Play Thing. Nicola Marsh

      Seeing her again, sitting opposite him in her conservative work attire, only made him want to see what was under it all the more. Would she be wearing lace? Satin? Or that risqué leather again?

      Damn, not helping the hard-on situation.

      ‘But doing the best job I can for this company is important to me and I want you to work alongside me to achieve that goal. Can you do it?’

      He half expected her to tell him to stick his offer. To tender her resignation and sue the pants off him.

      Instead, after a long pause where she studied him with disconcerting intensity, she nodded.

      ‘I can do this if you can.’

      Hot damn, that almost sounded like a challenge.

      As if she thought he couldn’t work with her without reverting to the horny caveman he’d been yesterday. He’d show her.

      But in agreeing to keep this all business, he’d be deprived of some serious pleasure.

      Their first encounter had been colossal.

      What would prim Charlotte be like if she really let go?

       CHAPTER SEVEN

      CHARLOTTE LEFT THE office in a daze. She couldn’t return to her desk to focus on work and pretend her carefully ordered world hadn’t just been tipped on its head.

      She’d had sex with her new boss.

      Not just sex. Amazing, stupendous, multi-orgasmic sex. The kind of sex she’d only ever read about but never dreamed could happen for real.

      As she walked aimlessly in the bright Sydney sunshine, she remembered one of the last things she’d said to her flatmate Mak before she’d left to take Broadway by storm.

       ‘I need a bad boy. Some big, bold, annoying, arrogant guy to rattle my cage.’

      Well, she’d got her wish and then some.

      In what weird alternate universe, in what giant cosmic twist of fate, did she have the best sex of her life only to discover she’d have to work alongside the hot guy who’d rocked her world? The guy who held her dream of owning her perfect house in the palm of his hand and had the power to make or break it with a snap of his talented fingers?

      It didn’t seem possible. But it was and now Alexander Bronson expected her to work with him and act like he hadn’t been inside her in the most intimate way?

      Impossible. Improbable. Improper.

      Because Charlotte couldn’t forget, despite what she’d told him.

      She blamed him, for saying all that stuff about how badly he’d wanted her and how he couldn’t control himself around her. As if she were some glamorous femme fatale who inspired that kind of passion in a man. She wished.

      There’d been a moment when she’d first seen him behind his desk, an infinitesimal moment, where she’d seen hunger in his eyes. As if he still wanted her. It should have sent her running. It didn’t.

      For the simple fact she liked feeling wanted.

      Men didn’t turn their heads to stare as she walked down the street. She didn’t inspire sexist wolf whistles or lewd comments. And the one and only time she’d succumbed to searching for a date online, she’d taken down her profile from the app after a day when she’d received a mortifying two less-than-stellar requests.

      Besides, she valued her job. She needed her job. And she couldn’t walk away now, not when she was so close to realising one of her long-held dreams.

      Having nomadic parents, being raised by a kooky aunt, meant Charlotte craved security like nothing else. And the quirky cottage on the outskirts of Sydney that she’d fallen in love with represented that to her.

      A home.

      A house all of her own, where she could establish the life she wanted before following the rest of her dreams: a husband, kids, the works. Charlotte wanted it all and knew the only way she could make it happen was to go after it.

      It wouldn’t be easy, finding her perfect guy. She knew this, considering she’d have to date regularly to discover what she really wanted in a man and her track record in the dating stakes had been abysmal until now. But the house was a first step in the right direction and somehow, with her twisted logic, she thought that once she had the house she could set about finding a guy happy to live in it.

      She almost had enough for a deposit, enough for the bank to take her seriously for a hefty loan application. Just another fortnight and she could start living her dream.

      But to do so, she had to tolerate working with Alexander Bronson.

      ‘You can do this,’ she muttered, kicking at a stone on the footpath, as her cell buzzed in her pocket.

      She fished it out, her palms growing clammy as his name popped up on the screen. She’d entered it the moment she’d left his office, ensuring she could ignore his calls if needed.

      But this wasn’t a call; he’d sent a text.

      Have ordered morning tea for staff. Please pick up the order from Le Miel on your way back.

      Will be good to have staff bonding session.

      Alex

      Charlotte muttered an unsavoury curse under her breath and shoved her cell back in her pocket. She didn’t need a staff bonding session. She’d already bonded with her boss and it had been so damn monumental she couldn’t forget it.

      Le Miel was a café they often used for work functions, and she figured he’d probably got the recommendation from the receptionist. Heading there would be good—she needed a friendly ear and Abby was a great listener. Though what her friend would say when she heard about the events of the last few days... Charlotte picked up the pace. The faster Abby talked sense into her, the better.

      Ten minutes later, she had two bags filled with Abby’s delectable pastries ready to take back to the office. But she couldn’t leave without talking to her friend so she perched at her favourite table, ordered a cappuccino and waited.

      Abby always popped out from the kitchen when she visited, which was several times a week. Charlotte couldn’t resist her friend’s melt-in-the-mouth beignets, croissants and pain au chocolat, eternally grateful for her fast metabolism that ensured a thirty-minute walk a day burned off the calories.

      That leather bustier yesterday had been tighter than her usual size—a moderate B cup—so maybe she should lay off... She stopped eyeing up a giant almond croissant and sipped at her coffee instead, wishing she hadn’t thought about that damn lingerie. She blamed it for her entire lapse in judgement. That, and Alex’s inherent hotness.

       Alex.

      That was what he’d said to call him. Informal, casual, implying intimacy.

      Hell, it was going to be a tough four weeks, waiting until the wunderkind yanked the accountancy firm out of the mire. It could only be a good thing, ensuring she had a job to support her impending loan. But four weeks of working alongside the guy who’d haunted her dreams last night would be torture.

      ‘Hey, Char, what brings you by this time of day?’ Abby collapsed into the chair opposite after placing a plate of freshly baked strawberry tartlets on the table between them. ‘Your firm only ever orders afternoon tea and only then infrequently.’

      ‘The new boss is trying to suck up to the employees.’

      Abby smiled. ‘So how is the boss from hell? Is he as intimidating in person as he was on the phone to you all these weeks?’

      She’d whined about Alex for weeks—his condescending teasing, his constant demands, his infernal tasks—and Abby had been