Unbuttoned by Her Maverick Boss

Praise for Natalie Anderson:

‘Natalie Anderson is one of the most exciting voices in steamy romantic fiction writing today. Sassy, witty and emotional, her Modern Heat™ are in a class of their own…an extraordinary new talent who can blend passion, drama, humour and emotion in one unforgettable read!’

—www.cataromance.com

‘MISTRESS UNDER CONTRACT is a fantastic contemporary romance full of intense emotions, funny moments, blazing sexual tension and moving romance; don’t miss it!’

—Pink Heart Society

‘Natalie Anderson’s HIS MISTRESS BY ARRANGEMENT is a charming romance of childhood friends reconnecting. It’s both fun and flirty, and conveys the wonderful feeling of finding someone you can truly be yourself with.’

—RT Book Reviews

Sparks seemed to be coming from Lorenzo’s eyes. ‘I don’t think I’m the one who needs to prove anything. I think that’s for you to do.’

‘What exactly do you think I need to prove? That you don’t bother me?’ Altitude sickness on the second floor—that was Sophy’s problem. She must be the world’s first case, but she’d swear the air was thinner here because she could hardly get her words higher than a whisper.

His brows flickered. ‘Don’t I?’

The first book in this Hot Under the Collar duet by Natalie Anderson was published last month.

CAUGHT ON CAMERA WITH THE CEO is still available to buy at millsandboon.co.uk

Possibly the only librarian who got told off herself for talking too much, NATALIE ANDERSON decided writing books might be more fun than shelving them—and, boy, is it that! Especially writing romance—it’s the realisation of a lifetime dream kick-started by many an afternoon spent devouring Grandma’s Mills & Boon®…

She lives in New Zealand, with her husband and four gorgeous-but-exhausting children. Swing by her website any time—she’d love to hear from you: www.natalie-anderson.com

Recent titles by the same author:

CAUGHT ON CAMERA WITH THE CEO†

TO LOVE, HONOUR AND DISOBEY

HOT BOSS, BOARDROOM MISTRESS

BETWEEN THE ITALIAN’S SHEETS

RUTHLESS BOSS, ROYAL MISTRESS*

PLEASURED IN THE PLAYBOY’S PENTHOUSE

Kathleen Anderson, Kath Hadfield, Grandma.

Twenty years have passed since you left us,

but you know I still have your library of M&B—

and I’m adding my own to it now. Wish you were here

so I could show you. But I know you know,

and you know you live on in our hearts. Always will.

Thank you for giving me the belief in everlasting love.

Chapter One

TIME stood still for no man. And Sophy Braithwaite didn’t stand still either.

She tapped her toes on the concrete floor. Slowly at first, just releasing a smidge of the energy pushing under her skin, but after a while the small rapping sound sped up.

The receptionist had directed her straight up the stairs to the office—the sign on the door ensured she’d found the one the woman meant. So she was in the right place at the right time.

Waiting.

She turned and studied the pictures on the wall beside her. Picturesque scenes of Italian countryside—she figured they were Cara’s choice. Her assessment and appreciation took less than a minute. Then she looked again at the monstrosity masquerading as the desk. Good thing she wasn’t into corporate espionage or fraud. She’d had ample time to rifle through files for sensitive info. Mind you, given the mess it was in, she wouldn’t even find anything as useful as a pen in there. The papers were piled high in dangerously unstable towers. The unopened mail had long since filled the in-tray and now cascaded across the computer keyboard. Cara hadn’t been exaggerating when she’d said she’d left it in a mess. If anything she’d been understating the case.

‘I’ve just not had my head there and it all got away from me. I feel so terrible now with this happening,’ she’d said.

‘This’ was the early arrival of her baby. Six weeks premature, the tiny sweetie was still in hospital and Cara was hollow-eyed and anxious. The last thing she needed was to be worrying about the part-time admin job she did for a local charity.

Sophy’s irritation with the situation spiked. Where was he, then? This Lorenzo Hall—supposed hotshot of the wine industry and darling of the fundraising divas—the CEO of this chaos?

