by Sarah Morgan
‘I’m not in the habit of lying.’
‘But—’ she shook her head a little dazedly ‘—you were the one who wanted me to look more—more with it. I actually was rather convinced you were afraid I might be an embarrassment to you.’
‘For my sins, so I was.’ He smiled austerely. ‘You know, even if you were expecting me to make some crushing remark about your appearance, I wouldn’t have thought it would have bothered you a lot.’
Alex blinked at this disclosure.
He shrugged. ‘I was pretty much convinced you didn’t give two hoots about what I thought.’
She thought through this and a slow tide of pink coloured her cheeks again as she wished fervently she could assure him she didn’t. But of course it was too late for that. She bit her lip.
‘I—’ she began tentatively. ‘That is … look—’ she gestured frustratedly ‘—it must be a “girl” thing. I mean, it must be the one area where I really don’t know what I’m doing.’ She paused and gathered composure. ‘I couldn’t help wondering if I’d ended up looking completely wrong,’ she told him tentatively.
‘No. The opposite.’
Alex gazed at him wordlessly for a long moment. She’d never thought much about men’s tailoring before and was not to know his suit was made from the finest wool/cashmere blend, but anyone could see it fitted perfectly. The smooth charcoal-grey fabric was beautifully stitched along the lapels and he wore a white shirt with a broad stone stripe and a tie with tiny emerald hexagon motifs. Gold cufflinks glinted at his wrists.
His shoes simply looked as if they had cost a fortune. And add to the whole his dark good looks.
Talk about stealing the show, she thought suddenly. Max Goodwin could be the one to do it. So why wasn’t he married? Why had he eluded it until his middle thirties and why was he not amused to discover he had a son? ‘Ms Hill?’
Alex came out of her thoughts with a little start. ‘Sorry. You said?’
‘I said nothing. You were looking at me as if I were—I’m not quite sure.’ He narrowed his eyes. ‘Reprehensible? Or some kind of specimen that was completely foreign to you?’
Alex chuckled involuntarily, a little breath of sound. ‘That could be it. But—look, do you want me to race home and change?’
He took his time about replying, studying her a little askance as if he was going to take issue with what she’d said first, then he glanced at his watch and shook his head. ‘We don’t have the time anyway. We shall have to make do. Just ignore any excessive adulation that comes your way and—’
Alex broke in, ‘I am not a silly, impressionable young girl, Mr Goodwin!’
‘No. But you may never have appeared in public as if you could grace the cover of Vogue. Plus, it is only human nature for people to wonder if I’m bedding you as well as employing you!’ He looked irritated again. ‘What was I saying? Ah. Just ignore the adulation and don’t leave my side. By the way—’ he frowned as if at a sudden thought ‘—did you say you were a restraining influence?’
Alex nodded after a moment with just the hint of a smile in her eyes. ‘There was a much shorter skirt I could have had with this top.’
‘And Margaret would have been happy with it?’
Alex narrowed her eyes, suddenly sensing dangerous ground for some reason. ‘I can’t remember. I did try on an awful lot of clothes. Does it matter?’
‘No,’ Max Goodwin said somewhat grimly at the same time as he thought, I don’t believe you, Ms Hill. And what game is Margaret playing at? Pairing me off with this girl?
He paused his thoughts as it suddenly struck him that this Alex Hill was not only drop-dead gorgeous, she was refreshingly different and unusually engaging and in any other circumstances he would be intrigued by her on a different level altogether. A physical, personal level that had much more to do with those stunning legs and eyes, that lovely slim body rather than her fluency in Mandarin.
He shook his head and broke off that train of thought abruptly.
‘Oh.’ Alex swung her small bag on its long chain off her shoulder and opened it to produce Simon’s badge. ‘This should help.’ She pinned it onto her blouse. ‘Surely I look like part of the staff now?’
Max didn’t reply.
The cocktail party lasted for two hours.
Alex didn’t once leave Max Goodwin’s side and was happy not to do so because, as he’d predicted, she did attract some attention.
