The Girl he Never Noticed Read online

  Not only that, but she seemed to be more sensitive to textures—such as the beautiful quality fabric of his suit and the rich leather of the car’s upholstery.

  And she was very aware of the way he was watching her… A physical summing up again, that brought her out in little goosebumps—because they were so close it was impossible, she suddenly found, not to imagine his arms around her, his hand in her hair, his mouth on hers.

  She turned away abruptly.

  He said nothing but opened his door. Liz did the same and got out without his assistance.

  Although Liz had been fully aware she was in for a classy event, what she saw as she stepped through the front door of the Bellevue Hill home almost took her breath away. A broad stone-flagged passage led to the first of three descending terraces and a magnificent view of Sydney Harbour in the last of the daylight. Flaming braziers lit the terraces, pottery urns were laden with exotic flowering shrubs, and on the third and lowest terrace an aquamarine pool appeared to flow over the edge.

  There were a lot of guests already assembled—an animated throng—the women making a bouquet of colours as well. In a corner of the middle terrace an energetic band was making African music with a mesmerising rhythm and the soft but fascinating throb of drums.

  A dinner-suited waiter wearing white gloves was at their side immediately, offering champagne.

  Liz was about to decline, but Cam simply put a glass in her hand. No sooner had he done so than their hostess descended on them.

  She was a tall, striking woman, wearing a rose-pink caftan and a quantity of gold and diamond jewellery. Her silver hair was streaked with pink.

  ‘My dear Cam,’ she enthused as she came up to them, ‘I thought you weren’t coming!’ She turned to Liz and her eyebrows shot up. ‘But who is this?’

  ‘This, Narelle, is Liz Montrose. Liz, may I introduce you to Narelle Hastings?’

  Liz extended her hand and murmured, ‘How do you do?’

  ‘Very well, my dear, very well,’ Narelle Hastings replied as she summed Liz up speedily and expertly, taking in not only her fair looks but her stylish outfit. ‘So you’ve supplanted Portia?’

  ‘Not at all,’ Cam Hillier responded. ‘Portia has had second thoughts about me, and since Liz is replacing Roger who is off sick at the moment, I press-ganged her into coming rather than being partnerless. That’s all.’

  ‘Darling,’ Narelle said fondly to him, ‘call it what you will, but don’t expect me to believe it gospel and verse.’ She turned to Liz. ‘You’re far too lovely to be just a secretary, my dear, and in his own way Cam’s not bad either. It is what makes the world go round. But anyway—’ she turned back to Cam ‘—how’s Archie?’

  ‘A nervous wreck. Wenonah’s puppies are due any day.’

  Narelle Hastings chuckled. ‘Give him my love. Oh! Excuse me! Some more latecomers. And don’t forget,’ she said to Liz, ‘life wasn’t meant to be all work and no play, so enjoy yourself with Cam while you can!’ And she wandered off.

  ‘Don’t tell me how to look,’ Liz warned him.

  ‘Wouldn’t dream of it. Uh—Narelle can be a little eccentric.’

  ‘Even so, I knew this wasn’t a good idea,’ she added darkly.

  He studied her, then shrugged. ‘I don’t see it as a matter of great importance.’

  Liz glanced sideways at him, as if to say you wouldn’t! But that was a mistake, because she was suddenly conscious again of just how dangerously attractive Cameron Hillier was. Tall and dark, with that fine-tuned physique, he effortlessly drew the eyes of many of the women around them. Was it so far off the mark to imagine him being mobbed? No, that was ridiculous…

  ‘It’s not your reputation that’s at stake,’ she retorted finally. ‘That was probably…’ She paused.

  ‘Ruined years ago?’ he suggested.

  Liz grimaced and looked away, thinking again, belatedly, of black marks on her record. Did not actually come to blows with temporary employer, but did insult him by suggesting he had a questionable reputation…

  ‘This place is quite amazing,’ she said, switching to a conversational tone, and she took a sip of champagne. ‘Is the party in aid of any special event?’

  Cam Hillier raised his eyebrows in some surprise at this change of pace on her part, then looked amused. ‘Uh—probably not. Narelle never needs an excuse to throw a party. She’s a pillar of the social scene.’

