Hired for the Boss s Bed

by Robyn Grady

  A shiver raced over her skin.

  More tingles? Had he moved closer? Suddenly those broad shoulders seemed even bigger.

  She backed up, hit the desk and the bump set her off again. ‘Everyone needs a release valve to ease the pressure. A hobby, like painting or yoga. I used to collect stamps.’ Question marks formed in his eyes. She waved off his surprise. ‘That’s another story. Point is, now I think about it, making planes isn’t that quirky.’ His chin pulled in at ‘quirky’. ‘Anyway, you probably have heaps of other diversions.’

  Uh, you can shut up now, Serena.

  But she always rambled when she was nervous, and he was making her more nervous than ever. Not saying a word. Just looking. And breathing. A little too deeply.

  Oh. That was her.

  His gaze turned curious as it dipped to skim her lips. ‘You know, there is one other thing I love to do to relax.’ A grin hooked his mouth and his eyes melded with hers again. ‘Don’t know that you’d call it a diversion.’

  The distance between them definitely narrowed that time. She might have imagined it before, but just now he had taken a step towards her. Make that two.

  ‘What—’ She swallowed. ‘What would you call it, then?’

  His gaze licked the hollow of her throat. ‘Well, it’s nothing like collecting stamps.’

  ‘Not stamps, huh?’ Parched tinder sparked and crackled at her core. She tried to shrug. ‘Cards? Tennis maybe?’

  Nude Twister?

  Which might be a whole lot closer. Was she imagining the answer glittering in his eyes? What was the bet his diversion started with S, and it wasn’t singing in the shower?

  As he crowded that bit more—heat, lots and lots of heat—her neck arched back and toes curled.

  His absorbed gaze probed hers. ‘Do you want to find out, Serena? Maybe do something you never dreamed of doing with me?’

  Holy Moses! Had she got this right? Was he asking if she wanted him to press in close? Have him wind his arms around her, drop his head and kiss her till that delicious ache low in her belly became unbearable and she forgot her own name?

  Sure, he was sexy; he didn’t need to try. Intelligent and charming, too. But did she want to take that irreversible step and maybe get naked with her boss? This wasn’t in her plans. Who knew he even fancied her?

  ‘Is that a no?’ His grin turned wicked. ‘Or yes?’

  Knees gone to water, she clutched the credenza’s edge at each side, dredged up a ‘Maybe?’ and felt both wanton and halfway okay with it.

  His warm breath stirred her hair as his gaze roamed her face. ‘I promise age won’t affect my performance. In fact, experience makes all the difference here.’

  Her drugged eyelids drifted shut, dragged open. Pulse rate soaring. Mind floating. Everything tingling. Was this really happening?

  She groaned over a weak smile. ‘Guess there’s only one way to find out.’

  He was almost upon her. ‘Precisely.’

  She melted as one powerful arm reached out, and…

  Kept going?

  He muttered an apology and leaned around her. Something—a panel?—slid open behind her. He rocked away and presented a handful of…

  She collapsed against the wood. ‘Are those darts?’ Heart in her throat, she spun around to the wall.

  ‘And a dartboard.’ He set about preening three sets of black and red feathers. ‘I had that board built into the wall first week I leased this building. You made me realize I should bring it out more often.’ He offered the darts. ‘Wanna play?’

  Geez, I really thought I did. But…

  Lava sizzling through her system cooled as the ground once again turned solid beneath her feet. Feeling foolish, and determined to keep it to herself, she shook her head. ‘Thanks, but I, um, think I should get back to my desk and clean my slate.’

  ‘Sounds like a sensible idea.’ He set the darts down next to the plane, then ran a hand through his hair. ‘I’ll be in contact later today.’

  When his palm hovered at the small of her back as he ushered her out, she stiffened rather than dissolved. Today the deficit between her largely celibate lifestyle and fantasy had played merry hell with her imagination. She shuddered to think of the scene had she puckered up when the last thing on David’s mind had been foreplay. No doubt she’d have been demoted, in his mind and this office, to ‘silly love-struck girl’ rather than ‘capable career-driven woman.’ She’d make certain she didn’t misunderstand him again.

