Yvonne Lindsay
The Boss’s
Christmas
Seduction

For Bron,

my mentor, my friend,

and

in memory of Delia Bridgens,

who introduced me to the joy of reading romance.

Thank you both for the impact you

have made on my life.

Contents

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

Epilogue

Coming Next Month

One

Bile rose in his throat. Hot, bitter, acrid bile.

Connor Knight dashed the investigator’s report violently across the mahogany surface of his desk, scattering papers like giant confetti through the air where they hovered briefly, before floating to the thickly carpeted study floor.

Through the open French doors behind him he heard the drone of the launch’s engines as it pulled away from his private jetty, taking the bearer of bad tidings back across the harbour to Auckland city.

The vile taste in Connor’s mouth rivalled the malevolence of his ex-wife’s actions. He swallowed against it, but the irrefutable proof of her betrayal could not be as easily diminished.

As if her insatiable partying and gambling hadn’t been enough, now he knew that six months into their marriage she’d knowingly destroyed their baby—the child she knew he’d wanted—and had then been sterilised rather than ever bear another child again.

If not for a careless comment from one of her friends at a recent fund-raiser he’d have been none the wiser. Yet the throwaway remark had been all he needed to start the investigation and to confirm that she’d lied about the miscarriage.

A tearing pain clawed at his chest.

The proof of her treachery now lay scattered on his floor—information that had come at a hell of a price, but which was worth every last cent.

A copy of her admission to a private hospital four years ago, the bills from the anaesthetist, the surgeon, the hospital. The procedures. Termination. Sterilisation.

And through it all he’d been oblivious.

So now she wanted more money? He’d have paid it just to be rid of her—until he’d received today’s information.

It had been bad enough to realise back then that she’d emasculated him with her deceit, her avaricious need to grasp at everything in her path during their brief union, but this? This went way further than that.

The grandfather clock chimed the hour. Nine o’clock. Damn! The meeting had made him later in to the office than he expected.

He punched the quick dial on the speakerphone on the desk, connecting immediately to his office in the city.

“Holly, I’m running late. Any messages or problems?”

“Nothing urgent, Mr. Knight, I’ve rescheduled your conference call to New York.” His personal assistant’s gentle, well-modulated voice washed over him like a calming wave of sanity in the madness of his morning. Thank goodness he could still rely on some people.

Connor slipped into his suit jacket, adjusted his tie and, oblivious to the crunch of the report underfoot, stalked out the open French doors and towards the chopper waiting to take him from his island home and into Auckland’s central business district.

If Holly Christmas received one more tartan-beribboned poinsettia she would scream.

So what if her birthday fell on Christmas Eve? She was used to that. After all, it was the same day every year. She blinked back the unbidden rush of tears that pricked her eyes, and gave herself a mental shake. Toughen up, she growled silently. Self-pity was so not her style. Survival—whatever it took—that was her key. Then why did she feel different this year? Empty. Alone.

At least her colleagues had remembered today was her birthday, and not just the last day of work before Knight Enterprises closed for the Christmas break. She straightened her shoulders, stiffened her spine and, with the plant clutched tightly to her aching chest, summoned a smile.

“The poinsettia is beautiful, thanks. I really appreciate it.” The words sounded normal, thank goodness, coloured with just the right amount of enthusiasm.

“See you at the party tonight, Holly?” one of the girls asked.

“Oh, yes, I’ll be there,” she confirmed with a wry twist of her lips. Someone had to see to it that the annual bash ran smoothly, that the grossly inebriated were tactfully withdrawn from the proceedings and inserted into taxis and that spills and breakages were swiftly dealt with. For the third year in a row she was that someone.

She loved her job and she was darned good at it. No, she was better than good. She was the best. And that’s why, after working her way through the secretarial pool here at Knight Enterprises she’d risen to Executive PA to Connor Knight, head of the corporate law department.

