Hot Boss, Wicked Nights
Anne Oliver
Bedded by her billionaire boss Acting completely out of character, Kate Fielding indulged in one night of steamy sex with a stranger – but her actions came back to haunt her when she discovered that her passionate lover was none other than her new boss, Damon Gillespie! Mortified beyond measure, Kate has to fly to Bali with Damon to a luxurious holiday resort for business.Kate wants to prove she can be utterly professional, but ten sultry nights with her bad boy boss are going to test her resolution to the limit…
Opening the door quietly, Kate stepped inside. The team was focused on the dark-suited man talking at the head of the table.
His face was in profile, but he turned and stopped speaking as Kate entered and she was blasted by the full force of his gaze. Pinned in place by topaz eyes.
Oh. No. Her Saturday night’s casual encounter was her new boss? Surely it wasn’t possible. Perhaps he just looked like that guy because he’d invaded her mind.
‘Good morning, Ms…?’
His aftershave wafted beneath her nose. Expensive. Spicy. Familiar.
She clenched her hands together and dared to look straight into those eyes she was already too well acquainted with. She schooled her voice to chilly formality as she said, ‘Kate Fielding.’
‘Ah. Kate.’ He nodded, his eyes imprisoning hers for probably only a second or two, but it felt agonisingly like minutes. ‘Damon Gillespie. You were incommunicado yesterday. Was it an eventful Saturday night?’
When not teaching or writing, Anne Oliver loves nothing more than escaping into a book. She keeps a box of tissues handy—her favourite stories are intense, passionate, against-all-odds romances. Eight years ago she began creating her own characters in paranormal and time travel adventures, before turning to contemporary romance. Other interests include quilting, astronomy, all things Scottish, and eating anything she doesn’t have to cook. Sharing her characters’ journeys with readers all over the world is a privilege…and a dream come true. Anne lives in Adelaide, South Australia, and has two adult children. Visit her website at www.anne-oliver.com. She loves to hear from readers. E-mail her at anne@anne-oliver.com
Recent titles by the same author:
PREGNANT BY THE PLAYBOY TYCOON
BUSINESS IN THE BEDROOM
THE EX FACTOR
Dear Reader
It’s always especially sad to hear about the death of someone young. A life over before it’s barely begun. In HOT BOSS, WICKED NIGHTS I wanted to explore how two people who deal with their losses in very different ways can learn from each other and risk falling in love again.
At first glance Damon Gillespie might seem like an irresponsible thrill-seeker. An adrenaline junkie, into extreme sports with no fear of death—not the kind of man who should be taking over his deceased uncle’s ailing travel agency business, in Kate Fielding’s opinion. Kate, on the other hand, is afraid to take chances after a disastrous relationship failure and the loss of a family member. Work is her life, and office romance is definitely off the agenda. But suddenly her new boss is diverting her attention and the office is the last place she wants to be.
Damon can’t resist drawing the take-no-risks Kate out of her shell. After all, he knows there’s a warm, passionate woman inside who’s in need of some fun and loving. And he’s just the man to give it to her—while he’s in Melbourne. Because he has no intention of sticking around longer than necessary. But Damon is beginning to realise his resolve not to get involved is proving more difficult every day. In fact the greatest challenge he faces is not the risk to his life, but the risk to his heart.
There’s something forbidden about office romance, and very appealing. I hope you enjoy my first office romance story, with a side trip to Bali and a BASE jump in KL, as much as I enjoyed writing it.
Best wishes
Anne
HOT BOSS, WICKED NIGHTS
BY
ANNE OLIVER
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Many thanks to Meg Sleighthome
for her invaluable assistance.
CHAPTER ONE
A CONDOM? Kate stared into the organza pouch that the inebriated vestal virgin—aka the bride-to-be—had just dangled on her finger as if it were about to spontaneously combust.
She ignored the other recipients’ smirks—all single girlfriends who appreciated the humour—but her free hand fisted with embarrassment against the filmy skirt of her belly-dancer’s costume. Hen dos and their sexual innuendoes weren’t her thing. How was straight-down-the-line all-work-and-no-play Kate Fielding going to cope with the rest of the evening with a condom burning a hole in her hand? Even if it was disguised as a lavender bag.
Thank goodness most of her face was veiled because she could feel a riot of crimson exploding into her cheeks. ‘Ah…I um…’
‘Go for it, Kate,’ Sheri-Lee told her. ‘You only live once.’ While Kate stood speechless, Sheri snatched the tiny organza pouch from Kate’s fingers and tucked it out of sight beneath the beaded waistband of her friend’s skirt against her right hip. ‘Casually single until you meet Mr Right.’
A chorus of girly giggles broke out as if the idea was absurd. Kate couldn’t help feeling a little hurt. And self-conscious. Was she the only one here over twenty-one?
‘Thanks…I think.’ A strangled laugh escaped her and she looked longingly towards the door. She noticed some of the girls had spilled out of the private room in search of male company and were mingling with hotel patrons near the bar. Escape. Before anyone else could elaborate on the sad status of her life. ‘Excuse me, I just need…’ A breather. Her costume jingled as she ducked around an Amazon warrior queen and Cleopatra, then squeezed past what looked like a female version of a sixties Russian spy.
She let out a sigh as cooler air enveloped her. Less raucous here. Dim lighting lent an intimate atmosphere to the quaint but tiny turn-of-the-century pub in Sydney’s trendy suburb of Paddington, a few steps from Kate’s office. Wandering to the wall plastered with its familiar framed pictures of the pub in its early years, she sipped the champagne she’d been holding for over an hour. But she wasn’t seeing them, she was seeing her ex-fiancé.
Every hen night evoked the same sharp reminders. She should be married with kids by now. Her sister—her much younger sister, Rosa—was going to beat her to it. No thanks to Nick.
She shook her head. She was not going to think about Nick. Or how he’d betrayed her with another woman after she’d given him three years of her life. Three precious child-bearing years. And she was happy Rosa had found true love.
So what if Kate had turned thirty last month and—if her father’s attitude was anything to go by—was rushing headlong into spinsterhood? Since Nick’s defection Kate had never deviated from the narrow path she’d set herself and walked on the wild side. Her choice, she reminded herself, and a good thing. But the little bump of the organza bag against her hip stirred something hot and primal deep in her belly, calling up other times…
Oh…drat.
The aromas of Italian and Middle Eastern cuisine mingled on the air as suppertime approached. She wished it would hurry up so she could make her excuses and leave.
Sheri-Lee had met her Mr Right. She was getting married and leaving work and she was doing both next week. Still, Kate wondered…Why did marriage often mean the end of paid employment? Independence?
She almost felt sorry for Sheri-Lee. Love always seemed to involve sacrifice, women’s sacrifice. Except that Sheri radiated happiness and couldn’t wait to resign and set up house.
Four years ago Kate had nearly fallen into that trap herself. Forget that she’d have fallen willingly, safe in the knowledge that Nick loved her. In hindsight she knew it hadn’t been love at all on his part.
So…casually single?
Dream on, Kate. She didn’t have time for men. Nor had she ever entirely understood the attraction of casual sex, but, honestly, sometimes her ego needed a little stroking…
A tingle danced down her spine, hot and cold at the same time, like a hot fudge sundae, touching every vertebra in turn with the shivery sensation. Someone was watching her; she could feel it. And it felt like one hundred per cent pure masculine interest.