  They paused as he hauled open the door. Back in employee mode, where she belonged, she ended their meeting in an appropriate manner.

  ‘Thank you for this opportunity, Mr Miles.’ She went to shake his hand, but thought better of the physical contact.

  ‘Call me David, remember?’

  A ribbon of fresh excitement drew a smile across her face. ‘I’m going to do such a fantastic job on this account, you’ll never want to let me go.’

  But, of course, Jezz McQade would be back on board soon enough. And what about those overseas plans? No forgetting her ultimate goal.

  ‘Never let you go?’ David’s jaw shifted. ‘Serena, I’m afraid you might be right.’

  Did Mona Lisa have a brother? A dozen different emotions might be read into his expression…confidence, anticipation, lust.

  Uh-oh. Time to go.

  When the door closed, she passed Tilda, David’s secretary, who wiggled friendly fingers, then pushed large round spectacles back up her nose. Serena returned the wave, humming. She’d discovered three, make that four, important things today.

  One. At last someone valued her enough to truly take her seriously. After years of her protective dad obsessing over her every decision, this was a monumental step.

  Two. She had zero interest in darts.

  Three. Like it or not, David Miles and his shoulders turned her on.

  Four. Now more than ever she couldn’t afford to be distracted, definitely not by a relationship. Still it was clear she needed some form of relief—something brief but satisfying. She wasn’t ‘adventurous’; never had been. But, at this point in her life, could she possibly consider a one-night stand?

  An absurd thought struck and the humming stopped.

  Could David?

  David crossed back to his desk and collected the paper plane, all the while thinking of Ms Stevens. Bright, amusing, sexy Ms Stevens.

  His chest tightened.

  Forget sexy. Forget what had happened just now when business talk had turned to flirting and, mind on his pants—and hers—he’d almost scooped that beautiful wide-eyed blonde into his arms. He needed to focus, and not on rogue urges, but his company’s survival, which meant keeping his largest, most influential client happy.

  He must win that top award for the Hits campaign or his reputation and a decade of gut-slogging work would be down the drain. He might as well shut up shop and move to Alaska. No way could he risk lowering his defences by fantasizing over an employee, doubly so after what Serena had let slip on signing her contract three months earlier.

  Hard creasing the plane’s folds, he moved towards a window view of his city, complete with her vibrant blue harbour dotted with multicoloured sails and churning ferries.

  Sydney might be his base, a source of his energy, but when she got her chance Serena aimed to be on the first airbus to fame and fortune. Not that ambition was a bad thing. He admired anyone’s desire to follow a dream. A big reason he found Serena so alluring was her drive. But she affected him in other ways, and therein lay the problem.

  Should Serena somehow end up in his arms—in his bed—she was right: it could prove very difficult to let her go. But he didn’t do love and, while it might disappoint naïve Serena to hear it, he no longer did sacrifice. Not as far as matters of the heart were concerned, anyway.

  He’d mixed work with pleasure once before and it had cost him everything, including his pride. Now nothing, particularly sexual attraction, interfered with his judgment. A modicum of distance a
nd two feet firmly planted on the ground always served him best.

  After soaking in the seamless blue sky—the clean sunshine glinting off the massive Opera House shells—David sank into his chair and nodded.

  As good as Ms Stevens looked and smelled and no doubt felt, she was not a candidate for his personal life. But with regard to today’s business crisis, she might well be the answer to his prayers. Serena’s ambition, that effervescent need to spread her wings and aim for the sky, was exactly the ingredient he needed…with one reservation.

  Given her enthusiasm, she might insist on reaching too high, beyond what was reasonable. Then, regrettably, he’d have no choice…

  He threw the plane at the window and turned back to his desk.

  He’d have to cut her from the account.

  CHAPTER TWO

  TWO whole days and nothing.

  Dressed in yellow baby-doll pyjamas, full glass in hand, Serena slammed the fridge door, straightened her towel turban, then scuffed her bunny feet slippers back over her kitchen floor. Before indulging in a lavender-scented bath, she’d drafted a dozen ideas for the Hits campaign. Next on the agenda? Pasting a new affirmation on her personal blog.

