Her Boss by Day...(9)

By: Joss Wood



‘Hey, if I’m finally going to host a party of my own then I’m going to invite who I want to invite,’ Willa stated emphatically. ‘Like Kate!’

‘Who’s Kate?’ Amy asked.

Yeah, who is Kate, gorgeous?

‘My lawyer.’

Why would a woman in her mid to late twenties have her own lawyer? Interesting... Then again, the whole package was fascinating... Brains and beauty and those brilliant legs that were made to wrap around a man’s hips...

Okay, slow down there, Hanson.

Willa’s phone beeped and her face fell. ‘Poop. Kate can’t come. Oh, well.’ She looked around for a waiter. ‘I need another drink.’

Some liver pills, a litre of water and a few painkillers wouldn’t hurt either, Rob told her silently.





CHAPTER TWO

SHE WASN’T DRUNK, Willa told herself. Happy, relaxed...slightly buzzed, maybe, but not drunk. And she was having fun, she realised on a happy sigh. Fun... She rolled the word around her tongue. Well...hello, there, stranger.

She was twenty-six years old—jeez, nearly twenty-seven—and she’d played the part of young, gorgeous, thick trophy wife all her adult life because Wayne and what he’d wanted had been important...her, not so much.

She was a great example of why you shouldn’t be in charge of your own destiny when you were too young and too dumb to be making decisions more complicated than how to operate a teaspoon.

Willa pushed her heavy hair back from her face. She’d stopped loving Wayne years and years ago, and now she just wished she could finally be free of him—legally, mentally, comprehensively. And when she was she could fully enjoy men like...Rob.

Willa sneaked a look at that face and swallowed her lusty sigh. He was scruffy in all the right places, she thought. Sable-coloured curls that she longed to touch to see if they felt as soft as they looked, a four-day-old beard, a shirt that skimmed long muscles and tanned skin, giving hints of well-defined pecs, and an impressive six-pack.

Those grey piercing eyes seemed to be shockingly observant and yet basically unreadable.

Rough, rugged, and completely at ease in his skin. She couldn’t help but to compare him to the only other man she’d ever slept with—she was biggest of big girl’s blouses!—and it was like comparing instant coffee to Mountain Blue. Simply an exercise in stupidity.

Wayne was smart Italian suits and hair gel to cover the bald patch on the crown of his head. Cologne, cufflinks and designer labels. Rob was...not. He didn’t need to accessorise—he was excellent just as he was.

Sexy. Masculine. Nuclear-hot.

‘Honey, you keep looking at me like that and I’m going to have to do something about it.’

Willa blinked as his drawling voice pulled her back into the moment and she noticed Amy leaving the table with a tall blond guy. They were heading towards the dance floor in the centre of the club. When had that happened? Maybe while she’d been spending the last five minutes drooling over Nuclear-Hot across the table.

She turned back to Rob and blinked like an owl. ‘Hi...’ she whispered.

‘Hi back. You okay?’

‘Mmm. I’m having fun. I haven’t had fun for a long, long time.’ Willa tapped her fingers on the table in time to the music. ‘Do you dance?’

Rob’s mobile mouth kicked up. ‘If I have to.’

Willa looked from the dance floor to him and nibbled on the bottom of her lip. The last time she’d danced—really danced, with feeling and heart and soul—had been in the Whitsundays at that dive bar where all the staff employed at the hotels in the area had congregated to hook up, break up, kiss and make up.

She wanted to feel young again—eighteen again—when the nights had been long and had held a myriad of possibilities.

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