  ‘How…interesting,’ Liz said politely.

  ‘You don’t agree with holding a party just for the sake of it?’ he queried.

  ‘Did I say that? If you can afford it—’ She broke off and shrugged.

  ‘You didn’t say it, but I got the feeling you were thinking it. By the way, she happens to be my great-aunt.’

  Liz looked rueful and took another sip of champagne. ‘Thanks.’

  He looked a question at her.

  ‘For telling me that. I #x2026;sometimes I have a problem with…with speaking my mind,’ she admitted. ‘But I would never say anything less than complimentary about someone’s great-aunt.’

  This time Cam Hillier did more than flash that crooked grin; he laughed.

  ‘What’s funny about that?’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ he returned, still looking amused. ‘Confirmation of what I suspected? That you can be outspoken to a fault. Or the fact that you regard great-aunts as somehow sacred?’

  Liz grimaced. ‘I guess it did sound a bit odd, but you know what I mean. In general I don’t like to get personal.’

  He looked sceptical, but chose not to explain why. He said, ‘Narelle can look after herself better than most. But how come you appear to handle a position that requires great diplomacy with ease when you have a problem with outspokenness?’

  ‘Yes, well, it’s been a bit of a mystery to me at times,’ she conceded. ‘Although I have been told it can be quite refreshing. But of course I do try to rein it in.’

  ‘Not with me, though?’ he suggested.

  Liz studied her glass and took another sip. ‘To be honest, Mr Hillier, I’ve never before been told to pass on the message that my employer’s…um…date would rather consort with a two-timing snake than go to a party with him.’

  Cam Hillier whistled softly. ‘She must have been steamed up about something!’

  ‘Yes—you. Then there was your own assertion that to go to a party alone would leave you open to being mobbed by women—I had a bit of difficulty with that—’

  ‘It’s my money,’ he broke in.

  ‘Uh-huh? Like your great-aunt, I won’t take that one as gospel and verse either,’ Liz said with considerable irony, and flinched as a flashlight went off. ‘Add to that the distinct possibility that we could be now tagged as an item, and throw into the mix that death-defying drive through the back streets of Sydney, is it any wonder I’m having trouble holding my tongue?’

  ‘Probably not,’ he conceded. ‘Would you like to leave the job forthwith?’

  ‘Ah,’ Liz said, and studied her glass, a little surprised to see that it was half empty, before raising her blue eyes to his. ‘Actually, no. I need the money. So if we could just get back to office hours, and the more usual kind of insanity that goes with a diary secretary’s position, I’d appreciate it.’

  He considered for a moment. ‘How old are you, and how did you get this job—with the agency, I mean?’

  ‘I’m twenty-four, and I have a degree in Business Management. I topped the class, which you may find hard to believe—but it’s true.’

  He narrowed his gaze. ‘I don’t. I realised you were as bright as a tack from the way you handled yourself in the first few hours of our relationship—our working relationship,’ he said as she looked set to take issue with him.

  ‘Oh?’ Liz looked surprised. ‘How so?’

  ‘Remember the Fortune proposal—the seafood marketing one? I virtually tossed it in your lap the first day, because it was incomplete, and told you to fix it?’

  Liz nodded. ‘I do,’ she said
dryly.

  He smiled. ‘Throwing you in at the deep end and not what you were employed for anyway? Possibly. But I saw you study it, and then I happened to hear you on the phone to Fortune with your summation of it and what needed to be done to fix it. I was impressed.’

  Liz took another sip of champagne. ‘Well, thanks.’

  ‘And Molly tells me you’re a bit of an IT whiz.’

  ‘Not really—but I do like computers and software,’ she responded.

  ‘It does lead me to wonder why you’re temping rather than carving out a career for yourself,’ he said meditatively.

  Liz looked around.

  A few couples had started to dance, and she was suddenly consumed by a desire to be free to do what she liked—which at this moment was to surrender herself to the African beat, the call of the drums and the wild. To be free of problems… To have a partner to dance with, to talk to, to share things with. Someone to help her lighten the load she was carrying.

