Hot Boss, Wicked Nights

‘I know.’ Deb shrugged. ‘He called everyone in for an early staff meeting. They’re all in there right now. I’m manning the desk—’

Kate tossed her tissue in the bin and grabbed another handful from her desk. ‘Excuse me? He called a staff meeting?’

He being the nephew Bryce only ever mentioned on a couple of occasions that Kate could recall. The globe-trotting adventurer, the man who’d not bothered to come to the funeral but was here now to seize his inheritance.

Deb nodded. ‘He seems to have everything under control.’

He had no right to have everything under control. Kate always managed Aussie Essential Travel in Bryce’s absence and he’d promised her full authority from next month. That was probably a moot point now. Still, she’d been managing just fine for the past three weeks. What would his nephew, who as far as she knew had never set foot inside this place, know about the travel business?

‘Are you okay, Kate?’

Kate shook her head, and winced. But she forced a smile. ‘I’m breathing…sort of…I’d better get in there.’

Calm down, she ordered herself. Be professional but assertive. Leave him in no doubt that you’re quite capable, thank you very much. She grabbed a notepad and pen from her desk.

Opening the door quietly, she stepped inside. The team was focused on the dark-suited man talking at the head of the table. His voice was deep and melodic. And authoritative.

She tensed, ready to defend her own authority.

His face was in profile, but he turned and stopped speaking as Kate entered and she was blasted by the full force of his gaze. Pinned in place by topaz eyes. His jaw might have tensed momentarily—or maybe not—she was too busy picking her own jaw off the floor.

Oh. No. Her Saturday night’s casual encounter was Bryce’s nephew? The man she detested by reputation? She felt a sudden tightness in her chest that had nothing to do with her cold. Surely it wasn’t possible.

Or Damon Gillespie just looked like that guy because he’d invaded her mind. The clean-shaven man in the suit that fitted his broad shoulders to perfection and looked as if it had cost a million bucks and the sombre silk tie couldn’t be that rugged jungle hero who’d kissed her senseless, made love to her against the wall… She felt that same heat rise up her neck now as the rest of her staff turned to look at her.

Hold it together. She took a deep steadying breath and nodded a silent greeting to them. Forget authority, forget assertive—all she wanted to do was slide into the nearest chair with as little fuss as possible and get herself under some sort of control.

On noodle legs, she moved towards the only available chair which, by some unfortunate coincidence, happened to be next to Damon Gillespie’s right hand. It was okay, she told herself; he wouldn’t recognise her.

To make it worse, he was waiting for her to sit before continuing with whatever it was he was saying, making her the centre of attention. ‘I’m interrupting, I’m sorry…’ she half whispered and immediately cursed herself for apologising to this man who represented everything she despised. He should be the one apologising.

‘Good morning, Miz…?’

She reached her destination and sank down, her notepad and pen sliding from her trembling fingers onto the table. His aftershave wafted beneath her nose. Expensive, spicy.

Familiar.

She clenched her hands together and dared to look straight into those eyes she was already too well acquainted with. She schooled her voice to chilly formality as she said, ‘Kate Fielding.’

‘Ah. Kate.’ He nodded, his eyes imprisoning hers for probably only a second or two but it felt agonisingly like minutes. ‘Damon Gillespie. You were incommunicado yesterday. An eventful Saturday night?’ His tone almost suggested he knew all about her Saturday night. Or was it just her perception?

Thank goodness he didn’t appear to expect an answer and moved right along in the same breath, informing them that he wanted to meet with each member of staff individually over the next couple of days. Kate noted the details on her pad, more for something to occupy her hands than anything else. But because her hands were shaking, she gave up and clenched them together on her lap.

Damon Gillespie tugged at his snowy white cuffs and spread his hands on the table. Large blunt, short-nailed fingers. Kate tried to look away but she couldn’t take her eyes off them. The memory taunted her. Those talented fingers exploring, finding all her pleasure points…

Her pulse throbbed slow and heavy and she bit down on her lower lip. Why was her body betraying her? It had no business feeling all molten and fluid in the middle of a staff meeting. Worse, it was responding to a man she didn’t want to like—didn’t like; loathed, in fact.