‘Lorenzo’s so busy at the moment. With Alex and Dani away he’s dealing with everything on his own.’ Cara had sounded so concerned for him when Sophy’s sister, Victoria, had handed the phone to her. ‘It would be just brilliant if you could go in there and stop him worrying about the Whistle Fund at least.’

Well, Sophy wasn’t here to stop Lorenzo Hall from worrying, she was here to stop Cara worrying.

She realised she’d been subconsciously tapping in time to a rhythmic thunking sound coming from a distance. As if someone were using a hammer or something but speeding up, then stopping, then starting again. She shook her head free of the annoyance and looked around at the chaos again. It would take a bit of time to sort through. She wished she could say no. But then, she never said no. Not when someone asked for help like this. And didn’t they all know it. She’d arrived back in New Zealand less than a month ago, yet her family had managed to fill her schedule to bursting already. But she’d let them, passively agreeing to it all. So much for becoming more assertive and ring fencing even just some time for her own work.

She knew they saw no change, and wasn’t she acting as if there weren’t—with her ‘yes, of course’ here and ‘sure’ there? Tacitly acknowledging she had nothing better to do. Or, at least, nothing as important as what they were asking.

But she did.

While she loved to help them out, there was something else she loved to do. Her heart beat faster as she thought of it as ‘work’. She badly wanted to prove it could be just that. But to make a go of it, she needed time.

So she really didn’t want to be standing here waiting for anybody—certainly not some guy who couldn’t even seem to organise his own temp. The same boss who had Cara calling her from her hospital bed asking if she could help out. If her help really was needed, then okay, but she wasn’t going to wait here for another twenty minutes. She glanced at her watch again. Ordinarily looking at it brought a tingle of pleasure—fine little vintage piece that it was. She’d found it in a flea market in South London one day. With a new old strap she’d found at another market and a trip to the watch doctor, it worked beautifully. It was definitely not running fast.

The thudding impinged into her brain again, stirring a dormant memory from school days.

No. Surely not?

She stood, walked across the office and right round behind the desk to the window. Looked straight down to the asphalt yard at the back of the warehouse. She inhaled some much-needed cool air into her lungs.

But yes. Basketball.

Lorenzo Hall—she just knew it was him—out there having himself some fun. If he’d been playing with even one other person she might have understood it—that he’d wanted to finish the game before seeing her. But there was no opponent to beat. He was playing alone—while she was waiting for a scheduled meeting with him. Long minutes up in his office—and it was for his benefit.

The irritation rose to a rolling boil. How come no one realised her time was precious too? She walked out of the office, her high heels clipping quickly down the stairs. She passed the receptionist, who was running in the other direction with the cord of her phone headset trailing after her.

‘Will Mr Hall be long, do you think?’ Sophy asked with extreme politeness.

The receptionist stopped, but looked harassed. ‘He’s not up there?’

Sophy gave the woman a cool stare. She didn’t know? Wasn’t she his receptionist? Where was the efficiency in this place—off on a holiday to Mars? She inhaled and crisped up even more. ‘Obviously not.’

The frown on the receptionist’s face deepened. ‘I’m sure I saw him earlier. You could look and see if he’s up on the third floor or try out the back.’ With that she was gone, hurrying to do whatever it was that was so urgent.

Sophy continued down the stairs and went through the doorway behind Reception. This was a meeting that had been arranged two days ago. He might be the newly crowned king of the wine exporters, but for the life of her she couldn’t figure out how he’d managed it. Not when he couldn’t even make it to a meeting on time. She found what had to be the door leading out to the yard. She paused for a second, squared her shoulders and then turned the handle, pulling the heavy wood back.

From what she’d seen at the window upstairs she’d known what she was about to face—but she hadn’t accounted for the effect it would have on her up close. She swallowed, momentarily speechless.

He had his back to her—a mightily broad back it was too, and very bronzed. Well, it would be from all the time he obviously spent out here—shirtless.

The fire that blazed through her was surely all due to anger.

The baseboard and basket were on a stand on the far side of the asphalt square. He had the ball in hand, feet apart, his knees slightly bent as he readied to take the shot.

