Christmas with the Boss (2 page)

Little warm tingles were having a fun time down in the now
ex-dormant zone. Jilly stared after Dominic as he opened the door of the silver
Audi TT Roadster that was parked behind the Kombi van. Wrong again.

“Stop perving and hurry up, love. You’re holding up the queue.”
Mary’s drawl was amused as her gaze followed Jilly’s. “Bit of a looker, is our
Dom, isn’t he?”

Jilly closed her mouth and turned to the waiting cashier.

Our
Dom?

Dominic Henderson turned his sleek sports sedan onto the sandy road
that skirted the beach.

He deliberately looked away from the first cottage and turned his
attention towards the beach. Purple shadows cast by the setting sun hovered on
the glassy Tasman Sea. The last rays caught the slow moving swell as it pushed
to shore, breaking as a bridal veil of foam on the wet sand. Even though the
waves were small, there was a nice right-hand break on the point, just catching
the last glimmers of light from the sun as it sank below the Great Dividing
Range to the west of Sandy Heads, the small town where he’d learned to surf.

Should be great for a surf in the morning.

 But surfing tomorrow wasn’t at the forefront of his thoughts.
The skimpy shorts and the figure-hugging tank top were very different to the
attire of Miss Henderson of the corporate suits and high heels. If it hadn’t
been for the glorious copper-toned hair that cascaded down her back, Dominic
probably wouldn’t even have recognised the woman behind him as his executive
assistant. The lush image imprinted on his mind since Jilly Henderson had gaped
up at him in the service station wouldn’t go away. The same woman who had
caught his eye the day he had been appointed as chief of the Group Executive at
the biggest bank in Sydney. There’d been muttered comments about special
treatment when she’d been promoted to his executive assistant, but it hadn’t
taken much to dispel the gossip. He was used to it; corporate banking was a
bitchy and cutthroat environment. He recognised talent and hard work; good
looks were a bonus.

 He wondered idly where she was heading and then focused on the
surf. They hadn’t shared their Christmas plans; the office was too busy for
personal conversations. And he much preferred to keep work businesslike without
the social chitchat that went on in the lunch room.

Kept the rumours at bay. Although he did wonder what Jilly Henderson
had been up to lately. Usually one to stay late at her desk, in the last month
she’d been leaving as soon as trading ceased for the day, and then she’d had a
few days off last week. Personal time, she’d said with no further explanation.
She got her work done, so it was none of his business.

Dominic shrugged as he turned to the ocean. And she did her work
very well; she had a keen eye for the stock market and on more than one
occasion Jilly Henderson had directed his attention to recent trends before
he’d noticed them.

Forget work.
He was here for a break.

If the swell stayed small, he’d get his knee board out and wax it
ready for the morning. Didn’t matter that it would be Christmas Day; no family
left in town.

Nice legs, though.

It had probably been stupid to come up here in his rare time off
from work, but it was as good a time as any to try to put his memories to rest.
Long overdue.

And cute freckles too.

He’d hit the sack as soon as he’d waxed his board. Pleasant
tiredness tugged at his muscles; he’d been in the surf all day on his large
board. He’d hit the surf early again tomorrow; his knee board should still be
in the small wooden shed attached to the old building at the back of the
cottage.

The familiar and long-loved smell of salt and seaweed met Dominic as
he climbed out of the Audi. He grabbed the carton of beer he’d picked up at the
pub from the back of the car, and walked through the long grass to the old
cottage. He’d have to pull out Pa’s old mower while he was staying here. He
stood on the front steps and looked back down the road. It had been a long time
since he and Derro had walked together down that road on their way to high
school… and to the surf. Teenagers without a worry in the world.

And it had been almost as long since he’d last been down to the
other cottage: his grandparents’ cottage. Not since Derro’s funeral. Dominic
pushed open the door and the fresh smell of the ocean was replaced by the musty
smell of an old house that had been locked up for a long time.

