Praise for Michelle Douglas:
“Packed with a smouldering tension and underlying
passion, The Loner’s Guarded Heart by Michelle Douglas will leave readers wanting more … [It] is a keeper that I will treasure. If you are a reader that loves tender, heartfelt stories, then this book is a must-buy, because it has all these elements and so much more …” —www.cataromance.com
“Michelle Douglas makes an outstanding debut with
His Christmas Angel, a complex, richly emotional story. The characters are handled especially well, as are the many conflicts and relationships. This one’s a keeper.” —RT Book Reviews
THE intercom on Kit’s desk buzzed and instantly her heart hammered up into her throat.
‘If you’d come through now, Ms Mercer.’
Kit’s toes curled at the rich black-coffee voice. Her heart lurched back into her chest to thump out a loud tattoo. When she leant forward to depress a button, her finger was surprisingly steady given what was happening to the rest of her body. ‘Certainly, sir.’
Her finger might be steady but the huskiness of her voice was more Marilyn Monroe than sensible, strait-laced secretary. It should appall her, belying as it did her attempts to match her employer’s professional formality, but it didn’t. His formality made her lips twitch.
That formality delighted her; energized her.
She seized her shorthand pad and tried to stop herself from racing straight into his office. Cool. Calm. Collected. Her smile widened. No hope of that whatsoever!
Still, she paused at the door to smooth a hand down her skirt. Adjusted her shirt. Undid her top button. Her fingers lingered at her throat, remembering …
Heat rose up through her. Anticipation fired along each and every one of her nerve endings.
She did her best to dispel the images that rose up through her. She didn’t want to appear like a trembly, needy teenager in the throes of her first crush. She wanted to look like a woman in control, like a woman who knew what she wanted. She wanted to look seductive.
She bit her lip to rein in a smile. What she wanted was for Alex to take one look at her, grin that sexy grin of his and take her in his arms. Kiss her. To sweep the polished surface of his enormous desk clear and make love to her.
Her legs grew languid, her breasts pushed against the crisp cotton of her shirt. She gulped in a steadying breath. Stop it! Alex had indicated how he wanted to play this. And last night had proved just how well she and Alex played together. She smiled again. She couldn’t seem to stop smiling. They’d play it Alex’s way this morning. Tonight they’d—
No. There’d be plenty of time to think about that later.
She lifted a hand to check her neat, businesslike bun and then, swallowing back her excitement, she pushed through the door, chin held high. ‘Good morning, sir.’ She made her voice brisk.
‘Take a seat, Ms Mercer.’ He nodded to her shorthand pad. ‘You won’t need that.’
She placed it on the desk in front of her then very carefully folded her hands together in her lap and waited for a cue. She loved that oh-so-serious look on his face, couldn’t wait until he said something sexy and husky in that masculine burr of his. She couldn’t wait to take the pins from her hair, to shake it out till it fell around her shoulders in a newly washed cloud, and to then walk around this enormous desk of his. No, not walk—sashay. She’d sashay slowly around to him like the siren she was starting to think she was.
The siren she’d become in his arms.
Once she was face to face with him she’d slide up to sit on his desk. She’d cross one leg over the other, making sure the action hitched up her skirt to reveal the silky tops of her stockings, held in place by a lacy suspender belt the colour of coffee cream. Then she’d undo the buttons on her blouse, her fingers lingering over each one, until she’d revealed breasts practically spilling out of the tiniest wisp of lace imaginable in matching coffee cream.
And she wanted to watch his face while she did it.
She zeroed in on his face now, holding her breath and waiting for her cue, aching to play out that fantasy. His lips opened, lean and firm, and the breath hitched in her throat. Thick, hot yearning tumbled through her.