Is reclusive millionaire Will Carson’s new assistant hiding something that could break his trust? Find out in New York Times bestselling author Cathryn Fox’s new scorching-hot Harlequin DARE!

The public loves seeing powerful millionaires taken down a notch—or ten. And after losing the woman I loved thanks to a tabloid exposé, I’m obsessed with privacy. My assistants are carefully vetted. So I can’t help being suspicious when domestically challenged bombshell Khloe Davis is hired to accompany me to tropical St. Thomas.

Khloe breaks everything she touches and can’t make so much as a sandwich. And the maddeningly tiny French maid uniform she wears every day is definitely not the required dress code...not that I’m complaining. Sleeping with the help is against every rule in my book, but just the sight of Khloe is keeping me up at night.

Then I discover she wants me as much as I want her. Before I know it, we’re checking off every position on her sexual to-do list. What skills Khloe lacks in the kitchen she more than makes up for in the bedroom. The voluptuous goddess is fast becoming my new obsession. But is she hiding something that could break my trust...and my heart?

Harlequin DARE publishes sexy romances featuring powerful alpha heroes and bold, fearless heroines exploring their deepest fantasies.

Four new Harlequin DARE titles are available each month, wherever ebooks are sold!

New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author CATHRYN FOX is a wife, mom, sister, daughter, aunt and friend. She loves dogs, sunny weather, anything chocolate (she never says no to a brownie), pizza and red wine. Cathryn lives in beautiful Nova Scotia with her husband, who is convinced he can turn her into a mixed martial arts fan. When not writing, Cathryn can be found Skyping with her son, who lives in Seattle (could he have moved any farther away?), shopping with her daughter in the city, watching a big action flick with her husband, or hanging out and laughing with friends.

Also by Cathryn Fox

On His Knees

On Her Terms

Under His Touch

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

Under His Obsession

Cathryn Fox

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-09951-6

UNDER HIS OBSESSION

© 2020 Cathryn Fox

Published in Great Britain 2020

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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Note to Readers

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For my dear friend Claudine Laforce.

You are kind, generous and supportive and I’m lucky

to have you in my life!

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

About the Publisher

CHAPTER ONE
Khloe

“THERE’S THE DOOR. Feel free to use it.”

Stomach in knots, I stare wide-eyed at my boss, hardly able to believe what I’m hearing. Then again, is it really so inconceivable that he’s canning my ass? Disobedience comes with a price, and like all other men in power, Benjamin R. Murray, owner of Starlight Magazine, can do what he wants and say what he likes. Privileged men like him think the world is theirs for the taking and will walk on, or over, anyone who gets in their way.

“You’re really firing me?” I ask, as Manhattan’s midday sun shines in through the floor-to-ceiling windows, warming the blood zinging through my veins and stirring the nausea in my stomach. My skin begins to moisten, but no way will I let this man see me sweat. I don’t want him to think he holds all the cards. Even though he does. But I’m not a girl to go down without a fight.

“That depends.” Benjamin drops the chicken leg he’s been gnawing on and wipes greasy, sausage-thick fingers on the stack of paper napkins before him. His chair groans under his impressive weight as he pushes away from his desk and stands to square off against me. The situation is clearly dire if he’s abandoning his beloved bucket of chicken. “Are you going to do the exposé on Will Carson or not?” he asks. His deep voice is hard and unwavering, letting me know my future at the magazine depends on what I say next.

Though I can’t afford to lose this job, I refuse to dig up dirt on Will Carson, a brilliant software developer—aka, the Millionaire Rocket Scientist of Wall Street. Partly because the exposé done on him a few years back by one of Starlight’s reporters ruined his life and partly because my father used to work for Will’s grandfather, James Carson.

James isn’t like other powerful men—he treats those who work for him fairly, respectfully. He was always generous and kind to my late father, going above and beyond to make sure a single father and his daughter were looked after. I have no doubt those care boxes containing food and clothes came from him—he knew my love for M&M’s and somehow my size—even though he vehemently denied his involvement.

The man owns half of Manhattan, and after I graduated with a journalism degree, he offered me a job at the Grub, a magazine that reviews restaurants. I politely declined, since I live off frozen food and know nothing about fine dining. Although it might have been a better jumping-off point than Starlight.

I want to write meaningful articles, to earn my place in the cutthroat news business and to get there on my own merit. From watching my father, I learned to work hard and to never take handouts—he didn’t like it when those care boxes materialized on our doorstep. And I won’t abandon my principles by twisting information for a headline like I’m some damn bottom-feeder.

Then why are you working at Starlight?

Because I can’t get hired at a reputable magazine without experience, and I can’t get experience without getting hired. So, Starlight it is. Or was...

“Well, are you?” he asks again, pulling my focus back to the matter at hand.

I cross my arms and plant my feet. “No,” I say through gritted teeth. It’s not a smart answer, considering rent is due next week, and my groceries consist of a single sleeve of stale crackers and a half-eaten box of pizza pockets.

“It’s my way or the highway, Khloe,” he says, his beady blue eyes arctic cold.

“Why me, Benjamin?” He doesn’t tolerate anyone saying no to him, but what do I care? He can’t fire me twice. “Why take me off sensationalized crime stories and put me on celebrity gossip, especially when you know I have a connection to the Carson family?”

His grin is sardonic. “That’s your answer right there. You have an in, and any good journalist would use that connection to get information.”

“You already ruined Will’s life. Why twist the knife?” I ask, even though I already know the answer. Money. That’s the answer to everything in a rich man’s world.

“The public is interested in the famous Carson family. It’s time we told them what Will has been up to since his fiancée left him.”

Starlight’s front-page spread on Will had never sat well with me. I’ve never met him, but from the stories James told, Will didn’t seem like someone who’d get drunk and jump into bed with another woman at his bachelor party.

The pictures splashed across the front cover, however, painted a different story. Money and power. They mess with people. In the end, Will proved to be no different from any man with millions and authority—and because of the spread, he lost his supermodel fiancée. But I still refused to do the exposé. My father would turn over in his grave if I suddenly sank to slimeball level.