She resisted an involuntary shudder as she cast her eyes over her shoulder.
Then she saw him, and understanding dawned bright and hot. The six-foot-something dream in jungle-green army-surplus pants, black T-shirt and scuffed boots looking at her. Tanned and unshaven with dark hair. Topaz eyes.
The reason for the tingle.
And the reason her heart was knocking against her ribs. The suddenly damp palms. He was the reason for a whole lot of deliciously wicked things happening to her body right now. Oh, yeah, she could do casual and her ego wouldn’t mind one bit if he was the one doing the stroking.
She turned slowly, her champagne flute all but forgotten in her hands as she eyed him back from behind the safety of her disguise. Did this guy work out or what? His T-shirt clung like a lover to his well-sculpted body, the sleeves stretched tight over hard muscle and olive skin. He looked as if he’d just stepped out of an adventure movie.
A glance lower suggested his legs were in as good a shape as the rest of him, but the baggy trousers kept the details a mystery. She looked up in time to see his gaze centred near her exposed navel. His frank appraisal as his eyes drifted to the gauzy folds of her skirt and the outline of her legs seared her skin with liquid heat, sending bubbles of lava-lust through her veins and leaving her gasping for air in the suddenly overheated room.
She’d never felt this reaction to a man’s attention before. Weak. Wanton. Willing. She was totally out of her depth. Not only did he look dangerous, she had no doubt he was because any moment now she’d melt at the base of those size twenty-something work-scuffed boots.
And those boots were making their way towards her.
She straightened to her full five feet four inches. Obviously he wasn’t into style, since he hadn’t bothered to conform to anything remotely resembling the expected neat casual dress code. Still, she was prepared to overlook that one small infraction since he more than made up for it in other ways.
Go for it. Sheri’s words chimed in her head. Casually single until you meet Mr Right.
By the time he’d reached her, she had her nerves under control. Almost. Until she found herself looking up—way up—into those eyes. At this distance she could see flecks of green in his gold irises and lines feathering from the corners that spoke of time in the outdoors or fatigue, or both. He smelled of sweat and heat and testosterone.
‘Can I get you something?’ he said, in a deep sexy rumble that matched the rest of him.
Something? Like excited? Her neglected libido sighed. He could get her anything he pleased. Anywhere, any time.
‘A drink,’ he clarified, nodding at her half-empty glass when she didn’t reply. ‘Looks like you could do with a refill.’
Uh oh, he was chatting her up and this was real life, not a daydream. Her bravado dipped, her fingers tightened on the glass. ‘Ah…I’m fine for the moment. Thank you.’
From the corner of her eye she saw a couple of the girls watching with interest. Waiting to see if she’d bolt, no doubt. So she forced herself to remain still.
His gaze dropped to her mouth—or where her mouth would be—and his brows lowered fractionally. She could see him pondering the etiquette of lifting her veil, and deflected his thoughts with a quick, ‘You look as if you’ve just flown halfway around the world.’
Her accusatory tone triggered a full-wattage smile from him, which in turn triggered another hike in her pulse rate.
‘In fact I’m just in from LA.’ The sinews in his forearm twisted as he checked his watch. ‘As of two hours ago.’
Okay, so that was the reason for the unkempt look. ‘Work or pleasure?’
‘Both.’ He cocked his head. ‘I assume you’re with the fancy-dress party-goers?’
She shrugged and smiled back. ‘A hen night.’
He leaned forward slightly so that his head was closer to hers. ‘Not yours, I hope.’
‘No.’ Her heart pounded once, hard. Through the gauze she could smell a hint of residual aftershave now—something spicy and expensive—at odds with his rugged appearance.
‘That’s the best news I’ve heard all day,’ he said, and one hard, callused hand wrapped around Kate’s—the one clutching her champagne flute. Electricity arced between their fingers, sending sparks shooting up her arm. Her eyes jerked to his and locked into his magnetic gaze. She felt the power in his fingers as he raised the glass. Felt his warm breath on her hand as he held the crystal tantalisingly close to his mouth. A slight movement on her part and she’d feel the scrape of his dark stubble against her skin.
Somewhere over her shoulder she heard a squeak of suppressed mirth. Her friends thought this was amusing? Well, she’d show them. She’d make something of tonight, with the man about to share her drink. This might be her last chance. A chance to show everyone, including herself, that she wasn’t over the hill yet.
And…if she hid Kate Fielding tonight, she could partake of some of that casual fun she’d been missing out on. Have her ego stroked. Ooh, yes. For a little while she could be whoever she wanted with him.
For him.
Damon Gillespie was suddenly very glad he’d arrived in Sydney three days early. He’d been about to have a drink at the bar, take a quick look at the premises he’d come to Sydney to see, then hit the sack before tackling the business side tomorrow, but he’d walked into a costume party.
And seen her.
She’d looked… Not lonely, but alone. Definitely alone. Like him. Maybe that was the reason she aroused more than simple lust in him. But what?
Shrugging off the oddly disquieting feeling, he pressed their joined fingers against the stem of the glass. Forgot about jet lag and sleep deprivation and concentrated on the purely physical. The sensation of her knuckles locked like grim death beneath his, the subtle Oriental scent wafting from her costume as his gaze roamed over her once more.
Business could wait.
With most of her face covered, he had only a misty temptation to go by. Glimpses of a straight nose and high cheekbones, generous lips.
Ample female flesh spilled out of her bra top, bells and beads twinkling beneath the lights even as she drew breath. Her skirt—twenty or so gauzy scarfs in saffron and gold—sat low on her hips, showcasing her tiny waist and a glorious expanse of flat belly and golden skin, not to mention the outline of a perfect pair of legs. What intrigued him most was the ruby stone where her navel should be. How the deuce did she keep it there? he wondered. Some pelvic muscular trick?
His body tightened and the familiar rush of adrenaline he experienced before a jump rushed through his veins. Back in Oz two hours and he’d found a living fantasy. It had been a long time. He’d been too busy expanding his latest project and chasing his hunger for extreme sports across the globe to indulge in female company.
He intended to rectify that. Tonight.
He lifted the glass—and her fingers—to his lips and searched her eyes for a response. Framed with heavy mascara and navy eyeliner, they looked huge, and an honest-to-goodness lust flickered in their midnight depths. Spanish eyes, he thought, and from the recesses of his memory flashed another pair of dark eyes. He willed it away, pressed his lips to the flute and swallowed.
He could taste her on the glass. Sweet with a hint of tart. But the champagne… He grimaced in distaste. ‘Champagne should be chilled.’ He pried her fingers from the glass, set iton a passing drinks waiter’s tray and swapped it for a fresh one. ‘Here you go.’
The tips of her fingers brushed his as he handed it to her. ‘Thank you.’
He reached for her free hand. ‘Come on, Little Egypt, let’s find somewhere quieter.’ He led her around the bar, past the crowd to a corner of the room near a large potted philodendron where the noise was less intrusive. He waited for her to pull her veil aside and take that first sip. But she lifted the glass inside the gauze and her face remained that tempting mystery.
He hissed out an almost silent breath of frustration through his teeth. ‘What’s your name?’
She sipped a moment, then said, ‘Shakira.’
The way she said it, smoky and seductive, added fuel to a fire that wasn’t going to be extinguished without some serious action.
‘Okay, Shakira…’ Taking a step closer, he slid his hand beneath her disguise and caught her chin between thumb and forefinger. Tilted her head so he could see what he could of her properly. He heard her little catch of breath and a smooth hand wrapped around his forearm.
