Overtime in the Boss's Bed Page 4

  By the sudden clarity of her friend’s tone, Kit had sat bolt upright and ditched the bedcovers completely.

  ‘Listen up, girlfriend, for a bit of Kitty-Kat advice. This guy rocked your world for a night. So he’s your boss now? Big deal. He’s a temporary boss. You’ll be out of there as soon as you land a big gig, so why not make the most of your opportunity?’

  Starr shook her head, her thumb hovering over the ‘end call’ button.

  This was an interim job, a stop-gap, a fill-her-bank-account-with-something job while she did some serious searching for a prime dance role here in Melbourne.

  Dance was her life, the only constant in her world—a world that had constantly changed and moved and evolved courtesy of her nomad parents, who’d hoe-downed, jigged and reeled their way across the country from the moment she was born.

  She could depend on dance, could trust it to be there for her when no one and nothing else would. Her heart was poured into every performance, into every tango, every tarantella, every tambourin. Nothing was too great a sacrifice for her true love.

  She’d forgone carbs and sugar for years to keep her body lean, had spent endless repetitive hours training until her back twinged, her hamstrings pinged and her eternally troubled feet ached. Had sat in audition queues for hours, nerves stretched tauter than a ballet shoe ribbon while checking out the competition.

  It was worth it, every draining, exhilarating second, and the faster she accumulated a little security savings, the sooner she could ditch the PA duties and follow her dream.

  Sure, she intended to give this interim job her all, but the fact she’d already slept with her boss made her beyond edgy.

  ‘You’re no help.’

  Kit tsk-tsked. ‘Au contraire, Twinkletoes. I think I’ve merely voiced what you’re already thinking. Am I right?’

  Her muttered expletive had Kit chuckling.

  ‘Go on, have a little fun. After what Sergio put you through, you deserve it.’

  After what Sergio had put her through she deserved to spend a year in bed with Callum, uninterrupted.

  ‘You heard he’s set up his own dance company?’

  ‘Yeah. Bastard.’

  The company she was supposed to star in. Until he replaced her with a younger, lither model, both in and out of the bedroom.

  ‘Like anyone’s going to work for him.’

  ‘Some of the Bossa Nova crew must’ve defected with him?’

  Kit paused, cleared her throat, and Starr knew what was coming before her friend spoke.

  ‘A few of the leads.’

  ‘Aisha?’

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  Starr grabbed a nearby cushion and punched it hard.

  ‘You shouldn’t listen to gossip. I don’t think she was with him when—’

  ‘He was.’

  She’d walked in on them, and while she’d wanted to kick both their bony asses at the time, when she’d calmed down she’d realised Sergio had done her a favour.

  They’d been stagnant for a long time. She’d stuck with him out of familiarity more than any grand passion. The kind of passion Callum had inspired during that one, incredible, unforgettable night, damn it.

  ‘Anyway, enough about them. You need to focus. New job. Hot boss. Remember?’

  She didn’t need reminding. She had a feeling Callum would be crowding her head twenty-four-seven.

  ‘Okay, you’re right. I can do this.’

  ‘Do him, don’t you mean?’

  Kit’s wicked chuckle drew a reluctant smile.

  ‘I’ll keep you posted.’

  ‘You do that. And, hun?’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘You need a break. So cut yourself some slack, enjoy the job, and live a little, okay?’

  ‘Okay. Bye.’

  ‘Toodles.’

  After hanging up, Starr lay back with her hands behind her head and stared at the wooden beams criss-crossing the ceiling, Kit’s friendly advice ringing in her ears.

  Enjoy the job…live a little.

  Unfortunately, she had a feeling the two weren’t mutually exclusive.

  CHAPTER SIX

  ‘NEXT on the agenda is organising the business dinner for Friday night.’

  Starr stared at Callum, hating the aloof control freak he’d morphed into.

  Where was the suave, smooth guy who’d flirted with her that night in Sydney?

