Overtime in the Boss's Bed (2 page)

C
OURTING
a potential business partner was the only reason Callum had attended another boring cocktail party tonight.

He’d made the requisite circle of the room, shaken hands, slapped backs, and had been counting down the minutes deemed polite enough before leaving when that klutz of a waiter had bumped into him.

He’d been less than impressed—until he’d locked eyes with the gorgeous blonde on the other side of the room, and suddenly his drenched shirt hadn’t mattered, the evening had not been so mundane.

He was a firm believer in following instincts. His gut reaction had made him millions in the financial arena, where Cartwright Corporation ruled.

So when she’d fled, he’d followed.

She’d verbally retreated. He’d verbally sparred.

And he’d been getting somewhere too. Her flashing eyes and lush mouth had been at odds with her defensive body language…until this.

Fishing his vibrating mobile phone out of his pocket, he glanced at the caller ID and begged off the luscious
blonde, asking her to wait for him as he headed for the far side of the balcony.

He never turned off his mobile phone—the height of rudeness, as his last PA had kept reminding him. But then she didn’t run a corporation and control billions of dollars. The money market never slept, and neither did he these days.

He hadn’t slept in a long time—not since the fateful night that had catapulted him into this business in the first place.

And that was why he had to take this call.

Not because it would make or break Cartwright Corporation, but because it was from the one person who understood exactly what had happened that night, and was still dealing with it in his own way.

Taking a deep breath, he stabbed the answer button. ‘Rhys, how’s it going?’

‘Not bad, bro. You?’

‘Same old. Where are you?’

‘Japan for a few more days, then I head for the States.’

‘You coming home eventually?’

‘We’ll see.’

A resounding no, as usual. While he’d thrown himself into the family business after the accident, Rhys had fled. Studying interstate, escaping overseas once his degree came through, avoiding Melbourne and everything being a Cartwright entailed.

Callum envied him.

He’d been like that once, a lifetime ago, when he’d been carefree and selfish and irresponsible.

When he’d still had an older brother.

The Cartwright boys, people had called them, lumping them all in together. They’d been a team—before the accident, before Archie died, before their lives had been turned upside down.

‘Where are you?’

‘Sydney. Some boring cocktail party for work.’

Rhys paused, the faint static doing little to disguise the concern in his voice.

‘Better than being alone tonight?’

Callum mumbled a noncommittal response, rammed his free hand into his pocket, and deliberately relaxed his tense shoulders.

He didn’t want to discuss this.

He never wanted to discuss it.

Talking about what had happened this night fourteen years ago wouldn’t change it. Nothing would.

‘I’m hanging out with some mates tonight.’

‘Good.’

Silence stretched, as it always did on their rare phone calls. They didn’t have much to say to one another these days, what with most topics invariably leading to the past and what they’d done.

He glanced at his watch, cleared his throat. ‘Do you need anything? Money?’

‘I’m all right, but thanks.’

‘Okay, then. Gotta go.’

‘Cal?’

‘Yeah?’

He heard the faintest hiss of breath before Rhys said, ‘It wasn’t your fault.’

Callum disconnected in a hurry, the gut-wrenching twist of sorrow deep in his gut telling him otherwise.

It
was
his fault—every shocking, mind-numbing moment of that night fourteen years ago.

He could forget most days, chase away his demons by submerging himself in business until the figures blurred before his eyes, but on nights like this it all came rushing back in an agonising avalanche of horrific memories.

Rubbing a weary hand across his eyes, he shoved the phone back in his pocket, turned, scanned the crowd for the blonde.

She’d vanished.

He wanted to pick up where they’d left off, to continue their flirtation. She’d be a firecracker, he could tell. All sass and mouth. Just the type of distraction he needed right now.

Tonight he wanted to forget.

Everything.

He’d thrown the job offer out there as a challenge, though a small part of him had hoped she’d take him up on it. He needed a fill-in PA desperately. The only temp agency he trusted had no one available for eight weeks and he was seriously floundering.

Even a beautiful dancer, with a smart mouth, a movie star name and a body built for ballroom rather than clerical, would be better than his current predicament.

He scanned the crowd, the entrance, finally spotting her beneath a towering indoor plant near the lobby.

