SLEEPING WITH THE BOSS

by Maureen Child

  "Well," he said finally, "our one-night bargain is shot."

  "Pretty much," she agreed.

  "Do we make a new one-night agreement?"

  "That would technically be a two-night bargain."

  "Fine. Two nights. Whatever."

  She turned her head to look at him. "Whoa. Lack of sleep making somebody cranky?"

  "No." He met her gaze. "It's not sleep I'm craving."

  Eileen's stomach flip-flopped, then did a slow whirl. "Me neither, big boy," she admitted, then added, "but before this turns into the Lost Weekend, we'd better have some ground rules."

  He rolled onto his side and propped his head on his hand. "Rules are good."

  Eileen chuckled. Now there was a statement on his personality. "Figured you'd say that."

  She too went onto her side and lay facing him. Flames danced in the hearth behind him, sending ripples of light around the room and gilding the ends of his hair until he looked almost as if he were wearing a halo.

  Rick Hawkins? A halo?

  Okay, rules were definitely in order!

  Idly he reached out one hand to stroke her breast. Eileen hissed in a breath and let it out again. "First," she said, a little more loudly than she'd planned, "no strings."

  "Agreed," he said, his now-narrowed gaze focused on hers. "I'm not looking for anything permanent."

  "Ditto." She caught a flicker of surprise in his eyes and addressed it. "What? You think every woman you meet is trying to lure you into a bear trap?"

  One dark eyebrow lifted, managing to convey a world of comments.

  "You can relax on that score, Mr. Wonderful," she assured him. "You're completely safe."

  "No strings means what, exactly?" he prompted, ignoring her last statement.

  "I guess it means we enjoy what we have while we have it," Eileen said, and gulped when his talented fingers tweaked her nipple. Closing her eyes briefly, she opened them again and stared directly into his. "When one of us has had enough, it's over. Deal?"

  "Deal."

  "Shouldn't we shake hands on it?"

  A corner of his mouth tipped up. "Oh, we can do better than that."

  * * *

  The rest of the weekend was a blur.

  A good blur, but a blur.

  On Sunday afternoon, Eileen walked into her house, left her small, rolling suitcase in the foyer, then dropped onto the worn overstuffed sofa. Its soft down-filled cushions came up around her like a warm hug. Propping her feet up on the mission-style coffee table, she scraped both hands across her face and tried to figure out how she'd work a temporary affair into her world.

  God, she hadn't planned on this. Who would have guessed that Rick Hawkins would be the man who could light up her insides like a Christmas tree? And who would have thought that a two-week favor to her grandmother would turn into … she dropped her hands onto her lap. Turn into what? What exactly had happened? One red-hot weekend?

  Because if that's all it turned out to be, a part of her would be sorry. She didn't really want to get involved with anybody, but on the other hand, it had been a long time since she'd been with a man. A long time since she'd felt … close, to anyone. And damn it, she'd enjoyed it. Not just the sex, she thought, though she had to admit, Rick had a real gift in that area, but it was more than that. It was laughing with him. Talking to him. It was midnight meals and napping in front of the fire. It was long walks on windswept hills and hearing him try to explain the securities market.

  It was a lot of things she hadn't expected.

  She hadn't felt anything remotely like this since just before she'd broken off her engagement to Robert Bates. Frowning, Eileen grabbed one of the green plaid throw pillows and hugged it to her chest. He'd been her college boyfriend. Pre-med when she met him, they'd made plans for the future. Eileen had planned their wedding, their marriage and even how many kids they'd have—three—two boys and a girl. And then at graduation, Robert had suggested they not get married right away. Instead, he wanted her to go to work. They could live together, he'd said, and she could support him while he finished med school. Then, if the time was right, they'd get married.

  Sighing, Eileen let her head fall back against the cushions. "But the time was never going to be right," she muttered, remembering the look of surprise on Robert's face when she came home early from work one night. Of course, the girl he was on top of was pretty surprised, too—but it was Robert's expression that had stayed with her. Not hurt, not defeated or even guilty. Just angry. Angry at her for not being at work, like the good little cash cow he'd expected her to be.

