

‘Simon, are you aware of your nickname?’ she couldn’t resist asking now.

‘Of course.’ He smiled as he countered, ‘Are you?’

Tory shrugged. She wasn’t, but supposed she had one.

‘The Ice Maiden.’ It was scarcely original. ‘Because of your cool personality, do you think?’

‘Undoubtedly,’ agreed Tory, well aware of the real reason.

‘Still, it’s unlikely that you’ll fall victim to staff cuts,’ Simon continued to muse. ‘I mean, what man can resist Shirley Temple hair, eyes like Bambi and more than a passing resemblance to what’s-her-name in Pretty Woman?’

Tory pulled a face at Simon’s tongue-in-cheek assessment of her looks. ‘Anyone who prefers blonde supermodel types…Not to mention those of an entirely different persuasion.’

‘I should be so lucky,’ he acknowledged in camp fashion, before disclaiming, ‘No, this one’s definitely straight. In fact, he has been described as God’s gift to women.’

‘Really.’ Tory remained unimpressed. ‘I thought that was some rock singer.’

‘I’m sure God is capable of bestowing more than one gift to womankind,’ Simon declared, ‘if only to make up for the many disadvantages he’s given you.’

Tory laughed, unaffected by Simon’s anti-women remarks. Simon was anti most things.

‘Anyway, I think we can safely assume, with a little judicious eyelash-batting, you’ll achieve job security,’ he ran on glibly, ‘so that leaves myself or our beloved leader, Alexander the Not-so-Great. Who would you put your money on, Tory dearest?’

‘I have no idea.’ Tory began to grow impatient with Simon and his speculations. ‘But if you’re that worried, perhaps you should apply yourself to some work on the remote chance this Ryecart character comes to survey his latest acquisition.’

This was said in the hope that Simon would allow her to get on with her own work. Oblivious, Simon remained seated on the edge of her desk, dangling an elegantly shod foot over one side.