Out of Hours...Her Ruthless Boss: Ruthless Boss, Hired Wife / Unworldly Secretary, Untamed Greek / Her Ruthless Italian Boss

‘I want you to wear that dress tonight.’

She saw it was a simple green sundress with a white floral pattern and a halter-neck.

‘I am capable of dressing myself, you know,’ she snapped, but he simply ignored her.

He continued dressing, buttoning his shirt as he spoke. ‘I talked to Jan while you were asleep and there’s been a slight change of plan.’

‘Oh?’ Alarm prickled, nerves roiled. Change was not good.

‘One of the architects on the short-list had to bow out.’ He glanced at her; his smile had an air of triumph. ‘His child was ill and had to be hospitalised. So you see where those family values get you.’

Lizzie didn’t bother to reply. She knew any protest she made would be ridiculed. Reviled. Cormac Douglas was not a family man, which made this charade all the more difficult. Painful.

Ludicrous.

‘So how does that affect us?’ she finally asked.

‘Jan picked another architect to replace him. An Englishman—Geoffrey Stears.’ He paused, selected his tie and knotted it. ‘I know him.’

Lizzie remembered what he’d said, how no one would know them. Of course, pulling this charade off would be so much easier with strangers. But if this Geoffrey Stears knew him…knew his reputation…

He might also realise he wasn’t actually married. He might leak that information to Hassell, to the press.

‘But doesn’t that change everything?’ she asked. ‘If this Stears knows you…’

‘Getting scared, Chandler?’ he mocked. ‘I knew you’d be easy to intimidate when I chose you, but I have to admit your frightened little virgin act is getting rather annoying. Unless you are actually a virgin?’ He raised his eyebrows, the question in his eyes turning to a feral gleam before he continued. ‘It’s too late to back out, Chandler, so stop having second thoughts. There’s nothing you can do. I’ve made sure of that.’

Lizzie’s fingers bunched the sheet. ‘How?’

‘Or perhaps I should say you’ve made sure of that. You’ve played the game long enough for no one to believe you.’ His teeth flashed in a smile. ‘Your credibility is ruined.’

‘I could still…’ Lizzie began, and Cormac chuckled.

‘Walk out of this room and tell Jan what you’ve been up to? Tell him how you’ve been tricked?’ He pitched his voice in a contemptuous mimicry of her own. ‘“I’ll tell her all of Cormac’s secrets.”’ He gave a little laugh, a mockery of her own, before he shook his head. ‘Tell Jan you’ve been deceived and he’ll throw you out the front door. You’re the deceiver, sweetheart, not the deceived, and you chose that role. So get used to it.’

‘So now you’re blackmailing me,’ she stated flatly.

He shrugged. ‘Call it what you will. I did what I had to to ensure your agreement. And you wanted it, Chandler. You liked the idea.’

Lizzie bit back a retort. What could she say except the truth? And she didn’t particularly want to admit to it.

‘Back out now,’ Cormac continued, ‘and you’ll still suffer the indignity, the shame, or worse. Think about what that means for you…and your sister.’

Lizzie swallowed. The press loved Cormac. Loved to loathe him. News of his duplicity would be a carrion feast to them, and no one even remotely involved would be untouched.

The tabloids would circle her, devour her, then abandon her. Dani was eighteen, impressionable as Cormac had said, maybe even a little scatty. The results, Lizzie knew, could be disastrous. And Cormac must have known…must have guessed, at least.

‘Don’t threaten me,’ she warned, knowing he didn’t even have to. She was already so completely under his control.

There was nothing she could do. And Cormac knew it. Had always known it.

Had planned it that way.

‘Like I said,’ he murmured, ‘enjoy it. Not many secretaries get a chance to live the high life in the Caribbean.’ His eyes lingered on hers, flaring with possibility, with suggestion.

Lizzie felt an answering flicker in her own core.

She wanted this. Him. The excitement, the possibility. Even though it frightened her, he frightened her. Even though she didn’t want anything to actually happen. Did she?

She didn’t know anything any more. She was so, so out of her depth.

And he knew.

He had always known.

She looked away.

‘You’d never say anything, anyway,’ Cormac said after a moment, watching her with a little smile. ‘And why should you? Such a fuss…for what? Besides…’ he shrugged into his suit jacket ‘…you don’t like to make a fuss.’

‘I feel like making a fuss right now,’ Lizzie retorted. ‘A big one.’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘Sounds interesting.’

