Make Love Not War Read online

  MAKE LOVE NOT WAR

  By

  Margaret Tanner

  ISBN: 978-1-927476-74-1

  PUBLISHED BY:

  Books We Love Ltd.

  (Electronic Book Publishers)

  Chestermere, Alberta T1X1C2

  http://bookswelove.net

  Copyright 2012 by Margaret Tanner

  Cover Art Copyright 2012 by Michelle Lee

  Make Love Not War was previously published as Cardinal Sin

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication can be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  Chapter One

  Make Love Not War

  Bryce Harrington cursed as an anti-war protester shoved a placard through his car window. Unwashed bloody hippies, disrupting a man going about his lawful business. This was Australia in1966, for God’s sake. The government ought to lock up the lot of them.

  “No conscripts for Vietnam,” a young woman yelled.

  Bryce was tempted to slam his foot on the accelerator and scatter them all in his wake. He was going to be late, and he didn’t like tardiness. It showed a lack of discipline. Arriving at work, he parked the car and climbed out. “Hell!” Some moronic protester had scratched the car door.

  In the executive office, another shock awaited; a note from his secretary.

  I’m sorry. Joan had written in her neat hand. Have gone home. Felt a migraine coming on.

  He slammed the door and marched down the corridor to see Miss Bumpstead, head of the typing pool. What a shocker of a morning it had been. A bloody nightmare in fact.

  First, the stray puppy he had been feeding for more than a month had been run over by some creep who didn’t even have the decency to stop and check on the little mutt’s welfare, just left him lying on the road like a piece of garbage. The puppy was so severely injured he had to take the poor little thing to the vet to be put down.

  Then he gets caught up in an anti-war demonstration. And now, to top it off, his secretary goes home and leaves him at the mercy of some giggling little girlie from the typing pool.

  “Good morning, Miss Bumpstead.” Mustering all the will-power he possessed, he managed to keep the anger out of his voice. No point in getting the old dear offside. “My secretary’s gone home sick and I’ve several urgent letters to dictate, so I’ll need to borrow one of your girls.”

  “Certainly.” She jumped to attention like a soldier on parade. “Right away, Mr. Harrington.”

  “Thank you.” He forced a smile, hoping it didn’t look like a snarl. She had been employed by the company for years and deserved respect. He had always followed his father’s dictum: “Treat your elders with consideration, they’ve earned it.”

  ***

  Caroline watched Bryce Harrington as he spoke to Miss Bumpstead. He always looked impressive, tungsten tough. Not pretty-boy handsome, but he had a strong, character-filled, no-nonsense face. His full, sensual mouth looked extremely kissable. What would it feel like being held in those strong arms? Having his hot lips pressed against hers? Butterflies fluttered around in the pit of her stomach. His gray eyes held the slightly jaded world-weariness of a man who worked and played hard. Not an ounce of excess fat could be seen on his tall, lean frame.

  “Miss Dennison.”

  Caroline jumped when Miss Bumpstead spoke to her. “You have fast shorthand.”

  “Y…Yes.” Embarrassed heat crept into her cheeks. If this woman could read minds, Caroline Dennison was a dead duck. Thank goodness Miss Bumpstead had focused most of her attention on Bryce Harrington.

  “I’m sure Miss Dennison will be glad to act as your secretary. She’s only been here for a few months, but she’s a conscientious worker.”

  “Thank you. Come along, Miss Dennison. I don’t mean to rush you, but these letters are urgent.”

  Caroline stood, managing not to knock her chair over. The nerves in her stomach knotted, and her throat dried up. She had dreamed about this moment since joining Harrington and Son, Building Consultants three months ago as a junior typist. Get a grip on yourself, girl. You’ve wanted to be near him. This is your big chance. Don’t ruin it.

  Close up, Bryce looked even more imposing. He radiated an aura of success and power that only supreme self-confidence and enormous wealth could give.

  “I haven’t taken shorthand for a while. My speeds might have dropped.” Why did she always feel so inadequate?

