id="u2af273bc-59bf-5602-853e-9ac2f9cc0e53">
‘Now, here’s the strategic difference between us,’ Alessandro drawled softly. ‘I haven’t abandoned having fun in favour of some never-never dream of perfection that won’t be happening.’
‘I haven’t done that!’
‘No? So when was the last time you had sex?’
‘I … Well …’
‘When was the last time you just let go, Kate …? Here’s what I’m thinking: that tonight was probably the first time in years that you went out in something other than the sort of clothes someone’s great-aunt would be proud to be seen in …’
‘That’s not fair,’ she whispered, stung—because it was true … horribly, mortifyingly true.
‘It may not be fair, but it’s true. When was the last time you felt anything but a need to work and prove yourself? It’s a dry life.’
‘It’s—’
‘Dry, sterile … You’re hiding away from emotion, waiting for the Big Thing to happen, and in the meantime life’s passing you by.’
‘It’s not all about sex …’
He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. She could read the intent in his eyes and she knew that he was going to kiss her. And she wanted him to. She wanted him to with every fibre of her sex-starved being … even if it made no sense.
CATHY WILLIAMS can remember reading Mills and Boon® books as a teenager, and now that she is writing them she remains an avid fan. For her, there is nothing like creating romantic stories and engaging plots, and each and every book is a new adventure. Cathy lives in London and her three daughters, Charlotte, Olivia and Emma, have always been and continue to be the greatest inspiration in her life.
At Her Boss’s Pleasure
Cathy Williams
MILLS & BOON
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Contents
FRIDAY. END OF JULY. Six-thirty in the evening...
And where, Kate thought, am I? Still in the office. She was the last man standing. Or sitting, in actual fact. At her desk, with the computer flickering in front of her and profit and loss columns demanding attention. Not immediate attention—nothing that couldn’t wait until the following Monday morning—but...
She sighed and sat back, stretching out the knots in her shoulders, and for a few minutes allowed herself to get lost in thought.
She was twenty-seven years old and she knew where she should be right now—and it wasn’t in the office. Even if it was a very nice office, in a more-than-very-nice building, in the prestigious heart of London.
In fact she should be anywhere but here.
She should be out enjoying herself, lazing around in Hyde Park with friends, drinking wine and luxuriating in the long, hot summer. Or having a barbecue in a back garden somewhere. Or maybe just sitting inside, with some music on in the background and a significant other discussing his day and asking about hers.
She blinked and the vision of possibilities vanished. Since moving to London four years ago she could count on the fingers of one hand the number of close friends she had managed to make, and since qualifying as an accountant and joining AP Logistics a year and a half ago she had made none.
Acquaintances, yes...but friends? No. She just wasn’t the sort of outgoing, chirpy, confidence-sharing, giggling sort of girl who made friends easily and was always part of a group. She knew that and she rarely thought about it all—except...well...it was Friday, and outside the baking sun