  She'd grabbed up as many of her clothes as she could and walked out, leaving Robert and his floozy right where she'd found them. That was the last time she'd trusted her heart to anybody. And she'd vowed then that she wouldn't do it again.

  "But this is different," she argued to the empty room. "It's not my heart involved here … just my hormones."

  Her own words echoed in the quiet and even she didn't quite believe them. But she would. All she had to do was keep reminding herself that this whole situation was temporary.

  "Yeah," she said, pushing up from the couch. "That'll work."

  * * *

  Chapter 7

  «^»

  "Your grandma called," Eileen said as she poked her head into Rick's office Monday morning.

  He looked up. "What line is she on?"

  "No, called," she repeated. "Past tense." Leaning against the doorjamb, she folded her arms over her chest and looked at him. "She said to tell you she didn't have time to talk. She booked a last-minute Fall Foliage train trip and she still had to shop for clothes."

  Rick smiled to himself. His grandmother would never change. She treated life like an adventure. She never bothered to plan something out. She thought there was no fun in anything if it wasn't spontaneous. Hence, her trip to watch the space shuttle launch. And apparently, fall leaves. "When's she coming back?"

  Eileen laughed shortly. "She wasn't sure. But she did say she tried to get my gran to join her."

  "Is she?"

  "No." She straightened up and walked across his office to stand in front of his desk. "When Gran takes a trip, she likes to go to the auto club and stock up on maps months in advance. Half the fun, she says, is planning her route."

  "Your grandmother plans, and mine's a free spirit," he murmured, leaning back in his chair to study her. "Ever think we were switched at birth?"

  "Possibility. I used to plan things. I gave it up."

  "How'd you sleep?" he asked, his voice dropping a notch or two, until the sound of it scraped along her spine and sent a shiver of expectation rattling through her.

  "Fine. You?"

  "Great."

  "Good."

  "Good," he said, his gaze locked on hers and burning with unspoken words. "I missed—"

  She held her breath.

  "—breakfast in bed," he finished.

  "Me too."

  "With you, I mean," Rick said, standing up and moving around the edge of his desk. "I missed a lot of things. Missed hearing you breathing in the dark."

  "Rick…"

  "I missed reaching for you and finding you there, hot and ready."

  "Yeah well," Eileen admitted after inhaling sharply, "I kind of missed being reached for."

  "So what're we gonna do?"

  "I guess we're gonna keep this going for a while, huh?"

  "Is that what you want?" he asked.

  "Depends. Is it what you want?"

  He took her hand and yanked her close enough that she could feel his hard strength pressing into her abdomen. "You tell me."

  "Okeydoke, then." Her body burst into flames. She knew because her mouth was suddenly dry. "After work. My place?"

  "After work," he repeated, and reluctantly released her. "But for now," he said as he walked back to his desk chair, "I need to see the Baker files."

  "You bet," she said, and turned around, headed back to the outer office. She felt him watching her with
every step.

  Two hours later, Rick was closeted with a client and Eileen's phone was ringing.

  "Hawkins Financial."

  "Hello, honey!"

  Eileen smiled into the phone. "Hi, Gran."

  "How's it going?"

  She opened her mouth, then closed it again, pausing to think. Hmm. How to describe what was going on around here. "It's going … fine." Safe, boring and as far from the truth as she could get. But what else was she going to tell her grandma? That Rick was the best sex she'd ever had?

  Good God.

  Right after recovering from her heart attack, Gran would drag Eileen to St. Steven's and stretch her out prostrate on the altar. Nope. Sometimes a comfortable lie was better than the truth.

  "Good. I knew everything would work out as soon as you were able to let go of the whole 'Rick was mean to me' issue from your childhood."

  "Issue?" Eileen pulled the phone from her ear and stared at it for a moment through thoughtful, narrowed eyes. Then she snapped it back and asked, "Have you been watching that talk show again?"

  "Dr. Mike is a very smart man," Gran said.

