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‘I’m tougher than you think, Boss.’
Luke smiled. ‘You haven’t called me that in a long time. I think I like it.’
The wrestling stopped. The air in the taxi turned a little thick. Amy stopped moving and stilled her hand where it rested, on his thigh. High on his thigh. His hands stilled too.
‘You like it when I call you Boss?’ Amy’s eyes skirted to Luke’s lips. They were slightly parted. She wanted to kiss him. She wanted to touch him. She wanted to do bad, bad things to him.
‘I like you having your hand there.’ Luke’s voice was deep and he shifted his leg a little, underneath where her hand sat.
There was no mistaking what he wanted and how he felt. And it sent a thrilling ripple through her to think that she could finally have what she’d wanted all those years ago. Time alone with Luke. Luke wanting her. It was everything she’d wanted as an eighteen-year-old and she could finally take it—if she wanted.
JENNIFER RAE was raised on a farm in Australia by salt-of-the-earth farming parents. All she ever wanted to do was write, but she didn’t have the confidence to share her stories with the world until, working as a journalist, she interviewed a couple of romance-writers. Finally the characters who had been milling around Jennifer’s head since her long years on the farm made sense, and she realised romance was the genre for her and sat down to release her characters.
The Hotel Magnate’s Demand
Jennifer Rae
MILLS & BOON
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This book is for the boys in my life.
For the boys who loved me when I wasn’t very lovable, the boys who cheered me up when I was feeling down, and the boys who took care of me when I needed it.
I’m grateful for you all.
But mostly this book is dedicated to the two boys who mean more to me than any other boy ever has or ever will.
To Archie and Max
The two boys I love the most.
Table of Contents
THREE MILLION DOLLARS. The sweet, stupid lunatics at Amy McCarthy’s work were seriously trusting her with three million dollars? No matter how many times it happened Amy was still amazed that she’d managed to convince people she knew what she was on about. Didn’t they know that she was a five-year-old dressed in a twenty-six-year-old’s clothing? If they had, perhaps they wouldn’t have opened that bottle of champagne tonight and toasted her success.
Perhaps they wouldn’t have told her how proud they were of her for landing the biggest account in the company’s history. Perhaps they would have done what they should have and handed the account to Maree, or Thomas, or another of one of the senior PR consultants. The grown-ups. The sensible, reliable, practical grown-ups who knew what the hell they were doing. Not her. Who considered it a