People, mostly men at first, were anxious to be introduced to her and were taken aback to discover she was actually working. Then, as she spoke her fluent Mandarin, many of the wives were also intrigued and struck up conversations with her.
After the first shock of it, she managed to handle it as briefly and courteously as possible and for the most part she clung stringently to her role and concentrated fiercely.
The one occasion that nearly tripped her up was, gallingly for Alex, exactly what Max had predicted might happen.
Paul O’Hara was introduced to her as an intern working in Max Goodwin’s office as part of his pursuit of a Master’s degree in Business Management. And, Max Goodwin had revealed with a grin, he was a cousin. He was about twenty-five, fair and pleasant-looking with humorous grey eyes. He also took one look at her and the stunned admiration that gripped him was all too clear to see.
But then—Max Goodwin had turned away by this time—a frown filled those grey eyes as Paul O’Hara looked from Alex to Max’s back, and his gaze came back to her with a clear question along the lines of, Are you his property?
Alex blushed and her lips parted, but how could you refute something like that in the middle of a cocktail party when you were working? What had it to do with a man she’d just been introduced to anyway?
So she tilted her chin imperiously and turned away.
It took an effort of will, though, to gather her concentration, but, fortunately, this first social event was less formal than what was to come and there were no welcome speeches, no ‘meaningful conversations outside the conference room’ for her to deal with.
It was mostly introductions as the South Pacific back-ground enchanted many of the guests and obviously melted a lot of constraints. So it was a success, the opening cocktail party, a lively throng that was a blend of Chinese businessmen and the top management echelon from Goodwin Minerals, also, in many cases, accompanied by their stylish wives.
But as the last guests departed Alex looked wordlessly at Max Goodwin and drew a deep breath she let out very, very slowly.
His eyes crinkled at the corners. ‘That was quite a performance, Ms Hill. I salute you. But would I be right in thinking you’re exhausted?’
‘I feel as if I’ve been through a wringer,’ she said candidly.
‘Then go through to the green room,’ he instructed. ‘I’ll bring a restorative.’
Alex hesitated. ‘I should be going home.’
‘In a while. Here we go.’ He scooped two glasses of champagne from a passing waitress. ‘After you.’
She hesitated a moment longer, then did as she was told. This time, her second visit to the green room, she sat down on a settee and removed her shoes with a genuine sigh of relief. ‘Sorry,’ she murmured as she arched her feet and accepted her glass from him. ‘New shoes.’ She studied her feet, then lifted her head to him. ‘That was quite a party. I guess it’s going to take some deconstructing.’
‘Margaret and Jake are experts at it—they’re like generals in the field,’ he said with a glimmer of a smile. ‘They’ll both stay the night downstairs and by tomorrow morning you’d never know the South Pacific had come to town.’
He sat down opposite in an armchair and sipped his champagne. He’d only had one glass during the party, and she, of course, hadn’t drunk at all.
Alex took a sip herself and smiled suddenly. ‘Now that is nice.’
‘It should be—it’s very expensive champagne. Your convent didn’t warn you off alcohol and all the darker things it could lead to?’ he queried rather dryl
y.
Alex made herself more comfortable. ‘Naturally they didn’t approve of it and I very rarely indulge in it, but thanks to my father I can distinguish between the good and the bad.’
Max Goodwin watched her with a frown in his eyes. ‘You have—’ he paused ‘—an innate composure about you, Alex. I guess that comes from living in a Diplomatic Corps environment.’
She shrugged. ‘It could.’ She looked at him with a mischievous sparkle in her eyes. ‘Does that mean I passed more than one test tonight?’ she teased.
Max Goodwin rubbed his jaw. ‘You certainly did.’ He got up and pulled his jacket off, loosened his tie and stretched.
‘So,’ he said, ‘we have the formal luncheon tomorrow, down on the Gold Coast—I have a house there—and then you’ll have a three-day break as the negotiations get going in earnest. I—’ He looked down at her. ‘What’s wrong?’
