Maggie Cox - In Her Boss's Bed

His arms sliding seductively round her waist, Conall wished fervently that he could banish every trace of sadness from her beautiful green eyes. He couldn’t ever remember feeling that way about any other woman, and he’d dated many.

“So, Miss McKenzie…where do we go from here?”

It was difficult to think straight with the sudden rush of blood to her head. Her expression revealing her anxiety more candidly than she knew, Morgen glanced nervously up at Conall. “Where do you want to go from here?”

He overwhelmed her with another sexy smile, and the strong arms around her waist tightened a little. “Want me to be frank with you?”

Morgen nodded.

“Your bed would be good.”

For several years MAGGIE COX was a reluctant secretary who dreamed of becoming a published author. She can’t remember a time when she didn’t have her head in a book or wasn’t busy filling exercise books with stories. When she was ten years old her favorite English teacher told her, “If you don’t become a writer I’ll eat my hat!” But it was only after marrying the love of her life that she finally became convinced she might be able to achieve her dream. Now a self-confessed champion of dreamers everywhere, she urges everyone with a dream to go for it and never give up. Also a busy full-time mom, who tries constantly not to be so busy in what she laughingly calls her spare time, she loves to watch good drama or romantic movies, and eat chocolate!

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To my wonderful brother Billy, loved but not lost.

I will hold you in my heart forever.

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

THE voice in her head seemed to come from far away, and had a sense of urgency about it. Irritated at the interruption to her dream, Morgen mentally willed it away, longing for the dream to come back. But to no avail. It was gone, like leaves scattered by the wind. As the fog in her head began to clear it became painfully apparent that she had pins and needles in her hands—the same hands that her head was resting on, on her desk.

‘Oh, my God!’

Lifting her head, she briskly rubbed her palms together, then flexed her fingers, her heart racing slightly as the blood began to circulate again. It started racing even more when she saw the stony-faced expression of the man standing on the other side of the desk, disapproval bracketing a mouth that looked as if it smiled just about as often as Morgen had dinner at the Savoy.

She started to rise to her feet. ‘I’m sorry, I—’

‘Was wasting the firm’s time? By my calculations it’s at least another hour until lunch, and I’ve been told that most of the staff in this office grab a sandwich and eat it at their desk. Obviously you have other, less strenuous ideas for using your desk, Miss…?’

Hateful man! For a couple of moments Morgen struggled to get a handle on her anger, not to mention humiliation, but then, taking a deep breath and tucking her hair behind her ear, she straightened her shoulders and rallied. How dared he cast aspersions on her character by insinuating that she fell asleep at her desk on a regular basis? And who, in God’s name, was he anyway?

‘My falling asleep like that has never happened before, Mr…?’

‘You first.’ He ran an impatient hand through hair the colour of rich dark caramel, and Morgen couldn’t help noticing that he looked in urgent need of both a haircut and a shave. Besides that, there was an edge about him that made her stomach knot. This was a man who would never suffer the indignity of being ignored, she concluded, not in this life. And it wasn’t just because of those jaw-dropping good looks, either.

‘McKenzie. Morgen McKenzie.’

‘And—apart from being employed by this firm to do apparently not very much—you work for Derek Holden, is that right?’

Swallowing with difficulty, Morgen felt the slight burn of heat in her cheeks. ‘I’m his assistant, yes.’

‘Then where the hell is he? I had a meeting booked with him in the conference room at ten-thirty. I got an earlier flight back from the States to make sure I was here on time, I’m jet-lagged, in dire need of a shower and something to eat, and there’s no sign of your boss anywhere. Care to tell me where you think he is, Miss McKenzie?’

Right now, what she actually cared to tell Mr High-and-Mighty-I’m-so-much-better-than-you standing in front of her was probably unprintable, but she was equally angry with Derek. Why hadn’t he briefed her on the fact he had a ten-thirty appointment with this man, whoever he was? She’d checked the diary thoroughly before she’d left last night, as she always did, and there had been no meeting in the conference room at ten-thirty pencilled in then. What the devil was he playing at?

Her heart sank at yet another painful reminder of her boss’s slow and steady decline. Once a smart up-and-coming young architect, since his divorce Derek Holden had turned more and more to the bottle in search of comfort. In the past six months Morgen had seen him turn into a sad, shambling wreck of his former self. It was a good job that she was quick-witted and smart herself, because she had saved his bacon on more than one occasion—taking over work that was definitely not in the province of a mere personal assistant. She concluded that Derek must have known about the meeting for a while but had forgotten to tell her about it.

Now, as her fingers turned over the wide pages of the desk diary, hovering over the blank space next to ten-thirty, Morgen frowned down at it, rapidly scanning her brain for the best excuse for his absence she could possibly come up with. Sensing the man’s irritation grow more acute as the seconds ticked by, she reflected that this handsome Goliath in front of her was going to take a heck of a lot of convincing.

‘Unfortunately Derek has been taken ill,’ she explained smoothly, assuring herself she wasn’t too far off the mark. He usually didn’t show up until around ten most days anyway, but because it was now almost eleven-fifteen she assumed he must be feeling even more the worse for wear than usual. He probably wouldn’t show up today at all—which might be for the best, considering the glowering face before her.

‘Really? Then why in hell’s name didn’t someone let me know?’ The deep, resonant bellow almost made Morgen jump out of her skin. ‘Why didn’t you let me know, Miss McKenzie? Isn’t that what you’re paid to do?’

‘If you’d care to tell me who you are, I might be able to—’

‘Conall O’Brien. Obviously you weren’t even aware that your boss and I had a meeting, were you? Care to explain why?’

Her head hurt at the relentless barrage of questions, but her pulse nearly careened to a halt like a car coming upon a sudden hairpin bend when he said his name. Conall O’Brien. The charismatic head of O’Brien and Stoughton Associates—premier architects with offices in London, Sydney and New York. Although Morgen had worked for the London office for just over a year now, she had never set eyes on the man himself. However, his awesome reputation preceded him.