Overtime in the Boss's Bed

by Nicola Marsh

  Everything.

  He’d thrown the job offer out there as a challenge, though a small part of him had hoped she’d take him up on it. He needed a fill-in PA desperately. The only temp agency he trusted had no one available for eight weeks and he was seriously floundering.

  Even a beautiful dancer, with a smart mouth, a movie star name and a body built for ballroom rather than clerical, would be better than his current predicament.

  He scanned the crowd, the entrance, finally spotting her beneath a towering indoor plant near the lobby.

  He should leave, head back to his hotel, find solace in a pricey single malt Scotch. Instead he found his feet veering towards her, and at that moment she glanced up, tossed her blonde hair and pinned him with a curious stare.

  The impact of those large blue eyes slugged him all the way to his toes.

  She glowed with vitality, from the tips of her silver-painted toenails to the top of her mussed, just-out-of-bed hair.

  She wasn’t his type—far from it. But there was something about her, something about her boldness, that reached to him on an instinctual level.

  ‘Is it too much to hope you’re waiting for me?’

  ‘Way too much.’

  ‘I asked you to wait around for me back there.’

  Shrugging, she flicked a less-than-impressed stare his way. ‘Guess I don’t always do as I’m told—so sue me.’

  Oh, yeah, she was a firecracker all right. Exactly what he needed tonight: hot, feisty, sassy, a world away from wallowing in memories he’d rather forget.

  ‘Yet you’re still here?’

  She cocked her head to one side, studying him. ‘I was waiting to say goodbye to a friend, but I think she’s ditched me for one of those hunky waiters.’

  ‘What? Those fake-tanned, muscle-bound Neanderthals?’

  Her glossed lips curved into a smile and he couldn’t tear his gaze away.

  She had the most beautiful mouth he’d ever seen: full lips, even white teeth, and a smile that could make a man forget where he was and why.

  ‘Naked himbos not your thing?’

  ‘Himbos?’

  ‘Male equivalent of bimbo.’

  She rolled her eyes, her tolerant expression reading don’t you know anything? as he chuckled.

  ‘Looks like she’s a no-show.’

  She pushed off from the monstrous terracotta pot where she’d propped herself, partially hidden amid the lush foliage of a palm, and it hit him all over again how utterly beguiling this woman was.

  It had little to do with the sexily mussed blonde hair hanging halfway down her back, the wide luminous blue eyes or the saucy smile curving her lips, and more to do with the aura of vibrancy that shimmered and danced around her. Intriguing for a guy like him, who focussed on business all the time.

  He’d never met anyone like her—only dated well-dressed, well-heeled, well-put-together socialites who played things cool.

  Starr Merriday was hot, the antithesis of every woman he’d ever been with, and he couldn’t walk away.

  ‘Let me take you home. Make sure you get there safely.’

  He’d expected an instant rebuttal and waited, captivated by her inherent beauty, her natural grace, her spunk.

  He wanted to demand she let him drive her home, give him more time with her. His last PA had called it his God Complex—his need to control everything and everyone around him. He preferred to see it as staying on top of things. He was a guy used to being in charge and liked it that way.

  ‘You want to take me home, huh?’

  She cocked a hip, boldly provocative.

  ‘That’s what I said.’

  She worried a gloriously full bottom lip for a moment, and he clamped down on the urge to do the same.

  He wanted her.

  Irrationally.

  Madly.

  Passionately.

  With a brisk nod, she tucked her hand into his elbow.

  ‘Fine. Have it your way.’

  Gritting his teeth against the urge to grab her hand and make a run for the lifts leading to the hotel’s exquisite rooms, he took a step forward, surprised when she didn’t fall in beside him.

  ‘Where to?’

  ‘This way.’

  He didn’t trust her mischievous smile, the wicked sparkle in her eyes, and when she led him away from the monstrous glass entrance and towards the lifts, the rush of blood pounding in his ears signalled he was in way over his head with this one.

  ‘You’re staying here?’