“I guess this is goodbye, then.” I turn and see a flurry of activity in the hall. Great, my colleagues were eavesdropping. At least they’ll have something to talk about at the watercooler. “I’ll clear my desk.”

“If you change your mind...”

“I won’t,” I say. Heads duck and eyes are averted as I walk down the hall. Despite the storm going on in my stomach, I straighten my back and calmly walk to my four-by-four pod.

I reach my desk and stare at the papers strewn across it. Nothing truly belongs to me, but I spitefully shove the stapler into my purse. I’m about to walk away but can’t. Dammit, I’m not a thief. I put the stapler back and go still when a pair of heels tap rapidly on the floor, growing louder as they approach.

Breathless, Steph skids to a stop. “I just heard.” My only real friend at the magazine—all the others would slice and dice anyone who got in their way—Steph takes my hand. Thick painted lashes blink rapidly over caramel eyes. “What happened?”

I lower my voice and explain, even though I’m sure everyone knows—around here, rumors spread faster than a Sean Mendes You Tube video.

“He’s such a worm,” she says.

“Hey, don’t insult worms. They have their purpose.”

“Wait, I got it.” Hope fills her eyes. “Just say you couldn’t find anything on Will. I mean, he might be a grade A asshole—”

“Will’s an asshole?”

“Yeah, that’s what every reporter who tried to get a story on him says.”

“They do?”

“Oh, yeah.” She holds her hand out and starts tapping one finger after another as she says, “Opinionated, arrogant, bossy, patronizing.”

“What you’re saying is he’s no different from any other Wall Street millionaire.”

She nods. “I also heard he doesn’t keep any of his assistants around for long. They’re fired for the smallest of mistakes.”

“I guess I haven’t been paying close enough attention to the Carson family drama.”

“Well, anyway, he’s become a bit of a recluse, taking privacy to the extreme. You could just say you didn’t find anything.”

I give her a look that suggests she’s insane. “Steph, come on. If I don’t bring the story Benjamin wants or twist it to his liking, I’ll be fired anyway.”

“But I don’t want you to go.” She pouts. “You can’t leave me here with all the two-faced piranhas.”

“You have that interview with the Cut next week, right?” While it’s Steph’s dream to write about trends and designs, I’m more interested in politics and current events. My ultimate dream is to write for the New Yorker magazine, and in my spare time, pen a novel.

“Yes, but—”

“No buts. You got this. And something will come my way,” I say. I hike my purse up higher and lift my chin, showcasing confidence I don’t currently feel.

Steph steps to the side to let me pass. “If he offers it to me, I’ll tell him to shove it up his—”

“Thanks, Steph, but I don’t want you to lose your job, too.”

“The Cut, remember.” She jabs her thumb into her chest. “It’s mine.”

“Good girl,” I say, and give her a hug. “I’ll text you later.”

“Wait, Khloe.” Her gaze moves over my face. “Are you sure you’re okay? You look a little pale.”

“I’m fine.”

Her eyes narrow. “You need some sun.”

I run my tongue over one of my molars. “A piece of filling chipped off this morning.” There had been something strangely hard in the sausage on the leftover pizza I had for breakfast. “Maybe if I put it under my pillow, the tooth fairy will leave enough money for us both to go on a vacation.”

Steph laughs. “Your sense of humor is still intact. I guess that means you’re all right.”

“I’ll be okay,” I assure her with false bravado.

I make my way to the elevator and realize that while I refused to do the exposé, the next person likely won’t. Dammit. I hurry downstairs, step outside and hail a cab. But instead of going to my small apartment in Brooklyn, I give the driver directions to James’s mansion on Sixty-Fourth. I have no idea if he’s home, but he’s well into his nineties, so I doubt he’ll be out for long.

When we arrive, I pay the fare and step out, lifting my eyes to take in the looming building before me. I haven’t been here since I was a teen. The first time I ever saw James’s mansion was when I was five. I’d had the chicken pox, and the after-school day care teacher had sent me home. Dad had put me in the back seat, and I’d sat quietly as he’d driven James to wherever he needed to go. We’d picked up one of his grandsons from swimming lessons—apparently, he’d already had the pox, so it was safe to sit him in back with me. For all I know, it could have been Will beside me that day. I was quiet and shy, and other than answer a few questions James directed my way, I stayed silent.

Until I vomited all over the back seat.

I take a deep breath and step up to the front door of the mansion. Unease presses down on my shoulders as I jab the bell. I haven’t seen James in years, and part of me worries he might think I was behind the last exposé. I wasn’t, of course. I’d had no idea Avery Roberts was working on an article that would ruin a man’s life.

Behind me, people rush by, always in a hurry. One of these days I’d like to go somewhere with a slower pace. Maybe write that book. But with the meager funds in my pocket, the farthest I could trek is to Starbucks, two streets over. When I got there, I’d have to order a water, no straw. I snort at that thought and pray that the tooth fairy comes through. But I’m quick to pull myself together when the door creaks open.

I expect to be greeted by a servant. Instead, James Carson himself is standing in the foyer, his hazy blue eyes moving over my face. I wait for recognition to hit, and I can tell the second awareness creeps in by the way his eyes widen.

“Mr. Carson,” I begin, and place my hand over my uneasy stomach. “I don’t mean to bother you—”

“Bother me. Of course you’re not bothering me, child. Come in, Khloe. Come in, and please call me James.”

“It’s been a while. I wasn’t sure if you’d remember me.”

“You haven’t changed a bit.”

I can’t say the same for him. Over the last decade, his winter-white hair has thinned, and the lines bracketing his milky eyes and pale lips have deepened. He’s a little shorter, his body much frailer than it was when I last saw him.

“Come along,” he says. Gnarled fingers tighten around a cane, and his gait is slow as he guides me down the hall.

“Maybe I changed a little,” I say for lack of anything better. “It’s been quite a few years.”