  Where was the chivalrous, gallant guy who’d insisted he see her to her door?

  Where was the hot, passionate guy who’d held her in his arms and made love to her all night long?

  Vanished beneath a mountain of paperwork and memos and urgent e-mails, with his stuffy designer suit and starched business shirt covering a chest she remembered all too well.

  ‘Is there a problem?’

  She wrenched her gaze from his chest, noting with satisfaction the flicker of something other than aloofness in his deep, dark eyes.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then concentrate.’

  His snappish order dispelled any false idea he was thawing towards her. If anything, he’d been cold and abrupt to the point of rudeness since she’d started work.

  He did have a problem with her, despite his little spiel about their night in Sydney meaning nothing.

  Gripping her pen tighter, she doodled ‘BAD MOVE’ in bold capitals before blurting, ‘Why did you hire me?’

  His lips thinned before he fixed her with a no-nonsense glare.

  ‘Because my work was backing up and you rang at the right time.’

  ‘You know I won’t be here long? That I’ll be chasing up dance leads ’til I find something suitable?’

  Steepling his fingers together, he leaned back in his director’s chair, his expression that of a stern principal dealing with a recurrent problem child.

  ‘I know everything about you.’

  She blushed, hating how true that statement was.

  He knew her erogenous zones, he knew her ticklish spots, he knew where she had a tattoo. A renewed surge of heat flushed her cheeks as she remembered how he’d traced the treble clef with his tongue, repeatedly.

  ‘I’m under no illusions as to your length of stay. You’ll be seeking employment as a dancer here in Melbourne. I expect that. In the meantime I’ll continue searching for a permanent replacement.’

  He sat forward abruptly, slammed his palm on the stack of documents in front of him.

  ‘But for now I need you to get started on these.’

  Pushing the teetering stack towards her, he barely glanced in her direction, yet a telltale tic in the vicinity of his jaw alluded to an undercurrent he was desperately trying to hide behind work.

  So the boss man wasn’t quite as cool as he wanted her to believe.

  She knew the feeling. Though his office was spacious, being confined in the same room as him, pretending they were just business colleagues, was taking its toll.

  As hard as she tried to concentrate, every now and then her gaze would wander, honing in on one powerful, dedicated businessman.

  She admired his drive, was grateful he’d hired her, but then her mind would wander along with her gaze, and she’d remember how driven he’d been that night in Sydney—a huge success in all areas of his life, including the bedroom.

  Blinking, she cleared her throat. ‘Where exactly would you like me to start?’

  ‘Start at the top, work your way down.’

  Oh-oh, her erotic memories had impeded her judgement, for she could have sworn she glimpsed a flicker of heat in his steady gaze, and her heart was doing the mambo as he leaned across the desk, so close, so temptingly close.

  His lips quirked as he pushed the documents all the way across. ‘From what you did with that stack of invoices earlier, this lot should be a breeze.’

  Just like that her little fantasy that he was on the verge of flirting pirouetted out the window.

  Of course he was talking about work, not alluding to that night in Sydney.

  But there had
been the twinkle in his eyes…

  Gathering up the documents, she stood and headed for her desk, turning back at the last moment, catching him off guard, staring at her legs.

  Yeah, she was right. He wasn’t immune, and she’d be damned if she sat back and took all his ‘this is work, I’m in control, that night never happened’ crap.

  ‘Just so you know—I don’t play games.’

  She expected him to feign indifference or ignorance. Instead, he crossed the room in one second flat to lean down and murmur in her ear, ‘Neither do I,’ before heading out through the door.

  The moment he left she slumped into her chair, grabbed the nearest document and fanned her face rapidly.

  While the air-conditioning kept the room at optimum temperature, working with Callum Cartwright did not.

  Heat prickled her skin as she fanned faster, her cheeks burning. She couldn’t afford to get this hot and bothered, couldn’t let him affect her this way.

