Best of Bosses 2008: In Bed With Her Italian Boss\Taken by Her Greek Boss\Blind Date With the Boss (44 page)

It's the same now. I have to get back on the dance floor.

It would be silly to spend the rest of her life avoiding something she loved as much as she loved dancing. And, after all, she'd come to Sydney to prove she'd recovered from that experience.

She could almost hear her dad urging her in that gentle, insistent way of his.
Come on, kiddo. When you come a cropper, you just have to pick yourself up and ride the bruises out of your system.

Now I need to dance the bruises out of my system.

And, of course, there was the rather astonishing fact that Logan had
asked
her.

‘What are you thinking?' He looked endearingly worried.

Sally let out her breath slowly. ‘I—I'm thinking that we'd need to find a suitable venue. Somewhere with space to move about.'

Relief spread over his face like a sunrise and Sally was suddenly very glad she hadn't turned him down.

‘I've been giving the venue some thought,' he said. ‘I wondered if the meeting room at Blackcorp would be suitable. We could push the tables and chairs against the walls.'

‘I—I guess.'

‘But we'd need to do this outside working hours, of course. There's no need to advertise the lessons to the staff.' He shot her a sharp questioning glance.

‘I won't breathe a word,' she promised.

‘I hoped an evening might be suitable. Or some time at the weekend.'

Sally nodded. ‘Either time would be OK for me. I'm not especially busy.'

‘How about Thursday evening, then? At about half past seven?'

Lifting her glass in a salute, Sally said, ‘It's a date. I—I mean a deal. Make sure you bring your dancing shoes.'

He grinned. ‘Thanks for the reminder. I might have turned up in joggers.'

‘And we'll need music.'

‘I'll look after that. I have a portable player. And I'll pick you up on Thursday.'

It was on the tip of Sally's tongue to tell him there was no need. She lived very close to the Glebe train station. But this man was her boss. Surely she could trust him? Besides, he drove a very sleek and expensive black car.

As she drank some more of her wine, she finally began to relax. If she stayed calm, this could actually be fun.

She said, ‘You'll have to decide what styles of dance you'd like to learn. How long have we got? I doubt I could manage to teach them all.'

‘Oh, no. There's no need for that. The ball's in less than a fortnight, but Diana Devenish is such an expert she can dance any style, so I just have to nominate which I'd prefer.'

‘That certainly takes the pressure off. Which dance would you like to learn?'

He shrugged. ‘What's the easiest?'

‘It depends on your personality and your body type.' With her head to one side, Sally pretended to study her tall, dark, handsome and slightly arrogant boss. ‘I don't think there's any question, actually. You should definitely choose the waltz.'

 

Logan's sister rang him that evening. ‘I know you're going to tell me I'm a nosy sister, but I've made enquiries about ballroom dancing classes.'

‘You're an exceedingly nosy sister,' he told her, without malice. ‘And your efforts are appreciated, but entirely unnecessary. I've made my own arrangements.'

‘For dancing classes?'

‘There's no need to sound so shocked.'

‘I must say I'm surprised, Logan. Very surprised. I know how you feel about dancing and I was sure you'd keep putting off classes. Who's the teacher?'

‘Er—' Logan missed a beat ‘—a woman in Glebe.'

‘Did she come highly recommended?'

He sidestepped that question. ‘Relax, Carissa. I'm confident she'll be more than satisfactory.'

‘Well…' Carissa was obviously struggling to take this in. ‘That's…that's fantastic, little brother. Good for you.'

Logan wished, as he hung up, that he felt as certain as he'd sounded.

Now that he'd jumped in and propositioned Sally Finch he was beginning to wonder if he'd lost his grip on reality. Why, in the first place, had he confided in his newest employee about a limitation that had embarrassed him since he was a teenager? And why had he then gone one step further and asked her to help him overcome that handicap?

The rushed trip to Western Australia must have taken its toll and left him with weakened defences. What other explanation could there be? He'd walked through Blackcorp's doors this morning, had taken one look at Sally and his common sense had melted like cheap plastic in a microwave.

Then again, he argued a moment later, why not hire Sally's expertise? His knowledge of dance teachers was severely limited, but he was sure she had the necessary credentials—a slim build, energy and grace. Good communication skills.

