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Wild Nights with her Wicked Boss
Nicola Marsh
Her red-hot boss definitely shouldn’t be on her ‘To-Do’ list!When glittering socialite Jade Beacham’s life falls apart she’s determined to make a completely fresh start. Packing away her designer wardrobe, she heads out to the arctic splendour of Alaska to become deliciously dangerous Rhys Cartwright’s newest – and feistiest! – employee.Expecting a high-maintenance princess, Rhys finds Jade’s enthusiasm and natural beauty surprising…and outrageously enticing! If working together is wicked torture, then giving in to temptation is worse – as their blistering night together plays havoc with Rhys’s strict ‘one night only’ rule…
Praise for Nicola Marsh:
About MARRIAGE: FOR BUSINESS OR PLEASURE?: ‘Awash in passion, sensuality, and plenty of sparks. The terrific characters immediately capture your attention, and from there the pages go flying by.’
—www.romantictimes.com
About TWO-WEEK MISTRESS:
‘Funny, witty and sensually enticing, TWO-WEEK MISTRESS by Nicola Marsh left me laughing at the antics of her characters while enjoying the sensuality of this novel.’
—www.cataromance.com
About TRIP WITH THE TYCOON:
‘Sterling characters, an exotic setting and crackling sexual tension make for a great read.’
—www.romantictimes.com
‘What now?’
Jade could barely see in the dim street lighting, but she heard the exasperation in Rhys’s voice.
‘You’re ticked off. Not a good start to our working relationship. I don’t want to leave things like that—tense, awkward.’
She shrugged, feeling more foolish by the minute—a feeling which only increased as she focussed on the patch of smooth bronze skin at the base of his throat.
The colour of his skin matched her favourite crème caramel dessert…oh, so tempting…A bizarre urge to lick it popped into her mind, and an inane craving to taste him urged her to close the short gap between them and…Just one little lick. Surely that wouldn’t be harmful?
Lost in a fanciful haze, she missed the moment he loosened his grip and started running his hands over her upper arms. And though she wore a woollen jumper under her own parka her skin tingled.
‘Doesn’t seem too tense now.’
She stared at his lips, transfixed. The last thing she needed was a kiss from her boss. What she wanted—now, that was a different matter entirely…
Wild Nights with her Wicked Boss
By
Nicola Marsh
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
About the Author
NICOLA MARSH has always had a passion for writing and reading. As a youngster, she devoured books when she should have been sleeping, and later kept a diary whose content could be an epic in itself! These days, when she’s not enjoying life with her husband and sons in her home city of Melbourne, she’s at her computer, creating the romances she loves, in her dream job. Visit Nicola’s website at www.nicolamarsh.com for the latest news of her books.
Don’t miss Nicola’s next novel,
DESERTED ISLAND, DREAMY EX!
on sale next month in
Mills & Boon’s® exciting new Riva series!
Recent titles by the same author:
THREE TIMES A BRIDESMAID
OVERTIME IN THE BOSS’S BED
A TRIP WITH A TYCOON
MARRIAGE: FOR BUSINESS OR PLEASURE?
TWO WEEKS IN THE MAGNATE’S BED
THE BOSS’S BEDROOM AGENDA
For my original Alaskan lumberjack: Martin, this one’s for you, babe.
Chapter One
A SCORNED woman needed a new start and Jade had flown from Sydney to Vancouver to get it.
Nothing or no one could stand in her way now.
Just let them try.
She adjusted her suit jacket, smoothed her skirt and approached the reception desk, a black marble semi-circle with Wild Thing emblazoned across the front in large silver letters.
‘Hi. I’m Jade Beacham, here to see Mr Cartwright.’
The receptionist, a cool blonde who looked as if she’d stepped off the cover of Vogue, pointed to a nearby chair. ‘Take a seat. I’ll let Mr Cartwright know you’re here.’
Ignoring the nerves tumbling through her belly like sugar-overloaded mice, she perched on the edge of a chair, reluctant to sit back for fear of creasing her skirt. Thankfully, she’d had the sense to grab a few of her designer suits before she’d fled her old life, and wearing her fitted sable pinstripe suit, the familiarity of it gave her some stability in a world turned topsy-turvy a few weeks ago.
Her mind drifted for a nanosecond…Had it only been three weeks since she’d discovered everything, everyone, she believed in had lied to her? That the people she admired the most, the people she loved, were living a sham?
Realising her fingers were cramping from clutching her bag so tight, she deliberately relaxed them, labelling the memories of her former life as a place she didn’t want to go; especially not now, when she had to nail this interview.
Her future depended on it.
Better she concentrate on mentally rehearsing her spiel, revising every detail she’d learned about Wild Thing, the world-renowned company famous for its top-end Alaskan wilderness tours.
Thanks to Callum Cartwright, the hot-shot executive who’d interviewed her back home as part of an elaborate screening process, she had a chance at nailing this job.
He’d made it clear that his brother’s company Wild Thing accepted very few applicants and expected the best from their employees; if she made it that far.
Well, here she was, ready to impress the heck out of the CEO, land her first job, and take a gigantic step on the road to achieving her dream.
Her dream. Not her parents. Not her ex-fiancé. Hers.
‘Mr Cartwright will see you now. Through that door.’
The receptionist pointed behind her left shoulder and Jade stood, smiled her thanks, feigning bravado she didn’t feel yet eager to take the first step towards rebuilding her life.
Pushing the heavy glass door, she walked into another waiting room facing an endless corridor. She stood for a few minutes, tapping her foot, the silence intimidating her more than she cared to admit. She hadn’t flown halfway round the world to be thwarted at this stage, no sir-ree. This job was hers, whatever it took.
As the minutes ticked by her impatience grew. Story of her life, really.
