Undressed by the Boss (Mills & Boon By Request)

by Marsh, Susan

  Shaking his head, he laughed. ‘Why do I get the feeling that working with you after this enlightening little chat is going to drive me insane?’

  Those entirely too kissable lips eased into a teasing smile as she leaned forward, creating a cleavage a Playboy bunny would be proud of.

  ‘Don’t worry. Whatever you’re feeling, rest assured it works both ways.’

  That was exactly what he was afraid of.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  BETH shoved the welding goggles up onto her head, shucked off her protective gloves and wiped a grimy hand over her forehead, cursing under her breath as she stared at her latest creation in disgust.

  The twisted pieces of iron resembled overcooked spaghetti rather than the spoked wheel she was aiming for and though most of her pieces were avant-garde this was taking it to extremes.

  She’d never had a problem concentrating before. Then again, she’d never had a guy like Aidan Voss interested in her before, let alone been confident enough to admit it.

  Guys liked to play games. They didn’t do honesty well and they sure didn’t verbalise how they were feeling, yet he’d been man enough to listen to what she had to say and confirm her suspicions. He fancied her. Hopefully, he fancied the pants off her.

  The mere thought set her hands trembling and her insides throbbing and she pushed away from her workbench, knowing she couldn’t mould a mud pie let alone metal, the way her hands shook.

  Something had shifted between them at Brunetti’s, something indefinable, and it had left her wary.

  She could party and flirt and laugh her way through any situation, particularly where a good-looking guy was involved, but, now Aidan had admitted he liked her, suddenly the underlying attraction between them wasn’t so light-hearted any more.

  Now she had to accompany him to a work function, which was all perfectly legitimate and above board, except for one teensy-weensy fact: she didn’t want it to be.

  She wanted to go on a date with him. She wanted to flirt and tease and encourage that gorgeous smile of his till they were so hot for each other they had no option but to explore this attraction—all the way.

  Work function …

  Groaning, she switched off the welder and stood, clasping her hands and stretching overhead, letting her head loll forward before rolling the kinks out of it.

  Giving Lana an abbreviated version of events was going to be stress-inducing enough without the normal muscle tension that accompanied her beloved metal sculpting.

  Casting one last look at the heap of junk she’d managed to construct in the hope of getting her mind off things—or one particularly sexy thing—she picked up her mobile and punched in number one on the auto-dial.

  Predictably, Lana answered on the second ring.

  ‘Hey, cuz. It’s me.’

  ‘Hi, Beth. How’s it going?’

  ‘Good.’

  She deliberately turned her back on her disastrous sculpture, an instant reminder of exactly how things were going: a twisted, jumbled mess. ‘How’s the ankle?’

  ‘Coming along, I guess, but not quickly enough for my liking. How are things at the museum?’

  She squeezed the bridge of her nose, hoping she could pull this off. If Lana got one whiff of the situation she’d got into, her cousin would ditch the crutches and hop all the way to Beth’s warehouse apartment to give her a swift kick in the butt with her good leg.

  Instilling her usual enthusiasm into her voice, she said, ‘Fine. I’m still taking tours and it looks like I’ll be expanding into some new areas of the museum too.’

  ‘Great. I can’t believe you’re actually buckling down. I thought being a tour guide would be the last thing you’d want to do.’

  ‘Hey, nothing to it.’

  If she didn’t count getting hot and bothered every time the boss glanced her way.

  ‘I’m even going to some museum function this weekend so I’m really wowing them.’

  ‘What sort of function?’

  Doing her best breezy impression, she plopped onto a nearby sofa and dangled her legs over the end.

  ‘Nothing major, just some silent auction fund-raiser. Apparently it’d be your job to accompany the CEO but you’re off your feet so I’m going instead.’

  She omitted the part where she wished the CEO would whisk her back to his place afterward and do some very unworklike things with her.

  ‘Uh-oh. You’re humming, which means you’re nervous, distracted or hyped up about something.’