“Ten, to be exact,” he answers. While his body is deteriorating, it doesn’t appear that his mind is following suit. I shadow him into his den and admire his extensive library as the vanilla smell of old books fills my senses. James turns and offers me a warm, grandfatherly smile, and my heart squeezes. He was like the grandfather I never had and always wanted. It was only Dad and me growing up. We lost Mom to cancer when I was just a child. I only have a few fleeting memories of her.

He winks at me. “Have you decided to take the job at the Grub?”

“The only thing I know about food is how to eat it, and even then, I make a mess of it. Believe me, I’m not cut out to cover restaurants and do reviews. I’d be a detriment, not an asset, to your company. But thank you for the offer.”

“I always loved your honesty.” He taps his cane on the wooden floor. “Max did a great job raising you.”

Warmth fills me at the mention of my father. “You were always so good to us. My dad talked fondly about you.”

“He used to tell me your dream was to write for the New Yorker.”

“Still is,” I say.

A beat of silence takes up space between us as we both get lost in our thoughts. A moment later, James breaks the quiet. “Then to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?” he asks, his voice gravelly as he smooths his hands over an imaginary tie and nods at the ebony leather chair.

I lower myself and sink into the soft cushion. It’s heavenly, and if I weren’t so anxious, my stomach roiling, I’d love to curl up and have a nap. Although I’m not sure why I’m so tired. I get enough sleep most nights, and it’s not like I could be pregnant—unless it was immaculate conception.

“There is something I think you should know.”

He walks up to his bar and picks up a brandy decanter. “Drink?”

After the morning I’ve had, I sure could use one, or two, but I politely decline. I’m not sure I’d be able to keep it down. He pours a generous amount into a crystal snifter, swallows it in one smooth motion, and refills his glass.

I wait as he slowly makes his way to the sofa across from my chair. I take stock of the room, my gaze going from the colossal desk in front of the window to the Polaroid camera on the side table. I note the stack of what looks like wedding photos beside it. I cringe, knowing they’re not happy photos of Will’s wedding, considering he never had one. While a part of me is mortified about the terrible invasion of privacy, I can’t help but think his fiancée had a right to know what was going on. I sure as hell would have wanted to know. But I’d have to have a fiancé before he could cheat on me. Aren’t I a real catch now? Jobless, penniless and soon to be homeless. I can’t understand why men aren’t lining up.

“You still work for Starlight?” James asks, like he’s reading my mind.

I fold my hands in my lap. “As of today, no.”

He straightens. “You quit?”

“Fired, actually. That’s why I’m here.”

The lines around his eyes deepen as he squints at me. “What is it you want me to know, Khloe?”

“First, I’d like you to know I had nothing to do with the exposé on Will. I had only just started at the magazine and had no idea they were doing a story on him.”

“Never thought you were involved, child,” he says quickly, and my shoulders relax slightly.

I lean forward and put my hands on my knees. “I was asked to do a follow-up today because I had connections.”

He nods slowly and takes another swig. “And you were fired because you refused?”

“That’s right.” Yeah, the man is still sharp. “But I wanted to warn you and Will. I might have said no, but the next reporter won’t.”

“I appreciate you coming to tell me this.” He sets his glass down, and his curled fingers adjust the gray cardigan around his shoulders. His eyes shut, and at first I think he’s deep in thought, but he goes quiet for so long, I fear he’s fallen asleep.

I’m about to rise and tiptoe to the door so I don’t disturb him when his lids open and his blue eyes pin me in place.

“Do you have work lined up?” he asks.

“No, it just happened, but I’m about to start pounding the pavement.”

“I have a job for you.”

I shake my head fast. “While I appreciate your kindness, I—”

“As stubborn as your father.” His chuckle is deep and raspy. “But you see, Khloe, you’d be doing me a favor.”

“What kind of favor?” I ask, settling back in my seat.

“Will needs an assistant for his upcoming trip to Saint Thomas.”

Oh God, a trip to Saint Thomas sounds heavenly right now. A Caribbean beach, sand, water... But I suppose if I’m in some boardroom taking notes for Will Carson, I’ll see none of the island. Still, getting out of New York for a while does sound nice.

“It’s a temporary job, until you find something in your field, of course.”

I consider my meager savings. I’m adamant about making my own way in life, but a paying job until I can find something else, well, that would cover next week’s rent and put food in my belly—once it stops churning. Plus, James did say I’d be helping him out.

“What would I have to do?” I ask.

“You can write, can’t you?”

“Of course.”

“I must warn you. He’s not always an easy man to work for.”

“I’ve dealt with worse, I’m sure.”

James chuckles. “I’m sure you have. Will, however, is very regimented and has high expectations of those who work for him.”

“I have high expectations of myself,” I assure him. After Steph telling me Will was pretty much an ogre, I’m not sure why I’m working so hard to sell myself. Oh, right... I like having a roof over my head.

“He also has a strict dress code.”

“A dress code? Really?” From what I know about software developers, they go to work in jeans and wear T-shirts with sayings like Cereal Killer or I Paused My Game to Be Here. Then again, people think all reporters are heartless sharks. I’m not heartless, and for all I know Will is a suit-and-tie kind of guy, like James used to be. But a dress code means I’d need to go shopping. I consider my budget and there is very little room for new clothes. Maybe I won’t be able to take this job after all.

James finishes the brandy in his glass and sets it on the table. “An assistant is an extension of Will and is expected to act and dress a certain way. Is that a problem for you?”

“I...uh...what does he expect his assistant to wear?”

“No worries, your clothing will be supplied.”

“Oh, okay.” A measure of relief washes through me.

“You’ll find a new wardrobe in your closet when you reach your destination.” He glances the length of me, like he’s trying to determine my size. I debate whether I should outright tell him, but in the end, I don’t want to say the number out loud. Honest to God, from the little amount I eat, I should be thinner than I am. But no, my body likes to store every damn calorie I take in. While I’ve come to terms with it, that’s one of the many things my ex-fiancé, Liam, wanted to change about me. Apparently, I didn’t fit in with what was expected of his affluent family. Douchebags. Every last one of them.