A “ping” from the elevator bank down the hall heralded the tall, imposing figure striding along the carpet-lined corridor, and sent the small group of women scurrying back to their respective workstations. Holly turned and put the lush red-leafed poinsettia on the credenza behind her desk—next to the one from the finance department and the two that had come up from security and personnel. She caught her lower lip in between her teeth, tugging at its fullness. How on earth was she supposed to get them home on the bus?

“Good morning, Holly.” His voice, as rich and dark as sinful chocolate, made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. From the day she’d interviewed for her position as his personal assistant, her reaction to him had always been this painfully immediate, although she’d schooled herself to hide it well.

She’d given up asking herself why his presence made every nerve ending in her body stand on full alert, and learned instead to knuckle down and do her job, masking the flush of warmth that suffused her body. Some people didn’t believe in love at first sight, but Holly knew from sudden and lasting experience that it happened.

She clenched her jaw slightly then slowly released it and the tension that bound her muscles, and turned to face him secure in the knowledge he’d never have an inkling as to the thoughts that raced through her mind or the sharpened awareness that brought her senses to screaming attention when he was around.

“Mr. Tanaka from the Tokyo office called about the negotiations. He sounded tense.”

Connor didn’t break his stride on his way through the open polished-rimu double doors that led to his corner office. “He must be. It’s about five-thirty in the morning there. Get him on the line for me.”

For the briefest moment Holly allowed herself the luxury of inhaling the lingering scent of his cologne—crisp, fresh and expensive yet with an underlying hint of something forbidden, especially to someone like her. With a mental shake she lifted the receiver of her phone, automatically punching in the numbers that would connect his private line to Japan. She waited until he picked up, then she stood to unlatch the hooks that held the doors open to his interior office. Absorbed in the conversation, his Japanese flawless, he didn’t so much as acknowledge her.

Holly indulged in a tiny sigh. Well, love at first sight on her part or not, Connor Knight was oblivious. Newly divorced from his socialite wife when Holly had started working for him, he’d looked right through her, and every other woman who’d crossed his path since, as if she didn’t exist. She was a highly dependable machine to him, period.

Confident the call with Mr. Tanaka would tie him up for some time, she made one last check through the details for the staff and children’s Christmas parties. This year she’d excelled herself. The cafeteria, transformed into a fairy grotto, looked stunning, and at six-thirty Connor would be playing Santa Claus.

A wry smile played around Holly’s lips as she eyed the glaring red Santa suit that hung on the antique brass hat stand in the corner. Mr. Knight, Sr. had insisted Connor play Santa this year, claiming his arthritic knee made it difficult for him to attend to the task, and saying how important it was someone from the family took on the role. Oh, Connor had argued against it, but once his father made up his mind there was no denying it—especially not from his youngest son.

It was probably the only time she’d witnessed her boss at a total disadvantage.

“Hell.” A deep voice from behind made her spin around in her chair. “He doesn’t really expect me to wear that, does he?”

“I think you’ll make a wonderful Santa, Mr. Knight.”

The disgust on his face was self-evident. He thrust a dicta-tape at her together with a clutch of papers. “Transcribe this for me straight away. Oh, and before you do, check the boardroom is free and tell the team we need to meet in half an hour.”

“Trouble?” Holly enquired, mentally shifting his appointments to free him up for the rest of the morning. It had to be serious if the whole legal team was being called in.

“Nothing we can’t handle. Timing’s a bit of a blow, though.” He cast a baleful glance at the Santa suit, draped limply on the hanger. “I don’t suppose…”

“He’s not going to let you get out of it.” She shook her head sympathetically.

“No, he won’t.” Connor huffed out a breath and pushed a hand through his immaculately cut and styled hair, sending several strands into unaccustomed disarray.

Holly stifled another smile. This whole Santa thing had sent the cool, calm and sophisticated Connor Knight for a loop, and this from a man she’d seen face down battalions of international lawyers over land and property deals.

She’d never have dreamed that the prospect of a steady procession of children queuing to take their turn seated on his knee would elicit such a nervous response. Still, who was she to ponder? Children made her nervous, too, and, unlike so many of her peers, Holly had put her biological clock firmly on hold. At twenty-six the rest of her life stretched long and lonely ahead of her. There’d be no kids in her future, at least not until she had some answers about her past.