  "Oh," she said dryly, "I'll bet." Gran's favorite TV psychologist had an answer for everything from hair loss to potty training and wasn't the least bit shy about sharing them. And women like her grandmother ate it up.

  "He's simply trying to help people face and confront their fears." A long pause. "You might think about watching him sometime, dear."

  Eileen sighed and pulled her hands back from the keyboard. Giving the closed door to Rick's office a quick look, she said, "I don't have any fears to confront, Gran. But thanks for thinking of me."

  "Commitment-phobic people always claim that."

  "What?" Her eyes bugged out and Eileen slapped one hand over them to prevent another contact lens search.

  "Dr. Mike says that people who are afraid to get hurt should just jump in and take the risk anyway. It's healthy."

  "Dr. Mike can kiss my—"

  "Eileen Ryan!"

  "Gran." Instantly apologetic, Eileen remembered where she was and lowered her voice. "I'm sorry. But seriously, stop trying to cure me by watching television. And, I don't need a cure. There's nothing wrong with me, anyway."

  "Nothing a husband and kids wouldn't fix," her grandmother argued.

  Eileen's chin hit her chest. Gran had been singing the same song for years. "Not everyone is going to live happily ever after, you know? Not everyone wants to."

  "Yes, but you do. I know you're lonely, Eileen. Do you think I don't notice how you watch Bridie and her family? Do you think I don't see that sheen of tears in your eyes when you hold the baby?"

  Eileen huffed out a sigh. Fine. So she felt a little sorry for herself sometimes. Who didn't? Did that make her a potential customer for Dr. Mike? No, she didn't think so. What it made her was human. Sure she envied Bridie's happiness a little. But Eileen was happy, too. Her life was just the way she wanted it.

  And the phrase, methinks you protest too much, floated through her mind before she had a chance to cut it off at the pass.

  "Look, Gran," she said quickly, "I've gotta go. Rick needs something." A small lie, she plea-bargained with the gods as they no doubt made a little black mark on her soul. Lying to sweet old ladies didn't go down real well in the world of Karma.

  "Fine, fine, I don't want to keep you," Gran said in the tone that clearly said she wasn't ready to hang up yet.

  "I'll call you later."

  "Come for dinner."

  "I—can't," she said, remembering that she'd be busy after work. "But I'll call. Promise."

  "All right, but I really think you should—"

  "Gotta go, Gran. Seriously." Eileen bent over her desk, still talking while she lowered the receiver toward its base. "Honest. Gotta go." Her grandmother was still talking. "Bye."

  Then she hung up, knowing that she'd be paying for that one later.

  Sitting back in her chair, Eileen thought about everything Gran had said. Lonely? Sure, she was lonely sometimes. Wasn't everyone? But on the whole, she liked her life. It was good. Full. And just the way she wanted it. She liked an empty house. The silence. The time to herself.

  So why then was she so glad that Rick would be coming over to the house after work?

  * * *

  The small beach house was just the way he imagined Eileen's place would look. Craftsman style, the front of the house was all wood and aged stone. It had to be at least sixty years old, with charm in the hand-carved porch railings and the stone balustrades.

  He parked his luxury sedan at the curb and paused beside his car to take a good look at her place. Just a few blocks inland from the beach, the house was surrounded by greenery and fall flowers. Painted a bright sunshine-yellow with forest-green trim, the cottage looked warm and inviting. White wicker furniture on the porch invited a visit and the porch light gleamed with a soft pink glow. Naturally Eileen wouldn't have just a plain old white bulb in there. She'd go for color.

  Reaching into the car, he pulled out the bottle of iced chardonnay he'd brought along, then started up the rosebush-lined walk. He caught himself wondering what colors those now bare roses might be in the summer. But as soon as the thought entered his mind, he dismissed it. He wouldn't be around long enough to find out anyway.

  Rick smiled to himself as he climbed the five front steps. The cement had been painted. Somehow, Eileen had laid out a pattern and then painted the porch and steps to look like a faded, flowered Oriental rug. It looked great, but he couldn't help wondering how she'd ever thought of it. Who the hell painted rugs on cement?

