The Seduction Business

“Don’t judge everybody by your standards! We don’t all sleep around.”

Bianca flinched at the contempt in Matt’s voice, the coldness in his gaze.

“I just told you, I’m not—don’t…” she stammered.

“I know, you’re just one of Don Heston’s executives!”

“It’s true!”

“But Don thinks he owns you. Why should he think you were likely to be with me all night? Did he tell you to get me to sign this contract by seducing me?”

CHARLOTTE LAMB was born in London, England, in time for World War II, and spent most of the war moving from relative to relative to escape bombing. Educated at a convent, she married a journalist, and now has five children. The family lives on the Isle of Man. Charlotte Lamb has written over a hundred books for Harlequin Presents®.

The Seduction Business

Charlotte Lamb

MILLS & BOON

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CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER ONE

THERE were four men and two women gathered in the boardroom by ten o’clock that bright May morning. They took their seats around the wide mahogany table occupying the centre of the room, in order of seniority and custom. The sales director, Jack Rowe, in the centre, looked pointedly at his watch. ‘He’s late. You’d think he’d be early today, of all days, wouldn’t you?’

‘He’s been on the phone non-stop since eight o’clock,’ the publicity officer, Noelle Hyland, said sharply, resenting the other man’s tone. She leaned forward to stare at Jack with dislike, her spiky hair bright gold in the sunlight, making her look like a blonde hedgehog, especially as she was wearing a dark grey knitted wool suit which had a faintly fuzzy look to it.

‘He looks dead tired,’ said the female personnel director, Andrea Watson, sighing. Plump and cuddly in a pink angora sweater and white skirt, she also resented Jack Rowe’s carping over their managing director, to whom she was totally loyal.

Normally she smiled a lot, was full of fun, warm-hearted, enjoying life. Today, like her colleagues, she was serious, worried, a little pale.

Pausing in the doorway, Matt Hearne surveyed them before they noticed his arrival. Was one of them a Judas, ready to sell him and his company out?

Somebody inside the firm had to be involved, his lawyer, Leigh Hampton, had said to him ten minutes ago. ‘You must have a Trojan Horse there, Matt—find out who it is and get rid of them fast.’

Matt did not want to believe it.

His bright blue eyes skimmed their faces, wishing he could read them like a balance sheet. If only human beings were that easy. How many of them had secretly been offered jobs if this take-over went through?

Anger burnt deep inside his chest. He had worked hard to build this firm up; it had been his life for ten years. He had put everything he had and was into it.

Now someone was trying to take it away from him.

Well, they weren’t going to succeed, no matter what he had to do to stop them. He would never have thought of himself as a ruthless man, but he could become one, if he had to. He believed you could always do what you had to.

He walked forward and the others all looked up, immediately alert, trying to read his expression to find out how he felt.

Andrea gave him a trusting, hopeful smile. She thought he was brilliant. Utterly wonderful. Cleverer than any man she had ever met, and sexy with it. Even though she was happily married with ten-year-old twins, Matt could make her heart flutter. Her husband, Gary, had noticed her watching Matt at a dinner party last winter, her eyes glowing with admiration, and teased her.

‘You’re wasting your time, love. Computers turn him on, not women. What makes you females go dreamy over the guy, anyway? What’s he got that I haven’t got?’

‘Nothing, darling, not a thing,’ she had quickly said, because the last thing she wanted to do was hurt Gary’s feelings. But the truth was that although she loved her tall, burly husband, even in his old torn jeans and rugby shirt, gardening on a Sunday and covered in mud and grass-stains, Matt was gorgeous; more like a film star than a boss. Every other female in the office thought the same. She knew Noelle adored him. In fact, she had never yet met a woman who didn’t love his warm, blue eyes, that pale brown, floppy, silky hair, his lazy, charming smile, and laid-back, lounging way of walking.

At lunchtime, in the coffee shop next door to the company’s offices, where they all ate salads and jacket potatoes, the women who worked for him spent hours talking about how sexy Matt Hearne was and wishing he would look their way.

