Overtime in the Boss's Bed

by Nicola Marsh

  ‘Damn it,’ she muttered, unable to see much in the deepening darkness, cursing Callum and his undeniable attractiveness that she had to end her day stuck in a bush perving on him rather than kicking back in the cottage relaxing in a heavenly bubble bath.

  The sound stopped and she inched backwards, leaping in fright when it happened again, much louder and much closer this time. Casting a quick look over her shoulder, she screamed and scrabbled forward as two huge luminous eyes followed her every move.

  ‘What the—?’

  Spitting leaves out of her mouth, she glanced up to find Callum towering over her, deliciously wet. His glower would have been intimidating if not for all that glistening naked chest.

  ‘What the hell are you doing down there?’

  ‘Thanks for asking if I’m okay,’ she said dryly, darting a quick glance back at the bush, wondering if she’d be better off taking her chances with the scary mystery critter than divulging the truth of what she’d been doing.

  The corners of his mouth twitched as he held out his hand.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Apart from a serious case of dented pride, I’m fine.’

  She took his hand, allowed him to pull her up.

  Whoa! Naked alert! The words flashed across her brain.

  But, just as she’d done a week earlier, she ignored it and placed her other hand against his glorious chest on the pretext of steadying herself.

  Evening sounds of chirping crickets and settling birds faded to nothing, until all she could hear was the thudding of her heart, pounding loud and proud in her eardrums, in perfect sync with his.

  Time slowed as she watched droplets of water trickle down his chest, riding the bumps of his defined abs before dripping lower into tempting oblivion.

  He was the sensible one. He should step away.

  Instead, when she tore her hungry gaze from his chest and met his there was no clash of wills, merely her raging need reflected in his hungry eyes.

  ‘You make me crazy,’ he muttered, a second before dragging her into his arms and crushing his mouth to hers in an explosive kiss that defied logic and sent her good intentions to focus on getting out of here clear into the night sky.

  She didn’t think, didn’t rationalise, didn’t feel anything beyond the cataclysmic explosion of passion rushing through her body, turning her weak with need.

  Her hands skated across his chest, savouring every inch of deliciously hard, exposed muscle, her fingertips discovering his sensitive spots all over again, exploring by memory.

  He groaned, the erotic sound torn from deep within, and without a second thought she jumped into his arms and wrapped her legs around his waist, bringing her core into exquisite contact with his arousal.

  If the first explosive contact of their lips had wreaked havoc, it had nothing on the friction between their bodies, wet skin to thin cotton, rubbing and writhing and driving her wild.

  He broke the kiss, nibbling her neck just the way she liked it, remembering every sensitive spot and discovering new ones as he trailed lower…and lower…

  Her head fell back, blinding need ripping through her as she stared up into the sky, her body on sensory overload, craving his masterful touch. At the first brush of his lips against her breast she moaned, arched towards him, wishing this delicious madness could continue for ever.

  Like most good things in her life it didn’t. He stopped, raised his head, his expression shuttered as cold rushed between them, pebbling her damp skin where he’d been pressed against her.

  ‘We can’t do this.’

  She could have cried in frustration as he untangled her hands from behind his neck, supported her butt as she uncrossed her legs from his waist, and set her down gently.

  Of course they couldn’t do this. She’d spent an entire afternoon mentally reciting the very same thing.

  But acknowledging and accepting every logical reason why they couldn’t do this didn’t make it any easier to ignore the sizzle still zapping between them.

  He frowned, shook his head, and she knew what he’d say before he opened his mouth.

  ‘This can’t happen. We work together.’

  ‘Might’ve been a problem, but irrelevant considering we’ve already slept together. Kinda makes the whole harassment thing null and void.’

  ‘That’s not the problem.’

  ‘Then what is?’

  She tilted her chin up, curious to see what else he’d pull out of his bag of one hundred and one logical reasons not to get involved.

  Probably nothing she hadn’t already told herself, but the fact they’d both just lost control after a tense afternoon made her wonder.

  What could he say to really douse this fire kindling between them?

  ‘I don’t have time for this.’

  ‘No time for a little fun?’ With a shake of her head, she tsk-tsked. ‘That’s not true and you know it. You date, right?’

  A frown slashed his brow, while that telltale tic in his jaw flickered. She’d bet he used that narrow-eyed glare to good effect when intimidating others. It had little effect on her.

  ‘Or do you just have meaningless sex with women before discarding them?’

  He muttered a curse, clamped his lips shut.

  Okay, so that last comment had been unfair, as she knew nothing about his personal life, but she wanted to goad a reaction out of him, wanted him to acknowledge that they couldn’t ignore this explosive attraction between them even if they couldn’t do anything about it.

  ‘With you working here, staying in the cottage, it’s too—’

  ‘Close for comfort?’

  Unable to resist touching him, she skimmed the dimple in his right cheek, the slight dent in his chin, her fingertip trailing downwards, lingering on the dip between his collarbones, enjoying the flare of heat in his eyes, the hiss of pleasure.

  ‘I was going to say too complicated.’

