Boss's Christmas Seduction

Bile rose in his throat. Hot, bitter, acrid bile. Connor Knight dashed the investigator's report violently across the mahogany surface of his desk, scattering papers like giant confetti through the air where they hovered briefly, before floating to the thickly carpeted study floor. Through the open French doors behind him he heard the drone of the launch's engines as it pulled away from his private jetty, taking the bearer of bad tidings back across the harbour to Auckland city. The vile taste in Connor's mouth rivalled the malevolence of his ex-wife's actions. He swallowed against it, but the irrefutable proof of her betrayal could not be as easily diminished. As if her insatiable partying and gambling hadn't been enough, now he knew that six months into their marriage she'd knowingly destroyed their baby--the child she knew he'd wanted--and had then been sterilised rather than ever bear another child again. If not for a careless comment from one of her friends at a recent fund-raiser he'd have been none the wiser. Yet the throwaway remark had been all he needed to start the investigation and to confirm that she'd lied about the miscarriage. A tearing pain clawed at his chest. The proof of her treachery now lay scattered on his floor-- information that had come at a hell of a price, but which was worth every last cent. A copy of her admission to a private hospital four years ago, the bills from the anaesthetist, the surgeon, the hospital. The procedures.Termination. Sterilisation. And through it all he'd been oblivious. So now she wanted more money? He'd have paid it just to be rid of her--until he'd received today's information. It had been bad enough to realise back then that she'd emasculated him with her deceit, her avaricious need to grasp at everything in her path during their brief union, but this? This went way further than that. The grandfather clock chimed the hour. Nine o'clock.Damn!The meeting had made him later in to the office than he expected. He punched the quick dial on the speakerphone on the desk, connecting immediately to his office in the city. "Holly, I'm running late. Any messages or problems?" "Nothing urgent, Mr. Knight, I've rescheduled your conference call to New York." His personal assistant's gentle, well-modulated voice washed over him like a calming wave of sanity in the madness of his morning. Thank goodness he could still rely on some people. Connor slipped into his suit jacket, adjusted his tie and, oblivious to the crunch of the report underfoot, stalked out the open French doors and towards the chopper waiting to take him from his island home and into Auckland's central business district. If Holly Christmas received one more tartan-beribboned poinsettia she would scream. So what if her birthday fell on Christmas Eve? She was used to that. After all, itwasthe same day every year. She blinked back the unbidden rush of tears that pricked her eyes, and gave herself a mental shake. Toughen up, she growled silently. Self-pity was so not her style. Survival--whatever it took--that was her key. Then why did she feel different this year? Empty. Alone. At least her colleagues had remembered today was her birthday, and not just the last day of work before Knight Enterprises closed for the Christmas break. She straightened her shoulders, stiffened her spine and, with the plant clutched tightly to her aching chest, summoned a smile. "The poinsettia is beautiful, thanks. I really appreciate it." The words sounded normal, thank goodness, coloured with just the right amount of enthusiasm. "See you at the party tonight, Holly?" one of the girls asked. "Oh, yes, I'll be there," she confirmed with a wry twist of her lips. Someone had to see to it that the annual bash ran smoothly, that the grossly inebriated were tactfully withdrawn from the proceedings and inserted into taxis andLindsay, Yvonne is the author of 'Boss's Christmas Seduction ', published 2006 under ISBN 9780373767588 and ISBN 0373767587.