  She needed this job, needed to stay focussed and on track so she could return to what she did best: dance.

  Her hand picked up tempo, and the cooling breeze returned her temperature along with her common sense to normal.

  There were a million and one perfectly logical, perfectly sane reasons why she couldn’t get involved with her new boss.

  Not mixing business with pleasure.

  Her recent break-up.

  The fact she wouldn’t be around long.

  And they were just for starters.

  No, moving beyond a strictly platonic business relationship with her boss would be beyond stupid. And, while she might be many things, stupid wasn’t one of them.

  Flinging the document on top of the huge pile, she linked her hands, stretched overhead, enjoying the satisfying elongation of lats, trapezius, triceps, pushing muscles to their limit, only stopping at the twinge of pain that signalled she’d gone far enough.

  Counting to a slow ten under her breath, she finally released her arms, shook them out.

  Much better. Tension released, shoulders loose, ready to resume work.

  Work would keep her focussed.

  Work would keep her occupied.

  Work would keep her from contemplating exactly how much fun it would be to replay that night in Sydney with her sexy boss despite the multitude of reasons not to.

  Callum worked through dinner most evenings. It was the norm for him, burying his nose in work, and these days, with the economic downturn and investors both in Australia and abroad panicking, he needed to focus more than ever.

  He’d used to think little of snatching a quick meal with his assistant as they wound up business for the day, getting a head start on tomorrow.

  That had been before his assistant had sleek blonde hair hanging halfway down her back in a shiny curtain, a full bottom lip she constantly nibbled while concentrating, and a sensuously lithe body on constant display as she stretched every few minutes.

  He’d been pushed into ballroom dancing as a kid starting high school—had been more interested in the girls wearing skimpy costumes than any burning desire to master the foxtrot or the cha-cha.

  Surreptitiously watching Starr move reminded him of those old dance classes, the gracefulness of it all.

  The simple action of her reaching for a pen became a fluid, elegant movement. When she switched from picking up the phone to jotting down notes it was a coordinated, smooth transition of elongated arms, flexible fingers and a slight stretch of her neck.

  Her willowy body moved and shifted every few minutes, making the most innocuous tasks as riveting as watching an opening night performance of Les Misérables, his favourite theatre show.

  He could have watched her for ever, but his pulse pounding a polka and the urge to choreograph them into more than a business relationship had him on edge.

  He didn’t do relationships.

  Ever.

  They’d moved past any potential awkwardness over their one night stand and he wanted to keep it that way. Getting physical again would only ruin the good working camaraderie they’d established in less than a day.

  Nothing ever affected business. He wouldn’t allow it. Yet without a good PA he’d been on the verge of floundering. He needed someone competent and she’d more than surprised him. Why botch that for the sake of reliving that one hot, unforgettable night in Sydney?

  He watched her stand, reach for a file on the top of a cabinet, her toned right arm in perfect synchronicity with her left leg stretched behind, balanced on tiptoes.

  She looked so poised, so controlled, so beautiful. He couldn’t look away, trapped by the intense, overwhelming desire to cross the room, take her hand and spin her into his arms in one smooth move.

  Frowning, he dropped his gaze, pinched the bridge of his nose.

  Damn, this was a bad idea.

  He’d had it all figured out: take her on as a stopgap measure so his business wouldn’t suffer, ignore their night of passion in Sydney, stay on track.

  Unlike his solid business plans, which always came to fruition through sheer doggedness and determination, this particular plan had hit a snag.

  All the cool logic in the world meant nothing when confronted with Starr Merriday in all her glory.

  Starr Merriday. Even her name sounded fun and frivolous and flirty. It fitted her perfectly, for that was exactly how she came across—no matter how hard she tried to handle the tasks he’d set her.

  Not that she’d done a bad job—far from it. In fact, her diligence surprised him, as did her computer skills. She was nothing but competent and efficient and eager to learn.

