Overtime in the Boss's Bed (7 page)

‘Thanks, but I’m not hungry.’

‘Even for designer chocolate?’

‘How did you know?’

He smiled and her heart gave another thumpety-thump. ‘I spied your stash when I was in the cottage checking for roof damage.’

‘Yeah, but that doesn’t explain how
you’d
have any.’

His mock-offended expression made her laugh. ‘I’ll have you know I’m a man of refined tastes.’

‘And?’

‘My last PA was addicted to the stuff too, and she left it when she eloped with her fella.’

He joined in her chuckles, and despite her uncomfortably clingy nightie, her bedraggled hair and the post-adrenalin exhaustion seeping into her bones, she could have stood there trading banter with him all night.

‘You need a shower too.’

She said the first thing that popped into her head, her gaze dipping to the shirt plastered to his chest before wrenching upwards, noting how his dark hair
curled when wet, how the rain added a sheen to his bronzed skin.

He was incredible. And she’d be spending the night with him. Spare room or not.

He must have sensed the direction of her thoughts—that or the dribble of saliva escaping her mouth as she drooled over him—for he gave her a gentle shove in the direction of the guest room.

‘Go. I’ll take a quick shower, then head downstairs to wait for the repair man and rustle up that hot chocolate.’

‘Okay, I’ll meet you down there.’

He shook his head, reached out to trace a fingertip under her eyes.

‘You look beat. Relax up here—go to bed. I’ll leave the drink on the bedside table if you’re asleep.’

The thought of slipping between clean sheets after a cleansing shower sounded like heaven, yet she hesitated, wondering how she’d ever let him leave the bedroom if he entered it.

As if to remind her she had the energy reserves of a depleted marathon runner she yawned, unable to stifle another.

‘Off you go.’

‘Bossy,’ she muttered, tempering it with a grateful smile.

‘Don’t you forget it.’

He waited until she’d opened the bedroom door, giving her a funny half-salute before heading down the corridor, leaving her with residual warmth despite her frozen body.

She wasn’t supposed to feel anything for this guy. Whatever happened was supposed to be a bit of fun, a transient fling.

Yeah, right—tell that to her stupid, gullible heart, already half in love with him.

C
ALLUM
knocked softly on the bedroom door before opening it, carefully balancing the supper tray with his other hand. He strained his ears for a response, heard none, and proceeded into the room with caution.

Logically, silence said Starr had drifted off to sleep, just as he’d advised. But nothing in his life had been logical since this blonde dervish had whirled into his life.

He’d been thinking about her, replaying their tension-fraught day, when he’d seen lightning strike the cottage and almost had a heart attack on the spot. He’d never moved so fast, even in his championship hockey days, and all he could think as he ran downstairs was
let her be all right.

‘Callum?’

She sat up in bed, all mussed and ruffled and adorable, her hair tangled, her eyes blinking, her features blurred by sleep, and he’d never seen a woman so desirable.

‘Shh…I’ll leave your supper here.’

She sat up straighter, rubbed her eyes, and he struggled
to keep his eyes from dipping to the tantalising glimpse of cleavage just visible in the gaping vee of her robe.

She watched him as he neared the bed, and with every step he knew it would damn near impossible to turn around and leave when he’d deposited the tray.

‘Smells good.’

‘Yeah, it does.’

He wasn’t talking about the hot chocolate and toasted cheese sandwich. Rather the seductive scent of rose wafted from the bed towards him, wrapping him in a heady cocoon. Other guests had stayed here, had used the toiletries, but none had smelled as sweetly seductive as Starr.

‘Here you go.’

He’d almost completed his mission of leaving the tray and escaping when she rested a hand on his forearm, sending lust licking along his veins.

‘Stay.’

His gaze flew to hers, and he was surprised to see a flicker of fear rather than the desire he wished for.

‘What’s wrong?’

She released him as he sat on the edge of the bed, her fingers plucking at the hand-woven duvet cover.

‘It’s silly, but I’ve always been petrified of thunderstorms.’

‘You’re safe now. And I’m just down the corridor.’

He couldn’t stay.

She was asking too much.

What did she think he was? A goddamn saint?

