After Maya had gone, Blaise sniffed the faint trail of stirringly sensual perfume that his entrancing temporary visitor had left in her wake, and a charge of electricity zigzagged powerfully through the taut mid-section of his stomach.
It wasn’t just the arresting notes of amber and warm tangerine that had stirred his previously slumbering libido. It was the intoxicating sight of almond-shaped green eyes fringed with sooty black lashes, long dark hair as glossy and as glittering as a moonlit sea, and audacious curves poured into the most seductive black velvet dress he’d ever seen.
With a brief shake of his head and a rueful smile, he went back to the comfortable winged armchair and the decanter of port his host had so thoughtfully provided, wondering when had been the last time a woman had so easily and carelessly refused him anything. His mind instantly provided him with the disturbing answer…never.
The day Maggie Cox saw the film version of Wuthering Heights, with a beautiful Merle Oberon and a very handsome Laurence Olivier, was the day she became hooked on romance. From that day onwards she spent a lot of time dreaming up her own romances, secretly hoping that one day she might become published and get paid for doing what she loved most! Now that her dream is being realised, she wakes up every morning and counts her blessings. She is married to a gorgeous man, and is the mother of two wonderful sons. Her two other great passions in life—besides her family and reading/writing—are music and films.
Secretary By Day, Mistress By Night
By
Maggie Cox
MILLS & BOON
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To dear Danika—my delightful companion on a wonderful creative break in Northumberland—with love and thanks
CHAPTER ONE
NOW she knew what E.T. must have felt like—alone and abandoned, light years away from what was loved and familiar, on a planet that seemed totally alien and unwelcoming. No wonder he’d sought refuge in Elliott’s garage. Right now, Maya wished she could find a handy empty or darkened room to hide away in. One glance along the burnished candle-lit table at the high-octane guests, the reek of class and money, merely confirmed what she already knew to be true—she didn’t fit in. A ‘fish out of water,’ that was what she was. But the truth was she didn’t want to fit in.
Up until now her temporary jobs as an admin assistant had been pretty problem-free. But for the past few weeks her agency had asked her to work for a PR agency—Maya’s worst nightmare as far as employment went. As the cut-glass accents rose and fell all around her, the scent of social snobbery in the air as distinct as Chanel No. 5, she knew why she resisted being part of such a phoney world.
She’d been raised by a father who’d all but sold his soul to perpetuate a similar lavish lifestyle and glean the dubious respect of such people, and in pursuit of it he had sacrificed everything that had once meant something to him. His talent, money, self-respect and once good reputation had been squandered and degraded as he lost his grip on reality and the values he’d once so fiercely upheld. And as he’d sunk lower and lower into a pit of self-loathing and regret for what he’d done, it had only been a matter of time before he took the ultimate terrible step.
Maya shuddered.
The devastating memory killed her appetite. Now the food on her plate held little temptation for her, and even knowing it had been specially created in a Michelinstarred restaurant for the purpose of the occasion was no incentive. Along with the dinner had come the services of one of the restaurant’s top chefs, supported by a small team of staff to supervise its plating and serving. As was his usual style, her flamboyant boss, Jonathan Faraday, had spared no expense in displaying the growing success of his well-known PR company.
Clamping down on the persistent little flutter in her belly that urged her to get the hell out of there while she still had her pride and dignity intact, Maya lifted her gaze determinedly to the urbane silver-haired man sitting opposite and gave him the brightest smile she could muster.
Bad move, Maya. His startled hazel gaze flashed an invitation in return, and with a sinking feeling she knew he thought she’d given him the green light at last.
Hell’s bells! What was she supposed to do now? Because it paid well, she didn’t want to lose her job, but neither did she want to sleep with her boss to keep it. If only his super-efficient, elegant PA Caroline hadn’t been called to the hospital bed of her dying mother-in-law at the last minute Maya would be safe at home now, dressed in comfy sweater and leggings; settling herself down on her sofa in readiness to view the film she’d hired for the weekend, with a bowl of tortilla chips, some salsa dip and a glass of wine on hand to heighten the experience.
Instead, she’d squeezed herself into a black velvet gown that was at least half a size too small, with her breasts crammed into a bodice so tight that it gave her the cleavage of a pneumatic glamour model, while her generously applied mascara made her eyes smart because it was new and she was obviously allergic to it. And all this discomfort because Jonathan had insisted she attend the function at his house in Caroline’s place. It didn’t matter that Maya was just a lowly temporary assistant from the less glamorous echelons of the company—Jonathan had had his eye on her for some time. He could see she had talent, determination, he’d said, smiling—and he could see she was destined for better things…He could see this was a good opportunity to get into her knickers…
Sighing heavily, she absently pushed the artistically arranged concoction of cranberries and parmaham round her plate with a fork. When the blatant caress of a shoeless foot stroked up and down her ankle Maya almost jumped out of her skin. Tucking her feet indignantly beneath her chair, feeling searing heat hotter than a blacksmith’s smithy assail her cheeks, she stared across the table at her suave, supremely confident boss. Bad enough she’d had an inkling that she might have to fight him off if he had too much to drink. Jonathan could more or less be counted on to chase anything in a skirt when his rampaging testosterone had been even more boosted by alcohol, but Maya hadn’t expected he would be quite so blatant about it from the off. And all he’d had so far was one glass of champagne as the guests had been welcomed into the drawing room. In the name of self-preservation she had deliberately kept an eye on his intake—so she was surprised and more than a little rattled that he seemed intent on staking a claim right away. Damn it, she shouldn’t
