Assignment: Seduction

Assignment: Seduction
CATHY WILLIAMS

Cathy Williams is originally from Trinidad but has lived in England for a number of years. She currently has a house in Warwickshire which she shares with her husband Richard, her three daughters Charlotte, Olivia and Emma and their pet cat, Salem. She adores writing romantic fiction and would love one of her girls to become a writer, although at the moment she is happy enough if they do their homework and agree not to bicker with one another.

Assignment: Seduction

by

Cathy Williams

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

CHAPTER ONE

IT WAS nine-thirty at night. This was dark, unfamiliar territory and even inside the taxi it was freezing cold. Outside, with the wind rustling wrappers and paper along the street, the detritus of people who couldn’t be bothered to find the nearest bin in which they could deposit their rubbish, it would be an icebox. A menacing, littered icebox. All that was needed now were a couple of howling, rabid dogs and some dustballs to complete the happy scene.

This had better be good.

‘You sure you got the address right, lady?’ The taxi-driver’s eyes met hers in the rear-view mirror. ‘Somebody meeting you at the other end?’ Cos this ain’t the most savoury part of London.’

‘Oh, somebody’s meeting me all right,’ Melissa muttered grimly under her breath. She crossed her slender legs and stared with mounting exasperation out of the window.

Even for him, this was too much. To give her forty minutes’ notice, to drag her from the cosy warmth of her little flat not to mention the tantalising prospect of a ready-made meal curled up in front of the television, on the pretext that he needed to have a meeting with her urgently, didn’t bear thinking about.

In the three years that she had been working for him, Robert Downe’s utter disregard for convention had seen her working until three in the morning, taking notes at meetings conducted in the most unlikely places, being whisked off on his private jet an hour after she had stepped foot through the office door, but when she was home, her time had always been her own.

He demanded total commitment from everyone who worked for him, and from her he expected not only that, but a ready, obliging and preferably thrilled smile on her face to accompany his occasionally outrageous demands. But, as he had airily informed her at her interview, fair was fair. The minute she left the office, she would be absolutely free to shed her working clothes and indulge in whatever took her fancy, without fear that he would invade her privacy with unwanted work requests.

What he had omitted to mention was quite how thoroughly her well-paid, invigorating job would eat into so many hours of the day that the notion of having any sort of coherent, stable, routine private life was almost out of the question.

Her brilliant, temperamental, utterly dedicated boss didn’t possess a nine-to-five mind and he was frankly bewildered by anyone who didn’t share his lack of respect for clocks, watches and anything else that attempted to impose restrictions on the working day.

‘Here we go, lady. Big Al’s. Been in there a couple of times myself.’ There was wistful nostalgia in the cab driver’s voice as he harked back to what was undoubtedly his bad old days, judging from the unappealing sight that greeted her eyes. ‘Looks worse on the outside than it is on the inside. And don’t mind them blokes on the bikes. Gentle as lambs, they are.’

The herd of gentle lambs, some ten of them, began revving their motorbikes. One of them spat forcefully into the gutter, said something in a loud voice and there was a wave of raucous laughter.

I’ll kill him, she thought to herself, even if it means saying goodbye to the best job I’m ever likely to have. How could he have brought me here?

‘Want me to wait for you, just in case your mate ain’t inside?’

‘No.’ Melissa sighed and handed over the fare, including a generous tip just in case she needed him sooner than she thought.

‘Like hanging out with the rough sort, do you?’ The taxi-driver caught her eye in the mirror and winked knowingly, a seedy gesture to which Melissa could find no response that came anywhere near the realms of politeness. Instead of answering, she opened the car door and swung her body outside.

The freezing cold attacked her like a vengeful lover that has been kept waiting for too long, and she pulled her coat tightly around her, shoving her hands into the pockets and walking quickly towards the bar, head down to protect herself from the biting wind. Outside the bar, a couple of loiterers were arguing over something. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw them pause in mid-flow to look at her and although her face registered no fear whatsoever, a thread of clammy apprehension uncurled inside her in sickening waves.

She pushed open the door and was greeted by a blast of wailing country music, a fog of smoke and the deafening babble of voices. In the middle of the room, a circular bar held sway, and around it was draped a collection of abnormally hairy men, largely dressed in faded denim. Sprinkled in between these flowers of shy beauty was a selection of blondes, mostly drinking out of bottles. Melissa had to steel herself against making an involuntary moue of distaste.

Towards the far end of the room, which was much bigger inside than it appeared on the outside, were three pool tables. In the background, Tammy Wynette continued to lament the passing of love.

It took a matter of seconds to locate the object of her irritation and she strode towards him, head held high, heels clicking purposefully on the wooden floor, hands still thrust into the pockets of her coat, tan-and-navy bag firmly secured under her arm.