She hated this time of year. All the fun and gaiety of the festivities served to remind her of everything she didn’t have—had never had. Knowing she’d ensured everyone else’s fun tonight would have to be sufficient to buoy her through the harrowing, bleak emptiness of the holiday break until she could bury herself back in work.

Holly sighed again, and bent to the task at hand. Regretting her decision was not a possibility. Maybe she’d grow old in this chair, or one just like it in another office in another city, but she’d be the best executive PA on the planet. That would have to be enough.

Shrieks of laughter echoed around the room as the clown she’d hired made a fool of himself yet again. Holly took a quick look at her watch. Five minutes until Santa time. He should be here by now. Maybe he was having trouble with the suit.

She turned to her assistant, Janet, a quiet young woman not long out of business college but already showing every sign of making a great PA herself in time.

“If I’m not back in five minutes with Mr. Knight, give the clown the nod to carry on a little longer, will you?”

“Is there anything else I can do to help?”

“No, I’m sure we’ll be fine. Santa probably got a phone call.”

In the elevator Holly mentally ticked off the order of the evening, everything had to run like clockwork. Irritation drummed at the back of her mind. As much as she sympathised with Connor’s reluctance to play Santa tonight, he had an obligation to the kids. An obligation he had no business putting off. If he’d bailed on those excited children downstairs she’d be giving him a piece of her mind, boss or not.

She covered the distance from the elevator bank to his corner office in record time and knocked sharply before pushing through the doors. The head of anger she’d built up propelled her into his office with a flurry. But her words stalled in her throat, and she halted midstride.

Connor Knight stood, half-dressed, in the middle of his office. The garish red trousers of his suit hung loosely on his hips, threatening to drop lower if he so much as moved a muscle.

Holly dragged her eyes upwards, her throat as dry as the Sahara, and a deep-seated throb pulsed through her body. Lord have mercy, she thought as her gaze swept across the disturbingly bare tanned expanse of his chest, to the powerful width of his shoulders above it and to the strong column of his neck. It was amazing what Armani could hide, she thought as she forced herself to look him in the eye, hoping the surge of energy that rocketed with heated awareness through her wasn’t apparent on her face. If her internal temperature was anything to go by, she should be glowing like a beacon.

She took a steadying breath. What was she here for again? Oh, yes, that’s right. Santa.

“Five minutes, Mr. Knight.”

“Yeah, I know. Damn suit’s too big. Help me stuff some cushions in here. I’m sure the kids of today still expect a bit of meat on their Santas.”

“I imagine so,” she agreed, and swept up an armful of cushions from the sofa in his office. “Will these do?” she asked.

“As good as anything. Here,” Connor slid his hands behind the band of the trousers and held them away from his waist. “You stuff, I’ll hold.”

He had to be joking. Holly hesitated and swallowed against the constriction in her throat.

“What are you waiting for?” He shot her a glance, a tiny frown pulling his dark brows together briefly, his impatience clear.

Of course he had no idea of his effect on her. To him she wasn’t a woman with needs and desires. She was just his PA. Besides, as his PA, why wouldn’t she be called upon to stuff cushions in her boss’s trousers?

“I suppose this is what you meant in my job description, when you said ‘and other duties as required from time to time.’” Keep it light she told herself. Just keep it light.

Surprise skated over his features at her words. Holly inwardly groaned. Why on earth had she said that?

His eyes suddenly crinkled at the edges and he laughed—a rusty sound, as if he didn’t do it often enough. “Yeah, something like that. Although, I don’t think HR had this scenario in mind.”

Holly returned a nervous smile and forced herself forward. Warmth radiated from his bare torso, or was that just the flush of heat in her cheeks? She fought to quell the tremor that threatened to vibrate through her and, with a stern silent warning to herself not to look down, she carefully eased the first cushion between his ridged abdomen and the red satin.

“It’s okay, Holly. I won’t bite.”