“Anything else I should know?”

“You’ll have to sign a nondisclosure agreement. Anything you see or hear cannot be repeated.”

Jeez, the more he talks about Will, the more intrigued I am about the secretive, regimented asshole who provides clothing to his assistants. The same man caught in bed with another woman during his bachelor party. The more I think about it, a man like him getting caught seems rather contradictory to his character. If I hadn’t seen the pictures with my own eyes, I might not have believed it. Will flat on his back, some random girl riding him like he was her own personal pony. It’s rather disgusting that Avery sneaked in and took the pictures.

James sits back in his chair and lifts his head. He riffles through the Polaroids beside him, finds what he’s looking for and hands it to me.

“That’s Will,” he says, but he doesn’t need to tell me. Nor does he need to tell me I’m looking at the hottest guy on the planet. One who can’t keep it in his pants, even when he has a beautiful fiancée.

“Whose wedding?”

“Will’s brother Alec and his beautiful bride, Megan. Married in Saint Moritz near my resort.” Under his breath he says, “Now there’s only one left.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

There’s a new spark in his eyes when he says, “You’re perfect for Will.”

Perfect for Will?

Something feels a little off in the way he phrased that. Then again, he is in his nineties, and perhaps he’s not as sharp as I thought. “You mean I’m the perfect assistant for Will, right?”

“That’s right. Isn’t that what I said?” That spark is back in his eyes, and before I can answer he continues with, “You’ll do it then?”

“I’d never say no to a favor for you, but can I ask how it is a favor for you?”

“Will is a very private man. He hires a new assistant for every trip. He’s not so trustful, you see. Doesn’t let anyone get too close or hang around too long. There is no room for complacency in his world.”

“I can understand that.”

“Every assistant is vetted through my agency, and I’m their last stamp of approval. Unfortunately, no one quite fits what he needs.”

“You think I do?”

“I think you’re perfect. But there is one more thing, Khloe.” He leans toward me. “It’s very important.”

I eye him carefully, not at all sure I like the sound of this. “Okay...”

“I realize you don’t put articles out in your own name at Starlight, but please don’t mention you’re a journalist, or anything about the magazine.”

I’m about to question him on that, but quickly realize why it’s important to keep that information private. Will, undoubtedly, has a deep hatred and distrust for reporters after the exposé done on him. “I don’t like to lie.”

“It’s not a lie. It’s just not something he needs to know.”

“Why hire me if he hates reporters? I’m sure there must be at least one temp at the agency who could give him what he needs.”

“Not the way you can. Now you’d better get a move on—his plane leaves in a couple hours.”

When I catch what looks like mischief in his cloudy eyes, unease trickles through me. While I’m certain James would never steer me wrong, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m about to go down the rabbit hole and not come out the same.

CHAPTER TWO
Will

AT THE SOUND of hurried footsteps on the metal stairs of Granddad’s Learjet, I lift my eyes and say, “You’re late.”

“Excuse me?”

I take in the breathless woman glaring at me. Damn, if looks could kill...

I sit up a little straighter, fold the newspaper I’d been reading and carefully set it on my lap.

“I said, you’re late.”

One hand planted on her hip and one foot tapping restlessly, she says, “I do apologize,” her dark brown eyes flaring hot. “I’m usually punctual, but not only did I have little time to prepare for this trip, traffic was horrible, and my driver was a maniac. I’m lucky I made it here alive.”

“You didn’t use Granddad’s driver?”

“No. I left from home and didn’t see the need for him to backtrack to pick me up.”

I raise my brows. “That’s what his service is for.”

“I just didn’t want to put anyone out,” she says, and it surprises me, considering most temps love to ride in Granddad’s limo.

She rakes agitated fingers through a mess of wavy chestnut hair, her chest rising and falling as if she’s been running. Her tight yoga pants hug her curvy hips like a second skin, and the relaxed V-neck T-shirt she’s wearing showcases an abundance of creamy cleavage. Something inside me twitches at the sexy sight and reminds me I haven’t been with a woman in far too long.

Nevertheless, despite the fact that the mere sight of this woman rouses something primal in me—reminds me I’m a man with needs—I’m not about to get involved with her. My traitorous dick might be showing interest, but I never mix business and pleasure. It’s one of my many hard rules. After the exposé done on me, I don’t let anyone get too close. Which means, while I can acknowledge my desire for her, I’m not about to act on it.

“I thought I’d be taking this trip solo until Grandfather called and said he found someone suitable last-minute.”

“Yes,” she says, her breasts jutting out a little more as she squares her shoulders. “I’m Khloe.”

“Khloe,” I say, trying the name out on my tongue. “Have you signed the nondisclosure agreement, Khloe?”

Her eyes drop to my mouth when I repeat her name. Is she, too, wondering how it would sound on my lips if she were in my bed, beneath me?

Cool it, Will. She’s an employee, and that makes her hands-off.

“Yes, at James’s house,” she says quickly. “He has a copy. We both do.” She taps the big bag slung over her slender shoulders.

I eye her for a moment, and with a lift of her chin, she stares back unflinchingly. There’s no denying that she’s different from the women who normally travel as my assistant. Most don’t look me in the eye, and are all fidgety and nervous around me. It’s rather irritating. This woman, however, has a confidence about her and doesn’t look like she’d put up with any kind of bullshit, especially from me. Which begs the question—why did Granddad hire her? It’s not that I’m a complete asshole, although I’ve been called that and worse a time or two. It’s just that I’m careful and private, a guy who likes things done in a certain way, and most importantly, a guy who trusts no one.

“I don’t tolerate tardiness, and I certainly expect my employees to dress in a certain way. There are rules.”

Her teeth clench with an audible click, and I can almost hear her brain spinning as a violent streak of pink colors her cheeks. If I had to guess, she’s about to tell me where to shove my rules. Either that or she’s contemplating which foot to use to kick me in the nuts. It’s rather odd how I find her reactions amusing. But I can’t give that any more consideration. No, not when she’s smoothing her hand over her mess of hair and arousing my dick all over again.