  Someone to help her live a bit. It was so long since she’d danced—so long since she’d let her hair down, so to speak—she’d forgotten what it was like…

  As if drawn by a magnet her gaze came back to her escort, to find him looking down at her with a faint frown in his eyes and also an unspoken question. For one amazed moment she thought he was going to ask her to dance with him. That was followed by another amazed moment as she pictured herself moving into his arms and letting her body sway to the music.

  Had he guessed which way her thoughts were heading? And if so, how? she wondered. Had there been a link forged between them now that he’d noticed her as a woman and not a robot—a mental link as well as a physical one?

  She looked away as a tremor of alarm ran through her. She didn’t want to be linked to a man, did she? She didn’t want to go through that again. She was mad to have allowed Cam Hillier to taunt her into showing him she wasn’t just a stick of office furniture…

  She said the first thing that came to mind to break any mental link… ‘Who’s Archie?’

  ‘My nephew.’

  ‘He sounds like an animal lover.’

  ‘He is.’

  Liz waited for a moment, but it became obvious Cam Hillier was not prepared to be more forthcoming on the subject of his nephew.

  Liz lifted her shoulders and looked out over the crowd.

  Then her gaze sharpened, and widened, as she focused on a tall figure across the terrace. A man—a man who had once meant the world to her.

  She turned away abruptly and handed her glass to her boss. ‘Forgive me,’ she said hurriedly, ‘but I need—I need to find the powder room.’ And she turned on her heel and walked inside.

  How she came to get lost in Narelle Hastings’ mansion she was never quite sure. She did find a powder room, and spent a useless ten minutes trying to calm herself down, but for the rest of it her inner turmoil must have been so great she’d been unable to think straight.

  She came out of the powder room determined to make a discreet exit from the house, the party, Cam Hillier, the lot—only to see Narelle farewelling several guests. She did a quick about-turn and went through several doorways to find herself in the kitchen. Fortunately it was empty of staff, but she knew that could only be a very temporary state of affairs.

  Never mind, she told herself. She’d leave by the back door!

  The back door at first yielded a promising prospect—a service courtyard, a high wall with a gate in it.

  Excellent! Except when she got to it, it was to find the gate locked.

  She drew a frustrated, trembling breath as it occurred to her how acutely embarrassing this could turn out to be. How on earth would she explain it to Cameron Hillier—not to mention his great-aunt, whose house she appeared to be wandering through at will?

  She gazed at the back door, and as she did so she heard voices coming from within. She doubted she had the nerve to brave the kitchen again. She turned away and studied her options. No good trying to get over the wall that fronted the street—she’d be bound to bump into someone. But the house next door, also behind the wall, was the one whose driveway Cam had parked in—the one whose owner was out, according to him. He must know them and know they were away to make that assertion, she reasoned. It certainly made that wall a better bet.

  She dredged her memory and recalled that the driveway had gates that could possibly be locked too—and this adjacent wall was inside those gates. But hang on! Further along the pavement, hadn’t there been a pedestrian gate? No—just a gateway. Yes! So all she had to do was climb over the wall…How the hell was she going to do that, though?

  She tensed as the back door opened, and slipped into some shadows as a kitchen hand emerged and deposited a load of garbage into a green wheelie bin and slammed it shut. He didn’t see her and went back inside, closing the door, but his use of the wheelie bin gave her an idea. She could push it against the wall, hoist herself onto it and slip over it to the house next door.

  As with just about everything that had happened to her on this never-ending day, it wasn’t a perfect plan.

  Firstly, just as she was about to emerge from the shadows and move the bin to the wall, more kitchen hands emerged with loads of garbage. This led her to reconsider things.

  What if she did manage to get over the wall and someone came out to find the bin in a different position? But she couldn’t skulk around this service courtyard for much longer. A glance at her watch told her she’d already been there for twenty minutes.

  She was biting her lip and clenching her fists in a bid to keep calm, almost certain she would have to go through the kitchen again, when something decided the matter for her.

  She heard a male voice from the kitchen, calling out that he was locking the back door. She even heard the key turn.

