Nicola Marsh - The Boss's Bedroom Agenda

She wasn’t a tour guide, she was an artist, and having to follow someone else’s rules didn’t sit well with her. She was used to creative freedom, to being her own boss, not jumping to someone else’s tune.

As she passed a bright, airy shopfront filled with exquisite paintings and sculptures she sucked in a deep breath and squared her shoulders.

She wanted that.

Her very own space filled with her work, with the autonomy to do what she wanted when she wanted. Recognition for her talents, recognition of any sort if she were completely honest with herself, something she’d craved from her dad and never got considering he’d spent the bulk of her childhood traipsing around the countryside.

Casting one last longing glance at the mini-gallery, she tucked her bag tighter and picked up the pace.

She could do this.

She had a job to do and she’d better do it well.

Achieving her dream depended on it.

Aidan paced the empty entrance hall of the museum and wondered what the hell he was doing.

He’d had a very bad day, starting with a pile of boring financial reports and ending in a complaint from an irate mother.

Though officially his day hadn’t been all bad and it hadn’t exactly started off with those reports considering he’d laid down the law to the new tour guide first thing.

Ironic, he’d be ending his day the same way he’d started: glancing at his watch and shaking his head at Beth Walker’s lack of punctuality.

He shouldn’t even be here.

Confronting her over the train-display drama could’ve waited till morning, but something had prompted him to ring and order her back tonight.

He muttered a curse, knowing exactly what that ‘something’ was: fascination.

She had him wound up tighter than a DNA strand and he needed to see her now for no other reason than to reassure himself that his absorption with her when he should’ve been focussing on those reports had stemmed from interest in the skills of a new employee and not an underlying fatalistic attraction he couldn’t act upon.

As if on cue a loud tapping sounded on the glass door in front of him and he flicked the lock, sliding a finger between his collar and neck while doing so.

He needed some air, fast.

His lungs had seized the second he laid eyes on Beth in a shimmery purple top, full make-up, blonde hair sleek and a black mini skirt that would keep him up all night.

Correction, the memory of her long, tanned legs on full display in that skirt would do that.

‘Let me guess. You’re going to tell me off for being a few minutes late.’

The full megawattage of her smile hit him as she flicked her hair over her shoulder in a gesture suggesting habit rather than an attempt to capture his attention.

Not that she needed to do anything other than stand there to do that.

‘I saw you staring at your watch just before I knocked.’

‘Occupational habit.’ He ushered her in and locked the door, trying not to inhale too deeply at the tempting fruity fragrance in her wake. ‘I like things running to clockwork. It’s the way I’ve always worked.’

‘I never would’ve guessed.’

Her eyes twinkled with amusement, her lips curving into a dazzling smile that slammed into him with the force of a tumbling pyramid.

‘Come on, let’s go. We have business to discuss.’

‘So you said on the phone.’

Her smile faded and, irrationally, he was disappointed.

‘Let’s wait till we reach my office so you can read the complaint for yourself.’

He found his gaze unwittingly drawn to her shoes as she fell into step beside him. The frivolous, fancy, feather shoes with barely there straps completed this outfit much better than the suit she’d worn earlier and the ‘sex kitten’ label instantly sprang to mind again.

Damn, he shouldn’t be thinking this way, shouldn’t be noticing things like sexy shoes or her alluring outfit or the way the shimmery silver on her eyelids highlighted the vivid jade depths beneath.

‘You don’t fit the image of the average tour guide.’

She chuckled, her soft laughter as enticing as the rest of her. ‘So what does an average tour guide look like?’

‘Not you,’ he muttered, glad they’d reached his office.

Most of the lights had been turned off at closing time and walking along the narrow corridor hip to hip with her had him wishing he hadn’t suggested this after-hours meeting.

Proving to himself he wasn’t interested in her was great in theory. Pity the practice did little more than show him up for fraud.

He was her boss. Which meant she was a no-go zone. Now he just had to remember it.

Eager to get this over and done with, he flung open the door and gestured her to enter before him.

Bad move.

If that itty-bitty skirt highlighted her incredible legs, it did amazing things to her butt.

‘Okay, let me have it.’

He wrenched his gaze up to meet hers in record time, but the knowing smile curving her lush mouth spoke volumes: she’d caught him checking her out and was enjoying every minute of it.

Irritated by his slip-up, he strode to his desk and handed her the written complaint.

‘Here. Read this, then we’ll discuss it.’

She sped-read it, anxiously gnawing at her bottom lip while he tried to ignore the crazy urge to do the same.

When she reached the end, she ran a shaky hand through her hair, inadvertently draping it over a delectably bare shoulder.

‘So what do you want to do about this problem?’

Furious he couldn’t keep his mind on the task at hand and off trifling observations like the subtle glimmer of bronze dusted on that bare shoulder, he gestured for her to have a seat while he perched on the edge of the desk.

‘This problem is indicative of a larger one, namely you.’

Her eyes flashed emerald fire while her bottom lip wobbled ever so slightly. ‘I wasn’t a problem when your father hired me. He thinks I’ll be an asset to the museum.’

‘And do you feel the same way?’

‘Of course.’

While that tremulous bottom lip suggested she was quaking inside, she locked stares with him, challenge in her green depths, taunting him to break the deadlock and look away first.

Like hell he would.

‘My father may have hired you, but that doesn’t mean I can’t fire you.’

He dropped the magic F word and she dropped her gaze in record time.

Well, well, looked as if Miss Fancy Feet valued her job more than she let on.

‘The train thing was a misunderstanding.’ She handed him the complaint pro forma and sighed. ‘It wasn’t my fault the little monster—uh, cutie-pie—was fiddling with the display.’

How did she do that—undermine his annoyance with a hint of a smile and a blunt response?

Nothing was remotely funny about this situation—the written complaint highlighted a day filled with her incompetence— yet he had to hide his amusement before responding. ‘It’s an interactive display. Kids are meant to fiddle with it.’

‘How was I supposed to know that?’

‘It’s your job to know.’

‘Good point.’

Feeling like an ogre and wishing like mad she’d stop worrying that delectably full bottom lip, he said, ‘You may have convinced my father to hire you for this job but I’m calling the shots now. And right now I’m less than impressed with your performance. Your résumé doesn’t inspire me with confidence and neither have your skills on the first day.’

She stood so swiftly he found himself reaching out to steady her, his hands connecting with her bare arms before he had time to think.

‘Look, I’m just nervous, okay? This job means a lot to me and I’m sorry for the misunderstanding with that, uh, little angel. As for the rest, I’ll try to do better. Honest.’