More Than a Fling?

by Joss Wood

  “I will consider doing the campaign—seriously consider it—if you sleep with me.”

  When Ross Bennett has the not-so-enjoyable pleasure of hearing those words come out of his mouth, he realises he must have left his pants in charge. Because the woman sitting opposite him may be seriously gorgeous, but this is serious business—not some sleazy backroom deal! Until Ally floors him by agreeing to his terms….

  Ally Jones may find Ross utterly irresistible, but that can wait: she has a thing or two to teach him first! Her first lesson? Everything comes to those who wait….

  SNEAK PEEK EXCERPT FROM

  MORE THAN A FLING?

  “I will consider doing the campaign—seriously consider it—if you sleep with me.”

  Ross almost looked around, in the vague hope that someone else had suddenly joined the conversation, because he could not believe that those words had come from his own mouth. What an idiot.

  Ally just stared, and he shifted in his chair. He wished she would say something and give him a hint of the amount of crap he’d just jumped into.

  He lifted his hands in a gesture of apology. “Sorry. That was…”

  “Rude? Inappropriate? Offensive?” Ally tapped her finger against the white tablecloth.

  “All of the above?”

  “Damn right.”

  She shrugged a slim shoulder and smiled. Smiled?

  “Okay, let’s go.”

  Whoa! Stop the bus! She was prepared to do this? Had he heard her correctly? No, he couldn’t have.

  “Seriously?”

  Dear Reader,

  I have a crazy life. I have a day job, I write and I run after my two very busy, sociable children. Like millions of women the world over I am a master juggler, and I like to think that, most days, I have a reasonable balance between working and writing and being an involved mom. But I have to admit that while I was writing More than A Fling? I frequently dropped the balls of my life, and as a result I felt stressed and on edge.

  And that’s why I found the character of Ally so easy to write. It’s easy to lose your balance and to become superinvolved in your career (or children or both) and forget to feed your soul. Showing Ally the error of her workaholic ways was fun, and as I got her life on track, mine became easier, too.

  Ross is the exact opposite of Ally, and it’s through him that she realises that her job isn’t everything and that love and fun is far more important. Love and fun is always more important.

  Wishing you happy reading!

  With my best wishes,

  Joss

  xxx

  Come and say hi via:

  Facebook: Joss Wood Author

  Twitter: @josswoodbooks

  www.JossWoodBooks.com

  MORE THAN

  A FLING?

  Joss Wood

  About Joss Wood

  Joss Wood wrote her first book at the age of eight and has never really stopped. Her passion for putting letters on a blank screen is matched only by her love of books and traveling—especially to the wild places of southern Africa—and possibly by her hatred of ironing and making school lunches.

  Fueled by coffee, when she’s not writing or being a hands-on mom, Joss, with her background in business and marketing, works for a nonprofit organization to promote the local economic development and collective business interests of the area where she resides. Happily and chaotically surrounded by books, family and friends, she lives in Kwa-Zulu Natal, South Africa, with her husband, children and their many pets.

  Other Harlequin® KISS™ titles by Joss Wood:

  Flirting with the Forbidden

  The Last Guy She Should Call

  Too Much of a Good Thing

  If You Can’t Stand the Heat…

  This and other titles by Joss Wood are available in ebook format from www.Harlequin.com.

  This book is dedicated to two people who were taken from us far too soon.

  To Robbie Adam, the Third Earl of Thornham, who lost his life spear fishing off the coast of Madagascar…I swear we could hear your laughter whistling through the trees at Thornham yesterday.

  And to Jenny Heske—wild woman, sage, free spirit, soul sister—who passed away in October 2013 at the Norman Carr Cottage, Namakoma Bay, Malawi. Smart, funny, brave and so, so wise. Our kids adored you, as did Vaughan and I. You will always be our Lady of the Lake.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Excerpt

  ONE

  ‘Getting slow boss?’

  Ross Bennett slapped the ball from his opponent’s hands and dropped a three-pointer into the basket. He flashed a relieved smile.

  ‘Does that look slow?’ he demanded, hands on his hips.

  ‘Lucky,’ was the quick response and Ross snorted.

  It was, actually, since it was the only basket he’d landed in ten minutes. Either his geeks were getting better or he was getting old and slow; he chose to believe that they were getting better.

  Despite the fact that he was getting his ass handed to him on the makeshift basketball court abutting his building by two kids just into their twenties, Ross Bennett was having a good day. It would be better if his guys were actually doing some brainstorming on the post-apocalyptic world that was integral to the new game they were designing—rebuilding the world after the apocalypse while fighting pockets of evil zombies and ghouls was not easy!—instead of having so much fun running rings around him.

  ‘Hey, I don’t mind you playing, but you’ve got to do some work too,’ he stated as they regrouped. ‘If you’re not going to try and come up with ideas for our destroyed world then get your asses back to your desk.’