  Beth quickly clamped her lips shut, unaware she’d been indulging in the habit of a lifetime.

  ‘Actually, cuz, none of the above. I just happen to dig that song.’

  Damn Aidan Voss for getting under her skin. And into her head. Looked as if he’d crept into her subconscious too.

  Lana laughed. ‘Thanks for standing in for me at the function. But remember, it’s still work so act professional, okay? I know how much you love a party and you can’t afford to fraternise too much, especially if you’re accompanying the boss.’

  She grimaced, imagining what Lana would think if she knew exactly how much she wanted to fraternise and with whom.

  Running a fingernail across the phone to imitate static, she said, ‘Sorry, the line’s breaking up. Gotta go. Look after that bung leg.’

  ‘Shall do. Have fun at the function, but not too much.’

  Beth chuckled, trying to ignore the instant image of Aidan that sprang to mind once she thought of having fun. ‘Okay. Bye.’

  Hitting the disconnect button, she threw the mobile on the coffee table and sprang up from the sofa.

  Maybe she was making too much of a big deal about this. Aidan was just another guy and this was just another function.

  Yeah, right.

  Sinking back onto her work stool, she yanked her goggles back into place, shoved her hands back into gloves and picked up the welder.

  Time to set off some real sparks in more ways than one.

  Aidan pulled up outside the derelict old warehouse in the heart of Brunswick and silently cursed the sat nav in his car.

  One look at the grubby grey walls, peeling red paint on the solitary door and the deserted street told him he must’ve punched the wrong address into the whiz-bang gizmo.

  So much for satellite navigation, he thought, reaching for the street directory and the piece of paper with Beth’s address. However, a brief glance at her bold, flowing script told him he hadn’t made a mistake and neither had his car’s equipment.

  This run-down, eerie warehouse was where she lived.

  Shaking his head, he stepped from the car and strode to the door, curiosity lending a spring to his step.

  From the minute he’d laid eyes on her he’d known Beth was something else and she’d continued to intrigue him with every passing day. And now this.

  With her flair for fashion and sassy attitude he’d pictured her living in some trendy city apartment, living the good life: parties, dancing, café culture. Instead, she chose to live in a dingy Brunswick street, in a place that wouldn’t look out of place in a vampire flick.

  Brunswick might be one of Melbourne’s cosmopolitan inner suburbs, but none of the gloss had reached this place yet. Hitting the intercom button, he waited. And waited. And waited.

  He was just about to reach for his mobile when the red door opened with a flourish and his mouth went dry.

  ‘Hey there, Professor. Ready to make tracks?’

  It had been worth the wait as he started at the top, admiring her loosely arranged blonde hair half piled on top of her head and allowing his gaze to slide slowly down, taking in the silver shimmery dress skimming her body like liquid metal poured on and ending delightful inches above her knees, the long expanse of bare, bronzed legs and another pair of ‘take me’ shoes.

  Make tracks? Was she kidding? With her in that get-up, a coy smile flirting around her mouth and a mischievous gleam in her eyes, he didn’t want to make tracks, he wanted to push his body up against hers, back h
er into the warehouse and have mind-blowing sex.

  Wild, passionate, unrestrained sex, the type of sex he’d been fantasising about ever since he’d caught his first glimpse of her long legs.

  ‘Nice shoes.’

  He wrenched his gaze up to meet hers, the faintest hint of peach beckoning him to close the short distance between them, take hold of her and capture her mouth with every ounce of barely restrained desire pounding through his body.

  ‘We aim to please.’

  With a husky laugh that resurrected fond memories of sultry heroines from the classic black and white movies he liked, she shut the door and slipped her hand around his elbow. ‘Now, let’s go wow these stuffy shirts at the fund-raiser.’

  Just like that, some of his good mood evaporated.

  Was that how she saw him? As some stuffy professorish type who didn’t know how to have fun?

  ‘Am I included in the stuffy-shirt brigade?’

  Her eyes glittered with amusement as she laid a hand on his shirt and it took every ounce of will-power not to capture it there and drag the rest of her into his arms.

