A Bride for Christmas by Marion Lennox Page B

Guy thought of what he had to build on—Jenny and, by the sound of it, a crew of geriatrics—and he almost groaned.
    ‘It’s the best publicity we could think of,’ Malcolm said jovially. ‘I’ll manage the Film Conglomerate do. We’re fine.’
    Only they weren’t. Or he wasn’t. Guy lay in the sumptuous four-poster bed that night, listening to owls in the bushland outside, and wondered what he was getting into.
    He didn’t know, and he didn’t want to find out.
     
    And five miles away Jenny was feeling exactly the same.
    When she got back to the farmhouse Henry was asleep and Lorna and Jack were filling hot water bottles from the kitchen kettle.
    ‘Did you have a nice ride, dear?’ Lorna asked, and for the life of her Jenny couldn’t keep her face under control. Lorna watched her daughter-in-law, her eyes twinkling.
    ‘He seems very…personable,’ she said, speaking to no one in particular, and Jenny knew her mother-in-law was getting ideas which were ridiculous.
    They were ridiculous.
    She scowled at her in-laws and went to bed. But not to sleep. She stared at the ceiling for hours, and then flicked on the lamp and stared at the picture on her bedside table. Her lovely Ben, who’d brought her into this wonderful family, who’d given her Henry.
    ‘I love you, Ben,’ she whispered, but he didn’t answer. If he was here he’d just smile and then hug her.
    She ached to be hugged.
    By Ben?
    ‘Yes, by Ben,’ she told the night. ‘Guy Carver has been here for less than twenty-four hours. He’s an international jet-setter with megabucks. He kissed me tonight because I’ll bet that’s what international jet-setters do. He’s your boss, Jennifer Westmere. You need to maintain a dignified employer-employee relationship. Don’t stuff it up. And don’t let him kiss you again.
    ‘He won’t want to.
    ‘He might.’
    She wasn’t sure who she was arguing with. If anyone could hear they’d think she was crazy.
    ‘Ben,’ she whispered, and lifted the frame from the bedside table and kissed it.
    She turned off the lamp and remembered the kiss.
    Not Ben’s kiss.
    The kiss of Guy Carver.
    CHAPTER FOUR
    JENNY arrived at Guy’s guesthouse the next morning wearing clothing that said very clearly she was there to work. Plain white shirt, knee-length skirt, plain sandals. Guy emerged dressed in fawn chinos, a lovely soft green polo shirt with a tiny white yacht embroidered on the chest—Jenny bet it had to be the logo of the world’s most exclusive yacht club—and faded loafers. He looked at what Jenny was wearing and stopped dead.
    ‘The Carver corporation has a dress code,’ he said.
    ‘What’s wrong with this?’
    ‘It’s frumpy.’ It was, too. In fact, Jenny had worked quite hard to find it. There’d been an international lawn-bowls meet in Sandpiper Bay two years ago, and she’d helped organise the catering. The dress code for that had meant she’d had to go out and buy this sophisticated little outfit, and she hadn’t worn it since.
    ‘It’s my usual work wear,’ she lied. ‘Yesterday I was too casual.’
    ‘We were both too casual,’ he agreed, and she blushed.
    Right. Get on with it.
    ‘So where do you want to start?’
    ‘I’ve come here to plan the refurbishment of the salon.’
    ‘That’s important. But there’s the little manner of two weddings…’
    ‘Leave the planning to me,’ he said, and she subsided into what she hoped was dignified silence. She was this man’s employee.
    He’d kissed her. She should forget all about that kiss. She should…
    Let’s not aim at the stars here, she told herself. Let’s just be a good little employee and put the memory of that kiss on the backburner.
    But not very far back.
     
    He was out of his depth.
    They’d purchased three salons so far in this round of expansion. In each of those, Guy had visited early, taken note of the features of the building as they were, then brought his notes back to his cool grey office in