Pretty eyes too.

He grinned again as green cat-like eyes fixed on his stomach flashed
into his head. He’d never noticed those cute freckles on her nose either. Maybe
he’d break his own rule and ask Jilly Henderson out for dinner once they got
back to work.

Jilly threw her junk food purchases onto the back seat next to the
healthy groceries. Shaking her head she peered up the road but the silver Audi
was out of sight.

Who would ever a thunk it,
as Shaz would
say with a giggle. Fancy Mr Iceberg being up here on the north coast. Shaz had
soon branded the new boss with his nickname, when it became quite clear he was
not up for socializing… or flirting. It was only last week that the girls had
been speculating about where he’d spend Christmas. Jilly had been quiet and her
colleagues had been sympathetic to her losing Dad.

London, Paris, skiing at Aspen had all been mooted for the boss.
Slumming it north of Sydney hadn’t rated a mention. Jilly wondered how far
north he was going; probably heading for trendy Byron Bay. Anyway it would be
fun to recount her experience of checking him out in the service station; the
girls would get a laugh out of that. She hadn’t contributed much to the usual
hilarity in the lunch room these last few months. Maybe she wouldn’t tell them
just how delectable he looked in his board shorts. She’d file that little
picture away for the board meetings where Mr Iceberg sat business-like in his
dark suits, barely cracking a smile as he concentrated on profit margins and
stock movements. Anyway, that was work; this week was for much needed
relaxation and regaining her emotional strength after nursing Dad in his final
days.

 Jilly turned on the GPS as she drove back onto the main road and
headed for the beach. Several wrong turns and much swearing later, she finally
turned onto the sandy road that led to the address on the receipt shoved into
her bag. The GPS had kept telling her to turn right—into the ocean.

The sun had set and darkness was falling quickly. She hoped the key
to the rental was where it was supposed to be; the guy on the phone had been
vague and hard to understand with his soft muffled voice. She frowned as a
long, deserted road loomed ahead of her. Bush encroached on both sides and
there was no sign of any houses. She stopped and pulled the receipt out: yep,
that was it—Swimming Creek Road. Jilly knew she was finally on the right road;
she’d seen the sign when she had ignored the robotic voice of the navigation
system, followed her instincts, and turned off the esplanade.

She frowned; no luxury cottage fitting the description of Beachside
Vista anywhere to be seen. She’d checked out the holiday rental online when
she’d received an email advertising a vacancy over the holiday break; the
photographs had displayed the interior of a spacious cottage decorated in a
retro style across from the beach. Not that she really needed spacious for the
few days she’d be here. Her car moved slowly along the narrow road and the
beachside she-oaks formed a dark canopy above her, and she stared ahead trying
to see in the murky light.

The sandy road narrowed even more, and the frequent potholes got
deeper. Jilly shivered as a feeling of gloom pervaded the early evening.
Suddenly a light appeared ahead of her to the left and she almost overshot the
driveway. She hit the brakes and the car pulled to a stop. An old wooden sign
hung crookedly from a post in the long grass at the side of the narrow road
proclaiming she had arrived at Beachside Vista.

“Oh, no.” A groan escaped her lips.

An old weatherboard cottage loomed out of the darkness as she
stepped from the car. She squinted in the dim light. The paint was peeling and
loose guttering hung in a jagged, rusty spiral, scraping noisily against the
side of the house. The wind had picked up and another shiver ran down her back
as it keened eerily through the trees, the breaking ocean providing a mournful
background.

All it needed was a storm to make it totally spooky.

Crack!
A clap of booming thunder
instantly followed the flash of lightning that lit the sky almost as though she
had summoned it and Jilly glanced around nervously.