Alex swallowed and told herself fiercely she’d never speak to herself again if she blushed like a schoolgirl. Because the fact of the matter was, the sight of Max Goodwin stretching had affected her rather drastically.
The lean, compact muscles of his chest were etched beneath the fine cotton of his shirt. His diaphragm was as flat as a board and she’d been assaulted by the aroma of pure man, and found it heady and delicious. Not only that, she’d been assaulted by a mental vision of Max Goodwin naked and powerful, tanned and with springy dark hair …
‘Nothing,’ she said, but it came out as an indistinct sound and she had to clear her throat. ‘Nothing. Uh—I hadn’t thought about how I’d get to the Gold Coast tomorrow.’ She stood up herself, still horrified and a little desperate to get away.
‘You’re coming with me and I’ll bring you home after it. Are you sure there’s nothing wrong?’ He frowned at her.
‘Quite sure.’ She was still clutching her champagne glass so she took a fortifying sip of champagne, praying she wouldn’t choke on it. But as she looked up their gazes clashed and she felt trapped, unable to tear herself away from that deep blue of his eyes and unable to still the beating of her pulses.
You’re lying again, Ms Hill, Max Goodwin thought as he stared at her, at the pulse beating rapidly at the base of her creamy throat. Then his gaze moved down the slim, lovely length of her that had come as such a surprise to him and he found himself stirred physically against all expectations.
But why against all expectations? he asked himself. She was drop-dead gorgeous, like a beautiful butterfly who’d emerged from her chrysalis. She was enough to make any man want to run his fingers through her hair and drink in the perfume of her skin, but she was also different from the usual glamorous, socialite types that caught his eye.
He had no doubt she was a rather amazing mix of talent, intelligence, but also humour. She was independent and not above pointing out the error of his ways to him.
All of which intrigued him as well as awakening a tremor of desire in him, the desire to take her by surprise and take her in his arms. The desire to stop any protests by kissing her, the desire to know how she’d react because he couldn’t predict it.
An enigma, he mused as he pushed his hands into his pockets to be on the safe side. There was no way he could allow himself to touch her at this point in time. What was he even thinking? Sheer insanity?
But what had upset her out of the blue moments ago? And why was she looking up at him now with her lips parted and a little pulse still beating rapidly at the base of her throat, those clear, lovely hazel eyes wide and startled and something else, almost as if she shared this highly unexpected attraction, almost as if it was a two-way thing sizzling between them—
There was a soft rap on the door and Margaret put her head around it.
‘Mr Goodwin,’ she said, ‘a rather urgent matter has come up.’
Alex came to life and said hastily, ‘I’ll go.’
‘No,’ he said decisively. ‘Finish your drink and in the meantime we’ll organize a lift for you. Lead on, Margaret.’ He went out and closed the door behind him.
Alex breathed heavily in relief, then she did blush as she sank back onto the settee. She could feel the amazing heat of it as she put a hand to her cheek and she touched her glass to both cheeks to cool them down.
What had got into her? she wondered chaotically.
She’d never mentally undressed a man in her life before! It was enough to make you blush hectically, just the thought of it—and she swallowed nearly two thirds of a glass of champagne in one long mouthful as she thought of it again.
Then she breathed deeply, put the empty glass down and laid her head back. Max Goodwin got to her, she acknowledged. He sent her senses reeling in a very physical way and he destabilized her peace of mind.
She lifted her head suddenly. She could not afford to let this get out of control, she reflected. On one hand, could a man who’d regarded her legs as a cause for annoyance be attracted to her?
But on the other hand, what had been going through his mind while he’d stared at her so intently? Almost as if they’d both been caught in a sensual little moment that had blotted out the rest of the world—or had it been her imagination?
She stared unseeingly across the room for a long moment, then shook herself. Most likely, she decided, but with a frown of confusion. Then it occurred to her to ask herself whether, even if she couldn’t be sure it hadn’t been a mutual sensual little moment, it made any difference to the fact that she was basically a loner?