  The front door opened.

  Eileen stood in the open doorway. Her hair was loose, falling around her shoulders in soft red-gold waves. She wore a short white tank top with slender straps and a pair of faded denim shorts. Her feet were bare and her legs looked impossibly long. His mouth watered and he forgot all about the faux rug on the porch. Forgot about the new client he'd picked up over lunch. Forgot about the wine in his hands. All he could focus on was her.

  And heaven help him, what she did to him.

  "Hi."

  She smiled and his breath left him. Her eyes lit up and her features brightened and his blood pumped a little faster. "Hi back," he said.

  "That for me?" She indicated the wine.

  "Yeah."

  "Want some now?" she asked, stepping back to let him in.

  "Not thirsty," he said, entering the house, then closing the door behind him.

  "Me, neither," she said, taking the wine from him long enough to drop it onto the nearby couch.

  "Good," he muttered, and grabbed her, pulling her close, wrapping his arms around her and holding on as if his grip on her meant his life. And maybe, just for the moment, it did.

  She went up on her toes and met his kiss coming in. Her lips parted, her breath left her, rushing to him, and his tongue swept into her mouth, instantly demanding, plundering, pushing her back to the brink she now knew so well.

  He tore his mouth from hers and laid down a path of hot, damp kisses along the column of her throat. She moaned softly, holding on to his shoulders and arching into him. His hands lifted the hem of her shirt and swept beneath the fabric to cup her breasts, his fingers teasing, tweaking, caressing.

  She hissed in a breath through clenched teeth and held it, as if afraid she wouldn't be able to draw another. Rick nibbled at her neck, tasted the frantic pulse beat at the base of her throat, and felt his own heartbeat kick into high gear and match the wild rhythm of hers.

  Lifting his head, he continued to palm her breasts, rubbing the tips of her nipples just to watch a glassy sheen dazzle her eyes. "Bedroom?"

  She licked her lips, blinked a couple of times, then tried to focus on his face. Lifting one hand, she pointed. "Thataway."

  "Let's go," he said, and bent low enough to plant one shoulder in her middle. Then he stood up, draping her across one shoulder.

  "Hey!" Both hands on his back, she pushed herself u
p. "What's with the caveman routine?"

  He gave her behind a friendly swat. "Quicker this way."

  "Okay then," she said, and let herself drop against his back while he crossed the room in a few long strides. "As long as there's a good reason."

  Rick moved through the living room without even looking at it. Right now, he wasn't interested in the decor. All he was interested in was Eileen. And finding that sweet satisfaction he'd only ever found with her. He needed her, damn it.

  He didn't want to.

  Hadn't planned to.

  But in the space of one long weekend, she'd become … important. His grip on her tightened in response to that thought, but he didn't linger on it. Didn't want to consider what ramifications might be lurking behind that one little word, important.

  He glanced through one open doorway. Green tiles, parrots in jungle shower curtain. Bathroom.

  "Turn left," she said, as he paused in the hallway.

  He did.

  "No, the other left," she corrected, pushing herself up again. "My left. This upside down and backward trying to give directions thing sucks."

  "You're a backseat driver, too, aren't you?"

  "Only trying to help."

  He walked into her bedroom, noted the queen-size bed covered with a pale blue-and-white quilt, and ignored everything else. A small bedside lamp was on, sending a pale yellow light spreading across the blanket. Bending down, he flipped her onto the mattress and she laughed when she landed and bounced a couple of times.

  "There's just nothing like a Neanderthal," she said, stretching like a cat on the bed.

  "Glad you approve."

  "Oh, yeah."

  Eileen watched him through eyes already hazy with a building passion that swamped her with sensation and expectation. He looked … different. He wore a black sweater over dark blue jeans and the casual clothes made him seem more—reachable, somehow. The suits that were such a part of him were almost like a well-cut wall he wore around him, keeping the world at bay. Tonight he'd apparently stopped by his own house to change before coming over. And as much as she appreciated the new him, she wanted him out of those clothes. Now.