The Billionaire Boss's Innocent Bride(5)

Which raised the question-was the way that Alexandra Hill seemed to be   beckoning him an indication he was tired of the high life or perhaps   specifically

'glamorous, sophisticated women of the world'-to quote Miss Hill   herself. He frowned suddenly because that, of course, led him straight   back to the thorny question of one particular sophisticated, glamorous   woman of the world …

But although Alex was not privy to Max Goodwin's rather surprising train   of thought, she was still puzzled as she closed her front door on the   wet night. What had she sensed in the moment when he'd studied her so   carefully? Some sort of a frisson between them?

She touched her cheek with her fingertips where he had touched it, and   found herself breathing deeply as she recalled the tall, exciting   essence of her new employer; the deep blue of his eyes, how they   crinkled when he laughed, his broad shoulders, his hands …

She stared into space, then shook her head as she warned herself not to get fanciful.                       
       
           



       

She'd redecorated the house herself gradually, using white for the walls   to show off the interesting artefacts and pictures gathered from all   over the world in her earlier life.

There was a lovely kelim rug hanging on one wall of the lounge and she'd   made the covers of her scatter cushions for her ruby settee from   songket, hand-woven Malay fabric threaded with silver and gold, that   she'd bought in a market in Kuantan. It had been a wonderful life, her   earlier life. Not only had her father achieved consul status in the   diplomatic service, but she'd grown up sharing both her parents'

interest in scholarly pursuits. She'd also inherited their talent for languages. Then it had all come crashing down.

Her parents had been killed in a train crash a long way from home. She   probably would have been on the train herself if it hadn't been decided   she should complete her last couple of years of schooling in Australia.   It had been a life-saving decision, although it had been hard to  handle  at the time; it had also been a wise one. She'd made some  long-term  friends close to home who had been denied to her in her  globe-trotting  childhood.

So she hadn't been entirely alone and, of course, there'd been her father's cousin, the Mother Superior of her convent.

But as the only child of only-child parents, whose own parents had all   passed away, it had been a crushing blow. And although out of the   tragedy a habit of fortitude and independence had grown, she still, in   her innermost moments, suffered from it. She told herself it was foolish   to fear getting too close to anyone in case they too were wrenched  from  her, but that cold little fear persisted.

And she knew it was why she was fancy-free at twenty-one, and wondered if she'd always be the same.

But she had been fortunate to inherit that fairly substantial nest egg   and to be able to put herself through university and, later, acquire her   house and finally put her convent days behind her. Not that she'd  found  them a trial. When she'd finished school and gone straight on to   university, she'd been taken on as a lay member of the staff and in   return had helped out with the younger boarders. She was handy with   kids, especially tearful, a-long-way-from-home ones, probably because   she'd been through a lot of school changes and scene changes herself.

And it had been quite a change, moving into her flat after convent life   even as a lay member of the community where one could never be lonely  or  idle. But after the first sense of disorientation, she'd grown to  value  her very own space and the things she could do with it.

She was also fortunate to have a congenial neighbour. Patti Smith was an   energetic widow in her late fifties and she was fun to be with. They   looked after each other's gardens, mail and so on when either of them   were away. Patti, a former nurse, was now retired.

Alex put her keys down on the dining-room table, her bags on the settee and moved around, switching on a couple of lamps.

In the warm soft light the room looked peaceful and inviting, and it   brought her a special pleasure to know that she'd bought some of the   furniture second-hand and restored it herself.

She slipped her boots and several layers of clothing off, although she'd   reduced some of what she'd been wearing while shopping, and took a   shower. Then she padded through to the kitchen, which was possibly her   greatest triumph. She'd transformed it from a dark and dingy nightmare   to light and white with openfronted shelves to show off her colourful   crockery and basket containers. She made herself a cup of tea and a   sandwich, and carried it all through to the bedroom where she emptied   her carrier bags onto her bed.

She looked down at the pile and thought with a tinge of irony that she   might have been a restraining influence but the clothes were lovely all   the same. Margaret Winston might have accepted her suggestion that she   shouldn't outshine the guests, that perhaps dark colours and simple   lines would be the most suitable, but she'd insisted on the best quality   available.

Alex had quailed inwardly at the prices, but Margaret had confided that they'd be but a drop in the ocean for Max Goodwin.

The result was beautiful materials, linen, silks, fine wools and crêpes.   There were three pairs of new shoes and sets of exquisite underwear.

But a frown grew in her eyes as she stared down at it all. Very lovely,   but quite different from her normal attire. Would the flair to wear  them  come from them?

she wondered.

Then a strange little thought struck her. How would Max Goodwin view her in these elegant clothes?

To her amazement she felt her pulse beat a little heavily at the   thought, and she had to take several deep breaths. She had also to   remind herself that she needed to be very, very professional in her   dealings with him …                        
       
           



       

The next day seemed to fly past.

The cocktail party was to be held in the penthouse, starting at six p.m.   but Margaret Winston had asked her to be there by five-thirty. In the   meantime, she did have a bevy of appointments and there'd been a  message  from Simon on her answering machine requesting her to pop in  and see  him.

But before she went anywhere, her neighbour Patti popped in for a few minutes.

'Knock, knock! I peeked, I cannot deny it, although I wasn't going to   admit it,' she said dramatically, 'but I'm dying of curiosity! Who was   the gorgeous man who brought you home in a Bentley, no less, last   night?'

Alex had to laugh. 'My new boss,' she explained. 'My very temporary boss, so don't get your hopes up.

Patti sighed regretfully, then she brightened. 'You never know!'

At midday, Alex stared at herself in something like disbelief. The foils   had come out of her hair, it had been trimmed, washed and blow-dried   and the result was rather incredible. Not only that, her eyebrows had   been neatened, her lashes had been tinted and her nails manicured.

But most of all it was her hair that amazed her. No longer mousey and   unmanageable, wheat-fair highlights had lifted the colour, it now had   body, bounce and shape as its slight tendency to curl had been taken   advantage of.

'Like it?' Mr Roger, the hairdresser, enquired.

Alex swung her head and watched her hair sway elegantly. 'It's-I can't   believe it. But-' she turned to him urgently '-I won't be able to keep   it looking like this!'

'Of course you will!' he replied, looking a little hurt. 'It's all in   the cut and what I cut stays cut until the next cut, believe me. And you   can still tie it back, put it in bunches, whatever! Mary,' he called  to  the make-up girl over his shoulder, 'let's do her face. Really go  for  the eyes, talk about amazing, they are!' He turned back to Alex.  'And  please don't tell me you're going to wear those glasses, lovey,  because I  couldn't bear it!'

'I won't,' Alex promised with a laugh. 'I wouldn't dare-I've brought my contacts.'

He patted her shoulder. 'Anyway, come in and get it combed before any of your big

"do's" if you'd like to.'

'Oh, my goodness!' Simon Wellford said and dropped his pen as Alex slid into a chair across his desk. 'I mean-'

'It's OK!' Alex smiled at him sympathetically and explained rather   humorously about the makeover she'd undergone. 'I got a bit of a shock   myself,' she added. 'To think, I've been battling with my hair for as   long as I can remember and all it needed was one man to cut it, style   it, and colour it. Mind you,' she confided, 'it cost an arm and a leg.'