Logan's alternative was a professional teacher and he didn't fancy being bossed around by an indifferent stranger who dealt with an endless stream of enthusiastic pupils.

Sally was a sensitive, feeling type—Janet Keaton had said so—and she would understand how uneasy he felt about dancing. Better still, she was an employee, so he'd still have the upper hand. Of course, he would pay her well for her trouble.

Everything would be fine as long as he made sure that the lessons didn't upset their boss-employee dynamics.

That settled, Logan's conscience was clear. Once this waltzing distraction had been discreetly and efficiently dealt with, he would be able to get straight back to his far more important responsibilities and focus one hundred per cent on his business.

 

Sally floated in a muddled daze through the next few days. At work she was grateful for the many distractions and at
home she gave herself a thousand lectures. It was vitally important that she didn't read too much into the boss's request for dancing lessons. It was simply a logical extension of their conversation at the team-building workshop.

She was sure that the boss of Blackcorp had no hidden romantic agenda and she had to stop magnifying the significance of their rendezvous in the wine bar, had to stop reliving the utterly divine experience of sitting beside him in his luxurious car as he'd driven her home. And she mustn't dwell on how charmingly he'd chatted, offering fascinating insights into places of interest around Sydney.

There was no way the lessons would lead to anything romantic. It was out of the question. Just imagine, an affair between the boss and his most lowly employee. What a joke. She was a girl from the bush and she didn't fit into his city scene at all.

And the last thing she wanted was to join the long list of women who'd received his weekly offering of roses. Actually, Sally couldn't help wondering, why hadn't Logan asked one of them to teach him to dance? Was it beneath these high-flyers' dignity? Or was it simply that Logan wanted to keep this one little inadequacy a secret from the rest of the world?

Whatever her boss's reason for seeking her out, one thing was certain: when the dance class started, their roles would be reversed. She would be the one with the expertise. She would be the teacher and Logan Black would be the pupil.

In charge of the boss. It was a mind-twisting thought.

T
HURSDAY
evening began with Logan's arrival on Sally's doorstep, which was an event in itself. He was wearing battered jeans and a faded blue T-shirt, thin from much washing, and when Sally opened her door she forgot that it was rude to stare.

He looked so different! So casual and relaxed and—
gulp
—even more drop-dead divine than usual.

‘Is something wrong?' he asked.

‘No, nothing's wrong,' Sally squeaked. ‘Nothing at all.'

He pointed to his feet. ‘I remembered the shoes.'

Dragging her gaze reluctantly downwards, she saw that he was indeed wearing his leather lace-ups. ‘Well done.'

For most of the short journey through the dark city streets, she tried to put into practice what she'd learned at yoga classes about keeping calm and balanced.
It's all in the breathing. Keep your breaths even and steady. In, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight. Out, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight.

Fortunately, Logan was happy to concentrate on the traffic and he didn't try to distract her with scintillating conversation. There was no way Sally could calm down and scintillate at the same time.

They reached the underground car park beneath Blackcorp's offices and parked in the space assigned to BMC's Managing
Director. The lighting was minimal and their footsteps echoed eerily in the empty subterranean chamber as they made their way to the lift.

Sally's heartbeat raced and she felt wings of panic, but soon they were inside the main building and the security guy bustled up to them importantly as Logan was unlocking Blackcorp's door.

‘Everything all right, Mr Black?' His eyes bulged with curiosity when he saw Sally.

‘Of course, Reg. Perfectly fine.' If Logan was embarrassed to be caught after hours, sneaking back into the office with the front desk girl, he hid the fact behind a ferocious frown. ‘Miss Finch and I are working on a special project.'

‘Oh, right then, sir. I'll leave you to it.'

Sally was relieved to know that the guard was close by as she and Logan went through both sets of doors, then along the hall to the meeting room. They became very efficient as they pushed tables and chairs to the sides to make a space in the centre. Logan set up his portable player and switched it on and the bright notes of a Strauss waltz filled the room.

‘Will this music be OK?' he asked.

Sally wrinkled her nose. ‘It might be a bit old-fashioned for a modern ball, but it's the real thing!'

‘Everything's ready, then.' He stood to attention and took a deep breath. ‘Now, what do I have to do?'

