Miranda Lee - A Daring Proposition

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Not the Marrying Kind Samantha didn't want to leave her job - or her boss, Guy Haywood. But how long could a woman wait for a man to return her love? Then Guy revealed a desperate secret that gave Sam an opportunity, if not to have his love… to have his child.But the business of conception was anything but business - and much more pleasurable than either of them had been ready to accept. Facades began to crumble and forbidden emotions came into play as Guy discovered his cool, conservative assistant was all fire - and that the flames between them would not be controlled.

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A Daring Proposition

Miranda Lee

A Daring Proposition - изображение 1

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CONTENTS

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 ONE

SAMANTHA stood in front of the large black desk, feeling sick with nerves. Her wide hazel eyes were fixed on the man seated behind the desk, on his darkly elegant head as it bowed to read the letter she had given him only moments before.

Impossible to gauge what his exact reaction to her resignation would be. But Guy Haywood had been her boss for five years and Samantha knew him far too well to hope to get off lightly in this matter.

His right index finger was tapping with apparent nonchalance on the desk as he appeared to re-read the letter. Any second now, she thought with increasing trepidation. Any second...

His chin came up slowly, his tanned and very handsome face dominated by piercing blue eyes. ‘Is this your idea of a joke, Sam?’ His voice was rich and very male, like the rest of him. ‘Might I remind you that April Fool’s Day was last week?’

‘It’s no joke, Guy,’ she said with a composure that belied the butterflies in her stomach.

Again he looked at her with a bemused air. ‘You really want to leave?’ His tone suggested that such an event was impossible.

Oh, God, she thought despairingly. Of course I don’t really want to leave. I love you, you fool. Can’t you see that? Haven’t you ever noticed?

She smothered a sigh. Of course he hadn’t noticed. Why should he? She hadn’t realised it herself till a year after coming to work for him, a wee bit late to start batting her eyelashes and giving him the come-on. Not that such a tack would have worked.

By then Samantha knew exactly what sort of woman her swinging bachelor boss was attracted to. She had to be blonde, preferably petite, definitely slender to the point of anorexic. If she had a brain, he didn’t like it to be too much on display when in his company. Above all, she had to realise that his relationship with her was only semi-permanent and strictly sexual. Marriage and family commitments were not part of Guy Haywood’s life plan.

As a statuesque brunette who couldn’t bear to act dumb and wanted one day to marry and have children, Samantha had to accept she didn’t quite fit the bill.

She should have left straight away once she had realised the awful truth, but love had a way of making one weak, and she’d hung in there, half hoping that during one of Guy’s brief celibate stints between affairs he might notice what was right under his nose, might even change his mind about what he wanted in life.

Four years had gone by. Four years and a good few blondes.

Nothing had changed.

Nothing was ever going to change!

Her spine straightened.

‘Yes,’ she lied determinedly. ‘I really want to leave.’

He leant back in the black leather swivel chair, his elbows on the aluminium arm rests, fingertips meeting at chest level. His eyes never left her. Light blue and clear as a cloudless spring sky, they had a range of expressions from charming to chilling.

Samantha did not feel charmed at that moment.

‘Why?’ he asked in that ultra-reasonable tone he adopted when he was at his most annoyed and trying to control it. Guy valued self-control above all else. It was the reason he had hired her in the first place, claiming that he liked her countrified air of no-nonsense down-to-earth practicality. He had wanted no female hysterics in his office!

Well, this practical, down-to-earth female did a highly emotional thing, she wanted to fling at him. She fell in love with her boss! Don’t you find that hysterical?

‘I’ve decided to go back home to live,’ she stated calmly.

His face showed he didn’t believe her, not for a minute. ‘You want to go back to Paddy’s Plains to live?’ he scoffed. ‘To a bush town with a population of one hundred and thirteen from which you were only too happy to escape?’

For a second Samantha regretted all those coffee breaks they had shared when he had elicited far too much of her background. Paddy’s Plains wasn’t quite as small as he suggested, but it wasn’t much bigger. As a teenager she’d had to travel twenty miles to the next town to go to high school. Naturally, Guy would be suspicious of her wanting to go back to a life she’d admitted finding much too narrow and which offered her no employment opportunity other than serving behind the counter in her parents’ general store. But it was the only excuse she could think of.

She took a deep breath and let it out evenly. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I need a break. I’m tired of the rat race. I’m tired of Sydney.’

‘Then take a week off.’

He wasn’t going to let her quit, she thought with a wild mixture of panic and pleasure.

Don’t you dare weaken, an inner voice berated. You’ll regret it. Remember dear, sweet Debra yesterday? Long blonde hair, eyes like limpid pools, as slender as a willow branch. Guy’s taking her out tonight to dinner and a show. They made plans in this very office, in front of you. Will you be able to stand it when he gives up smoking again tomorrow, as he does every time he starts a new affair? You’ve stood it for far too long, dying inside every time it happens. Soon you’ll be dead !

Her teeth clenched hard in her jaw. ‘A week won’t do it,’ she countered tautly. ‘Besides, I—’

‘If it’s money, you can have a raise,’ he cut in coldly.

‘It’s not money,’ she returned, the beginnings of fluster sending heat into her cheeks. Oh, why couldn’t he let her resign with dignity?

He snapped forward on the chair, the action sending a lock of his dark brown hair on to his high wide forehead. He scooped it back with an angry sweep of his hand and set exasperated eyes upon her. ‘Damn it all, Sam!’ he pronounced, angry now and showing it for once. ‘You and I know that this job is your life almost as much as it’s mine. You don’t want to go back to that tinpot town. You’re a city girl now. A career girl. You’d go mad out there in the bush. You’d be bored to tears within days!’

He stood up then and strode around the desk, putting firm hands on her shoulders and turning her to face him. Her whole insides tightened, as they did whenever he touched her, even accidentally.

‘Sam,’ he said in a voice so unexpectedly tender that it brought a lump to her throat, ‘take some time off, if that’s what you want, but please...’ his lips pulled back in a smile designed to melt any woman’s heart ‘...don’t desert the ship. You’re my first mate, and this captain needs you.’

That almost did it. Telling a woman that you needed her was almost as persuasive as saying you loved her.

But not quite.

‘No, Guy.’ Samantha swallowed down the lump and lifted her chin. ‘I’ve given you two months’ notice, plenty of time to break in someone new so that I can leave without any hitches. If you like I’ll ask Mrs Walton if she’s interested. I know she wants to work somewhere full-time, and she’s already familiar with the layout here.’

Guy’s hands dropped from her shoulders and he fairly scowled. ‘That stupid woman is hard pushed to answer the phone. She’s a complete ditherbrain!’

‘No, she’s not,’ Samantha defended. ‘She’s very intelligent. Have a heart, Guy. She’s been out of the work-force for years and only had a few weeks retraining before the agency put her on as a temp. I felt very sorry for her getting someone as demanding as you for a boss on her first job. You frightened the life out of her. If I hadn’t had to go home for my brother’s wedding that week I wouldn’t have.’

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