  He should have been happy he’d found someone at short notice; instead he silently cursed as his gaze drifted towards her for the hundredth time in the last half-hour.

  Tearing a bite out of his usual cream cheese, smoked salmon and rocket sandwich, he tried to focus on the figures in front of him, but the numbers on the spreadsheet held little interest in comparison to surreptitiously watching a beautiful woman tapping industriously at a computer.

  ‘If you keep staring at me like that I won’t be responsible for typing a load of gobbledy-gook on this report.’

  Sprung.

  He’d bluff his way out of it, even though he was desperate to rein in the uncontrollable urge to sweep the work off the table, ditch dinner and feast on her.

  ‘Who said I’m staring?’

  With a defiant toss of her hair, she pushed away the keyboard, linked her hands and stretched.

  And his mouth went dry.

  Her blouse pulled taut against her breasts, taunting him, teasing the edges of his memory.

  Not that it needed much prompting.

  He could remember every luscious curve of her toned body: the smooth skin, the tempting indentations, the sensitivity of the hollows behind her knees, her elbows, the underside of her breasts, that wicked little musical tattoo on the upper inside of her right thigh…

  ‘What’s up?’

  He snapped to attention, blinked to dispel the erotic fog clouding his judgement. Hell, he’d never get any work done at this rate, and it was only her first day.

  ‘You’re distracting me.’

  She quirked an eyebrow, a smug smile playing about her glorious mouth.

  ‘I’ll take that as a compliment.’

  He frowned, pointed at the keyboard. ‘I meant your infernal clattering.’

  He only just caught her muttered, ‘Liar.’

  Pushing away from the table, he headed for the back door. ‘I’m going for a swim.’

  ‘What about work?’

  ‘You know what you have to do.’

  ‘So I’m finished for the day once I’m done here?’

  He nodded, hating how ungrateful he sounded, all because he couldn’t ignore his raging libido.

  ‘Thanks. Good job today.’

  ‘My pleasure.’

  He bit back a groan as her tongue darted out to moisten her bottom lip, his gaze riveted to it, his mind lingering on her
last word.

  Pleasure.

  Raunchy, raw, steamy pleasure.

  It was all he could think about with this woman, all he could fantasise about over and over and over…

  Hating feeling this out of control—been there, done that, suffered the consequences every day of his life since—he wrenched open the door, grateful for the slap of cold air.

  ‘We start at eight tomorrow morning.’

  ‘I’ll be here.’

  The soft tinkle of her knowing laughter chased him out of the door.

  Starr had never been a glutton for punishment.

  When things weren’t working out in her life, she cut and run.

  She’d done it as a kid when she’d run away from her parents, who’d moved for the hundredth time, chasing their own dreams and ignoring hers.

  She’d done it as a teenager when her attempt at leaving showbiz behind hadn’t worked and she’d enrolled in a business course, only to leave two years later when she hadn’t been able to ignore the lure of the dance studio.

  And she’d done it recently, cutting her losses with Sergio and starting afresh in Melbourne.

  So why was she punishing herself like this?

  Hiding out in the shrubbery between the cottage and the pool, watching Callum cut through the water like a shark with the scent of prey.

  This was definitely punishment—spying on something she couldn’t have, something deliciously tempting that had tortured her all day.

  She knew getting involved with him was wrong—had rehashed the arguments against it in her head several times over the last few hours while she’d been the model diligent PA and he’d pretended not to stare at her.

  Considering she was currently wedged in a bush, with twigs poking her butt and pollen tickling her nose, she guessed she hadn’t listened too hard to the reasons why she needed to keep her distance from this guy unless it was during business hours.

  She might be desperate for money and a place to live but this was crazy. She needed to start making the rounds of dance companies again, dropping off résumés, muscling in on auditions.

  She needed to get out of here.

  With a shake of her head, she shuffled backwards out of the bushes, freezing when she heard a terrifying sound halfway between a growl, a snort and heavy breathing.