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he touched her, even accidentally.

      ‘Sam,’ he said in a voice so unexpectedly tender that it brought a lump to her throat, ‘take some time off, if that’s what you want, but please...’ his lips pulled back in a smile designed to melt any woman’s heart ‘...don’t desert the ship. You’re my first mate, and this captain needs you.’

      That almost did it. Telling a woman that you needed her was almost as persuasive as saying you loved her.

      But not quite.

      ‘No, Guy.’ Samantha swallowed down the lump and lifted her chin. ‘I’ve given you two months’ notice, plenty of time to break in someone new so that I can leave without any hitches. If you like I’ll ask Mrs Walton if she’s interested. I know she wants to work somewhere full-time, and she’s already familiar with the layout here.’

      Guy’s hands dropped from her shoulders and he fairly scowled. ‘That stupid woman is hard pushed to answer the phone. She’s a complete ditherbrain!’

      ‘No, she’s not,’ Samantha defended. ‘She’s very intelligent. Have a heart, Guy. She’s been out of the work-force for years and only had a few weeks retraining before the agency put her on as a temp. I felt very sorry for her getting someone as demanding as you for a boss on her first job. You frightened the life out of her. If I hadn’t had to go home for my brother’s wedding that week I wouldn’t have.’

      ‘Pity you did!’ he grumbled. ‘The place was a mess by the time you got back. That woman couldn’t possibly do your job on a regular basis. You’re more than a secretary, dammit. You’re my personal assistant, my right-hand man, my... Hell, Sam, I can’t do without you!’ he announced in an aggrieved tone.

      ‘No one’s indispensable,’ she returned quietly.

      He glared at her calm demeanour, then spun away to stalk back to his chair, more agitated than Samantha had ever seen him before.

      But there was no real satisfaction in having disturbed his equilibrium for once. He was temporarily put out, that was all. Irritated that his well-run ship was sailing into some rough weather for a while. But in the end he would survive, would go on as though she had never made a single wave in his life.

      The pain of it all was a knife twisting in Samantha’s heart. Loving someone who didn’t love you back, who wasn’t even aware of you as a member of the opposite sex, was sheer torture.

      ‘Well, you’ve certainly picked a fine time to leave me in the lurch,’ he muttered as he glared up at her once more. ‘I’ve just booked the Dambusters for an Australian tour next summer. You know how much organising goes into a tour for a popular rock band like that. They want to make a music video while they’re here as well, something I was going to discuss with you at a later date, but...’

      He shrugged, looking oddly lost, and Samantha almost weakened.

      But only almost.

      ‘I’ll still be here for two months,’ she reasoned. ‘Plenty of time to make all the bookings for the tour. And, since you won’t consider Mrs Walton, I’ll let the head-hunters know you’re on the look-out for a new secretary.’

      ‘I don’t want a new secretary,’ he growled, sounding and looking like a sulky little boy.

      Samantha almost laughed as she watched his bottom lip pout slightly, his very sexy bottom lip. It was hard to believe at times that he was thirty-six, he was so young-looking, with very few lines around his eyes and mouth. But then, a man was always a boy, her mother had used to say, till he became a father. Something this particular male would go to great pains to avoid, Samantha thought drily.

      Guy spotted her cynical amusement, and immediately any hint of boyishness disappeared, replaced by the implacable face of the man who hadn’t become a highly successful showbiz agent and entrepreneur by being soft.

      He picked up her letter of resignation and ripped it asunder, depositing the pieces in the waste-paper basket beside him. ‘Let’s not hear any more of this nonsense, Sam,’ he pronounced belligerently. ‘You’ve made your point. I’ve been working you too hard. Take a fortnight off starting next Monday and there’ll be another five grand a year in your pay-packet as from today.’

      Samantha was taken aback for a moment. This type of bullying, high-handed tactic was not one Guy ever used with his business associates. He usually got his way with either cool logic or latherings of charm. He was never aggressive. Aggression, he’d always claimed, bred aggression.

      It certainly did in this case.

      She drew herself up straight and glared at him. ‘I don’t think I have made my point. You certainly haven’t got it, anyway! Two months, Guy,’ she bit out. ‘Tear up another letter of mine like that and it will be two minutes, tour or no bloody tour!’

      She had the satisfaction of seeing Guy literally gape at her. The prim and proper Miss Samantha Peters, swearing? His cool, calm and collected secretary, losing her temper? Unheard of!

      If she’d had her hair loose she could have tossed her head as she turned to make a dramatic exit. As it was, with her long brown waves tamed into her usual coiled bun, she had to settle for swinging on her sensible heels and marching out of his office into hers, pulling the intervening door shut with a resounding bang.

      Guy made no attempt to follow her or call her back. Running after tantrum-throwing secretaries was not his style.

      Samantha was shaking when she finally sat down at her own desk. Literally shaking.

      You’ve done the right thing, she kept telling herself. The only thing. You couldn’t have gone on indefinitely, trying to hide your feelings, putting up with the agony of his indifference just to savour the dubious pleasure of his company. It was self-destructive and demeaning. It was...futile.

      Yes, she decided with a shuddering sigh. You’ve done the right thing.

      Sixty seconds later she was in her private washroom, bawling her eyes out.

      * * *

      The traffic crawled across the bridge the following morning, bumper to bumper. Samantha checked her watch, accepted she would probably be late, then turned her head to gaze resignedly through the window of the bus down at the harbour below.

      Not quite postcard material today, she thought wearily as another squall of rain dumped itself on Sydney. Really, wasn’t it ever going to stop raining?

      It was cold too. Far too cold for April. Anyone would think it was the dead of winter, instead of mid-autumn.

      She rubbed a circle on the window to clear the mist on the glass, and could just make out the opera house in the distance. It looked uncustomarily dismal and grey, the sails of its roof huddling on Benelong Point like wet droopy birds. Closer in, a ferry chugged to a halt at the quay, spilling darkly raincoated people out on to the wet pier.

      Samantha sighed. How depressing it all looked. Which was the last thing she needed this morning. The only consolation to having to face another day with Guy was that it was Friday. She really needed two days away from him.

      Yesterday had proved to be a dreadful strain. He had called her back into the office eventually, but he hadn’t tried to talk her out of leaving. Instead he had made a surprising apology, then insisted they go through all the files together, checking on every person, act or group that he managed, seeing what they were doing at that moment and what could be lined up for them in the immediate future. His attitude had been matter-of-fact and businesslike. Clearly he had accepted the situation and wanted to get the ship shipshape before his ‘first mate’ set off for other horizons.

      His easy acceptance of her leaving upset Samantha terribly. So did their meticulous going through the files. With each file memories were thrown up to her, memories that held a disturbing amount of recalled pleasure.

      How could she have forgotten that her life over the past five years had been filled with all sorts of exciting and rewarding events? What about the shows she

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