Read Overtime in the Boss's Bed for Free Online Page B

meal with his assistant as they wound up business for the day, getting a head start on tomorrow.
    That had been before his assistant had sleek blonde hair hanging halfway down her back in a shiny curtain, a full bottom lip she constantly nibbled while concentrating, and a sensuously lithe body on constant display as she stretched every few minutes.
    He’d been pushed into ballroom dancing as a kid starting high school—had been more interested in the girls wearing skimpy costumes than any burning desire to master the foxtrot or the cha-cha.
    Surreptitiously watching Starr move reminded him of those old dance classes, the gracefulness of it all.
    The simple action of her reaching for a pen became a fluid, elegant movement. When she switched from picking up the phone to jotting down notes it was a coordinated, smooth transition of elongated arms, flexible fingers and a slight stretch of her neck.
    Her willowy body moved and shifted every few minutes, making the most innocuous tasks as riveting as watching an opening night performance of Les Misérables, his favourite theatre show.
    He could have watched her for ever, but his pulse pounding a polka and the urge to choreograph them into more than a business relationship had him on edge.
    He didn’t do relationships.
    Ever.
    They’d moved past any potential awkwardness over their one night stand and he wanted to keep it that way. Getting physical again would only ruin the good working camaraderie they’d established in less than a day.
    Nothing ever affected business. He wouldn’t allow it. Yet without a good PA he’d been on the verge of floundering. He needed someone competent and she’dmore than surprised him. Why botch that for the sake of reliving that one hot, unforgettable night in Sydney?
    He watched her stand, reach for a file on the top of a cabinet, her toned right arm in perfect synchronicity with her left leg stretched behind, balanced on tiptoes.
    She looked so poised, so controlled, so beautiful. He couldn’t look away, trapped by the intense, overwhelming desire to cross the room, take her hand and spin her into his arms in one smooth move.
    Frowning, he dropped his gaze, pinched the bridge of his nose.
    Damn, this was a bad idea.
    He’d had it all figured out: take her on as a stopgap measure so his business wouldn’t suffer, ignore their night of passion in Sydney, stay on track.
    Unlike his solid business plans, which always came to fruition through sheer doggedness and determination, this particular plan had hit a snag.
    All the cool logic in the world meant nothing when confronted with Starr Merriday in all her glory.
    Starr Merriday. Even her name sounded fun and frivolous and flirty. It fitted her perfectly, for that was exactly how she came across—no matter how hard she tried to handle the tasks he’d set her.
    Not that she’d done a bad job—far from it. In fact, her diligence surprised him, as did her computer skills. She was nothing but competent and efficient and eager to learn.
    He should have been happy he’d found someone at short notice; instead he silently cursed as his gaze drifted towards her for the hundredth time in the last half-hour.
    Tearing a bite out of his usual cream cheese, smoked salmon and rocket sandwich, he tried to focus on the figures in front of him, but the numbers on the spreadsheet held little interest in comparison to surreptitiously watching a beautiful woman tapping industriously at a computer.
    ‘If you keep staring at me like that I won’t be responsible for typing a load of gobbledy-gook on this report.’
    Sprung.
    He’d bluff his way out of it, even though he was desperate to rein in the uncontrollable urge to sweep the work off the table, ditch dinner and feast on her.
    ‘Who said I’m staring?’
    With a defiant toss of her hair, she pushed away the keyboard, linked her hands and stretched.
    And his mouth went dry.
    Her blouse pulled taut against her breasts, taunting him, teasing the edges of