  She nodded, her smile widening. ‘Just for tonight. My friends’ shout for my last night in Sydney.’

  ‘Where you headed?’

  ‘Melbourne.’

  ‘Great city.’

  He should know. He’d taken it by storm years ago, had built his fortune there.

  ‘You know I wasn’t joking about that job offer, right?’

  ‘I think we can find more fun things to talk about than my unemployed status.’

  She stabbed at the lift button, raised her head to watch the numbers descend from ten to zero while he studied her.

  He wanted her. Now. Wanted to lose himself in her, lose himself in the pleasure of hot, wild sex, lose focus of everything but her.

  The doors pinged open. The lift’s interior was a dazzling gold and chrome combination, with mirrors reflecting their images, showing a mixture of excitement and anticipation.

  She stepped in, tugged on his hand. ‘You coming?’

  These days he always did the right thing, the cautious thing, the sensible, well-thought-out thing. But in that instant, with her eyes insolent and her lips curved into a brazen challenge, he did the thing he’d used to be famous for in his youth.

  ‘Hell, yeah.’

  Without releasing her hand, he stepped into the lift as she stabbed at the twenty-five button, the adrenalin rush of doing something out of character making his head spin faster than the lift’s acceleration.

  ‘You’re awfully quiet.’

  ‘Just thinking.’

  ‘About?’

  He pinned her with the glare that made most of his employees quiver.

  ‘What it is about you that’s so fascinating.’

  She batted her eyelashes, her coquette’s smile adorably tempting. ‘I’ll take that as a compliment.’

  ‘You should.’

  ‘So, have you figured me out yet?’

  He trailed a fingertip down her cheek, tracing the soft curve.

  ‘I’m getting there.’

  His fingertip reached the end of the trail, lingered on her jaw, savouring the soft skin. ‘You’re unique.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And I want to know more.’

  The bell pinged again as the doors slid soundlessly open.

  ‘I want to spend all night discovering more.’

  He held his breath as she reached up, hooked a finger under his collar and tugged gently, bringing him tantalisingly close to her kissable lips.

  ‘That can be arranged.’

  CHAPTER THREE

  STARR fumbled with the key card to her suite, sliding it through the slot three times before Callum placed his hand over hers.

  ‘Let me.’

  He tried the card again, the tiny button lit green, and she yanked on the handle, stumbled through the door. She was never this gauche, this flustered, but riding up in the elevator with this incredibly sexy man had been pure torture.

  They’d barely touched, their hands simply brushing when she’d first punched in her floor, yet the tension between them had been indescribable.

  Her skin prickled, her muscles clenched, and her pulse pounded in a rhythm she hadn’t experienced for ages.

  She’d been a one-man woman too long. A woman who’d been sadly neglected in the bedroom. A woman who wasn’t terribly impressed with the supposed joys of sex.

  Time to reawaken her flirty side.

  As he reached out, his steady hand resting firmly in the small of her back, burning a sizzling path
straight through the thin silk of her dress, zapping her in places in desperate need of some serious zapping, she could barely restrain herself from launching at him.

  ‘Come in. Make yourself at home.’

  She silently cringed at her moronic, trite welcome, and the corners of his mouth curved upwards, creasing his right cheek with a delectable dimple.

  ‘I intend to.’

  Flinging her sparkly evening bag on the hall table, she trailed her hand along the shiny glass surface, rearranged the fronds of a floral arrangement, fiddled with the miniature alcohol bottles on top of the mini-bar, while he stood just inside the doorway, looking utterly cool and controlled and scrumptious.

  Deliberately stilling her hands, she clasped them in front of her before realising how prim that looked, quickly releasing them and settling for propping them on the table behind her.

  ‘I’m clueless as to the etiquette here. Do I offer you a drink? A chocolate bar? Me?’

  His dimple deepened. ‘The last, thanks.’

  Her heart leaped, and she clenched the table so tight the mini-bar bottles rocked and rattled. One tumbled.

  ‘Shaken or stirred?’

