‘I’m trying to be honest with you,’ he said huskily. ‘That’s all. There’s something between us—a chemistry, a physical attraction. You know it as well as I do. And for someone who keeps work and play separate, as I do, it’s both unexpected and unwelcome. OK?’

Never in her wildest dreams had she ever really believed Blaise could be attracted to her. She stared up at him. Chemistry? Physical attraction?

Kim swallowed hard. ‘I agree. My ethics happen to be the same as yours.’

‘Right. Well, it’s good it’s out in the open and we can deal with it,’ he said softly. But he still hadn’t let go of her, and his eyes had fastened on her mouth.

‘Exactly.’ She nodded shakily, her heart beating so hard it hurt.

‘Kim…’ His head descended very slowly, his eyes moving to hers.

She knew she ought to step back, to jerk her head away—something. But she didn’t. She wanted him to kiss her. She didn’t think beyond that.

Helen Brooks lives in Northamptonshire, and is married with three children and three beautiful grandchildren. As she is a committed Christian, busy housewife, mother and grandma, her spare time is at a premium, but her hobbies include reading, swimming and gardening, and walks with her husband and their Irish terrier. Her long-cherished aspiration to write became a reality when she put pen to paper on reaching the age of forty and sent the result off to Mills & Boon^®.

Recent titles by the same author:

THE ITALIAN TYCOON’S BRIDE

THE BILLIONAIRE’S MARRIAGE MISSION

A FAMILY FOR HAWTHORN FARM*

HIS CHRISTMAS BRIDE

THE BILLIONAIRE BOSS’S SECRETARY BRIDE

RUTHLESS TYCOON, INNOCENT WIFE

*part of the Winter Waifs anthology

BY

HELEN BROOKS

CHAPTER ONE

WHY, oh, why had she been so stupid as to let herself in for this? The old adage of pride going before a fall was going to be borne out today; she should have backed out long before this. A polite letter saying she’d changed her mind due to unforeseen circumstances would have done it, anything…

Kim groaned softly, staring at her reflection in the full-length mirror in her bedroom. She didn’t normally inspect herself so thoroughly—usually a quick check to make sure her make-up wasn’t smudged or her tights snagged was sufficient. Today was different. Today she had to appear perfectly coiffured and immaculate from the top of her head to the tips of her toes.

Deep brown eyes under a thick fringe of golden-brown hair looked anxiously back at her, before travelling the length of her body. Perhaps she shouldn’t have gone for the cornflower-blue skirt and jacket? A suit in one of the more subdued colours she normally favoured would have been better. Greys and charcoals had the effect of neutralising her somewhat generous curves without emphasising that, at six foot in her stockinged feet, she was what her father kindly called statuesque. Her mother, a petite little blonde who was slender and fluttery, usually just sighed when she looked at her. The cute little baby girl her mother had insisted on dressing in lace and frills had rapidly grown into an accident-prone tomboy, and then just kept growing. She didn’t think her mother had ever really forgiven her.

She brought her mind back to the cornflower-blue suit. It was too late to change; it’d have to do. She grimaced at the face in the mirror. She couldn’t be late for her interview with Blaise West.

Blaise West. Her stomach turned over and she swallowed hard. The feeling of panic wasn’t a new one; she’d been like a cat on a hot tin roof since she’d received the expensively headed letter ten days ago. It had been short and to the point. Her letter of application for the post of personal assistant to Mr West had achieved an interview at ten o’clock on the first of June at the head office of West International. There had been a number to call if the time and day were not convenient.

And she hadn’t. She groaned again. Because of Kate Campion. Beautiful, cool, slim Kate, who was secretary to the manager of the accounts department and who’d labelled her Amazon Abbott. And not in a complimentary way. Oh, no, definitely not in a complimentary way.

Kim’s soft mouth pulled tight. Kate and her cronies hadn’t known she was occupying one of the cubicles in the ladies’ cloakroom when they had breezed in to repair their make-up before going off to lunch one day some weeks ago. They’d been giggling as they’d walked in, and then she heard one of the girls say, ‘Are you sure he’s dumped her, Kate? It might be the other way round.’

‘What? Someone as drop-dead gorgeous as Peter Tierman being dumped by Amazon Abbott? I don’t think so, Shirley. Anyway, he told me himself, after he’d asked me out to dinner tonight.’

‘Really?’ There had been a chorus of shrieks. ‘You’re going out with Peter tonight?’

‘He said he’d wanted to ask me for ages but he didn’t know how to let the amazon down gently. She might be ten feet tall but she’s as clingy as a grapevine apparently. He felt sorry for her, that’s the only reason he asked her out in the first place. Anyway, come on, I’m starving. Let’s go and eat.’

They had clattered out on their stiletto heels, leaving a sickly cloud of several different perfumes in their wake by the time she’d emerged, cheeks burning and eyes flashing.

How dared they discuss her like that? And Peter, telling Kate all those lies! It had been her who’d finished with him a couple of nights before when she had finally decided she couldn’t stand listening to his big ideas about himself one more time.

Handsome Peter might be, conceited he definitely was. What with his wandering hands and increasing determination to get her into bed, she had had enough. She should have ended it much sooner. She’d known on their second date that he wasn’t the sort of man she’d thought he was, but she had refused so many invitations from this man or that over the last couple of years since David, she had thought she would persevere. Big mistake. Colossal.

She had gone back to her office and brooded all lunchtime as to what to do or say while she’d eaten her sandwiches. She had decided in the end not to give credence to Peter’s lies by attempting to justify herself. The opportunity to put matters straight would arise sooner or later, and then she’d make sure she did it coolly, calmly and with dignity.

The nickname—which clearly was not a new thing— she could do nothing about. She had always known Kate didn’t like her, probably because she had never expressed any desire to be part of her poisonous little clique.

The very next day she’d heard on the office grapevine that Kate was applying for the jewel-in-the-crown job which had been advertised both within and without West International. Personal assistant to the great man himself, Blaise West. And something, some little gremlin deep inside, had reared up and declared she was as good as Kate Campion any day, so why didn’t she try for it too?

She had. She had worked on her letter of application and CV half the night and then submitted it the next morning, only to regret it immediately until she’d convinced herself she’d never hear anything about it anyway. The most that would happen was that one of those ‘thank you for your application for the post of whatever. It has not been successful in this instance’ letters would pop through her letterbox.