Bedded By The Boss. Miranda LeeЧитать онлайн книгу.
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Now he didn’t know what to think.
All he knew was that nothing had changed for him since last Friday night. One look from those incredible eyes of hers and he’d been right back there on that dance floor, his body consumed by the need to sweep her off into bed.
Bed? He almost laughed at that notion. A bed would not do. This all-consuming passion he was suffering from demanded a much faster, harder surface to pin her to. A wall. A floor. This desk, even…
Bedded by the Boss
Miranda Lee
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
EPILOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
‘SO WHAT would you like in your Christmas stocking, Jessie? I’m going present shopping tomorrow. There’s only just over two weeks till Christmas and I hate leaving things to the last moment.’
Jessie stopped applying her mascara for a second to smile wryly across the kitchen table at her elderly friend—and landlady.
‘Do you know a shop which sells men?’ she asked with a mischievous sparkle in her dark brown eyes.
Dora’s own eyes widened. ‘Men? You told me just ten minutes ago that you thought most men were sleazebags and you were better off without one in your life.’
Jessie shrugged. ‘That was ten minutes ago. Getting myself dolled up like this tonight reminded me of when I was young and carefree and didn’t know the truth about the opposite sex. What I wouldn’t give to be that girl again, just for one night, going out with some gorgeous guy on a hot date.’
‘And if that fantasy came true,’ Dora asked, still with a sceptical expression on her face, ‘where would this gorgeous guy be taking you?’
‘Oh, somewhere really swish for drinks and dinner, then on to a nightclub for some dirty dancing.’ After which he’d whip me back to his bachelor pad and…
This last thought startled Jessie. In all honesty, ever since she’d had Emily, she hadn’t missed men one bit. Hadn’t felt like being with one at all.
Now, suddenly, the thought of having some gorgeous guy’s arms around her again was quite pleasurable. More than pleasurable, actually. Almost a necessity.
Her female hormones, it seemed, had finally been jump-started again.
Her sigh carried a measure of frustration. And irritation. It was something she could do without. Men complicated things. They always did.
Useless creatures, all of them.
Except in that one department!
Now that her hormones were hopping again, she had to admit there was nothing to compare with the pleasure of being with a man who was a good lover.
Emily’s father had been pretty good in bed. But he’d also been a feckless, reckless fool whose wildly adventurous spirit had finally been the death of him, snowboarding his stupid way off a mountain and into a crevasse even before Jessie had discovered she was having his baby.
Jessie had finally come to realise at the wise old age of twenty-eight that the members of the opposite sex who were good in bed were rarely good at commitment. Usually, they were charming scoundrels. She suspected that even if Lyall had lived, he would not have stuck by her and his baby.
No, she was better off without men in her life, in any capacity. For now, anyway. Emily was still only four and very impressionable. The last thing she needed was for her mummy to start dating guys who were only interested in one thing. There was no future in that. And no happiness.
Men could indulge in no-strings sex without suffering any lasting emotional damage. Women, not so easily.
Jessie had taken a long time to get over Lyall, both his death and the discovery she’d made afterwards that she hadn’t been the only girl in his life.
‘What I really want for Christmas more than anything,’ she said firmly as she packed her make-up essentials into her black evening bag, ‘is a decent job in an advertising agency.’
Jessie had worked as a graphic artist before she’d fallen pregnant, with an eye to eventually being promoted to the position of creative designer. She hadn’t wanted to spend the rest of her life bringing other people’s ideas to life; or having them take the credit when she improved on their designs. Jessie knew she had considerable creative talent and dreamt of heading her own advertising team one day; being up close and personal when the presentations were made; getting the accolades herself—plus the bonuses—when she secured a prestigious account for Jackson & Phelps.
That was the advertising agency she’d worked for back then. One of Sydney’s biggest and best.
Having Emily, however, had rearranged her priorities in life. She had planned on going back to Jackson & Phelps after her maternity leave was up. But when the time came, she’d found she didn’t want to put her baby daughter into day-care. She wanted to stay home and take care of Emily herself.
She’d thought she could work from home, freelance. She had her own computer and all the right software. But a downturn in the economy had meant that advertising budgets were cut and lots of graphic artists were out of work. Freelance work became a pipedream.
Jessie had been forced to temporarily receive state benefits, and to move from the trendy little flat she’d been renting. Luckily, she found accommodation with Dora, a very nice lady with a very nice home in Roseville, a leafy northern Sydney suburb on the train line.
Dora had had a granny flat built on the back when her mother—now deceased—had come to live with her. It was only one-bedroomed, but it had its own bathroom and a spacious kitchen-cum-living room which opened out into the large and secure back yard. Just the thing for a single mum with an active toddler. Emily had turned one by then and was already walking.
The rent Dora charged Jessie was also very reasonable, in exchange for which Jessie helped Dora with the heavy housework and the garden.
But money was still tight. There was never much left over each fortnight. Treats were a rarity. Presents were always cheap little things, both on birthdays and at Christmas. Last Christmas hadn’t been a big problem. Emily hadn’t been old enough at three to understand that all her gifts had come from a bargain-basement store.
But Jessie had realised at the time that by this coming Christmas, Emily would be far more knowing.
As much as Jessie had enjoyed being a full-time mother at home, the necessities of life demanded that she get off welfare and go back to work. So last January, Jessie had enrolled Emily in a nearby day-care centre and started looking for a job.
Unfortunately,