 Okay, she’d wanted privacy but maybe not quite
this
much
isolation. The knee-length grass brushed against her bare legs and she turned
back to the car for the small torch she kept in the glove box. Small creatures
rustled in the long grass and she stepped quickly back to the side of the road.
She flicked the torch on and shone the light along the side of the old
building. Sure enough, there was a small box at the side of the porch where
she’d been told to find the key. Lifting the lid, she pulled out an envelope
and flashed the torch on the spidery writing.

‘
Henderson. Five nights.’
She shook the envelope and a large
key slipped into her hand. Thank goodness, it was the right Beachside Vista, but
it was
nothing
like she’d expected.

No matter; it was close to the beach and that’s where she’d be
spending most of her time. Jilly shrugged and climbed the stairs. The door
opened slowly with an ominous creak.

Talk about cinematic setting.
What was it going to be like inside?

Two minutes later—because that’s all it took to investigate every
nook and cranny of the
small
cottage—Jilly returned to the car for her
backpack and food supplies. She quickly stowed her groceries in the ancient,
rusted fridge on the back porch along with the chocolate and the two bottles of
wine she’d brought from her fridge at home. The plum pudding took pride of
place in the centre of the old red laminated kitchen table and the red and
green ribbon around it gave a small, festive air to the room.

The fridge was on the porch because there was no room in the tiny
kitchen for much more than the table and two old mismatched chairs.

Luxury?
Huh! She could cope with, but
wasn’t so sure about the outside shower and toilet located at the far end of
the back porch.

Jilly reached for the salad bag and closed the fridge. The bag
crinkled in her hand as she looked down at the unappetizing green leaves.
Changing her mind, she pulled open the door again, put the salad back and
pulled out a chocolate bar and a bottle of strawberry milk.

It was Christmas Eve!

That would be her celebratory dinner, and then she’d brave a quick
shower outside and have an early night. Look on the bright side; the cottage
was
cutesy in a retro way, although she wondered how secure the back wall of the
kitchen was. It was made entirely of latticework and wouldn’t keep anything
out.

Wind
, bugs or intruders. And it was swaying
in the wind with an ominous creak.

With a sigh and a swig of strawberry milk, Jilly searched out a
clean towel from the camphor-smelling linen cupboard beside the back door and
headed for the shower.

***

Dominic pulled the cap on a bottle of beer and held the cool glass
against his forehead. The air was muggy and by the look of the flashing sky to
the west there was a decent night storm brewing. He took a swig of the beer,
put it on the bench and picked up his keys. He’d clear out the carport and get
the Audi under shelter as best he could. There was hail in that sky.

His eyes narrowed as he stepped outside. There was a light on in
Derro’s cottage down the road. There shouldn’t be; no one had lived in their
grandparents’ place since Derro had died. Aunty Vi had talked about letting it
as a holiday rental but Dominic had convinced her not to. It hadn’t taken much
talking; as well as the physical problems with the place, the whole family knew
the real reason it couldn’t be let out.

Not that we ever talk about it.

With a sigh, he shoved his hands in his pockets and hurried down the
steps. The last thing he wanted to do was go to the cottage but he should make
sure squatters hadn’t moved in. All he wanted was peace and quiet for this
break; he didn’t want to have to deal with any problems.

Or any other person for that matter. He was here to surf and chill
and forget about the cutthroat business world he’d left behind in Sydney.

##

Taking a shower in the tiny cubicle had been fraught with problems.
Jilly had to manoeuvre an old surfboard out of the small shower recess and
brush down the sticky cobwebs that hung from the showerhead to the taps on the
wall. No sign of spiders but they could be lurking in the dark. At least the
room looked clean but the smell of mouldy concrete pervaded the dimly lit
space. She reached up to open the small louvre window at the top of the shower
and squealed as a Daddy Long Legs spider scurried across her hand. She dropped
her hand and opted to keep the window half shut rather than brave the spider
and any family he might have.

