Overtime in the Boss's Bed. Nicola Marsh

      ‘Naked himbos not your thing?’

      ‘Himbos?’

      ‘Male equivalent of bimbo.’

      She rolled her eyes, her tolerant expression reading don’t you know anything? as he chuckled.

      ‘Looks like she’s a no-show.’

      She pushed off from the monstrous terracotta pot where she’d propped herself, partially hidden amid the lush foliage of a palm, and it hit him all over again how utterly beguiling this woman was.

      It had little to do with the sexily mussed blonde hair hanging halfway down her back, the wide luminous blue eyes or the saucy smile curving her lips, and more to do with the aura of vibrancy that shimmered and danced around her. Intriguing for a guy like him, who focussed on business all the time.

      He’d never met anyone like her—only dated well-dressed, well-heeled, well-put-together socialites who played things cool.

      Starr Merriday was hot, the antithesis of every woman he’d ever been with, and he couldn’t walk away.

      ‘Let me take you home. Make sure you get there safely.’

      He’d expected an instant rebuttal and waited, captivated by her inherent beauty, her natural grace, her spunk.

      He wanted to demand she let him drive her home, give him more time with her. His last PA had called it his God Complex—his need to control everything and everyone around him. He preferred to see it as staying on top of things. He was a guy used to being in charge and liked it that way.

      ‘You want to take me home, huh?’

      She cocked a hip, boldly provocative.

      ‘That’s what I said.’

      She worried a gloriously full bottom lip for a moment, and he clamped down on the urge to do the same.

      He wanted her.

      Irrationally.

      Madly.

      Passionately.

      With a brisk nod, she tucked her hand into his elbow.

      ‘Fine. Have it your way.’

      Gritting his teeth against the urge to grab her hand and make a run for the lifts leading to the hotel’s exquisite rooms, he took a step forward, surprised when she didn’t fall in beside him.

      ‘Where to?’

      ‘This way.’

      He didn’t trust her mischievous smile, the wicked sparkle in her eyes, and when she led him away from the monstrous glass entrance and towards the lifts, the rush of blood pounding in his ears signalled he was in way over his head with this one.

      ‘You’re staying here?’

      She nodded, her smile widening. ‘Just for tonight. My friends’ shout for my last night in Sydney.’

      Where you headed?’

      ‘Melbourne.’

      ‘Great city.’

      He should know. He’d taken it by storm years ago, had built his fortune there.

      ‘You know I wasn’t joking about that job offer, right?’

      ‘I think we can find more fun things to talk about than my unemployed status.’

      She stabbed at the lift button, raised her head to watch the numbers descend from ten to zero while he studied her.

      He wanted her. Now. Wanted to lose himself in her, lose himself in the pleasure of hot, wild sex, lose focus of everything but her.

      The doors pinged open. The lift’s interior was a dazzling gold and chrome combination, with mirrors reflecting their images, showing a mixture of excitement and anticipation.

      She stepped in, tugged on his hand. ‘You coming?’

      These days he always did the right thing, the cautious thing, the sensible, well-thought-out thing. But in that instant, with her eyes insolent and her lips curved into a brazen challenge, he did the thing he’d used to be famous for in his youth.

      ‘Hell, yeah.’

      Without releasing her hand, he stepped into the lift as she stabbed at the twenty-five button, the adrenalin rush of doing something out of character making his head spin faster than the lift’s acceleration.

      ‘You’re awfully quiet.’

      ‘Just thinking.’

      ‘About?’

      He pinned her with the glare that made most of his employees quiver.

      ‘What it is about you that’s so fascinating.’

      She batted her eyelashes, her coquette’s smile adorably tempting. ‘I’ll take that as a compliment.’

      ‘You should.’

      ‘So, have you figured me out yet?’

      He trailed a fingertip down her cheek, tracing the soft curve.

      ‘I’m getting there.’

      His fingertip reached the end of the trail, lingered on her jaw, savouring the soft skin. ‘You’re unique.’

      ‘And?’

      ‘And I want to know more.’

      The bell pinged again as the doors slid soundlessly open.

      ‘I want to spend all night discovering more.’

      He held his breath as she reached up, hooked a finger under his collar and tugged gently, bringing him tantalisingly close to her kissable lips.

      ‘That can be arranged.’

      CHAPTER THREE

      STARR fumbled with the key card to her suite, sliding it through the slot three times before Callum placed his hand over hers.

      ‘Let me.’

      He tried the card again, the tiny button lit green, and she yanked on the handle, stumbled through the door. She was never this gauche, this flustered, but riding up in the elevator with this incredibly sexy man had been pure torture.

      They’d barely touched, their hands simply brushing when she’d first punched in her floor, yet the tension between them had been indescribable.

      Her skin prickled, her muscles clenched, and her pulse pounded in a rhythm she hadn’t experienced for ages.

      She’d been a one-man woman too long. A woman who’d been sadly neglected in the bedroom. A woman who wasn’t terribly impressed with the supposed joys of sex.

      Time to reawaken her flirty side.

      As he reached out, his steady hand resting firmly in the small of her back, burning a sizzling path straight through the thin silk of her dress, zapping her in places in desperate need of some serious zapping, she could barely restrain herself from launching at him.

      ‘Come in. Make yourself at home.’

      She silently cringed at her moronic, trite welcome, and the corners of his mouth curved upwards, creasing his right cheek with a delectable dimple.

      ‘I intend to.’

      Flinging her sparkly evening bag on the hall table, she trailed her hand along the shiny glass surface, rearranged the fronds of a floral arrangement, fiddled with the miniature alcohol bottles on top of the mini-bar, while he stood just inside the doorway, looking utterly cool and controlled and scrumptious.

      Deliberately stilling her hands, she clasped them in front of her before realising how prim that looked, quickly releasing them and settling for propping them on the table behind her.

      ‘I’m clueless as to the etiquette