One-Click Buy: November Harlequin Presents

by Susan Stephens

  Unless she was expecting someone in his absence.

  Something ground his thoughts to a halt. Just the thought of someone else gliding their way north along that glistening two-lane highway crunched like a bad gear-change inside him.

  He drew in one long breath, but instead of the cooling effect he needed right now the oxygen-laden air merely fuelled the fire pooling in his groin, further compounding the morning’s aggravation.

  Damn it!

  Another time, another woman, he might appreciate the rush of blood—but she was Morgan Fielding, his PA, for God’s sake! And he’d never looked at Morgan Fielding that way. He didn’t look at PAs period, no matter how good their attributes. Tina had cured him of that long ago.

  He cleared his throat, because he knew that if he didn’t his voice would come out too rough, too telling. Besides, he told himself as he pushed himself away from the door, she’d never hear him otherwise over those damned devices jammed into her ears.

  ‘When you’re quite finished…’

  It took a second for her to register before he had her full attention. But that second gave birth to chaos in motion. In a moment she’d jumped out of her seat and wheeled around to face him, simultaneously pulling her skirt down to her knees while yanking the earphones free.

  So he’d startled her. Good. Although he bet it was nothing compared to the shock of those endless legs he’d just been subjected to.

  Then, just when he expected to meet her gaze and see her reaction get reined back to the Little Ms Efficiency she usually was—no doubt with a prim little apology for her late arrival—her look of outrage disappeared and instead her hazel eyes opened wide with shock, the colour draining clear from her face.

  ‘You!’ The word exploded from her lips like an accusation, her hands and feet combining in some crazy dance for her shoes, while her head swung between him and the lift doors, giving him the insane impression that at any moment she was planning to bolt.

  ‘Who were you expecting?’ he asked, planting his fists on her desk, only half joking. ‘The Spanish Inquisition?’

  She bit down on her bottom lip, battling to get her frantic heart-rate under control. Given a choice, she’d take the Spanish Inquisition over this man any day. Because she knew what James Maverick looked like. Hell, the whole of Australia and half the world besides knew what he looked like! In the last three weeks since she’d been back in the country, she’d seen one article after another featuring the corporate high-flyer sprinkled liberally from the front page, through to the deepest, darkest business pages, to the red carpet ‘who’s out with whom’ shots.

  But she also knew he wasn’t supposed to be here!

  ‘But you…’ She protested from a mouth suddenly desert-dry. ‘You’re supposed to be in Europe. Milan!’ she added for emphasis, as if that might make him disappear in a puff of smoke.

  He leaned across the desk towards her, his rich chocolate eyes as unimpressed as they were challenging. She swallowed. She’d never thought of chocolate brown as a threatening colour, not until now; his scorching gaze seemed to suck the very air from the room. Her sister had described him as a tyrant, the A-grade boss from hell. What she hadn’t told her was that he was also A-grade sex on legs. How could Morgan not have noticed? Testosterone radiated out from him like a magnetic field. He wore it as easily as his crisp blue-and-white pinstriped shirt. He wore it as easily as the mantle of power that was almost tangible around him.

  And with his dark eyes and hair, and the hint of a shadowed jaw and even darker disposition, he looked for all the world like an archetypal gunslinger. It was little wonder the entire business world had dropped the ‘James’ years ago and simply called him Maverick. He probably had a black hat and a gun belt stashed away in his top drawer to deal with wayward clients.

  Not to mention anyone masquerading as his PA.

  And right now Tegan was firmly in his sights. She shivered. Had he twigged at the deception already?

  ‘My little surprise,’ he said, moving closer, a dangerous glint in his eye, and his voice a silken noose she felt tightening by the second. ‘I’m very much here. Just as you are very much late and obviously not ready for work. From now on you do your head banging—and get dressed—on your own time.’

  Relief the game wasn’t yet up gave way to aggravation. He hadn’t so much as given her an opportunity to explain why she was late.

