Overtime in the Boss's Bed

by Nicola Marsh

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Is that hottie your boyfriend? Because if he isn’t, we’d all like dibs.’

  Yet another lousy distraction technique from this bunch of slackers who were only here because their exhausted parents needed to foist their monster teenagers on someone else for a few hours—and were willing to pay for the privilege.

  They were good; she’d give them that much. They tittered and grinned and cast longing looks over her shoulder, and with an exasperated sigh she finally turned, ready to yell if they were having her on.

  Her angry scream died in her throat, which was suddenly clogged with something far scarier: elation.

  Quickly replaced by anger and sadness and regret.

  How dared he show up here after what he’d done?

  To her?

  To them?

  ‘Excuse me, girls.’

  She stalked towards the door, oblivious to the twittering reaching ear-hurting decibels, determined to get rid of Callum before this day got any worse.

  ‘Hey, sorry for showing up like this but—’

  ‘I’m busy. Leave.’

  She swivelled on her heel, faced her audience of curious onlookers, who were now goggle-eyed as well as muttering.

  ‘No.’

  His hand shot out, grabbed her arm, leaving her no option but to stop.

  ‘Let go of me.’

  Her order came out a hiss, barely audible. She hated they were doing this here, now. ‘I’m working. Something you know all about.’

  ‘I’m not leaving.’

  Stubborn oaf.

  ‘Fine. You’ll have to join the class, then.’

  Her chin thrust forward, challenging. He’d back down. No question.

  As if the uptight, always-in-control Callum Cartwright would get down and jiggy with a bunch of schoolgirls.

  ‘It’s not ballroom, but what the hell?’

  Stunned, she watched him shrug out of his jacket, toss it on a nearby chair, whip off his tie and shove it into his trouser pocket, and roll up his sleeves. His grin screamed triumph.

  He thought he’d best her? She’d show him.

  Pointing at the group of girls, who were now giggling and whispering, she said, ‘You’ve missed the warm-up but go ahead—be my guest.’

  Now was the time he’d balk, make an excuse, head for the door and wait for her to finish up. Instead, he marched straight towards the girls, introduced himself amid a flurry of blushes and giggles and sighs, then turned to face her, shoulders squared, ready for anything she could dish out and more.

  He stood out among the girls, a gorgeous giant who knew his power over her, intent on wielding it. Tough. This little Lilliputian was through with being trampled on.

  Clapping her hands, she waited until silence fell. ‘Okay, girls—’ she sent Callum a pointed smirk ‘—and boys, let’s crank it up a little.’

  The girls cheered as she hit the switch on the ancient stereo and music pulsed out of the speakers, the beat strong and loud and mesmerising.

  Ignoring Callum completely, she allowed the music to infuse her, letting her body set the tempo as she let rip a string of moves that would challenge the best dancer.

  The girls loved it, and to Callum’s credit he did his best to keep up, that ‘I’m the king of the world’ grin firmly fixed in place.

  And, try as she might, she couldn’t help but watch him, her curious gaze drawn towards the way he moved, how in sync with the music his body was.

  Oh, yeah, he had the moves, all right—and not just on the dance floor.

  Her body zinged with the heat of remembrance, a heat that spread through every inch of her until her muscles cramped with it.

  Dragging her gaze away from the sensuous swing of his hips, she focussed on the girls, on the steps, mixing it up a little when the music changed, setting them challenges.

  As an avoidance technique, it worked. Until the music stopped and she glanced at the clock over the door. It signalled the end of class.

  ‘Good effort, class. Let’s call it a night.’

  She waved at their applause, headed for her bag in the far corner of the studio, willing Callum to leave with the rest of them. Fat chance.

  When the last giggle and footfall had faded she risked a glance over her shoulder, only to find him waiting patiently by the door, jacket hooked on one finger, resting on his shoulder, leaning against the wall, oh-so-casual, oh-so-divine.

  Did he have to look so damn gorgeous when she needed to kick his cute butt out of here?

  ‘I’m not leaving ’til we talk.’

  His words carried across the room, and with a reluctant sigh she slung her bag over her shoulder and sauntered towards him.

  ‘I kinda got that impression from the way you stuck it out for the last fifteen minutes.’

  He fixed her with a determined stare—the kind of stare that meant business.

  ‘I’m not the type of guy to walk away. From anything.’

  Ignoring the traitorous beat of her heart, she shrugged. ‘And here I thought you already had.’

  ‘Wrong.’ Jerking a thumb over his shoulder, he said, ‘Is there somewhere private we can talk?’

  She didn’t want to do this—didn’t want to rehash their relationship, didn’t want to give him a chance to say anything that might undermine her wavering resistance, which had taken a serious hit just by seeing him again.

  ‘There’s nothing left to say, so just go—’

  ‘Please. It’s important.’

  His verbal request didn’t affect her half as much as the unspoken plea in his expressive eyes, and she sighed.

  ‘Come upstairs. I’ll give you five minutes, then I have to rehearse for tomorrow.’

  ‘Sounds reasonable.’

