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It was a finely boned face, not strikingly pretty, though if all the make-up tricks of a beautician were applied to it, James fancied it could look quite stunning. It, also, was perfectly proportioned, though the spectacles she wore gave it a prim look, which was accentuated by the way her hair was pulled back and pinned into a chignon from which no tendrils ever escaped.
The thought of unpinning what was obviously a wealth of soft brown hair presented a tantalising prospect. Would Lucy come undone in other ways? And if he took her spectacles off, what would he see in her eyes?
As it was, all he saw was a bright intelligence looking at him expectantly, nothing but business on her mind.
Piqued by her apparent indifference to what many other women considered his attractions, James found himself blurting out, ‘Is he an accountant?’ and could have instantly kicked himself for letting her get under his skin to this extent.
Her smooth creamy forehead creased as her eyebrows lifted above the colourless rims of her spectacles. ‘To whom are you referring?’
Instead of dismissing the slip—the only prudent thing to do at this point—James lost his head completely to a potent mixture of compelling curiosity and a rebellious rush of seriously displaced hormones.
‘Your partner for the ball tonight,’ he shot at her.
She looked incredulous. ‘You want to know if he’s an accountant?’
‘Is he?’
‘Do you need an accountant on hand for some reason?’
‘No, I don’t need one.’
Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. ‘Then why are you asking?’
Why, indeed? James gritted his teeth. He was getting no satisfaction here and was fast making himself look foolish. His mind zapped through possible escape routes.
‘Conversation always goes more smoothly if I’m prepared with a knowledge of people’s backgrounds. Your partner is the only one I won’t know at our table.’
She stared at him. Her chin took on a mulish tilt. Her shoulders visibly squared. In fact, her whole body took on a tense rigidity. Even her hands clenched. James had the wild notion she was barely stopping herself from stepping forward and hitting him. Which, of course was ridiculous! He’d made a reasonable statement. He did like to be prepared with background information before meeting anyone. She knew that.
Though he had to concede this was more personal than professional ground. Her private partner wasn’t exactly his business. Maybe it was simply the effect of the glass lenses but her eyes looked very glittery and he was definitely sensing some dagger-like thoughts being directed very sharply at him. But dammit all! He was going to meet the guy tonight so what was she getting so uptight about?
‘Why do you think my escort for the ball is an accountant, James?’ she bit out, her voice dripping with icicles.
‘Well, is he?’ he persisted, frustrated by her evasive tactics.
‘Generally speaking, people consider accountants boring,’ she stated, once again denying him an answer.
‘Not at all. Obviously they’re very intelligent, very clever, very astute,’ he put in quickly.
‘Boring,’ she repeated as though she was drilling a hole in his head. ‘Boringly worthy for Lucy Worthington.’
Uh-oh! James saw the red rag waving. He instantly gestured appeasement. ‘Now, Lucy, I have never thought you boring. You know that,’ he pressed earnestly. ‘And I can’t imagine you tolerating a boring man. You’re taking this the wrong way. I was merely wondering…’
‘What kind of man I’d bring.’
The intense focus of her eyes was like an electric drill, sparks flying as it kept tunneling into his brain to the true core of his question. James shifted uncomfortably. He didn’t like the sense of her seeing right through him. No doubt about it—he’d dug himself a hole and somehow he had to climb out of it with some fast face-saving.
‘It would be helpful if you’d give me his name, Lucy,’ he said reasonably, dropping the background issue which had stirred her into this totally unacceptable attack. ‘It would save any slip-up with introductions.’
Her mouth thinned. Her eyes glittered even more sharply. He sensed her fierce urge to cut him to ribbons and perversely enough—given the tricky situation he’d brought upon himself—he felt quite pumped up by the passion she was emitting. Nothing cool and collected about this Lucy. Clearly he’d tapped into the real flesh and blood woman beneath the navy suit and James found himself actually getting excited—aroused by the prospect of the inner Lucy emerging. If she did step forward to tangle with him physically…
‘Josh Rogan,’ she said.
‘What?’
‘You asked for his name,’ she tersely reminded him.
James gave himself a swift mental shake as deflation set in. The navy suit had won again, damn it! The Lucy he’d wanted to experience was in full retreat. Which was just as well, he told himself, quelling the madness of imagining her sprawled across his desk while he satisfied a rampant desire for the most intimate knowledge of her. It was absurd to have this sudden burst of sexual fantasies about his secretary when he had Buffy Tanner more than willing to satisfy his carnal needs.
‘Josh Rogan,’ he repeated, grateful that Lucy had her head on straight and was heeding what was appropriate in the work-place between boss and secretary. However, something about the name she’d given niggled him. ‘Isn’t there a lamb curry called Josh Rogan?’
He was almost sure of it, the suspicion instantly growing that Lucy was paying him back by giving a false name that would embarrass him when he used it tonight.
‘No,’ she said with a fine edge of scorn. ‘The curry is called Rogan Josh.’
