Mary Lyons - The Playboy's Baby

‘Oh, great! Thanks—for absolutely nothing!’ she hissed furiously. ‘So, what the hell am I supposed to do now?’

‘What you’re going to do, my dear Sam, is to walk in there and give the speech of your life,’ he drawled, taking hold of her arm and leading her slowly across the room as they followed the other guests towards the conference hall.

‘I’ll never forgive you for this,’ she ground out savagely. ‘Absolutely never!’

He gave a low, maddening chuckle of sardonic laughter. ‘Oh, yes, you will! In fact, I fully expect to receive your grateful thanks, when I take you out to dinner tonight. ’

‘In your dreams!’ she snorted with derision.

‘Well, yes...’ he murmured, turning to look at the slim figure of the girl walking beside him, his glance travelling over the shining mass of pale gold hair caught up in a knot at the crown of her head, a few tendrils escaping to frame her lightly tanned, heart-shaped face and large blue eyes. ‘Yes, I think you could be right,’ he added enigmatically.

‘However, in the meantime,’ he continued firmly, ‘all you have to do is to take a deep breath—and then sock it to ’em. Believe me, you’re going to be a great success.’

Entering her hotel bedroom, Samantha tossed her handbag on to a nearby chair, before quickly slipping off her shoes and throwing herself down on the thick mattress of the comfortable, king-sized bed.

Phew! What a day this had turned out to be, she told herself, closing her eyes and allowing the strain and tension of the past few hours to seep gradually from her exhausted mind and body.

However galling it might be, she had to admit that Matt had been quite right, after all. Without the safety-net of written notes, she’d had no choice but to stand on the dais in front of so many people and, as he’d so graphically put it, ‘sock it to ’em’.

At the start of the afternoon session, as she’d sat beside him on the dais, desperately trying to ignore her sheer terror and stage fright, it had been some moments before Samantha had begun to realise that she was indeed very lucky to have Matt chairing the meeting.

From the moment he’d risen to his feet, welcoming the delegates and making one or two glancing references to events on Wall Street—which had left her completely baffled, but produced gales of laughter from the audience—he’d had everyone relaxed, cheerful and eating out of his hand.

So much so, that, when it was time to take her place on the podium, Samantha had finally managed to get a grip on herself. Suddenly realising that she did know what she was talking about, and with everyone apparently eager to hear what she had to say, she’d found no problem in getting her message across to the assembled company.

At the close of her speech, her ears had been ringing with applause as she left the dais. Trembling with a mixture of exhaustion and exhilaration, she’d found herself totally surrounded by a crowd of people. In fact she had been so busy—both accepting congratulations and answering the many questions raised by her speech—that she’d somehow lost sight of Matt. And unfortunately, by the time she’d managed to catch her breath and look about her, he’d been nowhere to be seen.

Feeling extremely guilty, since she really did owe him an enormous vote of thanks, there had been nothing she could do about the situation, other than allow herself to be chauffeured back to her hotel.

But now, as she sat bolt upright on the bed, she was dismayed to realise that she had no way of contacting Matt. She didn’t know where he lived. She hadn’t a clue as to the name of his business—or the location of his office. Nor, come to that, had she any idea of what he was doing here, in the United States.

Bitterly ashamed of having been so preoccupied with her own problems this afternoon that she’d completely failed to show any interest in Matt’s affairs—or to enquire what had happened to him during the past eight or nine years—she wondered what on earth she could do to rectify the situation.

After spending some moments buried in thought, Samantha soon realised that the only person who could help her was Candy.

Unfortunately, a quick glance at her bedside clock told her that it was now six-thirty on a Friday night. The other girl would obviously have left her office by now. Which meant that Samantha had no way of contacting her, or the organisation which had arranged the seminar, until first thing on Monday morning. And since she, herself, was due to fly back to England on Monday evening, she would have virtually no opportunity either to see Matt again or to thank him for his kindness and support this afternoon.

Still... maybe it was just as well. After all, despite what that silly girl Candy had said about Matt being ‘unattached’, it was virtually certain that such a handsome, attractive man would be either married—or heavily involved in a current, romantic relationship.

Besides... despite her total preoccupation with her own problems, the way her nerve-ends had been tingling during their brief encounter this afternoon wasn’t exactly good news. So, it was probably best—for her own peace of mind, anyway—that they should have no more contact with one another.

Despite having given herself such very good advice, Samantha lay back on the pillows desperately trying to control a sudden cloud of dark depression. Of course, there had been other men in her life—not to mention that brief, disastrous marriage which she’d made on the rebound from her romance with Matt. However, she’d never again experienced such an intense, profound depth of emotion as she’d once felt for the man who had so unexpectedly reappeared in her life.

Pull yourself together! she told herself roughly. That had all been a very long time ago—when she’d been as green as grass, and deeply in the throes of her first love affair. Her life was very different, nowadays.

And she had so much to be thankful for: a job which she loved and a glamorous, penthouse loft apartment which—despite having cost an arm and a leg—was proving to be a splendid capital investment. She was also the proud possessor of a speedy little BMW, and was earning what her parents and two sisters regarded as a totally indecent amount of money.

So, who needed love, romance and all that heavy stuff? Especially since it would only detract from her singleminded and whole-hearted devotion to her career. Oh, yes—she was now fully in control of her own destiny.

Just as she was assuring herself that she had a totally satisfactory lifestyle—and that an attractive and sexy man was the very last thing she needed in her life, at the moment—the fax machine on the desk across the room suddenly began to clatter.

This really was a wonderful hotel, Samantha told herself as she slowly rolled off the bed. Whilst cushioning its guests in total luxury, the Mark also had the added bonus of providing what was virtually an individual office in each bedroom. As well as the fax and phone on the Chippendale-style desk, there were also plugs and ports for her laptop computer, and any other fancy gismo which she might care to use.

All of which meant that she was able to keep in constant contact with her office, back in London, through phone, fax and e-mail. Although she was surprised that her office should be contacting her, since it must be about midnight in London. What sort of crisis could have blown up at this late hour? she wondered, frowning as she removed the message from the fax machine.

But it wasn’t from her office in London. Samantha’s eyes widened as she noted the name at the top of the page. Even she, unfamiliar as she was with the financial rating of American big business, knew that Broadwood Securities Inc. was one of the largest companies in the United States. Her eyes widened even further as she noted that the letter bore the signature of one Matthew Warner: chairman and chief executive.