Wild Nights with her Wicked Boss. Nicola Marsh

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СКАЧАТЬ been impatient for as long as she could remember: waiting for the fifty invited guests to arrive at her sixth birthday party at Luna Park, which her parents had hired for the event; waiting for her first pony, first piano, first trip to Disneyland all before the age of ten; waiting for her very own private theatre room with the latest high-tech gadgets by the time she’d hit early teens.

      Later, waiting for her first Porsche, her first thoroughbred, and, recently, waiting for the man of her dreams to marry her only to discover he’d turned into her biggest nightmare.

      Nah, waiting was for losers. Now she finally had a chance to make things right, to do things differently, to follow her own dreams. Screw waiting. Time to make things happen and that time was now.

      Clamping her lips shut on a sigh of exasperation, she strode down the corridor, glancing into empty offices, her patience wearing thinner with every step.

      ‘Can I help you?’

      She whirled around, her pulse racing. Being caught snooping in her prospective new work place wasn’t a good start. Hoping to bluff her way out of it, she fixed a smile and glanced up.

      Rather than her pulse slowing, the sight of the guy in front of her only served to increase its pace.

      HOT. H.O.T. flashed across her mind in huge capital letters like the Hollywood sign she’d visited briefly in LA as a kid, when her life had been easy and carefree and mapped out. Shame about the major detour.

      He wasn’t classically handsome, the planes and angles of his face too angular for that: razor cheekbones, sharp jaw. Exuding barely restrained power, he looked as if he’d stepped off a billboard for executive hotties.

      She had a fleeting impression of black hair, brilliant blue eyes, broad chest and navy suit before his face recaptured her attention.

      Though she did have a hard time tearing her gaze away from that chest; he would’ve given Superman a run for his money. Did guys actually have sculpted chests like that? Until now she’d assumed they were a figment of some female comic designer’s imagination; some very imaginative, very creative comic designer’s imagination.

      Those hyperactive mice took to bouncing in her belly again, exacerbating the strange, fluttery feeling she put down to pre-interview jitters. No way could her reaction be remotely hormonal to a guy who would have women falling at his designer-loafered feet with a wink of those baby blues. She knew better than that. Boy, did she know better.

      However, the longer the superhero stared at her she knew her racing pulse and somersaulting stomach had little to do with the impending interview and more to do with sexual awareness.

      For that was the first word that leapt to mind with this guy: sex. Hot, raunchy, no-holds-barred sex.

      As he continued to stare at her with blatant curiosity she suddenly knew how Lois Lane must’ve felt, all tongue-tied and nervous anticipation at the possibility of being squashed up against a broad wall of muscle covered in a big S.

      Surreptitiously swiping her clammy palms down the side of her skirt, she hoped the unexpected heat flooding her body wasn’t reflected in her cheeks.

      ‘I was just—’

      ‘Wandering the corridors, snooping around?’

      That annoying heat hit her cheeks in an incriminating blush.

      ‘I wasn’t snooping. My name’s Jade Beacham, I had an interview scheduled twenty-five minutes ago and I was directed to wait in here.’

      The babbling wasn’t good and, combined with her blush, made her look like a fool.

      Something akin to amusement flashed in those too-blue-to-be-legal eyes.

      ‘I’m sure that meant having a seat back there while you wait.’

      His tone implied she was a thief about to steal trade secrets as he pointed to a row of chairs, the action stretching his ivory silk shirt tight across his chest.

      Oh, boy, that chest…

      ‘You’re right. Sorry. Patience has never been one of my virtues.’

      Damn, where had that come from? Way to go with first impressions. Mentally cringing and slapping a hand across her mouth, she searched her brain for something sensible to say, coming up a frustrating blank as he continued to stare.

      Confident a few deep breaths would refocus her concentration, she took a subtle breath, another, instantly hit by an intoxicating blend of designer cool, warm sunshine and long, decadent nights, the images his aftershave invoked as mind-boggling as the man himself.

      Not good. She was here to nail this interview, not swoon over some suit. Besides, her swooning days over any guy were over, remember?

      ‘Here’s the deal. I’ve got a bit of time on my hands, you look like you need to be kept out of trouble. Would you like to know more about your boss?’

      His proposition surprised her more than his knockout aftershave. Surely he couldn’t be serious? Talk about unprofessional. As for him implying she needed a babysitter, where did he get off?

      Shaking her head, she sent him a haughty glare. ‘Not interested in gossip. I’m here for an interview, not for you to dish the dirt on your boss.’

      He returned her stare, unblinkingly, uncomfortably intense. Damn, why couldn’t he be more like mild-mannered Clark Kent? He wouldn’t be staring at her as if he wanted to rip away her outer layers and delve into her soul.

      His eyes bored into hers, an unfathomable expression in their depths as she tried not to squirm under the scrutiny, wishing she’d never started strolling around here. As if she weren’t nervous enough, she didn’t need some GQ model wannabe giving her grief.

      After what seemed like an eternity, he waved towards the empty office.

      ‘Why don’t you wait in here?’

      His deep voice, combined with the brooding stare, had a similar effect on her senses as his tangy aftershave. ‘Wow’ didn’t come close to describing this guy. And he wasn’t even wearing a cape!

      Anxious for her interview to start, she checked the name on the brass plate on the door. RHYS CARTWRIGHT—CEO.

      Okay, so hot guy was being helpful after all, though how ethical was it to wait for the boss in his office? Unless…a strange thought niggled as she gazed from the name plate to the guy. Could Superman be her boss? If so, why was he playing games?

      Making a lightning-quick decision, she decided to play along and see what he was up to. She’d come this far; she hadn’t gone through the rigours of a screening interview and all the legalities of obtaining work visas and insurance to be turned back now by some nutter, no matter how cute.

      She gestured at the name plate. ‘You sure this is okay, waiting in his office? Not too presumptuous?’

      He smiled, softening the hard plains. ‘Relax, you’re in capable hands.’

      Oh-oh. Not only did he have the Superman persona, he had the killer smile to match. Not fair.

      She СКАЧАТЬ