  ‘I was held up—’

  ‘Obviously.’

  ‘And I was hardly getting dressed!’

  ‘It sure looked like it from where I was standing.’

  Heat flooded back into her cheeks in outrage. ‘You were watching me!’

  ‘I was waiting for you,’ he corrected, as if it were some kind of defence against her accusation, and he slashed one hand through the air towards her clock. ‘Like I have been for the last hour and a half.’

  She jagged up her chin, still incensed. ‘I didn’t realise it would be such a problem. It’s not as if you’re supposed to be here, after all.’

  ‘It is a problem!’ He rattled the words out like machine-gun fire and she drew back, knowing she’d overstepped the mark. ‘And it’s just as well,’ he continued, ‘that I refused your leave application just in case, because just in case happened. Giuseppe Zeppa had a heart attack Saturday, and as a result all negotiations with Zeppabanca are on hold indefinitely—which means placating Rogerson so he doesn’t get cold feet and pull out of the Aussie end of the deal. So I suggest you get your gear organised and get into my office—and bring the Rogerson file. We’ve got a lot of work to get through today.’

  ‘But…’ she implored, grabbing hold of his arm before he could wheel away. This wasn’t part of the deal. It was one thing to have him accept at face value that she was Morgan; it was another thing entirely to expect her to carry that through. She looked up at him while beneath her fingers corded power tensed, turning the muscled flesh rock-hard.

  He looked down at the hand on his sleeve, and then at her, like she’d just committed some kind of major crime.

  Slowly, dangerously, he angled his jaw, the cleft in his chin a menacing shadow while the look in his eyes turned to a slow, cold burn. Instantly she regretted her knee-jerk reaction. She was well and truly caught, skewered by the potent glare from his eyes.

  ‘But what?’

  The words sounded like bullets while his gaze froze her protest solid. Her hand was paralysed, still on his arm. Because what could she say—‘I’m not who you think I am’? How could she admit that, other than a couple of hours of coaching as to the whys and wherefores of the job so she could at least manage the filing, she didn’t really have a clue what she would be expected to do?

  It took but a second to consider her options. She couldn’t admit the truth. She had to try to do her best to save her sister’s job, not consign it to the dustbin, which was exactly where it would go if he discovered they had switched.

  And he obviously believed she was Morgan. Which was kind of amusing—Mr Hotshot-Corporate-Cowboy Maverick actually believed she was her sister! So why shouldn’t he keep right on believing it—at least until she could call Morgan and get her to hightail it back here as fast as she could?

  After all, she’d worked in an office before. She could type, she could operate a computer and a printer, and what Morgan hadn’t filled her in on she’d learn. She dragged air into her lungs, air that came richly spiced with the heady tang of male—angry male—and she realised she had no choice but to do whatever it took to placate him.

  She could do this for a day or two. She would do whatever it took to protect Morgan’s job. And she could deal with the boss from hell in the process.

  And once Morgan was home they could have a good old laugh about it.

  She let go her hold on his arm and brushed a loose tendril of her hair behind her ear, doing her best to school herself into the model of efficiency he would expect. ‘Of course. I’ll be right there.’

  CHAPTER TWO

  ‘A
ND get on to Rogerson and see if you can set up a meeting for tomorrow morning at his offices.’ Maverick was pacing non-stop alongside the full-length windows that overlooked the Gold Coast coastline, his hands in his pockets as he dictated his requirements. Tegan frantically scribbled, trying to keep up and make sense of his instructions.

  ‘That’s Phil Rogerson, the CEO,’ she muttered half to herself, busy scratching down notes.

  Maverick nodded tersely over his shoulder before continuing. ‘And make sure George Huntley can be there. We’ll need to work up some sort of heads of agreement.’

  ‘From Huntley and Jacques solicitors,’ she added to herself. The two minutes she’d spent frantically scanning the file before she’d joined Maverick in his office was paying far better dividends than she’d expected. It wasn’t so bad. The communications to date had all been clear and succinct, and Tegan was never more grateful for Morgan’s neat streak. She’d obviously had all her filing up to date before she’d finished up last week.