He never did.

There had been no woman in Matt’s life at all since his wife, Aileen, died three years ago, giving birth to a premature baby girl. Andrea had seen Matt the next day and been shocked by how old he suddenly looked. His marriage had been a very happy one. He and Aileen had known each other from their school days. Aileen’s death had hit him badly. She had tried to comfort him, but he had said brusquely, ‘You’re very kind, but I don’t want to talk about it, Andrea.’

White, drawn, haggard, he had walked away and hadn’t been seen in the offices for ten days. When he’d come back he was a different man. From then on he had buried himself in his work. He had lost a lot of weight, hardly spoke, became grim and taciturn.

Everyone had been worried about him, but a hardness in his eyes made them all afraid to say a word. Matt the charming, Matt the light-hearted had become surly and dangerous. They were scared of him for months.

Thank heavens, that harshness had slowly died away. Over the past couple of years, to their relief, he had gradually returned to his old self. He laughed again, smiled often, chatted to them all casually, was approachable again, but in the blue eyes somewhere the shadow of heartbreak remained when he did not think he was being watched.

Andrea had often seen him gazing out over the steel-grey River Thames, below his office, his face set in lines of sadness, and wished she could say or do something to lighten his mood, but was afraid to offer comfort in case he bit her head off again.

‘Good morning, everyone, thank you for being so punctual,’ he said now, taking his own chair at the head of the table, facing his executives. ‘I won’t waste your time with a long preamble. We all know why we’re here. Somebody has been buying up our shares. We’ve had a couple of near-misses in the past so we know the signs of a take-over bid. It’s obviously a serious attack. They’re spending a lot of money. I’ve asked Rod to find out everything he can. We’ll hear him first, then I’d like each of you to give me your own personal opinion on the offer, before we settle back to discuss tactics. Okay?’

‘Have they been in touch with you, Matt?’ asked Jack Rowe, his face tight with nerves.

Shaking his head, Matt said, ‘Not yet, but no doubt they soon will. I’m afraid these are big boys. Tell them who we’re up against this time, Rod.’

‘TTO,’ Rod Cadogan said.

Nobody looked surprised, Matt noted wryly. They had already heard that Tesmost Technical Operations were behind the bid, no doubt. You couldn’t keep such matters secret. Theirs was a small world. All the big international electronics firms knew each other. Several had tried to buy Hearne’s in the last two years, since it leaked out that they were working on a cheap voice-operated computer. In this business new technology was the name of the game. You had to keep launching new ideas or you died. Matt had kept his research a secret for as long as possible, not talking to anyone but his closest colleagues, but sooner or later he had had to start building the actual computer, which meant far more people getting involved in the project, and once that happened the word was out and the vultures gathered.

He had had the money to beat off all previous interest, but TTO were an enormous company with far more capital than Matt could put together. If Matt borrowed money to help him in this struggle, he would lose control of his company, anyway, to whoever lent the cash.

Bleakly, Matt wished he could work out how to defeat this bid without asking for help from anyone. But he knew he was between the devil and the deep blue sea. Maybe he should sell the house in the Essex countryside which he and Aileen had bought when they got married?

He lived in his London flat which was just the right size for a bachelor, very convenient for work, and surrounded by restaurants and shops. But his mother and his baby daughter lived in the Essex house, only an hour’s drive away so that he could visit them often. When Aileen died his mother had moved into their home to take care of Lisa and the arrangement had worked so well that it had become a routine.

Darkness veiled his eyes. Sometimes he could not believe she was gone, gone for ever. Aileen had been so full of life; he could see her now, laughing at him, the wind of the Essex coast in her hair, her eyes loving.

Salt coated his throat.

He mustn’t think of her. Stop it, he told himself. No looking back. Think about the future.

