The Billionaire Boss's Innocent Bride(8)

'So,' he said, 'we have the formal luncheon tomorrow, down on the Gold   Coast-I have a house there-and then you'll have a three-day break as the   negotiations get going in earnest. I-' He looked down at her. 'What's   wrong?'

Alex swallowed and told herself fiercely she'd never speak to herself   again if she blushed like a schoolgirl. Because the fact of the matter   was, the sight of Max Goodwin stretching had affected her rather   drastically.

The lean, compact muscles of his chest were etched beneath the fine   cotton of his shirt. His diaphragm was as flat as a board and she'd been   assaulted by the aroma of pure man, and found it heady and delicious.   Not only that, she'd been assaulted by a mental vision of Max Goodwin   naked and powerful, tanned and with springy dark hair …

'Nothing,' she said, but it came out as an indistinct sound and she had   to clear her throat. 'Nothing. Uh-I hadn't thought about how I'd get to   the Gold Coast tomorrow.' She stood up herself, still horrified and a   little desperate to get away.

'You're coming with me and I'll bring you home after it. Are you sure there's nothing wrong?' He frowned at her.

'Quite sure.' She was still clutching her champagne glass so she took a   fortifying sip of champagne, praying she wouldn't choke on it. But as   she looked up their gazes clashed and she felt trapped, unable to tear   herself away from that deep blue of his eyes and unable to still the   beating of her pulses.

You're lying again, Ms Hill, Max Goodwin thought as he stared at her, at   the pulse beating rapidly at the base of her creamy throat. Then his   gaze moved down the slim, lovely length of her that had come as such a   surprise to him and he found himself stirred physically against all   expectations …

But why against all expectations? he asked himself. She was drop-dead   gorgeous, like a beautiful butterfly who'd emerged from her chrysalis.   She was enough to make any man want to run his fingers through her hair   and drink in the perfume of her skin, but she was also different from   the usual glamorous, socialite types that caught his eye.

He had no doubt she was a rather amazing mix of talent, intelligence,   but also humour. She was independent and not above pointing out the   error of his ways to him.                       
       
           



       

All of which intrigued him as well as awakening a tremor of desire in   him, the desire to take her by surprise and take her in his arms. The   desire to stop any protests by kissing her, the desire to know how she'd   react because he couldn't predict it. An enigma, he mused as he pushed   his hands into his pockets to be on the safe side. There was no way he   could allow himself to touch her at this point in time. What was he  even  thinking? Sheer insanity?

But what had upset her out of the blue moments ago? And why was she   looking up at him now with her lips parted and a little pulse still   beating rapidly at the base of her throat, those clear, lovely hazel   eyes wide and startled and something else, almost as if she shared this   highly unexpected attraction, almost as if it was a twoway thing   sizzling between them-

There was a soft rap on the door and Margaret put her head around it.

'Mr Goodwin,' she said, 'a rather urgent matter has come up.'

Alex came to life and said hastily, 'I'll go.'

'No,' he said decisively. 'Finish your drink and in the meantime we'll   organize a lift for you. Lead on, Margaret.' He went out and closed the   door behind him. Alex breathed heavily in relief, then she did blush as   she sank back onto the settee. She could feel the amazing heat of it  as  she put a hand to her cheek and she touched her glass to both cheeks  to  cool them down.

What had got into her? she wondered chaotically.

She'd never mentally undressed a man in her life before! It was enough   to make you blush hectically, just the thought of it-and she swallowed   nearly two thirds of a glass of champagne in one long mouthful as she   thought of it again. Then she breathed deeply, put the empty glass down   and laid her head back. Max Goodwin got to her, she acknowledged. He   sent her senses reeling in a very physical way and he destabilized her   peace of mind.

She lifted her head suddenly. She could not afford to let this get out   of control, she reflected. On one hand, could a man who'd regarded her   legs as a cause for annoyance be attracted to her?

But on the other hand, what had been going through his mind while he'd   stared at her so intently? Almost as if they'd both been caught in a   sensual little moment that had blotted out the rest of the world-or had   it been her imagination?

She stared unseeingly across the room for a long moment, then shook   herself. Most likely, she decided, but with a frown of confusion. Then   it occurred to her to ask herself whether, even if she couldn't be sure   it hadn't been a mutual sensual little moment, it made any difference  to  the fact that she was basically a loner?

She looked down at her hands and thought of her parents, whom she hadn't   even had the opportunity to farewell. She also thought of her father's   cousin, her Mother Superior, and how that stern, prickly but lovable   woman had also been taken from her, and felt tears on her lashes.

She thought of the few occasions she'd got to know men she'd admired,   men it might have been possible to fall in love with-only to withdraw.   She thought suddenly of Paul O'Hara, the intern, who had looked rather   nice and had displayed consternation in his expression at the thought of   her with Max Goodwin … Why? she wondered.

She closed her eyes and wondered what was happening to her lift. It was definitely time for her to go home.

Perhaps it was the champagne she'd drunk so quickly on an empty   stomach-she hadn't partaken of any of the delicious canapés-on top of   two hours on her feet, two hours of severe mental concentration.   Whatever, she fell asleep. When she woke, after some moments of utter   confusion, her watch told her she'd slept for a couple of hours. She was   also stretched out on the settee with a pillow under her head, a light   but warm cashmere rug over her, and one soft lamp was on revealing the   "green" room of Max Goodwin's penthouse.

She sat up with a gasp of horror. Who'd covered her up and brought her a pillow?

Who'd decided to let her sleep rather than go home?

She ran her hands through her hair and felt around for her purse as she   decided her next course of action. She opened her purse for her mobile   phone-she'd ring for a taxi and steal away quietly.

She got up and, with her shoes in her hand, left the green room quietly.   The foyer was dimly lit and there were no sounds coming from the rest   of the apartment, no other lights she could see as she approached the   lift with her phone in hand. She pushed the lift button, and started to   dial for a taxi, but nothing happened. She cancelled the call and  pushed  the lift button again. Again nothing happened and she realized  the lift  was locked-you needed some kind of master key or key card to  operate  it.                       
       
           



       

She took a frustrated little breath. What to do now?

If Max Goodwin had gone to bed the last thing she wanted to do was find him and wake him. What about Jake?

Then she remembered Max saying something about both Jake and Margaret   Winston staying the night downstairs-were there two floors to the   penthouse?

Maybe the sleeping quarters or the staff quarters were downstairs, but   how was she to get to them? Was there an internal staircase? Or a   service elevator?

There were no more doors in the foyer.

She tiptoed into the main lounge, but it was in darkness. She hesitated,   then turned back to the foyer as it slowly dawned on her that she  might  have to spend the rest of the night in the green room.

Ten minutes later she was back on the settee, her head resting on the   pillow and the cashmere rug over her. But now she was wide awake.

She tossed the rug aside and got up to turn the lamp off, thinking   darkness might help her to sleep in this ridiculous situation.

It didn't, and she'd almost convinced herself she would have to find   some way to end her imprisonment in Max Goodwin's penthouse when she   heard what sounded like the lift open, and voices.

She froze. She'd left the door slightly ajar and she could hear every word of what Max Goodwin was saying …

'Listen, Cathy-' his voice was harsh '-a month ago you chose to inform me I had a six-year-old son I knew nothing about-'