Marie Ferrarella - The Boss's Surprise Son / Doctoring the Single Dad

THE BOSS’S SURPRISE SON

TERESA CARPENTER

DOCTORING THE SINGLE DAD

MARIE FERRARELLA

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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THE BOSS’S SURPRISE SON

TERESA CARPENTER

TERESA CARPENTERbelieves in the power of unconditional love, and that there’s no better place to find it than between the pages of a romance novel. Reading is a passion for Teresa—a passion that led to a calling. She began writing more than twenty years ago, and marks the sale of her first book as one of her happiest memories. Teresa gives back to her craft by volunteering her time to Romance Writers of America on a local and national level.

A fifth generation Californian, she lives in San Diego, within miles of her extensive family, and knows with their help she can accomplish anything. She takes particular joy and pride in her nieces and nephews, who are all bright, fit, shining stars of the future. If she’s not at a family event you’ll usually find her at home—reading, writing, or playing with her adopted Chihuahua, Jefe.

Dear Reader,

My dedication in this book is to my niece and her new husband, who got married while I was writing this book. She’s a beautiful young mother, and he’s a handsome young sailor from the Midwest. They met on a Navy base in California, and the rest is just the beginning of a long history to be lived.

A wedding is truly a magical event when it’s for the right reasons. In our stories we often bend the order of things —putting our characters in marriages and then letting them find love together. It’s fun, isn’t it? Watching them find their way to each other?

Seeing my niece and her new husband’s joy in each other was truly inspirational as I finished Rick and Savannah’s story. I hope you enjoy their journey.

Teresa Carpenter

For my beautiful niece Erika Beasley and her

handsome groom Aaron Miller

Congratulations, Mr and Mrs Miller

Welcome to the family, Aaron

RICK SULLIVAN left his office on the hunt for food. He’d been wrapped up in meetings with his department managers all morning going over end-of-year goals. They looked as if they would exceed projected sales. A good thing as he hoped to take Sullivans’ Jewels into the international market next year to celebrate their centennial.

Not the best timing for his personal assistant to be out for knee surgery.

He noticed with relief that his new assistant Savannah Jones wasn’t at her desk and moved over to flip the hourglass she kept on the corner. One end was white marble, the other black, and she’d asked him to place it black-side-up whenever he left the building. Apparently it was a pressing question when people saw his door was open.

When he got closer he saw he’d been both right and wrong. Ms. Jones wasn’t at her desk, she was under it.

He slowly shook his head. He had two weaknesses: chocolate and his paternal grandmother. Both had the potential to get him in trouble, but where he could muster the discipline to say no to chocolate chip cookies, he’d never mastered the art of denying Gram’s pleading blue eyes.

Which explained his current view of his new assistant’s backside as she delved under her desk.

Temporary assistant , he reminded himself. His regular assistant, the highly efficient Miss Molly Green would be back in six months, two weeks, five days and—he glanced at his watch—three hours and forty-five minutes.

Damn right he was counting. And it was all Gram’s fault. She’d convinced him to hire Ms. Jones, a bit of fluff with little practical work experience and a penchant for chatter. Gram knew the Jones family, and when Rick blew through three assistants in the first three weeks of Molly’s leave, Gram took advantage of his guilt and frustration to refer her friend and to insist he keep Ms. Jones on until Molly’s return.

Though Ms. Jones’s head burrowed out of view, he had no problem recognizing the half on display. Her bent position caused the gray fabric of her pants to pull taut, intimately framing the lush jut of her derriere.

Suddenly warm, he shrugged out of his jacket and without conscious thought walked around the side of her desk to get a better view.

His cheeks heated when he realized what he’d done. Annoyed at himself and her, he snapped, “Ms. Jones, what do you think you’re doing?”

She started and a muffled “Ouch!” followed the sound of her head hitting the underside of the desk. “I’m … trying to …” She tugged on something out of sight, the motion causing her hips to wiggle enticingly. “… plug in my new electric stapler. But … the cord is … stuck.”

More tugging, more wiggling, and he saw a bulky gray object shift on her desk.

Honestly, did he deserve this? It wasn’t as if he expected his assistant to wait on him. He took care of his own coffee, dry cleaning and personal business. Were competent, efficient and prompt too much to ask for?

And okay, to be fair, in the four weeks she’d been here Ms. Jones had shown she understood instructions and could successfully proof her own work, which was better than the misfits he’d gone through in the first three weeks. But her methods were all over the place, much like her shifting hips.

“Ms. Jones, surely you could have called maintenance to handle this for you?” he asked impatiently.

“Gracious, I’m not going to call maintenance just for a plug-in. The cord is just a little short, that’s all. I’ll be finished here in a moment. Did you need something?”

Wiggle, bend, wiggle.

Rick groaned as heat flared through him once again, and he almost strangled on his own breath.

Did he need something? Was she kidding? He’d be lucky to remember his own name at the moment. He should walk away, just end the torment. Yet, everything in him denied him the option of leaving her vulnerable to another man’s approach. He glanced around sharply to make sure no male neared the vicinity. They were alone—both a blessing and a curse.

“Ms. Jones, I insist you remove yourself from under there this instant,” he bit out.

“I’ve almost got it, but it’s stuck. Can you push the cord through from that side?” she asked.

Anything to bring this scene to a close. He moved behind the desk and bent forward to shove the electric stapler closer to the opening for cords. Unfortunately the hole was full and the cord buckled up instead of dropping down.

He hesitated. He’d have to step between her legs to get the leverage he needed and somehow that seemed too intimate.

“Rick?”

“Just a blasted minute. You have too many cords in here.” Manning up, he carefully placed his foot in the narrow opening between her shins and leaned over her to reach the tangle of cords. He shoved at the stubborn cord and his weight shifted, bringing his knee in contact with the soft cushion of her butt.