Well, if he had to sell the house he would sell his flat, too, and find somewhere big enough for his mother and the baby, too. Maybe it was time they all lived together? Having a split household like this wasn’t natural. He ought to see more of Lisa now that she was becoming a little girl, not just a baby.

‘You see, Matt, this is a well organised attack!’ he suddenly heard, and, starting, came back to the present, to look at Rod.

Matt nodded. ‘I’m afraid so.’

Rod sighed heavily. ‘I’ve got a list of share transfers that have already been shifted by the big investors, the pension funds and companies.’ In his flat London accent Rod began to read his list out like someone reading the names of mourners at a funeral.

He paused, looked up, said grimly, ‘And in charge of organising the bid, and co-ordinating the buying in of major company shares, Bianca Milne, Forward Planning Director of TTO.’ Rod placed a large colour photo on the desk and everyone stared down at it.

Jack Rowe gave a low wolf whistle. ‘Hey, I could go for her!’

Andrea felt a quiver of envy. If only she looked like that! She would swap her own brown hair for that sleek, smooth blonde chignon any time, and as for that face… Oh, it wasn’t fair. Some women had it all.

Matt had heard of Bianca Milne, but had never actually set eyes on her. He leaned forward and picked up the photograph, his mouth twisting.

‘Not my type at all, Jack, and I’d hazard a guess you wouldn’t get anywhere with her, either. She’s the don’t-touch-me type—look at those eyes. Cold as ice.’

Andrea’s smile spread. He was so good at reading character in a glance!

‘How old is she?’ somebody asked. ‘She looks too young to be heading a take-over bid.’

‘She’s not as young as she looks,’ said Rod. ‘She’ll be thirty in a month or so, it seems.’

‘I call that young,’ Jack said gloomily. ‘Wish I was thirty next month.’

‘Married?’ Andrea asked, hopefully.

Rod shook his head. ‘No. And currently without a man. Gossip has it that her last relationship was with Lord Mistell’s son, young Harry Mistell, who worked for one of the merchant banks her company supplied with the latest electronic hardware.’

Matt’s eyes lifted to consider Rod’s face. ‘Who broke off the affair, her or him?’

‘Her. They earned millions out of that deal, and Bianca Milne handled the sale. She stopped seeing young Mistell a few weeks later.’

Matt did not look surprised. He just nodded.

‘She was dating him just to make the sale?’ Noelle said, frowning. ‘That’s horrible.’

Rod shrugged. ‘Whether she was using him, or their break-up was a coincidence, who knows? But that’s how the gossip goes. She’s been with TTO for nine years, climbed rapidly up the company. The way she looks must have helped, but apparently she’s also clever, tough and very ambitious. She has a strong power base there. There is a rumour that she has a secret affair going with Don Heston, the chief executive of the company, but again I don’t know how true that is.’ Rod paused, added softly, ‘Heston is married.’

‘And has kids,’ said Matt and Rod nodded.

‘Two, a boy and a girl in their teens. Heston is nearly fifty, but looks younger. Nobody ever sees his wife. She stays in the country with the kids—they’ve got a big house in Buckinghamshire. Heston mostly jets around the world. Bianca Milne often goes with him.’

‘Hence the rumours, of course,’ Matt said briskly. ‘And who could blame him if he did mix business with pleasure with someone who looks like that? Okay, give us the background on TTO’s current market position, Rod. Concentrate, everyone. We need to find any chinks in their armour, any weaknesses. I’ll set up a meeting with Heston in the next few days to find out what sort of war this is going to be.’

His eyes fell on the photograph again. Bianca Milne had a cool, remote, Madonna-like face—but what sort of mind lay behind those big green eyes? A woman more ruled by her head than her heart, obviously.

Matt thought of his dead wife, who had been warm and funny and sweet, a woman ruled by her heart, never her head. God, he missed her. Day and night. Especially at night when his bed was cold and empty.

