The Tycoon's Proposal

The Tycoon's Proposal
Leigh Michaels

HAS THE TYCOON MET HIS MATCH…?With the holiday season fast approaching, Lissa Morgan is in dire straits–she's stuck without a job, and the roof over her head is definitely temporary! So when a two-week live-in job is offered to her, Lissa snaps it up. What she doesn't realize is that she'll be in close proximity to Kurt Callahan–the man who broke her heart years before when she discovered he had only dated her for a schoolboy bet!Kurt's now a sexy businessman, and the attraction between them is sparking. Can Lissa forgive, forget and accept this tycoon's new proposal…?

Of course, there was the little matter of Kurt Callahan.

But once the grand opening of his new store was past he’d be going home, and that interference would be gone, as well. And with him out of the way, her peace of mind would be restored and she could get down to work…for a while, at least.

The nerve of the man, threatening to tell her new boss what had happened between them all those years ago. Of course he wouldn’t actually do it, because he’d be the one who ended up looking bad. Still…Lissa had thought she was long over the sting of the single evening she’d spent with him. Even in the cloakroom last night she hadn’t entirely lost her perspective. But that was before she’d had to deal with him on such a personal level, and now all the feelings had come flashing back: the frustration and the anger, the hurt, the desolation and, yes, the attraction, too….

The Tycoon’s Proposal

Leigh Michaels

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

Leigh Michaels has always been a writer, composing dreadful poetry when she was just four years old and dictating it to her long-suffering older sister. She started writing romance in her teens, and burned six full manuscripts before submitting her work to a publisher. Now, with more than seventy novels to her credit, she also teaches romance writing seminars at universities, writers’ conferences and on the Internet.

Leigh loves to hear from readers. You may contact her at P.O. Box 935, Ottumwa, Iowa 52501, U.S.A., or visit her Web site: leigh@leighmichaels.com

For Alexandra, who knows why

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE (#u9c6ad5a1-3e5f-5887-8844-1169c6e86c17)

CHAPTER TWO (#u7aa89b12-772e-5a2d-a0f6-4bd44c05e715)

CHAPTER THREE (#u28b29cff-1747-5a0e-a9a3-83b9f53d523c)

CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ONE

LONG BEFORE THE banquet was over, Kurt was feeling restless. Why couldn’t people just say thank you and leave it at that? If he hadn’t wanted to donate all that equipment he wouldn’t have done it. So why should he be required to sit at a head table and smile for what seemed hours while everyone from the university’s president on down expressed their appreciation?

As if she’d read his mind, his grandmother leaned toward him and whispered, “Most people who donate things enjoy the public recognition. You look as if you have a toothache.” She gave an approving nod toward the podium and applauded politely.

Kurt hadn’t noticed until then that yet another speaker had finally wound to his interminable conclusion. He rose, made the obligatory half-bow toward the speaker, gave the audience another self-deprecating smile, and hoped to high heaven that they were done.

Apparently they were—or else the audience had finally had enough too, for most of them were on their feet. “At last,” he said under his breath.

“It’s only been an hour,” his grandmother said. “You really must learn some patience.”

Now that it was almost finished he could begin to see some humor in the situation. “I didn’t hear you saying anything about the need to be patient while I was getting myself established in business, Gran. In fact, I seem to remember you egging me on by saying you wanted me to hurry up and get rich enough to buy you a mink coat.”

“What I said,” she reminded him crisply, “was that I wanted a mink coat and a great-grandchild before I died, and since I was perfectly able to buy my own mink coat you should concentrate on the great-grandchild.”

He suppressed a grin at how easily she’d stepped into the trap. “Well, these people have been telling you all evening how great your grandchild is. So the way I see it, now that you know I’m perfect you have nothing left to complain about.”

She smiled. “And here I thought you brought me tonight only because you couldn’t decide which of the young women on your list deserved the laurels.”

She wasn’t far wrong about that, Kurt admitted. He could think of half a dozen women who would have been pleased to attend this event with him—unexciting as it had turned out to be. But that was part of the problem, of course. Invite a woman to a party and she understands it’s just a date. Invite her to a boring banquet in your honor and she starts thinking you must be serious.

His grandmother was looking beyond him. “Don’t look now, but here comes another one.”

And if you take your grandmother to the banquet instead, he thought, the hopefuls start coming out of the walls.

From the corner of his eye, he spotted a woman coming toward them. This one was blond—but only the hair color seemed to change; they were all young, sleek, improbably curvy, with perfect pert noses. It was as if someone had put a Barbie doll on the copy machine and hit the enlarge button.

There had been two of them before they’d even sat down to dinner—fluttering over to enthuse about how wonderful he was to make such a huge contribution, obviously thinking that the way to any man’s heart was through his ego. If Kurt had started the evening with any inclination to think himself special—which he hadn’t—that would have been enough to cure him.

“Time to get out of here.” He offered his arm to his grandmother.

Outside the banquet room, a few people were milling about, buttoning winter coats and wrapping scarves before leaving the warm student union for the wintry outdoors.

“There’s a chair,” Kurt said. “And isn’t that your friend Marian? You can talk to her while I get your coat.”

The cloakroom counter was busy, and only one attendant was on duty. When they’d arrived the crowd had been trickling in and there had been two people manning the cloakroom. Now that everyone wanted to leave at once there was just one. Bad planning, Kurt thought.

Several young men were clustered at one end of the counter. Kurt recognized some of them as the athletes who had helped to demonstrate the equipment he had donated for the student union’s new gym before all the dignitaries had trooped up to the banquet room to start the congratulations. Kurt looked past them and saw why they were hanging around—the attendant on duty was female, young, and not at all hard on the eyes.

He fidgeted with his claim ticket as he waited his turn, and he watched the young woman. She wasn’t conventionally pretty at all. She was far too thin for her height, he thought. Her eyes were much too big for her face, and her auburn hair was cropped shorter than many men’s. And the anonymous uniform of a server—black trousers, boxy white tuxedo shirt, bow tie—did little for her slim figure. But she was stunning, nevertheless, the sort of woman who drew gazes, and attention, and interest.

The athletes were certainly interested. Every time she came back to the counter with a coat, one or more of them had a comment. Some of the remarks she ignored, some she smiled at, some brought a quip in return.

She’s leading them on, Kurt thought. Not that he cared whether she flirted with the customers, as long as she continued to work efficiently through the crowd. He eyed the small glass jar which sat discreetly at one end of the counter, hinting that tips would be welcome. It was half full of bills and coins. No doubt the occasional flirtation increased the evening’s take.

Before long the foyer was emptying out, but the athletes were still hanging on. “When do you get off duty?” one of them asked the attendant.

“Hard to say,” the young woman said. “With all these people to take care of, it might be another hour.”

“I’ll hang around for a while,” the athlete said. “You’ll need a ride home because it’s snowing.”

“No, thanks. I like snow. Besides—” She checked the number on a ticket and went to the farthest rack to get an overcoat.

By the time she came back the athlete had apparently thought it through. “I know. You’ve got a boyfriend to come and get you.”