She flushed. ‘Not everything has to be—’

‘Oh, but it does,’ he assured her. His eyes danced. She hated how she amused him. It made her feel so little. So unimportant.

‘I may be attracted to you, Cormac,’ she said quietly, her face heating, her heart beating, even though she knew it had to be said. She had to say it. ‘But that’s all it is. And I don’t intend to act upon it.’

‘Are you trying to convince me,’ he murmured, ‘or yourself?’

‘I’m convincing you,’ she snapped.

‘I’m not convinced.’

Suddenly she couldn’t stand his complete arrogance, his unerring belief that she could be so easily known. So easily controlled.

‘Maybe Jan isn’t convinced, either,’ she said recklessly. ‘I could still tell him how you’ve blackmailed me. You waited until I was on the plane before you revealed your plans. I’m your secretary and you intimidated me.’ She widened her eyes, fluttered her eyelashes. ‘I didn’t know what to do, I was so frightened…’ Her voice was a breathy whisper and Cormac’s face hardened, blanked dangerously.

Still, fuelled by a new, heady sense of power, Lizzie continued. ‘Somehow I think a man like him would believe me…empathise with me. Who knows, he might insist my name be kept out of the press! You’d be the only one hurt.’

‘Is that so?’ In one easy movement Cormac grabbed her hands, pulled her to him so her breasts collided with his chest, her thighs melded into his. She could feel every part of him pressed against her, hard against soft, experience matched with innocence.

His fingers laced with hers so that he pulled her even closer. Her breasts were now flattened against his chest, her belly and thighs and everything in between pressed against his. Even in her surprise and alarm, she felt the treacherous stirring of desire.

She’d never been so close to a man before.

She forced herself to meet his eyes—bright, sharp, cruel. He looked down at her, smiled with a parody of tenderness that made Lizzie’s blood freeze.

‘Somehow, sweetheart,’ he whispered, his lips scant inches from hers, his breath feathering her face, ‘I think you’d be the one getting hurt. Don’t think you can play my game. Don’t think you can ever use me.’ His voice was soft. Soft and dangerous. Lizzie tasted fear.

‘But you’re using me,’ she pointed out, her voice shaking. ‘Just like you use everyone.’ She tried to step away from him and, after a moment, his hands still easily encircling her wrists, he released her.

‘Exactly.’ He smiled. ‘Let it go, Chandler. Just enjoy this weekend. I told you, it could be fun. Let’s have fun.’ His voice had turned to a caress, one she shrugged off.

‘Fun? When you’re virtually blackmailing me? You have a sick idea of what fun is, Cormac.’

He slipped his watch on, a tasteful sports design, clearly expensive. ‘Blackmail’s really a bit strong, don’t you think? I might have waited until the plane to inform you of our plans, but you agreed. You said yes.’

‘I never would have, if I’d known—’

‘Known what?’ Cormac took a step towards her. She could smell the cedar tang of his aftershave and tried not to breathe deeply. Even though she wanted to. Even now. ‘Known what there’d be between us? What you’d be tempted to do? To want?’

There was challenge and knowledge in his voice and she didn’t like, either. ‘I’m not going to do anything,’ Lizzie said, her eyes downcast. She wouldn’t look at him. Didn’t want to.

Couldn’t.

‘Good.’ With two lean, strong fingers he touched her chin, tilted it upwards to meet his own mocking gaze. ‘As long as you understand what this is about, Lizzie. It’s not about blackmail. It’s about power. I’m in control, and as long as you realise that, we’re sorted. Understood?’

Impatience and irritation chased across his implacable features and Lizzie was conscious of a hollow, empty sensation, as if all her determination and defiance had leaked out.

It’s about power. His. Only his.

She sagged, and suddenly she didn’t care any more. Didn’t care about the weekend, didn’t care about him.

It was too hard, too tense, too humiliating and too much.

She just wanted this to be over, and it hadn’t even begun.

She jerked her head away from his hand. ‘Understood.’

She knew any threat of resistance or exposure was just that—a threat. Empty. She couldn’t risk the shame and publicity telling the truth would bring. She didn’t dare.

Cormac, she realised, had the power to make her life hell. And Dani’s, too. And he would have no compunction in doing just that.

He might even enjoy it.

She turned to get dressed, stripping off her pyjamas, heedless of Cormac watching. Suddenly it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered.

Cormac watched her for a moment, the pyjamas slithering to her feet, before he cursed under his breath and thrust her dress into her arms. ‘Go ahead, use the bathroom.’