‘No.’
Her dark eyes flashed, but he soothed her with a smile and shook his head. ‘It’s okay. We can play it your way.’ So long as we can play. She relaxed her hold and let his thumb trace the plump fullness of her lower lip. Once, twice. He paused as a thought occurred to him. ‘Unless the reason’s a jealous boyfriend somewhere that you’re cheating on?’
He felt her jaw stiffen beneath his fingers. As if she’d been burned before, he thought.
‘I don’t cheat.’
‘Good.’ He couldn’t begin to say how much that pleased him. ‘Neither do I.’
He manoeuvred her so that the foliage shielded them from the majority of party-goers, then leaned in to absorb more of that exotic perfume. Frangipani and summer. It wound through his senses like one of those chiffon scarves covering her legs.
How could such an alluring woman be unattached? Don’t ask questions, just enjoy the ride. He nuzzled her neck, then, encouraged by her response, nipped the fragrant flesh beneath her ear. The little bells on her costume tinkled against the front of his trousers, her beaded bra abraded his chest, her feminine curves felt soft and sensual against his hardening body.
He slid a finger just above the band of her skirt from one pelvic bone to the other over firm, flat belly. Her flesh rippled and quivered beneath his touch, sending molten heat fizzing to his groin.
Her eyes flared with the same hot need that surged through him. He was so turned on, if he wasn’t careful, he’d come right here in front of her, not to mention a roomful of people. He wanted that belly against his. Naked. He wanted her rippling and quivering around him as he pumped into her. And he wanted it now.
With difficulty he stepped back. He knew by her eyes and her elevated breathing that she too resented the loss of contact. That she was as eager—and willing—as he. He grabbed her hand. ‘Let’s get out of here.’
Kate heard a collective gasp somewhere behind her but she felt too weak, too unbalanced, to do anything but allow him to tug her along the hallway beyond the bar. They passed a waitress bearing a tray of tempting hors d’oeuvres, the spicy aroma wafting behind her.
She struggled to keep up with his long strides in her wedge-heeled sandals. Up a narrow flight of stairs. The knowledge of what she was about to do pumped through her veins. She’d never been so physically attracted to anyone on sight before and, yes, Sheri, you only lived once.
He stopped at the second door they came to, produced a key from his pocket. The instant he opened the door, he whirled her inside, plunging them into almost total darkness. She heard the lock click behind him. ‘Now where were we?’ he murmured.
Her eyes adjusted so that she could just make out the broad outline of his shoulders. ‘Right about here.’ She set her hands on his chest. Correction: Shakira set her hands on his chest because Kate Fielding would never do anything so audacious—rubbing her thumbs over the jersey and loving the hot, rock-solid masculine feel of him, leaning in to inhale his scent. She hadn’t been this up close to a man’s body in a long time.
Light from the street cast a faint silvery glow to the room as he reached for her veil. But it was still dark enough to maintain the integrity of her disguise as he unhooked the loop above her ear and pushed the fabric aside.
He was silent a moment as he traced the shape of her face, her nose, her eyebrows. Her lips. ‘You’re gorgeous,’ he said, and pulled her hard up against his body, trapping her hands. ‘Even in the dark, you’re one irresistible woman.’
The awe in the softly spoken words thrilled her, excited her. She could feel the hard ridge of masculine flesh against her belly, his heart pounding against her fingertips, her own heart thundering in her ears.
Strong hands gripped her upper arms as his mouth descended on hers. She heard a long low moan—hers?—then an answering rumble that vibrated against her palms. His lips were dry and firm and very, very skilled.
With no persuasion at all, her lips opened beneath his. His tongue invaded her mouth, plunging inside then withdrawing like a promise of anticipated delights. He tasted good. Coffee and peppermint and something richer, darker. Hotter. When he raised his head, she pulled it down again. She wasn’t nearly ready to let him go.
But he wasn’t going anywhere. His hands moved from her arms to her bare midriff, to her bra—and ended up with a palm-full of brass and tinkles. He inhaled a hiss of impatience and if she hadn’t been so breathless she might have laughed at the sheer incredulity of the whole situation.
Nothing was going to stop him. His fingers curled over the tops of her breasts and swept beneath, then down to find her nipples taut and strained against the fabric. He rolled them between his fingers, sending hot darts of need shooting through her body.
She moaned as an echoing tightness swept to her core and leaned forward to give him easier access, which he took with swift efficiency. Her breasts spilled out into his hands. She gazed down, stunned at the sight of his dark hands on her pale flesh.
She looked up at him, glimpsed the firestorm in his eyes before his lips again fused with hers and he was walking her backwards, their legs knocking and tangling until she hit the wall with a jolt. A hard masculine body bumped against hers.
‘Oh-h-h.’
The pressure eased a little and he lifted his head. ‘You okay?’
‘Yes-s-s.’ Was that hiss of desire hers?
She groaned deep in her throat—with relief, with impatience—as he pressed against her once more, grinding his hips with hers, the ridge of his arousal huge and hot and heavy against her belly.
His hands were at her waist, lifting her as if she weighed nothing, pinning her against the wall and holding her there. Her shoes slipped from her feet with a quiet ‘plop’ of surrender.
‘Wrap your legs around me.’
His hand swept aside the flimsy points of her skirt, the thin strip of fabric covering her centre, the heat and slight roughness of his fingers searing her moist flesh as he claimed her.
She heard the sharp rasp of his zip as he freed himself, the hard, slippery feel of masculinity against the apex of her thighs. He paused, his jaw tightly bunched, eyes fused with hers, his breath a hot rasp against her cheek. ‘You’re sure?’
She felt imprisoned, helpless, trapped.
She’d never felt more alive, more free, more ready to take that chance. ‘Yes.’
‘Wait— Protection…’ He reached into his pocket.
‘Ah…’ Her fumbling fingers located the tiny organza bag tucked into her waistband. ‘I happen to have…’ She pulled out the packet and held it aloft with a grin of triumph.
‘Ingenious,’ he murmured, regarding her intently as if wondering how many more she had stashed there before taking it from her and quickly sheathing himself.
The thought flickered through her mind to tell him she didn’t usually have a ready supply, but she figured a girl of the world like Shakira might. She didn’t need to explain herself to him—this was literally a one-night stand. Except that her feet weren’t touching the floor at all and her toes were curling up in anticipation.
He guided himself inside her. He was big—huge—and she felt tight, stretched, invaded, but she pushed down on him with a gasp of satisfaction.
He thrust up once, twice, with a power and intensity that left her breathless. She clung to his shoulders, her fingers digging into the soft fabric of his T-shirt, the little ornaments on her costume tinkling. Her beaded bra strap felt rough against her back as the rhythmic movements increased.
She was blind and deaf to everything but him. His eyes, the outline of his body in the dimness. The harshness of his breaths as he pushed inside her, the sound of flesh against flesh.
She came just as she felt him shudder his own climax deep inside her. Oh, good Lord.
He continued to hold her until their breathing slowed, then she unwound her legs and he lowered her until her feet touched the floor. Her legs were wobbly, her whole body lethargic and limp.
He palmed one still-exposed breast. ‘Where do you—?’ The buzz of his mobile jarred, cutting him off mid-sentence. ‘I have to take this call,’ he murmured reluctantly, pulling his phone from the deep recesses of his trouser pockets. He lifted it to his ear with one hand while he continued to stroke one breast back and forth with the other. ‘Yes?’