Oh, great. Now he was laughing at her. Fine, she’d show him she wasn’t scared. She shoved in the next cushion with more haste than finesse, her fingers accidentally grazing against the fine row of dark hair that feathered from his belly button and down. She heard the hitch in his breathing as she touched him and snatched her hand back as goose bumps rose on his skin.

“That should do the trick.” Darn, was that a quaver in her voice? Worse, had he heard it?

“I need more.”

More? Her hand still burned from its fleeting touch against his skin—the texture of the hair beneath his belly button a tactile impression against her fingers—she needed more, too, although she knew with painful honesty they weren’t thinking about the same thing.

With her lower lip caught between her teeth, Holly edged another cushion into the waistband. The urge to let her fingers linger against the heated surface of his belly tempted her like a candy shop window did a sugar addict. Determined not to give in to her baser instincts she gave the padded mass a gentle, dehumanising pat. “There, that’s it.”

She reached for the red jacket, yanked it off its hanger and held it out for him. She allowed herself the brief luxury of letting her gaze stroke across his back and shoulders, mesmerised by the play of his muscles as he shrugged into the garment and cinched the broad, black belt around his now-expanded waistline.

He grabbed the hat and beard from his desk and hastily arranged them before turning to face Holly again.

“So, how do I look?”

Her breath caught. How did he look? She blinked, searching for the words to describe him. He certainly wasn’t like the Santas that had filled her with terror as a child, and caused her to drag free of her caregiver’s hand to tearfully hasten as far away as she could get.

Despite the padding at his waist and the ridiculously fluffy beard that obscured the strong lines of his jaw, she couldn’t erase the half-naked picture of him that burned on her retinas. She barely trusted herself to speak.

“You’ve forgotten the eyebrows,” she eventually managed. Well done, she congratulated herself, that almost sounded like her usual cool, composed self.

“I don’t have to wear those white caterpillars, do I?”

“Of course you do, you wouldn’t be Santa without them.”

Holly clenched and unclenched her fingers in a vain attempt to stem the trembling that threatened to give away her nerves before she peeled the stick-on brows from the backing paper. She leaned nearer and reached up to smooth them above his eyes, trying desperately not to let her fingers linger on his face. He bent his head slightly to assist, and suddenly his lips were level with hers—the warmth of his breath caressing her cheek.

So close, yet so far. All she had to do was step in, just one tiny step, and press her lips against his. To give life to the dreams that invaded her sleep and caused her to wake, tangled in her sheets, filled with a want she could never assuage.

Hastily she quelled her rampant thoughts and concentrated on applying the strips of white fluff. She’d be on the fast track to unemployment if she gave in to her desires, and no way could she afford that. Not with Andrea’s medical fees to consider. The reminder was as chilling as an Antarctic winter.

Finally, the job done, she stepped away to safety—to where she couldn’t give in to impulse. “You look great,” she said softly.

“Well then, that’s all that matters. Let’s go.”

They travelled in silence to the eighth-floor cafeteria where Holly put a steadying hand on his red sleeve. She tried to ignore the waves of heat that emanated through the fabric to her fingers.

“Wait here,” she ordered, although her voice came out like a strangled croak and earned her a strange look from the dark eyes that burned under bushy white brows. “I need to let your warm-up act announce you first.”

Was it her imagination or had he suddenly become paler? Surely he wasn’t scared? Not Connor Knight. Under the fluffy beard, she discerned small lines of tension bracketing his lips, and the urge to comfort him stilled her in her tracks.

“You’ll be fine,” she murmured softly, as reassuringly as she could. “The kids will love you.”

“You’re staying, aren’t you?”

His question caught her by surprise. She hadn’t planned on sticking around for this part of the proceedings. Seeing a line of children waiting to sit with Santa still had the power to fill her with dread.

“No, I have some other things to attend to. I’ll be back just before the party finishes.”

“Stay.”

Holly looked away. He had no idea. But then, of course, why should he? Everyone loved Christmas. Everyone but the little girl who’d grown up saddled with a surname chosen by Social Services that linked her irrevocably to the most traumatic experience of her life. It was one of the reasons she never disclosed her background or years in foster care. No one wanted to admit they’d been abandoned. As far as Holly was concerned, her life had begun the day she’d turned eighteen and been released from the state’s control.