‘Oh!’ He frowned. Was she playing him up or not?
Her mouth softened and curled. ‘Actually, I don’t think Josh would mind your confusing him with the curry.’ Her hips gave a wicked little wiggle as she added, ‘He is hot stuff.’
Hot stuff? Lucy with hot stuff? Unaccountably James felt his temperature rising. ‘I’ll keep that in mind,’ he snapped. ‘You can take these files now. I’ve made notes for you.’
‘Fine!’
She smiled at him as she stepped forward and scooped them up from the desk. Then she sashayed out of his office with all the feline grace of a cat, waving its tail in his face.
James sat brooding over this aspect of Lucy Worthington for some time. He was definitely right about her. There was much more to Lucy than met the eye. The navy suit was nothing but a front, designed to put him off seeking the real truth about the kind of woman who burned inside it.
Good thing he’d given her those free tickets. It was going to be interesting—illuminating—to see how she behaved with her hot stuff tonight. Hair down, sexy dress, full make-up on, no spectacles…if her Josh Rogan was truly hot stuff, he’d expect that of her.
A zing of anticipation tingled through James. It had nothing to do with looking forward to having Buffy Tanner on his arm tonight. He didn’t even think of the swimsuit model with the lush curves and sexy pout.
Tonight he was going to see the unbuttoned Lucy Worthington in action!
CHAPTER TWO
LUCY was still boiling mad as she stomped up the stairs to her first-floor apartment in Bellevue Hill at six o’clock that evening.
An accountant!
A boring old accountant!
O-o-o-o-h, she wanted to punch James Hancock’s lights out with Josh tonight. She wanted to see him sitting at their table, looking like a stunned mullet as her partner outshone him, which Josh was perfectly capable of doing, the ultimate party guy when he was in brilliant form—huge charisma, pouring out his energy in bursts of winning charm. And he was as handsome as sin.
It was handy that he lived right next door to her in this old apartment block. All she had to do was ask and either Josh or his partner, Larry Berger, would help her with anything she needed help with. Gay men, she had decided long ago, could make the very best friends for a woman.
Even before she had known Josh was gay, back in their school days, she had really liked him as a person and they’d been good friends. He was kind and sensitive and supportive, as well as being great fun.
She had been grateful to have him as her boyfriend then, being able to go out as a couple without any of the hassle of being pressured to have sex. Some boys could get mean and nasty in pushing their wants. Some men, too, she’d found in later years. Even the few relationships she’d enjoyed for a while had lost their shine with the build-up of selfish demands. On the whole, her mother was right. Men wanted women on their own terms and being fair didn’t come into the equation.
Josh was always sweet relief from all that. His company had no price-tag on it. He was safe and safe was good. She couldn’t get into any trouble with Josh Rogan. He didn’t feel any sexual desire for her and she didn’t feel any for him. In fact, he was the perfect foil to her ungovernable feelings towards James Hancock, whom, in her wilder fantasies, she’d like to handcuff to her bed and watch him go mad with lust for her.
Which she knew was absurd!
James Hancock was never going to see her as anything but his worthy secretary. But no way was she going to let him think the only man she could attract was a boring accountant!
Having emerged from the stairwell, she bypassed her apartment door and strode straight to Josh’s, ringing his doorbell with an emphatic need for a swift response.
He was satisfyingly prompt in opening the door. ‘Lucy love!’ His eyebrows arched over merry brown eyes. ‘A change in plan?’
‘Yes,’ she snarled as a fresh rush of venom spilled onto her tongue. ‘My beastly employer thinks my escort this evening will be an accountant.’
‘Like…boring?’
Very quick on the uptake was Josh. ‘Exactly,’ she confirmed. ‘In retaliation I told him you were hot stuff.’
‘Absolutely! When I’m hot I literally sizzle with high octane energy. You want me to sizzle?’
‘I want you to burn him up. And Josh, wear that gorgeous metallic waistcoast and the blue silk tie.’
‘A touch of flamboyance with the formal suit?’
‘Shining is the order of the night.’
‘Lucy love, I shall glitter for you.’
‘Not too much,’ she warned. ‘You’re not to let anyone guess you’re gay.’
‘Totally straight behaviour, I promise.’
She heaved a sigh to relieve all the horrid pent-up feelings James Hancock had left her with today. ‘I need to get that guy, Josh.’
‘In more ways than one I gather.’
She eyed him wryly. ‘Hopeless case, I’m afraid.’
‘Oh, little miracles can happen.’ He grinned, gleeful mischief twinkling in his eyes. ‘Trust me. We’ll make the man see you in a different light tonight.’
‘I’ll still be me, Josh.’