Sophy waited for the exact moment. Just as his body moved to shoot the ball, she called—raising her normal volume more than a fraction, and using what her speech and drama teacher had referred to as ‘the tone’.

‘Lorenzo Hall?’

Needless to say, he didn’t make the basket. Sophy smiled. But then, in an instant, it died on her lips.

Even with the three or so metres between them she could feel the scorching heat of him. He turned his head, looked her over—a quick, slicing glance with the darkest eyes she’d ever seen. Then he turned back to the wretched basket.

That had been all he needed to sum her up? Sophy wasn’t used to being dismissed so quickly. She might not have lived up to her family’s stellar success in the legal fraternity, but she did okay in the appearance stakes. Always immaculate. Always appropriate. Presentation had been drilled into her for so long it was second nature now. So she knew she looked more than acceptable in her baby-blue linen skirt and pressed white shirt. Her lipstick was muted but smooth and her face wasn’t shiny. Her one-style-only hair would be in place—she didn’t even have to try for that to happen.

The ball had bounced a couple of times. He barely had to move to retrieve it. Once it was back in his broad hands he turned and gave her another look—even more pointed. Then he turned back to face the baseboard, took careful aim and replayed the shot—landing it this time.

Sophy would have turned and walked if she wasn’t too angry to move. So that was the way of it, huh? His little game of by-myself-basketball was more important than a meeting scheduled with her. She’d heard nothing but positives about this guy’s charitable organisation. Had heard the rumours about his own background and his meteoric rise—marvellous, wasn’t it, people said, that someone with a background like that could become such a success?

Well, Sophy wasn’t about to patronise the selfish jerk. ‘Are we meeting any time soon?’ She refused to offer to come back at another time—bit back the conciliatory words by pushing her jaws together. She wasn’t going to put herself out at all for him.

The ball had bounced back to him again. He tossed it to the side and walked towards her. His jeans sat low on his hips. He wore them with no belt and she saw a glimpse of a waistband—briefs or boxers? She shouldn’t be wondering. But she couldn’t stop looking.

There was no fat beneath his skin, just lithe muscles that rippled as he walked. She managed to force her gaze a fraction higher, skimming over the dusting of masculine hair, the dark nipples. He had straight, broad shoulders. Sleek curving muscles stretched down his arms. And all over was the sheen of sweat—burnishing the smooth, sun bronzed skin.

She found she was mirroring his slight breathlessness. His chest was rising and falling that bit quickly, that bit jerkily, and her own felt tight as she studied him. He had an amazing torso—the strength, the undeniable masculinity had her spellbound. Her gaze coasted downwards again.

He took two more steps—bringing him too close. Startled, she looked up as he loomed over her. Realised that with a narrowed, keen gaze he was watching the way she was looking him up and down.

She met his stare, matched it, refusing to let her embarrassment at being caught ogling burn her skin red. But then, when he knew he had her attention, he let his gaze strip down every inch of her body. She actually felt the way his attention lit on her neck, on the small V of exposed skin on her chest, on the curve of her breasts…

She fought harder to stop the blush and felt her anger resurge. But she probably deserved it. Hadn’t she just done this to him? But not intentionally—not provocatively. She just hadn’t realised quite how obvious she’d been or how long she’d been staring—her brain had gone AWOL while her eyes feasted.

But his was a deliberate, blatantly sexual action.

Her toes curled in the tips of her heeled pumps. The rest of her wanted to shrivel too—so she could disappear. And she used the anger to block that other message striving to move from brain to body—the desire that wanted to unfurl and scurry through her veins.

‘You must be Sophy.’ He gestured back to his mini basketball court. ‘I was thinking. Lost track of time.’

Well, that fell way too short for an apology.

‘My time is valuable to me,’ she asserted vocally for the first time in her life. ‘I don’t like it being wasted.’

Certainly not by a half naked man. Not like this anyway.

Those black, bottomless eyes met hers. The colour rose a little higher on his cheekbones. She wasn’t sure if it was from exertion, embarrassment or anger. She suspected the latter.

‘Of course,’ he said smoothly—too quietly. ‘I won’t do it again.’

