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An Unwilling Desire
Carole Mortimer
Carole Mortimer is one of Mills & Boon’s best loved Modern Romance authors. With nearly 200 books published and a career spanning 35 years, Mills & Boon are thrilled to present her complete works available to download for the very first time! Rediscover old favourites - and find new ones! - in this fabulous collection…Resisting her attraction to her boss’s brother…Holly is distraught when she’s accused of breaking up her boss’s marriage. She can’t suffer being the cause of another divorce—Holly still feels unwittingly responsible for the breakdown of her mother’s marriage. Now it seems the only way to prove her innocence is to date Zack Benedict—her boss’s brother!Only soon there’s a problem with Zack’s plan to make his brother jealous…when their desire goes from fantasy to reality…!
An Unwilling Desire
Carole Mortimer
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Table of Contents
Cover (#u81024e2f-664f-5bec-bae0-9beb6b2adf70)
Title Page (#u310ac40b-f56e-5511-b0c4-070d089c3fd0)
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_12772bbd-f0a3-5e82-8a95-23972dd3e0d6)
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_65ee5a85-32bd-51ab-88cc-8d76b41a268b)
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_78a0e809-8a83-54c8-b395-419ba7a8f1d6)
CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_73c7bb91-ec25-5a9a-9a28-07e8db19ff77)
‘… and I hope you continue to read and enjoy my books. You know the rest, Holly,’ James dismissed with an abruptness that showed he was fast losing interest in the mail they were in the process of answering.
She looked up from her shorthand pad, frowning as she saw James was leaning back in his chair with his eyes closed. Her employer had seemed distracted all morning, hardly able to concentrate on the mail he usually took such time and care over.
‘James?’ she had to prompt softly, not sure if he wanted to finish now or continue; she had never seen him in quite this mood before.
He looked up at her, smiling slowly, as if her short red hair and small heart-shaped face dominated by huge violet eyes afforded him some comfort in whatever was tormenting him. ‘Where was I?’ he asked vaguely.
Her brows rose at this uncharacteristic loss of concentration, the same red as her hair, her lashes long and tipped with gold. ‘You'd just finished thanking Mrs Smythe of Kent for her kind words of praise on your last book,’ she reminded him gently, her concern intense for the man who had been kind to her from the first day she came to work for him three months ago.
‘Oh yes,’ he ran a hand through the dark blond of his hair, his hazel-coloured eyes half closed as if in pain. ‘Could we stop now?’ he sighed. ‘I—I have a headache.’
‘Of course.’ She instantly closed her shorthand pad, moving with a quiet grace to pick up the two separate piles of letters from the table, one she had replies to and one she didn't. ‘I have enough to be going on with,’ she smiled reassuringly.
‘I didn't realise I had so many fans.’ He leant back weakly in his chair, his eyes completely closed now, a weary droop to his mouth.
Holly's heart went out to him and she wished there were something she could do to ease the strain he seemed to be under, some way she could help ease his stress. She liked this man, had taken an instant liking to him when he had interviewed her for the job as his secretary, and could only admire the way he got on with his life despite the disability of the wheelchair he spent the majority of his time in, the result of a serious car accident two years ago.
James was a big man, powerfully built and firmly muscled despite his disability, the pain of the last two years etched into his face and adding to his thirty-six years. He had the sort of fair hair that bleached white and gold in the sun, and it was like that now from the afternoons he spent working in the garden, his eyes taking on the blue-green of the sea that he viewed from his Hampshire home.
Yes, she liked this man, she liked him a lot, and she knew something was troubling him deeply. She hesitated at the door, not wanting to leave him like this. ‘Is it just a headache, James?’ she probed softly.
He sighed, opening his eyes again as he sat forward. ‘No,’ he admitted heavily. ‘You might as well know, Maxine is coming back here this afternoon.’
Holly kept her expression bland with effort. Maxine Benedict, James's wife for the last five years, was a woman of thirty, having maintained her slender figure from her years spent as a model. In the last three months since Holly had been in residence as James's secretary the other woman had only spent a matter of weeks at home, this last trip to London being the longest so far, three weeks in duration. And now it seemed she was returning for another few disruptive days, would upset the even tenor of James's working days, and then leave him moody and withdrawn, unable to work, when she left again.
‘That will be nice,’ she said brightly, hoping James couldn't hear the lack of any real enthusiasm in her voice.
‘Will it?’ he returned bitterly.
‘Of course it will,’ she insisted briskly.
His mouth twisted. ‘It's been so restful. I've been—comfortable, here with you the last few weeks, Holly. Almost at peace.’