  Tough times don’t last, tough women do.

  Yesterday, David had said he’d contact her later regarding the promotion. Only he hadn’t. Nor had he today, other than to cast a nod in her direction as they’d passed in the corridor at five-thirty this afternoon.

  ‘Go home, Serena,’ he’d told her, not unkindly, yet not super positive, either. ‘No need for you to hang back.’ Then he’d gone into snooty though, it must be said, attractive Rachel Bragg’s office and shut the door.

  Doubts pecking at her brain, Serena sipped her Chardonnay, sweetened by red soda, and descended into the cushions of her calico-covered couch.

  Had the promotion been a fantasy? When did the fireworks begin? And she didn’t mean the kind that had exploded with such sizzling effect when her imagination had run riot in Mr Miles’—er, David’s office yesterday. When she’d been struck dumb enough to believe that her boss had designs on her. That he’d wanted to let go, and not paper planes.

  Let go with her.

  But he was so mature and worldly and polished and rich, and she was…

  Serena sighed and sipped again.

  Her father would have a field-day shaking his head over that one.

  But she wouldn’t sit back and stew over the promotion question for ever. She’d confront David about it first thing tomorrow.

  Definitely by noon.

  Her cell, parked next to her PC on the coffee-table, sang out and she picked up.

  ‘Serena—’ the masculine voice on the end of the line sounded uncommonly clear ‘—what are you doing for the rest of the evening?’

  Her heartbeat stalled then slammed into overdrive.

  David!

  Now?

  The black-cat-with-ticking-eyes clock above the kitchen sink said 7:00 p.m. But she had told him ‘day or night’, and after her horrible tryst with self-doubt, dear Lord, she meant it more than ever.

  ‘What am I doing this evening?’ She put her glass down next to an empty chocolate wrap. ‘Nothing special. Why?’

  ‘I’ll explain when I get there.’

  ‘Get where?’

  ‘Your apartment. I got the address from your personnel file. I’m pulling up outside now.’

  What?

  She shot to her bunny feet and fell over herself to find a second-storey view.

  Although the sun had set over Manly beach, tourists still snapped shots on the pine-lined boardwalk, while neighbourhood couples strolled with prams, and joggers wove through the pedestrian stream. Directly below, a late-model black Mercedes cruised into the kerb. Serena held her sinking stomach as David swung out the driver’s side, cell pinned to his ear.

  Peering up, he shielded his eyes from the streetlight radiating down through palm fronds bobbing in the Pacific Ocean breeze. ‘That you?’ He waved. ‘Number twenty-four, yes?’

  She couldn’t answer. Could barely think. This was how a poor kangaroo stuck in headlights must feel…fixed to the spot, crippled by fear.

  David swept around the back of his car. He was dressed all in black. She was dressed in…kiddies-ville lingerie.

  ‘Serena? You there?’

  Actually, no. She was flying into the bathroom, whipping the towel from her head, preparing for action. She’d been ‘stuck in headlights’, lacking the confidence to charge forward, too many times when she was younger. But she wasn’t Miss Least-Likely-to-Succeed anymore. She was a professional, ready to take on the world!

  Just as soon as she found her toothbrush.

  Shoulder vice-gripping the cell to her ear, she spotted the pink handle hiding behind a bottle of body spray, which would one day be Chanel No 5.

  ‘I’m here,’ she replied, smearing paste on the brush.

  ‘Sorry for the inconvenience.’

  She kicked off the slippers. ‘No inconvenience,’ she managed around a mouthful of mint. ‘See you in five.’

  Near her front door, his deep voice echoed out through the building’s security intercom. ‘Make that two. Can you let me in?’ She spat in the sink and dabbed her mouth dry. ‘Serena?’ Three beats of silence. ‘Hello? Is there a problem?’

  Out of the bathroom, she scooted by the intercom panel and punched a key. In her bedroom, she threw the cell onto the patchwork duvet, dived into her side drawer and yanked out the first set of underwear she could find…admittedly white cotton briefs were on top, but black silk was almost as handy.

