Hot Boss, Wicked Nights

At her mention of bedtime the air thickened. After that devastating kiss on her doorstep before they left Kate knew exactly what Damon’s intentions were for this trip—and he knew hers. Earlier in the afternoon she’d been beside herself with anticipation, but right now her mind wasn’t on anything except sleep. It was becoming impossible to ignore the nausea that had plagued her for the last couple of hours of the flight. But the flight hadn’t been excessively turbulent and the business-class cabin had been a welcome change from the cramped economy class she usually travelled in.

Fifteen minutes later they arrived at Nusa Dua beach and their hotel lobby came into view. The limo slowed to a stop. For a moment she forgot her discomfort as they made their way towards the check-in desk. Huge white columns surrounded by potted palms supported the lobby’s vaulted teak ceiling. Overhead fans stirred the air. A tranquil pool surrounded by a variety of bougainvillea reflected a purple silk sky and a pearlescent moon.

But a sudden cramp knifed through her belly, catching her mid-stride. The sticky sensation of sweat trickling down her back under her blouse and the pungent smell of tropical fruit on the heavy air made her feel faint. She pressed her dry lips together. She’d been in the tropics before and it had never affected her like this.

Thankfully Damon’s attention was elsewhere as he spoke to the exotic Balinese woman behind the desk in traditional dress. Kate dragged herself over to his side.

‘Selamat datang, Mr Gillespie, Mrs Gillespie. Welcome.’ The woman, whose name tag said Mari, smiled graciously at them. ‘Your suite is ready for you. Enjoy your stay.’

Kate’s head reeled. Mrs Gillespie?

‘There’s been a mistake,’ she heard Damon say as if he were speaking from the other side of the lobby. ‘We didn’t book a suite.’

‘You are Mr Gillespie, ya?’

‘Ya.’

Mari rechecked her computer. ‘You have booked a suite.’ She looked at Damon, then Kate, her brow creased. ‘You are not married?’

‘No.’ Damon’s voice sounded as hard and unyielding as the marble tiles beneath Kate’s feet.

She heard him speak her name, but a swarm of insects buzzed in her ears and Damon transformed into a shimmering figure that seemed to fade in and out like a bad black and white TV reception.

She licked chalk-dry lips. ‘I…’ Then the screen went black.

Damon caught her as she crumpled, hauling her limp body up against him. She was as white as the marble floor, her thick lashes against her high cheekbones. And out cold.

‘She is not used to the weather here,’ Mari said over his shoulder.

‘Maybe.’ He hoped that was all it was. With an arm beneath her legs, he swept her into his arms. ‘Forget changing our reservation, just show me the way.’

He followed a worried Mari to the nearest lift and down a corridor. The door at the end swung open as he carried her in, laid her on the huge king-size bed, barely noticing the luxury décor, the flower and fruit arrangement. The bottle of cham pagne cooling in the bucket.

‘I will call the doctor,’ Mari said, hovering at his side.

‘Thank you, but we’ll give her a moment.’ He sat down beside her and saw her eyelids flicker. ‘No need for you to stay. I’ll ring down if anything changes.’

His eyes didn’t leave Kate as Mari left, switching on the overhead fan on her way out. He pushed the perspiration-damp hair off Kate’s brow. ‘Kate?’

A soft knock at the door drew him away from the bed a moment. The porter delivered their bags, glanced at the bed and left quickly. Damon resumed his place beside her and kept watch.

The eyelids flickered and opened. Dark eyes stared up at him like deep pools against her whiter than white complexion. She pushed up quickly. ‘I…need…bathroom,’ she muttered urgently, her hand over her mouth. ‘Now!’

He glanced around. ‘This way.’ He swung her off the bed, carried her to the nearest door, pushed it open and set her down.

‘Go away,’ she said, slamming the door in his face.

The uncomfortably explicit sounds on the other side had him walking quickly away to give her privacy, grabbing the room’s cordless phone on his way. He slid open the slatted doors that led to their private balcony and strode into the balmy evening and a moonlit panorama of tranquillity.

He rang through to Reception. ‘I requested adjoining rooms,’ he told the apologetic man on the other end, and was informed the original booking had been for a suite. This evening there were no vacant rooms and the problem would be sorted out tomorrow. If Mr Gillespie so desired, a maid could be sent to prepare the couch in the lounge area.