Blackmailed Into Her Boss’s Bed. Sandra Marton

starters, the air smelled too sweet and fresh to go back inside. For another—for another, she was just as glad to put off the time she’d have to check things again. For all she knew, the man she’d met this afternoon might have changed his mind and shown up to work, and she didn’t really want to face him again. It was silly, but that was the way she felt.

      And then there was Logan Miller. She knew what to expect there—his letters, and now the attitude of his employees, had prepared her for the worst. Still, she’d done the job he’d asked of her, and so far she seemed to have done it well. Miller would have to be satisfied, which meant that her boss would be, too. Her promotion would be rock-solid.

      In a couple of years, if all went as planned, she’d have enough money saved and enough experience under her belt to start a small catering firm of her own. It was something she’d thought about and planned for a very long time. And then she’d have everything she wanted: she wouldn’t need anyone or anything any more.

      If she owed her mother’s memory anything, she sometimes thought, it was that her very irresponsibility had been a kind of legacy.

      ‘You are the most determined young woman, Talia,’ John Diamond had once said, and he’d laughed. ‘Did you learn that at Cornell?’

      No, she’d thought, I learned it when Grams told me the circumstances of my birth. But she hadn’t said that, of course, she’d simply smiled and said she’d learned all kinds of things at university.

      The path had grown steep. Talia stopped, drew in a deep breath, and looked over her shoulder. The inn was barely visible, half-hidden by the pine trees. She should really go back, she thought. The cocktail hour would be over soon, and dinner would be starting. You could never tell what might happen then. Once, she’d seen someone take a bite of something, gasp, and fall to the floor in an allergic attack. Only quick thinking on the part of one of the servers had saved the woman’s life.

      She thought again of the man in the kitchen. Where was he tonight? Not that she cared, one way or the other. It was just that he’d looked as if he could have used the few dollars he’d have earned this evening. Well, that wasn’t really accurate. There’d been something about him, an aura she just couldn’t nail down that had seemed to overwhelm everything else. He’d looked like a beach bum, yes, but there’d been more to him than that.

      She clucked her tongue in annoyance. What was the matter with her? She was tired, that was it, and why wouldn’t she be? She’d flown in early this morning and she hadn’t stopped since. This walk had revived her a bit, she had to admit that. All right, she’d go in a little further, just into the redwood grove ahead, although it did look awfully dark and gloomy and…

      She heard the footfalls behind her just as she reached the first stand of giant trees. Footfalls? No, not that. Something was pounding hard along the gravel path behind her. And it was breathing hard. In the silence of the evening, the sound of air being drawn in an out of its lungs was raspingly loud.

      Her heart constricted. Talia had grown up in a small city back East, and had spent the last few years in San Francisco. The closest she’d come to country living was the four years she’d spent at Cornell University in New York State, and although the campus was in a beautiful outdoors setting it hardly qualified as wilderness.

      Images of bears, cougars, or something even worse jostled each other for attention in her mind. She stood rooted to the gravel path, trying to decide whether it was wiser to turn and face what was coming or to head further into the artificial night of the redwood forest. Face it, she thought. But, just as she turned, the creature that was pursuing her ran her down.

      It came at her quickly, a dark blur that rounded the bend and entered the trees with a speed that sent it crashing into her. Talia felt the jarring slap of muscle against flesh, caught the sharp tang of salt and something muskier, and then she went down in a tumble of limbs and grey flannel.

      ‘For God’s sake, woman, what the hell were you doing?’

      The thing that had run her over had a voice. Relief flooded through her as she realised that it was a man—a very sweaty, irritable one, from the feel and sound of him—and then she felt her own anger rising.

      Talia pushed at his chest as he lay above her. ‘Will you get off me?’ she demanded. ‘Dammit, where do you think you are?’

      The man caught her wrists as she flailed at him. ‘That’s it,’ he said, ‘add insult to injury. It isn’t enough you were playing statues in the middle of the path—’

      ‘This is a walking path, not a running path. Why weren’t you watching where you were going?’

      The torrent of words halted as she stared into the face poised above hers. It was dark in the redwood grove; the man’s face was striped with shadow. But there was no mistaking the thatch of sun-streaked hair that fell across his forehead or the darkly blazing eyes set above those high cheekbones.

      Talia’s heartbeat stumbled. The man straddling her was the surfer-cum-waiter she’d met in the kitchen earlier.

      He seemed to recognise her at the same moment. A smile curved across his mouth, then vanished. He sat back a little so that she felt the weight of him against her thighs. ‘We meet again,’ he said, and she flushed.

      ‘Let me up.’

      The smile came again. ‘Ask nicely.’

      Talia gritted her teeth. ‘I said—’

      ‘Perhaps you didn’t hear me. I told you to ask nicely.’

      ‘Dammit! Get up. Are you deaf?’

      He laughed coolly. ‘I’m just not good at taking orders. I’ve been told it’s my major failing.’ The grasp on her wrists tightened. ‘Now ask politely if you want me to get off you.’

      ‘Damn you…’

      He smiled. ‘Actually,’ he said softly, shifting his body against hers, ‘I’m rather comfortable where I am.’

      Talia closed her eyes, then opened them again. He was watching her narrowly, the smile twisted across his mouth. She was a long way from the inn, she thought suddenly, and a chill raced along her spine.

      She swallowed. ‘All right.’ Her voice was wooden. ‘Get up. Please.’

      He hesitated. Then, in one fluid motion, he let go her wrists, rose to his feet, and held out his hand. Talia looked at it, then at him, and turned her face away. She got to her feet stiffly, wincing as she did.

      The man moved quickly. His arm slid around her waist. ‘Are you hurt?’

      ‘No. I’m fine, no thanks to you.’

      She tried stepping away from him, but his arm tightened around her. The smell of salt and musk came again, and she realised suddenly that it was him she was smelling, a sensual combination of sweat and some male essence that emanated from him.

      ‘Don’t be so bloody stubborn,’ he said. ‘Tell me what’s wrong. Is it your ankle?’

      She shook her head. ‘I—I don’t think so, no. I just broke my heel, that’s all.’ Her eyes met his and she saw once again that dark intensity that she’d seen that afternoon. Her breath caught. ‘Let go of me.’ She waited a moment, then swallowed. ‘Please.’

      ‘I’ll help you back to the inn,’ he said. ‘Lean on me.’

      His arm curved around her, moulding her to the muscular strength of his body. He was wearing the same T-shirt and shorts she’d seen him in earlier; both were soaked and clung to him like a second skin. She stumbled as he drew her to him; when she reached out to steady herself, her hand fell on his arm. His skin was warm and damp, taut under her fingers, the muscles beneath hard and powerful. Talia’s pulse leaped crazily, and she pulled back as if she’d touched her hand to a hot stove.

      ‘No.’ Her voice sounded ragged, and she swallowed. ‘No,’ she repeated, more evenly this time. ‘I’m fine. If you’d just—’

      ‘What