“I’m well aware you have rules, and while your grandfather mentioned that you expect those in your employment to dress a certain way, I assumed for travel...” She pauses and runs her hands down the length of her body, and my eyes follow in appreciation. “I assumed that this would be more comfortable for the long flight.” She takes a breath, lets it out slowly, and I grin as she works fervently to tamp down a flash of temper. I’m pretty good at reading people, and my gut tells me those weren’t the words she wanted to throw my way. This woman is becoming more intriguing by the moment. “When we reach our destination, I’ll be sure to dress appropriately.”

“Very well. You should settle yourself in for takeoff, and once we’re in the air, I’d like a brandy.”

Her head rears back at my request, and instead of sitting, she stares at me, mouth dropped open, like I’ve grown a second head.

“Wait, what?” she asks, then glances around the private jet.

I’m not sure who or what she’s looking for, but her attention returns to me when I say, “A brandy. Is that a problem?”

“No... I just...”

I take in her narrowing eyes and tightening mouth and can’t shake the feeling that something about her is...off. Granddad is pretty particular when it comes to my assistants. Then again, he’s not getting any younger, and I do worry about him. Can I still trust his judgment?

“My grandfather explained your duties, did he not?”

“I...” She briefly looks down, her dark eyes stormy. A second later, her head lifts and she shakes her wavy hair back, her composure returning. “Yes, of course.”

“Then you know you’ll be running errands, cooking, cleaning, taking care of my needs while in the air and at my beach house.”

“Yes. Right. Exactly. Your needs. I’ll get you a brandy as soon as we’re in the air.”

“Please, have a seat so we can take off.” I gesture to the leather recliner across from me, and she quickly lowers herself and buckles in.

The copilot secures the cabin door, and I give him the all-clear nod before he disappears into the cockpit. My attention travels back to Khloe. Her gaze flits to the window, then to the magazines and newspapers flared out on the round table between us. Brows angrily squashed together, her hand goes to her stomach, and her fingers splay.

“Are you a nervous flyer?”

“No, I’ve just never flown in a private jet before.” She smiles, but it’s forced. “It’s nice.”

“Help yourself to something to read,” I say. She shakes her head and pulls what looks like a hard-covered journal from her bag. I go back to reading my paper, but every few seconds I glance over the top, curious about the woman my grandfather hired. She’s young and fresh-faced, but there’s a light of intelligence and experience in her eyes—unlike the recently graduated college girls who normally sign up at the agency.

I never delve into the personal, and I’m about to ask her what she does, or rather did, for a living, and why she is no longer employed, but my buzzing cell phone draws my attention. I tug it from my suit jacket and slide my finger across the screen.

“Hey, Jules,” I say, and don’t miss the way Khloe’s eyes lift and travel to mine. They latch on briefly, hold for a second too long, then she goes back to the pages of her journal as if uninterested. My niece begins to talk a mile a minute. While I love and miss her, I have no idea how my cousin Tate and his wife, Summer, stay sane. “No, I can’t come over tonight. I’m going to Saint Thomas. Remember I told you that the other night.” She jabbers on some more, and I can’t help but smile when I hear Summer in the background, telling her to slow down. “Of course I’ll be back for your birthday party, and no, I’m not telling you what I got for you. You’re really going to like it, though.”

Summer takes the phone. “You tease.”

I laugh at that, but it’s true. I am a tease. I’ve been known to push buttons as well.

“Hey, be nice.” I steal another glance at Khloe, who’s looking out the window and feigning disinterest in my conversation. How would she react if I pushed her buttons? She didn’t like it when I reprimanded her for her tardiness or her clothes, and I can’t deny that I enjoyed that quick flash of anger in her eyes. What would she do or say if I fueled that fury?

“You promise you’ll be back for her party?” Summer asks.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” I love hanging out with Jules and spoiling her. I used to want kids of my own, thought I’d have them with Naomi, until I fucked everything up between us. Jesus, I have no idea how I got so drunk at my party and found myself in bed with another woman. What kind of guy pulls a shitty stunt like that, anyway? Not one worth marrying, that’s for sure. I thought I was different from the generation of men who’d come before me. All of them had been unfaithful. I prided myself on my ability to engage in monogamous relationships, but I guess after a few drinks, my true colors had come through. I’d never meant to hurt Naomi—I’d loved her, for Christ’s sake. But at the end of the day, she’s better off without a bastard like me in her life.

I talk to Summer for a few more minutes, and hint at Granddad’s old age. I am worried about the man’s judgement. As a doctor and Granddad’s former aide, Summer assures me he’s well and fine. We’re well into the air by the time I end the call. I catch Khloe’s eye, take in the pallor of her skin. Perhaps she’s lying about being a nervous flyer. If that’s the case, she never should have agreed to this job. Then again, it pays well, and she might have circumstances I don’t know about. But I’m not about to ask. Her business is hers, mine is mine.

“Seat belt sign is off,” I say. When she nods, I arch my brow at her, and she looks puzzled for a second.

“Right, your drink.” She’s quick. Damned if I don’t like that about her.

She unbuckles and turns to set her journal down on her seat. When she gives me an up close, unobstructed view of her curvy ass, it captivates my cock. Goddammit. It’s all I can do to swallow the groan rising in my throat.

Jesus.

She turns to me, and I scrub my hand over my chin. “How would you like your drink? With ice, cola, water?” she asks.

“Brandy on the rocks,” I say.

She gives a curt nod and makes her way to the small kitchen area at the rear of the plane. My gaze is latched onto her backside as she walks away, and I shake my head to pull myself together. I’ve been working so goddamn hard lately, long into the nights, developing a new algorithm platform for Carson Management Investments, the hedge fund company I run for Granddad. I’ve forgotten what it was like to crawl into bed with a soft, curvy woman who smells like sweet vanilla.

