Outback With The Boss

“Grace, you’re obviously the perfect assistant to be lost with in the outback.”

Grace looked at her hand, which had practically disappeared inside his strong grasp. “If only I was also willing,” she muttered, snatching her hand away. And then she grimaced. He’d caught her off guard and now she’d let fly with a hopelessly stupid remark.

“Willing?” Mitch remained standing directly in front of her, a perplexed expression in his eyes.

“Please, forget I said that.”

He smiled and brushed the hair back from her cheek. “A wild and willing Grace would be an unexpected bonus.” Then his face grew serious again. “But it won’t get us out of here.”

Barbara Hannay was born in Sydney, Australia, educated in Brisbane and spent most of her adult life living in tropical north Queensland, where she and her husband have raised four children. While she has enjoyed many happy times camping and canoeing in the bush, she also delights in an urban lifestyle—chamber music, contemporary dance, movies and dining out. An English teacher, she has always loved writing, and now, by having her stories published, she is living her most cherished fantasy.

Books by Barbara Hannay

HARLEQUIN ROMANCE®

3578—OUTBACK WIFE AND MOTHER

3613—THE WEDDING COUNTDOWN

3664—CHARLOTTE’S CHOICE*

Outback with the Boss

Barbara Hannay

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

EPILOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

GRACE ROBBINS reached into her carryall and reluctantly drew out her black lace lingerie. Nervously, her fingers traced the delicate ribbon trim while she wondered how on earth she could go ahead with Maria’s outrageous suggestion. Until now, she’d only ever worn these revealing garments under her faithful ‘little black dress’. She’d never considered displaying her low-cut underwired bra and high-cut wispy knickers on their own.

‘The problem is you’re a natural prude,‘ Grace told her reflection in the mirror. She didn’t enjoy parading in front of a man. Wearing a bikini on the beach was bad enough.

She sighed. Perhaps the solution was to take this one step at a time. She’d already let herself into her boyfriend’s flat. If she put the underwear on beneath her other clothes for now, she could decide whether to go ahead with the rest of her friend’s crazy plan later.

Halfway through this process, Grace paused and studied her image in the full-length mirror. The dramatic effect of her body, framed by a doorway and encased in nothing but skimpy, sensuous black lace, was surprising. Maria was probably right. It would take Henry by surprise too.

But how on earth could she carry this off? And if she did, what could she possibly say to justify such madness?

She sent the mirror a grimacing grin and tried striking a sexy pose, announcing to the empty room, ‘Ta-da! National Underwear Display Day!’

No, she thought with a shudder. She looked and sounded ridiculous.

She tried another, more demure pose. ‘I’ll show you mine, if you show me yours?‘ Definitely not.

Oh, heavens, thought Grace, why am I even bothering? This just isn’t me. Bringing her hands to her face in mock horror, she tried one more time. ‘Henry, the little black dress thieves have struck and left me with nothing to wear!’

Groaning, she decided it was absolutely no use. Playing femme fatale was definitely not her scene. She couldn’t ever make this work.

Grace glanced at the clock on the dressing table and decided there was no need to panic just yet. She still had at least an hour before Henry would return. She had to think this through calmly and rationally.

She grimaced. Calmly and rationally? She hadn’t been able to place one logical thought next to another for days. Her fists clenched. It was all Mitch Wentworth’s fault! The new boss had forced her into this pickle!

For the past fortnight, just thinking about Mitch Wentworth’s arrival to take over the company had seemed to banish every composed and sane idea from Grace’s usually clear-thinking head. And it was her fuming and fretting about this man that had launched Maria’s lame-brained idea in the first place.

The whole wild plan had started at lunchtime when Maria had rested her plump elbows on the cafeteria table, and leaned towards Grace with her best lecturing expression. ‘For goodness’ sake,’ she’d sighed. ‘Stop stewing about Mitch Wentworth and concentrate on the bonuses. Our new boss is a stud! He’s flying in to take over Tropicana Films any day now, and as you’re his assistant you get to work side by side with him. Did you see his photo on the cover of Movie Mag?’

Out of her voluminous handbag, Maria had dragged a glossy magazine and tossed it onto the red laminated tabletop.

‘Of course I’ve seen it,’ Grace had retorted, her nose crinkling in disgust. ‘I took one look at his self-satisfied smirk and the bimbos hanging off each arm and wanted to hand in my resignation, pronto.’

‘Self-satisfied smirk?’ Maria’s dark eyes twinkled with tolerant disbelief. ‘Come on, that’s a really cute smile in anyone’s books. Mitch is the ultimate in T. D. and H.’