Looking at him as he stood there, his expression so tense and serious, Sally's nervousness evaporated. Logan Black wasn't the rat who'd been so vile at the country dance. Right now, he was barely recognisable as her arrogant and distant boss.

He was a vulnerable man who would be mortified if his inadequacies were exposed, and yet, conscientious to a fault, he was determined to do the right thing by his sister.

He genuinely needed her help.

Smiling her warmest smile, Sally walked towards him, reached for his hands and took them lightly in hers. The tentative contact was enough to launch her into orbit, but she schooled herself to ignore the sizzle and to concentrate on helping him to waltz.

She was determined to do her absolute best.

 

This was a bad idea. A very bad idea.

The instant Sally's warm hands clasped his, Logan knew he was in trouble.

To start with, Sally was wearing a sleeveless yellow dress made from some kind of T-shirt material. With a low-backed top that hugged her lithe body like a leotard and a full skirt that rippled about her legs whenever she moved, the outfit was no doubt very suitable for dancing. But it totally threatened the boss-employee dynamics he'd been determined to maintain.

And now she was standing close and touching him. Her bright hair framed her intent face, her eyes signalled intelligence and sensitivity, and all he wanted to do was haul her closer and kiss her and—

‘The waltz is all about poise, grace and elegance,' she told him. ‘If you listen carefully to the music, you can hear how light and smooth and airy it is.'

Obediently, Logan censored his thoughts and concentrated on Strauss's
Blue Danube
. ‘The beat's important, isn't it?'

‘Absolutely. Counting the music is most important. That's what will get you through this waltz. Can you count to three, Mr Black?'

He favoured her with a lopsided smile.

‘Oh, yes, of course,' Sally said in mock apology. ‘You've already told me you're very good at mathematics, so this should be a cinch.'

He couldn't help admiring her confidence and her easy use of humour to help him to relax. She really was a surprise package—and, right now, very much in control.

‘All you have to do is count to three,' she continued. ‘
One
is the most important. You need to emphasise the first beat.'

Holding his left hand in her right, she beat in time to the music. ‘Hear it?
One
, two, three.
One
, two, three.
One
, two, three.'

‘Yep. Got that.'

‘The other key to the waltz is posture.'

Automatically, Logan thrust his jaw forward and his shoulders back.

‘Not like that. We don't want you standing like a wooden soldier. You need to be lifted and light on your feet. You mustn't weigh your partner down.' Her eyes twinkled at him. ‘On the dance floor, the man becomes his partner's coat hanger.'

‘That's a role I've never aspired to.'

‘It's important to remember,' she said, suppressing a smile. ‘You need to be strong and supportive, so your arms can provide the frame for Diana Devenish to look fabulous.'

‘Right.' Logan turned his grimace into a smile. ‘An awesome responsibility.'

‘You'll be fine, Logan,' she said more gently.

Logan.

It was the first time Sally had used his first name and it bothered him that he'd noticed. Why? It was of no particular significance, but simply part of her technique to get him to relax.

And yet, somehow, crazily, it felt like a big deal.

‘Now,' she said, ‘place your right hand just below my scapula.'

‘Your what?'

‘Sorry. Too many first aid classes. Put your hand just below my shoulder blade.'

Her shoulder blade…

Valiantly, Logan attempted to follow her instruction but, as soon as his fingers made contact with her soft, exposed skin, he inhaled sharply and retracted his hand abruptly.

She had to be joking.

He shifted his hand lower to the safety of clothing.
The further away from her bare skin the better.

‘Not my waist, my shoulder blade.' Reaching behind, Sally slid his hand up her back. ‘Just think bra line.' Her eyes narrowed shrewdly and she looked at him with a cheeky tilt of her head. ‘I'm quite sure you've managed to find
that
on a woman before.'

Very true. So why was he breaking out in a cold sweat now?

‘Now, let's count to three and—' Frowning at him, Sally hesitated. ‘Are you OK?'

‘Never better,' he lied. With his hand at Sally's bra line, counting to three was suddenly as easy as climbing Mount Everest with frostbite.

‘Fabulous. Now, we'll step out the beat. Let's go. One, two, three. One, two, three. Left, right, left. Right, left, right.'

Somehow, Logan managed to survive this without trampling on Sally's toes and they actually completed a circuit around the cleared floor.

