A Bride For The Brooding Boss. Bella Bucannon

would never blame Marcus for anything that could be attributed to that hellish affliction. But it was his father’s screwing around that had sent him to the other side of the world. If he’d been here, possibly working with him, he’d have noticed the deterioration in time to prevent this debacle.

      He would have. His fingers bunched. He squeezed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth. He would have.

      Only the family, their doctor and a few select friends knew. Matt believed his chances of success hinged on keeping it a secret, and Lauren’s employer had emphasised her discretion and trustworthiness. He was about to test it to the max.

      She stopped working as he came to her doorway, her face inscrutable, her eyes wary. His stomach clenched.

      ‘We’d better talk. Please come in here.’

      Once they were seated by the window he paused to think, weighing up how much to tell her.

      ‘There aren’t the words to thank you enough for your understanding today. The man you saw isn’t the same person who started this company. He has Alzheimer’s.’

      She leant forward. ‘I suspected something like that. I’m sorry. It must be so hard on your family.’ Empathy rang true in her voice and showed in her expression.

      ‘Unfortunately, he kept his illness a secret from everyone, including my mother. We have no idea how long he faked his way until the progression sped up and his errors in the business became obvious. I’d have come home sooner if I’d known.’

      ‘You weren’t here?’ She recoiled, eyes big and bright, fingers splayed.

      She didn’t know? There’d been no reason to tell her but he’d assumed she’d guessed. He nodded. ‘I’ve been living in England for seven years.’

      ‘Oh. Did you ever work here with your father?’

      ‘In my late teens. My interests are in different fields of business.’

      A pink blush spread up her neck and cheeks.

      ‘Is something wrong?’ He tensed, flexed his shoulders, and his hand lifted in concern.

      Lauren cursed her lifelong affliction. What could possibly be wrong?

      Only that the instant he mentioned his teens she remembered the balcony. Only that the sight of his mouth forming the words had her lips recalling the gentle touch of his.

      ‘No, and I promise never to divulge any personal or company information to anyone.’ Her hands clasped in her lap, she could barely take in that he’d shared this most personal secret with her. Now she understood.

      His unplanned return from abroad to take control of a company in financial trouble explained the tension, the curtness. The urgency. She couldn’t begin to imagine the daunting task he’d had thrust upon him.

      ‘I’d appreciate it.’

      ‘You’re welcome. That’s why you wanted my scanning hidden from him and called a friend for help.’

      ‘He has good and bad days. Normally he becomes agitated whenever anything to do with the company is mentioned yet today he gave the taxi driver the correct address for the office. There was no hesitation in finding his way here or to the ensuite.’

      ‘And he remembered the girl who worked here, though not her name.’

      ‘He would.’ The bitterness in his voice shook her and she jerked back, receiving a half-smile in apology as he continued.

      ‘I was told her departure a few months ago was acrimonious to say the least. There were others who left because of his behaviour too, but replacements have to wait until you succeed and we sort everything out.’

      She’d go and new staff would come. There’d be another woman at her desk, chosen by him...what was she thinking? This was not a valid reason to be depressed. Did he prefer blondes or brunettes?

      Must. Stop. Thinking like this.

      She snapped herself out of it and went to stand. ‘On that note, I’d better get back to my task.’

      He stood, and held out his hand to help her. The warmth from his touch spread up her arm, radiating to every part of her. She doubted even ice-cold water would cool her down. She prayed he couldn’t detect her tremor and didn’t demur as he kept hold.

      ‘I am truly grateful, Lauren. I owe you big time and I never forget a debt.’

      The message in his smouldering dark blue eyes painted a graphic picture of the form his gratitude might take, scrambling every coherent thought in her brain. Her throat dried, butterflies stirred in her stomach and it felt as if fluttering wings were brushing against every cell on her skin.

      His grip tightened. Her lips parted. He leant closer.

      The phone on his desk shattered the moment, and he glowered at it as he moved back, and reluctantly released her. She caught the arm of the chair to avoid collapsing into it.

      His rasping, ‘We’ll talk again later,’ proved she wasn’t the only one affected.

      As he picked up the handset he added, ‘Alan’s my cousin, family.’

      The instant he answered the call he was in corporate mode. That irked because she needed time to compose herself, cool her skin, but he clearly didn’t. When she returned from the ensuite, he was leaning on his desk, phone to his ear, watching for her. His engaging smile and quick but thorough appraisal from her face to her feet and back threatened to undo her freshen up. Not so calm and composed after all, just better at covering it up.

      * * *

      Lauren closed down early, allowing time for the ride to the airport, loath to suspend her search for four days. She had an inkling of an idea she’d heard somewhere but couldn’t remember where or when. There’d be plenty of time to dwell on it in Melbourne.

      Collecting her luggage, she took her report to Matt, whose stunned face and glance at his watch proved he’d forgotten her early departure.

      ‘That late already? Have you ordered a taxi?’

      ‘I’ll be fine. I’ve noticed they always seem to be driving past.’

      He grinned. ‘Unless you need one. I’ll finish this page and drive you.’

      ‘There’s no—’

      ‘Humour me.’

      * * *

      Lauren’s knowledge of cars was limited—there wasn’t a necessity to own one in Sydney—but she recognised the Holden emblem on the grill. Matt’s quiet assurance as he eased into the traffic didn’t surprise her.

      ‘Did you drive in Europe?’

      ‘Yes, rarely in London, a lot through the country. Nowhere is too far if you can put up with dense traffic and miles of freeways. So different from Australia. Driving in Paris was a unique experience. Have you travelled?’

      ‘A week in Bali with friends two years ago. We’re planning a trip for this year if we can decide on a destination.’

      She was aware of him glancing at her, but she kept her focus on the road where his should be.

      ‘You mentioned family in Melbourne. Do you visit often?’

      ‘Three or four times a year. This is my niece’s first Easter.’

      Matt willed her to look his way. She didn’t. The ten-to-fifteen-minute drive in heavy traffic was hardly conducive to a meaningful discussion. That would have to wait until she returned.

      ‘Why did you move to Sydney?’ Why did he want to know? Why the long silent pause as she considered his question?

      ‘Why did you go to London?’

      Because I couldn’t stand the sight of my parents feigning a happy marriage when it was a complete sham.

      Because