He should leave, head back to his hotel, find solace in
a pricey single malt Scotch. Instead he found his feet veering towards her, and at that moment she glanced up, tossed her blonde hair and pinned him with a curious stare.

The impact of those large blue eyes slugged him all the way to his toes.

She glowed with vitality, from the tips of her silver-painted toenails to the top of her mussed, just-out-of-bed hair.

She wasn’t his type—far from it. But there was something about her, something about her boldness, that reached to him on an instinctual level.

‘Is it too much to hope you’re waiting for me?’

‘Way too much.’

‘I asked you to wait around for me back there.’

Shrugging, she flicked a less-than-impressed stare his way. ‘Guess I don’t always do as I’m told—so sue me.’

Oh, yeah, she was a firecracker all right. Exactly what he needed tonight: hot, feisty, sassy, a world away from wallowing in memories he’d rather forget.

‘Yet you’re still here?’

She cocked her head to one side, studying him. ‘I was waiting to say goodbye to a friend, but I think she’s ditched me for one of those hunky waiters.’

‘What? Those fake-tanned, muscle-bound Neanderthals?’

Her glossed lips curved into a smile and he couldn’t tear his gaze away.

She had the most beautiful mouth he’d ever seen: full lips, even white teeth, and a smile that could make a man forget where he was and why.

‘Naked himbos not your thing?’

‘Himbos?’

‘Male equivalent of bimbo.’

She rolled her eyes, her tolerant expression reading
don’t you know anything?
as he chuckled.

‘Looks like she’s a no-show.’

She pushed off from the monstrous terracotta pot where she’d propped herself, partially hidden amid the lush foliage of a palm, and it hit him all over again how utterly beguiling this woman was.

It had little to do with the sexily mussed blonde hair hanging halfway down her back, the wide luminous blue eyes or the saucy smile curving her lips, and more to do with the aura of vibrancy that shimmered and danced around her. Intriguing for a guy like him, who focussed on business all the time.

He’d never met anyone like her—only dated well-dressed, well-heeled, well-put-together socialites who played things cool.

Starr Merriday was hot, the antithesis of every woman he’d ever been with, and he couldn’t walk away.

‘Let me take you home. Make sure you get there safely.’

He’d expected an instant rebuttal and waited, captivated by her inherent beauty, her natural grace, her spunk.

He wanted to
demand
she let him drive her home, give him more time with her. His last PA had called it his God Complex—his need to control everything and everyone around him. He preferred to see it as staying on top of things. He was a guy used to being in charge and liked it that way.

‘You want to take me home, huh?’

She cocked a hip, boldly provocative.

‘That’s what I said.’

She worried a gloriously full bottom lip for a moment, and he clamped down on the urge to do the same.

He wanted her.

Irrationally.

Madly.

Passionately.

With a brisk nod, she tucked her hand into his elbow.

‘Fine. Have it your way.’

Gritting his teeth against the urge to grab her hand and make a run for the lifts leading to the hotel’s exquisite rooms, he took a step forward, surprised when she didn’t fall in beside him.

‘Where to?’

‘This way.’

He didn’t trust her mischievous smile, the wicked sparkle in her eyes, and when she led him away from the monstrous glass entrance and towards the lifts, the rush of blood pounding in his ears signalled he was in way over his head with this one.

‘You’re staying here?’

She nodded, her smile widening. ‘Just for tonight. My friends’ shout for my last night in Sydney.’

‘Where you headed?’

‘Melbourne.’

‘Great city.’

He should know. He’d taken it by storm years ago, had built his fortune there.

‘You know I wasn’t joking about that job offer, right?’

‘I think we can find more fun things to talk about than my unemployed status.’

She stabbed at the lift button, raised her head to watch the numbers descend from ten to zero while he studied her.

He wanted her. Now. Wanted to lose himself in her, lose himself in the pleasure of hot, wild sex, lose focus of everything but her.

The doors pinged open. The lift’s interior was a dazzling gold and chrome combination, with mirrors reflecting their images, showing a mixture of excitement and anticipation.

She stepped in, tugged on his hand. ‘You coming?’

These days he always did the right thing, the cautious thing, the sensible, well-thought-out thing. But in that instant, with her eyes insolent and her lips curved into a brazen challenge, he did the thing he’d used to be famous for in his youth.

‘Hell, yeah.’

