Hot Boss, Wicked Nights

‘That won’t be necessary,’ Damon said, and disconnected. He wouldn’t get a moment’s sleep anyway until he knew Kate was okay. He glanced at the closed bathroom door, wondering if he should check on her, but then he heard her swear in a way he’d never have expected and the sound of water running. She was conscious at least.

He toed off his shoes, walked out onto the cool sand a few steps from their balcony and stared at the ripples on the water. One thing he could almost guarantee: Kate wouldn’t take kindly to this arrangement, regardless of what was developing between them. Bryce had made the original reservation, so the name Gillespie would remain the same. His uncle had booked a suite. Damon shook his head. The man had had champagne tastes and a cheap beer income. Who knew why he’d even booked the trip? Damon doubted it was an educational.

Would Kate believe the mix-up was exactly that? How would it affect the rest of their stay? He blew out a breath. He’d know soon enough.

CHAPTER EIGHT

WHEN Damon stepped back inside fifteen minutes later, Kate was fast asleep. The moon’s silver beams shone through the door’s slats to caress her body. But her skirt was twisted around her thighs, her blouse looked as if it was strangling her. Even with the moving air beneath the fan, perspiration sheened her face and neck.

He couldn’t leave her to sleep like that. He shook her gently. ‘Kate.’

A mumble what sounded like, ‘Go ’way,’ was her only response.

Only one thing for it, he thought, and began undoing the buttons on her blouse. His fingers fumbled as he revealed more of her flesh with each button he loosened. Light caressed the shadowy cleft between her breasts. He didn’t intend to but his gaze flicked to her navel. No ruby—just a neat little hollow. His groin tightened as he remembered his fantasies that revolved around that particular part of her anatomy.

He willed it away and continued his task. It was impossible to remove her blouse further without disturbing her so he forced his gaze away from her bared flesh and lacy bra and searched for the skirt’s zip. He slid it as far as he could, then eased her skirt down the long length of her shapely legs and off. Pulled a light sheet over her.

The sound of a phone ringing startled the daylights out of him—guilty conscience about the way his thoughts were going? He reached down to Kate’s handbag, pulled out the offending item and lifted it to his ear. ‘Kate Fielding’s phone.’

‘Who’s this?’ demanded a gruff voice.

‘Damon Gillespie.’

‘What are you doing in my daughter’s room—it’s what time over there?’

‘About midnight, sir.’ Three a.m. in Sydney. What prompted a man to ring his daughter at three o’clock in the morning? And answering her phone probably hadn’t been a wise decision. ‘Ah…we got in late. Kate left her phone…on the front desk and I picked it up and forgot to give it to her.’

‘Katerina didn’t ring to let us know she’d arrived safely.’

‘Yes, we’re here in Bali and everything’s fine. I’m sure she’s safely tucked up in bed and asleep so I won’t wake her now.’ He glanced at Kate, who hadn’t stirred. ‘I’ll let her know you called…when I see her in the morning. Goodnight now.’ He disconnected, set the phone on the night stand where she’d see it.

Katerina. Exquisite. He murmured the name aloud, linking it with the woman next to him as he watched her sleep. There was a lot he didn’t know about Kate.

It occurred to him how little he really knew about the people in his life. Beyond business associates, few could be called friends because often he didn’t stay around long enough to form lasting relationships.

Apart from their simmering sexual attraction could he call what he had with Kate friendship? Perhaps. But the term implied a mutual trust, openness and honesty that neither of them seemed to be prepared to share.

It implied a relationship built over time, something ongoing and into the future. His jaw hardened at the thought and he steeled the piece of his heart that had softened over the past few moments. No way was he going down that road again.

Pushing off the bed, he strode to his bag, stripped down to briefs, rummaged for his toiletries and went to take a cold shower.

Kate surfaced slowly. Images flitted in and out of her mind—falling disgracefully at Damon’s feet, spewing her guts out in the bathroom. ‘Oh, great,’ she groaned, rolling over and pressing her face into the pillow. Except for a gnawing feeling that strongly resembled hunger, she felt fine now.

Until she remembered what had happened just before she’d lost consciousness.