  Laughing, he stalked towards her. Her pulse accelerated with each step. He stopped inches away from her personal space, his intentions clear in the dark depths of his eyes. The simmering heat sparked a response deep within her.

  ‘Relax.’

  He reached out, ran a fingertip down her bare arm, and she shivered in anticipation.

  ‘Easy for you to say.’

  ‘You’re nervous?’

  ‘A little.’

  ‘Don’t be.’

  The trail of his fingertip ended at her hand and he captured it, intertwined his fingers with hers, giving her a much needed anchor in a suddenly stormy sea of passion.

  His hand engulfed hers, strong, capable, and a lick of heat shot up her arm. She searched her scrambled brain for the right words—any words that would sound remotely sane and nothing like ravish me now, I’m yours.

  ‘I can leave if you want.’

  Cue the exit music. Cue the curtain call.

  But not before they’d had a rousing performance.

  Reaching out with her free hand, she bunched a fistful of his soft cotton shirt and tugged. Hard.

  ‘I don’t want you to go—’

  He crushed his mouth to hers, snatching the rest of her words, the rest of her breath, in an explosion of heat and passion and driving need.

  She clung to him, desperate to get closer, elated when he hauled her into his arms and backed her up against the nearest wall.

  Wrapping her legs around him, she gasped at the bulge pressing against her core, her pelvis moving of its own volition, eager for more, demanding satisfaction.

  ‘Oh, yeah,’ she murmured, as he cupped her butt, moved back and forth, rubbing against her, teasing her, making her wild with wanting him.

  He tore his mouth from hers, his passion-glazed stare mirroring hers.

  ‘This is crazy.’

  ‘Yeah, crazy…’

  Resting his forehead on hers, he shook his head. ‘I don’t do impulsive stuff like this.’

  ‘Me either.’

  Sliding her hands up from his chest, to cradle his face and push it back until she could look him in the eye, she knew she couldn’t stop this.

  She didn’t want to.

  The old Starr had crashed to earth around the time she’d walked in on Sergio, in their apartment, in bed with another woman.

  Time to say farewell to her old life. Time for the new Starr to rise and shine brightly. Starting with losing herself for one incredible night with a hot guy.

  ‘What do you want to do?’

  ‘This.’

  She didn’t second-guess her decision, didn’t give it another thought as she drew his face back to hers and plastered her lips to his, arching her pelvis, locking her legs tighter around his waist and squeezing.

  His low, guttural groan ripped the air as he deepened the kiss, ravaging her mouth, their tongues mating in a sensuous dance as old as the waltz.

  Long, hot, moist French kisses went on for ever, bringing her to the edge without him laying a finger anywhere near her throbbing core.

  Tension tightened within her body, built, climbed, until she was boneless with desire. She clung to him as he left her mouth, his lips trailing downwards, nipping her erect nipples through the thin silk of her dress. His hands toyed with the edge of her panties beneath her bunched skirt.

  Clamping her knees around his hips, she groaned, arched upwards—demanding more, demanding everything he had to give.

  ‘If you keep making sounds like that, this isn’t going to last long.’

  ‘Fast is good,’ she bit out as he nibbled her neck. She grabbed his hand from her butt and guided it between their bodies. ‘Hard and fast.’

  He tensed, every magnificent inch of him straining towards her. ‘You sure?’

  ‘Sure… Ooh…yeah…’

  Holding on tight, he moved her from the wall to a nearby chair, rested her butt on the padded edge before leaning back to devour her with his hungry gaze.

  ‘You’re gorgeous,’ he said, his husky tone bordering on reverent as he made quick work of the buttons holding her dress together, almost ripping it in his haste to get her naked.

  She quivered with anticipation as he let out a long, low whistle, snapping the front clasp on her bra, pushing it aside before ducking his head to feast on her.

  First the right breast, then the left. He licked and suckled and laved until her head thrashed, her hips arched and her hands delved between them, eager to feel him inside her. Now.

  ‘Wow.’

  Her hand briefly encountered an erection, a very large erection, and then he pulled back.