As she watched his eyes turned remote, the outline of his jaw turned to stone. ‘Where the hell is it, then?’ Abruptly he pulled his hand away, those remote eyes turning hot just for a second as they met hers. ‘Stay right here, I’ll be back.’ Then he crossed the room without a backward glance and opened the door to the bathroom. ‘Okay, contact Dark Vertigo.’ Pause. ‘Forget it, I’ll do it myself…’ The light came on and Kate blinked against the glare before he closed the door behind him.
In the space of a heartbeat everything changed. Sanity charged back with a vengeance. Leaning against the wall for support, she refastened her veil before he returned and decided to switch on the light, then slid down the cool surface to the floor inch by excruciating inch. She located her sandals and slipped them on. Listened to her pulse beating in her ears, felt its fury in her throat, her nipples, between her thighs.
What had just happened?
Casual was what had happened. And thinking about it now was just a tad late. What in heaven’s name had she done? With a man she’d met less than twenty minutes earlier?
She didn’t even know his name.
She closed her eyes. Self-preservation and common sense seemed to have deserted her along with the man. A man she’d never see again, she told herself. So blame Shakira, put it safely to one side to think about later.
Right this minute she had to get out. Go home. Now.
Moments later she slipped out to the concierge desk, collected her bag and made a swift exit into the crisp night air.
She texted Sheri-Lee, apologising that she’d had to leave—something unexpected had come up—as she hurried to her car. She’d never done anything so crazy, so irresponsible in her whole thirty years. The breeze chilled any residual heat from her body. She’d always been in an ongoing relationship with a man before they’d made love. A relationship based on mutual respect, honesty and friendship.
And yet one look from that guy had changed her into someone she didn’t know. A strange sensation wrapped around her and she rubbed the goose-bumps that sprang up on her arms. It was as if she’d given him not only her body but her soul.
CHAPTER TWO
DAMON swore silently when he discovered his bedroom empty and the most enchanting creature he’d ever made out with gone. Getting laid on his first night back hadn’t been his intention—he wasn’t normally a man for one-nighters but one look at her and his brain had taken a swift dive below his belt. He’d had to have her.
He could go back downstairs and see if she was still around, which he doubted. Besides, he never put women before business and he wasn’t going to start now. Presumably that was all she’d wanted or she’d have stuck around for an encore. Pity, but—he shrugged—it wasn’t as if anything could come of it.
He pulled a beer from the room’s bar fridge and popped the top. Walked to the window and looked down at the business he’d crossed the Pacific to deal with. The travel agency his uncle had left him with its less-than-stellar façade and outdated posters. He shook his head. It was precisely why he’d arrived earlier than scheduled—to get a look at the place ahead of time.
Instead, he’d looked straight into a pair of soulful dark eyes and been sucked right under…
Bonita. Her image bloomed in his mind, with her father’s Spanish eyes and her Egyptian mother’s beauty. Was it any wonder he’d been attracted to those same attributes tonight? He took a swig from the bottle but the liquid tasted acrid on his tongue. He’d watched the woman he’d loved die at twenty-four.
And he’d learned the only way to deal with loss was to cut those people close to him out of his heart. Slapping a decisive palm on the window sill, he set the beer down and headed to the bathroom for a long-overdue shower. To ease travel-cramped muscles and wash away the woman’s lingering scent. No regrets but no reminders. He was in Sydney to put things right for his uncle, the last act he could perform for what he could call family. Then he was gone.
Thanks to a doozy of a cold, which had hit in the early hours of Sunday morning, Kate was running late for work on Monday—not good when Bryce’s nephew was arriving from heaven knew where tomorrow to look over the business. And the traffic this morning was a nightmare.
While she could have been at the office ahead of time making sure the man had nothing to find fault with she’d wasted her entire Sunday sleeping. Or trying to. Even with her mobile switched off and the landline off the hook, the memory of another man had kept her from getting the shut-eye she needed.
Kate Fielding had had a one-night stand.
A hot and steamy and abbreviated one-night stand. The very idea sent shock waves rocketing through her body. She braked with a squeal of tyres for yet another red light she’d barely noticed. The driver behind leaned on his horn.
Hell. She wiped her nose, gripped the wheel harder. Adventure man wasn’t good for her health. Thinking about him wasn’t good for her health. What did it matter that he’d put whatever business he was involved in before her? That he was probably like Nick and took his opportunities where he could? She was never going to see him again. She’d enjoyed herself and that was where it ended. That was what casually single was all about, right?
If she could just convince her still-sensitised body of that.
By sheer will she forced the images from her mind. Time to concentrate on the more immediate problem. Tomorrow morning she was going to come face to face with a man she already disliked by reputation and she wasn’t going to give him any reason to find fault with her work.
Her boss’s sudden death three weeks ago at a young forty-three meant the travel agency faced an uncertain future. She’d worked seven long hard years for the manager’s position. Now she had to prove herself again, to some guy whom she’d never met, who more likely than not knew nothing about the travel industry. Certainly he knew nothing about Aussie Essential.
She pulled into her reserved parking space a little too quickly, noting the time on her dashboard as she switched off the ignition. Damn. She grabbed her bag, wiping her nose again as she hurried across the car park in the brisk autumn breeze. Only ten minutes late.
She was never late. Lateness was unprofessional and showed a complete disregard for other people. Her low-heeled shoes echoed impatiently on the concrete. Checking her appearance in the glass door as she entered, she tugged the hem of her navy jacket, adjusted her collar unnecessarily. Smoothed her long hair clasped in a knot at the back of her head out of habit.
‘Hi, Deb.’ She smiled at their newest team member sitting behind her desk. The only team member behind her desk, she noticed. ‘Where the heck is everyone?’
‘Hi, Kate…umm…’ Her eyes flicked to the large office they used as a staffroom behind them.
As Kate stowed her handbag beneath her desk a feeling of doom descended on her. ‘Don’t tell me. He’s here already.’
‘He said he tried contacting you…’
‘Oh, no…’ she groaned. ‘I slept through yesterday and I was running so late this morning I didn’t stop to check my messages.’ Kate’s blocked sinuses chose that moment to prickle. She barely caught the explosion with a tissue. Even the cold capsules she’d taken earlier hadn’t diffused the throbbing headache and her legs felt like lead. She mopped her nose. ‘He wasn’t due till tomorrow.’
‘I know.’ Deb shrugged. ‘He called everyone in for an early staff meeting. They’re all in there right now. I’m manning the desk—’
Kate tossed her tissue in the bin and grabbed another handful from her desk. ‘Excuse me? He called a staff meeting?’
He being the nephew Bryce only ever mentioned on a couple of occasions that Kate could recall. The globe-trotting adventurer, the man who’d not bothered to come to the funeral but was here now to seize his inheritance.
Deb nodded. ‘He seems to have everything under control.’
He had no right to have everything under control. Kate always managed Aussie Essential Travel in Bryce’s absence and he’d promised her full authority from next month. That was probably a moot point now. Still, she’d been managing just fine for the past three weeks. What would his nephew, who as far as she knew had never set foot inside this place, know about the travel business?
‘Are you okay, Kate?’
Kate shook her head, and winced. But she forced a smile. ‘I’m breathing…sort of…I’d better get in there.’
