Best of Bosses 2008: In Bed With Her Italian Boss\Taken by Her Greek Boss\Blind Date With the Boss (49 page)

‘Let me guess,' she said. ‘You live on the top floor.'

‘I do. I hope you're not afraid of heights.'

‘I'm absolutely terrified of them.'

About to get out of the car, he hesitated and looked concerned.

Sally grinned. ‘Only joking.'

‘Minx. I'll bet you climbed all the tallest gum trees when you were a kid.' Reaching out, he pretended to cuff her cheek, then he leapt out of the car and Sally quickly opened her door.

As they walked to the lift, Logan took her hand and she could feel the warmth of him running through her like a current.

He gave her hand a gentle squeeze and smiled. ‘You OK?'

Her only reply was to squeeze
his
hand.

They were alone in the lift as it climbed upwards and he drew her to him and kissed her cheek. Floating on a cloud of desire, she turned in his arms, lifted her lips for another kiss and Logan obliged with enchanting slowness.

‘Now that we're being honest with each other, I can tell you that's been a recent fantasy of mine,' she murmured against his jaw.

‘To be kissed in the lift?'

‘To be kissed by my
boss
in the lift.'

He chuckled. The lift doors slid open and they stepped out. Sally's heart drummed as Logan swiped a plastic tag over a keypad and the door to his penthouse opened.

It was like stepping into a movie set. Logan's open-plan penthouse was stunning, with acres of white carpet, über-
modern furniture and sleekly minimalist kitchen fittings. Discreet mood lighting and walls of glass revealed the magic of inner Sydney's nightscape.

Sally looked about her with wide-eyed delight. ‘Wow! This is fabulous.' His home was the complete opposite of Chloe's cosy town house and yet, despite its grandeur, Sally thought it offered a sense of welcome and surprising serenity.

‘This place suits my needs for the moment.' Logan reached for her hands. ‘Are you hungry? My housekeeper leaves frozen meals. I could zap something in the microwave. Do you like Vietnamese food?'

‘I don't know,' Sally said. ‘I've never tried it, but I'm sure it's delicious.' She looked at him from beneath lowered lashes. ‘But I'm not really hungry.'
Not for food.

He took the hint and drew her closer. ‘So, tell me, have you ever been kissed in a penthouse?'

‘Never,' she whispered, slipping into his arms easily, happily.

He nuzzled her ear and sent delicious shivers scampering over her skin. ‘Is it one of your fantasies?'

‘I've just added it to my list.'

Her eyes drifted closed as he kissed her with lazy and tantalising thoroughness.

‘Nice,' she murmured dreamily. ‘Now, what's
your
fantasy?'

He chuckled. ‘You're taking a risk, aren't you?'

‘I don't think so, Logan. I trust you.' How wonderful it was to be able to say that.

For a moment the amusement in his eyes faded. Gently, he traced the curve of her cheek. ‘I hope I deserve your trust, Sally.'

She gave him a playful punch in the midriff. ‘Stop worrying.'

‘I can't help feeling responsible for you.'

‘I'm a grown woman. You're supposed to feel
lust
for me.'

‘That's a guaranteed certainty.' He tucked a curl behind her
ear. ‘I'll happily share my fantasy with you. It'll only take a minute to organise.'

Scant minutes later, Sally was curled beside him on a big red sofa with a glass of chilled wine in her hand, while the rich and glorious sounds of the Brahms violin concerto rolled over them.

‘I've listened to this music every night since we talked about it at the team-building workshop,' he told her. ‘And I imagined you here, listening to it too.'

Stunned, she set her shaking glass down on the coffee table. Every night? It was incredible that Logan had been thinking about her all this time. Incredibly fabulous.

‘And…and what did I do?' she asked. ‘In your fantasy?'

‘Oh, you sat very close.' With his arm around her shoulders, he kissed the top of her head. The gorgeous music swelled and soared above and around them and Sally closed her eyes and nestled against him. He smelled so good—a musky male scent mixed with the clean fragrance of his laundered shirt.

The music slowed to the especially beautiful section they both loved. They sat listening and to Sally the notes were like kisses caressing her skin…here…and here…and here…

And here…

‘I think Brahms must have been in love when he wrote this music,' she said.

‘It's very possible. He fell in love quite regularly.'