“Holly?”

Her teeth were clenched so hard she was amazed they didn’t shatter in her jaw, and her throat ached with years of suppressed tension. She couldn’t explain, not even to him. Some things you kept buried. She gave him a tight nod. “Let’s get it over with.”

The children didn’t give him the slightest opportunity to be nervous. Their vigorous excitement and squeals of pleasure energised the room to such an extent Holly felt as though her nerves would shred into ribbons and scatter all around her. Why on earth had she agreed to stay? It was madness.

Seated on his special throne, Connor lifted a little girl with a gleaming cap of dark hair onto his lap. The child, no more than three or four, scanned the room, her bottom lip starting to tremble.

Despite the constant temperature of air conditioning, tiny beads of perspiration prickled along Holly’s spine. A wave of dizziness made her press her body against the hard wall behind her—trying to connect with something solid, something real. Anything other than the dread that built within her and threatened to swamp her mind. She dragged a deep breath into deflated lungs, struggling to push the fear back down—down to where she could control it—but it was too late.

An image flashed, sharp and clear in her mind, and in a heartbeat she was lost. She was that little girl. Sitting on Santa’s knee, her eyes nervously—futilely—raking the crowd of shoppers for her mother. Nervousness becoming fear. Fear becoming absolute terror when she couldn’t find her mother’s face anywhere in the swirling mass.

The authorities had been summoned as soon as someone could make any sense out of her hysterical sobbing. But not quickly enough to find her mother in the crowd of stunned onlookers. Even now the overwhelming sense of desertion and loss left Holly shocked and vulnerable.

Resentment lanced through her, swift and searing, before she determinedly crushed it. She’d given up trying to work out what kind of mother walked away from her child the night before Christmas—abandoning a three-year-old to strangers and an uncertain future.

She forced herself to find an anchor, something she could focus on and that would help her bring her rapid breathing back under control and calm the tremors that shook her frame. That anchor was Connor Knight as, with infinite patience, he pointed out the little girl’s parents in the crowd and cajoled a smile from her worried wee face.

Holly uncurled her fisted hands, feeling the sharp sting of sensation as blood eked its way back to her fingertips. Across the room the little girl was smiling and waving to her mother. And Connor, instead of paying attention to the child on his lap, was staring straight back at her. She watched as his lips, outlined by the absurdly fluffy beard, framed the words, “Are you all right?” Had he noticed her panic? She gave a weak smile and lifted her chin with a small nod. He held her gaze a moment longer, then turned his attention back to the child in his care and handed her a cheerfully wrapped gift.

This was how it was meant to be for kids. Each one with their own special gift and a chance to impart their deepest desires for Christmas morning to Santa, and the steady assurance of a loving parent waiting in the wings. Hadn’t she wished that for herself so many times?

When the last parcel was distributed, it was time to call the children’s party to an end. Santa had other obligations, and Holly’s half-hour window between the children’s party and the staff party was closing.

With a small announcement she brought the celebrations to a close and judging by the overwhelming round of applause, from both parents and children, Connor was a hit. As everyone filtered out, Holly finally allowed herself to relax, the knot of tension that kept her operating at maximum performance efficiency all day, all year for that matter, slowly untangling. Only one more party to get through, then it was all over for another year, she consoled herself.

“What was that all about?” Connor Knight’s voice slid through her like a hot knife through butter.

She drew in a long breath before answering. “I think it went well, don’t you? The children certainly loved you.”

“You looked like you’d seen a ghost.”

Holly sighed. Evasion wouldn’t work. Tenacity was one of the many talents that had driven him to being one of the most-respected men in his field—worldwide. He wouldn’t give up until completely satisfied with her answer.

“Just catching my breath. That’s all. It’s taken a bit of work, getting this all organised.” She tried to assure him, and for a moment thought she’d succeeded.