Slipping her shorts and T-shirt off, she looked around for somewhere
to hang her clothes…and her towel. Not a hook or a bench to be seen. Opening
the door a crack, she shoved them through the door and placed them on the floor
of the verandah, before turning on the taps and waiting. She jumped as another flash
of lightning lit the night sky, and a far off rumble of thunder reverberated
along the verandah.

A clanking and groaning preceded the burst of steaming hot water
that sprayed her from above. Jilly jumped back and it took a bit of fiddling to
adjust the heat to a comfortable level, but finally she tipped her head back,
and closed her eyes, letting the warm water ease her tension.

She was here; the inside of the cottage was clean, the bed was soft
and the beach was a stone’s throw across the road. She had food and books to
read and a couple of bikinis. What more could she need? The outside bathroom
would add to her adventure. She opened her eyes and reached for the shampoo
bottle on the floor and tipped it into her hand, lathering her long hair into sweet-smelling
suds as a picture of sun-tipped curls came to mind.

What were the chances of running into her boss in a small town so
far from Sydney? He was the last person she would ever have expected to see in
a pair of board shorts. She narrowed her eyes as she remembered the sand on the
back of his legs. Maybe he wasn’t travelling; maybe he was staying in this
beachside village although she doubted if there were any flash condos in this
town.

Smooth golden skin filled her thoughts as she massaged her hair and
imagined massaging those delectable muscles.

Stop it.

No matter how attracted she was to Mr Dominic Smythe-Phillips, that
attraction would be firmly put in its place when she went back to the office.
Two work relationships had already gone pear-shaped and Jilly had sworn off
them for life. Brad Wallace had used her to get a promotion at the Federal Bank
and then suggested she move on when he’d been promoted above her. Luckily, the
job at SAB had paid more and given her many more opportunities in the two years
she’d been there.

Thanks for the opportunity,
Brad.

 Jilly closed her eyes as she rinsed the suds from her hair.

Phil Long had been worse; there was the wife he’d neglected to
mention. Luckily Jilly had found out about her just in time.

So the new policy she stuck to rigidly: work and sex did not mix.
Trouble was, working so hard, and looking after Dad left no time for meeting
guys anywhere else.

So celibacy had been the order of her life for a long year.

Creak.

Jilly’s eyes flew open and the sound of slow footsteps reached her.
Quickly rinsing the last of the shampoo from her hair, she switched off the
taps and listened. With her heart thudding madly, she opened the door a crack,
bent down and reached out for the towel. Her hand met smooth, worn floorboards
and she stretched her arm out further and patted around the floor. There was no
towel beneath her roving fingertips.

Shit.
Or clothes. Pulling the door
closed quietly, she listened as the front steps creaked.

Great.
As she stood there wondering what
the hell to do, someone pounded on the back door along the porch. She held her
breath; if she was quiet maybe they’d go away. For goodness sake, she was stark
bollocky naked. She slowly turned the lock on the inside of the shower door and
the resulting snick was like a gunshot going off.

So much for trying to keep quiet.

“Hello? Who’s there? Where are you?”

“Oh shit.” She’d know that voice anywhere. Jilly rolled her eyes as
the deep and sexy voice of Mr Iceberg drifted through the louvre window.

“Me.”

“Who?” His voice was terse now, more like the impatient tones as he
queried a report at the office.

 “Er…I’m in here,” she called out.

The footsteps came closer. Jilly leaned against the door and stifled
a groan.
Of all the rotten luck.

“Where’s here and who’s me?” The voice was louder and she leaned
back against the wall and rubbed her arms. The wind was swirling through the
gap above the door now.

“In the shower.” She realised he would have no idea where the shower
was. “At the end of the verandah. And it’s me, Jilly Henderson.”

Silence.

     
What the hell is he doing here anyway?
She stood there
shivering as cold rivulets of water dripped down from her wet hair to her neck
and body. Taking a deep breath, she tried to compose herself. Her nipples gave
a little tug before flaring to high beam, ready to say hello to anyone who
looked.
Blasted cold.