  His eyes narrowed and he swiped at a dark swathe of hair that flopped on to his forehead. He had the type of brown, almost black hair that would have looked unruly if it wasn’t so superbly cut. How many times had she dreamed of running her fingers through it? He didn’t appear to use much hair oil, either. Why did so many young men ruin their hair by slathering it with oils or creams?

  “I’m sure you’ll be fine. Caroline, isn’t it?”

  He favored her with a wide, white-toothed smile. What a gorgeous hunk of manhood.

  He strode off, giving her no option but to grab her bag and follow. She didn’t know where his office was, the executive office suite being a definite no-go area for lowly typists.

  At the typing pool doorway he stood to one side to allow her to pass through. Their bodies almost touched. She inhaled his spicy after-shave lotion and musky male scent. He stormed down the corridor with her scurrying behind him like a mouse chasing after a piece of cheese.

  They passed two closed doors. The third he shouldered open. Caroline’s heart raced as she entered the inner sanctum. A huge filing cabinet took up one wall and a late model electric typewriter reposed on a desk next to a small switchboard.

  “Right, this is your office, Caroline.” He gestured to a connecting door that stood half open. “I’m through here. Get your notebook. We need to start immediately, there’s a lot of work to get through.”

  “I haven’t got a notebook.”

  He gave an exasperated snort. “My secretary keeps hers in the desk, I suppose. Help yourself to anything you need.” He turned on his heel and strode into his office, closing the door with a loud click.

  Her hands shaking so much she broke a fingernail, Caroline opened the top drawer of the desk and rummaged until she found a shorthand notepad and several sharpened pencils. Was she violating the secretary’s privacy by going through her desk? Well, too bad, she needed the right tools to do the job. Grabbing a couple of pencils, she stepped across her office to the boss’ door. Hesitating for a moment, she took several deep breaths before gathering enough courage to give a tentative knock.

  He wrenched the door open. “For heaven’s sake, girl, don’t dither. We’ll be here all night, at this rate.”

  She followed him into his lair, nervously glancing around. A huge desk in the center of the room dominated the area. He threw himself into a brown leather chair positioned under a large window, while she hovered in front of him.

  “Sit down, I don’t bite.”

  His lips tightened as she sat opposite and opened her notepad, pencil poised, ready to start. He held a ruler in his hand and looked like he wanted to snap it in half.

  “All my letters commence and finish the same way,” he said, spacing his words as if he were talking to a five year old. “So you can take the body of the letter and fill in the rest later.”

  He started dictating, his voice clear, well-modulated. At first it proved an easy task taking down what he said, even though her fingers trembled. Don’t let nerves turn you into a gibbering idiot. Once he got into his rhythm, however, his tempo quickened, causing
her to get flustered.

  “I’m sorry Mr. Harrington, but I missed the last few words.”

  He frowned. “Read me back the last couple of lines.”

  “We are interested in opening up…”

  “Wrong, wrong.” He took a couple of deep breaths. “It should read: We are interested in taking up an option on the parcel of land near the golf course, provided we can get government planning approval. Got it?” He started dictating again, scarcely pausing for breath.

  Caroline’s pencil flew across the page. Her outlines were so hurried she would have trouble transcribing them later. Just when she felt as if her hand might drop off, he finished.

  “That’s it. How long will it take you to type them?” He glanced at his watch. “It’s two o’clock now.”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “I have to be out of here no later than five-thirty. I have a dinner engagement. Do the best you can. I’ll sign the ones you’ve finished before I go.”

  He gave one of his fabulous smiles. Surely that smile meant he was satisfied with her. She nearly melted into a puddle at his feet.

  “Leave any others in my inbox, and I’ll deal with them first thing in the morning. Oh, original and two carbon copies, please.”

  Caroline returned to the secretary’s office and searched through the drawers until she found paper with Harrington and Son printed across the top in black, raised lettering. Inserting the paper and two carbon copies as instructed, she commenced typing. What a dream this electric machine was to use, much better than the old manual blunderbusses provided in the typing pool.