  ‘And you don’t do complicated, right?’

  Snap. Neither did she. She’d done complicated for the last few years; it was highly overrated.

  Here was a guy who could give her what she wanted, could awaken her femininity, could teach her about pleasures she’d only dreamed about. He’d made a good start in Sydney, had shown her how good sex could be—yet another department in which Sergio had let her down—but she couldn’t go there.

  He was right. Anything other than business between them would be way too complicated.

  She’d hustled her way out of one disastrous relationship—why jitterbug into another potential minefield?

  He stepped back, his eyes wary, his expression grim.

  ‘Let’s just forget this ever happened.’

  She nodded, relieved yet disappointed. ‘A slight aberration…a blip on the radar.’

  He held her gaze for a moment longer before turning away, but not before she heard his muttered, ‘Some blip…’as he strode away as if he couldn’t get away from her quick enough.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  AS DAWN broke over Melbourne, scattering mauve and gold fragments across his desk, Callum yawned, stretched, swiped a tired hand over his eyes.

  He hadn’t pulled an all-nighter in a while, and his back protested as he stood, twisted, worked out the kinks.

  Bracing himself against the windowsill, he stared out at the lightening sky.

  How many dawns had he seen following the accident? Too many to count. Work was the only thing that kept him sane, kept the raw, relentless guilt from tearing him apart.

  And to think he’d once embraced the dawn as he regularly stumbled in at five a.m. after yet another party, another celebration, another night out, high on life.

  Nothing had held him back; he’d been free to do what he liked when he liked.

  Until the night he’d gone too far.

  And Archie had died.

  Because of him.

  Closing his eyes, he remembered another time, another life, another man he tried to emulate because of what he’d done
, because it was the only way he knew how to make amends.

  Pressing his fingertips into his eyeballs, he welcomed the pinch of pain before turning away from the window, taking a seat at his desk, casting an eye at his electronic diary for the day.

  Back-to-back meetings—no room for anything other than business.

  Another reason he’d pulled this all-nighter. To refocus on business, to banish the memory of Starr and that disastrous poolside kiss—a kiss he’d tried to forget, a kiss he’d relegated to the back of his mind by throwing himself into work, chairing a whirlwind of meetings, all interstate.

  It hadn’t worked.

  He couldn’t forget, no matter how hard he tried—couldn’t forget how wild and out of control she made him feel despite his intentions to keep things between them purely business while she worked for him.

  And that was what irked the most.

  Not the fact he’d come to his senses too late, not the fact he’d been so befuddled he’d almost taken her on the spot, but the fact he’d lost total control to the point where he would have gladly had a repeat of that amazing night in Sydney.

  He liked everything orderly and organised, rational and logical and in place. He thrived on organisation, on responsibility, and he’d be damned if he let some flirty enchantress turn his world upside down.

  But what if she already had?

  Pushing away from his desk in disgust, he grabbed a mineral water out of the fridge, gulped it down, needing to chill out.

  Sadly, while he was thinking about Starr, he knew he’d need all the ice in Antarctica to cool off.

  Starr sipped the last of her strawberry smoothie, eager to duck into the office to ensure everything was set for Callum’s return today before going for a quick walk before work.

  She was stiff and grumpy from lack of exercise, her muscles protesting at the lack of a workout, and the last thing she needed was to take her frustrations out on the boss man’s first day back.

  He’d vanished the morning after their poolside kiss, citing meetings interstate and leaving her with a long list of tasks. She’d followed his instructions to the last meticulous detail, determined to prove she could do the job despite what had happened.

  While he’d had the common sense flash during that kiss, she’d had seven long days to agree with him.

  Sure, they had a…thing between them, but ignoring it shouldn’t be a problem as long as they both concentrated on work.

  Despite her doubts at the start about working for him after their one-night stand, she was nothing if not realistic, and that spontaneous kiss must have been a remnant of leftover attraction. Just one of those things. Unavoidable. Good to get out of the way—move on.

  She loved to take chances, loved to jump into situations feet first, reserving thinking for later.

  Not this time. This time she had to pretend the best sex of her life had never happened, focus on work for however long she stuck around, and ensure she had finances to fall back on.

  ‘Good morning.’

  She jumped as she stepped into the office, her heart leaping in recognition of that smooth tone.

  ‘You’re up early.’

  As she turned and laid eyes on Callum—his pale blue business shirt rolled up at the sleeves, the top few buttons undone, tie-less—not only did her heart leap, it did a complete gymnastic routine of non-stop backflips any Olympian would have been proud of.

  He was breathtaking. From the fabulous fit of his custom-made shirt to his highly polished Italian leather dress shoes and every inch in between.

  Sergio had been handsome in a showy, flashy kind of way, but the understated sexy elegance Callum brought to a room just by being in it took her breath away.

  ‘I got in late last night.’

  ‘And you’ve been here since?’

  ‘Uh-huh, loads to catch up on.’

  As she’d expected, he’d retreated behind a wall of indifference after his week away, pretending that kiss had never happened.

  ‘You’ll find everything in order.’

  ‘Good.’