  ‘You want fast? I’m assuming not that fast?’

  She laughed, amazed they were trading banter as if they’d known each other a lifetime.

  Sex with Sergio had been lacklustre, had never given her the true intimacy she craved. Not that this mind-blowing foreplay with a guy she’d just met could be classed as intimate, but there was something about him that set her at ease, despite the fact she was almost naked in front of him.

  Reaching up, she scraped her nails lightly down his chest.

  ‘I want you. Now.’

  ‘Decisive. I like that.’

  He tugged her panties off, delved his fingers into her slick heat and pleasured her until she screamed his name. Twice.

  ‘You’re so hot,’ he murmured, reaching into his back pocket, pulling a condom out of his wallet and sheathing himself before she’d even realised he’d ditched the pants.

  Eyeing his impressive arousal, she said, ‘So are you.’

  His blistering stare never left hers as he slid into her, inch by exquisite inch, until he filled her, fulfilled her.

  ‘Jeez…’

  He braced himself over her, moved out a fraction, back in, the delicious erotic friction sparking fire as her hips bucked, her insides clenched.

  With a low moan he drove into her, again and again and again, harder, faster, his breathing ragged as her hands dug into his hips, urging him on.

  This time her orgasm smashed into her with the force of a Sydney hailstorm and she arched upwards, her mouth slamming into his as he tensed and exploded in his climax.

  His barely audible expletive echoed her thoughts, echoed what they’d just done.

  She’d just had mind-blowing sex with a virtual stranger.

  The best sex of her life.

  A life which was out of control—which explained why she’d done this.

  What she couldn’t explain was the compulsion to do it all over again. Repeatedly.

  Holding her close, he strummed her back and she closed her eyes, blindsided by the yearning to have him hold her and do this all night long.

  ‘I should leave,’ he said.

  He should.

  But she didn’t want him to—didn’t want to spend h
er last night in the only city she’d ever truly called home alone.

  Leaning back, she cupped his cheek, looked him in the eye.

  ‘Don’t go.’

  CHAPTER FOUR

  STARR stared at the rumpled business card clutched in her hand and reread the address twice, before hoisting her backpack higher on her shoulder and pushing through the wrought-iron gate—the side gate, which would have been imposing in itself if it hadn’t been positioned next to the hugest pair of intricately carved black iron gates she’d ever seen.

  Some place, she thought, straining for a glimpse of the house as she strolled up the hedged garden path.

  Sydney Harbour was lined with posh suburbs, with mega-million mansions vying for the best views and highest position, but from what she’d seen of the swanky Melbourne suburb of Toorak, it had its fair share of ritzy manors too.

  She’d once dreamed of living in a place like this—around the time she’d scored the coveted lead dancer role at Bossa Nova. Ironic that now she might be working in one.

  With her résumé and reputation she should have waltzed into a top dancing role in Melbourne. But Sergio’s vengeance knew no bounds, and the few doors she’d tentatively knocked on had been well and truly slammed in her face.

  He’d been at fault, unable to keep his tights hiked up while getting it on with a fellow dancer, and she’d gladly left him—yet she was the bad guy in all of this?

  Prima donna. She should have left him a long time ago—had chastised herself countless times since for sticking around so long for the convenience of having a great apartment within walking distance of work, a partner who understood the demands of being a dancer, and a guy she felt comfortable around.

  Waste of time and money, considering she’d ended up paying the rent while he invested in a new dance company for them.

  He’d promised her stardom and she’d let her ego get the better of her—had ended up almost broke when she’d walked out on the jerk.

  No home, no money and no dance prospects explained why she was here.

  Now all she had to do was go through with it.

  Battling a surge of bitterness, she picked up her pace, rounded a corner and caught her first glimpse of the mansion.

  Absolutely breathtaking.

  She’d devoured Jane Austen novels as a kid, and standing in the shade of towering hedges, staring at the grandeur, she could have sworn she’d stepped into the pages of Pride and Prejudice.