  Disciplining herself, she typed carefully and steadily. This would be quicker in the end than rushing. All the letters were signed Bryce A. Harrington, Managing Director. What did the A stood for? Alexander most probably, because that was Harrington Senior’s name.

  After typing several letters, she allowed herself a breather. Sitting back in her chair and flexing her fingers she recalled the breathtaking smile Bryce had given her on her first day at work three months ago.

  On her second day at work, an elderly woman had fallen over in the street. Before she could rush over and assist, Bryce appeared from nowhere. He helped the old lady to her feet then bent down to gather up the contents of her handbag. Numerous items had been strewn all over the street, and as he picked them up, a passerby nearly trod on his hand.

  Unperturbed, he collected every item, even a lipstick that had rolled into the gutter, put them back in the bag and handed it to the lady. Accepting her thanks with a smile, he waved down a taxi, helped her into it and gave the driver a twenty-dollar note. All done with a minimum of fuss and an easy-going charm and Caroline was immediately smitten.

  Now, after seeing him intermittently in the elevator over the past few weeks, and being on the receiving end of his lethal smile, she was more than smitten. She had fallen in love with the ‘big boss,’ the omnipotent Bryce Harrington. The only son and heir of a millionaire society family, he was completely out of her league. Her brain told her this, but her poor, foolish heart refused to listen.

  She typed on resolutely until her head throbbed and her fingers kept slipping off the keyboard. If only she had time to get a nice, hot cup of tea. At exactly fifteen minutes past five, Bryce swept in.

  “Have you finished yet?”

  He had to be joking. No secretary on the planet could type that fast.

  “Those are.” She pointed to a neat pile of letters.

  “Thanks.” He picked them up and cast a cursory eye over them. “They look okay, but I won’t know until I check them more thoroughly. You’ll hear soon enough if they aren’t.” He gave a half smile, half grimace, and it emphasized a dimple in his chin. “I can be a hard taskmaster.”

  What an understatement. According to office gossip, he demanded perfection and would settle for nothing less.

  “Mr. Harrington?”

  “Yes?” He quirked an eyebrow.

  “I’m going to be here for another couple of hours, at least. What do I do about a meal?”

  “You can worry about that later.” His office door closed with a loud click.

  Caroline seethed as she continued typing. Surely he didn’t expect her to stay late without a break. At five-thirty he came out again and started towards the outer door.

  “Were the letters satisfactory?”

  “Yes, thanks.” His reply was crisp and sharp as a frosty morning. He looked agitated. Something must be irritating him.

  “The kitchen is across the passageway,” he continued. “You’re welcome to use it. Joan, my secretary, keeps a good supply of coffee and biscuits. Take some money out of petty cash and buy yourself a hamburger or something on the way home, if you have to stay too late. Make sure you catch a cab home. There should be a book of travel vouchers in Joan’s desk.” With a brief nod he left.

  After another hour of typing, the words started to blur, so Caroline took a break. In the small, well-appointed kitchen with the latest stainless steel appliances, she made herself a cup of tea, using a plain cup and saucer. She squashed down the almost overwhelming urge to use the VIP fine bone china, in case she dropped it. The secretary obviously organized refreshments when required.

  In the refrigerator she found a bottle of milk, some butter and several bottles of expensive wine. Jars of oysters, tiny savory onions, and assorted snacks graced the shelves, nothing but the best for any Harrington visitors.

  Helping herself to a couple of biscuits, she sat on a hard wooden chair and rested her arm against the sink. Biting into a biscuit, she chewed it thoughtfully. Caroline Dennison, Bryce Harrington’s private secretary. It did have a certain ring to it. After she washed her cup and put it away, she trudged back to work.

  At seven o’clock she pulled the last letter out of the typewriter. Finished, thank goodness! She put her hours of labor in the in-box, turned the typewriter off, and prepared to leave.

