Wanted by the Boss: Sleeping with the Boss / Cowboy Boss / Billionaire Boss. Maureen Child

talking. ‘‘Bye.’’

      Then she hung up, knowing that she’d be paying for that one later.

      Sitting back in her chair, Eileen thought about everything Gran had said. Lonely? Sure, she was lonely sometimes. Wasn’t everyone? But on the whole, she liked her life. It was good. Full. And just the way she wanted it. She liked an empty house. The silence. The time to herself.

      So why then was she so glad that Rick would be coming over to the house after work?

      * * *

      The small beach house was just the way he imagined Eileen’s place would look. Craftsman style, the front of the house was all wood and aged stone. It had to be at least sixty years old, with charm in the hand-carved porch railings and the stone balustrades.

      He parked his luxury sedan at the curb and paused beside his car to take a good look at her place. Just a few blocks inland from the beach, the house was surrounded by greenery and fall flowers. Painted a bright sunshine-yellow with forest-green trim, the cottage looked warm and inviting. White wicker furniture on the porch invited a visit and the porch light gleamed with a soft pink glow. Naturally Eileen wouldn’t have just a plain old white bulb in there. She’d go for color.

      Reaching into the car, he pulled out the bottle of iced chardonnay he’d brought along, then started up the rosebush-lined walk. He caught himself wondering what colors those now bare roses might be in the summer. But as soon as the thought entered his mind, he dismissed it. He wouldn’t be around long enough to find out anyway.

      Rick smiled to himself as he climbed the five front steps. The cement had been painted. Somehow, Eileen had laid out a pattern and then painted the porch and steps to look like a faded, flowered Oriental rug. It looked great, but he couldn’t help wondering how she’d ever thought of it. Who the hell painted rugs on cement?

      The front door opened.

      Eileen stood in the open doorway. Her hair was loose, falling around her shoulders in soft red-gold waves. She wore a short white tank top with slender straps and a pair of faded denim shorts. Her feet were bare and her legs looked impossibly long. His mouth watered and he forgot all about the faux rug on the porch. Forgot about the new client he’d picked up over lunch. Forgot about the wine in his hands. All he could focus on was her.

      And heaven help him, what she did to him.

      ‘‘Hi.’’

      She smiled and his breath left him. Her eyes lit up and her features brightened and his blood pumped a little faster. ‘‘Hi back,’’ he said.

      ‘‘That for me?’’ She indicated the wine.

      ‘‘Yeah.’’

      ‘‘Want some now?’’ she asked, stepping back to let him in.

      ‘‘Not thirsty,’’ he said, entering the house, then closing the door behind him.

      ‘‘Me, neither,’’ she said, taking the wine from him long enough to drop it onto the nearby couch.

      ‘‘Good,’’ he muttered, and grabbed her, pulling her close, wrapping his arms around her and holding on as if his grip on her meant his life. And maybe, just for the moment, it did.

      She went up on her toes and met his kiss coming in. Her lips parted, her breath left her, rushing to him, and his tongue swept into her mouth, instantly demanding, plundering, pushing her back to the brink she now knew so well.

      He tore his mouth from hers and laid down a path of hot, damp kisses along the column of her throat. She moaned softly, holding on to his shoulders and arching into him. His hands lifted the hem of her shirt and swept beneath the fabric to cup her breasts, his fingers teasing, tweaking, caressing.

      She hissed in a breath through clenched teeth and held it, as if afraid she wouldn’t be able to draw another. Rick nibbled at her neck, tasted the frantic pulse beat at the base of her throat, and felt his own heartbeat kick into high gear and match the wild rhythm of hers.

      Lifting his head, he continued to palm her breasts, rubbing the tips of her nipples just to watch a glassy sheen dazzle her eyes. ‘‘Bedroom?’’

      She licked her lips, blinked a couple of times, then tried to focus on his face. Lifting one hand, she pointed. ‘‘Thataway.’’

      ‘‘Let’s go,’’ he said, and bent low enough to plant one shoulder in her middle. Then he stood up, draping her across one shoulder.

      ‘‘Hey!’’ Both hands on his back, she pushed herself up. ‘‘What’s with the caveman routine?’’

      He gave her behind a friendly swat. ‘‘Quicker this way.’’

      ‘‘Okay then,’’ she said, and let herself drop against his back while he crossed the room in a few long strides. ‘‘As long as there’s a good reason.’’

      Rick moved through the living room without even looking at it. Right now, he wasn’t interested in the decor. All he was interested in was Eileen. And finding that sweet satisfaction he’d only ever found with her. He needed her, damn it.

      He didn’t want to.

      Hadn’t planned to.

      But in the space of one long weekend, she’d become…important. His grip on her tightened in response to that thought, but he didn’t linger on it. Didn’t want to consider what ramifications might be lurking behind that one little word, important.

      He glanced through one open doorway. Green tiles, parrots in jungle shower curtain. Bathroom.

      ‘‘Turn left,’’ she said, as he paused in the hallway.

      He did.

      ‘‘No, the other left,’’ she corrected, pushing herself up again. ‘‘My left. This upside down and backward trying to give directions thing sucks.’’

      ‘‘You’re a backseat driver, too, aren’t you?’’

      ‘‘Only trying to help.’’

      He walked into her bedroom, noted the queen-size bed covered with a pale blue-and-white quilt, and ignored everything else. A small, beside lamp was on, sending a pale yellow light spreading across the blanket. Bending down, he flipped her onto the mattress and she laughed when she landed and bounced a couple of times.

      ‘‘There’s just nothing like a Neanderthal,’’ she said, stretching like a cat on the bed.

      ‘‘Glad you approve.’’

      ‘‘Oh, yeah.’’

      Eileen watched him through eyes already hazy with a building passion that swamped her with sensation and expectation. He looked…different. He wore a black sweater over dark blue jeans and the casual clothes made him seem more—reachable, somehow. The suits that were such a part of him were almost like a well-cut wall he wore around him, keeping the world at bay. Tonight he’d apparently stopped by his own house to change before coming over. And as much as she appreciated the new him, she wanted him out of those clothes. Now.

      As if he heard her thoughts, he tore his sweater off and threw it aside. The glow from the lamp defined his broad chest and Eileen’s insides shivered. As he stripped off his jeans, her breath came fast and hard and her body went warm and damp and ready.

      He came to her then, kneeling on the bed beside her, lifting her from the mattress slightly to yank her tank top up and over her head. Then he bent to her breasts, taking first one nipple, then the other into his mouth, teasing, tasting, taking them both to the beginning of another wild, fast ride.

      Eileen gasped and fought for breath. She ran her fingers through his hair, then skimmed her hands down to stroke his shoulders, his back. He lifted his head, looked into her eyes and admitted, ‘‘I missed you, damn it. Even though we worked together all day, I missed you.’’

      ‘‘Yeah,’’ she said,