I turn back to the newspaper, and while my focus is usually laser sharp, the clanging at the back of the plane pulls my attention. What the hell is she doing back there, busting the place up? Something falls and smashes, followed by a round of muted curses. I unbuckle to see what the hell is going on. Khloe has her back to me as I walk toward her, and I’m about to look over her shoulder when I reach her. But she turns at that exact moment, and the large glass of brandy in her hand hits my chest, soaking us both.

“Dammit,” she says, and tries to jump away, but with the counter digging into her back she has nowhere to go. I, on the other hand, have plenty of room behind me. So why aren’t I distancing myself, putting a measure of space between our vibrating bodies?

My dick twitches.

Ah yes, and therein lies the answer.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Carson,” Khloe says.

“It’s Will,” I grumble.

Back arched, she fishes a cloth off the counter and dabs it to my chest. Tension arcs between us, sizzling down the length of our too-close bodies. I haven’t felt this kind of arousal in a long time. It’s definitely not something that comes along every day.

I slip off my suit jacket and work the buttons on my shirt.

“What are you doing?”

“Getting changed. I’d rather not spend the next four hours in a wet shirt.”

“Oh, right. Of course.”

“Do you have a change of clothes?” I ask.

“Someone on the ground put my luggage in the outside baggage compartment.”

With only a breath of distance between us, I peel my shirt off and take the cloth from her. I mop the brandy from my chest, and a strange little squeaking sound rises in Khloe’s throat.

“You okay?”

She blinks twice, rips her focus from my chest and straight-up asks, “I suppose you’re firing me for this?”

My attention drifts from her eyes to her mouth as she drives her teeth into her bottom lip. “You think I’d fire you for something as trivial as this?”

“I heard things about you.”

I let loose a laugh and shake my head. “What’s the latest I’m being called, Khloe? Asshole?”

A grin flirts with her lips as her eyes cut to me. “Well, maybe.”

“Don’t believe everything you hear,” I say.

I hand the cloth back to her and step away to grab a clean shirt from my bag. I pull my case from the overhead bin and take out a dress shirt and T-shirt. Khloe still hasn’t moved from her spot.

“Which would you prefer?” I ask.

“Both will probably float on me.” She shrugs. “But I guess I can tie the dress shirt at the waist.”

“Dress shirt it is,” I say, and tug on the T-shirt as I move to the back of the plane to hand the button-down over. Her fingers curl around it, and she glares at me as I stand there.

“Do you mind?” she finally blurts out.

“Mind what?”

“I’m not about to get half-naked in front of you. I don’t even know you.”

“Are you saying if you knew me, you’d get half-naked?” I ask, and keep the smile from my face as her cheeks flame red. Look at that. I guess now I do know how she’ll react when I push her buttons. Truthfully though, I shouldn’t be teasing her.

“Either turn around or point to the bathroom so I can change.”

I jerk my head to the left. “Bathroom’s right there.”

She slides past me, her warm body brushing mine, and her sweet vanilla scent reaches my nostrils.

“What do you like to drink?” I ask, switching focus.

She turns back to me. “I’m easy.”

That makes me smile, because I don’t get the sense that anything about her is easy.

“But leave it. It’s my job. I’ll fix us both a drink after I change.”

“And I can fix us both one while you change.”

She eyes me like she doesn’t know what to make of that. “Fine, I’ll just have what you’re having then.”

“Brandy on the shirt?” Her eyes widen at the joke. “See, not always an asshole,” I say, and turn my attention to making the drinks. I reach for two tumblers and add a splash of brandy to both. I take a sip of mine as I head back to my seat. Newspaper back in hand, I begin to read again. My mind drifts to the real reason I’m headed to Saint Thomas. While I have a home there and plan to work on my algorithms, I need to check on Granddad’s luxury hotel. It was destroyed by hurricanes, and a lot of people were out of work because of it. It’s back up and running now, and I want to make sure everything is proceeding smoothly. I also need to work on staffing for Leonard Elementary, the school we’re building to replace the old moldy one. As I consider that, I realize Khloe hasn’t returned to her seat. What the hell is she doing in that bathroom? I check my watch. Christ, she’s been in there for a good twenty minutes.

Pushing from my seat, I go to the door and knock. “Khloe, is everything okay?”

“Uh, just not sure about this shirt.”

“You’d prefer the T-shirt?” I ask, and reach over my shoulder, about to peel it off.

“No, that won’t help either.”

“Come out here. Tell me what’s going on,” I demand. A second passes, and the sign on the door finally changes from Occupied to Vacant. Her damp T-shirt is balled up in her hands, and she’s pressing it hard against her chest as she steps from the lavatory.

“I had to remove my bra,” she says, “and this shirt is white.”

“All my shirts are white. So are my T-shirts.”

“That’s why I said nothing you have will help.”

“Help with what?” I ask, and when her chest heaves, understanding dawns. She’s worried her nipples are going to be visible. But now that I’m thinking about her nipples... Shit, that’s a distraction I don’t need. “Hang on.” I open the overhead compartment again and pull out a blue blanket. “This should help.”

For the first time since she boarded the plane, a smile makes an appearance, and something inside me twists. “Thanks, Will.” She adjusts the blanket over her shoulders, and my gaze drops to take in a hint of pink brushing against the fabric before it’s hidden from my view.

Jesus.

Her body is ripe and lush, and my hands itch to slide down her back and grab a fistful of her sweet ass. Not only is she different from the young, fresh-out-of-college girls who do temp work for me, she’s the opposite of the rail-thin women in my social circle. I loved Naomi, but she needed to eat more than a salad. No matter how much I encouraged it, she always refused.

I clear my throat. “When we land, I’ll get your bag, and you can change before you deplane.”

I wave my hand for her to sit, and she tightens the blanket around her shoulders as she hurries to her seat. I follow, all the while admiring her curves. As she settles herself, I wonder what her story is. Married? Single? Boyfriend? Then again, it’s none of my business. Still, I might ask Granddad how he found her and why he thought she was a good choice. I hand her drink over, and she takes a sip, her skin paling even more. Something buzzes in the back of my brain, something just out of reach as my gaze rakes over her white face.

“Do I know you?”