  A full-length mirror hung on the back of the door, but she didn’t bother going over to it, just took out her powder compact to apply fresh lipstick. She looked so ordinary. Nondescript, her mother had always said. Had she been glamorous, maybe Bryce Harrington would have given her more than a cursory, disinterested glance.

  She didn’t ring for a cab as it was only a short bus ride home to the small apartment she shared with her girlfriend, Kerry. As she sat on the bus she glanced at a paper being read by the businessman sitting opposite. Her heart lurched and ice-cold fear almost froze the blood in her veins. The devastating headlines read: ‘Heavy casualties in Vietnam. Eighteen Australian soldiers from Delta Company, 6th Royal Australian Regiment, killed in the battle for Long Tan.’

  Her hands trembled and she sat on them so the other passengers wouldn’t notice. Like a ton weight, fear pressed down on her lungs, squeezing the air out of them until she gasped for breath. Her brother Andy was nearly finished at the army officer training school. Would he be sent to Vietnam to fight? War had killed her father and turned her mother into a bitter woman. She didn’t want it claiming her brother, too.

  ***

  The moment Caroline set foot in the typing pool the next morning Miss Bumpstead marched up to her. Rumor had it she used to be a sergeant major in the army. She certainly acted the part, the hard-faced old battleaxe.

  “Oh, there you are.” Her tone said about time, too, even though Caroline had arrived ten minutes early. “You’re required in Mr. Harrington’s office immediately. His secretary is still indisposed, so he wants you to take her place.” She sniffed her disapproval.

  “Me?” Caroline squeaked.

  “Yes. See you don’t let me down. Your behavior will reflect on me, too. I have a reputation to maintain.”

  “Poor you,” Judith, one of the other typists, commiserated with Caroline.

  “Now listen here, my girl,” Miss Bumpstead reprimanded, glaring at Judith’s enormous beehive hair do. “Typists do not make disparaging remarks about Mr. Harrington.”

  “I’d better be
off.” Caroline was desperate to escape one of Miss Bumpstead’s sanctimonious lectures. The old battleaxe hated some of the modern hairstyles. She had lectured them for nearly an hour one day about the folly of back-combing your hair and using too much hairspray. As if it was any of her business. Giving Judith a grin, she scurried out of the typing pool. Hopefully for good, although she didn’t wish Joan any ill-will.

  In her office, her office, she gave a gleeful skip. This was definitely a promotion, even if it did prove to be only temporary.

  As she switched on the typewriter and set out her notepad and pencils, she debated whether the correct procedure would be to go in and greet her boss, perhaps offer him coffee? It would be rude if she didn’t. On the other hand…

  The ringing of the internal phone interrupted her deliberations. “Caroline speaking.”

  “Good morning. Would you make a pot of coffee and bring it in to me. Two cups, please.”

  “Yes, Mr. Harrington, of course.”

  Two cups? He wasn’t alone. She hurried into the kitchen and set up a tray with a coffeepot, milk, sugar, and a plate of chocolate biscuits.

  When the coffee was ready, she tapped on his door and walked in. Oh, God, if only she hadn’t. He held a gorgeous redhead in his arms.

  “Bryce, darling.”

  The husky female voice was silenced by his enticing, sexy mouth. Jealousy corroded the lining of Caroline’s stomach, paring it away, and she almost doubled over with the pain.

  She cleared her throat. “Mr. Harrington? Y…Your coffee.”

  He dragged his mouth free, but held the woman close with a hand on her neat little backside.

  “Don’t you believe in knocking?” His gunmetal gray eyes impaled Caroline, and like a mesmerized rabbit she couldn’t look away.

  “I did knock, but I guess you…” She nearly said, were too pre-occupied. “Um, didn’t hear me.”

  “Put it over there.” He waved a tanned, well-manicured hand towards the antique mahogany desk. “Thanks. Don’t stand there dithering, I’ve left plenty of work on your desk.”