‘Did he ever marry?'

‘No. Apparently, he had a terminal problem with commitment.'

‘Oh.' Sally shrugged that aside. Men with commitment phobias were not something she wanted to think about right now.

Logan's fingers sifted through her curls. ‘Your hair is such an amazing colour and it's so silky and soft.' His deep voice had turned husky.

‘I'm rather keen on your chin.' She pressed a kiss against his stubbled jaw. ‘It's so raspy and rough.'

The music wound higher and higher, mimicking the tightening coil of desire inside her. ‘Logan, I do hope you made love to me in this fantasy.'

‘Oh, Sally!'

He pulled her closer, sealed her mouth with his and desire flamed between them with the speed of fire in dry grass. Suddenly they were kissing and touching with reckless fervour. Sally arched into Logan and his hands slipped under her blouse. His thumbs brushed the tight peaks of her breasts and longing pooled inside her.

Her cry of need echoed his and, in the next heartbeat, they were frantically helping each other out of their clothes.

 

Sally and Logan lay naked, their bodies loose and relaxed in the aftermath of their lovemaking.

‘Thank you,' she murmured as she nestled her head on Logan's shoulder and watched the moon reach through the high circular window to cast interesting patterns over their bodies. ‘You've no idea how grateful I am.'

He chuckled softly and his hand settled on her waist. With a slow possessive action, he traced the pale, moonlit curve from her waist to her hip. ‘I'm sure the gratitude is mutual, Sally.'

‘I'm not just talking about sex.' Sally took a quick breath. It was time to tell this man who'd just made sweetly tender and passionate love to her that he'd released her fear. ‘I had a bad experience at a dance. I was almost raped and—'

Logan's hand stilled.

‘—I've been frightened of men,' Sally told him.

He sat up swiftly. ‘That's terrible. Why didn't you tell me?'

‘I—I didn't want to scare you off.'

‘You poor girl. If I'd known about that I would have been more gentle with you.'

‘You were gentle, Logan. You were perfect.' She took his hands. ‘I must confess something.'

‘Something else? What is it?' His voice sounded choked, as if he'd swallowed pebbles.

‘Coming to Sydney has been a bit of an experiment.'

‘I've been part of an experiment?'

‘Sort of. But I didn't plan it that way. I came here to prove to my family that I'm OK now. They were getting too worried about me—tiptoeing around me, treating me like a patient. When Chloe left me her house, I'm afraid I rather jumped at the chance to escape. And then, when you asked me to help you with the dancing lessons, I realised you'd offered me the perfect chance to face up to my fears.'

Logan's face was in shadow so she couldn't see his reaction, but then he leaned forward into the puddle of moonlight and his grim and strained expression betrayed his shock. ‘You took a terrible risk, Sally.'

‘Not really.'

‘I might have been as bad as the mongrel who attacked you.'

‘You sound like my brothers.' Lifting his hands to her lips, she kissed them. ‘Right from the day you fell in the duck pond, I knew you were really nice.'

‘Nice? I hate that word.'

She shrugged. ‘Now you're pretending to be tough again, when you're really a softie.' With her fingertip, she traced his jaw line and it was anything but soft. ‘Seriously, Logan, you really have helped me more than you could guess. Getting to know you, learning to trust you, having you make love to me—it's all been—'

‘Therapeutic?' Logan supplied as she searched for the right word.

Sally laughed, then dropped her head to press kisses into the shadowy base of his neck. ‘Honestly, Logan, you're better than any therapy.' She let her voice sound sultry.

Releasing a soft sound, half growl, half sigh, he gathered her in and whispered in her ear, ‘Honestly, Sally, I'd recommend a little more of my therapy.'

She smiled in the darkness, snuggled closer. ‘Isn't honesty the best thing?'

 

Logan woke early to the sounds of morning traffic rising from the streets below and to an unfamiliar sense of well-being.

Beside him, Sally slept soundly. She looked impossibly young and defenceless as she lay there, with her bright curls tumbling over the pillow and the white sheet pushed aside to reveal one sweet, pink-tipped breast. He thought again about what she'd told him about the mongrel at the dance and he was gripped by an overwhelming desire to protect her.

But that urge was tempered by an equally irresistible desire to wake Sally. A few soft kisses would stir her and she would roll towards him, welcoming the new day with more love-making—open, honest, tender-sweet, unabashed lovemaking.

