KIM LAWRENCE - The Thorn in His Side

‘And if I give you that chance now …?’

Confused, Libby frowned warily. ‘A chance to what?’

‘A chance to work here and see how a business should be run, to learn from experts …’

‘Me work for you?’ she exclaimed, waiting for the punchline.

When it did not come she shook her head. ‘I’m assuming that is your idea of a joke?’

Rafael shrugged. ‘You wanted a chance and I am giving you one.’

‘So you said—but giving me a chance to what?’

‘Prove there is more to you than a pretty face.’

21ST CENTURY BOSSES

Impossible, infuriating and utterly irresistible!

In the high-octane world of international business, these arrogant yet devastatingly attractive men reign supreme.

On his speed-dial, at his beck and call 24/7, it takes a special kind of woman to cope with this boss’s outrageous demands!

The Thorn in his Side

Kim Lawrence

www.millsandboon.co.uk

LIBBY’S phone rang just as she was taking the exit into the motorway services.

She pulled into the first convenient parking space and eagerly reached into her pocket. ‘Mum …?’

‘Do I sound like your mother?’

Not unless her mum had developed a strong Irish accent in the two weeks she’d been in New York. ‘Chloe?’

‘Libby, love, I was just wondering if you’re going through the village on the way home from work?’

‘Actually, I’m not in work. I’m on my way back from the airport.’

There was a pause before her friend gave a self-recriminatory groan and added, ‘Oh, God, of course you are! Sorry, I forgot.’

There was a lot of it around, Libby thought with a worried frown. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve seen Mum or Dad, have you, Chloe?’

‘Haven’t you? I assumed one of them would be picking you up from the airport.’

‘They were meant to,’ Libby admitted. ‘But they were a no show and when I rang I couldn’t get a reply … so I got a hire car.’ She stopped and shook her head, her smooth brow creasing into an anxious frown. ‘It’s just not like them, but I’m sure there’s a perfectly simple explanation …?’ she added, unable to keep the questioning note of doubt from her voice.

‘Of course there is,’ Chloe responded soothingly. ‘And it has nothing whatever to do with ambulances or heart attacks, your dad is fine, and don’t deny that’s what you were thinking. I know the way your mind works.’

Before Libby could respond to this charge a yawn reverberated down the line so loud it made her grin.

‘Why does nobody mention that motherhood turns your mind to mush?’ her friend complained.

Libby gave a sympathetic grimace. ‘You sound exhausted.’

‘I was up all night,’ Chloe admitted with another yawn.

‘How is my god-daughter?’

‘She’s teething or colic or something. I’ve only just got her to sleep. Now how was your trip?’

‘Fantastic.’

‘And did friend Susie set you up with some gorgeous American hunk?’

‘As a matter of fact.’

There was a squeal of delight at the other end. ‘Tell me all.’

‘Nothing to tell, he was nice but—’

A groan vibrated down the line. ‘Let me guess—not your type. Is anyone your type, Libby?’ Chloe sounded exasperated. ‘Looking the way you do you could have any man—one for every day of the week!’

‘You mean I look cheap and tarty?’

‘You look about as cheap as vintage champagne, which is why you scare half the men off—too much class.’

‘Nice theory but on a more sane note … what did you want me to get you from the village?’ Libby asked, stifling her need to get home. Whatever was happening there, five minutes was not going to make that much difference.

‘No, don’t worry about it, it doesn’t matter.’

After a short argument Libby established that the item Chloe needed picking up was Eustace, their accident-prone Labrador, from the vet’s.

‘Someone left the gate open and useless Eustace got out. I swear that dog was an escapologist in another life. Mike found him tangled up in some barbed wire.’

‘Ouch! Poor Eustace, but don’t worry, it’s on my way, I’ll—’

‘No, it isn’t.’

Libby ignored the interruption. ‘It’s no bother,’ she lied.

An hour later Libby was relieved to see the village come into view. The rain that had made motorway driving a nightmare had finally stopped but the puddles on the narrow country lane where she parked were the size of small lakes. By the time she’d brought the Labrador back to the car her shoes were saturated and her legs splashed with mud.

While the excitable animal strained on his leash Libby fumbled for her keys to open the car door. Her fingers closed around them at the same moment her heel caught in a pothole in the uneven surface. Libby staggered, and, losing her balance in her efforts to stay upright and not land in an inelegant heap in the mud, she lost her grip on the dog’s lead.

‘Great!’ she muttered, maintaining a fixed smile as she approached the dog, who was sitting a few feet away looking pleased with himself.

‘Good boy, Eustace,’ she cajoled, approaching him slowly with her hand outstretched. ‘Just stay exactly where you are …’

The lead was a tantalising inch away from the fingers when he took off, barking madly as he raced away down the lane.

Libby closed her eyes and groaned. ‘I don’t believe this!’ Then she set off after him.

She was panting and had a stitch by the time she caught up with the errant animal. He was sitting in the middle of the narrow lane, his tail banging like a metronome against the ground as he looked at her with soulful eyes.

‘Glad someone’s having fun,’ Libby croaked as she bent forward, hands braced on her thighs as she tried to drag some air into her lungs. ‘Oh, my God, I am so not fit.’

Sweeping wayward strands of her thick chestnut hair from her eyes with her forearm, she straightened up and, tucking her hair in a businesslike fashion behind her ears, took a cautious step towards the dog. The dog barked and took a playful leap backwards.

Libby bit her lip and glared in frustration at the animal.

‘I refuse to be outwitted by an animal who even his owners admit isn’t the sharpest knife in the box!’ she yelled, and thought, You’re talking to a dog, Libby.

Worry when you start expecting him to answer back.

The inner dialogue came to an abrupt halt as her attention was distracted by the sound of a powerful engine. Tractors were pretty much the only kind of traffic this lane saw and this did not sound like a tractor.

It wasn’t.

The exact sequence of events hard to recall after the fact, the next few seconds always remained a blur in her mind. One moment she was watching the big black sleek car going at a shocking pace heading straight at Eustace, who clearly thought this was the second phase of the great game, and the next she was there in the middle of the road holding up her hands—it seemed like a good idea at the time—and the car was going to hit her.

When his detour to avoid the snarl-up on the motorway had led him along lanes that were as narrow as they were winding, Rafael had not been unduly concerned. It did not cross his mind to consult the cars inbuilt navigational system or open the road map in the glove compartment. He preferred to rely on his own naturally excellent sense of direction. And it wasn’t as if the green lanes of England were dangerous, unlike some of the terrain he had negotiated in his life.