LITMIR.BIZ

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      Dear Reader,

      Sigh. As I write this, Christmas is over for another year, and there’s a mixture of relief and regret as I pack up the decorations. I can still hear my grandma muttering, “It’s not worth packing them up. It comes round so fast that before you know it you’ll be pulling them out again.” And of course Grandma’s right, but from here it seems a long time till I get my next hit of Santa Clausing, carols and eggnog.

      Anyway, just to keep me going until next year, I’ve indulged in the next best thing to Christmas, which is a Christmas romance for you to enjoy as you take the decorations out again. My story has all my favourite things: a hero to die for, drama, fun, dogs, cows, a birth—oh, and did I mention eggnog?

      I loved locking my heroine on her farm with her to-die-for boss. A billionaire boss—what greater gift could a girl find in her stocking on Christmas morning?

      Enjoy!

       Marion Lennox

      About the Author

      MARION LENNOX is a country girl, born on an Australian dairy farm. She moved on—mostly because the cows just weren’t interested in her stories! Married to a “very special doctor”, Marion writes Mills & Boon® Medical™ romances as well as Mills & Boon® Cherish™ (she used a different name for each category for a while—if you’re looking for her past Mills & Boon® romances search for author Trisha David as well). She’s now had over seventy-five romance novels accepted for publication.

      In her non-writing life Marion cares for kids, cats, dogs, chooks and goldfish. She travels, she fights her rampant garden (she’s losing), and her house dust (she’s lost).

      Having spun in circles for the first part of her life, she’s now stepped back from her “other” career, which was teaching statistics at her local university. Finally she’s reprioritised her life, figured what’s important and discovered the joys of deep baths, romance and chocolate.

      Preferably all at the same time!

      Chapter One

      ‘ALL scheduled flights have been cancelled until after Christmas. Charter planes are no exception. I’m sorry, ma’am, but nobody’s going anywhere.’

      Meg replaced the phone as if it was about to shatter. The air around her felt sharp and dangerous. She was trying hard not to breathe.

      The door to her boss’s inner sanctum was open. W S McMaster was clearing his desk, filing vital documents into his lovely calfskin briefcase. Suave, sleek and almost impossibly good-looking, the man looked what he was—a billionaire businessman moving on to the next important thing.

      But the next important thing was in New York, and W S McMaster’s personal assistant was about to tell him there were no planes for at least three days.

      No-o-o-o-o-o.

      ‘Oh, Meg, I’m so out of here.’ Josie, Meg’s assistant, was tugging off her office shoes and hauling on six-inch stilettos. ‘Dan’s meeting me in five minutes and I’m free. How cool to have Christmas fall on Monday. I have two solid days of partying until I need to sober up for the family Christmas Day.’

      Meg didn’t answer. She couldn’t.

      Josie and the rest of the office staff departed, calling Christmas greetings as they left. Yes, Christmas was on Monday. It was Friday afternoon. The corporate world closed down, right now.

      Except for Meg, whose job it was to be at hand as Mr McMaster’s personal assistant at any time he was in Australia.

      Mr McMaster was only in Australia for maybe ten or twelve weeks of the year, and there was little administration she had to do outside those times. It was a fabulous job. She’d been so lucky to get it. If she’d messed this up…

      Don’t go there. Focus on now. Focus on getting her boss out of the country. She gave a weak little wave to the departing staff and tried one last phone call.

      Her boss was too far away to hear, but there was little to hear anyway; just more of the same.

      ‘Helicopters depend on air traffic controllers too?’ she asked bleakly. ‘No, thank you; I understand. And there’s no way the strike can be resolved until after Christmas? Of course I know the whole country closes down from five tonight, but this is vital. Can we…I don’t know, take off from a paddock while no one’s watching? Island hop to Indonesia and find a flight from there? I’m serious; I’ll do anything.’

      No and no and no.

      She replaced her phone and stared at it as if it had personally betrayed her—and Mr McMaster was standing in the doorway, ready to go.

      He looked ready to take on the world.

      He always did, she conceded. William McMaster was thirty-six years old; he’d been born into money and he’d inherited the gene for making it. He headed a huge family corporation and the McMaster empire was growing by the day. For the last three years he’d spent two or three months a year here, growing the part of the firm that was opening mines all over Australia. He flew from one business meeting to another. While he was in Australia Meg flew with him, and as she did she realised why he had a different PA in every country. He’d wear one out in weeks.

      She was worn out now, and he was ready to leave. He was leaning against the door, waiting for her attention. He was wearing a dark Italian business suit that screamed money and taste, with a crisp white shirt, new on this morning because the hotel laundry had sent his shirts back slightly yellowed. She’d had a frantic scramble to get new ones. His hotel was supposed to be the best in Melbourne—how could she top that? The hotel also had the best gym in Melbourne. He insisted on hotels with great gyms and his body proved it. Tall, dark, and far more good-looking than any man had a right to be, he was watching her now through dark, hooded eyes, as if he knew something was wrong.

      Of course he knew something was wrong. You couldn’t get to where he was without intelligence and intuition, and William McMaster had both in spades.

      ‘My car to the airport?’ he queried, but softly, as if he already suspected the answer.

      ‘There’s a problem,’ she said, not looking at him.

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