  ‘You are definitely not stuffy-shirt material,’ she murmured, her palm smoothing an imaginary crease slowly, sensually, notching up the heat between them and making him grit his teeth with the frustration of not having her naked and panting. ‘You’re way too adventurous for that.’

  ‘Adventurous, huh?’

  ‘Oh, yeah.’

  Her tongue flicked out to moisten her bottom lip, almost undoing his weakening resolve as he reached up and rested a hand on her hip, savouring the feel of hot skin through the slinky fabric of her dress, wishing he could watch it slither down her gorgeous body.

  ‘You’re beautiful,’ he murmured, trapped in a sensual cocoon of her warm peach fragrance, the spark of desire in her eyes and the secrets in her smile.

  ‘And you’re putting some of that much touted charm to very good use.’

  Her hand slid downwards to rest on his hip as they stood there for God knew how long, touching each other, locked in each other’s stare, their bodies so close but not close enough.

  ‘So am I charming you?’

  ‘Oh, yeah,’ she breathed, her eyes conveying a message he was only too happy to read.

  ‘You know we have to go?’

  She nodded, tendrils of hair draping her shoulders in shimmering spun gold. ‘Maybe you can charm me some more later?’

  ‘It’s a promise,’ he said, reining in his urge to say, ‘To hell with later,’ and, taking hold of her hand, he led her to the car.

  The faster he did his duty at the fund-raiser, the faster he could get to ‘later’.

  Beth had never been the clingy type. When she arrived at an event or party she liked to make an entrance. However, the minute she’d stepped out of Aidan’s car in front of the elaborate entrance to The Langham hotel and he’d offered her his arm she’d been more than a little grateful for the support.

  This evening was going to be chock-full of surprises, starting with Aidan discovering what the lead item in the auction was. And if she hadn’t been nervous enough about that, seeing him dressed in a designer tux, compelling smile in place and touching her hand with ease as if he squired flirty females to fancy functions every day of the week would’ve set her nerves jumping anyway.

  She clutched his arm a tad tighter as they entered the foyer, her heels clicking on the highly polished marble as the reflected light from a stunning chandelier momentarily dazzled her. Only slightly more than the sexy man staring at her with a quizzical expression, that was.

  ‘You were humming under your breath.’

  ‘I always hum. Lifelong habit. My dad used to say there’s a song for every occasion. Guess he was right.’

  There was a slight pause and he steadied her as they stepped off the top of an escalator. ‘Used to?’

  ‘He died when I was eighteen.’

  Almost to the day. It was as if he’d waited till she could legally do everything for herself before pegging out. Pity he hadn’t done a thing for her emotionally while he’d still been alive.

  She expected a trite ‘I’m sorry.’ Instead, he said, ‘Do you miss him?’

  Good question. Shame she didn’t have the faintest clue how to answer.

  ‘I guess. My mum died when I was six and my dad went a bit crazy after that. He dragged me around from town to town, either trying to escape memories or create new ones. We were close for a while until I got sick of living like a gypsy and he didn’t want to hear my complaints. He dumped me with my cousin and her dad for six months of every year and I loved it, but then he’d breeze into Melbourne again and yank me away, hitting the road while all I wanted to do was stay put. He just never understood.’

  ‘Families, huh?’

  She saw the pity in his eyes even as he tried to make light of her admission and it annoyed her.

  She didn’t need his pity.

  She didn’t need anyone’s pity.

  She’d done a fine job taking care of herself all these years and apart from Lana she knew better than to depend on anyone, especially some guy who thought he could get around her with smouldering grey eyes and a sexy smile.

  ‘The way you said families, sounds like you have a tale of your own to tell,’ she said, determined to deflect his attention away from her morbid past.

  She noticed the slight tightening around the corners of his mouth, the tense jaw muscle near his ears, though his smile didn’t waver.

  ‘Not much to tell, I’m afraid. My folks are both historians. I travelled the world with them while I was young before dad took over as CEO of the museum. He ran it for twenty-five years before asking me to step in temporarily.’

