The Boss's Forbidden Secretary. Lee WilkinsonЧитать онлайн книгу.

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      CHAPTER ONE

      CATHY had packed the car, said goodbye to her neighbours, handed in the keys of the flat and set off from London that morning.

      Because it was such a long way to drive, and Carl had been anxious about her, she had agreed to break the journey with an overnight stay at Ilithgow House, a small, family-run hotel that, according to the blurb, was both comfortable and inexpensive.

      Carl had warned her, ‘Get as early a start as possible, Sis. It’s a hell of a long way just going as far as Ilithgow, and you’ll have the pre-Christmas traffic to contend with.’

      But, in spite of his warning, the journey had taken far longer than she had anticipated, and it had already been dark for several hours.

      She had just crossed the border from England into Scotland when it started to snow. The first big, soft flakes swirled past, caught in the golden beam of the car’s headlights and plopping onto the windscreen where the busy wipers flicked them carelessly aside.

      Since she had been a small child Cathy had loved snow, and she thought how pretty it looked and how lovely it would be to have a white Christmas.

      Or rather how lovely it would have been, if she hadn’t, for Carl’s sake, been planning to live a lie.

      Peering through the windscreen, she thought thankfully that it was just as well she was almost there. The feathery flakes had grown smaller and more compact, and the snow was now coming down in earnest.

      Pre-warned that there had already been fairly heavy falls in northern Scotland and over the mountains, she had expected to run into it sooner or later. But not this far south, and she was thankful that she was using Carl’s four-wheel drive.

      By the time she caught sight of the lighted sign that gave the name of the hotel, a rising wind had created blizzard conditions, and she was driving through a blinding curtain of white.

      Turning left between the lighted gateposts, she slowed to a crawl, cheering herself with the thought that there couldn’t be more than a few hundred yards to go.

      Ilithgow House, she had learnt when she booked, was less than a quarter of a mile from the main road. However, to get to it she would have to cross an old stone bridge that spanned the River Ilith.

      Remembering that made her hastily bring the car to a halt. She had no idea whether the long drive was straight or winding, and in these conditions it would be only too easy to miss the bridge and drive into the river.

      A few seconds’ thought convinced her that her best plan would be to get out and reconnoitre.

      Her hand was on the door handle when, from behind, approaching headlights lit up the falling snow. A big car—a Range Rover, she thought—drew up alongside, and a man’s dark figure appeared at her window.

      As she rolled down the window, he stooped and, in a pleasant, low-pitched voice, asked, ‘Need any help?’

      Briefly she explained her predicament.

      ‘Luckily I know the lie of the land,’ he said briskly, ‘so I’ll lead the way, if you’d like to follow me?’

      Before she had time to thank him, he had gone back to his car.

      As he drove slowly ahead she followed the red glow of his tail-lights until they had bumped their way across a narrow, humpbacked bridge.

      Then, through the blizzard of white, she spotted the welcoming sight of the hotel’s lighted windows.

      A moment later the leading car signalled right and, pulling onto a snow-shrouded forecourt, came to a halt near a shallow flight of steps.

      As Cathy drew up alongside, the man doused his headlights and, jumping out, turned up the collar of his short car coat.

      Though she couldn’t make out his features, in the light spilling from the long windows she could see that he was tall and broad-shouldered.

      Reaching to open her car door, he queried, ‘I presume you’ve booked at the hotel?’

      ‘Yes.’

      Noticing her medium-heeled suede court shoes, he advised, ‘It’s getting quite nasty underfoot. You’ll need to be careful.’

      ‘Yes,’ she agreed ruefully. ‘I should have worn something more sensible, but I wasn’t expecting to run into snow quite this soon.’

      He was bareheaded, and, realizing that snowflakes were settling fast on his fair hair, she climbed out rather too hastily and slipped.

      Catching her arm, he steadied her.

      She pulled a face. ‘Now you can say, what did I tell you?’

      He laughed. ‘As if I would! Have you much luggage to take in?’

      ‘Just an overnight bag.’

      When she had retrieved it from the boot, he said, ‘Let me,’ and took it from her.

      The bag she had packed had been a fun present from Carl, and had gold-coloured teddy bears prancing on it, but if the stranger noticed, it didn’t seem to bother him.

      ‘Thank you,’ she murmured. ‘But don’t you have your own luggage to carry?’

      ‘I haven’t any luggage. I wasn’t intending to make an overnight stop. However, a rescheduled business meeting meant a late start, and, given the weather conditions, it seems preferable to possibly ending up in a ditch.’

      She could only agree as, heads bent against the driving curtain of snow, they mounted the steps.

      Seeing she was having a struggle to keep her footing, he put a strong arm around her. The caring gesture brought a glow of comforting warmth, in sharp contrast to the bleakness she had lived with for a long time now.

      Since her parents’ untimely death she had been forced to shoulder all the responsibility, and it was