Jennie Adams - Her Millionaire Boss

“Kiss me again, Christianna.”

Nate bent his head once more and acknowledged the need. For fulfillment in her, yes. Definitely that. But for other things, too. Undefined things that even now threatened him in ways he couldn’t comprehend.

“Nate.” Just his name, breathed out on the same kind of sexy little sigh that had tortured him once before.

Her response made him crazy and his imagination went wild. He pictured them together at his cottage, making love night after night.

Except Nate didn’t do night after night, with all it entailed. It was too easy to forget it in her arms. He fought for sanity. Fought to keep from losing himself. From free-falling into something that came as close to scaring him as anything could.

JENNIE ADAMS

Australian author Jennie Adams grew up in a rambling farmhouse surrounded by books, and by people who loved reading them. She decided at a young age to be a writer, but it took many years and a lot of scenic detours before she sat down to pen her first romance novel. Jennie is married with two adult children, and has worked in a number of careers and voluntary positions, including transcription typist and preschool assistant. Jennie makes her home in a small inland city in New South Wales. In her leisure time she loves long, rambling walks, starting knitting projects that she rarely finishes, chatting with friends, trips to the movies and new dining experiences

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Dear Reader,

Like Chrissy Gable in this book, I enjoy growing plants and flowers—and, like Chrissy, I meet with mixed success. My latest gardening projects include six strawberry plants yielding lovely fruit—and two producing brown blobs—and a small flower garden, which I confess looks better since my daughter took over most of its care.

I love to hear from readers, and can be contacted through my Web site at www.jennieadams.net

Jennie Adams

For Mark, because my world needs your light.

For my children, my treasures always.

And for “the bats”—you know who you are.

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

EPILOGUE

‘YOU’RE not going into Henry’s sick room, Margaret. Not like this.’ Not with a lawyer at her side and greed all over her face.

Chrissy Gable took a deep breath of antiseptic-laden hospital air, and looked her boss’s second wife right in her calculating eyes. ‘His health is too precarious to risk upsetting him. Surely you can understand that?’

With her heart pounding hard, Chrissy faced the other woman. Even the usual weight of waist-length hair bundled onto her head and bound with a couple of chopsticks felt leaden at this moment. If Margaret had cared even the slightest bit for her elderly husband’s health…

Instead, she had delayed her return to Melbourne until the end of her vacation at Mount Selwyn. Why let duty interfere with her fun?

Henry didn’t deserve a wife like Margaret. He hadn’t deserved to be deserted by his grandson six years ago, either.

Nate Barrett had transferred to the overseas arm of the company just weeks before Chrissy had commenced working for Henry. The man had shucked his grandfather off like excess baggage, even though Henry had all but raised him as a son.

Chrissy had wondered if her boss would ever get over the hurt. Henry may have been recently married, but Nate’s leaving had shredded the older man’s heart. Chrissy had made it her task to help her boss through the pain. She and Henry had formed a deep bond. She would watch over him now, too.

‘Get out of my way,’ Margaret grated.

I don’t think so. Margaret might have tricked Henry long enough once to get a ring on her finger. He might now be too proud, gentlemanly or inexplicably smitten to cast the fifty-year-old off.

To Chrissy’s mind, however, the woman lacked decidedly in redeeming features. ‘Lose the lawyer, and I’ll be happy to move.’

‘I’m Henry’s wife.’ Margaret’s hands curled into fists. ‘I have every right—’

‘Every right to what? Upset him? Cause a second stroke that could be fatal?’ Did Margaret’s greed know no bounds? ‘He’s too ill to deal with a lawyer right now, so I suggest you take your Power of Attorney form and—’

‘How do you know…?’ Margaret broke off and pushed forward. ‘Out of my way. You’re just his secretary.’

The man at her side followed.

‘It’s PA, actually, and I’m not shifting.’ Chrissy held her ground in front of the closed door of the hospital room but her nerves screamed. She couldn’t let Margaret coerce Henry into signing anything. Nor could she allow the woman to have Henry declared mentally unfit.

She had to stop this, but how? One thought formed. Desperately, she snatched at it. ‘Henry came around. Was completely lucid. Earlier. While I sat with him.’

A guilty heat stole into her face at the fib, but oh, how she wished it could be true. ‘He’s perfectly capable of looking after his own affairs.’

‘That’s a lie.’ Margaret leaned forward, her thin mouth pinched. ‘He’s been as good as a vegetable since they brought him here yesterday.’

Righteous anger roared through Chrissy at Margaret’s callous attitude. ‘If I’d started work for him just a few months earlier, I’d have stopped you ever getting your snares…’ She broke off. ‘You seem to think you know an awful lot about his condition, for someone who’s only just arrived.’

‘A nurse—’ Margaret clamped her lips shut, but Chrissy got the picture. Margaret had wasted no time in ensuring she had a spy in the place.

‘Mrs Montbank has rights,’ the lawyer announced. ‘You are attempting to stand in the way of her exercising those rights.’

‘Mr Montbank has rights, too.’ Forget the slimy legal eagle, she thought, and instead she turned to Margaret again. ‘I repeat, I won’t let you in. You just want to shove Henry into Assisted Care and go your merry way, spending all his money.’

‘How dare you?’ Air hissed through Margaret’s clenched teeth. The truth of Chrissy’s accusations filled her eyes. ‘What do you know? Who’s told you—?’

‘Mrs Montbank.’ The lawyer stepped forward. ‘Let me handle this.’

‘Don’t bother.’ Chrissy spread herself before the closed door. Feet apart. Arms out. In the most threatening manner she could manage, she waggled her head and deployed the only defence she had. ‘Observe the headgear. Those are real porcelain chopsticks in there. I’ll use them if I have to!’

Margaret almost laughed, then her eyes narrowed. ‘Are you threatening me?’

‘I simply know that Henry would never willingly give you control of anything more than your budgeted allowance, Margaret—not of his personal funds, and certainly not of his business dealings. I’ll testify to it if I have to.’