Bella's Impossible Boss. Michelle Douglas

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       A squeal from Bella alerted Dominic to an incoming rogue wave.

      He grabbed her hand and hauled her out of its path, his arm going around her waist to half lift her. Breathless and laughing, she grinned up at him.

      The breath shot out of him. His grip on her tightened. She stilled. He could read the question in her eyes—was he going to kiss her?

      Would she let him?

      When she didn’t move away he had his answer.

      Heat surged through him, the temptation pounding at him like the surf breaking on the reef. Bella would taste divine. He wanted to bury his face in her neck and inhale her, and then he wanted to capture her lips in his and devour her slowly, thoroughly. He wanted to memorise the curves of her body with his hands. He—

      Icy water hitting his feet and ankles brought him back to earth and made Bella jump, breaking the spell.

      About the Author

      At the age of eight MICHELLE DOUGLAS was asked what she wanted to be when she grew up. She answered, “A writer.” Years later she read an article about romance writing and thought, Ooh, that’ll be fun. She was right. When she’s not writing she can usually be found with her nose buried in a book. She is currently enrolled in an English Masters programme for the sole purpose of indulging her reading and writing habits further. She lives in a leafy suburb of Newcastle, on Australia’s east coast, with her own romantic hero—husband Greg, who is the inspiration behind all her happy endings. Michelle would love you to visit her at her website: www.michelle-douglas.com

      Bella’s

       Impossible Boss

      Michelle Douglas

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

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      To Annie,

       for all the coffees, caramel doughnuts

       and Black Russians.

       Thank you!

      CHAPTER ONE

      SHE was going to be late.

       Late. Late. Late.

      The heels of Bella’s shoes snapped out the word with every step, rebuking her, condemning her, telling her she would never measure up. She glanced at her watch and told herself to stop being absurd. She’d make the meeting exactly on time. She was being paranoid, that was all.

      Still, she shouldn’t have stopped to talk to Charlie. Or Emma. Or Sophie and Connor. She picked up her pace.

       Failure. Failure. Failure.

      What on earth had she been thinking?

       Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

      She clenched a hand. Given what she’d overheard last week, she should’ve been more careful. She should’ve kept a closer eye on the time. She wanted to change her father’s opinion of her, not reinforce it.

      Spoiled, willful, doesn’t have the sense of a goose! Bella doesn’t know the meaning of the words ‘dedication’ and ‘hard work’. That was what her father had said on the phone to her aunt in Italy last Wednesday. Bella had accidentally picked up the extension in the kitchen to ring out.

      And it’s my fault. She’d heard that before she could silently replace the receiver into its cradle.

      She slowed to a halt, her throat constricting. The pain that had raked through her father’s voice … She closed her eyes and rested her head against the wall. Oh, Papa, I’m sorry.

      To know she’d disappointed him so badly, hurt him. Again.

      And to think he blamed himself.

      She pushed away from the wall and straightened. She’d changed. The last eighteen months in Italy had seen to that. She would prove herself to him. She would make him proud of her.

      As if to reassure herself, she rifled through the colour-coordinated folders she carried and then slapped a hand to her forehead. She’d left the sample menus in the canteen kitchen with Charlie!

      She glanced at her watch and then tapped a foot. She could continue on to her father’s office and be on time. Or she could race back down to the canteen, grab her menus and prove to her father and his right-hand man, Dominic Wright, how fabulously organised and creative she was and be a teensy bit late, which her father expected anyhow.

      Organisation, creativity and proof of her dedication versus punctuality? Muttering an imprecation, she spun on her heel and sped back the way she’d come. Pulling in a breath, she started to jog. She rounded the corner, heard the faint ‘ding’ of the lift in the distance and broke into a run. She sprinted around the next corner …

      ‘Hold the lift!’

      But the lift doors closed before she could reach them. She pressed the button on the wall one time, five times, but the doors didn’t open. The light above informed her that the lift had started its descent. She СКАЧАТЬ