Hired for the Boss's Bedroom

Leo laughed, and when he was finished laughing he looked at her and shook his head, as if a little dazed by the woman sitting opposite him on the sofa.

‘No, there’s absolutely nothing attractive about a woman who doesn’t eat, and I have to admit that I’ve dated a lot of those.’

‘Brainless bimbos?’ She wanted to pull information out of him, and was guiltily aware that she was being as intrusive with him as he had been with her.

‘Brainless bimbos? No, definitely not that.’

Now, that did surprise her, and Leo laughed again, amused. ‘Why would I be attracted to a brainless bimbo?’ he asked.

‘Because she looks good on your arm?’

‘And what about when there’s no one around to see her looking good on my arm? What conversation could there possibly be with a brainless bimbo?’

‘So what sort of women do you go out with?’

‘Why do you ask?’

Why, Heather thought, do I ask? This wasn’t the sort of casual, skimming-the-surface conversation which was safe and unthreatening. There was an edge to this conversation, but like someone standing on the edge of a precipice, peering down, she found that it was irresistible.

‘No reason. Just making conversation. Really, though, you should go. I’m awfully tired. There’s honestly no need for you to tidy the kitchen. I can do that later, or better still in the morning.’

Leo had no intention of leaving, but it dawned on him that Heather was not like any other woman he had known. That bristly, belligerent spark wasn’t an act to get his attention. If she told him that he should go, then she meant it, and since Leo wasn’t going anywhere—at least not yet—he stood up and shook his head in his best bedside manner, something of which he’d had precious little practice.

‘You need some coffee.’ Before she could launch into another goodbye speech, he left the room, only throwing over his shoulder that maybe she should doze for a bit. The occasional catnap could work wonders, he told her. Not that he knew, but it was all part of the bedside manner.

In truth, Leo had forgotten the art of seduction, or at least the art of persuasion.

With women, the outcome was usually apparent within a matter of minutes: conversation of the intelligent variety, a certain type of eye contact and then the unspoken assumption that they would end up as lovers.

With Heather, he realised that one false move and she would run a mile—and of course, given that he was no more than a highly competitive red-blooded male, what more of a turn on could there be than an uncertain outcome?

Not for a minute did it occur to Leo that a deliberate seduction was anything less than perfectly reasonable. He took his time in the kitchen. Dishes were washed and precariously balanced on the draining board, because drying and putting them away seemed a senseless waste of time when they would be used again at some point in the future—and she had been right with the ‘dishwasher’ accusation. There was some sort of coffee-making machine with nozzles and a vaguely threatening glass jug, which he ignored. Instead, he made them both a cup of instant coffee and was gratified to find that she wasn’t dozing, as he’d suspected she might be, when he returned to the sitting room.