www.millsandboon.co.uk

      KATHRYN JENSEN

      has written many novels for young readers as well as for adults. She speed walks, works out with weights and enjoys ballroom dancing for exercise, stress reduction and pleasure. Her children are now grown. She lives in Maryland with her writing companion—Sunny, a lovable terrier-mix adopted from a shelter.

      Having worked as a hospital switchboard operator, department-store sales associate, bank clerk and elementary school teacher, she now splits her days between writing her own books and teaching fiction writing at two local colleges and through a correspondence course. She enjoys helping new writers get a start, and speaks “at the drop of a hat” at writers’ conferences, libraries and schools across the country.

      To Linda Hayes, of Columbia Literary Associates,

       a superlative agent and even more valued friend. May your retirement bring you exciting new adventures and rich satisfaction. Thank you for everything…KJ

      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

      One

      Matthew Smythe marched into the empty room, his executive assistant trailing in his irate wake like a tiny skiff bobbing helplessly behind a battleship. “Why isn’t this room ready?” he snapped. “Where is Belinda?”

      Paula Shapiro gave a weary sigh. “Sir, she quit this morning. Remember?” Like most men, including her own nearly grown sons, the young president of Smythe International only listened to what he wanted to hear.

      “That’s ridiculous! The woman only took the job two months ago.”

      “I suppose, like the others, she found the work—” Paula searched for a safe word “—demanding. It isn’t easy arranging these things on the spur-of-the-moment.” Or coping with your temperament, she added silently.

      “A tasteful reception for a few clients. How difficult can that be?” he grumbled. Matt’s sharp eyes quickly scanned the bare room. A bar should have been set up, along with a table of imported delicacies in front of the expanse of bronzed glass overlooking a breathtaking Chicago skyline. Comfortable seating ought to have replaced the metal folding chairs.

      Vaguely, he recalled that his latest in a long line of social secretaries had sounded upset about something earlier that day. But her feminine hysterics had barely made a dent in his busy mind. Perhaps he should have paid better attention. Paula had been out of the office on an errand for him or she would have been aware of the pending emergency. But it was too late now.

      He glared at his watch. Less than two hours and his guests would arrive. He raked fingers through thick, dark hair. “What do you suggest we do?”

      “I could call your caterer,” Paula suggested doubtfully. “But that won’t sell your products for you.”

      Matt shook his head. “And tomorrow around noon, Franco would show up with a smashing spread. No, do it yourself. We have everything you’ll need.”

      “Lord Smythe!” Paula’s chin dropped a full two inches, eyes narrowing to slits, fists settling on matronly hips.

      Not a good sign, Matt thought. An intelligent, middle-aged woman, Paula sported a froth of blond, permed hair and spectacles with glittering thingies at the pointed corners. She also efficiently managed his office and accepted long hours of work without complaint, for which he paid her generously. But when she used his aristocratic title and that chin fell, he knew he’d gone too far.

      “I reminded you just five minutes ago.” Her glare intensified. “I have to take my youngest to a dental appointment today.”

      “Oh…well, of course. Sorry. Do you have any other ideas for this reception?” He could set out the food himself, but he wasn’t sure that he’d do a very good job of it. And it still left him in the lurch for a hostess, which had been the other part of Belinda’s job.

      “If you’re really in a jam,” a mellow female voice spoke up from the doorway, “I could bring in a few gourmet items I think you’d be pleased with.”

      Matt swung around to see a petite young woman standing at the entrance to the conference room. The first thing he noticed was her tumble of red hair. It must have been windy outside, because tendrils had been whisked every which way, yet still gleamed and managed to look terribly becoming as a frame around her elfin features. Her second remarkable feature