  She closed her eyes briefly, then sprinted to the bin, shoved it up against the wall, took her shoes off and threw them over. She looped her purse over her shoulder and, hitching up her dress, climbed onto the bin. Going over from Narelle’s side was easy, thanks to the height of the wheelie bin. Getting down the other side was not so easy. She had to hang onto the coping and try to guess what the shortfall was.

  It was only about a foot, but she lost her balance as she dropped to the ground, and fell over. She was picking herself up and examining her torn tights and a graze on her knee when the driveway gates, with the sound of a car motor behind them, began to open inwards.

  She straightened up and stared with fatal fascination at a pair of headlights as a long, low, sleek car nosed through the gates and stopped abreast of her.

  The driver’s window was on her side, and it lowered soundlessly. She bent her head, and as her gaze clashed with the man behind the wheel things clicked into place for her.

  ‘Oh, I see,’ she said bitterly. ‘You own this place. That’s how you knew it was safe to park in the driveway!’

  ‘Got it in two, Liz,’ Cam Hillier agreed from inside his graphite-blue Aston Martin. ‘But what the devil you think you’re doing is a mystery to me.’

  CHAPTER TWO

  ‘WHO IS HE?’

  The question hung in the air as Liz looked around.

  She was ensconced on a comfortable cinnamon velvet-covered settee. Across a broad wooden coffee table with a priceless-looking jade bonsai tree on it was a fireplace flanked by wooden-framed French doors. Above the fireplace hung what she suspected was an original Heidelberg School painting, a lovely impressionist pastoral scene that was unmistakably Australian. Tom Roberts? she wondered.

  There were two matching armchairs, and some lovely pieces of furniture scattered on the polished wooden floors. The windows looked out over a floodlit scene—an elegant pool with a fountain, tall cypress pines, and beyond the lights of Sydney Harbour.

  Not as spectacular as his great-aunt’s residence, Cam Hillier’s house was nevertheless stylish and very expensive—worth how many millions Liz couldn’t even begin to think.

  Its owner was seated in an armchair across fro
m her.

  He’d shrugged off his jacket, pulled off his tie and opened the top buttons of his shirt. He’d also poured them each a brandy.

  As for Liz, she’d cleaned herself up as best she could in a guest bathroom. She’d removed her torn tights, bathed her knee and applied a plaster to it. She’d washed her face and hands but not reapplied any make-up. It had hardly seemed appropriate when she had a rip in her dress, a streak of dirt on her jacket and was shoeless.

  She’d been unable to find one shoe in the driveway—until they’d discovered it in a tub of water the gardener was apparently soaking a root-bound plant in.

  So far, the only explanation she’d offered was that she’d seen someone at the party she’d had no desire to meet, so she’d tried to make a quick getaway that had gone horribly wrong.

  She took a sip of her brandy, and felt a little better as its warmth slipped down.

  She eyed Cameron Hillier and had to acknowledge that he was equally impressive lying back in an armchair, in his shirtsleeves and with his thick dark hair ruffled, as he’d been at his great-aunt’s party. On top of that those fascinating, brooding blue eyes appeared to be looking right through her…

  ‘He?’ she answered at last. ‘What makes you think—?’

  ‘Come on, Liz,’ he said roughly. ‘If this story is true at all, I can’t imagine a woman provoking that kind of reaction! Anyway, I saw you fix your gaze on some guy, then go quite pale and still before you…decamped. Causing me no little discomfort, incidentally,’ he added dryly.

  Her eyes widened. ‘Did you get mobbed?’

  He looked daggers at her for a moment. ‘No. But I did get Narelle to search the powder rooms when I realised how long you’d been gone. She was,’ he said bitterly, ‘riveted.’

  ‘And then?’

  He shrugged. ‘There seemed to be no sign of you, so we finally assumed you’d called a taxi and left.’

  ‘Meanwhile I was lurking around in the service courtyard,’ Liz said with a sigh. ‘All right, it was a he. We…we were an item once, but it didn’t work out and I just—I just didn’t want to have to—to face him,’ she said rather jaggedly.