  His intent stare raised goosebumps and she had the feeling he was looking right through her.

  She shuffled her feet, uneasy under his scrutiny, wishing she could read his mind. She wanted to know what he was thinking, what he really felt about the undeniable attraction simmering between them—a constant reminder of that one, incredible night.

  ‘I’m going to take a shower.’

  He ran a hand through his hair, mussed it, and as he crossed the room towards her she saw the telltale dark circles under his eyes, the fatigue lining his mouth.

  What drove this man to work like the devil? To pull an all-nighter his first night back home after a week of business meetings?

  She’d been driven to succeed in her field, but never had she pushed herself like this.

  ‘I’ll see you back here shortly.’

  ‘I’m going for a walk first.’

  His eyebrows shot up, as if she’d announced she was planning to hula down Bourke Street.

  ‘I don’t start ’til eight, remember? Unless you want me for something urgent?’

  Instant heat flared to life in his eyes, before he blinked, damped it.

  ‘It can wait.’

  His tone, brisk and businesslike, grated. Didn’t anything ever rattle him?

  ‘Fine. I’ll see you later.’

  She whirled away, annoyed at him, angry at herself for still wanting him despite her week of telling herself it couldn’t happen. His hand snuck out and landed on her shoulder, halting her, gently spinning her around.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  Compressing her lips, she shook her head.

  ‘You don’t want to know.’

  ‘Maybe I do.’

  Her heart stilled as he leaned towards her, a tantalising waft of some expensive citrus aftershave washing over her, tempting her to merengue her way into his arms in two seconds flat.

  The tense silence between them grew. Her skin was tingling with expectation, her breath choppy as her heart skipped to a mambo beat.

  Anticipation. Nothing like it. She was addicted to it—loved the expectant buzz before she first stepped on stage, the rush of adrenalin as she took her first leap in a new dance routine.

  Then, like now, she stood on the precipice of something great, something exciting, something to set her pulse pounding and send her body into sensation overload.

  ‘I don’t want anything affecting your work today. We’ve got loads to do.’ He dropped his hand, stepped away. ‘So whatever’s wrong, tell me.’

  Work. Of course. As if he cared about anything else—as if he gave a hoot about her.

  Mentally calling herself every name under the sun for believing he was half as attracted to her as she was to him, she folded her arms, refrained from pouting—just.

  ‘I miss my workouts, my dance practice. It’s making me edgy.’

  His probing gaze lingered on her for several long moments before he pointed down the corridor.

  ‘The ballroom’s that way. Feel free to use it.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Whatever it takes to get you focussed on the job.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  She should be ecstatic. She had a good job with a dependable income, a fabulous place to live, and now somewhere she could get back into shape before restarting her rounds of the local dance companies.

  Things were looking up.

  So why couldn’t she shake her foul mood as she raised her hand in a wave and headed to the cottage to change?

  Starr huffed into the ballroom.

  She should be grateful Callum had allowed her access to this incredible space. Instead, she flung her towel and water bottle into a corner and cranked up the music on her iPod, needing to vent some of her anger through dance.

  It had worked as a kid when she’d danced off years of resentment at her parents, it had worked after Sergio, and it sure better work now or she’d explode.

 
Maybe it was hormones? Maybe it was pique that Callum could pretend nothing had ever happened between them? Maybe she just needed to stretch and leap and fling herself around after being cooped up for a week? But, whatever the reason, she needed to obliterate her thoughts with what she knew best: dance.

  The soft, ethereal beat of her warm-up music filtered through her ears, softening her muscles, making her nerve endings tingle with the familiar urge to move.

  She stretched her neglected muscles: lengthening hamstrings, quadriceps, calves, enjoying the slight tug of pain indicating she’d never gone this long without working out.

  Flopping forward, she swung side to side, shook her arms out, and as she straightened took several deep breaths and reached heavenward. The last of her anger disappeared on her fifth exhale.

  Oh, yeah, this was exactly what she needed.

  The music filled her. Filled her body, her senses, infusing her with peace she never found anywhere but in dance.

  It was the reason she’d taken it up in the first place—a lonely five-year-old waiting on the front steps of the school for the umpteenth time, waiting for parents who either forgot her or didn’t care or had more important things to do.

  The school music teacher had found her that day, taken her into the hall to wait, and as she’d watched a group of girls shimmy their way between tap and jazz and ballet she’d been entranced.

  When her mum had eventually turned up, an hour later, she’d begged to join the group, and Gladys had been only too happy to foist her off for another hour a day.

  She’d loved the music, loved the graceful movement, loved the clothes. And for the first time in her life she’d belonged.

  Though it had been more than that; for those all too brief hours at dance class she’d felt secure, and no matter how many cities her folks had dragged her to, how many schools she’d attended, she’d always felt safest when dancing.

  Warm-up done, the next song on her playlist kicked in—her favourite R&B singer, who never failed to make her feel soulful and sexy.

  She allowed the beat to take her, feet moving in time, shoulders loose, eyes closed, and in that moment she released all the frustration of the last few weeks: Sergio, Sydney, Callum…