Logan sighed heavily. That exquisite pleasure would have to be set aside for now. It was Friday morning and a particularly unpleasant business day awaited him.

He was used to waking every working morning to a sense of pressure and worry, but today he faced particularly unpleasant duties. Maria's quiet but immediate departure had to be arranged, and he had to notify his competitors that he knew what they'd been up to. And he needed to take another careful look at his long-term strategies.

He went through to the kitchen, turned on his coffee machine, then went to the bathroom and shaved and showered.
Sally woke when he came back into the bedroom with a towel around his hips.

She grinned at him, hitched on to one elbow and let her eyes rake over his body with frank admiration and the temptation to dive back into bed with her was almost too much.

Sensing his hesitation, she looked momentarily disappointed, then sniffed the air. ‘You've already made coffee. Have I slept in? What time is it?'

‘After seven.'

With a groan she rolled to the edge of the bed. ‘Will we have time to go via my place so I can get clean clothes before work?'

‘If you get a wriggle on.'

‘And I'll need breakfast. I can't function on a cup of coffee the way you can, Logan.' In the bathroom doorway, she turned back to him. ‘I just remembered we're going to the ball tonight.'

Her teeth flashed white and she sent him an excited smile before she disappeared, but Logan didn't feel nearly so happy. The last thing he needed at the end of this difficult day was the ordeal of dancing in public with Diana Devenish.

S
ALLY
sat in front of her dressing table mirror, wrapped in an old Japanese kimono that had once been Chloe's, and gave her lips a final dab of colour.

After the magic of last night and the strange tension of carrying on at work today as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened, it was almost too exciting to have this evening's ball to look forward to as well.

It had been so hard to behave normally at work. She was so over-the-top in love with Logan she thought she might burst with happiness and she'd half-expected people to take one look at her and know everything about last night.

Mid-morning, Maria Paige had marched past, wearing dark glasses and carrying her briefcase. She'd completely ignored Sally, but her exit had caused a distinctly uncomfortable moment. Luckily, neither Kim nor Maeve knew about Maria's departure, so the subject hadn't come up at lunch time and this evening Sally wanted to think about nothing except the exciting night ahead of her.

She had taken enormous care with her make-up and with the added glamour of upswept curls, courtesy of Patrick the hairdresser from around the corner, she looked like someone in a fashion magazine rather than Sally Finch from Tarra-Binya.

Time to get dressed. The gold lamé dress, selected by Agathe from the shop in Rose Bay, was hanging on the outside of the mahogany wardrobe, shimmering palely as if it were woven from starlight.

Very carefully, Sally lifted it from its hanger and stepped into it, then inched it gently, gently upwards. Butterflies flapped madly in her stomach as the expensive fabric glided silkily up, over her hips and her breasts. She slipped the shoestring straps over her shoulders, then held her breath as she reached behind and slid the zipper into place.

Cautiously, she executed a little twirl in the middle of the bedroom. Perfect. The gown hugged her like a second skin. But it was oh, so easy to move in. Sally caught sight of her reflection in the mirror and felt a little shiver. Was that glamorous, sexy woman really her?

She was confident that Logan would love this dress, but of course his main focus tonight would be getting through the waltz with Diana Devenish.

OK…now jewellery. She had decided to wear a locket that had been Chloe's—gorgeous antique gold with a pale blue topaz surrounded by tiny pearls.

Lifting the locket from a velvet-lined box, she held it for a sentimental moment, testing the weight of it in her palm. She curled her fingers around it, felt the cool, neat facets of the topaz, the smooth little bumps of the pearls.

If you could see me tonight, Chloe, I think you'd approve.

The heavy locket sat perfectly in the deep V of her neckline and Sally secured matching blue topaz earrings, the exact blue of her eyes. She took a step back and wondered what her parents and brothers would think if they could see their youngest family member now.

They'd be worried, of course, but tonight she knew she was
in safe hands. How wonderful it was to be totally, totally certain that Logan would never do anything to hurt her.

The front doorbell rang.

That will be him.

Stomach aflutter, Sally sent another hasty glance towards the mirror. Hair, make-up, dress. All were as they should be. The blue topaz earrings winked, catching the light. The locket gleamed softly at the base of her throat. The golden dress shimmered.

