Bedded By The Boss. Yvonne Lindsay
breath caught—as always—at the sound of her name in his low, husky voice. “Yes?” She continued watering, resisting the urge to turn and look at him.
“It’s not your job to water plants in my office, or to make my chair more comfortable.” The odd tone of his voice made her look up.
“I know, I just…” She didn’t really know exactly what she was doing. Going the extra mile or something.
“Just as I don’t expect you to make my coffee, I don’t expect you to concern yourself with such trivialities. It’s late and you have a home to go to.”
She flinched at the stab of pain she felt at his rejection of her efforts. She had only herself to blame. He hadn’t asked for any of it.
“I’m sorry. I guess I’m annoying you with all this…stuff.” She gestured around the room at the paintings, the plants, the new coffee machine for the viciously strong coffee he brewed. Her heart sank a little. Okay, so she was overdoing it.
“On the contrary. You’ve made my office very pleasant.” He said it quietly, gave her an unexpected, cautious look that squeezed her heart a little.
“To be honest, I enjoy this sort of stuff, you know, cheering things up.” She hugged the watering can to her chest. “I have a lot of time on my hands when I’m not here. I’m not used to being on my own. I have a big family back home—four sisters and three brothers.” The words tumbled out and the pitch of her voice rose. “My mom was sick for a long time and I took care of her. I’m used to being busy, looking after things, looking after people, you know. I’m not used to going home all alone, I…”
Shut up Sara!
What on earth was she doing running off at the mouth about how pathetically lonely she’d been lately? That wasn’t his problem. It had been her decision to move here. To cook for one. To have conversations with herself over the tiny counter in her kitchen. To move the furniture around in her cramped apartment because she had nothing better to do.
To harass her boss with misplaced nurturing instincts. She felt a flush creep above her blouse as she realized what she’d been doing.
His body motionless, Elan spoke softly. “I appreciate the trouble you’ve taken. It’s a gift to understand the needs of others without being asked.” He held her gaze, a guarded expression shadowing his hard features. “Your thoughtfulness is a complement to your excellent work.”
She blinked and bit her lip as a rush of emotion sprang from something raw inside her. His devastating seriousness and the gravity of such a huge compliment—his first—nearly unhinged her. The urge to cry warred with the urge to explode into raucous laughter.
“Thank you,” she managed.
He immediately turned away and began sorting through some papers. Had his dark complexion darkened yet further? She dismissed the thought. He cleared his throat and loosened his necktie with a long finger.
She inhaled a deep breath and accidentally splashed herself with water from the can as she wheeled around to face the door.
“Good night,” she muttered as she hustled toward it, feet silent on the carpet.
“Good night, Sara.” Low and slightly strangled, as if his tie was still too tight, his words followed her out to her desk, down in the elevator, across the parking lot and home to her silent apartment.
Elan leaned back in his chair and watched as Sara gave a sales pitch to potential clients from Canada. Her trial month was nearly up and she’d proved beyond a shadow of a doubt she was more than worthy of her position.
“As I’ve demonstrated, our technology is capable of reducing the amount of sediment in the crude oil to well below the required level. The new techniques we have developed allow previously unprofitable fields to be exploited productively. We provide a complete package of services, from drilling to refining, that allow our customers to take advantage of cutting-edge technology and expertise without investing in their own infrastructure.”
Her sharp mind and talent for incisive analysis impressed him. They were intriguingly at odds with a soft, warm side of her that caught him off guard with caring gestures. For someone so young she seemed unusually wise, her intelligence matched and even outmeasured by a natural compassion that rather awed him. And those little flashes of humor she surprised him with, well…
The late-afternoon sun shone through the window, glazing her delicate features with gold and sparking fiery highlights in her hair. Her hair looked so soft. He wondered how it would feel between his fingers, under his palms as he cupped her head, tipping it back to claim her mouth in a kiss.
Perish the thought. He would never become involved with an employee. Such an action would be an inexcusable abuse of his authority.
He had never kissed one of his assistants. Though not through any lack of effort on their part. A woman who would throw herself at a man in a professional environment could never command his respect or his affection.
He could not quite understand the appeal he held for them. He did not think his face held such dazzling beauty as to enslave a fellow human. His body was thick and heavy from his work with the horses, not the kind of elegant male form he imagined women would prefer.
Of course there was his wealth. He’d always been wealthy, even before he’d bought a small drilling company coming off a local oil boom and turned it into the thriving oil services corporation it was today. The oil that ran in his blood had enriched his family and his country before he was born. Was this the irresistible appeal he held for women?
No matter. Sara’s predecessors had all departed the company of their own free will, rankling under the low opinion he held of them.
But none of them possessed her talent. Already she performed duties far beyond the role she was hired for. Sara was an asset he would hate to lose. And he wouldn’t lose her if he could help it.
He’d arranged to have Sara fly with him to the firm’s newest drilling site tomorrow. The trip would broaden her understanding of their work and prepare her to take on greater responsibilities.
The object of his thoughts walked across the conference room to the whiteboard and began to sketch out a formula one of the clients had asked to see. His gaze drifted to her hips, to the lush curve of her backside that shifted beneath her suit as she strained to reach the top of the board.
Suddenly his slacks felt a trifle snug. Perhaps he should send his tailor in London some new measurements? He shifted in his chair, tugged at his tie, which now closed too tightly around his neck, constricted his breathing.
Sara dropped her pen. As she bent forward to retrieve it, her skirt strained tightly over the firm length of her thighs and cupped her buttocks. Elan jolted forward in his chair, as a thunderbolt of sensation rammed through him.
He cleared his throat and grabbed hold of his pen, scribbled some meaningless notes on his papers as he struggled to get his errant body back under control.
Her suit was too revealing.
It was indecent and undignified to display so much of one’s physique in a business environment. He would have Jill Took from Human Resources address the matter with her.
Slowly he lifted his eyes again as Sara cheerfully explained the calculations involved in an aspect of the refining process. He surveyed the offending suit with an eye to detailed critique, and was chagrined that on closer examination he could not find fault with it. It was not close-fitting. The skirt came well below the knee. It was demure in cut and color.
The problem lay within the suit. And within him.
“Seventy-six bottles of beer on the wall, seventy-six bottles of beer…” Her voice was cracking, her throat clenched with terror.
“You’ve