A tiny flash lit the onyx depths of his eyes and grew into the hot glow of challenge. “Looked like more than that to me. I thought you were going to keel over.”

“Oh, good heavens, no.” Holly forced a smile on her face.

“Are you okay now?” he persisted.

“I’m fine. Just fine.”

“You’ve been pushing yourself too hard. Janet will take over for this evening.”

“No, I’m okay. Truly.”

Connor gave her a hard look. “We’ll see about that. Come on, we’d better get ready for the next onslaught.”

“You go on ahead. I’ll meet you back down here.”

She watched as he left. What had made him notice her during that dreadful moment of weakness? Had anyone else seen it? She should never have agreed to stay on. Never.

Holly quickly glanced around. The cleaning staff were busy completing the transformation of the children’s party to a more sophisticated reenactment of a Christmas fantasy. It had been a brainwave to carry through the same delightful childlike theme to the staff party, and such a simple solution, given the time constraints. She wasn’t needed here any longer.

Back upstairs in her office, Holly opened the coat cupboard and lifted a long dry cleaner’s carrier from the rail. It was a simple matter to slip into the ladies’ room to change and touch up her makeup. She took a brief minute to loosen her hair, combing through its thick dark length so hard her scalp tingled. She studied her reflection a moment. How long had it been since she’d let her hair down, literally or figuratively? Too long. But time was not a commodity she could afford to waste. Not when so much depended on her.

She twisted her hair back up again, softening the tight twist that she usually wore by securing the silky black length in a fuller, softer knot at the nape of her neck. Finally satisfied when not a hair dared stray out of place she slicked on a ruby-coloured lipstick. The sales assistant had been right, Holly acceded with a small grimace, the rich colour did bring life to her faintly olive-tinted skin. She preferred softer, more understated colours that wouldn’t draw attention to the fullness of her lips, yet knew that she needed something striking for this evening. Besides, she’d reminded herself, today was her birthday. A girl had a right to look good.

A swift glance at her watch reminded her she had little time left. Holly slipped out of her sombre businesslike suit and carefully unzipped the carrier to remove the ankle-length crimson sheath cocooned within.

The high, straight, boat neckline of the sleeveless gown belied the deep vee cut away at its back. Holly unhooked her bra and stuffed it in the bottom of the carrier bag before stepping into the gown and shimmying the silky lined fabric up over her body. Surveying her reflection in the mirror, she wondered if she hadn’t gone too far this year; normally she hired a black dress, but there was something about this gown that had beckoned to her like a promise of hidden treasure. She’d hesitated at the cost, mindful of her financial commitments, but it wasn’t as if she’d be deluged with gifts from family or a lover. She had neither.

So for once she’d splurged. This was her gift to herself, and she would bask in the pleasure of wearing the gown all evening.

The minute Holly stepped from the ladies’ room she heard a raised female voice through the open door to Connor’s office. She would have recognised his ex-wife’s shrill tone anywhere. Before the divorce the secretarial pool had been at her beck and call to assist with her charity work—Carla Knight was nothing if not demanding. The girls would draw straws before anyone would set foot on this floor to take her instructions. Holly sent a silent wish skywards that whatever the situation was, and it sounded intense, it would be resolved quickly.

As silently as she could, she stowed her things back in her cupboard and turned to leave when suddenly Connor’s voice vibrated through the air, disgust lacing his words with a sharpness Holly had rarely heard from him.

“You don’t deny it then?”

“How dare you have me investigated? Those records were private!”

“Everything has its price, Carla. Unfortunately I never realised yours until it was too late. You can tell your fancy overpriced divorce lawyer you won’t be getting another cent beyond the settlement you’ve already received. Ever. Now, get out of my sight.”

“Gladly!”

It was too late to retreat now. Holly straightened her shoulders. There was nothing else for it but to meet the former Mrs. Knight face on.

“Slumming it with the staff tonight, Connor?” Carla spat, vitriol poisoning her exquisite features as she pushed her petite frame past Holly. She slanted a spiteful glare at Holly. “I might have known you’d be hovering around. But of course, I forgot, you don’t have anyone to go home to, do you?”

