Overtime in the Boss's Bed (14 page)

Nonchalant, she waved her hand. ‘Go on. I’m listening.’

‘I haven’t always been a workaholic. Before Archie died, I was the least likely guy to work in finance.’ His wry grin eased some of the tension in his face. ‘I had no idea what career I wanted. I was happy surfing, caving, playing hockey, doing any extreme sport I could.’

Her mouth dropped open. His words were penetrating her ears but her mind was having a hard time computing.

He chuckled at her expression. ‘I was a rebel. Didn’t give two hoots about anything but my next thrill. Archie was the responsible one.’

‘So when he died you took over out of guilt. You’ve already told me.’

He shook his head, his expression open, sincere. ‘That’s not all of it. I rebelled because I would’ve done anything to get my parents—particularly my dad—to notice me. But it never worked.’

She understood all too well about unhappy teenage years feeling unwanted and ignored by parents who didn’t give a fig about anyone but themselves.

It was one of the reasons she’d chosen to dance—because it had irked her folks; probably because they hadn’t wanted her sharing their limelight on stage.

Though the irony hadn’t been lost on her that she’d ultimately chosen a career close to theirs—had wanted to succeed on stage where they hadn’t.

‘Yeah, I stepped up out of guilt, but that’s not the only reason. I thought by giving my all to the job I could drive away the demons, could get my dad to see I wasn’t the loser he thought.’ He shrugged. ‘I wanted recognition, wanted him to acknowledge he still had a son left behind who’d do anything to make it up to him.’

‘Oh…’

An overwhelming sadness filled her at what he’d given up, how hard he’d strived to gain his father’s approval.

Didn’t he know? With some people, no matter what you did or said, it was never enough.

She remembered bitterness mingling with grief at her own parents’ funeral, at the fact they’d never acknowledged what she’d done with her life, no matter how many star roles or positive reviews she’d received.

‘I understand.’

‘Do you?’

He advanced on her, forcing her to back up until her butt hit the back of a sofa.

He stopped just short of her personal space, invading it with his potent presence anyway.

‘My whole working life has revolved around making Cartwright a success. I don’t take vacations. I work day and night. I haven’t cared about anything other than giving my all.’

He leaned towards her, a wall of palpable heat slamming into her, bombarding her, befuddling her senses.

‘Until now. Now I care about something else a hell of a lot more.’

Her tongue darted out to moisten her lips as her throat constricted with the enormity of what he was saying.

‘What’s that?’

‘You.’

He cupped her cheek, stroked her bottom lip with his thumb, and she resisted the urge to fling herself into his arms and scream that all was forgiven.

‘You’re the most important thing in my life, Starr Merriday. I love you, every unpredictable, wild inch of you, and I want you in my life. Always.’

Joy fizzed through her veins like expensive champagne as she studied his face, scrutinised every minute detail, from his guileless eyes to the genuine slant of his lips.

He was telling the truth.

Truth that fissured the defensive wall she’d built around her heart after he’d hurt her, allowing half of
what she felt for this incredible man to spill out, fill her, urge her to give him another chance.

‘You swear I’m the most important to you? No bull?’

His lips twitched as he placed his hand over his heart.

‘No bull—promise.’

‘You’re still CEO of Cartwright?’

‘Uh-huh, but my role is undergoing some radical changes.’ He held up his hand, ticked points off his fingers. ‘I’m not going to work twenty-four-seven any more, I’m taking regular vacations, and
I’m
the boss, doing things my way, not to appease my father.’

‘That’s good.’

She tilted her head up, met his hopeful gaze.

‘So what about me? Where do I fit into all this?’

His smile twinkled mischievously in his eyes.

‘Like I said, you come first. Work is a distant second.’

She arched an eyebrow. ‘Really?’

He chuckled. ‘Really. Mind you, I’ll always run things, boss people around, stay in control.’

Tracing a fingertip down her cheek, he outlined her lips, smiled at her sharp intake of breath.

‘Except around you.’

He bundled her into his arms, hugged her tight, but not before she’d glimpsed genuine happiness darkening his eyes to ebony.

‘I think that’s what scared me the most on the island, what contributed to my meltdown—the fact I always lose control around you. You’re my weakness.’

With her arms locked around his waist, her face buried in his chest, she inhaled, let him wash through
her senses, his familiarity soothing the aching, lost part of her soul that had mourned him this last week.

Being in his arms, being near him, made her feel safe, and there was no place in the world she’d rather be.

Safe…with him…

‘Oh!’

Wrenching away, she grabbed his shirt, bunched it in her hands, shook him slightly.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘Me. I’m so dense!’

Amusement lit his face. ‘Stubborn, maybe. Dense, not so much.’

Releasing him, she smoothed his shirt, patted his chest. ‘Just hear me out.’

‘Okay.’

‘I’ve spent my whole life wanting security.’

‘And that’s a bad thing because…?’

‘Just listen.’

She whacked him gently on the chest before moving away, needing space and air and distance to clarify her thoughts and how she’d articulate them to make him understand.

‘You know about my parents, how we moved around. And I’ve already told you how you make me feel safe. But it’s more than that…’

She whirled around, clicked her fingers. ‘That week on Hayman Island was the happiest I’ve ever felt. Want to know why?’

‘The sex?’

She whacked him playfully on the arm. ‘The intimacy
we shared. Though it was only a week, the way we talked, shared our innermost thoughts—’

He raised a dubious eyebrow ‘—well, most of them,’ she continued. ‘It was a closeness I’ve never had with another person.’

‘Even your ex?’

She snorted. ‘Living with someone, being in a relationship, doesn’t guarantee intimacy.’

‘I wouldn’t know—being the relationship virgin I am, and all.’

His mock-bashful expression made her laugh with delight and she flung herself into his arms, wrapped her legs around his waist and held on for dear life.

‘That thing you mentioned earlier?’

Trailing kisses along her neck, nuzzling behind her earlobe, he murmured, ‘What thing?’

Her head fell back, and a loud moan was ripped from within as he nibbled the sensitive spot halfway between her jaw and collarbone.

‘About you loving me? Wanting me in your life? Always?’

‘Yeah, what about it?’

Capturing his face in her hands, she eyeballed him. ‘Right back at you.’

His triumphant, ecstatic grin took years off his face, melting away the tension that had become as much a part of him as his fancy suits.

‘You and me. Always,’ he murmured, a second before his lips touched hers, confirming what she’d unconsciously known.

No matter how many standing ovations she received, no matter how many perfect pirouettes she performed, nothing could beat the rush of being loved by the right man.