Pulling himself up, he pushed his memories away, staring at the photo of Bianca Milne. Rumours didn’t come from nowhere. Had she slept with Lord Mistell’s son just to get that contract? Was that the sort of woman she was? Rod had heard she was Heston’s mistress as well as his right-hand woman.

The girl with that purity of countenance and coldness of eye must have a few weaknesses, which could be useful to know. And maybe she was Heston’s weakness? It could be even more useful to know that.

Bianca was dictating to her secretary when Don rang. ‘Ready?’

He rarely wasted words or time. She wasn’t surprised by his curt tone.

Looking at her watch, Bianca was surprised, however, to realise it was already twelve o’clock. It had been a busy morning; she had lost track of time, deep in concentration, trying to get as much work as possible done before she left for this very important lunch appointment.

‘Yes, of course. I’ll see you downstairs in two minutes.’

Don rang off in his usual curt fashion and Bianca quickly finished dictating.

‘Get those into the computer, and printed, Patricia, and I’ll sign them before I go home tonight.’

Patricia stood up, her shorthand pad in one hand, checking the pages of notes, the number of letters to be done, her face gloomy at the thought of all that work. She was a small, dark girl who didn’t really enjoy her job. She had been engaged for six months and was counting the days to her wedding, after which, she’d frankly told Bianca, she meant to have a family as soon as possible and give up work for ever.

Bianca had drily said, ‘What an old-fashioned attitude. Two incomes are better than one, you know, especially during the first year or so of a marriage. Can you afford to give up work and live on one salary?’

But it seemed that Patricia’s future husband was a financial analyst who earned six times what Patricia could earn. Her income would not be important to them.

Smiling smugly, Patricia had told her, ‘We don’t have to worry about money; Tony earns more than enough for two and he wants to have kids as much as I do. He’s thirty-five, his biological clock is ticking loudly. So is mine. I love kids and I want to have a lovely house and garden. That has always been my ambition. I’ve never been married to my job, you know, the way you are.’

‘Yes, I’ve noticed you don’t enjoy your job,’ Bianca had said flatly. ‘Let’s hope you enjoy being a housewife. I think you’ll discover housework isn’t exactly fun, either. Well, give me plenty of notice so that I can find a replacement for you.’

Next time she meant to make sure she got a livewire secretary who put a bit more into her job, enjoyed what she did; not a lacklustre girl only interested in clothes, her own appearance and her private life.

Walking to the door now, Patricia asked over her shoulder, ‘What time do you think you’ll get back from lunch?’

‘No idea. It depends how the Hearne people react. We could have a short, nasty exchange and break up early. Or we could go on all afternoon. Just make sure those letters are ready for me to sign when I get back.’

Sniffing pointedly, Patricia went out and Bianca went over to the mirror on her wall to check on her appearance. Fortunately there were no hairs out of place in her blonde chignon, so she did not need to touch that, but her pale pink lipstick needed to be renewed, and there was a faint sheen of perspiration on her nose and temples, so she swiftly brushed loose powder over her foundation.

Appearance was half the battle with some men. She had researched Matt Hearne for some months, and knew he didn’t have a reputation as a lady-killer, but if he was like most men he would be staring at her while they talked and she wanted to make the right impression.

Her very feminine colouring, delicate-featured oval face and slender figure were in startling contrast to the businesslike navy blue pinstripe suit she was wearing.

She dressed that way whenever she had an important business meeting. In the beginning men had taken one look and begun talking indulgently, condescendingly, as though blonde hair and big green eyes must mean she was a ninny.

In her job, that male attitude was a nuisance. It wasted valuable time. It was boring having to fend off passes, and irritating that men did not take her seriously.

She had tried various ways of making men treat her with respect as a colleague or an opponent, and had found that wearing a man’s suit worked best.

It presented a conflicting visual impression which left men uncertain how to treat her, put them off their stride long enough for Bianca to have time to convince them she was no airhead and they should listen to her as attentively as they would listen to a man.