  He gestured for her to go first up the stairs.

  Like hell. And have him stare at her butt all the way up? No way.

  ‘Gentlemen first.’ His grin widened at her muttered, ‘And I use the term loosely,’ but he bounded up the stairs like an athlete, with her trudging reluctantly behind.

  The rickety old stairs weren’t wide enough for two, and when she reached the top she had to squeeze past him.

  A gentleman would have stepped back, given her plenty of room, but, as she’d just asserted, Callum was no gentleman.

  He stood there with that smug grin on his face, his eyes darkening as she wriggled past him, carefully trying to avoid body contact, failing miserably when her breasts brushed his arm, her hips collided with his.

  Gritting her teeth against the insane urge to linger, she swung her bag with particular force, somewhat mollified by his muttered curse as it connected with his elbow. She fiddled with the key and swung the door open.

  ‘Your five minutes starts now.’

  ‘Good. Let’s start with this.’

  She was wedged in the doorway, with the jamb pressed against her back, and he kissed her—hard.

  A furious, desperate, no-holds-barred kiss that bombarded her senses, seared through her body, exploding like a fireball and wiping out every logical argument as to why they shouldn’t be together like this always.

  When she finally came to her senses it was too late. He’d eased off, broken the kiss when it should have been her, giving him the upper hand yet again.

  ‘That’s not talking!’

  She shoved him away, slammed the door and stomped to the window, feeling as thick as the ugly bricks she looked out at.

  What was it about this guy that had her so befuddled with just one glance, one touch?

  ‘Yeah, but much more fun, don’t you think?’

  Fixing him with a withering stare, she tapped her watch.

  ‘Three minutes, thirty seconds. Start talking.’

  ‘Okay.’

  He draped his jacket over the back of a chair, held his hands out to her, palms up. As if she’d be stupid enough to believe he didn’t hide a host of tricks up those sleeves.

  ‘I’m sorry for overreacting on the island, for pushing you
away.’

  She wanted to believe him, she really did, but the memory of Sergio’s duplicity had shattered her trust. Gullible might have been her middle name once, but not any more.

  When she didn’t say anything, glancing at her watch instead, he continued.

  ‘I took my anger out on you when the person I was really angry at was myself, for losing concentration, losing perspective.’ He shook his head, regret twisting his mouth. ‘I blamed you for what happened with the deal and that was totally unfair.’

  ‘Too right. You were an idiot, throwing away what we had.’

  ‘You’re right. The worst kind of idiot.’

  She wanted to be angry at him. She wanted to fling her arms in the air, whirl around, stomp her feet. But this wasn’t the time for melodrama. It was the time for truth. He owed her that much at least.

  ‘So what was your meltdown really about? It couldn’t have just been the lost merger.’

  He stilled, his expression impassive, not a flicker of a muscle.

  ‘Right again. There’s more. And I know if we’re to have any kind of future you need to hear the truth. All of it.’

  Her heart leapt at his mention of a future, before her common sense slapped it back down.

  She wasn’t going to take crap from any guy ever again, remember? And right now Callum would have to get down on the floor and crawl on his belly for her to even consider taking him back.

  Nonchalant, she waved her hand. ‘Go on. I’m listening.’

  ‘I haven’t always been a workaholic. Before Archie died, I was the least likely guy to work in finance.’ His wry grin eased some of the tension in his face. ‘I had no idea what career I wanted. I was happy surfing, caving, playing hockey, doing any extreme sport I could.’

  Her mouth dropped open. His words were penetrating her ears but her mind was having a hard time computing.

  He chuckled at her expression. ‘I was a rebel. Didn’t give two hoots about anything but my next thrill. Archie was the responsible one.’

  ‘So when he died you took over out of guilt. You’ve already told me.’

  He shook his head, his expression open, sincere. ‘That’s not all of it. I rebelled because I would’ve done anything to get my parents—particularly my dad—to notice me. But it never worked.’

  She understood all too well about unhappy teenage years feeling unwanted and ignored by parents who didn’t give a fig about anyone but themselves.

  It was one of the reasons she’d chosen to dance—because it had irked her folks; probably because they hadn’t wanted her sharing their limelight on stage.

  Though the irony hadn’t been lost on her that she’d ultimately chosen a career close to theirs—had wanted to succeed on stage where they hadn’t.

  ‘Yeah, I stepped up out of guilt, but that’s not the only reason. I thought by giving my all to the job I could drive away the demons, could get my dad to see I wasn’t the loser he thought.’ He shrugged. ‘I wanted recognition, wanted him to acknowledge he still had a son left behind who’d do anything to make it up to him.’

  ‘Oh…’

  An overwhelming sadness filled her at what he’d given up, how hard he’d strived to gain his father’s approval.

  Didn’t he know? With some people, no matter what you did or said, it was never enough.

  She remembered bitterness mingling with grief at her own parents’ funeral, at the fact they’d never acknowledged what she’d done with her life, no matter how many star roles or positive reviews she’d received.

  ‘I understand.’

  ‘Do you?’

