The Billionaire Boss's Bride

‘Oh, I do!’ He shot her a crooked smile that would have had any little old lady buckling at the knees. He was also an incurable flirt. She had seen him in action, taking time to chat with the cleaner who came in after hours, even though she was a happily married lady in her mid fifties. He did it almost without thinking. She wondered how many of his young, pretty secretaries had lost their heads over him. Whatever, she assumed that he was as charming when he dispatched them as he was when he hired them, because in the space of two weeks she had transferred no less than three separate calls from women who said that they had worked for him in the past and were just phoning to touch base.

It was to her credit, she thought now, that she could withstand his personality as successfully as she did. She did so now by sending him a dry look that warned him not to overplay his card and he laughed, reading the message in her brown eyes.

As always, though, when it came to work, he was all concentrated brilliance. She barely noticed the time flying by when, after an hour, his office was occupied by four of the computer whizkids sprawled on the sofa, one perched on his desk, all animatedly discussing ideas for some new software while she sat rapidly making notes and working out in her head their order of priority for when she came to transcribe them the following morning.

She realised the time when Robert Harding, a brilliant computer mind behind thick spectacles and the classic nerd look, stretched and stood up to leave. Then she looked at her watch and gave a little shriek of dismay.

‘I have to go!’ She stood up, feeling like a traitor because she was leaving work ahead of everyone else, even though five-thirty had come and gone a full forty-five minutes ago.

‘Oh, yes, the spaghetti Bolognese!’ Curtis grinned and stood up as well, putting an end to the impromptu meeting which, uncharacteristically, met with groans of reluctance.

‘Now, now!’ he chided them, sauntering over to unhook his bomber jacket from the sleek walnut-fronted cupboard that stored several essential items of clothing just in case he happened to sleep in the office one night. Through the dividing door, he could see Tessa scuttling around her desk, frantically tidying things away. Strands of hair were escaping from her neatly coiffured coil, as if even they were in a state of agitation about the lateness of the hour.

‘I think we ought to stay on for, let’s say, another hour or so, Curtis!’ Adam Beesley’s youthful face was bright with enthusiasm.

‘Remember what they say about all work and no play! You don’t want to end up a dullard, do you?’ He moved towards his office door, keeping Tessa within his line of vision while he continued to address the assorted crew now reluctantly rising to their feet. ‘Fine line, team, between hard-working and sad!’ He exited his office to hoots of laughter and followed Tessa to the lift, insinuating himself in front of her just as she was about to press the button.

‘I want to apologise for keeping you here so late,’ he murmured.

Tessa pressed the button and stared in front of her. ‘Normally, I wouldn’t mind. I don’t like clock-watching but tonight—’

‘Yes, the friends, the cooking. Here’s where I come in.’ At that moment the lift arrived and the doors parted. As soon as they were in the lift, he turned to her and smiled. Maybe it was her imagination, but that full wattage smile in the confines of a lift seemed to be a lot more potent. She felt her skin heat up and the hand she had thrust into her coat pocket curled into a little, nervous fist.

Curtis at work was her boss, even when the man intruded. Curtis out of work was something she didn’t think about although unconsciously she must have found the thought disturbing because she had not once taken up any offers to go anywhere for a quick drink with the gang before heading home.

‘Since it’s my fault your meal’s going to be ruined, let me take all of you out to dinner…’

‘What?’ Her head swung round sharply and for a few nightmarish seconds she actually struggled for breath while she tried to cope with the horror of his suggestion.

‘I said—’

‘Yes, I heard what you said! And it’s…very…well, considerate of you, but out of the question. Thank you all the same!’

‘But you won’t have time to prepare your meal…’

‘I can whip something else up. No need for you to worry about it.’ Panic licked through her and she tried to see his suggestion for what it was, an offbeat but instinctively gracious offer from someone who had kept her working later than intended. Curtis was not a man who was stingy with his gestures. He would think nothing of taking her out along with seven other people for a slap-up meal at some expensive restaurant somewhere.

She realised that her reaction was out of proportion because she didn’t want him to invade her private life at all, not in any way.