OK. Nothing more to do here. Scooping up her small clutch bag, she hurried downstairs.

She was prepared for the impact of Logan's total gorgeousness as she opened her front door. At least she thought she was prepared. But she hadn't considered the formal dinner suit factor.

At first, as the door swung open, he was standing with his back to her, looking out into the street. When he turned, she was hit by the cumulative effect of his handsome face and the white shirt front, the neat black bow-tie and the perfectly cut suit.

‘Oh! Wow!' she whispered.

‘Wow to you, too,' he whispered back. ‘Sally, you look amazing.' He stood there with a little bewildered smile lighting his face as his eyes devoured her from head to toe. ‘You'll certainly be turning heads tonight.'

‘Thanks so much for this dress. I feel as if Agathe has released my inner princess.'

Logan grinned. ‘I want to kiss you, but I'd hate to mess you up.' He offered her his elbow. ‘Let's go and get this over with.'

He was sick with tension, Sally thought, as she slipped her arm though his and pulled the door shut behind her.

It had rained during the afternoon, leaving the streets slick and shiny so that car tyres swished, sending up fine sprays of water. Cocooned luxuriously within Logan's car, she smiled at him. ‘I can understand if you feel a bit nervous.'

‘I'm certainly not going to admit to nerves.'

Of course he wouldn't. That was how he would get through tonight. He was a man who'd made an art form of hiding his emotions behind a façade of confidence and strength. It was why he was so successful in business. But she knew there was another side to this man. Deep down he was uneasy, would be relieved when this night was over.

‘You're going to be fine,' she told him. ‘I can't believe how much progress you've made. You're by far my best pupil.'

‘How many pupils have you had?'

‘In Sydney? One.'

They both laughed.

‘Seriously, Logan, when you take into consideration that you had to force yourself to do something you've never liked, you've achieved a miracle.' They stopped at a set of lights. ‘You're going to pull this off because you have a musical ear and you're fiercely competitive.'

She saw the white flash of his grin. ‘And I had a fabulous teacher.'

‘You've done your share of good turns,' Sally countered, remembering last night and how completely safe and blissfully happy she'd felt in his arms.

They continued on through the rain-washed streets, heading for Woolloomooloo, and then they turned a corner and she saw ahead of them a grand building ablaze with lights. Cars and limousines were lined up in the semicircular driveway in front of the entrance and a crowd had gathered to watch.

Leaning forward, she peered through the windscreen. ‘Is that where we're going?'

‘Yes, that's the Jameson.'

‘Heavens, there are cameramen everywhere. And, oh, my gosh, red carpet!' She whirled sideways. ‘I can't believe there's red carpet. It…it's like the Oscars.'

‘It's no big deal, Sally. Red carpets are a dime a dozen these days. They use them all the time.'

Porters rushed forward to open their doors and there was even a valet to park the car for them. As Sally emerged into the cool evening, she could hear the faint strains of a dance band coming from inside the hotel. The lights of cameras flashed in her eyes and strangers on the footpath stared.

Logan, close behind her, placed a comforting hand at the small of her back. ‘All you have to do is smile and walk.'

Once they were inside, it was clear that this ball was a truly glittering affair. The Jameson Hotel's décor was sumptuous. Huge mirrors hung on the walls, reflecting distinguished men in dashing dinner suits and glamorous women in jewel-bright gowns of every conceivable colour and cut. Dazzling chandeliers hung from high ceilings and a wide, circular expanse of polished flooring shone, awaiting hundreds of dancing feet.

Round tables covered in floor-length white damask had been decorated with arrangements of yellow rosebuds and, above the flowers, white balloons filled with helium were anchored by silver ribbons. The tall fronds of potted palms were glossy and exotic against white marble columns. Rows of wineglasses, soon to be filled, shone like brittle soap bubbles.

For Sally, it was hard not to stare. There were so many ‘beautiful people' here, so many famous faces—politicians, TV celebrities and sporting stars and high profile men and women in business. Many of them greeted Logan with back slaps, handshakes, kisses or cries of ‘Darling!'

They all seemed delighted to meet Sally, although one or two of the women scrutinised her with surreptitious, sharp-eyed glances.