‘You make it easy,' he told her somewhat triumphantly.

‘You're doing really well, but we've a little way to go yet. Now, I want you to make the first beat strong and the second two lighter. Strong, soft, soft. Strong, soft, soft.'

They whirled together, bumped knees once or twice, but continued on without any major mishap.

‘Great!' Sally cried. ‘Now you're really getting it!'

He could have kissed her—
might
have kissed her—but she was too busy issuing more instructions.

‘OK. Now you still need to emphasise the first beat, but
I'd like you to make the steps a bit oozy. Kind of like sliding in syrup.'

‘In syrup?' he echoed faintly.

‘Mmm. You need to keep in time, but try changing the quality to a smooth, gentle, gliding motion.'

Sally demonstrated, moving away from him, gliding smoothly, fluid as air.

‘I'll never be able to do that.'

‘Don't be defeatist,' she scolded.

‘I'm a realist.'

But it seemed that Sally had no plans to give up on him.

‘Let's look at this another way, then.' Tapping a finger against her lips, she watched him thoughtfully. ‘Let me see. You're a wine connoisseur. Why don't you think of the waltz as a fine red?'

His eyebrows arched with bemusement. ‘How is that supposed to help?'

‘Imagine Diana Devenish as some kind of exquisite Cabernet Sauvignon—rich and complex, yet mysterious. You give her a swirl and admire her finer qualities, including her fabulous legs, and all the while you're careful not to spill a drop. You take the wine slowly, savouring every sip as it glides smoothly down your throat. Except you're gliding along the dance floor instead!'

Logan grinned. ‘That kind of works for me. I'll give it a go.'

Once again, she stepped towards him, took his hand and assumed the dancing position. Taking a deep breath, he placed his hand at her bra line and tried to ignore her tantalising, silky-soft skin. Sally was amazing. Fancy likening the waltz to wine. But it worked. He could picture it. How many intriguing layers were there to this girl?

‘OK, let's glide, Logan.'

Drawing Sally in, Logan glided. One, two, three. Strong,
soft, soft. She was light and graceful in his arms and, as they whirled, he caught wafts of her enticing, tormenting perfume. And somewhere, in the midst of it all, he gave up worrying and let go, giving in, at last, to the moment, to the flow of the music.

Sally was probably right. Dancing was like drinking fine wine. He certainly longed to know how
she
tasted, couldn't shake the feeling that she would be one of those rare finds, imparting a surprisingly delicious aftertaste that left him wanting more.

Yes, he definitely wanted more, wanted Sally's slender curves pressed more closely against him, wanted her soft lips—

Logan stumbled. ‘I'm so sorry.'

In the next breath he realised that his stumble hadn't been caused by his own inadequacies, but by Sally, who had stopped dancing and was now slipping out of his arms.

Flushed and trembling, she stood with her hands buried in the folds of her skirt, not looking at him.

‘That—that was very good,' she said. ‘You're really getting the hang of it.'

‘You're a very good teacher,' he assured her and he might have added more compliments but, watching her intently, he realised that something was wrong. Very wrong.

How had this sudden change happened? Why? Had he held her too tightly? God forbid she'd sensed the direction of his thoughts.

She still wouldn't look at him and she had completely lost her sparkle. Clouds had arrived to cover the stars.

‘That's probably enough for one night,' she said.

What could he do but agree?

‘Thank you,' he said quietly. ‘I really appreciate your help.'

One corner of her mouth lifted into a sadly wry smile, then she turned and crossed the room and switched off the music and the silence seemed to echo in the big empty room.

‘And now I must pay you,' Logan said.

‘Oh, no.' Sally's hands rose to stop him. ‘There's no need. I'm happy to do this—but I'm not a professional.'

He cursed himself for handling this so clumsily. ‘I'm going to need more tuition before the ball.'

She nodded unhappily.

‘Perhaps I could take you to dinner in lieu of payment.' It was an idea that had just come to him and he couldn't imagine why he hadn't thought of it sooner. ‘After all, you'll be giving up your evenings.'

Eyes fixed on her clasped hands, Sally continued to look unhappy. ‘I don't think dinner's a good idea.'

‘Why ever not?'

She looked up then and her blue eyes shone with an unnatural intensity. ‘It would be too much like a date.'