Cathy Williams - At Her Boss's Pleasure

‘Now, here’s the strategic difference between us,’ Alessandro drawled softly. ‘I haven’t abandoned having fun in favour of some never-never dream of perfection that won’t be happening.’

‘I haven’t done that!’

‘No? So when was the last time you had sex?’

‘I … Well …’

‘When was the last time you just let go , Kate …? Here’s what I’m thinking: that tonight was probably the first time in years that you went out in something other than the sort of clothes someone’s great-aunt would be proud to be seen in …’

‘That’s not fair,’ she whispered, stung—because it was true … horribly, mortifyingly true.

‘It may not be fair, but it’s true. When was the last time you felt anything but a need to work and prove yourself? It’s a dry life.’

‘It’s—’

‘Dry, sterile … You’re hiding away from emotion, waiting for the Big Thing to happen, and in the meantime life’s passing you by.’

‘It’s not all about sex …’

He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. She could read the intent in his eyes and she knew that he was going to kiss her. And she wanted him to. She wanted him to with every fibre of her sex-starved being … even if it made no sense.

CATHY WILLIAMScan remember reading Mills and Boon ®books as a teenager, and now that she is writing them she remains an avid fan. For her, there is nothing like creating romantic stories and engaging plots, and each and every book is a new adventure. Cathy lives in London and her three daughters, Charlotte, Olivia and Emma, have always been and continue to be the greatest inspiration in her life.

At Her Boss’s Pleasure

Cathy Williams

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Contents

Cover

Introduction ‘Now, here’s the strategic difference between us,’ Alessandro drawled softly. ‘I haven’t abandoned having fun in favour of some never-never dream of perfection that won’t be happening.’ ‘I haven’t done that!’ ‘No? So when was the last time you had sex?’ ‘I … Well …’ ‘When was the last time you just let go , Kate …? Here’s what I’m thinking: that tonight was probably the first time in years that you went out in something other than the sort of clothes someone’s great-aunt would be proud to be seen in …’ ‘That’s not fair,’ she whispered, stung—because it was true … horribly, mortifyingly true. ‘It may not be fair, but it’s true. When was the last time you felt anything but a need to work and prove yourself? It’s a dry life.’ ‘It’s—’ ‘Dry, sterile … You’re hiding away from emotion, waiting for the Big Thing to happen, and in the meantime life’s passing you by.’ ‘It’s not all about sex …’ He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. She could read the intent in his eyes and she knew that he was going to kiss her. And she wanted him to. She wanted him to with every fibre of her sex-starved being … even if it made no sense.

About the Author CATHY WILLIAMS can remember reading Mills and Boon ® books as a teenager, and now that she is writing them she remains an avid fan. For her, there is nothing like creating romantic stories and engaging plots, and each and every book is a new adventure. Cathy lives in London and her three daughters, Charlotte, Olivia and Emma, have always been and continue to be the greatest inspiration in her life.

Title Page At Her Boss’s Pleasure Cathy Williams www.millsandboon.co.uk

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

Extract

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

FRIDAY. END OF JULY. Six-thirty in the evening...

And where , Kate thought, am I? Still in the office. She was the last man standing. Or sitting, in actual fact. At her desk, with the computer flickering in front of her and profit and loss columns demanding attention. Not immediate attention—nothing that couldn’t wait until the following Monday morning—but...

She sighed and sat back, stretching out the knots in her shoulders, and for a few minutes allowed herself to get lost in thought.

She was twenty-seven years old and she knew where she should be right now—and it wasn’t in the office. Even if it was a very nice office, in a more-than-very-nice building, in the prestigious heart of London.

In fact she should be anywhere but here.

She should be out enjoying herself, lazing around in Hyde Park with friends, drinking wine and luxuriating in the long, hot summer. Or having a barbecue in a back garden somewhere. Or maybe just sitting inside, with some music on in the background and a significant other discussing his day and asking about hers.

She blinked and the vision of possibilities vanished. Since moving to London four years ago she could count on the fingers of one hand the number of close friends she had managed to make, and since qualifying as an accountant and joining AP Logistics a year and a half ago she had made none.

Acquaintances, yes...but friends? No. She just wasn’t the sort of outgoing, chirpy, confidence-sharing, giggling sort of girl who made friends easily and was always part of a group. She knew that and she rarely thought about it all—except...well...it was Friday, and outside the baking sun was fading into pleasant balmy warmth, and in the rest of the world people her age were all out there enjoying themselves. In Hyde Park. Or in those back gardens where barbecues were happening...

She glanced through her office door and an array of empty desks stared back at her accusingly, mockingly, pointing out her shortcomings.

She hurriedly made a mental list of all the wonderful upsides to her life.

Great job at one of the most prestigious companies in the country. Her own office, which was a remarkable achievement considering her age. Her own small one-bedroom flat in a nice enough area in West London. How many girls her age actually owned their own place? In London? Yes, there was a mortgage, but still...

She had done well.

So she might not be able to escape her past. But she could bury it so deeply that it could no longer affect her.

Except...

She was here, at work, on her own, on a Friday evening, on the twenty-sixth of July...

So what did that say?

She hunched back over the screen and decided to give herself another half an hour before she would leave the office and head back to her empty flat.

Thankfully she became so engrossed in the numbers staring back at her that she was barely aware of the distant ping of the lift and the sound of footsteps approaching the huge open-plan room where the secretaries and trainee accountants sat, and then moving on, heading towards her office.

She was squinting at the screen and totally unaware of the tall, dark figure looming by the door until he spoke, and then she jumped and for a few unguarded seconds was not the cool, collected woman she usually was.