‘Pardon?’

‘Tall, dark and hard to get.’

Grace’s lips had pursed into a tight circle as she’d pushed the magazine aside. ‘I’m sure, in his case, it’ll be tall, dark and hard to please. Working for him will be awful.’

Maria threw her arms in the air. ‘Half the women in the movie industry would be lining up for your job just to breathe the same air as Mitch Wentworth.’

‘That’s enough!’ Grace moaned. ‘All I hear about from Henry is how lucky I am to be working for the great Mitch Wentworth.’

‘Henry?’ Maria clicked her fingers in triumph. ‘Now I get it! It’s not Wentworth who’s your problem. It’s the boyfriend, Henry. I should have guessed.’

Grace rolled her eyes. ‘I made the mistake of outlining the plot of Wentworth’s next movie New Tomorrow and now Henry spends every night designing fancy computer graphics he’s absolutely convinced Wentworth will want to use.’

‘So he doesn’t have any time for you?’

‘Exactly,’ Grace snapped.

She’d met Henry soon after arriving in Townsville from Sydney and it had been good to have someone to show her around. But over the past fortnight, as his obsession with impressing her new boss had gained momentum, her enthusiasm for him had diminished rather rapidly.

Grace’s track record with men made her extra wary. She was still plagued by memories of Roger the Rat, a super-suave mover and shaker, who’d broken her heart. After that shattering experience, it hadn’t taken long to convince her that the business world was a breeding ground for men who were superficially quite gorgeous, but so full of their own egos, they trampled all over women and usually left them feeling used and abused.

That was why she’d dated Henry. He wasn’t handsome, but he had other virtues Grace preferred these days. He was scholarly and serious and, most importantly, safe.

She’d shrugged. ‘I—I don’t think it’s that Henry’s not interested. It’s just that he gets kind of…distracted.’

A disgusted grunt had prefaced Maria’s response. ‘Distracted? What can divert a real man from your long legs and green eyes, not to mention the bits in between?’

Grace let out a short, self-conscious laugh. ‘Computers are very fascinating toys.’

With a groan, Maria threw her head back and had stared at the cafeteria’s ceiling. Then she had slowly lowered her gaze. ‘You two are getting physical, aren’t you?’

Feeling distinctly uneasy, Grace ran nervous fingers through her thick tawny hair, flicking it away from her collar. ‘We will—I’m sure. I feel quite—er—fond of Henry. It’s—it’s all a matter of—timing.’

‘Timing?’ Maria almost shrieked. She shook her head in dismay. ‘My dear girl, the answer’s clear-cut. You forget about Henry and set your sights higher.’

‘Higher? How much higher? What do you mean?’

‘Mitch Wentworth, of course. You could snaffle the new boss. You’ve certainly got everything it takes.’ Maria had looked down at her own chubby figure and groaned. ‘If only I didn’t love chocolate.’

Grace jumped to her feet. ‘The new boss? For crying out loud, Maria, where’s your loyalty? Think what he’s done to our old boss, George Hervey. The poor old fellow’s been tossed on the scrap heap by this take-over. Wentworth just blasted his way into Tropicana Films and we’re expected to whip straight into “Yes, sir. No, sir”.’

She sat down again and reached for her friend’s hand. ‘Thanks for the sympathetic ear, but you’re way off beam. I can’t stand the idea of even working for the man, let alone…’ Her mind had darted frantically away from the mere thought of making a play for her boss. She slumped back into her chair. ‘I’ll definitely stick with Henry.’

‘You’re sure?’

Suddenly Grace had been very sure.

Having a boyfriend like Henry was sensible and safe—like wearing a seat belt in a car. But giving a bully-boy showman like Mitch Wentworth so much as a second glance was as wise as skinny-dipping with sharks. ‘I’ve just got to find some way to get Henry away from his computer and interested in me again.’

Maria’s face was split by a sudden grin. ‘Don’t worry, my dear. I can feel a bright idea coming on. We’ll put an end to this nonsense of Henry’s. Tonight’s the night. Before our Mr. Wentworth gets here to totally distract your boyfriend, we’ll undistract him. We’ll make Henry notice you!’

‘Oh, I don’t know if that’s necessary.’ Maria had started to get just a touch too pushy. How had one little gripe about Mitch Wentworth escalated to the point where her friend had been about to launch a rescue mission on her love life?

