The Girl He Never Noticed. Lindsay ArmstrongЧитать онлайн книгу.
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Cam Hillier was in the foyer talking to Molly when Liz walked in. He had his back to her, but he saw Molly’s eyes widen as she looked past him and he swung round.
For a moment he didn’t recognise Liz. Then she saw him do a double-take and he whistled softly. It was something she would have found extremely satisfying except for one thing. He also allowed his blue gaze to drift down her body, to linger on her legs. Then he looked back into her eyes in the way that men let women know they were being summed up as bed partners.
To her annoyance, that pointed, slow drift of assessment up and down her body caused her those sensations she’d experienced when she’d tripped on the pavement: accelerated breathing, a rush through her senses, an awareness of how tall and beautifully made he was.
Only thanks to her lingering resentment did she manage not to blush. She even tilted her chin at him instead.
‘I see,’ he said gravely. ‘I was not to know you could look like this—stunning, in other words. Nor was I to know that you could conjure haute couture clothes out of thin air.’ He studied her jacket for a moment, then looked into her eyes.
About the Author
LINDSAY ARMSTRONG was born in South Africa, but now lives in Australia with her New Zealand-born husband and their five children. They have lived in nearly every state of Australia, and have tried their hand at some unusual—for them—occupations, such as farming and horse-training—all grist to the mill for a writer! Lindsay started writing romances when their youngest child began school and she was left feeling at a loose end. She is still doing it and loving it.
Recent titles by the same author:
THE SOCIALITE AND THE CATTLE KING
ONE-NIGHT PREGNANCY
THE BILLIONAIRE BOSS’S INNOCENT BRIDE
FROM WAIF TO HIS WIFE
THE RICH MAN’S VIRGIN
The Girl He
Never Noticed
Lindsay Armstrong
MILLS & BOON
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CHAPTER ONE
‘MISS MONTROSE,’ Cameron Hillier said, ‘where the hell is my date?’
Liz Montrose raised her eyebrows. ‘I have no idea, Mr Hillier. How should I?’
‘Because it’s your job—you’re my diary secretary, aren’t you?’
Liz stared at Cam Hillier, as he was known, with her nostrils slightly pinched. She didn’t know him well. She’d only been in this position for a week and a half, and only because an agency had supplied her to fill the gap created by his regular diary secretary’s illness. But even that short time had been long enough to discover that he could be difficult, demanding and arrogant.
What was she supposed to do about the apparent non-appearance of his date, though?
She looked around a little wildly. They were in the outer office—his secretary Molly Swanson’s domain—and Molly, heaven bless her, Liz thought, was holding a phone receiver out to her and making gestures behind his back.
‘Uh, I’ll just check,’ Liz said to her boss.
He shrugged and walked back into his office.
‘What’s her name?’ Liz whispered to Molly as she took the phone.
‘Portia Pengelly.’
Liz grimaced, then frowned. ‘Not the model and TV star?’
Molly nodded at the same time as someone answered the phone.
‘Uh—Miss Pengelly?’ Liz said down the line and, on receiving confirmation, went on, ‘Miss Pengelly, I’m calling on behalf of Mr Hillier, Mr Cameron Hillier…’
Two minutes later she handed the receiver back to Molly, her face a study of someone caught between laughter and disaster.
‘What?’ Molly queried.
‘She’d rather go out with a two-timing snake! How can I tell him that?’
* * *
Cam Hillier’s office was minimalist: a thick green carpet, ivory slatted blinds at the windows, a broad oak desk with a green leather chair behind it and two smaller ones in front of it. Liz thought it was uncluttered and restful, although the art on the walls reflected two of the very different and not necessarily restful enterprises that had made him a multi-millionaire—horses and a fishing fleet.
There were silver-framed paintings of stallions, mares and foals. There were seascapes with trawlers in them—trawlers with their nets out and flocks of seagulls around them.
Liz had studied these pictures in her boss’s absence and discovered a curious and common theme: Shakespeare. The three stallions portrayed were called Hamlet, Prospero and Othello. The trawlers were named Miss Miranda, Juliet’s Joy, As You Like It, Cordelia’s Catch and so on.
She would, she felt, like to know where the Shakespeare theme came from. But the thing was you did not take Cam Hillier lightly or engage in idle chitchat with him. She’d been made aware of this before she’d laid eyes on him. The employment agency she worked for had warned her that he was an extremely high-powered businessman and not easy to handle, so if she had any reservations about how to cope with a man like that she should not even consider the position. They’d also warned her that ‘diary secretary’ could cover a multitude of sins.
But she’d coped with a variety of high-powered businessmen before; in fact she seemed to have a gift for it. Though, it crossed her mind that she’d never had to tell any of those men that the woman in their life would rather consort with a snake…
And there was another difference with Cam Hillier. He was young—early thirties at the most—he was extremely fit, and he was—well, she’d heard it said by his female accountant: ‘In an indefinable way he’s as sexy as hell.’
What was so indefinable about it? she’d wondered at the time. He was tall, lean and rangy, with broad shoulders. He had thick dark hair, and deep, brooding blue eyes in not a precisely handsome face, true, but those eyes alone could send a shiver down your spine as they summed you up.
In fact, to her annoyance, Liz had to admit that she was not immune to Cam Hillier’s powerfully masculine presence. Nor could she persuade her mind to discard the cameo-like memory that had brought this home to her…
* * *
It was a hot Sydney day as they walked side by side down a crowded pavement to a meeting. They were walking because it was only two blocks from his offices to their destination. The traffic was roaring past, the tall buildings of the CBD were creating a canyon-like effect