She’d been impatient for as long as she could remember: waiting for the fifty invited guests to arrive at her sixth birthday party at Luna Park, which her parents had hired for the event; waiting for her first pony, first piano, first trip to Disneyland all before the age of ten; waiting for her very own private theatre room with the latest high-tech gadgets by the time she’d hit early teens.
Later, waiting for her first Porsche, her first thoroughbred, and, recently, waiting for the man of her dreams to marry her only to discover he’d turned into her biggest nightmare.
Nah, waiting was for losers. Now she finally had a chance to make things right, to do things differently, to follow her own dreams. Screw waiting. Time to make things happen and that time was now.
Clamping her lips shut on a sigh of exasperation, she strode down the corridor, glancing into empty offices, her patience wearing thinner with every step.
‘Can I help you?’
She whirled around, her pulse racing. Being caught snooping in her prospective new work place wasn’t a good start. Hoping to bluff her way out of it, she fixed a smile and glanced up.
Rather than her pulse slowing, the sight of the guy in front of her only served to increase its pace.
HOT. H.O.T. flashed across her mind in huge capital letters like the Hollywood sign she’d visited briefly in LA as a kid, when her life had been easy and carefree and mapped out. Shame about the major detour.
He wasn’t classically handsome, the planes and angles of his face too angular for that: razor cheekbones, sharp jaw. Exuding barely restrained power, he looked as if he’d stepped off a billboard for executive hotties.
She had a fleeting impression of black hair, brilliant blue eyes, broad chest and navy suit before his face recaptured her attention.
Though she did have a hard time tearing her gaze away from that chest; he would’ve given Superman a run for his money. Did guys actually have sculpted chests like that? Until now she’d assumed they were a figment of some female comic designer’s imagination; some very imaginative, very creative comic designer’s imagination.
Those hyperactive mice took to bouncing in her belly again, exacerbating the strange, fluttery feeling she put down to pre-interview jitters. No way could her reaction be remotely hormonal to a guy who would have women falling at his designer-loafered feet with a wink of those baby blues. She knew better than that. Boy, did she know better.
However, the longer the superhero stared at her she knew her racing pulse and somersaulting stomach had little to do with the impending interview and more to do with sexual awareness.
For that was the first word that leapt to mind with this guy: sex. Hot, raunchy, no-holds-barred sex.
As he continued to stare at her with blatant curiosity she suddenly knew how Lois Lane must’ve felt, all tongue-tied and nervous anticipation at the possibility of being squashed up against a broad wall of muscle covered in a big S.
Surreptitiously swiping her clammy palms down the side of her skirt, she hoped the unexpected heat flooding her body wasn’t reflected in her cheeks.
‘I was just—’
‘Wandering the corridors, snooping around?’
That annoying heat hit her cheeks in an incriminating blush.
‘I wasn’t snooping. My name’s Jade Beacham, I had an interview scheduled twenty-five minutes ago and I was directed to wait in here.’
The babbling wasn’t good and, combined with her blush, made her look like a fool.
Something akin to amusement flashed in those too-blue-to-be-legal eyes.
‘I’m sure that meant having a seat back there while you wait.’
His tone implied she was a thief about to steal trade secrets as he pointed to a row of chairs, the action stretching his ivory silk shirt tight across his chest.
Oh, boy, that chest…
‘You’re right. Sorry. Patience has never been one of my virtues.’
Damn, where had that come from? Way to go with first impressions. Mentally cringing and slapping a hand across her mouth, she searched her brain for something sensible to say, coming up a frustrating blank as he continued to stare.
Confident a few deep breaths would refocus her concentration, she took a subtle breath, another, instantly hit by an intoxicating blend of designer cool, warm sunshine and long, decadent nights, the images his aftershave invoked as mind-boggling as the man himself.
Not good. She was here to nail this interview, not swoon over some suit. Besides, her swooning days over any guy were over, remember?
‘Here’s the deal. I’ve got a bit of time on my hands, you look like you need to be kept out of trouble. Would you like to know more about your boss?’
His proposition surprised her more than his knockout aftershave. Surely he couldn’t be serious? Talk about unprofessional. As for him implying she needed a babysitter, where did he get off?
Shaking her head, she sent him a haughty glare. ‘Not interested in gossip. I’m here for an interview, not for you to dish the dirt on your boss.’
He returned her stare, unblinkingly, uncomfortably intense. Damn, why couldn’t he be more like mild-mannered Clark Kent? He wouldn’t be staring at her as if he wanted to rip away her outer layers and delve into her soul.
His eyes bored into hers, an unfathomable expression in their depths as she tried not to squirm under the scrutiny, wishing she’d never started strolling around here. As if she weren’t nervous enough, she didn’t need some GQ model wannabe giving her grief.
After what seemed like an eternity, he waved towards the empty office.
‘Why don’t you wait in here?’
His deep voice, combined with the brooding stare, had a similar effect on her senses as his tangy aftershave. ‘Wow’ didn’t come close to describing this guy. And he wasn’t even wearing a cape!
Anxious for her interview to start, she checked the name on the brass plate on the door. RHYS CARTWRIGHT—CEO.
Okay, so hot guy was being helpful after all, though how ethical was it to wait for the boss in his office? Unless…a strange thought niggled as she gazed from the name plate to the guy. Could Superman be her boss? If so, why was he playing games?
Making a lightning-quick decision, she decided to play along and see what he was up to. She’d come this far; she hadn’t gone through the rigours of a screening interview and all the legalities of obtaining work visas and insurance to be turned back now by some nutter, no matter how cute.
She gestured at the name plate. ‘You sure this is okay, waiting in his office? Not too presumptuous?’
He smiled, softening the hard plains. ‘Relax, you’re in capable hands.’
Oh-oh. Not only did he have the Superman persona, he had the killer smile to match. Not fair.