The lift had reached the ground floor and she scooted out, planning to escape into the dark cold outside, thereby putting an end to their conversation.

‘So I take it you won’t accept my offer…’ He reached out and swung her around, leaving his arm curled on her wrist. ‘I’m cut to the quick.’

‘No, you’re not!’ Tessa said sharply. His hand was burning through the layers of clothing. She could feel it like a hot brand stamping down into her flesh, making her want to squirm.

‘You’re right. I’m not. But that’s only because I expected you to refuse my offer.’

‘You did?’

He nodded gravely and the pressure of his hand lessened, although he didn’t remove it and didn’t appear to notice her surreptitious attempts to ease it away.

‘I did.’ He shot her a smug look. ‘Isn’t it nice the way I can tune in to you after only two weeks?’

Tessa ignored that. ‘Well, why did you bother to offer if you knew I was going to refuse?’

‘Because I still intend to help you out, whether you like it or not.’ Instead of heading towards the revolving door at the front, he swivelled her back round to the lift and pressed the down button. ‘I’m going to drive you to your house and, on the way, I’m going to stop off and get a take-away and, before you open your mouth to gently turn my magnanimous offer down, there’s no debate.’

She was ushered back into the lift, this time down to the basement, where a handful of people were given the privilege of secured parking. In central London that in itself was worth its weight in gold.

‘Slightly selfish reasons here,’ he continued, leaning back against the mirrored side of the lift.

‘What?’ Tessa’s voice was apprehensive. Trying to predict this man’s moves was like trying to predict the weather from a sealed box underground. Utterly impossible.

‘I need you to do me a small favour.’

‘Favour? What favour?’

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, as the lift disgorged them into the compact underground car park he led her towards his sleek, low-slung sports car, a shiny black Mercedes that was the last word in breathtaking extravagance and just the sort of car she would have imagined him driving. Not for him the big, safe cars with practical boot space and generous passenger-toting potential!

‘One of my babies,’ he said, grinning at her and sweeping a loving hand across the gleaming bonnet.

‘One of them? You mean you have a fleet of cars lurking away somewhere?’ Yes, she could imagine that too. A dozen racy little numbers tucked away somewhere, ready and waiting for when they might be put to use driving his racy female numbers to racy little nightclubs. She scowled in the darkness and wondered how such creative genius could be simultaneously shallow and superficial.

‘You snorted.’

‘I beg your pardon?’ Had she?

‘You snorted just then. A very disapproving snort. What’s wrong about having a fleet of sports cars? I thought you women liked that sort of thing.’

‘Some might.’ His amusement was very irritating. She tilted her chin up and stared frostily out of the window.

‘But not you.’ He slotted a card into the machine at the side and the exit barrier went up.

‘That’s right,’ Tessa said crisply. ‘I happen to think that men who feel the need to buy small, fast cars are just subscribing to the truth of toys for boys.’

‘Toys for boys?’ Curtis chuckled. ‘I can assure you that I’m no boy! Haven’t I already proved that by the kind of coffee I drink?’

‘Yes, of course you have. Silly me. You’re all man!’ She slanted an ironic, sideways glance at him and just for a fraction of a second their eyes met and she felt a rush of unsteadiness. The glint in his eyes was wickedly, darkly teasing and for one heart-stopping moment it spiked into the very core of her, sending every pulse in her body shooting off into overdrive. ‘You might want directions to my house,’ she said in a very steady voice. ‘I live out towards Swiss Cottage. If you—’

‘I know where Swiss Cottage is.’ He paused. ‘Now to the original point of my conversation.’

Curiosity overcame apprehension at the oddly serious note in his voice and Tessa shifted to look at him. ‘Yes. The favour you wanted to ask of me. What is it? If it’s to do with working overtime, then I’m sure it won’t be a problem, just so long as you let me know in advance what days you require of me.’

‘Oh, well, some overtime might be needed but it’s to do with my baby, actually.’

‘Your car?’ Wasn’t this baby thing going a little too far? Boys with toys was bad enough but boys obsessed with toys was beyond the pale!

‘No, of course not,’ Curtis said impatiently. ‘I’m talking about Anna!’