Speechless, Holly stood back and let the other woman through, leaving behind her a cloud of expensive French fragrance and the air crackling with ill humour.

“I’m sorry you had to bear the brunt of that, Holly.”

She drew in a calming breath and turned to face him. Connor stood at the door to his office, the usual resonance in his voice flat, his eyes glittering and fired with anger.

“It’s all right, sir.” She reached across her desk and extracted her evening bag from the top drawer, determined not to acknowledge the barb Carla had flung. She refused to submit to the other woman’s cruel taunt; she’d grown up with worse. While such sneers had the power to inflict pain, Holly had learned the hard way to never let it show. She straightened from her desk. “Are you ready to go back downstairs?”

He let out a breath, slowly and carefully, as if he’d been holding on to his control by a thread.

“Yeah. I’m ready.” He took a step towards her and let out a low whistle. “And so, it appears, are you.” A feral flash of hunger blazed and died in his eyes so quickly Holly wondered if she’d identified it correctly. “Holly, you look…amazing.”

She forced herself to remember to breathe as he raked her body with his eyes. It was one thing being the target of a few harshly spoken words, but quite another to be the target of a gaze that stroked her body like a silk scarf over bare skin. It was as if he saw her through new eyes. She instantly pushed the idea away for the foolishness it was.

“Thank you, sir. You look pretty amazing yourself.” Formal dress should make a man look more distant, she decided distractedly, not make him look so wickedly sensual. With his dark hair and eyes, and dressed in a tailored black suit with a crisp white shirt and black bow tie at his tanned throat, Connor Knight looked like he’d stepped out of a dream fantasy. Her dream fantasy. The one where they stood at an altar and he promised to love and cherish her, forever. Enough! Holly snapped her thoughts back into the present. To reality.

She turned her back on him and began to walk towards the door before she did or said anything foolish. Her emotions had already taken a battering tonight, and the way he looked, not to mention the way he looked at her, scrambled her senses so badly she could barely think let alone walk straight.

“Hold on a minute, Holly.” His voice came from close behind. “Shall we?” He offered his arm and, with only a tiny hesitation, she threaded her hand through the crook of his elbow and laid her fingers on his sleeve. He was a solid wall of strength next to her, his hip brushing against hers with each step as he matched his pace to hers. Holly’s nerves wound tighter and tighter, like a spring about to snap.

In the elevator she found respite by removing her hand from his arm and stepping slightly away to press the button to take them back downstairs. She let her hand drop back down to her side, where it rested momentarily before Connor’s strong fingers grasped hers and replaced them on his sleeve.

“Mr Knight?” Her voice caught on a tiny gasp.

His eyes burned with an emotion she couldn’t quite tag. One corner of his mouth tilted, almost as if he mocked himself. “Humour me, Holly. Maybe I need a beautiful woman on my arm tonight.”

Two

Lost for words, Holly tried to school her features into their usual calm. Yet when her eyes met his, she couldn’t hold his gaze, and they flicked nervously instead to her fingers lying, starkly docile, against the black cloth of his tuxedo. He needed her? That was an entirely new and unexpected development. One she wasn’t sure how to handle.

Beneath her hand she sensed the play of muscles in his forearm. Suppressed tension shimmered off him in waves. Okay, so he was stinging after his meeting with Carla, and maybe he was using her for whatever reason tonight—she could accept that—but try as she might, it was difficult to subdue the answering call of her body to the leashed power of his. Heat flickered deep inside her, tiny flames taking hold and sending burning liquid through her veins.

Need? She knew all about need.

As short as the elevator ride was, to Holly it felt like forever. If they didn’t make the distance soon she was certain she’d melt, lose her inhibitions and press herself against his tensely held form.

The cooling air of the cafeteria was a breath of sanity as the doors opened. Staff and their partners had already begun to arrive and were drifting around the room in a hum of conversation.