  He advanced on her, forcing her to back up until her butt hit the back of a sofa.

  He stopped just short of her personal space, invading it with his potent presence anyway.

  ‘My whole working life has revolved around making Cartwright a success. I don’t take vacations. I work day and night. I haven’t cared about anything other than giving my all.’

  He leaned towards her, a wall of palpable heat slamming into her, bombarding her, befuddling her senses.

  ‘Until now. Now I care about something else a hell of a lot more.’

  Her tongue darted out to moisten her lips as her throat constricted with the enormity of what he was saying.

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘You.’

  He cupped her cheek, stroked her bottom lip with his thumb, and she resisted the urge to fling herself into his arms and scream that all was forgiven.

  ‘You’re the most important thing in my life, Starr Merriday. I love you, every unpredictable, wild inch of you, and I want you in my life. Always.’

  Joy fizzed through her veins like expensive champagne as she studied his face, scrutinised every minute detail, from his guileless eyes to the genuine slant of his lips.

  He was telling the truth.

  Truth that fissured the defensive wall she’d built around her heart after he’d hurt her, allowing half of what she felt for this incredible man to spill out, fill her, urge her to give him another chance.

  ‘You swear I’m the most important to you? No bull?’

  His lips twitched as he placed his hand over his heart.

  ‘No bull—promise.’

  ‘You’re still CEO of Cartwright?’

  ‘Uh-huh, but my role is undergoing some radical changes.’ He held up his hand, ticked points off his fingers. ‘I’m not going to work twenty-four-seven any more, I’m taking regular vacations, and I’m the boss, doing things my way, not to appease my father.’

  ‘That’s good.’

  She tilted her head up, met his hopeful gaze.

  ‘So what about me? Where do I fit into all this?’

  His smile twinkled mischievously in his eyes.

  ‘Like I said, you come first. Work is a distant second.’

  She arched an eyebrow. ‘Really?’

  He chuckled. ‘Really. Mind you, I’ll always run things, boss people around, stay in control.’

  Tracing a fingertip down her cheek, he outlined her lips, smiled at her sharp intake of breath.

  ‘Except around you.’

  He bundled her into his arms, hugged her tight, but not before she’d glimpsed genuine happiness darkening his eyes to ebony.

  ‘I think that’s what scared me the most on the island, what contributed to my meltdown—the fact I always lose control around you. You’re my weakness.’

  With her arms locked around his waist, her face buried in his chest, she inhaled, let him wash through her senses, his familiarity soothing the aching, lost part of her soul that had mourned him this last week.

  Being in his arms, being near him, made her feel safe, and there was no place in the world she’d rather be.

  Safe…with him…

  ‘Oh!’

  Wrenching away, she grabbed his shirt, bunched it in her hands, shook him slightly.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Me. I’m so dense!’

  Amusement lit his face. ‘Stubborn, maybe. Dense, not so much.’

  Releasing him, she smoothed his shirt, patted his chest. ‘Just hear me out.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘I’ve spent my whole life wanting security.’

  ‘And that’s a bad thing because…?’

  ‘Just listen.’

  She whacked him gently on the chest before moving away, needing space and air and distance to clarify her thoughts and how she’d articulate them to make him understand.

  ‘You know about my parents, how we moved around. And I’ve already told you how you make me feel safe. But it’s more than that…’

  She whirled around, clicked her fingers. ‘That week on Hayman Island was the happiest I’ve ever felt. Want to know why?’

  ‘The sex?’

  She whacked him playfully on the arm. ‘The intimacy we shared. Though it was only a week, the way we talked, shared our innermost thoughts—’

  He raised a dubious eyebrow ‘—well, most of them,’ she continued. ‘It was a c
loseness I’ve never had with another person.’

  ‘Even your ex?’

  She snorted. ‘Living with someone, being in a relationship, doesn’t guarantee intimacy.’

  ‘I wouldn’t know—being the relationship virgin I am, and all.’

  His mock-bashful expression made her laugh with delight and she flung herself into his arms, wrapped her legs around his waist and held on for dear life.

  ‘That thing you mentioned earlier?’

  Trailing kisses along her neck, nuzzling behind her earlobe, he murmured, ‘What thing?’

  Her head fell back, and a loud moan was ripped from within as he nibbled the sensitive spot halfway between her jaw and collarbone.

  ‘About you loving me? Wanting me in your life? Always?’

  ‘Yeah, what about it?’

  Capturing his face in her hands, she eyeballed him. ‘Right back at you.’

  His triumphant, ecstatic grin took years off his face, melting away the tension that had become as much a part of him as his fancy suits.

  ‘You and me. Always,’ he murmured, a second before his lips touched hers, confirming what she’d unconsciously known.

  No matter how many standing ovations she received, no matter how many perfect pirouettes she performed, nothing could beat the rush of being loved by the right man.

  ISBN: 978-1-4268-5636-5

  OVERTIME IN THE BOSS’S BED

  First North American Publication 2010.

  Copyright © 2010 by Nicola Marsh.

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.