Melissa James - Daring to Date the Boss / The Tycoon Who Healed Her Heart

The words were so prosaic, yet so intimate. Sharing daily tasks gave a pretty illusion of togetherness. But even after that amazing night-skiing, where she’d found she could actually stay upright while she was in his hold, she refused to believe in it. Any woman would find Armand attractive, and it was no more than that.

As far as she was concerned, love was an invention of men to trap women into cooking and cleaning for them and warming their bed while they did whatever they wanted. It was a truth she’d known for a long time. If her father hadn’t totally destroyed her faith in happily-ever-after, with his casual affairs and insistence on lies even when he’d been found out again, Pete had knocked all belief in fairy-tale endings from her. And he’d done it long before he’d broken her wrist. His self-absorbed use of her skills to promote his own agenda without a thought for her needs and had put her heart and her confidence in a hiding-place she’d only rediscovered since leaving him. She’d let it happen without even really noticing until it was far too late.

That wouldn’t happen again. But there was no reason not to enjoy an uncomplicated friendship with Armand—especially when he’d given far more than he wanted from her.

‘Butter toast and take coffee pot off the heat. Sure,’ she agreed cheerfully, and pulled the toast out of the slots with careful fingers. ‘Want hot milk for the coffee today?’

‘I could do latte today, definitely. And there’s some caramel syrup in the cupboard if you like that. I sometimes do, but usually at night.’

She gave him a quizzical grin. ‘I’ve never met a man before that drinks all different kinds of coffee. Usually they only like one, or maybe two.’

He laughed and raised his hands, palm up. ‘What can I say? I guess I’m not the faithful type, even to coffee.’

He’d been saying things like that for a few days now, hence her mirror-mantra. Though he said it too lightly to be an insult, the inference was obvious: don’t get interested. He wasn’t, and she wasn’t either. Part of her wanted to blurt out that he and all men could go live and love without her caring a bit. But to put it out there would mean ‘the lady doth protest overmuch’. Saying it meant she did care, somehow. And of course she didn’t care if he found her desirable or not.

Oh, come on, who are you kidding? All people want to be attractive to everyone else. Nobody wants to be seen as unattractive. That’s all it is.

With the slight discomfort of wondering if she was in denial, she found herself laughing, with a slight defiance to it. ‘So you’re a “serial poly-coffee-ist”. It’s the latest syndrome in our sad world. I’ll get right onto researching it, in case you ever decide you need help.’

‘Thank you,’ he retorted with that grave face and laughing eyes, the hint of relief that was always there when she played his game. ‘But for now I’d appreciate that hot milk more.’

She bowed and, trying to sound like a genie, said, ‘Your wish is my command.’

She’d hoped to make him laugh, but as she turned away to get the milk out of the fridge, there was a bare moment when she could have sworn she saw something …

Then the moment passed, leaving her unsure if she’d seen the flash in his eyes or not. Unsure if she wanted to know. Proximity—that was all it was. It was totally natural that, if he was holed up with a woman for a few weeks, even a man like Armand would feel a passing attraction.

‘Any port in a storm,’ she muttered as she laid the table—and faint nausea touched her at the thought. She was no man’s storm-port. She had something to give the world that had nothing to do with being a man’s pretty doll, cook, housekeeper, waitress, sounding-board a child-bearer. Or career-giver and dream-provider at the cost of her own dreams. Never again.

Her endorsement deal was not the same thing. Armand was making certain her needs were being met. In return she’d give him what he wanted. Then she’d be out of here, heart and self-confidence intact.

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