How To Sleep With The Boss. Janice Maynard

top of her head. Not that this was a date. It wasn’t. Not even close. But Patrick Kavanagh was an imposing specimen. Despite his comfortably elegant appearance at the hotel, she had the distinct sense that beneath the dark suits and crisp ties lurked someone who was very much a man’s man.

      The kind of guy who made a woman’s toes curl with just one look from his intense blue-gray eyes. He was tall and lean and had a headful of unruly black hair. The glossy, dark strands needed a comb. Or maybe the attention of a lover’s fingers.

      Her heart thumped hard, even as her stomach tumbled in a free fall. “That would be nice,” she said. Great. Now she sounded like a child going to a tea party at her grandma’s house.

      Charlise picked up her purse and a small box. Patrick hefted the larger carton and followed her out of the room, leaving Libby to trail behind. Outside, the air was crisp and cold. She shivered and pulled her sweater more tightly across her chest.

      Patrick stowed Charlise’s things and hugged her. The affection between the two was palpable. Libby wondered what Charlise’s husband was like. Obviously, he must be quite a guy if he let his wife work day after day with the darkly handsome Patrick Kavanagh.

      Charlise eased behind the wheel, closed the car door and motioned for Libby to come closer. Patrick’s phone had rung, and he was deep in conversation with whoever was on the other end.

      Libby rested a hand in the open window and leaned down. “You’re going to freeze,” she said.

      The pregnant woman lowered her voice. “Don’t let him ride roughshod over you. You’re almost too nice sometimes. Stand up to him if the occasion warrants it.”

      “Why would I do that? He’s the boss.”

      Charlise grinned and started the engine. “Because he’s too damned arrogant for his own good. All the Kavanagh men are. They’re outrageously sexy, too, but we women have to draw a line in the sand. Trust me, Libby. Alpha males are like dangerous animals. They can smell fear. You need to project confidence even when you don’t feel it.”

      “Now you’re scaring me,” Libby said, only half joking.

      “I’ve known Patrick a long time. He admires grit and determination. You’ll win his respect. I have no doubt. And don’t worry about the survival training. What’s the worst that could happen?”

      * * *

      Libby watched the car drive away, burdened with an inescapable feeling that her only friend in the world was leaving her behind in the scary forest. When she turned around, the lights from the main lodge of Silver Reflections cast a warm glow against the gathering darkness.

      Since Patrick was still tied up on the phone, she went back to Charlise’s office—now Libby’s—and printed out the staff directory. She planned to study it this weekend. Facts and figures about everyone from the housekeeping staff to the guy who kept the internet up and running. Even at an executive retreat center famed for creating an atmosphere of solitude and introspection, no one at the level of these guests was going to be happy without a connection to the outside world.

      Patrick found her twenty minutes later. “You ready to go? I guess it makes sense to take two cars.”

      Silver Reflections was tucked away in the mountains ten miles outside of town. In the complete opposite direction stood the magnificent Silver Beeches Lodge. Perched on a mountaintop overlooking Silver Glen, it was owned and operated by Maeve Kavanagh and her eldest son, Liam. Libby hesitated before answering, having second thoughts. “I’m sure you must have better things to do with your weekend. I’m not really dressed for dinner out.”

      Patrick’s eyes darkened with a hint of displeasure. “If it will make you feel better, I’ll include these hours in your paycheck. And dinner doesn’t have to be fancy. We can go to the Silver Dollar.”

      Patrick’s brother, Dylan, owned a popular watering hole in town. The saloon was definitely low-key. Certainly Libby’s clothing would not make her stand out there. “All right,” she said, realizing for the first time that Patrick’s invitation was more like an order. “I’ll meet you there.”

      During the twenty-minute drive, she had time to calm her nerves. She already had the job. Patrick wasn’t going to fire her yet. All she had to do was stick it out until they did some of the outdoor stuff, and she could prove to him that she was adaptable and confident in the face of challenges.

      That pep talk carried her all the way into the parking lot of the Silver Dollar. The requisite pickup trucks were definitely in evidence, but they were interspersed with Lexus and Mercedes and the occasional fancy sports car.

      Libby had visited this corner of North Carolina a time or two over the years with her mother. Silver Glen was a high-end tourist town with a nod to alpine flavor and an unspoken guarantee that the paparazzi were not allowed. It wasn’t unusual to see movie stars and famous musicians wandering the streets in jeans and baseball caps.

      Most of them eventually showed up at the Silver Dollar, where the beer was cold, the Angus burgers prime and the crowd comfortably raucous. Libby hovered on the porch, waiting for Patrick to arrive. The noise and color and atmosphere were worlds away from her native habitat in Manhattan, but she loved it here.

      At Maeve’s urging, Libby had given up the New York apartment she could scarcely afford and had come to North Carolina for a new start. Truth be told, her native habitat was feeling more and more distant every day.

      Patrick strolled into view, jingling his car keys. “Let’s grab a table,” he said. “I called Dylan and told him we were on our way.”

      In no time, they were seated. Libby ordered a Coke...Patrick, an imported ale. Dylan stopped by to say hello. The smiling, very handsome bar owner was the second oldest in the seven-boy Kavanagh lineup. Patrick was the second youngest.

      Patrick waved a hand at Libby. “Do you remember Libby Parkhurst? She’s going to fill in for part of Charlise’s maternity leave.”

      Dylan shook Libby’s hand. “I do remember you.” He sobered. “I was sorry to hear about your mother. We have an apartment upstairs here at the Silver Dollar. I’d be happy to give it to you rent-free until you’ve had a chance to get back on your feet.”

      Libby narrowed her gaze. “Did your mother guilt you into making me an offer?”

      Dylan’s neck turned red. “Why would you say that? Can’t a man do something nice without getting an inquisition?”

      Libby stared from one brother to the other. Apparently, down-on-her-luck Libby had become the family project. “If you’re positive it won’t be an imposition,” she said slowly. “I’m taking up a very nice guest room at Maeve’s fancy hotel, so I’m sure she’d rather have me here.”

      Dylan shook his head. “Maeve is delighted to have you anywhere. Trust me. But she thought you’d like some privacy.”

      * * *

      Patrick studied Libby’s face as she pondered the implications of living above the bar. It was hardly what she was used to...but then again, he had no idea what her life had been like after the tax guys had swooped in and claimed their due.

      Dylan wandered away to deal with a bar-related problem, and on impulse, Patrick asked the question on his mind. “Will you tell me about this past year? Where you’ve been? How things unfolded? Sometimes it helps to talk to a neutral third party.”

      Libby sipped her Coke, her gaze on the crowd. Friday nights were always popular at the Silver Dollar. He studied her profile. She had a stubborn chin, but everything else about her was soft and feminine. He would bet money that after one night in the woods, Libby was going to admit she was in over her head.

      When she looked at him, those beautiful eyes gave him a jolt—awareness laced with the tiniest bit of sexual interest. He shut down that idea quickly. Maeve would have his head on a platter if he messed with her protégé. And besides, Libby wasn’t his type. Not at all.

      Libby’s