Blackmailed By The Boss. Kathryn Ross

      

      She’d never felt so acutely conscious of a man before.

      It was as if she had suddenly regressed to being a very young teenager again, hormones racing all out of control.

      He was barring her way. “Are we going to call a truce, Charlotte?”

      “A truce?” She looked up at him uncertainly.

      “Well, we can’t go on like this, can we?”

      “I don’t know what you mean.”

      “I think you do. I’m sorry about what’s happened.”

      She wondered which particular thing he was sorry about—notching her up on his bedpost or accusing her stepmother of fraud?

      KATHRYN ROSS was born in Zambia, where her parents happened to live at that time. Educated in Ireland and England, she now lives in a village near Blackpool, Lancashire. Kathryn is a professional beauty consultant, but writing is her first love. As a child she wrote adventure stories, and at thirteen was editor of her school magazine. Happily, ten writing years later, Designed with Love was accepted by Harlequin Presents^®. A romantic Sagittarian, she loves traveling to exotic locations.

      Blackmailed by the Boss

      Kathryn Ross

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      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 was no excuse, it was probably one of the most stupid things she had ever done in her life—apart from getting involved with David of course, that went without saying, but this… Her thoughts trailed off. This was incomprehensible it was so stupid.

      She turned her head slightly on the pillow and looked across to the other side of the bed. They had left the bedside lamp on last night, so she could see him quite clearly—it hadn’t been a dream, he was still there and fast asleep. Charlotte felt panic rising like a spring inside her, gushing like iced water through her veins. Jordan was her father’s business partner, for heaven’s sake; and more than that he was her boss. How could she have let this happen?

      Her eyes drifted over his features; he looked different asleep, less formidably handsome…more vulnerable. It was an absurd thought; Jordan Lynch was anything but vulnerable; in fact he was one tough cookie, a dynamic businessman with a never-ending stream of glamorous girlfriends who just seemed to fall at his feet. Charlotte had watched them come and go and she had sworn she would never be one of his conquests. So what had happened? It wasn’t even as if she could blame it on drink—two glasses of sparkling water was hardly mind-altering.

      She cast her mind back to yesterday. She remembered her eyes had connected with his through the glass partition of the office. And she remembered thinking that he had the sexiest eyes on earth, before hurriedly looking away again. But that wasn’t so unusual; she was a red-blooded woman after all, and very often she’d glance at Jordan and admire the sheer male perfection of him. But it didn’t mean anything, it was a transitory thought that probably went through every woman’s head at least once when they looked at him.

      She had applied herself back to her work, reminding herself that he may be thirty-eight, single, wealthy and gorgeous, but his latest girlfriend was a twenty-three-year-old sultry Latin-American model. And anyway he wasn’t her type—he was too arrogantly sure of himself; good-looking but knew it.

      In fact Charlotte had quite enjoyed pretending she didn’t notice him. Being coolly dismissive when everyone else was fawning around him appealed to her rebellious side. She hadn’t particularly agreed with her father taking him on as a partner last year. They had been doing fine without him, then along he’d come with his newfangled ideas and his haughty manner. The first couple of months the air had been a bit frosty between them. But since then things had thawed slightly. To be honest, she’d had to get on with him because her father was rarely here these days and Jordan was running the show.

      Then the phone on her desk had rung…

      She’d ignored it, thinking her assistant, Frank, would pick it up in the main office. But it had continued to ring until in desperation she’d snatched it up. ‘Charlotte McCann speaking; how may I help?’

      ‘Hi, Charlie, it’s Melanie. Just thought I’d touch base with you, see how you are. Bearing up, I hope?’

      ‘Oh…hi, Melanie.’ Charlotte’s heart sank as she heard the sympathetic tones radiating from the other end of the line. Everyone was talking to her like that these days. She knew people meant well but she hated it. ‘I take it you’ve heard?’

      ‘Yes, Erica told me. I couldn’t believe it; David always seemed such a solid, dependable type.’

      Something twisted inside Charlotte. ‘Yes, well, obviously appearances can be deceptive.’

      ‘I’m really sorry, Charlie. You must be devastated.’

      ‘Not really. Actually I’m feeling pretty positive about the situation; it’s probably for the best.’ Charlotte scribbled her pen rather violently through a memo Frank had left on her desk. ‘Things had been cooling between us for some time now.’

      ‘Even so, it’s tough when a relationship ends,’ Melanie purred. ‘Listen, why don’t you come for supper tomorrow? I’m having a lot of the girls over and it would be lovely to see you.’

      And talk about the entire story in gory detail, Charlotte finished for her silently. She didn’t want that—she’d rather forget it. ‘It’s a bit short notice, Mel… I’m pretty tied up—’

      ‘Now, listen, it would do you good. Cindy Smith will be here and Janice Pike, and you haven’t seen them for ages.’ Melanie cut across her in a no-nonsense tone.

      Janice Pike! Biggest gossip in London! Charlotte shuddered as she imagined what the evening would be like. They might as well bring along a bright light and a pair of thumbscrews to make it complete.

      ‘It’s not that…’ She paused as Jordan came into the office and she mouthed to him that she wouldn’t be a minute.

      He perched on the edge of her desk, looking very suave in a dark suit with a pristine white shirt beneath. She probably should have taken that as a signal to hang up, but she ignored him, telling herself that she could take a few minutes to chat to a friend when she was always in the office half an hour earlier and half an hour later than anybody else.

      ‘So