Overtime in the Boss's Bed. Nicola Marsh

       ‘Shall we start the interview?’

      It was impossible to stand there and pretend only to view him as a prospective boss when she’d seen him naked.

      ‘Yes, right. The interview.’

      Inwardly cringing at her awkward response, she dropped her hands to her sides, flexed her fingers, shook them out, mustered her best stage face.

      ‘What do you want to know? My typing speed? PC skills? Microsoft literate? Multi-tasker?’

      Heck, she was babbling, sounding more moronic by the second, while his expression remained impassive, his gaze focussed on her with frightening clarity, and she suddenly knew she’d been a fool to mistake this man for anything other than an imperturbable, composed businessman who’d let nothing stand in the way of getting what he wanted.

      ‘I need a PA.’

      And she needed money desperately.

      A win-win for them both.

      If she could just forget the fact she’d had the best sex of her life with him.

       Praise for Nicola Marsh:

       About Nicola’s Modern Heat™,

       TWO-WEEK MISTRESS:

      ‘Funny, witty and sensually enticing, TWO-WEEK MISTRESS by Nicola Marsh left me laughing at the antics of her characters while enjoying the sensuality of this novel.’

       —www.cataromance.com

       About BIG-SHOT BACHELOR, also from Modern Heat™:

      ‘Nicola Marsh writes a down-to-earth romance that will appeal to everyone…’

       —www.cataromance.com

       About INHERITED: BABY, from Mills & Boon® Romance:

      ‘Awe-inspiring characters combined with an incredible story, INHERITED: BABY by Nicola Marsh tells the story of a woman’s inspirational spirit to live her life her way, who is able to succeed in getting the man of her dreams…’

       —www.cataromance.com

      Overtime in the Boss’s Bed

      By

      Nicola Marsh

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      Nicola Marsh has always had a passion for writing and reading. As a youngster, she devoured books when she should have been sleeping, and later kept a diary whose content could be an epic in itself! These days, when she’s not enjoying life with her husband and son in her home city of Melbourne, she’s at her computer, creating the romances she loves, in her dream job. Visit Nicola’s website at www.nicolamarsh.com for the latest news of her books.

      Nicola also writes for Mills & Boon® Romance.

       Recent titles by the same author:

      MARRIAGE: FOR BUSINESS OR PLEASURE?

      TWO WEEKS IN THE MAGNATE’S BED

      THE BOSS’S BEDROOM AGENDA

      HOT NIGHTS WITH A PLAYBOY

      This one’s for my dancing buddy Jen. Remember how we used to burn up the floor at Bobby McGees and the Geebung? Fun memories…

      CHAPTER ONE

      THE BRONZE GOD WAS NAKED.

      Gloriously, eye-poppingly naked, every muscle flexing and bunching and glistening as he carried a tray laden with cocktails and champagne flutes through the crowd.

      ‘You can close your jaw now, before it hits the floor.’

      Starr Merriday blinked once, twice, the spell broken as she tore her reluctant gaze away from the waiter and frowned at her best friend Kit.

      ‘It’s your fault. You brought me to this den of iniquity.’

      Kit wiggled her eyebrows suggestively, her chuckle positively wicked. ‘Yeah, and you’re loving every minute of it.’

      ‘It does have its benefits.’

      Starr’s gaze strayed to the ripped waiter again, lingered on his pecs, the light smattering of dark hair across his broad chest, dipped to his navel, the arrowing of hair beneath it…

      ‘Jeez, what does a girl have to do to get a drink in this place?’

      Kit smirked. ‘Bit hot under the collar?’

      ‘More like hot all over,’ she muttered, thankful the waiters were clothed from the waist down, beyond thankful Kit had chosen one of her entrepreneurial mother’s infamous cocktail parties for her farewell.

      Nothing like a roomful of semi-naked guys to get a girl’s mind off the fact she was jobless, homeless and penniless.

      ‘Don’t look now, but I think he’s checking me out.’

      Kit’s subtle head-jerk towards Mr Pecs had Starr darting a quick glance in his direction, just in time to see him stumble, the tray skating on his palms like a penguin on ice, sloshing cocktails everywhere, the bulk of them landing on the guy next to him.

      Sympathy warred with mirth as she watched the waiter try to mop up the mess, the guy in the suit waving him away with a frown.

      The cocktail-wearing recipient looked out of place, suited and buttoned-up in a roomful of semi-naked guys, and she grinned as he fiddled with the knot of his tie, straightening it, aiming for cool, despite having several mojitos and a magnum of champagne dumped on his Armani duds.

      ‘Yeah, he was definitely checking me out. Just one look and the guy does that. Back soon, hun. Off to mingle—find me a less clumsy one.’

      Kit headed for the bar—and a tempting conglomeration of buffed waiters—while Starr found her gaze drawn back to the suit.

      She’d been too busy ogling the waiters to notice the other guys in the room, but now she had…Slick guys in suits weren’t her thing, but there was something about this guy. The way he stood, tall, proud, indomitable, despite a cocktail-dousing, his class obvious, his imperious gaze scanning the crowd…clashing with hers.

      Startled, she dropped her gaze, surprised by the lick of heat lapping her skin after their momentary eye-lock.

      The smart thing to do would be to quickstep out of here. But considering the shambles her life was at the moment, she hadn’t done the smart thing in ages.

      Curious to see if her inexplicable reaction to the stranger had been a result of a testosterone overdose from being in this room too long, she slowly raised her gaze to his. The moment of impact was just as cataclysmic as the first time.

      He arched an eyebrow, his dark eyes filled with questions she had no hope of answering, the sardonic twist of his mouth tempting her to march right over there and set him straight.

      She wasn’t interested.

      His lips curved in a decadent smile, shattering that particular delusion.

      Damn, she was a sucker.

      The only reason she’d come tonight was to avoid mulling. She’d already done the pity party earlier that week, complete with crashing cymbals, tooting horns and a banner that had read ‘Fallen Starr’, reminding her of the utter mess she now faced, courtesy of one lousy decision.

      She’d fallen for the wrong guy.

      Never