‘I appreciate your good intentions,’ she’d hedged, disliking the hard edge in her tone, but too tense to do anything about it. ‘But I’m not quite dateless and desperate. And I really think this is just between Henry and me.’

Grace’s glance fell to Mitch Wentworth’s grinning face on the cover of Movie Mag and an image of him standing in her office had floated dangerously into her thoughts. Once her new boss arrived, that cheeky smile, those naughty-boy eyes and those highly indecent muscles would be mere inches away from her.

Maria eyed her shrewdly and Grace had the terrible feeling that the other woman knew exactly what was bugging her! How on earth could she carry on with her work each day while a man like Mitch Wentworth flaunted his lethal, sexy weapons around her office?

He hadn’t even arrived yet and already her thoughts had been trailing in his direction like ants to a picnic basket.

That shocking realisation had prompted Grace into action. ‘Okay, you win,’ she’d told Maria. ‘I’ll give Henry one last chance. What’s your brilliant idea?’

But listening to Maria’s action plan had been the easy part.

Now, as Grace stood eyeing her reflection in Henry’s mirror, the sight of her wide, anxious eyes and her nervous, fiddling fingers reminded her that she wasn’t really up to the task ahead.

She could deal with the twinge of guilt she felt about leaving work early and letting herself into Henry’s flat. The missed time could be made up on another day.

But she couldn’t face the final step.

This mission was impossible. There was no way she could pose at Henry’s front door and carry out the rest of the plan.

The sense of elation Mitch Wentworth had hoped for when he’d arrived in Townsville was somehow evading him. It must be jet lag, he told himself as he ran a weary hand over his eyes. A flight from San Francisco with only a few hours’ stopover in his home town, Sydney, before heading north to Townsville would knock the stuffing out of most travellers. And it was probably a mistake to take a peek at his brand-new baby—the Tropicana Films studios—unannounced and so late in the day.

At this stage, there was only an advance team working on the project, so he’d expected half the offices to be empty. And it was six-thirty in the evening, so it was not surprising that all his employees had gone home.

Even the formidable Ms Robbins.

Her name was on the door of the office in front of him. Grace Robbins. After all George Hervey had told him about this woman’s efficiency, dedication to the company and amazingly wide range of skills, he thought that perhaps—just perhaps—she might have stayed behind to meet him. In fact, once he’d faxed her his flight times, he’d almost expected her to greet him at the airport.

As he’d made his way through the Townsville terminal, he had kept a weather eye out for a middle-aged woman, conservatively dressed, brandishing perhaps a clipboard or some other weapon of efficiency. That was how he pictured Grace Robbins after listening to George’s twenty-minute eulogy of her.

Clearly George’s praise had been way too enthusiastic and his claims too exaggerated. It was a regrettable oversight, Mitch decided as he moved into her office. He was going out on a financial limb with New Tomorrow. With almost all his own money invested in it, this movie had to be a resounding hit and he needed the best possible staff to support him. He expected Ms Robbins to be a key player in the project.

Shrugging aside his annoyance, Mitch tried to be reasonable. Perhaps he shouldn’t judge the woman just because she wasn’t still here when he crept into town virtually unannounced. He’d only sent the fax just before he left Sydney and she might have had an appointment—any number of reasons for rushing home.

His eyes scanned the office. He couldn’t judge much at this stage. Her computer was shut down of course. There was a pile of faxes on her desk, but he had no intention of snooping. At least she wasn’t someone who littered her desk with personal knick-knacks or family photographs. Mitch approved of that. He liked a staff who kept their business and personal lives completely separate.

His glance caught the latest copy of Movie Mag lying at the edge of her desk.

Frowning, Mitch picked it up. The frown deepened and his eyes narrowed. Someone had taken a thick black marker pen and added graffiti to the cover. His picture sported an Adolf Hitler-style moustache and enormous black-rimmed spectacles. Several of his teeth had been blackened, leaving him with a ludicrous, gap-toothed smile.

Mitch’s shoulders rose, then slumped as he drew in a long breath before expelling it slowly in a hiss through his teeth. With slow, deliberate movements, he folded the offending magazine and placed it thoughtfully in his coat pocket.

And as he prowled back through the empty building he felt more jet-lagged than ever.

When he reached the thick glass doors at the entrance to the studio, a tall, dark shape outside caught his attention. An agitated young man was gesticulating wildly—pointing to himself and then to Mitch. For a moment, Mitch experienced a surge of hope. Had one eager employee returned to greet him? But just as quickly he dismissed the fanciful notion. Anyone working for the company would be able to let himself in.