Calm down, she ordered herself. Be professional but assertive. Leave him in no doubt that you’re quite capable, thank you very much. She grabbed a notepad and pen from her desk.
Opening the door quietly, she stepped inside. The team was focused on the dark-suited man talking at the head of the table. His voice was deep and melodic. And authoritative.
She tensed, ready to defend her own authority.
His face was in profile, but he turned and stopped speaking as Kate entered and she was blasted by the full force of his gaze. Pinned in place by topaz eyes. His jaw might have tensed momentarily—or maybe not—she was too busy picking her own jaw off the floor.
Oh. No. Her Saturday night’s casual encounter was Bryce’s nephew? The man she detested by reputation? She felt a sudden tightness in her chest that had nothing to do with her cold. Surely it wasn’t possible.
Or Damon Gillespie just looked like that guy because he’d invaded her mind. The clean-shaven man in the suit that fitted his broad shoulders to perfection and looked as if it had cost a million bucks and the sombre silk tie couldn’t be that rugged jungle hero who’d kissed her senseless, made love to her against the wall… She felt that same heat rise up her neck now as the rest of her staff turned to look at her.
Hold it together. She took a deep steadying breath and nodded a silent greeting to them. Forget authority, forget assertive—all she wanted to do was slide into the nearest chair with as little fuss as possible and get herself under some sort of control.
On noodle legs, she moved towards the only available chair which, by some unfortunate coincidence, happened to be next to Damon Gillespie’s right hand. It was okay, she told herself; he wouldn’t recognise her.
To make it worse, he was waiting for her to sit before continuing with whatever it was he was saying, making her the centre of attention. ‘I’m interrupting, I’m sorry…’ she half whispered and immediately cursed herself for apologising to this man who represented everything she despised. He should be the one apologising.
‘Good morning, Miz…?’
She reached her destination and sank down, her notepad and pen sliding from her trembling fingers onto the table. His aftershave wafted beneath her nose. Expensive, spicy.
Familiar.
She clenched her hands together and dared to look straight into those eyes she was already too well acquainted with. She schooled her voice to chilly formality as she said, ‘Kate Fielding.’
‘Ah. Kate.’ He nodded, his eyes imprisoning hers for probably only a second or two but it felt agonisingly like minutes. ‘Damon Gillespie. You were incommunicado yesterday. An eventful Saturday night?’ His tone almost suggested he knew all about her Saturday night. Or was it just her perception?
Thank goodness he didn’t appear to expect an answer and moved right along in the same breath, informing them that he wanted to meet with each member of staff individually over the next couple of days. Kate noted the details on her pad, more for something to occupy her hands than anything else. But because her hands were shaking, she gave up and clenched them together on her lap.
Damon Gillespie tugged at his snowy white cuffs and spread his hands on the table. Large blunt, short-nailed fingers. Kate tried to look away but she couldn’t take her eyes off them. The memory taunted her. Those talented fingers exploring, finding all her pleasure points…
Her pulse throbbed slow and heavy and she bit down on her lower lip. Why was her body betraying her? It had no business feeling all molten and fluid in the middle of a staff meeting. Worse, it was responding to a man she didn’t want to like—didn’t like; loathed, in fact.
She jerked to attention at the mention of her name, knocking her pen to the floor with a resounding clatter in the silent room, and realised he was watching her expectantly, waiting for an answer. ‘Ah…I missed that.’
Damon knew she had. Good God, what were the odds of your one-night stand turning up at a staff meeting? She’d been a mess of nerves since she’d realised who he was and if he wasn’t mistaken the temperature in the room had dropped a few degrees.
Not the way she’d behaved the last time he’d seen her, he remembered. No, sir, she’d been more than willing and abundantly able. And hot. She couldn’t be sure he knew, however, because perhaps she thought she’d disguised herself adequately. She’d obviously not considered the tiny mole below the corner of her left eye. Or the fact that the veil was more transparent than she thought.
He retrieved the pen from the floor, noting the sexy ankles in her unflattering granny shoes as he did so, and set it on her pad. Her dark eyes collided with his as she mumbled a thank-you. ‘I asked if there’s anyone I need to thank personally for helping out with the funeral arrangements, flowers and donations and such. As you’d know now, Bryce and I had no other relatives.’
‘I was aware of that…’ Her gaze filled with what looked like pity and held his for a beat out of time. No need for tea and sympathy, he assured her silently with an equally resolute gaze.
Then her eyes cooled and skidded away as if she regretted the momentary lapse and she straightened, jotted something else on her notepad, her fingers wrapped so tightly around her pen he wondered that it didn’t break. Her voice took on that chilly note again as she said, ‘I have the details at home. And the book of attendees.’
There was an emphasis on that last word as if condemning him for not turning up to the funeral. He didn’t bother telling her the news of Bryce’s death hadn’t reached him until a few days ago. ‘Thanks, Kate. I’ll give you a call later.’ He sent a smile her way but she wasn’t giving him eye contact.
He turned, swept his gaze over the table as he smiled at each individual in turn and said, ‘Thank you, everyone. I think that’s it for now. As for Aussie Essential Travel, don’t worry. We’ll all muddle through this together.’
Hushed conversation ensued as staff members skirted the table. Kate pushed up too, but he laid a restraining hand over one of hers. ‘A moment of your time, Kate.’ He didn’t remove his hand right away, enjoying the feel of her smooth fingers beneath his, even if they were clenched like grim death.
She resented him being here. No, he decided, it was more than that.
He leaned back in his chair and watched her as the room emptied. She stared back at him with unsmiling eyes, a contrast to the dark desire he’d seen there thirty-six hours ago. This conservative Kate with her raven-black hair imprisoned in a tight knot, those gorgeous breasts crammed into a demure navy suit, was no Oriental temptress. Even the no-frills name ‘Kate’ conjured an entirely different image from the sultry ‘Sha-ki-ra’. A double personality.
Maybe a double life? he mused, watching her struggle with a riot of emotions. ‘You and Bryce were friends, I’m told.’
‘Yes.’ She looked down at her hand beneath his, then yanked it away to clench it over her other one on her lap. Her head jerked up, and her eyes flashed, sunlight glinting on ice. ‘He was a caring and generous boss. And a true gentleman.’
Ah, well, that last attribute left him out in the cold. As far as she was concerned at any rate, if her expression was anything to go by. Yep, he’d been anything but a gentleman on Saturday night.
And she’d enjoyed every wild and wicked moment, this prim and proper woman in front of him. He felt his mouth kick up at the corner despite himself.
‘What are you smiling about?’ Before he could draw breath she continued, jamming each word onto a skewer. ‘Let me guess. You’ve just had a business fall into your lap.’
She was, he thought, his half-grin still in place, magnificent in anger.
She was also way off base. He didn’t need a failing business; he had enough problems with his own at this moment.
‘He’s been gone a matter of weeks.’ Her voice dropped to a hoarse whisper. ‘Have you no respect?’
His facial muscles tightened. If this was about Bry, she wouldn’t understand that Damon refused to look back. It didn’t mean he didn’t mourn Bry’s death in his own way. Nor did he have to justify himself to her. ‘It’s not about respect. Life goes on, Kate.’
She blinked, then sneezed. Snatched the box of tissues on the table. ‘Obviously he meant little to you,’ she said, swiping at her nose.
‘We lived in the same house when I was growing up. He was only nine years older than me; I knew him as well as you’d know a brother.’
‘And how long ago was that?’