Something had kindled in his eyes as he’d added that. Something she didn’t care to define. As it was she felt herself flushing—unable to stop it now—as if she were the one in the wrong. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. Stole another quick glance at his torso and then aimed to concentrate on the concrete.

‘You never seen a man sweat before, Sophy?’ His soft question hit her in the gut.

The crisp spring morning suddenly got a whole lot hotter. She tried to say something. Couldn’t. The dry irony in his voice just devastated her.

He turned away from her. ‘Want to play a little one on one?’ he asked. ‘I find it helps me focus. You might find it helps you too.’

Oh, so she needed help with focus? Heaven help her she did.

‘It’s also good for burning excess energy.’

Now that was said with deliberate innuendo. He was trying to tip her balance—as if he weren’t doing it already with his sheer physicality which was on display. With considerable effort she pulled herself together. Well, she could do a little innuendo too. His few words could flame, but her cool delivery would crush. ‘I’m obviously over-dressed.’

His eyes widened fractionally, before he replied calmly, ‘Easily fixed.’ She lifted her brows very slowly, determined to stay cool. ‘You want me to strip?’

He laughed then, his whole face breaking into an absolute charmer of a smile. Sophy lifted her fingers to her mouth to stop her jaw from gaping in surprise. His whole demeanour changed—like quicksilver—from seriously brooding to sparkling good humour. The flash was utterly intriguing and devastatingly attractive.

‘It would be fair, don’t you think?’ he said. ‘I mean, you have me at a disadvantage.’

‘You put yourself at a disadvantage.’ She was even more breathless now. And privately she thought his semi-nudity a huge benefit to him—how to fuzzle the minds of your business opponents in one easy step. She angled away from him—trying to recover her equilibrium. She got a clear view of the fence and saw one section was covered with a huge bit of graffiti. The colours leapt out, almost 3D, in bold blocks. An image of a man—like an ancient statue—with vibrant shades of blue leaping out from behind and an indecipherable word shooting up from one side. She’d never have expected it; the reception area she’d walked through had been incredibly slick—it was only the office upstairs that had been a total mess. Now there was this—what many people would consider an eyesore.

He walked in front of her line of vision and picked up the ball again, spinning it in his hands. ‘We can talk through the details at the same time.’

He was still smiling but there was an edge back now—a deliberate challenge. But it was one she just had to turn down. No way was she playing ball with him. This wouldn’t be like some Hollywood movie where she scored a hoop first shot. She’d miss it by a mile and totally embarrass herself. She hadn’t played in years—to land baskets you needed to practise. She had no hope of relying on muscle memory now.

‘Perhaps it would be best if we reschedule this meeting,’ she ducked it.

The smile tugged harder on one corner of his mouth.

‘You might want to take a shower now,’ she added coldly.

His brows lifted then. ‘You really don’t like sweat?’ He laughed as he looked over her pale blue suit. ‘No. You wouldn’t, would you?’

She went silent—refusing to rise to that one. Truth was, she was feeling utterly human right now and starting to sweat herself just from looking at him. Cara hadn’t mentioned that her boss was completely gorgeous.

She looked at the graffiti again, eyes narrowed as she tried to work out one of the letters in that word.

‘Damn kids.’ He’d followed the direction of her gaze.

‘It could be worse,’ she said. Not wanting to find anything to agree on with him.

‘You think?’

‘Yeah, it could just be a tag—you know, initials, a name or something. But that’s actually quite a cool picture.’

He coughed. It started as a clear-your-throat kind of cough, but rapidly turned into a hacking one that sounded as if he were in danger of losing a lung. Anyone else and she’d ask if he was okay. But she wasn’t going anywhere nearer the personal with him. As it was they’d crossed some polite lines already and she was finding it way too unsettling.

‘It must have taken a while.’ She commented more on the graffiti just to cover the moment until he breathed freely at last. There actually was a lot of depth to the design. It couldn’t possibly be a three-minute spray and run number. ‘But it’s bad to do it to someone else’s property.’

‘You’re so right.’