Mitch opened the door and the fellow launched forward, his hand outstretched.

‘Mr Wentworth?’

Mitch nodded as the man stepped through the doorway and he shook the proffered hand. ‘How do you do?’

‘Henry Aspinall. And I’m very well, sir. I must say this is indeed a great honour. Oh, boy, it’s such a stroke of luck meeting you here, Mr Wentworth, sir. I’ve been trying to ring Grace all afternoon to check your arrival time and…’

Mitch interrupted the enthusiastic outburst. ‘Grace? Grace Robbins? You know her?’

‘Sure.’ Henry nodded. ‘When I couldn’t reach her at her flat, I thought she must still be here.’

‘No, there’s no one here—not even Ms Robbins,’ Mitch confirmed.

‘Oh, well, not to worry.’ Henry grinned. ‘It was really you I wanted to meet. You’ve received my e-mail messages?’

Mitch rubbed his brow, cursing the tiredness that fogged his memory. ‘Aspinall, Aspinall…’ He needed to recall whether this was someone really important he should remember, or just a nuisance fan.

Henry took advantage of the hesitation. ‘Grace told me about New Tomorrow and I’ve designed some computer graphics to blend in beautifully with the North Queensland outback…’

Mitch held up his hand to halt the flow of Henry’s enthusiasm. ‘Of course. You swamped my Los Angeles office with messages. You’ve done some graphics for the battle scenes.’

Henry looked jubilant. ‘That’s it, sir! What do you think? Would you like to see them?’

Mitch shot Henry an appraising glance. ‘Do you mind if we start walking? I’d kinda like to get to my hotel.’

‘Yes, sir. No problem. Where are you staying? The Sheraton? I’d be honoured to give you a lift.’

Mitch shrugged. Why not go with the fellow? It would save hunting up another taxi. While under other circumstances he might have found Henry Aspinall’s zeal annoying, like the unwanted attentions of an over-enthusiastic puppy, this evening it appealed to his dented ego. At least someone was keen to see him and seemed eager for his film’s success. He grunted his acceptance of the offer.

As they stepped onto the street, Henry skipped along the pavement with excitement. ‘My flat’s on the way. I’ve got everything set up. We could call in and I could quickly show you—’

Mitch held up his hand and nodded. ‘Sure thing,’ he agreed as Henry opened the passenger door of a battered and rusty sedan. ‘Take me to your disk.’

To his relief, they pulled up in front of a set of low maisonettes within five minutes. The car door squeaked on its hinges as Mitch prepared to follow Henry into his flat. After sitting for even such a short time, his weariness had returned with a vengeance. He would make this call as brief as possible. All he wanted now was to crawl into crisp, clean hotel sheets and sleep for three days.

‘That’s funny,’ commented Henry as they crossed the short strip of weedy front lawn. ‘I don’t remember leaving any lights on.’ He shrugged a puzzled smile Mitch’s way before sorting through his keys for the one he needed.

But his key never reached the lock.

As their footsteps echoed on the concrete paving of the narrow entryway, the front door flew open.

‘Surprise!’

A blaze of light flooded the doorway, illuminating a beautiful creature wearing next to nothing. Her eyes were fixed on Henry.

‘It’s Tuesday! National Girlfriend Exposure Day!’

Standing back in the shadows, Mitch was vaguely aware of strangling noises coming from Henry, but he was too stunned to move or speak.

A goddess, tall and tawny-headed, posed before them, dressed in the briefest of black lacy undergarments. She was absolutely breathtaking. Her creamy skin was satin-smooth and her womanly curves perfectly shaped—delicate slenderness and lush fullness balanced in proportions designed to impel a man to reach out for them.

He blinked, but shot his eyes wide open again in case he missed something.

And what he noticed was the ‘something’ in her eyes that didn’t quite mesh with this vision of alluring temptress. Was it fear, embarrassment? The shy tilt of her head and the downward curve of her shoulders made him think of a little girl pushed into the stage’s limelight by an overly ambitious parent. This woman had the body of a sultry seductress and the mien of a vulnerable child.

‘What on earth are you doing?’ Henry yelled.

His voice sent her slumping against the door frame like a puppet whose strings had been cut. But, almost instantly, her eyes flew to Mitch and she suddenly jerked again to terrified life.

‘Oh, my gosh,’ she moaned, and stared at Mitch in absolute horror. She clasped her hands to her chest. ‘Oh, no! Oh, no!’ she cried.

Her arm shot out and the door slammed in their faces.