Years. ‘I’m living in the US at present, but we kept in contact via email, by phone.’ Usually when Bryce wanted extra funds.
She must have had it rough over the past couple of weeks, he thought. Besides, she looked damn unwell. ‘You’re sick. Go home and take the rest of the day off,’ he suggested quietly. ‘I’ll be in touch later.’
She raised her mascara-stained red eyes and stared at him as if he’d grown horns. ‘Who are you to tell me I can take the day off? I haven’t had a day off in three years. I’m the most senior staff member here; I can’t run away from my responsibilities. People might need me.’
He nodded. He had to admire her dedication. Most employees would be running for their duvets. ‘Okay. But if you change your mind, no one’ll think badly of you.’
She pushed up, taking the tissue box and notepad with her. ‘But I would.’
‘Hey,’ he said softly. ‘Go easy on yourself. I’m staying at Bryce’s apartment if you need to get in touch.’ He took the pad from her hand, scrawled his mobile number beneath her notes.
‘I’m sure that won’t be necessary,’ she replied frostily. ‘I can handle any situation should it arise.’
He met her gaze. ‘I don’t doubt it. But just in case.’
He watched her go, then spent a few moments checking his messages, made a couple of calls, then slipped out the back way. He unlocked the luxury BMW he’d leased yesterday for the time he’d be here, and sat for a few moments, barely seeing the charming row of Paddington’s little terraced houses as Kylie Minogue sang on the stereo.
‘What have you got me into, Bry?’ he said, staring at the darkening clouds. He’d already injected a six-figure lump sum into Bry’s business account a couple of years back. A loan, Bry had said. Where the hell had that money gone?
After collecting the keys from Security at Bryce’s apartment yesterday he’d driven to the office and taken a quick look at the figures. Then wished to blazes he hadn’t. A decision to shut up shop meant six employees would be out of a job, a situation that didn’t sit well with him. After all, turning struggling businesses around was his forte.
The million-dollar question was did he want to spend the time and energy, not to mention yet more of his own capital that the agency would need, here? In Sydney?
He’d grown up here. Lived with his grandmother through most of his adolescence. He’d been a mistake, he’d been told at age five, and he’d never been allowed to forget it. Until Grandma had put her steel-capped foot down and insisted he grow up in a stable environment with her and his father’s younger brother while his parents chased storms around the US.
Eventually they’d stopped coming home altogether. The last time he’d seen them was at his grandmother’s funeral ten years ago. He had no idea where they were now and he cared even less.
That was what he reminded himself as a chill seemed to wrap around his bones despite the car’s warmth. ‘I’d have come back sooner, Bry, if I’d known.’
But they’d never been close. Damon had his own life. If it wasn’t his Internet business it was deciding where his next thrill-seeking BASE jump would take him. Parachuting off buildings, bridges and mountains—the ultimate extreme sport and the only way to live.
So now he’d inherited a business he didn’t want but felt a familial obligation to put right. And an unwanted attraction for a woman who couldn’t stand the sight of him.
Yet she’d been all over him like a red-hot rash on Saturday night. Hadn’t been able to get enough of him. Had the fact that he’d taken a business call instead of engaging in some sort of post-coital conversation done it?
No, her hostility towards him was all about the business. He’d usurped her authority. And she was right—pleasurable as it had been, Saturday night was of no consequence. As she was the centre’s most senior staff member, he needed her support if he was going to keep Aussie Essential. Somehow he had to get Kate the employee onside.
Somewhere away from the office environment might work. A peace offering. Food. Did she like pizza? he wondered.
Kate could see the door from her desk and let out a relieved sigh when she saw Damon Gillespie’s broad shoulders as he exited the room and headed to the rear of the building. Could the day get any worse? She closed her eyes. Yeah, it could have been worse.
He could have recognised her.
Bryce’s nephew.
Perhaps her soon-to-be boss, if his take-charge attitude was any indication. A man she despised for all the right reasons—a selfish jet-setter about to snatch the manager’s job out from under her.
So why did the sight of him melt her insides to butter? Why couldn’t she get over him? The man who’d just taken charge wasn’t the fantasy lover she’d had on Saturday night. Somehow she had to separate her professional and personal life, which had suddenly become hopelessly entangled.
She rubbed a hand over her throbbing head. Despite his lackadaisical lifestyle she had a feeling Damon Gillespie was a very astute man—how long would it be before he discovered who she was?
CHAPTER THREE
KATE was about to microwave last night’s left-over chicken soup for tea, hoping she could somehow manage to put something in her stomach, when her phone rang.
‘Kate.’
‘Yes…’ She couldn’t say anything more because her heart leapt into her throat at the sound of his already familiar voice. It was as if he were right there, murmuring in her ear. She could almost feel his breath on her skin; the heat seemed to shimmer through the connection. What did he want? she thought distractedly. Ah…he’d said he’d be contacting her about the list of people who’d attended the funeral.
‘How’s the cold?’
‘Improving.’ Actually she felt much better after an extra dose of pills and a couple of hours’ nap. She glanced at the clock and her voice held an accusatory tone as she said, ‘It’s half past eight, Mr Gillespie. Work’s over.’
‘I know, I meant to call earlier. I hope you’re hungry.’
Her stomach churned. Surely he wasn’t inviting her out for dinner? She looked down at her worn black tracksuit pants under the oversize orange nightshirt, the fluffy pink slippers she’d meant to replace last winter. ‘No, I’m not. I take it you’re ringing about the list,’ she hurried on. ‘I’ll bring it tomorr—’
‘You have to eat, Kate. Did you have lunch?’
‘No, I…’ She was interrupted—no, saved—by the sound of knocking at her door and breathed a little sigh of relief at the interruption. ‘I have to go, I have a visitor, I’ll ring you back in a bit.’ When it was late and she could lie and say she’d already eaten. If she rang back at all…
She dropped the phone onto its base, hurried through the living room and dragged open the door. ‘Oh…’
Damon Gillespie. With his mobile still attached to his ear. Wearing khaki cargo pants and a white T-shirt tonight and balancing a pizza box and a small package in his spare hand. He disconnected the phone with his thumb, slipped it into his pocket, all without taking his eyes off hers. ‘Hi.’
His gaze flicked down to the fluffy slippers and her toes curled up in embarrassment. And she’d been too distracted to slip something over her nightshirt; her braless breasts—the breasts he’d handled with such expertise—jutted out at him. ‘I wasn’t expecting anyone,’ she muttered.
His eyes flashed with amusement. ‘You were keen enough to answer the door a second or two ago.’
‘No… I thought it was my sister…’ But he saw through her, she just knew it. She didn’t want to share pizza with him, she didn’t want him in her home, checking out her state of dishabille, but what choice did she have? Too late to dive for cover now. She turned away and began heading back to the kitchen. ‘Come in, but I’m telling you now I couldn’t eat pizza if my life depended on it.’
‘Ah, but you haven’t tried Dominic Amigo’s Gourmet Pizza, have you?’
Her brows rose. ‘Have you? I thought you just rolled into town?’
‘Sandy recommended it when I rang this afternoon for your contact details and we got talking about local restaurants. You were with a customer at the time.’
‘Remind me to thank her,’ she murmured as she pulled plates from her cupboard and searched out a spatula. She tried to ignore the pizza’s tempting aroma, but it did smell good and her stomach rumbled in spite of herself. In the silence it sounded more like a blocked drain clearing.