He turned away and Lizzie watched as he raked a hand through his hair, his back to her.

Bemused, she took her dress and underwear into the bathroom. She needed the space, the privacy, if only for a moment.

Inside the bathroom, she took a deep breath and ran a basin of cold water. Splashing her face, she forced herself to gather her scattered thoughts and concentrate.

She would not let him intimidate or control her. It was so hard—he was hard—but she had to stand up to him. She had to be strong.

Because, if she were weak, Cormac would take advantage. Every advantage. Easily.

Lizzie swallowed, resolve tightening in her middle. She could do this. She had to.

Dressed, her hair tumbled artfully about her shoulders, with a slick of make-up to help her feel better, Lizzie felt ready to face the world. To face Cormac.

She’d been shocked by his cruel statement of facts, his cold certainty that she was trapped. Shocked and even a bit hurt by the evidence of Cormac’s brutal manipulation, his indifferent admission to such calculating coldness. Yet she realised he’d been warning her. This is who I am. That, in itself, was a kindness.

A warning she wouldn’t forget.

‘Well,’ she murmured to her reflection, ‘you wanted to seize life, you wanted the adventure. Here it is.’ Smiling ruefully, she turned away.

‘So,’ she said briskly when she returned to their bedroom, ‘do you think this Stears is a threat? To us?’

Cormac glanced at her, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. ‘No one is a threat,’ he stated flatly, ‘to me.’

‘Oh, stop being so arrogant!’ Lizzie exclaimed. ‘If there’s a possibility of exposure, I need to know.’

‘There isn’t,’ he informed her, ‘as long as you continue to play your role.’

‘I will,’ she promised, an edge to her voice. ‘No more second thoughts.’

‘Good.’

If only she had some hold over him, Lizzie thought morosely as she slipped on a simple pendant, the only jewellery she had. Cormac had forgotten the little detail of jewellery, though it hardly mattered.

If she had some leverage, she would feel more in control. Less afraid. Then she might even enjoy this wretched weekend.

The trouble was, she had nothing. No power, no control. Cormac held all the cards…and he knew it.

‘So how are you going to explain your marriage to this Stears?’ she asked when they were ready to leave the room.

Cormac shrugged. ‘I’ll tell him the same story as everyone else.’ He glanced at her sharply. ‘And don’t, for the love of God, compensate by acting like some doting idiot. Stears knows I’d never marry someone like that.’

‘Who would you marry?’ Lizzie asked on impulse, and he gave her a dark look.

‘Remember,’ he warned, ‘I’m not a family man. I’m just playing one.’ Tucking her arm into his, he smiled. ‘Ready, sweetheart?’

Lizzie tried to smile. It felt like bending cardboard. ‘Ready.’

The sun was just beginning to set, turning the horizon a deep pink, the sea streaked with orange below.

It was a stunning sight and Lizzie paused in the corridor on the way to the lounge, Cormac coming to a halt next to her.

She breathed in the sea air, fresh and fragrant, a lover’s caress. She could hear the lap of the waves against the shore, the gentle clanking of two rowing boats tied to a weathered dock.

A brightly coloured bird skimmed above the water before flying into the vivid horizon.

‘It’s beautiful,’ she murmured.

‘Yes, and this time next year, five hundred more people will be able to enjoy it.’

She glanced at him, saw the hard line of his clenched jaw, the way he gazed out at the sea as if it were another world to conquer.

‘Do you think of everything in terms of your buildings?’ she asked, and he turned to stare at her.

‘Of course.’

She shook her head. ‘It’s an obsession with you.’

He gave a hard smile. ‘A calling.’ From the lounge there was a trill of feminine laughter and he took her elbow. ‘Come on, they’re waiting.’

Lizzie took a deep breath, steeled herself to begin the performance. At least she looked the part.

The sundress she wore clung to her curves before flaring out around her calves. It was simple, yet obviously expensive and well made. She even enjoyed the sensual pleasure of wearing it, something she was unaccustomed to. At least it was one thing she could enjoy this weekend.

She glanced at Cormac. He wore a suit in tan silk, the excellent cut and exquisite fabric moulding to his lithe, muscular frame. With his bronzed skin and eyes as bright as jade, he looked stunning, beautiful, his movements lithe and filled with an easy power.

As they entered the lounge, Lizzie was conscious of the conversation dying down and three couples turning to look expectantly at the new arrivals.