She gave him a quick look. Was that a touch of laughter in his voice? His expression was back to brooding, even so, she suspected him.

‘So you’re desperate for an administrator, is that right?’ Finally she snapped back on track.

‘For the Whistle Fund, yes.’ He too suddenly went professional. ‘Kat, my receptionist here, has been too busy to be able to help much since Cara left. We’ve got a lot on right now so I need someone who can stay on board for at least a month. I need the mess sorted and then help with training a new recruit. I haven’t even got to advertise yet. Can you commit to it?’ He looked serious. ‘You’ll be paid of course. I wouldn’t expect anyone to take on this level of work voluntarily.’

‘I don’t need to be paid. I like to work voluntarily.’

‘You’ll be paid,’ he clipped. ‘You can donate it back to the charity if you like, but you’ll be paid.’

So he didn’t want to be beholden to her? But she didn’t need the money, the income from her trust fund was more than enough for her to get by. She’d always needed something to give her a sense of dignity—had never sat around doing nothing but shopping and socialising. It wasn’t the way she’d been raised. Yes, they had money, but they still had to do something worthwhile with their time. Only she hadn’t managed to follow in the family footsteps and pursue a law based career. Her mother, brother and sister were all super successful lawyers. All the true save-the-oppressed kind, not corporate massive-fee-billing sharks. Worse was her father, who was a retired judge. He still worked—publishing research, heading reviews of the system. Sophy’s surname was synonymous with excellence in the field. Not one of them had failed or even deviated from that path.

Only Sophy.

So she’d tried to gain her credibility by being the yes-person. Doing all the voluntary stuff, being the consummate organiser of everything they asked for—mainly their own lives. She might not have their legal brains, but she was practical. Yet in trying to keep up with them she’d made one stupid, massive mistake—she’d mistaken her personal value. So she’d gone away. While overseas she’d finally found her own passion, her own calling. And as soon as she got the time she was going to build her business and prove her skill to the family.

‘Cara’s office is in the building here.’ He seemed to take her silence for acquiescence. ‘It’s all yours. I thought we could cover her okay but with her baby coming so soon and with Dani away with Alex, I need someone who can concentrate wholly on it.’

‘Full time?’ Sophy’s heart was sinking. She just wasn’t going to be able to say no.

‘Maybe for the first week to catch up.’ His grin was touchingly rueful. ‘After that just the mornings should be enough. And I’d need you to be present at whatever evening meetings there are and the functions. Actually, you need to finalise the details for the next one.’

Yes. The Whistle Fund was famous for its functions—fabulous evenings of entertainment that drew the rich and famous out, and got them to open their wallets too. The presence of the ‘stars’ meant the presence of Joe Public was huge too—everybody liked to be a VIP for a night.

‘You can’t find anyone else?’ Sophy tried one last avenue. ‘Maybe from a temp agency?’

‘Cara wanted to be sure the office was in good hands. She doesn’t trust that a stranger will be able to come in and fix it. I don’t want to stress her any more than she already is. And she told me you’re the only one who can get this job done. I promised her I’d give you a shot.’

Sophy’s ears pricked at the slight hint of sarcasm—did he think she couldn’t get it done? Her spine stiffened—why, she could sort that lot upstairs in her sleep.

Cara had pleaded for her to come. Because Sophy’s sister, Victoria, was one of Cara’s best friends. And Victoria had talked to Cara—assured her Sophy was the one to do it: she was available, she was capable. Now it seemed she was all Cara could accept.

Sophy might as well have never gone away. Since landing back she’d stepped straight back into the overcommitted, overscheduled life she’d left two years before. No one had stopped to think she might have other things she wanted to do. And why should they? Hadn’t she been saying yes—as she always had?

So she should say no now. Say sorry, but that she had other priorities and couldn’t give him that much time. She looked at him, tried really hard not to let her gaze slip down his body again. There was a hard look in his eyes—as if he didn’t really believe what Cara had told him about her, and that he expected her to say no. That he’d just as soon phone for some anonymous temp and be done with it. Suddenly she sensed that he didn’t like having to ask her at all. That made her stand up even straighter.