‘Not hungry, huh?’ He set the box down on the tiny glass-topped table, pulled out a chair and grinned.
She hadn’t seen that grin since Saturday night. A bone-meltingly sexy grin that turned her insides to mush and made her do crazy, stupid, reckless things.
Like having sex with a complete stranger.
Forcing her gaze away from him, she looked at the other item he’d brought. ‘What’s in the bag?’
‘Fresh ginger root and a couple of essential oils—peppermint and tea tree. Grandma used to swear by them when Bry and I had colds. I’ve written the instructions out; they’re inside the bag.’
He’d thought enough to bring her a family cold remedy? A warm feeling of…something—like maybe she’d misjudged him?—seeped into her bones, going some way to melting the frost. She didn’t know what to say. ‘That’s very kind. Thanks.’
‘You’re welcome.’
She withdrew the items along with the handwritten note. Firm, bold, decisive writing. It denoted someone who was confident and at ease with himself. ‘You still use it, then?’
‘I never get a cold. In fact I’m disgustingly healthy.’
Yes. She could see that. She turned away from the unsettling sight of his more-than-healthy masculinity and peered in the fridge to cool her rapidly heating face and to search for something to offer to drink.
‘Ah, two plates,’ he said. ‘Does that mean you’ve decided to join me?’
‘If it’s got olives I could be tempted.’ And if anyone could tempt her… In any way…
It would not be Damon Gillespie.
‘There’s mozzarella cheese, marinated roasted chicken, capsicum, mushrooms, onion with fresh coriander smothered in satay sauce. No olives.’
‘Satay chicken. I never heard of satay chicken pizza. You sure you didn’t stop in at Nonja’s Rasa Sayang and forget the fried rice on your way out?’
‘You’ll love it.’
She retrieved an unopened bottle and held it up. ‘Is sparkling mineral water okay?’
‘Fine.’
‘Okay. We can talk while we eat.’ That way she could kill two birds with one stone and get him out of her apartment sooner. She set two glasses down, filled them, then sank down on the only other chair.
‘Sure we can, but not about business.’ He lifted the lid and inhaled appreciatively. ‘Not while we’re eating pizza.’ He slid a slice of the delicious-smelling food onto a plate and pushed it towards her. ‘Now, eat.’
She did as he asked and was surprised to find how hungry she was. Having food in her stomach also put her in a slightly better frame of mind. ‘I expect this has all been a bolt out of the blue,’ she said after a few moments. She thought she saw something like grief flicker in his eyes before he deliberately snuffed it out. A thread of surprise wound through her.
‘Who’d expect a forty-three-year-old guy with no history of illness to drop dead with no warning?’ He returned his attention to the pizza, sliding out another piece for himself as he said, ‘It’s a blow losing the only family you have left.’
She couldn’t begin to imagine losing her family. They were the most important thing to her. ‘Your parents…?’
His expression changed, the lines around his mouth deepened, the golden colour of his eyes, moments ago so bright and alive, dulled. ‘I’ve no idea where they are. Haven’t seen or heard from them in years. Gran raised me alongside Bryce. Dad won’t know his only brother’s died because I didn’t know how to contact him. Even if I’d wanted to.’
The bitterness in the rough-throated voice stunned Kate. She realised she’d been so caught up in the injustice of Damon’s apparent takeover at Aussie Essential and his appearance in her kitchen, she hadn’t really given him much of a chance. ‘I’m s—’
‘Don’t.’ Damon held up a hand and mentally shook himself. What the hell was he doing, giving Kate Fielding a glimpse of his vulnerability? The part that he kept private and ruthlessly hidden. He’d rid himself of his anger and self-pity years ago. Buried it under a mountain of hard work and harder play.
He turned his attention to lifting the pizza to his mouth. Its spicy, succulent flavours slid over his tongue, pleasure danced across his taste buds. He hadn’t tasted a pizza like it anywhere in the world. ‘The food’s good, don’t you think?’
A tiny frown still marred her brow, as if she didn’t quite believe he could be so dismissive of his inner pain.
‘Try something for me,’ he said. ‘Bite off a mouthful, chew it slowly and concentrate.’ Anything to distract her from probing into his history.
She hesitated, then raised another slice to her lips. He watched her take a bite and savour it a moment, her eyes half closed. It sent a trickle of heat to his groin. Then she licked her lips, leaving a glossy sheen of oil clinging to them. ‘It’s good,’ she agreed.
The trickle of heat grew. Tonight she looked different yet again. More accessible than the closed businesswoman he’d seen this morning, and yet, perversely, there’d been something about that buttoned-up image that had turned him on. He couldn’t stop himself imagining her sprawled on that big desk right now. While he slipped off her jacket, popped the buttons on her blouse and pulled down her bra… The trickle turned to a torrent.
Then there was Shakira—masked and mysterious but blatantly sexy with plenty of cleavage and smooth bare skin. That intriguing ruby glittering in her navel. He couldn’t help but wonder if she still wore it, whether it was attached to her somehow, like a body piercing.
And now the informal look. Very informal. But no less tantalising for all that. For a start she’d let her hair down. It cascaded halfway down her back, a waterfall of shiny black silk that begged for his touch. In her nightshirt she was obviously ready for bed.
Don’t go there, he warned himself as an image of Kate and heat and sheets rose before him. The nightshirt proclaimed in glittery letters that diamonds were a girl’s best friend. ‘Is that a personal motto?’ He waved his pizza slice towards her chest.
She stopped mid-bite and as he watched two little buds rose beneath the fabric. ‘What?’
‘You’d go for money over men?’
She frowned, looked down and her expression cleared. ‘It’s just a nightshirt, for heaven’s sake.’ But her eyes met his in a challenge. ‘When—or if—I find a man who’s worth more I’ll let you know. On second thought, I won’t bother, since you probably won’t be here for me to tell you anyway. Where did you say you live again?’
‘Wherever I happen to be working.’ Or pursuing his various recreational activities.
‘And what exactly is your line of work?’
He shrugged, evasive. ‘I take on whatever comes my way.’
Aware of her disapproval, and satisfied with it somehow, he lifted his glass, took a long slow drink. He didn’t stay anywhere long. Nor did he feel inclined to talk about it.
His own motto: Make your success, have your fun, and move on. Don’t make attachments—with people or places. Which made his Internet-based business so attractive. He set his glass down and resumed his demolition of the pizza without speaking.
‘And yet you want to take on a travel agency.’ Her lips pursed, then parted as she picked up another slice of pizza. Damn, he wanted to taste that mouth again. He wanted her again, all of her—even in tracksuit pants and nightshirt. Or without them. And he could tell by the tension crackling between them earlier today and now that the attraction was mutual.
But she didn’t like him, he thought, staring into those hostile eyes as they both continued to eat.
She seemed like the kind of woman who wanted to take on responsibility. Focused, career-oriented, the kind who lived for work. Maybe she was only looking for temporary in a relationship too. After all, how many women carried a condom in their skirts? ‘You like cooking?’ he asked, diverting her thoughts, wanting to thaw the frosty edge to her mood.
‘It depends. If I’m having company over, I like trying out different things. But I hate the boredom of cooking for one day in, day out.’
‘Ever try cooking for Bryce?’ he said wryly. ‘Never knew a less adventurous eater. Same old meat and three veg every day. At least he did last time I saw him.’