Jan rose and went to greet them. ‘Cormac, Elizabeth! Come and meet our other guests.’

Lizzie smiled, aware of Cormac’s hand on her elbow, his body next to hers, his strength and his heat. Everyone was looking at them as if they were a couple. As if they were in love.

Because, she reminded herself, for all intents and purposes, they were.

‘I’m Dan White. I’ve heard about your work.’A friendly looking man with a wide smile and an American accent shook Cormac’s hand and kissed Lizzie’s cheek. He introduced his wife, Wendy, an attractive brunette who was quite obviously pregnant.

Lizzie took in her bump, Dan’s protective arm around her waist, and realised how forced their own charade must seem. Standing in front of her was the real thing.

‘Good to see you, Cormac.’A tall, lithe man uncoiled himself from the sofa to smile lazily at the pair of them before offering Cormac a rather limp handshake. His dark, sharp eyes took in Lizzie. ‘Funny, I never heard that you’d married.’

‘We kept it secret,’ Cormac replied smoothly. His hand snaked around Lizzie’s waist, drew her closer to him, her breasts brushing his chest. ‘Didn’t we, darling?’

‘We did,’ Lizzie agreed, and then surprised herself by giving a low, throaty chuckle. ‘You know what Cormac’s reputation was like, obviously, so I’m sure you can understand why we wanted to keep our heads down for a bit.’

‘Indeed.’ Geoffrey looked at her appraisingly, and Lizzie forced herself to smile back with a breezy confidence she was far from feeling. ‘This is my wife, Lara.’ He gestured to the woman next to him—blonde, feline and elegant, with a hardened glamour. She smiled, although there was no warmth in her eyes.

‘Good to see you again, Cormac.’

Lizzie felt a frisson of alarm that bordered on panic as she saw Lara smile at Cormac with all too intimate a knowledge. Her grey eyes glimmered with seductive promise, and Lizzie knew these two had history.

Sexual history.

The thought both frightened her—a woman like this would sense a fake, a virgin—and, absurdly, stabbed her with jealousy.

She couldn’t be envious of Lara. She wasn’t actually Cormac’s wife. She didn’t even like him. At all. Yet the feeling was there—real, raw. Ridiculous.

‘May I fetch you a drink?’ Jan enquired, and Lizzie asked for an orange juice. Cormac had the same and she was reminded again of how he didn’t seem to drink alcohol.

The next half hour was a blur of chit-chat and Lizzie was relieved to fade into the background as the men talked about architecture. Hilda chatted cozily with Wendy about pregnancy and babies and, after a short reprieve of silence, Lizzie found herself face to face with a smirking Lara.

‘So, how long have you and Cormac known each other?’

‘I’ve been working for him for two years,’ Lizzie replied, mindful of Cormac’s warning to stick to the truth as much as possible.

‘And then you just fell in love?’The sneer in Lara’s voice was obvious, as was the disbelief.

‘Pretty much.’ Lizzie took a gulp of orange juice.

‘Really.’ Lara sipped her own drink. ‘Cormac never seemed the marrying type to me.’

‘You know him well?’ Lizzie didn’t want to hear the answer, but she knew Lara would volunteer the information in one way or another.

‘Oh, yes.’ Lara laughed, a rich, knowing chuckle. ‘Cormac and I go way back. Before Geoffrey,’ she added with heavy emphasis. The meaning couldn’t have been clearer.

‘You had an affair, I suppose,’ Lizzie said after a moment, and was gratified to see Lara look both surprised and discomfited. ‘I know all about his women,’ she confided, shaking her hair back over her shoulders. ‘Not their names, of course, but I’d have to have had blinkers on not to know that Cormac is popular with the ladies.’ She glanced over at him—confident, relaxed, deep in discussion with Jan—and felt her heart twist. Was he manipulating him, too? Of course he was. Just as he’d manipulated her.

She smiled back at Lara, a smile of knowledge, of power, of confidence. Nothing she felt at the moment. ‘I suppose he was just looking for the right woman, wasn’t he?’ she said. ‘And now he’s found her.’

Lara’s eyes were like pewter as she stood up. ‘I suppose he has,’ she said coolly, and turned away.

Lizzie took another sip of orange juice. She felt dizzy, strange, and she wasn’t even drinking alcohol. She thought of the words she’d spoken to Lara, almost wished them to be true.

He changed…for me.

Ha!

Cormac was never going to change, and she didn’t even want him to. She hated him. Almost.