CHAPTER THREE
Khloe

“AH, I’M NOT SURE,” I say, the cold pizza I’d eaten for breakfast threatening to rise up and make a second appearance. I thought I was nauseous from my ordeal at Starlight this morning. Now I think I might be coming down with something. Either that, or I shouldn’t have eaten that leftover slice sitting on the kitchen counter all night.

Will’s eyes narrow in on me. “Khloe,” he says, and the way he says my name, like he’s savoring it, does the weirdest things to my insides. Then again...leftover sausage pizza.

He sits forward, and I catch a hint of his aftershave. Sandalwood, beach and... Will. I inhale slowly. That scent could magically melt the panties right off a woman. I’m pretty sure mine are currently on fire. Honestly, if someone bottled it and called it Panties Be Gone they’d make a fortune.

Strength and power radiate from Will’s hard body as he inches closer, his long legs stretched out before him. I do my best not to envision them wrapped around my body.

Sometimes my best just isn’t good enough.

“I think I might know you,” he says.

“You...think?” I ask, trying to focus on what he’s saying to me.

“Is your last name Davis?”

Oh, God, he knows. He knows I’m Khloe Davis, sensationalized crime reporter from Starlight. He’s liable to open the deck door and toss me out mid-flight. But I don’t think that’s possible at our flying altitude. At least I hope not. I gulp, and the world spins around me.

“Yes, it is,” I manage to get out as bile punches into my throat. I’m not sure if it’s from his revelation or my upset stomach. Either way, this isn’t good. Not good at all. James wanted to keep my identity a secret, and this man hates reporters.

“Your father used to work for my granddad, right?”

“He did,” I say quickly and realize there is no way he could put it together since I use a pen name. A wave of relief hits me, but it’s short-lived. I take a few deep breaths as an invisible fist grips my tightening throat.

“You were in the car that day Granddad picked me up from swimming lessons.”

“That was you?”

“Yeah, and you were as pale then as you are now.”

“I...I had the chicken pox.”

Don’t get sick, Khloe. Don’t get sick.

“Right, I remember.” Alarm widens his eyes. “Wait, you don’t have them again, do you?”

“No, I think I have...” We hit an air bump, and before I know what’s happening, Will has me by the elbow and is rushing me to the bathroom. No. No. No. I am not going to throw up in front of the hottest guy on the planet.

Wrong.

Two seconds later I’m on my knees bent over the toilet heaving my guts out, and Will is standing directly behind me. He pulls my hair back, and in that instant, with my head buried in the porcelain bowl, I pray to God I get sucked out into the abyss. But no, I don’t have that kind of good luck.

“I’m...okay,” I say. “Can you please leave and shut the door?”

My hair tumbles gently over my back as he lets it go, and I’m grateful when he leaves me to die alone. I groan, but then he’s back. He’s saying something, but I can’t quite hear with my head in the toilet.

He drops to his knees behind me, his pelvis pressed up against my rear end as he leans over me and puts a cloth to my forehead. I moan against the damp coldness. “That feels soooo good,” I say. Will’s body goes rigid, and a soft hiss leaves his mouth.

Oh, wait, crap!

“I mean the cloth,” I hurry on, my voice muffled as I stick my head deeper into the bowl. “The cold cloth feels good.”

“You probably shouldn’t talk.”

No kidding, since I’m not thinking with any sort of clarity, and my words could be construed as sexual. It’s not like I was saying it felt good to have his pelvis pressed up against me.

Even though it does.

Good God, how desperate am I that I’m enjoying the feel of Will’s body—well, one part in particular—while I’m losing my breakfast in his toilet? Even if I had a chance with this guy, not that I want one, my current predicament would no doubt quash any interest on his part.

“I think you have the flu,” he says.

While I’d like to come back with some smart-ass comment that involves Einstein, the sarcastic retort dies on my tongue. We might have gotten off on the wrong foot, but he’s trying to take care of me as I die a slow and agonizing death. I vomit again, and Will reaches past me to flush the toilet. I heave a grateful sigh and wait to get sucked into space, but no. Like I said, I don’t have that kind of luck.

“Here,” he says, and puts a plastic cup to my mouth. I take a drink of water, rinse my mouth and spit. Not a dainty girlie spit either, if there is such a thing. No, it sounds more like a baseball player hacking up a sunflower seed.

And this, my friends, has become my life.

I moan and lift my head from the bowl.

“Feeling better?”

“A little.” I take another big drink and spill half the water over my shirt as the plane lurches. “Goddammit.” A sound crawls out of Will’s throat, and I glance at him over my shoulder. “Are you laughing?”

“Not even a little bit.”

“This isn’t funny.”

“Never thought it was. But I have to say, you’re handling it better than most.” Concern dances in his eyes.

Okay, maybe he wasn’t laughing, but I’ve been on the defense with him since I boarded the plane.

“Mouthwash?”

“Yes, please.” He pulls a travel-size bottle from the vanity, opens it and hands it to me. I rinse repeatedly and go back on my heels, only to end up sitting in Will’s lap. I’m about to apologize and slide off when his hand goes around my waist to hold me in place.

“It’s okay. I got you,” he says, and my heart does a ridiculous thump at his thoughtfulness. Truthfully, I’m not used to anyone taking care of me, and this is actually kind of...nice.

Nice? What the hell am I saying? I just vomited in front of Will Carson. There’s nothing nice about that—for either of us.

“You don’t have a parachute on this thing, do you?” I ask.

He chuckles slightly. “No, why?”

“I’d like to get off.”

I’d like to get off.

“I mean...”

“I’m actually getting a complex,” he says, a hint of teasing in his voice.

“What are you talking about?”

“I’ve met you twice now, and you vomited both times. How’s a guy not to take that personally?”

I groan and reach for a paper towel. My cheeks burn from sheer mortification. “I am so embarrassed.”

He puts his hand to my forehead. “You’re cold and clammy and slightly warm.”

“Pizza for breakfast,” I say. “Wasn’t my best decision.”