‘And so you should be. It’s his vision at fault, Lucy love, not you,’ he assured her. ‘Now go and put your glitter gear on and practice some sultry looks in the mirror. If I sizzle and you simmer…’
Despite the dejection that had suddenly overtaken her anger, she laughed at the picture he painted. ‘I’m not exactly a sex-pot and he’ll be with one. Buffy Tanner, the swimsuit model with the overflowing D-cup.’
Josh gestured an airy dismissal. ‘You’re fixated on big boobs. Superficial padding.’
‘Padding or not, I wish mine were bigger.’
‘Sexy is more in the attitude than the equipment,’ came the knowing advice. ‘And one other thing. Best to turn up late.’
‘I’m never late. I don’t like being late,’ she protested.
Sheer wickedness sparkled back at her. ‘But I’m hot stuff, Lucy love, and you just couldn’t resist having me. Punctuality shot to hell!’
She couldn’t help laughing again. ‘I doubt he’d even notice, Josh.’
‘Oh, he’ll notice all right.’ He waggled his eyebrows as he elaborated. ‘His predictable little secretary suddenly not fitting the frame he’s put her in. Believe me. He’ll notice.’
‘Well, I don’t actually need to be there on time,’ she argued to her obsession for punctuality. ‘He did say the tickets were free, no work-strings attached.’
‘There you are then,’ Josh asserted triumphantly. ‘Off you go. I’ll bring you a gin cocktail at seven-thirty. Some Mother’s Ruin to put you in the right party mood.’
They should be leaving at seven-thirty, her time-keeping brain dictated. It would take half an hour to get from Bellevue Hill to Darling Harbour, park Josh’s car, walk to the Sydney Convention Centre where the fund-raising ball was being held in the main auditorium. Cocktails in the foyer from eight o’clock the tickets read.
But so what if she had a cocktail here? The world would not come to an end if she didn’t turn up on the dot of eight o’clock. Why not be unpredictable for once?
‘Okay. And thanks, Josh.’ She flashed him an appreciative smile. ‘A friend in need is a friend indeed.’
The very best of friends, she thought warmly as she left him and let herself into her own apartment. Even this place, which was now hers—with a hefty mortgage—Josh had advised her was a good buy, if she could scrape up the money. The previous owners, now a divorced couple, had wanted a quick sale, and Lucy had stepped into a bargain, considering the real estate values in this location, midway between the inner city and Bondi Beach.
Walking into her very own space always gave her spirits a lift. James Hancock could call her a money-grubber as much as he liked. At least she didn’t have to depend on a man to provide her with the security of a home, which wasn’t secure at all if there was a divorce. Her careful savings over the years had added up to a solid down payment on this apartment. She was now a woman of property and she’d achieved it by herself.
Her mother was definitely right.
Being sensible did bring its own rewards.
Yet as Lucy headed for her bedroom, she wished she had splashed out and bought a glamorous gown for tonight. Although her one little black dress was perfectly adequate for any evening engagement, it was…boring. Not that it really mattered, she told herself. It was still a classy dress, bought cheaply from a secondhand designer boutique, and it would do…once again. She couldn’t compete with Buffy Tanner anyway. No point in trying. And the money saved would go towards buying the furniture she wanted.
All the same, she felt vaguely disgruntled with her basic common sense as she set about getting ready for the charity ball. It would undoubtedly give her considerable satisfaction to flaunt a flamboyant Josh as her partner tonight, hopefully delivering a metaphorical slap in the face to James Hancock and his opinion of her private life. But the truth was she never did do anything wildly exciting. Perhaps she was overly careful in her weighing up of whether a step was worth taking or not.
The worthy Miss Worthington…
The words stung.
The urge to act in a totally unworthy and outrageous way suddenly held a highly tempting attraction. Especially in front of James Hancock. Free tickets meant free from any responsibility. She could play as fast and as loose as she liked with Josh, knowing there’d be no nasty consequences from him, and if she was going to hand in her notice and find another job, why not do and say anything that came into her head. Puncturing James Hancock’s complacent judgement of her would go a long way towards salving her pride. And hurt.
Lawless Lucy…
She chuckled over the name that had slid into her mind.
Why not?
She stopped burning and started simmering. Attitude, Josh had said. Never mind her clothes or anything else. It was all in the attitude.
It wasn’t like Lucy to be late.
James Hancock couldn’t stop himself from glancing at his Rolex watch yet again. Another few minutes and the crowd of guests enjoying cocktails in the foyer would be moving into the auditorium. She should have been here at least half an hour ago. While he’d been waiting for her to arrive, he’d greeted an endless stream of the beautiful people and he could feel his smile getting very stiff. Damn the woman! Where was she?
His buoyant anticipation had slid through a frazzle of frustration at her continued non-appearance and was now descending into nagging worry. Had there been an accident? Lucy didn’t drive, didn’t own a car—too penny-pinching to buy one—but he knew nothing about this Josh Rogan who was bringing her here tonight. If he was hot stuff behind a wheel and had involved Lucy in a smash…no, surely she was too level-headed to go out with a speed-jerk.