  ‘And, when you’ve done that, I need you to arrange flowers to be sent to Giuseppe.’

  ‘Giuseppe?’ She looked up. She couldn’t remember that name from the file, and yet it seemed oddly familiar.

  ‘Giuseppe Zeppa,’ he filled in. ‘Find out what hospital he’s in and send him the biggest and the best.’

  Of course, she realised—the Italian connection who’d had the heart attack and landed her in this mess. Not that it was Giuseppe’s fault. It had more to do with her sister and her crazy plans.

  What had Morgan promised her? An entire week of swanning around in a plush office with nothing more to do than sort the mail and file her nails.

  Tegan had known that she’d have been much more comfortable distributing food packages to queues of women and children than playing corporate PA to this guy any day—and that was before the nightmare discovery that Maverick was going to be in residence.

  Only when she’d finished writing did she realise he’d stopped firing instructions at her. She raised her eyes to find him framed against the backdrop of the endless shoreline and glittering azure sea, a frown jamming his dark brows tight together.

  ‘What’s got into you today?’

  She jumped. ‘Nothing,’ she blustered, immediately cursing the defensiveness in her tone.

  He just kept on scowling at her, like he was scratching away, searching for the truth, trying to peel back the layers. She tucked a renegade strand of hair behind her ear and cocked up her chin. Attack had to be the best form of defence. ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘Because you’ve been repeating everything I’ve said. Are you sure you’re not coming down with something? Your voice sounds a little strange.’

  ‘No! At least, not that I know of.’

  ‘Then what the hell’s wrong with you?’

  ‘Nothing’s wrong with me!’

  ‘You’ve been in a strange mood all day.’

  ‘And you’ve been in a bad mood all day!’

  His back straightened, his hands lifting from his pockets to cross lazily over his chest. The movement was slow, languid even, but the body language was clear.

  Wrong answer.

  Tension lined his features, barely restrained tension that held his broad-shouldered pose rigid and forced the flicker of movement at his jaw. And suddenly it wasn’t a gunslinger she was looking at. Against the glittering ocean and infinite skies he could have been a sea god, emerged from the oceans to claim the world and everything it contained. And, if he’d been holding a trident, she had no doubt it would have been launched directly at her right now.

  ‘Is that so?’ he questioned, dragging her attention back to his face and one pointedly arched brow. ‘I’ve been in a bad mood all day?’

  She swallowed. He’d probably been in that mood his entire life, if what Morgan had told her was any indication. Not that she was crazy enough to add saying that to her list of transgressions. ‘At least since I got in.’

  ‘Late.’

  She cocked her head. ‘Pardon?’

  ‘You were late, I recall. Maybe if you’d got in on time you might have found my mood a little more to your liking.’

  Tegan doubted it. She glanced down at her watch. How much more of this day did she have to endure?

  ‘Expecting someone?’

  She looked up at him. ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘Do you have somewhere you need to be?’

  She blinked. Where was this headed?

  ‘A lunch date, perhaps?’

  ‘Not that that would be any of your business, but I’m planning on working through lunch.’ She paused, knowing she should shut up now, but unable to resist giving the man back something of his own medicine. ‘To make up for my earlier crimes against the state.’

  Something unreadable flashed across his eyes, and his jaw worked overtime before he finally spun away to face the wall of windows. ‘Good,’ he said. ‘That’s exactly what I meant. Let me know how you get on with Rogerson.’

  He even looked powerful from the back, she realised absent-mindedly, unable to miss how his shirt pulled across his broad shoulders before narrowing to tuck into a lean, packed waist and trousers that fitted in all the right places.

  Suddenly he turned his head, looking back over his shoulder at her and capturing her open appraisal. His eyes narrowed, his expression remaining resolute.

  ‘Was there something else?’