Her teeth worried her bottom lip and he bit back a groan at the swift surge of longing to do the same.

Uh-uh, there was no way in hell he could stay.

Then she raised her eyes to his—wide, luminous blue pools filled with vulnerability.

‘Please. I need you to hold me.’

And he was a goner. Just like that.

Mentally uttering a string of creative curses, he opened his arms to her.

‘Scoot over.’

She obliged, moving over to give him enough room to slide between the sheets, and as she snuggled into him, a tantalising armful of warm, almost naked woman, he tightened his arms around her, closed his eyes.

It was going to be a long night.

Starr struggled to consciousness, wishing she could slip back into blissful sleep. She’d been suffering insomnia lately, worrying about everything from finding a dance job to finding a permanent place to live, yet last night she’d crashed.

With a relaxed sigh, she snuggled deeper into the covers, savouring the wonderful warmth cushioning her in a cocoon.

Just a few more minutes and she’d get up, start the day with a few stretches as she usually did, before getting ready for work.

Yeah, just a few more minutes… As she wriggled under the covers her cocoon moved and her eyes snapped open, reality crashing with the force of the thunderstorm that had put her here.

She was in bed with Callum.

A very aroused Callum.

A very awake Callum, who was staring at her with a question in his eyes.

A question she should refuse yet to which she wanted to shout a resounding
yes.

‘Morning,’ she said, belatedly realising her cocoon consisted of his strong arms holding her tight, his legs entwined with hers, and an unrelenting heat radiating off his body and wrapping her in welcoming warmth.

‘Sleep well?’

‘Like a baby.’

‘I’ve never really understood that saying.’

He disentangled his limbs from hers, sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and swiping a hand across his eyes while her skin puckered, missing his warmth.

‘From what I’ve heard, babies cry at night and keep their parents up.’

He leaned forward to push off the bed, and she laid a hand on his back, hating the way he stiffened.

‘Where are you going?’

‘To take a shower. Busy day ahead.’

That was right. They had to ignore the fact he’d spent the night cradling her in his arms, platonic comfort or not, forget they’d done it once before and concentrate on work.

That was exactly what they should do.

Maybe a lightning bolt had hit her as well as the cottage last night, or maybe it was a remnant of a dream, or maybe she just plain yearned to have his arms around her for a few minutes longer. But right that very second she didn’t want him to walk away.

Sliding her hand up to his shoulder, she tugged at him until he turned.

‘What’s your hurry?’

The instant flare of heat in his smouldering gaze sent a shot of anticipation through her. But he instantly damped it, shrugging off her hand.

‘This isn’t a good time.’

She sat bolt upright, frantically clutching at the sheet before realising she wore the voluminous robe she’d discovered in the guest bedroom closet.

‘It never will be.’

He pinned her with the intimidating glare he did so well. ‘You’re vulnerable right now, not thinking straight.’

Vulnerable? Her? No way. She’d survived worse than one crappy thunderstorm. A lot worse.

‘I was shaken last night, that’s all. It was nothing.’

She flashed a dazzling smile, tossed her hair, not caring that it must resemble a tangled bird’s nest—not the style she went to great lengths to cultivate each morning, with a healthy dollop of hair wax and mousse and the diffuser on her hairdryer.

She wanted to have this out with him. No way would she let him go all righteous on her now.

‘You were seriously spooked last night. So don’t tell me it was nothing.’

He searched her face for confirmation and she deliberately fixed her smile, ensuring her expression didn’t change—something she’d honed through kicking Sergio’s sorry butt before leaving him.

Squaring her shoulders, she threw out a challenge she knew he wouldn’t refuse.

‘You want me.’

There it was: a flash of fire again, and the tiny tic near his jaw indicating she’d scored a direct hit.

‘What I want right now is irrelevant. You need to—’

‘Don’t tell me what I need!’

She jabbed at his chest, hoping to provoke him into touching her right back.

‘I
know
what I need. What about you? What do
you
need?’

A battle waged across his face, blinding need warring with saintly intentions, before he reached for her, the heat in his eyes blistering, sending a responding jolt through her body.

‘This.’