‘Yeah, I know.’ A tiny smile curved her lips as she wiped her mouth on a paper napkin and pushed her plate to the side.
Ah, she was warming. He leaned back and smiled too. ‘So, do you do much travelling with your job?’
‘I go overseas once a year and do a few interstate famils—what we in the industry call familiarisation tours. Bryce had promised me I could do something a little more adventurous this year.’
‘Adventurous. Would that be along the lines of trekking Nepal?’ He popped the last piece of pizza into his mouth and reached for a napkin.
‘Heavens, no, nothing like that.’ A half-laugh bubbled out. ‘Roughing it is not my kind of holiday. I’m more of a five-star luxury girl.’
‘An overseas nightclub tour, then? Sampling the hottest spots in town?’
‘Nightclubbing really isn’t my scene.’ She stacked their plates. ‘I’m more of a family person. I usually spend my evenings at home or with my sister. Mostly.’
The last word was spoken in a subtly different tone, as if she was remembering evenings when family was the last thing on her mind.
‘So there are times when you give yourself permission to let your hair down, so to speak.’
Almost panicked eyes darted to his, so wide, so dark her irises seemed to disappear into her pupils. ‘Of course. Doesn’t everyone?’ The frost was back in her voice as she rose abruptly, disposed of the plates in the sink and shoved the pizza box beside a swing-top bin, her movements swift and jerky.
She produced a sponge and wiped it over the table. ‘Okay, meal’s done.’ She flicked her eyes to him. ‘Shall we get started?’
All kinds of scenarios of how they could get started smoked through his mind. Beginning with lifting her nightshirt and finding out about that ruby once and for all. Then he’d slide his hands through her silken hair, bring those bare, kissable lips to his and…
‘Here’s the funeral attendees’book.’ Her brisk voice broke his train of thought as she slapped it on the table. She reached for some handwritten notes stuck to the fridge with a souvenir magnet from San Francisco. She sat down again, spreading the papers in front of her. ‘These are the people you might want to thank. They’re mostly business associates.’
He had to ask. ‘You said you two were friends, Kate. What did that mean?’
She raised her eyes to his. ‘Exactly what it sounds like. We used to have a kind of standing date for Friday nights,’ she continued after a moment. ‘We talked over the week’s business in more pleasant surroundings. Our relationship was only ever purely professional.’
He nodded, somehow relieved. ‘Let me guess—same time, same place?’
She let out a half-laugh. ‘Yes.’
He nodded. That was good old Bryce—predictable.
‘It saved time.’ She shrugged. ‘I knew him a long while.’
By the time they were done more than an hour had passed. Kate had been conscious of Damon’s molten amber gaze on her all evening. It made her wonder if it was because he recognised her from Saturday night. It certainly wasn’t for the wild look she was wearing this evening. But she could hardly ask him about it, could she?
Without looking at him she shuffled her notes into a tidy pile. ‘Here you go.’
‘Thanks.’
He reached across the table and put a hand on hers. A sparkle of heat shot up her arm but before she could pull it away his fingers were stroking her wrist, his thumb rasping over the pulse point that suddenly beat like a drum.
She forced her eyes to his. ‘I hope it helps.’ Her neck prickled with heat. ‘The information, I mean.’
‘I know what you mean.’ He smiled. He still had hold of her hand.
She 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?
CHAPTER FOUR
KATE arrived at work early on Tuesday just in case Damon changed his mind and turned up unexpectedly. No way was she going to let him see she wasn’t up to the job. She switched on her computer and called up one of yesterday’s files.
Last night she’d used the oils he’d given her and indulged in a hot, fragrant bath. Whether it was the fantasy of imagining him sharing it with her, the knowledge that Damon had given her the oils, or his grandmother’s recipe, she’d felt amazing afterwards. Revived, refreshed.
Didn’t mean she felt any less resentment towards him this morning. Today it was back to business. Business and recreation were separate entities. Say it again, business and recreation are sep—
‘So, what do you think?’ Sandy’s voice interrupted her inner lecture.
Kate glanced up from her computer, took one look at the dreamy expression on her colleague’s face and knew what Sandy meant. Still, she said, ‘About what?’
‘The new boss. Damon.’
The way she said his name, like a sigh, grated on Kate’s nerves. Not the way a staff member should talk about a potential employer, Kate thought with a primness that surprised even her.
‘He’s not strictly our boss, Sandy.’ Kate resumed tapping keys, suddenly aware of a prickly heat beneath the front of her crisp white blouse. ‘Not until he says he’s our boss. He hasn’t told us what he’s decided yet. He might sell.’
‘But he’s already making changes.’
Kate stopped typing and stared at her. ‘Changes?’
‘Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed the new state-of-the-art whiz-bang coffee machine in the lunch room?’
Coffee machine? When had that been delivered? Where did he think the money for that was coming from, for heaven’s sake? Not the social-club funds. ‘I haven’t had time for coffee. I’ve this group booking to finalise and the airline’s giving me the runaround. Anyway, we don’t need a coffee machine,’ she muttered.
‘What’s with you?’ Sandy frowned at Kate over her computer monitor. ‘You’ve been nothing but snarly with him. You got something against drop-dead gorgeous?’
‘No. If you go for that rugged outdoorsy type.’ Kate resumed studying her computer screen without really seeing it, but looked up again as something occurred to her. ‘You didn’t tell me he phoned me yesterday afternoon.’
‘Oh. I forgot. Sorry.’
‘You told him I was with a customer. I didn’t have any customers. I worked out back because I didn’t want to infect anyone with my sniffles.’
Sandy shrugged, a half-baked smile on her face. ‘Guess I was mistaken. Sorry again.’ She bounced up off her chair. ‘Let me make it up to you. I’ll make you the best coffee you ever had. It even makes cappuccino—’
‘No!’ Kate snapped. ‘No,’ she said again, striving for the calm professionalism she was known for, which seemed to have deserted her this week. ‘Thanks, I’ll get one myself in a while.’ Drop-dead gorgeous was already the cause of office conflict and he hadn’t been here more than forty-eight hours.
Coffee machine! She scoffed to herself as she punched in the airline’s number yet again and was put on hold. It was obvious he was trying to lure the staff onto his side. Sandy was already there. They’d like him, they’d want him to stay. Where would that leave her?
And what next after the coffee machine? An Under New Management sign on the window and a change in name? Damon Gillespie looked like the kind of man who’d want to make his own mark on the business. She could just picture ‘Damon’s Travel’ up there in big red letters.
Regular customers came here because they trusted Aussie Essential. Personalised service with a smile, the best deals around—somehow Bryce had always managed to undercut the competition. Why change something that worked?
She’d just finalised the booking from hell when her phone rang again. ‘Good morning, Aussie Essential Travel, Kate Fielding speaking. How can I help you?’
‘And good morning to you, too, Kate. Glad to hear you’re sounding better today.’
No name—of course a man like him would expect her to recognise his voice. She was tempted to play dumb but he’d know, damn him. ‘Damon.’ Her own professional voice slid a notch, her pulse stepped up one. She shot a quick glance at Sandy. Thankfully she was busy on her own phone. ‘What can I do for you?’
A pause while he considered her offer. She swore the connection crackled with the possibilities.
‘I’d like to use your local knowledge this afternoon,’ he said, finally. ‘Can you make yourself available at three?’
‘I… Is this work-related?’
‘Of course.’
By the tone in his voice she could almost hear him saying, What else would it be?
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