  Pyjamas off, panties and bra on.

  The doorbell rang.

  ‘Outfit, outfit…’

  In her walk-in robe, pulse pounding in her ears, she shrugged into a mango-coloured wrap-dress with bell sleeves. Not exactly business diva standards, but, in a crisis, far easier to negotiate than a linen skirt suit. She swirled her almost-dry hair up into a twist. The doorbell rang again.

  Power walking, she fixed her neckline, then put on the brakes, sucked in a breath and swung open the door.

  There he stood, David Miles, incredibly up close and personal in a dark button-down that seemed to borrow from the shadow of his unshaven jaw. His gaze didn’t waver from hers, yet the shivery sensation feathering up her spine, the glint in those knowing eyes, suggested he’d somehow taken her in from top to toe…every hair, every curve, every whirlwind thought.

  Can he hear my heart thumping?

  Congratulating herself on the composed smile, Serena waved him in. ‘Come through.’

  He offered a white grin at the same time she caught his scent, fresh and clean and hotter than ever.

  ‘Not tonight.’ He finger-combed what she guessed was shower-damp hair. ‘We’ve got a lot to fit in.’

  The vision of him soaped up under a warm spray, possibly singing, vanished. A lot to fit in? ‘We do?’

  ‘Slip some shoes on and we’ll get going.’

  Ready to fly to Mars and back, she retraced her steps to the bedroom and whipped on some white ballet flats. Almost to the doorway again, she slapped her forehead and wheeled back around. When she found the pendant, it tinkled against its small crystal bowl.

  Jewellery wasn’t her thing. One watch and a few pairs of earrings pretty much summed up her collection. But this gold heart and chain were beyond special. Only weeks before passing away, her mother had had a piece of her own necklace remodelled into this heart for her sixteenth birthday. Since then it had reminded her, not only of her mother, but also of Marion Stevens’ belief in her only child, in Serena’s decisions and her future. In eight years she hadn’t forgotten it once, not even almost.

  Until tonight.

  After clasping the whisper-thin chain around her neck, she pressed the heart close to her own, then grabbed her carryall on her way past the hallstand and joined David in the outside corridor.

  ‘This could be a late one.’ His tucked-in chin and tone made it a question: Still t
ime to change your mind?

  As if.

  Bursting to begin, she shut the locked door behind her. ‘No sacrifice too big, remember?’

  A muscle flinched in his cheek. ‘Yeah. I remember.’ He set off towards the lift, his stride longer than usual.

  Belted up in the luxurious grey leather interior of his car a few moments later, Serena stole a look at David’s profile as he flicked a glance at the rear-view mirror and pulled away. Then it dawned.

  Opening her apartment door tonight, she’d been overwhelmed by the feeling that he’d somehow taken in every inch of her. They’d been standing close and his eyes had remained only on hers, yet he’d asked her to put on shoes before they left. It wasn’t important. Still…

  How had he known her feet were bare?

  Bright red polish.

  On autopilot, David stopped the car at a set of traffic lights and inwardly groaned.

  First he’d been struck by those glistening ocean-green eyes, next, that healthy complexion, then her toes, for Pete’s sake, wiggling away in his lower peripheral vision.

  He tilted his head and blinked into space.

  Could toes be classed as kissable? He’d never thought so before. What was the likelihood of developing a foot fetish this late in life? More importantly, what could be done about it? Cures, solutions, existed for every problem. Even attractive, increasingly tempting ones.

  In the passenger seat beside him, Serena shifted and crossed long silky-smooth legs. Thank God she wasn’t wearing sandals; that sight was dangerous enough as it was.

  ‘Mind if I ask where we’re going?’ she asked.

  He took her in, so alert and unwittingly seductive, and his brain fogged up and nether regions squeezed tight. Just like yesterday in his office when a harmless tease had got out of hand. For one heated moment he’d thought she might have gleaned his less-than-innocent meaning. But when he came to his senses and remembered the dartboard, he was sure she had dismissed any improper ideas.

  No harm, no foul.

  Accelerating now the lights were green, he exercised his neck and tried to focus.

  Distance…a modicum of distance…