“If it was food poisoning, it would have hit you earlier. How about some ginger ale?”

“Not a bad idea.”

“Maybe some toast? It might help settle your stomach.”

“I don’t think I can eat anything.”

“Do you think you’re going to be sick again, or do you want to go lie down? The sofa opens to a bed.”

“I think I’d like to lie down. I guess now I know why I was so tired when I met with James today.” Worry grips my stomach, and I clutch Will’s arm. “I hope I didn’t give it to him.”

Will holds me by my hips and repositions himself so he can stand. “I’m sure he’s fine, but I’ll call him just to make sure.” He hauls me up with him and turns me around. With infinite tenderness, he slides a strand of damp hair from my face, and I let out a shaky breath. His arm drops, but his gaze stays locked on mine. His gorgeous blue eyes bore into my face, his gaze probing, searching.

“I’m okay,” I say. “My stomach is settling.”

“Yeah?”

I nod, and he slides his arm around my waist, but the damn plane hits another air pocket, and Will stumbles backward. I fall with him, until he’s splayed across a table and I’m on top of him.

I yelp and unsuccessfully try to push off of him. “I can’t get up.”

His arms lock me in place. “Hold on,” he says, his voice a degree deeper. What the hell? Why is he still holding me? Does he like me on top of him like this?

“Rough air,” he explains.

Guess not.

The plane bumps again, and for a split second I’m floating over him. But then I drop, press down on his hardness, and arousal slams into me as our bodies collide.

“We need to ride it out for a second longer,” he says.

Ride it out.

A strange, inappropriate giggle rises in my throat and a crinkle appears between his brows at my bizarre reaction. I swallow—hard—and pull myself together. Good Lord, this flu has me acting completely out of character.

Yeah, blame it on the flu, Khloe.

“How long do you think it will last?” I ask, and when a grin tugs at the corner of his mouth, my cheeks once again flare hot.

What is wrong with me? No matter what I say, it comes out sounding sexual. Why is that? Oh, probably because I’m flat out on top of the sexiest man alive, and even though I just finished losing my breakfast, everything about this guy reminds me I’m still a woman—one who hasn’t been touched in a long time.

“Shouldn’t be too much longer,” he says. “The pilots will adjust flying height to get us out of the wind shears.”

“I’m probably squishing you,” I say, and wiggle as I try to shift to the side of the table.

“Please stop moving.” His hands tighten around my body, and that innocent touch seeps beneath my skin and burns through my blood. “At least we managed to get you horizontal.”

“For your sake, you’d better hope I don’t get sick again.”

He laughs. An honest-to-God belly laugh. “You’ll give me a heads-up, right?”

“It’s possible. But the words might come out too late.” I emphasize the last word to let him know I’m still pissed off at his greeting. And seriously, James totally misled me with this assignment. I thought I’d be attending board meetings and taking notes, but no. I’ll be getting this man his brandy and whatever else his assistant does for him. Why would I need writing skills for that?

“Khloe,” he says, his voice a bit more serious.

I blink slowly, and when my lashes lift, I’m staring at blue eyes brimming with questions. “Yeah?”

“It’s not my business, but you’re different from the other girls who apply for temp work.”

“I was fired recently,” I say.

“Oh, shit. Sorry.” He goes quiet, his mouth tight.

“It wasn’t my fault.” I roll my eyes and can’t keep the disgust from my voice when I add, “Men in power, they’re all alike.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“My boss wanted me to do something, and when I refused, he canned me.”

His expression turns angry. “Jesus, sorry.”

I know what he’s thinking. That my boss wanted sex, or something equally disturbing. The sudden visual of a naked Benjamin batters my uneasy stomach. I think of a naked Will instead, but that just batters another part of my body.

“Yeah, he was a real jerk, but I don’t want to talk about it. I just want to move forward, okay?”

“Just so you know, I would never put you in any position you didn’t want to be in.”

Even though he doesn’t strike me as a missionary sex kind of guy, I glance down at our vanilla position—the only one I’m familiar with, sadly—and take in the two hundred pounds of rock-solid muscles beneath me. Lord, he’s everything fantasies are made of, and a thousand new ones begin to run through my brain.

“Um,” I say.

He laughs. “Current position excluded. This was for your own safety. But you know what I mean, right?”

“Yeah.”

“I have rules.” His eyes narrow, and the muscles along his jaw ripple. “A lot of them.”

“James warned me.”

“Getting involved with an assistant is a hard no.”

Too bad my nipples didn’t get the memo.

I let out a shaky breath. “Getting involved with my boss is a hard no for me, too.”

“Then we’re on the same page.”

And the same table.

I nod. “I think we can get up now,” I say, throwing up a silent prayer that he can’t feel my pebbled nipples pressing into his hard chest. “The plane has stabilized.”

“Slowly,” he says. “Any fast movement could turn your stomach again.”

I inch up from his hardness. And my God, every movement is agonizing, like slowly tearing a bandage off—if said bandage were covering every erogenous zone in my body. Will follows me up and stays close as he guides me to my seat.

“Sit here,” he commands in a soft voice, and while I’m not one to take orders, a shiver goes through me at his. “I’ll open the bed.”

I do as he says, noting the way his T-shirt strains against his biceps as he opens the sofa and makes me a bed. I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and smooth my hair from my face. I glance down, and groan when I see the water stains on my shirt. In all the commotion, I left my blanket behind and now my nipples are staring straight at the man turning my way. Is the universe trying to play some cruel joke on me? I’m a good person. Kind to the elderly and animals. Yet...this.

Before I can cover up, his glance drops, and his eyes linger on my puckered nipples for a brief second.

“Khloe.”

“Yeah?”

“Your blanket,” he says gruffly, but I’m already reaching for it.

Get it together, girl. I might be attracted to him, but clearly I’m not his type. Not only does he date model-thin girls, he made it clear that I was hired to cook, clean and cater to his needs. Those needs don’t involve sex. Which is a good thing. I’m not about to mess around with my boss. Even if he asks me to.

Okay, maybe if he asks me to...

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