The Billionaire Boss's Forbidden Mistress. Miranda Lee

Saturday afternoon during one long hot summer, showing Jason exactly how to please her, and vice versa. When her family moved, Jason had been devastated for a while. At sixteen, it had been impossible to separate lust and love.

      Eventually, he’d recovered from his broken heart, and, after that, never been without a girlfriend. Though he’d never fallen in love again.

      Till he met Karen.

      Jason smiled softly to himself as he thought of his wife.

      Another older woman, but this time fifteen years older. Forty-two to his twenty-seven. Yet they’d been perfect together. And so ecstatically happy.

      Of course, everyone else thought he’d married his boss’s widow out of cold-blooded ambition. Hilary probably hadn’t believed him when he had said he’d loved his wife.

      Jason supposed it was only reasonable that, after sleeping with Hilary every weekend for six months, she might expect him to propose.

      In his defence, he’d made it clear right from the start of their relationship that he wasn’t interest in remarrying.

      But last Saturday night, Hilary had started pressing for him to marry her and he knew he couldn’t. Because, as attractive as Hilary was, he just wasn’t in love with her, and once you’d been in love—really, deeply in love—you couldn’t settle for less.

      After Hilary flounced out, saying she never wanted to see him again, he hadn’t been able to sleep. So he’d popped one of the sleeping pills that the doctor had prescribed for him after Karen died and which were hopelessly out of date. But at the time, he hadn’t cared. He just wanted oblivion.

      But his sleep had been full of dreams, mostly of Karen, telling him—as she often had during that final awful week—that he wasn’t to grieve, that, one day, he’d meet someone else, someone more right for him than she’d been, someone who’d give him babies and a wonderful life.

      Silly dreams, because Jason knew that wouldn’t happen.

      And then, seemingly only seconds before he woke, had come this other odd, startlingly vivid dream.

      He was driving out in the country and suddenly, in the middle of a mown paddock, he saw this massive billboard with a blonde on it. She’d been photographed from the back from her hips up, and was naked. The effect was incredibly sexual. She had a slender but curvy shape, porcelain-like skin and dead straight, glisteningly golden hair streaming halfway down her bare back. Her arms were stretched up in front of her, tossing a bottle of shampoo up into a bright blue sky, golden rays coming out from it as if it were the sun. Across the bottom of the billboard were the words: START EVERY DAY WITH SUNSHINE.

      Jason had driven right off the road in the dream as he stared at the blonde, the accident jolting him awake. He’d been relieved to find it was only a dream, but the image on that billboard had stayed in his mind all day, tantalising him. Haunting him.

      He knew he’d never seen such an ad before. He had heard of a brand name called Sunshine. Vaguely. But he thought it was attached to cleaning stuff, not shampoo.

      That evening, he’d rung Harry Wilde—Harry ran an advertising agency he used occasionally—and asked him if he knew of Sunshine shampoo, or of such an ad.

      He hadn’t.

      Jason had then gone to an all-hours supermarket and found that there was indeed a range of products with the Sunshine label, all made by a company called Beville Holdings. Further investigation via his broker revealed Beville Holdings was a small but well-established manufacturing company, owned by a parent company in England. Their shares were quite low, due to their not making a profit and not declaring a decent dividend for the past two years.

      ‘And a week later, here I am,’ Jason muttered to himself. ‘The owner of said profitless company.’

      Jason found himself standing outside the main door of the head office building, shaking his head wryly up at the Beville Holdings sign. He didn’t really believe in fate, or karma. In the main, he was a practical man.

      But he could not deny that he’d been less than practical this past week. That crazy dream had robbed him of his savvy approach to business. As soon as he’d found out there was a real company that made Sunshine products, he’d felt compelled to buy the place, without doing any solid market research, a process that normally took many weeks.

      Bob had thought he’d lost his marbles.

      Still, if he listened to Bob all the time, he’d never buy anything. Bob was a great PA, but not the most decisive of men. Not a risk taker in any way, shape or form.

      Businessmen had to take risks, occasionally. In the main, however, they were informed risks. Jason had to admit that, this time, he’d gone out on a limb.

      Still, it could be an interesting project, he told himself, turning Beville Holdings around. A real challenge. He’d been getting into a rut lately.

      Success would depend on what he discovered in here, Jason decided as he pushed through the half-glass door. If serious problems lay in the sales and marketing departments, things could get tricky.

      Golden handshakes were the only answer for getting rid of bad management, and that was very costly.

      So was this décor, Jason realised as he set foot on the plush jade carpet that covered the spacious reception area. His eyebrows lifted as he glanced at the cream leather seating and the expensively framed watercolours that graced the cream walls, his thoughtful gaze finally resting on the very modern, but very unmanned reception desk.

      He was glancing at the time on his watch—it was eight twenty-seven—when a movement caught the corner of his eye. Jason turned in time to see a young woman emerge from the ladies’ room across the way.

      Jason’s heart skipped a beat.

      She was blonde, and beautiful, wearing a pale green dress that clung to her perfect breasts and swished around her perfect legs. She seemed startled when she saw him, stopping in mid-stride. But then, with a toss of her lovely head, she headed in his direction, her hips swaying provocatively.

      ‘Good morning, Mr Pollack,’ she said crisply as she stretched out her hand towards him. ‘I’m sorry I wasn’t here to greet you when you came in, but I’m not due to start till eight thirty.’

      So she knew who he was, did she? Probably saw his photo in the paper yesterday, Jason realised as he took her hand, holding it within both of his as he absorbed more of her incredible beauty at closer quarters.

      ‘That’s perfectly all right, Miss…er…’

      ‘Johannsen,’ she supplied. ‘Leah Johannsen. I…I’m the receptionist here at Beville Holdings.’

      Jason knew lots of companies hired lookers to man their front desk, but this girl was totally wasted here. She could have been a model, she was so striking. Those eyes. That mouth. That stunning hair. So shiny and silky looking, with just the hint of a wave as it rippled down over her slender shoulders.

      It made you want to touch it. Kiss it. Wrap it around your…

      Jason gave himself a severe mental shake, hoping his face did not reflect his thoughts. Indulging in that type of sexual fantasy was not Jason’s usual bent.

      But once the image filled his mind, it was joined by others. To his annoyance, his flesh soon followed and he found himself glancing down at her left hand to see if she was wearing any rings.

      The shot of adrenalin that came when he saw that her fingers were bare startled Jason. It wasn’t like him to lose it over a pretty girl.

      But of course this girl wasn’t just pretty. She was perfection.

      And suddenly, he wanted her. Wanted her more than he’d ever wanted Hilary.

      But then he hadn’t ever really wanted Hilary as such, had he? He’d just wanted regular sex. Any attractive woman would have done.

      But you really want this girl, came