She looked down at her hands and thought of her parents, whom she hadn’t even had the opportunity to farewell. She also thought of her father’s cousin, her Mother Superior, and how that stern, prickly but lovable woman had also been taken from her, and felt tears on her lashes.
She thought of the few occasions she’d got to know men she’d admired, men it might have been possible to fall in love with—only to withdraw.
She thought suddenly of Paul O’Hara, the intern, who had looked rather nice and had displayed consternation in his expression at the thought of her with Max Goodwin. Why? she wondered.
She closed her eyes and wondered what was happening to her lift. It was definitely time for her to go home.
Perhaps it was the champagne she’d drunk so quickly on an empty stomach—she hadn’t partaken of any of the delicious canapés—on top of two hours on her feet, two hours of severe mental concentration. Whatever, she fell asleep.
When she woke, after some moments of utter confusion, her watch told her she’d slept for a couple of hours. She was also stretched out on the settee with a pillow under her head, a light but warm cashmere rug over her, and one soft lamp was on revealing the “green” room of Max Goodwin’s penthouse.
She sat up with a gasp of horror. Who’d covered her up and brought her a pillow? Who’d decided to let her sleep rather than go home?
She ran her hands through her hair and felt around for her purse as she decided her next course of action. She opened her purse for her mobile phone—she’d ring for a taxi and steal away quietly.
She got up and, with her shoes in her hand, left the green room quietly. The foyer was dimly lit and there were no sounds coming from the rest of the apartment, no other lights she could see as she approached the lift with her phone in hand.
She pushed the lift button, and started to dial for a taxi, but nothing happened.
She cancelled the call and pushed the lift button again. Again nothing happened and she realized the lift was locked—you needed some kind of master key or key card to operate it.
She took a frustrated little breath. What to do now? If Max Goodwin had gone to bed the last thing she wanted to do was find him and wake him. What about
Jake?
Then she remembered Max saying something about both Jake and Margaret Winston staying the night downstairs—were there two floors to the penthouse? Maybe the sleeping quarters or the staff quarters were downstairs, but how was she to get to them? Was there an internal staircase? Or a service elevator?
There
were no more doors in the foyer.
She tiptoed into the main lounge, but it was in darkness. She hesitated, then turned back to the foyer as it slowly dawned on her that she might have to spend the rest of the night in the green room.
Ten minutes later she was back on the settee, her head resting on the pillow and the cashmere rug over her. But now she was wide awake.
She tossed the rug aside and got up to turn the lamp off, thinking darkness might help her to sleep in this ridiculous situation.
It didn’t, and she’d almost convinced herself she would have to find some way to end her imprisonment in Max Goodwin’s penthouse when she heard what sounded like the lift open, and voices.
She froze. She’d left the door slightly ajar and she could hear every word of what Max Goodwin was saying …
‘Listen, Cathy—’ his voice was harsh ‘—a month ago you chose to inform me I had a six-year-old son I knew nothing about—’
‘Max, look,’ a woman’s voice broke in, ‘I tried to explain at the time how that came about.’
‘Oh, yes,’ he said sardonically. ‘You couldn’t be sure whose son he was to start with.’ He paused briefly. ‘But then, when you began to suspect he was mine, you made the absolutely arbitrary decision that, since we wouldn’t suit, you’d bring him up on your own and not even tell me.’
The woman he’d called Cathy raised her voice in emotional frustration. ‘Max, you know as well as I do, if there’s anything we like to do better than love each other, it’s hate each other.’
‘That didn’t alter my right to know,’ he said savagely. ‘And now you want to leave him with me, a complete stranger! How’s that going to affect him? Surely you must have some other back-up!’
‘My mother’s always been my back-up, she’s been wonderful, but she’s going into hospital so I need to be with her and my nanny’s walked out on me. But, Max—’ Cathy’s voice changed again, to husky with strain ‘—somehow—somehow—we had to break the ice, you had to meet him. And Nicky’s, well, he’s a very well-adjusted child and I’ve always told him his father is a wonderful person. Anyway, he’s got Nemo.’