He pushed her back on the bed, his weight covering her body, the thick length of his erection pushing against her belly as his mouth crushed hers in a desperate kiss that scorched her all the way to her soul.

Her body arched beneath his, surging to meet him, eager to feel him, all of him, deep inside.

But he didn’t play fair—uh-uh. While his mouth drove her wild, his tongue meshing with hers, he rolled to one side, giving him room to fully explore her body. His hand tugged at the belt holding her robe together, skimming her skin slick with sweat before gliding lower…lower…

When his fingers delved into her wet folds she groaned, a low, drawn-out moan torn from deep
within, as he continued to pleasure her, his thumb expertly circling her clitoris as his fingers slid inside her moist heat.

She was so hot for him, so blindingly in lust, it took less than a minute for him to bring her to climax. The power of it contracted every muscle in her body as she rode crest after crest of sensual pleasure, until she shattered, clutched at him, before collapsing in a wrung-out puddle of loose, languid limbs.

After what seemed like an eternity her eyes fluttered open, caught him staring at her with blatant hunger, before he carefully tugged the gaping edges of the robe together and moved across to the far side of the bed.

She swore. ‘Why do you have to be so damn responsible all the time?’

He flinched as if she’d struck him, standing before she could reach out to him.

‘Because it’s who I am.’

He strode towards the door without looking back, his shoulders rigid, his gait stiff.

‘Callum, wait. Don’t leave like this. We’re not finished…’

He hesitated, shot a quick glance over his shoulder, his expression inscrutable as always.

‘Yeah, we are.’

The slamming door echoed the hollow in her heart.

‘Is the cottage safe?’

‘Safe as houses.’

The electrician grinned at his corny pun, but Callum wasn’t amused. He wanted the cottage back to normal ASAP, so his unexpected house guest could resume residential status there.

He’d been like a madman all morning, hassling the insurance company, demanding the roof be fixed and the wiring checked. They’d complied, and now he could deliver the good news to Starr.

He needed her out of his house, out of proximity, out of touching distance…before he lost his mind.

He’d almost blown it this morning.

Waking up with her in his arms, soft and warm and pliant, he’d experienced such an overwhelming surge of longing it had left him breathless.

But the longing hadn’t been purely physical, and that was what scared him the most, what had sent him running after he’d pleasured her, what drove him to put as much emotional distance between them as possible.

He didn’t do emotions—not any more.

‘I’ll put my report in to the insurance company, but you’ll be right, mate. Nothing to fix. You were lucky.’

Yeah, real lucky—discounting the fact that in one long night his exuberant, feisty PA had shown him a new side to her, a glimpse of vulnerability, and wangled her way into his hardened heart.

‘Thanks.’

‘No worries.’

The electrician saluted before hoisting his toolbox and setting off down the path leading to the main
driveway, leaving him staring at the cottage and pondering the real reason behind Starr’s freak-out.

Lightning striking the roof would have made a god-awful noise, but her reaction had been surprising—especially considering her resilience.

She’d packed up and headed to a new city, taking a less-than-ideal job, and she was making the most of it. Confident, bold and fearless, she was the least likely woman to be affected by a simple thunderstorm.

Yet she hadn’t wanted him to leave her alone last night, and he’d seen the genuine fear in her eyes.

Thank goodness his shredded self-control had kicked in. And yet this morning, after having her wriggling against him half the night and torturing his howling libido in the process, he’d cracked.

Kissing her, touching her, making her climax, had shaken him to his core.

He’d had her naked and willing in his arms, matching him every step of the way, but when he’d seen her lying against the sheets, glowing and sated and defenceless, something had reached deep down, grabbed hold of his heart and twisted hard.

He didn’t want to feel anything for her—wanted to make sure if they had sex again it would be how he usually liked it: hot, fierce, unemotional.

But having her in his house, dependent on him for shelter as well as her job, was too much.

After what had happened this morning he wasn’t a complete fool.

Despite all his protestations, all the logical reasons
why they shouldn’t get involved, they’d have sex again. It was just a matter of when.

Though he’d make damn sure the next time it would be a wild, fun ride without a hint of emotion in sight.