She flushed her pleasure at his feeling the same way she had about his wife's latest absence, turning away shyly from the warmth in his eyes. She didn't welcome Maxine's return either. Beautiful and sophisticated Maxine Benedict made her feel ill at ease, and she suspected how the other woman spent her time during these frequent trips to London. She had a feeling James did too, although he never actually said anything about it.
‘Oh, Holly, sometimes I wish—Never mind,’ he dismissed harshly. ‘Could you get those letters typed and back to me as soon as possible. I doubt I'll get much work done once Maxine is back,’ he added ruefully.
Holly doubted it to. When Maxine was at home James's work schedule, and consequently Holly's own, went out of the window. Maxine was a woman of impulse, often deciding she wanted to do something or go out on the spur of the moment, and insisting that James accompany her.
Holly made her way to her own office at the back of this rambling house, well away from James's study so that her typewriter wouldn't disturb him while he wrote. Once in the privacy of her own room she allowed her disappointment about Maxine's return to show, hating the idea of her routine being disturbed. She liked order in her life, disliked impulsive action of any kind. The next few days, at least, looked like being very disrupted.
James Benedict was a famous author of thrillers, the storyline often having something to do with racing cars, his old profession, the profession that had put him in the wheelchair. He had first begun to write during the long months he had spent in hospital recovering from the accident, and had been lucky—or talented enough—to have his first book accepted while still confined to his bed. A second, third, and fourth book had been equally well received, being fresh and exciting, and always original. The mail that flooded in to him every day proved just how popular with the public his books were.
Holly had been delighted when she secured the position as his secretary, thrilled when he asked her to assist him with his research too. It was all a welcome change and challenge from the run-of-the-mill office jobs she had been doing for the last four years, liking the fact that she actually lived at the house, finding it no hardship to give up the last in a long line of flats she had occupied during the last few years of living on her own. It also meant she was on call if James should need her, and the two of them often spent their evenings working too, something she enjoyed.
But the thought of Maxine Benedict's return was enough to spoil the day for her. Maxine was everything she despised in a woman, flirtatious, too beautiful for any man to resist, and worse of all, Holly suspected, promiscuous. It was the latter she found so hard to forgive in the other woman, but she could think of no other reason for Maxine to spend so much time in London. Personally she had no idea of the full extent of James's injuries, although she thought it meant he couldn't play an active role in his marriage, which made Maxine's behaviour all the more abhorrent.
Holly deliberately made herself scarce in the house's vast library after lunch, attending to some of the research on South America that James needed for further chapters. It was a laborious task, but one that she enjoyed; no complaints were made by the public about even the finest detail in James's books—something she intended to continue.
She could hear the husky sound of Maxine's voice in the lounge as she passed the room on her way back to her office from the library, her precious notes and references clutched in her hand to show to James later.
She came to an abrupt halt as she entered her office, gasping as she saw the man standing across the room from her, his back turned towards her as he looked out of the window, the over-long golden hair so achingly familiar. But he was standing! ‘James …?’ she cried her disbelief. Surely James couldn't have been deceiving them all this time—–
The man turned slowly at the sound of her gasp, dispelling any doubts she might have had that it was James who stood there. Oh, the man's colouring was the same, so was the powerful physique, but there the similarity ended. Mocking green eyes steadily met her gaze, a long hawk-like nose jutting out arrogantly, the mouth strong and firm, quirking tauntingly as she continued to stare at him, his jaw square and determined. For all that his face showed lines of experience he still looked younger than James.
There was about the man an air of male challenge, an aura of sensuality that made Holly's defences instantly spring into action. Her mouth twisted contemptuously at the way his denims clung to him like a second skin, his shirt partly unbuttoned to reveal the darker blond hair on his chest, an obvious move on his part to draw attention to his virility as far as Holly was concerned. A man who believed in his own machismo!
She stepped past him to sit behind her desk, realising as she did so how tall he was when she only reached as far as his shoulders, her own height only just over five feet. She viewed him with cool violet eyes as he lounged against the side of her desk, her lashes darkened with mascara, that and a coral lipstick being her only make-up.
‘Obviously not,’ she dryly answered her own question, completely in control again now, over the shock she had received at first seeing him.
‘Obviously not,’ he echoed mockingly, looking down at her, his gaze openly speculative. ‘Not unless he's taken it into his head to get up and walk,’ he drawled. ‘And while he has people like you and his manservant fussing around him he isn't likely to do that, now is he?’ he mocked.
A hot tide of indignation welled up inside her. ‘How dare you say such a thing?’ she gasped, her eyes wide with accusation.
His smile widened, his teeth very white and even against his tanned skin. ‘Quite easily,’ he taunted without regret.
‘So I see,’ she snapped, pushing her notes into a drawer and locking it before glaring up at the man. ‘I don't know who you are—and to be perfectly truthful, I don't particularly care,’ she added insultingly. ‘But I find your mockery of a crippled man highly distasteful!’