All around them, the party atmosphere gained momentum. Corks popped and champagne began to flow in frothy gushes. Bottles of red and white wine were opened and glasses filled.
Silver trays appeared, laden with canapés so dainty and colourful they were miniature works of art.

When a strikingly attractive dark-haired woman in a strapless emerald-green gown rushed, arms extended, to greet Logan, Sally wasn't surprised to learn that she was his sister. Carissa's husband, Geoff, a tall man with balding ginger hair and a nice smile, was also introduced.

‘I've been dying to meet you, Sally,' Carissa said. ‘You're just what the doctor ordered.' Before Sally had time to decipher this comment, Carissa went on, ‘And I must congratulate you. Teaching my brother to dance is a magnificent feat. On a par with putting a man on Mars.'

Logan coughed nervously. ‘It might be wise to hold back on the congratulations until you're sure I've earned them.'

Watching Logan, Sally caught the quick flash of fear in his eyes. He turned to look out at the huge, shining expanse of the dance floor and she saw the jerky movement of his throat. Reaching for his hand, she gave it a gentle squeeze.

She was rewarded by his smile, especially for her, and she might have basked in its warmth if everyone around them hadn't started turning towards the ballroom's entrance. The babble of voices rose briefly on a wave of excitement and then fell in hushed awe as a tall raven-haired woman with alabaster skin, revealed in vast quantities by a stunning ruby-red gown, entered the room on the arm of a small and balding bespectacled man.

The Air Force concert band trumpeted a fanfare.

‘Ladies and gentlemen,' a deep syrupy voice, vaguely familiar to Sally, announced, ‘please welcome the Chairman of the Hospital Board, Mr Rupert Sinclair-Jones, and our special guest of honour, Australia's favourite star of dancing, Ms Diana Devenish!'

Applause broke out as Diana Devenish sailed into the
ballroom with the haughty dignity of Cleopatra arriving in Rome.

Logan glanced at Sally, raised his eyebrows and gave her a nervously lopsided grin.

Leaning close to him, she said, ‘You'll be fine, Logan. Anyway, tonight's supposed to be about raising money for very sick children. The dancing's just a gimmick.'

He nodded, but he didn't look entirely convinced. Sally looked again at Diana Devenish and noted her perfect deportment and her dancer's body—willow-slender, with a swanlike neck and long limbs. A chill skittered down her spine and she felt swamped by an overwhelming sense of responsibility for Logan's performance. Suddenly,
she
was the one who was churned up and scared.

Was I too casual about this? Should I have asked more questions?
She hoped—fervently—that she hadn't let Logan down.

Until this evening, she hadn't really appreciated the huge scale of this ball. She wished she'd insisted that Logan had a dozen lessons from a fully qualified professional ballroom teacher.

But it was too late now. Too late for more lessons and too late for regrets.

The syrupy-voiced MC—a popular radio announcer, Carissa informed Sally—welcomed everyone and introduced the Lord Mayor, who made a more formal speech of welcome. He reminded everyone about the charity raffle, told them how much money had been raised and read out the names of the highest donors.

This was greeted by enthusiastic applause and, when the MC repeated the names of the top three benefactors and announced that they would be dancing with Diana Devenish this evening, the applause became thunderous and accompanied by cheers and whistles.

‘See,' Sally whispered, ‘you're already a star.'

But Logan looked pale and distinctly ill. He glanced at his wristwatch and sighed and she knew he would rather be anywhere than here.

The music started up—a contemporary number, but with a waltzing beat—and, almost immediately, couples moved on to the dance floor.

Sally turned to Logan. ‘Do you recognise the beat?'

He managed a grin. ‘How could I miss the old one-two-three, one-two-three?' To her surprise, he reached for her hand. ‘Come for a whirl out there,' he said. ‘I need a warm-up while there's a crowd and no one's watching.'

‘Good idea,' she whispered and, next minute, she was in Logan's arms again, waltzing.

It should have been fun. They'd done this so many times together, but everything was different tonight. The glittering lights overhead, the big band sound of the music, the superfine wool of Logan's dinner jacket beneath Sally's hand. His aftershave. His tanned throat above his crisp white collar.

Logan. So gorgeous. And Sally so deeply and hopelessly in love with him.

Don't think about that now. Concentrate on the dancing.

He smiled at her. ‘Am I gliding?'

‘Like an ice-skater,' she said.