  He saw a couple of sheepish looks and heard one ‘Sorry boss...’ and hid his smile. These guys were some of his best recruits and weren’t sorry at all.

  Ross felt his mobile vibrate in the pocket of his combat shorts and pulled it out. Lifting it up to his ear, he mouthed zombies versus ghouls at his staff and gestured them to carry on playing while he took his call. ‘Bennett.’

  ‘Ross, darling.’

  Ross sighed at the dulcet tones of his mother. ‘Hi, Mum.’

  ‘Hi, baby.’

  Thirty-three years old and he would always be her baby. Mothers. ‘What’s up?’

  ‘I was wondering when you might be coming back home...back to London?’

  ‘Is there a problem. Is Dad okay?’ Since his father had had a heart attack a couple of months back it was a valid question.

  ‘No, he’s fine. Back to work.’

  Back to work: such an innocuous phrase, except when used in relation to Jonas Bennett. Ross felt the familiar burn of resentment and anger.

  ‘I was just hoping that you might come back for Hope’s thirtieth birthday.’

  His little sister was thirty? How had that happened? ‘I hadn’t really thought about it, Mum. What are you planning?’

  ‘A family dinner.’

  Since he was no longer part of the family her statement was wildly optimis
tic. Ross lifted his face to the spring sunlight and pushed his long, sun-streaked hair back from his face. ‘Mum, I’m happy to have dinner with you and Hope any time it suits you, but I’m not ready to break bread with Dad yet.’

  ‘Will you ever be? Will this stupid cold war ever end?’

  Her guess was as good as his. It wasn’t up to him. ‘I don’t know, Mum.’

  ‘I hate being in the middle of you two,’ Meg Bennett complained.

  Then stop putting yourself into the middle, where you’re going to get squashed like a bug, Ross silently told her.

  ‘Can’t you just apologise, Ross? You know how stubborn he is. Just apologise and he’ll forgive you. You’ll be part of the family again, he’ll reinstate your position at Bennett Inc., and give you your trust fund back...’

  I’d rather swallow poisonous tree frogs.

  Ross dragged his hand through his hair. His father, and clearly his mother, thought that his inheritance, his trust fund and his position as the heir apparently were all-important, but he didn’t give a rat’s ass about any of that. His independence was far more valuable to him any day of the week.

  He didn’t need his father’s money or approval...he just needed his freedom. He pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers. ‘Mum, I’m not discussing this anymore. I’ve got to go, so...’

  Ross listened to her goodbyes and rested his mobile against his forehead. Then he shoved the phone into the back pocket of his shorts and tossed Table Mountain a look.

  It glinted purple and green today, and was without the tablecloth cloud that was frequently draped over it. It was one hell of a view, he thought. He could look at Table Mountain from his office and the Atlantic Ocean seaboard from his house—two of the many reasons he loved Cape Town. Another reason was the fact that it was halfway down the world, so he didn’t have to deal with his mother’s nagging face to face. He liked Cape Town, liked the laid-back, artistic vibe, and he had no problem attracting young people to live here as it was consistently rated as one of the most beautiful cities in the world.

  What was more, when he’d been trying to establish RB Media the pounds he’d saved had gone a lot further in this city than they would have done in London, and that was what had initially attracted him here.

  Ross looked back towards his huge, multi-functional building and felt a flicker of pride.

  RBM was his—achieved through blood, sweat, swearing and—although he’d never openly admit it—a couple of angry tears. Despite the fact that his father had predicted his failure, he now owned one of the most respected games and animation development studios in the world, had the most successful game on the market—Win!—and employed some of the brightest, and craziest minds in the business.

  And housed on the top floor of the building was his baby: Crazy Collaborations. It funded projects—water purification, renewable energy, search and rescue detection systems—that could really make a difference in the world.

  Yeah, it was all good—even if he still had to endure his mother’s incessant nagging. It would be even better if his guys would stop nattering like old ladies about women—what else?—and do some work.

  His geeks were suddenly silent and Ross looked around to see what had grabbed their attention this time. Silently he whistled behind his teeth.

  Right, so that was why their tongues were dragging on the floor—and he couldn’t blame them.

  Light brown and gold streaky hair pulled back into a bun, sexy black nerd glasses, a knee-length black skirt that hugged surprisingly curvy hips and pulled the eyes down to the most stupendous pair of legs he’d ever seen. Those pins ended in a pair of red heels that seemed to be attached to her feet by magic. The buttons of a classic white open-neck button-down shirt hinted at the lacy bra beneath.

  She looked like the hot, sexy, nerdy librarian of his teenage fantasies, who pulled unsuspecting students behind the bookshelves to shove her tongue down their throats.

  He felt a flicker in his trousers and reluctantly admitted that maybe he hadn’t left that fantasy behind in his teens.

  Her body rocked, but it was her face that kept his feet glued to the floor.

