Hired for the Boss's Bedroom by Cathy Williams Page A

worst possible man for her.
    ‘I’m working on that,’ Leo grated. ‘And enough said on that subject.’
    ‘I think it’s time you went, Leo.’ Heather stood up and made a pretence of yawning. ‘I’m shattered. I’m not accustomed to drinking, and it’s made me feel really sleepy. Thank you for coming over and for bringing a meal for me, and I’m glad that we’ve managed to…get over our initial differences.’ She took up a defensive position by the door, standing to one side and watching in silence as Leo finally took the hint and stood up, although it had to be said that he didn’t look in a frantic rush to leave. His eyes tangled with hers and she looked away nervously.
    ‘I think we’ve done more than just get over our initial differences ,’ he murmured, walking towards her.
    ‘Um…’ Heather felt the words dry up in her throat with each step closer to her that he took.
    ‘I think that we got over our initial differences some time earlier today, in fact. It might have been in the cinema, when you absent-mindedly helped yourself to some of my popcorn.’
    Heather flushed. His voice was low, sexy and coaxing, and there was a lazy, speculative look in his eyes that made her feel hot and self-conscious—although she wasn’t sure why, because all he was talking about, for goodness’ sake, was a bag of popcorn!
    ‘I didn’t think you’d noticed,’ she mumbled, glancing away, because his eyes seemed to be boring holes in her. Hadn’t anyone ever told him that it was rude to stare? ‘I have a problem with popcorn. I always feel that I can do without it, but the minute the movie starts I realise I can’t.’
    She could feel his eyes still on her, making her even more horribly aware of her inadequate dress-code. Her shameless probing had not managed to elicit a huge amount about his love life, but she had managed to glean that he appreciated women who were slim and brainy. Slim, brainy women would not be caught dead in a pair of old jogging-bottoms and a tee shirt, even if they were comfortable. Slim, brainy women relaxed in designer jeans and super-expensive blouses with pearl buttons, maybe a silk scarf casually draped around their necks. She had met a fair few slim, brainy women in her time and they had all spoken with cut-glass accents and looked like beautiful, porcelain mannequins.
    She realised that she wanted to find out more about these women. Was there one on the scene now, waiting back in London for Leo to return from doing his paternal duties?
    She slammed the door shut on her curiosity and adopted a bright smile.
    ‘What time do you leave tomorrow?’ she asked. ‘Have you got any plans for Daniel? I know he really enjoyed today; I could tell. He’s not the most talkative child on the face of the earth, but you can always see when he’s in a good mood and he was in a very good mood, today. I’m very proud of you. You made a big effort after having missed his Sports Day and he appreciated it. Kids are like that. They don’t harbour grudges or have long memories…’ He was looking less and less impressed the longer her eulogy continued, until she finally faltered into an uncertain silence.
    ‘You’re very proud of me?’
    ‘Well, yes…’
    ‘I’m not ten years old, Heather. Obviously it’s heart warming to know that you’re proud of me, but…’ This time he did more than just allow his eyes to linger on her face, to travel the length of her small, voluptuous body. He reached out and placed his hand behind her neck. There was nothing passionate about the gesture. He remained where he was, leaning against the wall, feet lightly crossed at the ankles. With anyone else, it would have felt almost fraternal. With Leo, it felt as though he had stripped her of her clothes and ordered her to do an erotic dance. The wobbly legs which she had earlier put down to a glass too much of wine now felt like jelly, and every shameful, idiotic, indecent tug of attraction which she had