Except right now, glancing over at him as he talked to Jan, she wondered. She wondered just what drove him, what had flickered in his eyes like desperation, what made him…him.

Who was he?

No one you want to know, she told herself grimly, and turned to smile cheerily at Hilda.

She wasn’t what he had expected. The realisation both surprised and annoyed him. He didn’t like variables. Uncertainties.

He made sure he never had any.

Yet Lizzie, Cormac acknowledged with a faint frown, was just that. Unpredictable. One minute she was nervous, timid, easily controlled. The next she resisted, fought back, bared her tiny claws.

She was like a baby tiger, a kitten, trying to fight against the leader of the pack. At least, he thought, she was learning that with him she couldn’t win.

Still, she required careful handling.

He turned back to Jan, tried to focus on his lengthy lecture about the island’s history, the need to preserve it.

He knew all this already, had researched Sint Rimbert and the Hassell family so he could practically recite it all himself.

He prided himself on being meticulous.

Yet he hadn’t been meticulous about Lizzie. He hadn’t known her well enough to realise how she would disturb him, how he would desire her.

That had been a surprise—pleasant, but unexpected. He’d never considered Lizzie Chandler in a sexual way until he’d seen her in that grubby bra, looking defiant and vulnerable and strangely sexy.

Seduction was a weapon. Cormac used it well. It was an enjoyable line of attack, but he would have to choose his moment carefully. He had a feeling that Lizzie was perfectly capable of ruining everything simply because she thought her feelings had been hurt.

Idly Cormac found himself remembering how soft, how silky her hair had been, twined between his fingers. He wondered if her waist was as slender as it seemed, so that his own two hands could span it. If her breasts would fill his palm, and if her skin was as smooth and golden all over as it was in the parts he could see.

Lust, pure and simple. He had to be careful.

Someone laughed and Cormac turned to see Dan talking to Jan. Jan clearly approved of the American, the devotion he poured on with saccharine adoration.

Dan was playing the part, Cormac thought, and playing it well. He’d dismissed Stears as a second-rater, and one who wasn’t bothering to charm Jan. Even his wife looked sulky and bored. But the Whites—they were a threat.

Cormac watched as Dan rested a loving hand on his wife’s bump and she clasped her own hand over his. It was a simple, intimate gesture, barely noticeable, and yet the very carelessness of it made him realise how artificial his relationship with Lizzie really was.

They didn’t touch each other with careless spontaneity, easy affection. Every movement was calculated, tense.

Fake.

If Hassell didn’t guess, he had a feeling Stears would, and then he’d whisper it into Jan’s ear. Even though he didn’t think Hassell would believe such poison, he didn’t care for the man to have doubts…especially when he planned to tell him later of their divorce.

It would be easy enough for a man like Hassell to change his mind, wriggle out of the contract. Make a mess.

Cormac took a sip of his drink, wondered again why it mattered so much. Why he’d taken this risk. He could have let it go. He’d let other commissions pass.

But not this one.

‘So, congratulations are in order, it would seem,’ Geoffrey murmured, moving to sit next to Cormac. ‘Funny how quickly you married.’

‘When you know, you know,’ Cormac replied blandly.

‘Exactly.’ Geoffrey smiled, and Cormac almost laughed to think how someone like Stears could actually believe he had some kind of power. ‘And I think I know.’

‘You’re losing me, Stears.’ He spoke in a bored drawl.

‘I wonder,’ Geoffrey mused, ‘if I searched in public records for your marriage licence, what would I find?’

‘I’d love to see you explain such detective work to Jan,’ Cormac replied. ‘Forget about it, Stears.’

‘I’m not going to stand by and watch a man like you get this commission,’ Stears hissed.

Cormac swivelled to regard him with cold, blank eyes. ‘A man like me?’ he queried politely.

Geoffrey smirked. ‘You’ve clawed your way to the top, haven’t you, Douglas? You still bear the scars. I know people are impressed with your designs, your drive, but you don’t belong. You never did and you never will.’

Cormac gave a slight shake of his head. ‘People are looking, Geoffrey. I think you might want to calm yourself.’

‘You’d do anything to get a commission,’ Stears continued in a low, vicious voice. ‘And I for one am going to make damn sure you don’t get it.’ He moved away on the pretext of refreshing his drink and Cormac watched him go, his lips tightening in resolve.

Geoffrey didn’t scare him; the man didn’t even bother him. But he was a variable that needed to be considered.