  It was a knock-your-socks-off face—high cheekbones, made-for-sin mouth and a straight nose—a nose that was lifted high enough to give her altitude sickness.

  The noise of the traffic from the road behind them faded as she approached him on those barely there, utterly ridiculous, spiked scarlet heels. Her scent reached him first: a light, citrus, grassy scent that made him think of sunshine and light. Those eyes behind her glasses—real? Fake? Who cared?—were a deep, deep blue. Both guarded and, he thought, irritated. And on closer inspection a little shadowed and baggy... Hot Librarian looked as if she needed a couple of nights of getting a solid eight.

  ‘Ross Bennett?’

  He tipped his head in acknowledgement. ‘Who wants to know?’

  ‘Alyssa—Ally—Jones. You’re a hard man to get hold of, Mr Bennett.’

  Good grief, Mr Bennett? That catapulted him straight back to Bennett Inc. and yanked bile up into the back of his throat.

  ‘I’ve sent you no less than three e-mails and left countless requests on your mobile and answering machine for you to call me back. Don’t you have a personal assistant?’

  Ross frowned. ‘Where are you from?’

  ‘Bellechier.’

  Right—the clothing and accessories company. Swiss-based, very upmarket. He recalled the messages, the requests for a meeting to talk about branding and franchise opportunities. He wasn’t interested. Bigger and better brands had approached him and he’d refused them all, but he had to admit it was amusing to see exceptionally well-dressed corporate drones jump through hoops to impress him.

  Ross watched as her eyes slowly swept his body, taking in his red V-neck T-shirt, cargo shorts and battered trainers. Just to see her reaction, he dipped his hand into the pocket of his pants, pulled out the band he kept there and tied the top section of his hair off his face.

  Judging by the slight lift of her nose, Ms Prissy liked short, back and sides... She folded her arms across her chest and tipped her head like an inquisitive bird.

  Suddenly he felt like a piece of prime rib being judged for its freshness. If that interest was sexual he wouldn’t mind so much, but her intelligent eyes were all business.

  ‘Shorter hair would suit you better,’ she said after a long pause. ‘But long hair works with the bad-boy CEO vibe you have going. I’m glad you lost the goatee, though.’

  Ross wanted to look around to make sure that she was still talking about him. Bad-boy CEO? Seriously? Surely a bold geometric tattoo on his right forearm and long hair didn’t make him bad-ass these days? In the nineteen-fifties, maybe.

  As for the scruff she’d called a goatee—he hadn’t had one for over a year. And this conversation was starting to get weird...

  ‘Uh...’

  He caught the snort of one of his employees and without dropping his eyes from her face, he told them all to get back to their desks. When he could no longer hear their footsteps, Alyssa—Ally—pulled her bottom lip between her thumb and fingers. It made no sense that he wanted his lips where her fingers were, doing what her fingers were doing... What the hell?

  Was it five degrees hotter out here than it had been ten minutes ago?

  ‘You might just do...’ Ally murmured.

  Boy Wonder in his pants perked up and looked around. Who’s doing what to who? Ca
n I join in? Hell, he was an embarrassment to suave single guys the world over.

  He scrubbed his hands over his face. ‘Do you always talk in riddles?’

  She flashed a row of small, white, even teeth and two shallow dimples appeared, one on each side of her mouth. He’d always been a sucker for dimples...

  ‘Sorry... So, can we chat? Or can we make a time to chat if now doesn’t work for you?’

  Okay, persistent and gorgeous. Ack.

  ‘Look, I don’t mean to be rude...’ But he would be if he had to. ‘If I didn’t respond to your sixty e-mails and ten thousand phone calls, don’t you think that’s a solid clue that I’m not interested?’

  ‘I don’t hear “no” so well.’

  That, he thought, was a solid gold truth. Actually, he instinctively knew that she didn’t hear ‘no’ at all. And here he was—someone who never did anything he didn’t want to do and never, ever followed the herd.

  A saying popped into his head: irresistible force meets immovable object.

  ‘How did you get my personal mobile and e-mail address, by the way?’

  Slim shoulders lifted and fell. ‘I know people who know people,’ she said mysteriously.

  He wondered if he would ever get a straight answer out of her.

  Anyway, as fun as it was, trading barbs with this gorgeous, ultra-feminine woman—she was a girly girl from her perfect make-up and tousled hair to her dainty toes—he had things to do. ‘Got to get back to work. Enjoy your trip back to wherever you came from.’

  ‘Geneva—and you haven’t heard my proposal yet.’

  ‘Nor do I intend to. The Bellechier brand is old-school—slick and snobby. It’s everything that Win! is not.’

  She had the temerity to look insulted. ‘Excuse me?’

  All five and a half feet of her—in heels—vibrated with indignation.

  ‘Bellechier is one of the most iconic clothing and accessories brands in the world... I’m wearing Bellechier!’