Hot Boss, Wicked Nights(10)

By: Anne Oliver

He could have recognised her.

Bryce’s nephew.

Perhaps her soon-to-be boss, if his take-charge attitude was any indication. A man she despised for all the right reasons—a selfish jet-setter about to snatch the manager’s job out from under her.

So why did the sight of him melt her insides to butter? Why couldn’t she get over him? The man who’d just taken charge wasn’t the fantasy lover she’d had on Saturday night. Somehow she had to separate her professional and personal life, which had suddenly become hopelessly entangled.

She rubbed a hand over her throbbing head. Despite his lackadaisical lifestyle she had a feeling Damon Gillespie was a very astute man—how long would it be before he discovered who she was?


KATE was about to microwave last night’s left-over chicken soup for tea, hoping she could somehow manage to put something in her stomach, when her phone rang.


‘Yes…’ She couldn’t say anything more because her heart leapt into her throat at the sound of his already familiar voice. It was as if he were right there, murmuring in her ear. She could almost feel his breath on her skin; the heat seemed to shimmer through the connection. What did he want? she thought distractedly. Ah…he’d said he’d be contacting her about the list of people who’d attended the funeral.

‘How’s the cold?’

‘Improving.’ Actually she felt much better after an extra dose of pills and a couple of hours’ nap. She glanced at the clock and her voice held an accusatory tone as she said, ‘It’s half past eight, Mr Gillespie. Work’s over.’

‘I know, I meant to call earlier. I hope you’re hungry.’

Her stomach churned. Surely he wasn’t inviting her out for dinner? She looked down at her worn black tracksuit pants under the oversize orange nightshirt, the fluffy pink slippers she’d meant to replace last winter. ‘No, I’m not. I take it you’re ringing about the list,’ she hurried on. ‘I’ll bring it tomorr—’

‘You have to eat, Kate. Did you have lunch?’

‘No, I…’ She was interrupted—no, saved—by the sound of knocking at her door and breathed a little sigh of relief at the interruption. ‘I have to go, I have a visitor, I’ll ring you back in a bit.’ When it was late and she could lie and say she’d already eaten. If she rang back at all…

She dropped the phone onto its base, hurried through the living room and dragged open the door. ‘Oh…’

Damon Gillespie. With his mobile still attached to his ear. Wearing khaki cargo pants and a white T-shirt tonight and balancing a pizza box and a small package in his spare hand. He disconnected the phone with his thumb, slipped it into his pocket, all without taking his eyes off hers. ‘Hi.’

His gaze flicked down to the fluffy slippers and her toes curled up in embarrassment. And she’d been too distracted to slip something over her nightshirt; her braless breasts—the breasts he’d handled with such expertise—jutted out at him. ‘I wasn’t expecting anyone,’ she muttered.

His eyes flashed with amusement. ‘You were keen enough to answer the door a second or two ago.’

‘No… I thought it was my sister…’ But he saw through her, she just knew it. She didn’t want to share pizza with him, she didn’t want him in her home, checking out her state of dishabille, but what choice did she have? Too late to dive for cover now. She turned away and began heading back to the kitchen. ‘Come in, but I’m telling you now I couldn’t eat pizza if my life depended on it.’

‘Ah, but you haven’t tried Dominic Amigo’s Gourmet Pizza, have you?’

Her brows rose. ‘Have you? I thought you just rolled into town?’

‘Sandy recommended it when I rang this afternoon for your contact details and we got talking about local restaurants. You were with a customer at the time.’

‘Remind me to thank her,’ she murmured as she pulled plates from her cupboard and searched out a spatula. She tried to ignore the pizza’s tempting aroma, but it did smell good and her stomach rumbled in spite of herself. In the silence it sounded more like a blocked drain clearing.

‘Not hungry, huh?’ He set the box down on the tiny glass-topped table, pulled out a chair and grinned.

She hadn’t seen that grin since Saturday night. A bone-meltingly sexy grin that turned her insides to mush and made her do crazy, stupid, reckless things.

Like having sex with a complete stranger.

Forcing her gaze away from him, she looked at the other item he’d brought. ‘What’s in the bag?’

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