‘James isn't crippled,’ his voice had hardened harshly. ‘Unless you count his mind.’
Her eyes widened even more at this attack on a man who wasn't even here to defend himself. ‘James has a wonderful mind,’ she told him heatedly. ‘As you would know if you've ever read any of his books!’
‘I've read them,’ the man confirmed scornfully.
‘Then you know he has a clever mind!’
The green eyes narrowed; the man's speculation was increasing. ‘Do you always defend James so—vehemently?’ he queried softly.
Holly flushed her resentment. ‘If I think he needs it, yes!’
‘And does he often—need it?’ the man taunted throatily, humour glinting in his eyes.
Holly glared her outrage at him for his implication. ‘If you're a friend of his—–’
‘I'm not,’ he stated flatly.
‘Not …?’ She looked at him uncertainly now, her eyes hardening with contempt as another reason for him being here occurred to her. ‘Then you must be a friend of Maxine's,’ she realised with sickening clarity.
Dark blond brows rose, his arms folded across the broadness of his chest, the red shirt he wore moulded to his powerful frame. ‘Must I?’ he taunted softly, mocking her unashamedly.
‘Aren't you?’ she challenged.
He seemed to consider for a moment. ‘I suppose I must be,’ he answered finally.
‘I see.’ Holly's contempt grew along with her anger. Not only did Maxine leave her husband to go to London for weeks at a time, but this time she had actually brought her current lover back with her. Couldn't she be content with hurting James at a distance!
‘Do you?’ The man watched the emotions flickering across her usually unreadable face. ‘I doubt it,’ he derided, shaking his head, the straightness of his golden hair growing well down over his collar and ears.
‘Oh, but I do,’ she contradicted with sarcasm. ‘Maxine arrived from London a short time ago; you arrived with her.’
‘And that tells you something, does it?’ he queried softly.
‘Yes!’
‘But you're wrong. I didn't come here with Maxine, I arrived just after her.’
‘Oh, she's given you your own car, has she?’ Holly sneered heatedly, surprised at her own vehemence now. Of course it was disgusting that this man should be here, that he should have such little respect for a man like James, but she had made it a rule never to involve herself in other people's lives and problems, knowing it could only lead to disaster.
The man's eyes glittered a fierce emerald green. ‘What a nasty mind you have, Holly Macey,’ he said grimly.
She frowned. ‘You know my name!’
‘Of course,’ he nodded abruptly. ‘I was sent to see if you would like to come and join us in the lounge.’
She turned away, shaking slightly from this scene with a man whose identity she didn't even know. ‘I still have some work to do before I finish for the day,’ she refused stiffly.
‘Don't you think you should come and defend James?’ he taunted.
She blushed, suddenly looking younger than her twenty-two years. ‘He doesn't need anyone to defend him,’ she said awkwardly. ‘He's perfectly capable of standing up for himself.’
‘But he isn't, is he?’ the man derided softly. ‘Capable of standing, I mean.’
She gasped, shocked at the way this man continued to mock James's disability. ‘That—that was a cruel and vicious thing to say!’ she choked.
‘Was it?’ he shrugged, standing up. ‘It's even crueller that he chooses to remain in that wheelchair day after day.’ His expression was harsh.
‘He can't walk!’
‘You're right, he can't.’
‘Then why mock him?’ she breathed raggedly.
‘Because I damn well refuse to pity him! He's a coward and a—–’
‘James is not a coward!’ Her hands clenched and unclenched at her sides.
The man gave her a cold stare before walking to the door. ‘The day he gets out of that chair and walks will be the day I no longer think of him as one. The reason he's there, driving a car at high speed just for the thrill of it, is a damned stupid way to earn a living in the first place,’ he rasped.
‘You consider your way to be better, do you?’ Holly scorned.
His eyes narrowed. ‘My way?’
‘As Maxine's “friend”.’ Her mouth twisted with distaste.
‘At least I get job satisfaction!’
‘You're disgusting!’ she paled.
To her chagrin he began to laugh softly. ‘I'd be damned angry at the assumptions you've made about Maxine and me if I didn't find you so amusing. James only writes sexy thrillers, Holly, you don't have to believe them,’ he taunted. ‘And why do you have such a low opinion of Maxine?’ he sobered. ‘What has she ever done to you?’
‘Nothing,’ she answered stiffly.
Those deeply green eyes narrowed thoughtfully, his lashes ridiculously long for a man. ‘But you don't like her, do you?’ he probed curiously.
‘I've only been here three months, I hardly know her,’ she gave an evasive reply.
‘Maybe you should remember that, Miss Macey,’ he nodded grimly. ‘You don't know Maxine. And you don't know me either.’
