Hot Boss, Wicked Nights. Anne Oliver
didn’t move. He hadn’t touched her—deliberately touched her, unless she counted the restraining hand this morning—since Saturday night. His eyes looked right into hers and for a moment she thought he was going to remind her of that, but instead he withdrew his hand.
‘I’d better be off and let you get some sleep,’ he said, and pushed up. ‘Don’t forget to try the oils.’
‘I won’t. Thank you.’
He nodded, then turned and walked to her door. ‘I won’t be in tomorrow morning. I’ve got to see the solicitor and sort through Bryce’s stuff.’
She couldn’t resist a terse, ‘I’m sure we’ll manage without you.’
He grinned. ‘I’m sure you will. Kate…’ his grin sobered ‘…you’ve been doing a great job there. Thank you.’
She needed to say, had to say, ‘Bryce intended making me manager. Next month.’
‘He was leaving?’
‘I don’t know what he intended. He hadn’t told me anything more than he was taking some time off.’
Damon’s brows drew together. ‘We’ve got some decisions to make. I’ll need your staffing knowledge and expertise.’
What the heck did that mean? At this point all she could do was nod a reluctant acceptance.
‘Good night, Kate.’ He hesitated on the step.
His cologne teased her nostrils. Oh, my God, was he going to kiss her? She didn’t realise she’d stepped back until his bronze eyes flashed in the reflected light from the hall. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing.’
His eyes narrowed, as if he was trying to figure her out. He was being a gentleman, unlike the bad boy she’d experienced Saturday night, making it hard for her to reconcile the two. Or more like he was just being the businessman and she was the only one with sex on her mind.
A flush rose to her cheeks and she tucked her hands beneath her armpits. ‘Goodnight.’
She closed the door the moment he left and leaned back against it. She heard a car door shut, the smooth purr of a well-tuned engine, then listened as the sound faded.
Only then did she breathe the sigh she’d held inside for the past few moments. He’d been nice this evening, not the take-charge guy in the office this morning. He’d brought her pizza and his grandma’s recipe. What kind of man thought to bring a girl he barely knew something like that? Something of himself. The same kind who’d have sex with a girl he didn’t know?
But men could compartmentalise their lives. Especially where sex was concerned. She only had to think of her ex-fiancé. She’d never trust a man again. Nor did she think she could trust her own judgement again. One mistake was enough.
But it was kind of sad to think that Damon would be on his own tonight. She couldn’t imagine having no family, no support through the tough times. Even if her dad was overbearing and treated her as if she were sixteen rather than thirty, she could forgive him because she knew he’d do anything for her. Damon had none of that.
But she needed to remember—he was the boss she’d had a one-night stand with—which left her in a precarious position.
She was sure he hadn’t recognised her. Thank goodness for that; she was safe for now. And yet, instead of being relieved, perversely, the knowledge somehow disappointed her.
Bryce’s apartment was on the outskirts of the city’s business district. Damon spent the following morning cleaning up. He did a quick inventory, then went grocery shopping for a few essentials.
By midday he sat at the cramped, overloaded desk in Bry’s home office. He’d been at it for more than an hour, trying—and failing—to find some logical order to the shoeboxes brimming with papers. He pulled out an overdue electricity account from the top of one, let it fall back on the desk. He had no doubt Bry ran his business the same way.
Hell.
He massaged the stiffness at the back of his neck, then scrubbed a hand over his face. His eyes felt sandy. His jaw ached from clenching his teeth. It was interrupted sleep, that was what it was. Caused by the woman who’d taken up residence inside his head. It had taken all his will power last night not to kiss Kate.
He’d made love to her. The most beguiling woman he’d ever seen. The most responsive woman he’d ever had. She’d fulfilled his every fantasy with her sultry mystery, and that erotic ruby glitter in her belly button. The way she’d come undone at his touch, her unrestrained abandon.
It had been a charade; Sha-ki-ra really was a fantasy. Kate Fielding’s alter ego. Fascinating. Who’d have thought straight-down-the-line Kate from the agency’s office liked to play?
The question that interested him was did she play by the same rules he did?
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