She collected her elaborately presented folder from the desk, glanced through it to make sure she had everything she would need, slid it into her black leather briefcase, before walking out to the lift on the landing outside her office.

TTO occupied most of this new, modern, luxury office block in the City of London. The offices in which Don Heston and his team of secretaries and assistants worked was on the thirtieth floor. Above that lay the roof garden, where they sometimes held summer barbecues for the staff, sunbathed, ate their sandwiches. On the same level was the elegant, expensively furnished apartment Don kept for himself or visiting VIPs from other countries in the world who did not want to stay in hotels.

He was waiting for her in his long black limousine on the forecourt of the building. A large, rugged man with curly brown hair sprinkled with silver, and hard, piercing brown eyes, he looked younger than he was because he worked out in the gym each day, played golf, swam, watched his diet and wore expensive, designer fashion in the latest styles.

Sliding into the back seat beside him, Bianca pretended not to notice as he ran his usual acquisitive stare over her.

‘You’re late.’

Her face was calm and unworried by the snapped accusation. ‘Sorry, Don. I was dictating when you rang.’

‘Done all your homework on this deal?’

‘Of course.’

He gave her a satisfied nod. ‘Good girl.’ Casually he shifted nearer till his knee touched hers, his eyes still roving over her from head to toe. ‘You know, that outfit should be a passion-killer—I usually hate to see women dressing as men—but you manage to look sexier than ever in it. Let’s hope Hearne thinks so; it would be very useful if he fell for you the way young Mistell did.’

She bit her inner lip. She did not want to remember Harry.

Don’s arm slid along the top of the seat behind her. Bianca felt his fingers trickle over her bare nape and stiffened.

‘Don’t,’ she muttered, not wishing his chauffeur to hear her, and moved forward to escape Don’s caress, relieved when his hand fell away from her skin and slipped back to his side, but his thigh was still close to hers as the car drove off.

He had been making passes at her ever since she started working for him, but so far she had always managed to keep him at bay. She knew he had had affairs with other women in the company and she had no intention of becoming one of that long list. But Don was a tenacious, determined man who never gave up and when he met a denial simply took a breath then came back again on the offensive. He never missed an opportunity to press an advantage, and never gave up.

It was irritating, but Bianca did not want to slap him down too hard. She respected Don’s brains, and liked him. But he was married, and as the child of divorced parents she hated the very idea of breaking up a marriage. She had rarely seen his wife and did not really know her at all. He was obviously no family man. He rarely seemed to be at his country home. Bianca was far too discreet to comment, but she remembered her own childhood well enough to know how his long absences must upset his children.

She enjoyed her job running the department which was actively engaged in seeking companies which the company could acquire with advantage. Bianca had to have a sound knowledge of the market values, the sometimes hidden assets of a company, the future potential which they would also often hide from acquisitive eyes.

Don gave her the sort of responsibility and power she had always dreamt of but never dared hope she would achieve. Women were rarely allowed to climb to the very top in business. This was still largely a man’s world. She knew she owed her chance to develop her financial skills to Don and was grateful to him.

Oh, no doubt he assumed she would pay the price he set on her job, but he hadn’t, so far, turned nasty when she refused to give in to his blatant desire for her.

‘Frigid little cat,’ he said now, but grinned as he said it, because he didn’t believe she was anything of the kind and still hoped to get her one of these days.

He had watched from the sidelines as she got involved with Harry; calculating that her relationship with Harry would help push through the deal with Lord Mistell, who adored his only son. The relationship had broken up when Harry heard gossip about her being Don’s mistress. Bianca had tried to make Harry believe it was all a lie, but he wouldn’t listen. White-faced and angry he had walked out of her life that night and she had not set eyes on him since.

‘You’re a married man, Don, and I’m not breaking up your marriage.’

‘I’ve told you—ours has always been a free and easy marriage. I go my way, she goes hers! Sara’s life is very busy; she has the children, her home, her dogs, the charity committees she works for—there wouldn’t even be room for me if I lived there full time.’