Maureen Child - Wanted by the Boss - Sleeping with the Boss / Cowboy Boss / Billionaire Boss

‘‘So what’re we gonna do?’’

‘‘I guess we’re gonna keep this going for a while, huh?’’

‘‘Is that what you want?’’ he asked.

‘‘Depends. Is it what you want?’’

He took her hand and yanked her close enough that she could feel his hard strength pressing into her abdomen. ‘‘You tell me.’’

‘‘Okeydoke, then.’’ Her body burst into flames. She knew because her mouth was suddenly dry. ‘‘After work. My place?’’

‘‘After work,’’ he repeated, and reluctantly released her. ‘‘But for now,’’ he said as he walked back to his desk chair, ‘‘I need to see the Baker files.’’

‘‘You bet,’’ she said, and turned around, headed back to the outer office. She felt him watching her with every step.

Two hours later, Rick was closeted with a client and Eileen’s phone was ringing.

‘‘Hawkins Financial.’’

‘‘Hello, honey!’’

Eileen smiled into the phone. ‘‘Hi, Gran.’’

‘‘How’s it going?’’

She opened her mouth, then closed it again, pausing to think. Hmm. How to describe what was going on around here. ‘‘It’s going…fine.’’ Safe, boring and as far from the truth as she could get. But what else was she going to tell her grandma? That Rick was the best sex she’d ever had?

Good God.

Right after recovering from her heart attack, Gran would drag Eileen to St. Steven’s and stretch her out prostrate on the altar. Nope. Sometimes a comfortable lie was better than the truth.

‘‘Good. I knew everything would work out as soon as you were able to let go of the whole ‘Rick was mean to me’ issue from your childhood.’’

‘‘Issue?’’ Eileen pulled the phone from her ear and stared at it for a moment through thoughtful, narrowed eyes. Then she snapped it back and asked, ‘‘Have you been watching that talk show again?’’

‘‘Dr. Mike is a very smart man,’’ Gran said.

‘‘Oh,’’ she said dryly, ‘‘I’ll bet.’’ Gran’s favorite TV psychologist had an answer for everything from hair loss to potty training and wasn’t the least bit shy about sharing them. And women like her grandmother ate it up.

‘‘He’s simply trying to help people face and confront their fears.’’ A long pause. ‘‘You might think about watching him sometime, dear.’’

Eileen sighed and pulled her hands back from the keyboard. Giving the closed door to Rick’s office a quick look, she said, ‘‘I don’t have any fears to confront, Gran. But thanks for thinking of me.’’

‘‘Commitment-phobic people always claim that.’’

‘‘What?’’ Her eyes bugged out and Eileen slapped one hand over them to prevent another contact lens search.

‘‘Dr. Mike says that people who are afraid to get hurt should just jump in and take the risk anyway. It’s healthy.’’

‘‘Dr. Mike can kiss my—’’

‘‘Eileen Ryan!’’

‘‘Gran.’’ Instantly apologetic, Eileen remembered where she was and lowered her voice. ‘‘I’m sorry. But seriously, stop trying to cure me by watching television. And , I don’t need a cure. There’s nothing wrong with me, anyway.’’

‘‘Nothing a husband and kids wouldn’t fix,’’ her grandmother argued.

Eileen’s chin hit her chest. Gran had been singing the same song for years. ‘‘Not everyone is going to live happily ever after, you know? Not everyone wants to.’’

‘‘Yes, but you do. I know you’re lonely, Eileen. Do you think I don’t notice how you watch Bridie and her family? Do you think I don’t see that sheen of tears in your eyes when you hold the baby?’’

Eileen huffed out a sigh. Fine. So she felt a little sorry for herself sometimes. Who didn’t? Did that make her a potential customer for Dr. Mike? No, she didn’t think so. What it made her was human. Sure she envied Bridie’s happiness a little. But Eileen was happy, too. Her life was just the way she wanted it.

And the phrase, methinks you protest too much , floated through her mind before she had a chance to cut it off at the pass.

‘‘Look, Gran,’’ she said quickly, ‘‘I’ve gotta go. Rick needs something.’’ A small lie, she plea-bargained with the gods as they no doubt made a little black mark on her soul. Lying to sweet old ladies didn’t go down real well in the world of Karma.

‘‘Fine, fine, I don’t want to keep you,’’ Gran said in the tone that clearly said she wasn’t ready to hang up yet.

‘‘I’ll call you later.’’

‘‘Come for dinner.’’

‘‘I— can’t ,’’ she said, remembering that she’d be busy after work. ‘‘But I’ll call. Promise.’’

‘‘All right, but I really think you should—’’

‘‘Gotta go, Gran. Seriously.’’ Eileen bent over her desk, still talking while she lowered the receiver toward its base. ‘‘Honest. Gotta go.’’ Her grandmother was still talking. ‘‘Bye.’’

Then she hung up, knowing that she’d be paying for that one later.

Sitting back in her chair, Eileen thought about everything Gran had said. Lonely? Sure, she was lonely sometimes. Wasn’t everyone? But on the whole, she liked her life. It was good. Full. And just the way she wanted it. She liked an empty house. The silence. The time to herself.

So why then was she so glad that Rick would be coming over to the house after work?

* * *

The small beach house was just the way he imagined Eileen’s place would look. Craftsman style, the front of the house was all wood and aged stone. It had to be at least sixty years old, with charm in the hand-carved porch railings and the stone balustrades.

He parked his luxury sedan at the curb and paused beside his car to take a good look at her place. Just a few blocks inland from the beach, the house was surrounded by greenery and fall flowers. Painted a bright sunshine-yellow with forest-green trim, the cottage looked warm and inviting. White wicker furniture on the porch invited a visit and the porch light gleamed with a soft pink glow. Naturally Eileen wouldn’t have just a plain old white bulb in there. She’d go for color.

Reaching into the car, he pulled out the bottle of iced chardonnay he’d brought along, then started up the rosebush-lined walk. He caught himself wondering what colors those now bare roses might be in the summer. But as soon as the thought entered his mind, he dismissed it. He wouldn’t be around long enough to find out anyway.

Rick smiled to himself as he climbed the five front steps. The cement had been painted. Somehow, Eileen had laid out a pattern and then painted the porch and steps to look like a faded, flowered Oriental rug. It looked great, but he couldn’t help wondering how she’d ever thought of it. Who the hell painted rugs on cement?

The front door opened.

Eileen stood in the open doorway. Her hair was loose, falling around her shoulders in soft red-gold waves. She wore a short white tank top with slender straps and a pair of faded denim shorts. Her feet were bare and her legs looked impossibly long. His mouth watered and he forgot all about the faux rug on the porch. Forgot about the new client he’d picked up over lunch. Forgot about the wine in his hands. All he could focus on was her.

And heaven help him, what she did to him.

‘‘Hi.’’

She smiled and his breath left him. Her eyes lit up and her features brightened and his blood pumped a little faster. ‘‘Hi back,’’ he said.

‘‘That for me?’’ She indicated the wine.

‘‘Yeah.’’

‘‘Want some now?’’ she asked, stepping back to let him in.

‘‘Not thirsty,’’ he said, entering the house, then closing the door behind him.