Without releasing her hand, he stepped into the lift as she stabbed at the twenty-five button, the adrenalin rush of doing something out of character making his head spin faster than the lift’s acceleration.

‘You’re awfully quiet.’

‘Just thinking.’

‘About?’

He pinned her with the glare that made most of his employees quiver.

‘What it is about you that’s so fascinating.’

She batted her eyelashes, her coquette’s smile adorably tempting. ‘I’ll take that as a compliment.’

‘You should.’

‘So, have you figured me out yet?’

He trailed a fingertip down her cheek, tracing the soft curve.

‘I’m getting there.’

His fingertip reached the end of the trail, lingered on her jaw, savouring the soft skin. ‘You’re unique.’

‘And?’

‘And I want to know more.’

The bell pinged again as the doors slid soundlessly open.

‘I want to spend all night discovering more.’

He held his breath as she reached up, hooked a finger under his collar and tugged gently, bringing him tantalisingly close to her kissable lips.

‘That can be arranged.’

S
TARR
fumbled with the key card to her suite, sliding it through the slot three times before Callum placed his hand over hers.

‘Let me.’

He tried the card again, the tiny button lit green, and she yanked on the handle, stumbled through the door. She was never this gauche, this flustered, but riding up in the elevator with this incredibly sexy man had been pure torture.

They’d barely touched, their hands simply brushing when she’d first punched in her floor, yet the tension between them had been indescribable.

Her skin prickled, her muscles clenched, and her pulse pounded in a rhythm she hadn’t experienced for ages.

She’d been a one-man woman too long. A woman who’d been sadly neglected in the bedroom. A woman who wasn’t terribly impressed with the supposed joys of sex.

Time to reawaken her flirty side.

As he reached out, his steady hand resting firmly in
the small of her back, burning a sizzling path straight through the thin silk of her dress, zapping her in places in desperate need of some serious zapping, she could barely restrain herself from launching at him.

‘Come in. Make yourself at home.’

She silently cringed at her moronic, trite welcome, and the corners of his mouth curved upwards, creasing his right cheek with a delectable dimple.

‘I intend to.’

Flinging her sparkly evening bag on the hall table, she trailed her hand along the shiny glass surface, rearranged the fronds of a floral arrangement, fiddled with the miniature alcohol bottles on top of the mini-bar, while he stood just inside the doorway, looking utterly cool and controlled and scrumptious.

Deliberately stilling her hands, she clasped them in front of her before realising how prim that looked, quickly releasing them and settling for propping them on the table behind her.

‘I’m clueless as to the etiquette here. Do I offer you a drink? A chocolate bar? Me?’

His dimple deepened. ‘The last, thanks.’

Her heart leaped, and she clenched the table so tight the mini-bar bottles rocked and rattled. One tumbled.

‘Shaken or stirred?’

Laughing, he stalked towards her. Her pulse accelerated with each step. He stopped inches away from her personal space, his intentions clear in the dark depths of his eyes. The simmering heat sparked a response deep within her.

‘Relax.’

He reached out, ran a fingertip down her bare arm, and she shivered in anticipation.

‘Easy for you to say.’

‘You’re nervous?’

‘A little.’

‘Don’t be.’

The trail of his fingertip ended at her hand and he captured it, intertwined his fingers with hers, giving her a much needed anchor in a suddenly stormy sea of passion.

His hand engulfed hers, strong, capable, and a lick of heat shot up her arm. She searched her scrambled brain for the right words—any words that would sound remotely sane and nothing like
ravish me now, I’m yours.

‘I can leave if you want.’

Cue the exit music. Cue the curtain call.

But not before they’d had a rousing performance.

Reaching out with her free hand, she bunched a fistful of his soft cotton shirt and tugged. Hard.

‘I don’t want you to go—’

He crushed his mouth to hers, snatching the rest of her words, the rest of her breath, in an explosion of heat and passion and driving need.

She clung to him, desperate to get closer, elated when he hauled her into his arms and backed her up against the nearest wall.

Wrapping her legs around him, she gasped at the bulge pressing against her core, her pelvis moving of its own volition, eager for more, demanding satisfaction.

‘Oh, yeah,’ she murmured, as he cupped her butt, moved back and forth, rubbing against her, teasing her, making her wild with wanting him.

He tore his mouth from hers, his passion-glazed stare mirroring hers.