  ‘Keeping it all in the family,’ she said, surprised by the flicker of bitterness in his eyes.

  ‘Something like that.’

  They’d reached the entrance to the ballroom where the auction was being held and a round of introductions to a group of people she had no hope of remembering stalled any further probing on her part.

  For that was exactly what she’d been about to do: delve into Aidan’s past. He had a story to tell, she could sense it. What better way to gain insight into the guy than by discovering his background? Besides, it was much more fun than dwelling on her family life—or lack of.

  ‘Want to check out what’s on offer?’

  ‘I already did.’

  Her gaze perused the length and breadth of him before sending him a coquettish look from beneath her lashes.

  He laughed, a low rumble of pure joy that sent a thrill through her. ‘See anything you fancy?’

  ‘Sure do,’ she murmured, mentally moving his butt to the top of her very own grope-able list. ‘Though I’m not sure if it’s in my price range?’

  The fine hairs on the nape of her neck stood to attention as he leaned closer, his breath fanning out against her cheek.

  ‘There’s only one way to find out. Why don’t you put in a bid? You never know, you might get lucky.’

  Everything faded away—the muted light from wall sconces dancing off sequinned designer dresses, the soft classical music filtering from a high-tech sound system, the drone of voices from a thousand-odd people—as his lips brushed her cheek in the lightest of touches, so light she could’ve imagined it. Or willed it, more likely.

  Caught in the heat of his stare, the spicy blackcurrant undertones of his aftershave invading her senses, she struggled not to close the short gap between them and do what she’d wanted to do since their first memorable kiss—a repeat performance.

  ‘Get lucky, huh? I’m counting on it.’

  Her words came out on a whisper as his fingertips slid up her arm, skimming her bare skin like the touch of the flimsiest butterfly wings taking flight.

  ‘If this evening wasn’t so damn important for the museum I’d say let’s blow this place.’

  Stifling a sigh of disappointment at his CEO conscientiousness, she tapped his cheek lightly. ‘Don’t worry. Th
e night is young.’

  He sent her a scorching look that set her body tingling all the way down to her metallic blue toenails poking from her Gary Castle silver spiked stilettos, but before he could say anything further a guy bearing a striking resemblance to Harrison Ford in Indiana Jones, complete with battered hat, bore down on them and practically dragged Aidan away.

  Grinning at his pained expression, she sent him a jaunty wave and headed for the front of the room where a roped-off area kept curious buyers away from the more expensive items.

  Professional pride filled her as she stared at her latest triumph, a mini version of the Sydney Opera House, her very own interpretation of the iconic landmark.

  ‘The least you could’ve done is rescue me. You’re supposed to be supporting me, remember?’

  Beth turned to Aidan, surprised he’d returned to her side so quickly.

  ‘I didn’t think you needed rescuing. After all, don’t you CEO types need to mingle and schmooze and generally suck up to people?’

  He frowned, as if her teasing hit too close to home.

  ‘You’re right. CEOs probably do have to do that sort of thing, which is why I’d rather spend the bulk of the evening with you.’

  A warm glow filled her. Apart from the steamy attraction between them, she genuinely liked him and what had looked at first glance like a novel way to secure her lease and help Lana out was fast turning into something far more important with a certain scary twang in the vicinity of her heart, the type of twang that said she could seriously dig this guy if she let go.

  Flustered by the uncharacteristic surge of emotion clogging her throat, she gestured towards her sculpture.

  ‘What do you think of this piece?’

  He screwed up his eyes, tilted his head first right, then left, before taking a step back and repeating the process. ‘Not my sort of thing. Too modern.’

  The tender emotion of a moment ago melted away as she absorbed the critical look on his face and came to a startling realisation.

  His opinion mattered to her.

  He’d hurt her.

  Which could only mean one thing: she could be falling for him.

  Madness, considering they wanted different things out of life: confirmed nomad versus wannabe homebody. A match made in heaven: not.