âWe need never stop this, you know,â he said gravely.
Wasnât this what sheâd wanted to hear? Some talk of commitment? Of permanence? What else could he mean? Theyâd spent a wonderful night together and at least as far as she was concerned, it was much more than that.
âWhat, not even to eat or have a bath?â she asked lightly, while her heart pounded like a steam engine inside her.
âIâm being serious.â He lay flat on his back with his hands folded behind his head. âWe could get married,â he said. âI mean it makes sense, donât you think? Weâre compatible in bed, more than compatible, and it could sort out every niggling area of all this bargaining over the business that weâve been trying to do over the past few weeks. I canât personally think of a better arrangement than marriage.â
Getting down to business
in the boardroomâ¦and the bedroom!
A secret romance, a forbidden affair,
a thrilling attractionâ¦
What happens when two people work together
and simply canât help falling in loveâ no matter how hard they try to resist?
Find out in our new series of stories
set against working backgrounds.
This month in
Merger by Matrimony
by Cathy Williams
THE grey-haired man was looking lost and bewildered. From her vantage point in the classroom, and looking over the heads of the fifteen pupils who had shown up for school, Destiny Felt could see him staring around him, then peering at the piece of paper in his hand, as if searching for inspiration which had been lost somewhere along the way. Rivulets of perspiration poured down his face, which was scrunched up in frowning, perplexed concentration, and his shirt bore two spreading damp patches under the arms.
He was ridiculously attired for the belting heat, she thought. Long trousers, a long-sleeved shirt which had been ineffectively rolled to the elbows. The only sensible thing about his clothing was the broad-brimmed hat which produced at least some shade for his face, even though he looked ridiculous in it.
What on earth was he doing in this part of the world? Visitors were virtually non-existentâunless they were photo-happy tourists, which this man didnât appear to beâand as far as she was aware they were not expecting any new medics or teachers to the compound.
She continued viewing his antics for a few minutes longer, watching as he shoved the paper into the briefcase which heâd temporarily stood on the scorching ground at his side before tentatively making his way to the first open door he saw.
Her father would not welcome the intrusion, she thought, continuing to eye the stranger as he knocked hesitantly on the door before pushing through. She fought down the temptation to abandon her class and hotfoot it to her fatherâs research quarters, and instead she reverted her attention to the motley assortment of children.
All would be explained, and sooner rather than later. In a compound comprised of a mere fifteen working adults, nothing was a secret, least of all the appearance of a foreigner obviously on a mission of some sort.
The overhead fan, which appeared to be on the point of total collapse from old age, provided a certain amount of desultory, sulky relief from the heat, but she could still feel the humid air puffing its way through the open windows. No wonder the poor man had looked as though heâd been about to faint from heat exhaustion.
By the time she was ready to dismiss her class, she too was feeling in desperate need of a shower, not to mention a change of clothes.
In fact, she was heading in the direction of her quarters when she heard the clatter of footsteps along the wooden corridor of the school house.
âDestiny!â Her fatherâs voice sounded urgent.
âJust coming!â Damn. She hoped she wasnât about to be palmed off with the hapless man. This was her fatherâs famous ploy. To offload perfect strangers, when they showed up for whatever reason, on her, and whenever she complained about it he would cheerfully brush aside her objections with a casual wave of the hand and a gleeful remark along the lines of how blessed he was to have an obliging daughter such as her.
The three of them very nearly catapulted into one another round the bend in the corridor.
âDestinyâ¦â
She glanced at the man, then turned her full attention to her father, who favoured her with an anxious smile. âJust about to go and have a shower, Dad.â
âSomeone here to see you.â
Destiny slowly turned to face the man whose hand had shot out towards her. She was at least six inches taller than him. Not an unusual occurrence. She was nearly six feet, and in fact there were only four people on the compound taller than her, including her father, who looked positively towering next to the stranger.
âDerek Wilson. Pleased to meet you.â
âDonât you speak Spanish?â Destiny asked politely, in Spanish.