‘This is crazy.’

‘Yeah, crazy…’

Resting his forehead on hers, he shook his head. ‘I don’t do impulsive stuff like this.’

‘Me either.’

Sliding her hands up from his chest, to cradle his face and push it back until she could look him in the eye, she knew she couldn’t stop this.

She didn’t want to.

The old Starr had crashed to earth around the time she’d walked in on Sergio, in their apartment, in bed with another woman.

Time to say farewell to her old life. Time for the new Starr to rise and shine brightly. Starting with losing herself for one incredible night with a hot guy.

‘What do you want to do?’

‘This.’

She didn’t second-guess her decision, didn’t give it another thought as she drew his face back to hers and plastered her lips to his, arching her pelvis, locking her legs tighter around his waist and squeezing.

His low, guttural groan ripped the air as he deepened the kiss, ravaging her mouth, their tongues mating in a sensuous dance as old as the waltz.

Long, hot, moist French kisses went on for ever,
bringing her to the edge without him laying a finger anywhere near her throbbing core.

Tension tightened within her body, built, climbed, until she was boneless with desire. She clung to him as he left her mouth, his lips trailing downwards, nipping her erect nipples through the thin silk of her dress. His hands toyed with the edge of her panties beneath her bunched skirt.

Clamping her knees around his hips, she groaned, arched upwards—demanding more, demanding everything he had to give.

‘If you keep making sounds like that, this isn’t going to last long.’

‘Fast is good,’ she bit out as he nibbled her neck. She grabbed his hand from her butt and guided it between their bodies. ‘Hard and fast.’

He tensed, every magnificent inch of him straining towards her. ‘You sure?’

‘Sure… Ooh…yeah…’

Holding on tight, he moved her from the wall to a nearby chair, rested her butt on the padded edge before leaning back to devour her with his hungry gaze.

‘You’re gorgeous,’ he said, his husky tone bordering on reverent as he made quick work of the buttons holding her dress together, almost ripping it in his haste to get her naked.

She quivered with anticipation as he let out a long, low whistle, snapping the front clasp on her bra, pushing it aside before ducking his head to feast on her.

First the right breast, then the left. He licked and
suckled and laved until her head thrashed, her hips arched and her hands delved between them, eager to feel him inside her. Now.

‘Wow.’

Her hand briefly encountered an erection, a very large erection, and then he pulled back.

‘You want fast? I’m assuming not
that
fast?’

She laughed, amazed they were trading banter as if they’d known each other a lifetime.

Sex with Sergio had been lacklustre, had never given her the true intimacy she craved. Not that this mind-blowing foreplay with a guy she’d just met could be classed as intimate, but there was something about him that set her at ease, despite the fact she was almost naked in front of him.

Reaching up, she scraped her nails lightly down his chest.

‘I want you. Now.’

‘Decisive. I like that.’

He tugged her panties off, delved his fingers into her slick heat and pleasured her until she screamed his name. Twice.

‘You’re so hot,’ he murmured, reaching into his back pocket, pulling a condom out of his wallet and sheathing himself before she’d even realised he’d ditched the pants.

Eyeing his impressive arousal, she said, ‘So are you.’

His blistering stare never left hers as he slid into her, inch by exquisite inch, until he filled her, fulfilled her.

‘Jeez…’

He braced himself over her, moved out a fraction,
back in, the delicious erotic friction sparking fire as her hips bucked, her insides clenched.

With a low moan he drove into her, again and again and again, harder, faster, his breathing ragged as her hands dug into his hips, urging him on.

This time her orgasm smashed into her with the force of a Sydney hailstorm and she arched upwards, her mouth slamming into his as he tensed and exploded in his climax.

His barely audible expletive echoed her thoughts, echoed what they’d just done.

She’d just had mind-blowing sex with a virtual stranger.

The best sex of her life.

A life which was out of control—which explained why she’d done this.

What she couldn’t explain was the compulsion to do it all over again. Repeatedly.

Holding her close, he strummed her back and she closed her eyes, blindsided by the yearning to have him hold her and do this all night long.

‘I should leave,’ he said.

He should.

But she didn’t want him to—didn’t want to spend her last night in the only city she’d ever truly called home alone.

Leaning back, she cupped his cheek, looked him in the eye.

‘Don’t go.’