A number of curious eyes followed her path across the room until she stopped, glaring, in front of her boss, legend in financial circles, talented, eccentric creator of vast wealth from little more than a background selling fish at Billingsgate Market with his father at the age of twelve, breaker of women’s hearts, many of which she personally had had to deal with when love’s first passion had grown bored and restless.

He was holding court at the far end of the room. He had pushed his chair away from the table, the better to accommodate his long legs and appeared to have his audience enraptured with whatever he was saying.

Somewhere very deep inside her, she could feel the full force of his overwhelming personality and his devilish good looks register on her consciousness. As it always did. In all the time she had worked for Robert Downe, he still had the power to unsettle her simply by the way he looked.

He was shockingly, no scandalously, good-looking. His hair was black and very short and his eyes were deep midnight blue, the blue of the sky when daylight has all but left and darkness is beginning to spread its wings. Sexy eyes. She might be immune to him but she had always reluctantly conceded the appeal he had over the female sex. Whatever their marital status, whatever their age, height, weight, class, profession or personality, his mere presence had always been enough to turn heads.

‘You’re late,’ were his opening words, while three pairs of eyes settled on the petite, olive-skinned brunette with interest. Melissa ignored them all and focused her slanting brown eyes on her boss.

‘Would you mind telling me what was so important that you had to drag me out of my warm flat, halfway across London at this time of the night? An urgent meeting, I recall you saying?’ She tilted her small head meaningfully, and her thick, straight brown hair which she had left untied in her haste to meet her boss, swung against one shoulder. ‘Strange, but the music is so loud here that I can’t see how we could possibly have a conversation, never mind conduct a business meeting.’

It was one of her boss’s occasional grumbles that no one, but no one, spoke to him as irreverently as she did, but it was, she knew from experience, the only way to deal with some of his more flamboyant moods. She worked too closely with him to be daunted by his forcefulness and anyway, it would have been out of character for her to tiptoe around him. In her own self-contained way, she was every bit as forceful as her boss.

‘Whoa!’ There were cries of delight all round and Robert flashed her a pained expression which she knew meant nothing at all. Had he forgotten that she had seen him in action over the years and knew that he was as humble and vulnerable as a barracuda on the prowl?

‘See what I have to put up with?’ he addressed no one in particular, and Melissa folded her arms and looked at him, gimlet-eyed.

‘Yeah. Well, it beats Allie at the office,’ one of the bearded men commented morosely. ‘Sixty if a day and a shrew with it. Surprised I ever get any work done.’

‘You don’t work, mate. You draw.’

‘You’re an artist?’ Melissa asked, side-tracked.

‘Architect. For my sins.’

‘With a face like that,’ Robert said gravely, ‘he had to go in for a job that kept him away from the public eye.’

Melissa felt a wicked urge to smile and had to remind herself that there was nothing to smile about because she had been rudely yanked from her privacy for what was fast appearing to be no reason at all. That was the problem with Robert Downe. He could move from infuriating to funny in the space of seconds with no recovery period in between.

‘At least yours truly here doesn’t have to rely on pretty-boy looks to get places,’ he replied, grinning at Robert and winking at Melissa.

‘Oh, my loyal secretary doesn’t find me in the slightest bit good-looking, do you, Mellie?’ He gave her one of those scorching stares from under his lashes. It was a look she had seen him direct at his leggy beauties from time to time, and she raised one eyebrow cynically.

‘Which,’ she said to her small audience, ‘is why I’m still working for him.’

‘You wouldn’t swap me for all the tea in China. You know that,’ he said huskily and she clicked her tongue impatiently.

‘Work?’ she reminded him. ‘The reason I’m here?’

‘Oh, if you must. Don’t you want to relax for a few minutes?’ He flashed her a winning smile which she returned with a warning frown. ‘It’s Harry’s birthday today,’ he said, tilting his head in the direction of a bearded hulk at the bar, and drinking straight out of the bottle. ‘The big forty. The daddy of the lot. We’ve got a bit of a surprise for him.’ Robert leaned over confidentially.

Melissa felt a twinge of unease at his closeness. Without consciously realising it, the lines between them were important to her. She needed the sanctuary of her home life, the untouchability of her privacy to keep his forceful personality at bay. She could handle him in a work capacity, where she was sure of herself and of her role but here, in a darkened bar, surrounded by his cronies, in an environment that stripped them of the invisible labels that defined them both, she realised that she was exposed and vulnerable in a way she didn’t care for.

‘Birthday cake,’ Robert confided. ‘Of the surprise variety. You know, one of those large affairs that house an attractive semi-clad woman who’s a dab hand at a song-and-dance routine.’

‘Oh, so nothing very chauvinistic then,’ she said tartly. ‘Is that why I’m here, Robert?’