  It took a second to realise she’d been dismissed and that she’d missed it completely. And, instead of running for the relative sanctuary of her work station like she should have, she’d sat here ogling him. And he’d caught her red-handed. What the hell was wrong with her, hanging around in here, when being with him was the last thing she needed?

  ‘No,’ she murmured in response as she gathered up her note pad and rose from the chair. ‘Nothing at all.’

  The soft snick of the catch told him she’d gone, but still he stayed where he was, watching without really seeing the endless waves roll in along the coastline.

  So she didn’t have a lunch date. Why had that launched such a surge of satisfaction? Why had it even mattered? She was Morgan, his PA.

  His PA with the endless, smooth-skinned legs.

  She’d had them tucked demurely away beneath her, but every now and then she’d shifted slightly, and those legs had shimmered in the light, drawing his eye and causing his mind to wander—and hold out for the merest glimpse of lace. Fruitlessly, as it had turned out.

  So, if it wasn’t a lunch date, maybe it was dinner she had planned? There had to be some reason for her less buttoned-up dress code. Unless his presence here today had spoilt some other plans she’d had in mind? That could account for the sassy attitude.

  Not that he was interested. He was curious, that was all. Anything that affected the performance of a significant member of his team was a concern. And if something was bugging her he’d find out exactly what it was.

  Time didn’t have a chance to drag. Once back in her work space, Tegan did a more thorough once-over of the file to assure herself she was on the right track, before launching into the myriad tasks Maverick had set her, all the time praying she didn’t make any major blunders.

  But, before any of that, the first thing she’d done was to take the time to email Morgan in Honolulu. Urgent, she’d written in the subject header. Call me tonight at home asap!

  She could only hope Morgan would check her private email daily, as she’d promised when Tegan had agreed to this crazy scheme.

  Not that she’d really agreed to anything, when it all came down to it. She’d been well and truly guilt-tripped into it.

  ‘You owe me,’ Morgan had pleaded. ‘When Dad was sick I had to use up all my leave to look after him.’

  ‘I had a fever!’ Tegan had argued. ‘I wanted to come home, you know that, but they wouldn’t let me travel.’

  Morgan had been unsympathetic. ‘It doesn’t change the fact I had to look after him by myself. Now I’ve got no leave left, and Maveric
k insists I sit at my desk all week just in case he wants me to send a fax somewhere. Come on, Tegan, it’s the least you can do. Bryony is my best friend, and the wedding’s only two weeks away. How can I tell her at this stage that I can’t be her chief bridesmaid?’

  ‘But nobody is going to believe I’m you for an entire week.’

  ‘Why not? Maverick will be half a world away, and anybody that knows I have a sister thinks she’s still off fighting the good cause in some Third World country somewhere.’

  Half a world away. If only.

  Tegan had tried to find holes in her sister’s scheme, had tried to find where it could fall down. She sighed as she remembered the countless arguments, the many ‘what if’s as she’d argued her case and why it couldn’t work. But her twin had been convincing, in spite of Tegan’s doubts—‘a piece of cake’, she’d called it. She’d made it sound doable. She’d even managed at times to make it sound logical. Besides, how else would Morgan have been able to get to Bryony’s wedding? Morgan’s boss could not have been allowed to get away with such a mean gesture.

  Besides, Morgan had been right about one thing: Tegan owed her sister big time for caring for their father after his sudden stroke, when Tegan had been able to do no more than worry from a distance. In the end, battling against a mystery virus in a dusty African camp hospital, she’d heard the chilling news that her father had suffered another stroke, this time fatal. It was two months before she’d been declared fit enough to travel, too late to see her father one last time, and two months too late to help Morgan.

  So, yes, Tegan owed her. And Morgan had made it sound foolproof. Except that neither of them had once considered the possibility that the Italian trip wouldn’t go ahead.

  Maverick was here…

  And so what that he’d been taken in today; how long could she maintain the deception? Morgan would just have to come home, and the sooner the better. There was nothing else for it.