Nicola Marsh - Wild Nights with her Wicked Boss

‘Welcome to the team. I look forward to liaising with you.’

Nodding, she whirled around and strode across the office, anxious to reach the door. Her mind had conjured up all sorts of intimate ways she could liaise with her delectable new boss.

‘Drop by tomorrow. Cheri will have your travel arrangements and training schedule waiting. Good luck, Jade. Great meeting you.’

His words sounded genuine as he opened the door for her and she briefly wondered if she’d imagined the whole bizarre scenario.

‘Thanks. See you in six months.’

Great, she had the job. Not so great, her new boss had tied her up in knots and she thought he was hot, despite her personal vow to ignore men for…oh, the next millennium or so.

Luckily, Alaska and Vancouver were poles apart. She’d be traipsing around glaciers while he stayed behind his desk a thousand miles away. Perfect.

Nothing like a good dose of hypothermia to cool hyperactive hormones.

AS JADE left his office, Rhys leaned back, exhaled slowly and rubbed his right temple where the beginnings of a headache hovered.

He didn’t get headaches. Discounting the woman who’d just left. She was a headache just waiting to happen, every prissy inch of her.

From the top of her designer suit that would fund his payroll for a month to the bottom of her exorbitantly expensive shoes, Jade Beacham was one big headache.

She might be a stunner, with those endless legs, big breasts, huge dark Bambi eyes and long hair the colour of double-shot espresso, but he’d known the instant he’d first seen her snooping around the office she’d be more trouble than she was worth.

She had rich, uptight, society princess stamped all over her.

The expensive clothes, the immaculate make-up, the cultured accent, all added up to one thing. He’d lost his mind in hiring her, favour to her hot-shot dad not withstanding.

He hated owing anyone so when Fred had requested a job for his precious little girl, he’d reluctantly agreed.

Didn’t mean he had to like it.

The moment she’d strutted down the corridor as if she owned the place, totally at home casing the joint when she should’ve been waiting, he’d wanted to make her jump through hoops, wanted her off guard.

So he’d gone through that odd scenario: testing her, pushing her, expecting her to fling her hair over one shoulder, hitch her designer bag higher and stroll out of here back to her cushy life.

She’d surprised him: by sticking around, by putting up with his crap and, most of all, by appearing genuinely happy when he’d given her the job.

It begged the question: why would a wealthy society princess need a job? Why here? What had happened to her life in Sydney for her to end up thousands of miles away?

Shaking his head, he snatched up the phone, not caring about the time difference between here and Melbourne. He needed to talk to Callum. Now.

‘Callum Cartwright.’

‘Hey, bro, you still at the office?’

An ear-splitting squeal gave him his answer before Callum responded.

‘Uh-uh, I’m home minding the twins. Starr’s understudy for the lead in Mamma Mia , and it’s opening night.’

‘Good for her.’

He paused as a ‘gimme now’ filtered down the phone, the demand so like Callum when he’d been a child that he laughed. ‘Is that my favourite niece, the gorgeous Miss Polly?’

‘Little tyrant more like it.’

A loud crash swiftly followed by tears had him grinning more as Callum cursed and muttered, ‘Give me a minute, I’ll be right back.’

‘No worries.’

While his brother attended to domestic duties, he flicked through Jade’s résumé, her lack of skills taunting him.

Realistically, if he hadn’t owed Fred—who’d set him up with a major cruise line to use Wild Thing for their tours when he’d first started the business—he would’ve continued interviewing other candidates. But he didn’t have time with another tour starting shortly. So he’d hired her, towering heels, sassy suit and all.

That figure-hugging suit had been something else: fitted jacket, pencil skirt, clinging to curves that made his hands itch. If she looked that good in a suit, he wondered what she’d look like in his preferred outfit for women: skin-tight jeans, turtle-neck sweater and a wind-break?

He bet faded denim would fit her just fine, hugging that great butt he’d glimpsed as she’d left his office, and for a crazy moment he regretted he wouldn’t be around to find out.

The way her eyes had blazed and her lips had pursed when he’d flirted he guessed a fiery passion for life pounded through her veins. And where there was fire, there was usually a raging inferno of hot woman just waiting for a soothing touch to douse the flames.

It had been far too long since he’d played with fire, with any woman, and he had a sudden insane wish to see if Jade wanted to set off some pyrotechnics with him.

‘I’m back.’ Callum huffed into the phone while silence momentarily reigned. ‘I’ve set them up with crackers and juice in front of the TV. That should give me about five minutes’ peace.’

‘Don’t know how you do it.’

And he didn’t, considering they’d never had a good role model for a father. Frank Cartwright had ignored both of them, only having time for their eldest brother, Archie. And once Archie had died in a car accident, their recalcitrant father had closed off completely.

Even now, after the successes they’d made of their lives, Frank rarely acknowledged them, acting as if his younger sons didn’t exist. Which made Rhys admire Callum and the job he was doing with the twins even more.

‘It’s hard work, tougher than any business deal, but I love it.’

He heard the genuine emotion in his brother’s voice, the sense of achievement, and for a split second he envied him. Not that he’d ever settle down long enough to have a family. Uh-uh, he’d leave that to the people who wanted ties to one place, to one person, and that sure as hell wasn’t him.

Being emotionally invested with anyone, even kids, was tantamount to handing over his heart and begging for it to be carved up. Too risky, too painful, too masochistic.

‘So what’s up?’

Rubbing the spot over his left breastbone that had flared to life for a startling second, he tossed Jade’s résumé back on his desk.

‘I interviewed Jade Beacham today.’

‘She’s great.’

‘Hmm…’

His non-committal response guaranteed Callum would push further.

‘You didn’t like her?’

He liked her too much, that was the problem, and it had nothing to do with her role as tour guide for the company.

‘It’s not that. She just seems too green.’

‘We all had to start somewhere.’

Fair call, considering he’d spent years travelling the world after he’d finished his degree, moving from job to job, place to place, not willing to stop for fear the past—and the memories of his dead brother—would catch up with him.

If it hadn’t been for Callum helping him set up Wild Thing he’d still be wandering, chasing shadows.

‘You know Fred Beacham called in a favour to have me hire her?’

‘Yeah, but after the initial screening I knew she’d be a good candidate anyway.’ Callum paused, cleared his throat. ‘You hate owing anybody anything. Is that what this is about?’

Rhys bit back his instant rebuttal. Was that why hiring the rich princess irked? Because he’d owed Fred and had had his favour called in?

Ignoring the question, he fired one of his own. ‘You move in the same circles as the Beachams. Do you know why Fred was so gung-ho about a job for Jade?’

‘Beats me.’