Connor wondered how long it would be before he could shuck his duties and slink back to his flat. A couple of hours, tops. Holly needed to take it easy, too. She’d scared him tonight when he’d looked across the room and seen her face, as stark and white as the wall behind her, during the children’s party. Despite her denial, it was obvious something was wrong.

It didn’t stop you using her to make yourself feel better, a cynical voice from inside remarked with scathing honesty. The admission brought him down a notch. No, he hadn’t hesitated. Holly was the antithesis of the vicious blazing fury of Carla’s indignation—the constant epitome of calm in his storm. An influence, he freely admitted, he’d always taken for granted.

Until he’d seen her tonight, and been hurriedly and disturbingly reminded she was most definitely a woman. A sensuously beautiful woman.

He looked at the slender bow of her neck as she fussed with something in her evening bag and wondered how her skin would feel, would taste. Connor clamped a lid on the thought before it had time to flourish and grow into something more than a tingle of awareness. She was his PA. And she’d be horrified if she knew the rampant slant of his thoughts. No doubt she’d be a darn sight paler than she’d been earlier tonight.

There was a flush on her cheeks now, he noted with some relief, and her eyes, as they darted about the room checking everything, had a sparkle in their blue depths that had been missing before. He was glad he’d made the decision earlier to put Janet in charge of tonight. Holly deserved the break, and her assistant had been thrilled at the chance to show off her training. It was a win-win all round, and it would keep Holly at his side—all night.

Connor bent his head close to her ear. “Relax, Holly, you’re officially off duty as of now.” Her faint scent teased his nostrils with its hint of warm summer nights and fresh linen, and enticed him to linger before his own hands-off rule, lit in neon signs across the back of his eyes.

“But someone has to oversee—”

“I’ve instructed Janet to take over for you tonight, she’ll manage fine. You’ve organised the party to within a nanosecond of perfection, anyway. Let her take care of whatever crops up.”

“Really, I must—”

“Relax,” he urged her quietly.

With his dark head still bent to hers so intimately, he realised they were getting speculative glances from a few of the staff around the room. The office buzz needed little to fuel it, although most wouldn’t dare get caught out in gossip about one of the Knights. He needed to get things back on an even footing, although for some indeterminate reason he didn’t want to.

“You must let me do my job,” she protested again, taking a tiny step away.

Connor fought back a frustrated retort. He elegantly snagged two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter and pressed one into her fingers. “Your job is done, Holly. Here, celebrate. Another brilliant year, thank you.” He clinked his glass gently against hers in his own personal toast.

“You know I don’t drink at company functions.”

“Quit arguing and lighten up, hmm?” He scanned the room. “Try to look as though you’re having fun. I insist.” He lowered his voice and gave her a mock-stern glower. For a moment he thought she’d taken him seriously, until a welcome spark of rebellion flared in her eyes, darkening and deepening their intense blue.

Had he ever noticed the colour of her eyes before tonight? He must have, surely. The negative response, as he dredged his memory, reminded him of his position, and hers. Of course he hadn’t paid attention to her features. Then why, he wondered, did he want more detail tonight?

A perverse, devilish urge made him shift closer to her as the revellers swirled about them, and he placed his free hand against her exposed lower back. Under his fingers her spine straightened, ramrod stiff, as he stroked lightly across skin that felt astonishingly heated. The contrast between his cool fingers and her intense warmth reminded him yet again of their differences, their positions, urging him to desist while sensation burned an enticing brand across his fingertips. He sensed, rather than heard, Holly’s breath catch in her throat. This was getting out of control. He was getting out of control, and way overstepping the mark.

Reluctantly he withdrew his hand. Just in time it seemed, as Janet came over, gushing with pride. “You don’t need to worry, Holly, I have it all under control. I think Mr. Knight’s idea to let you enjoy yourself tonight was great, don’t you? For once you can be one of the guests and really have a good time.”

Holly’s lips peeled back from her teeth in what approximated a smile but inside she was on the verge of shattering.

“Thank you, Janet. I…I appreciate you stepping into the breach like that. But don’t hesitate to—”

“You’re doing a marvellous job, Janet. Thank you.” Connor’s fingers stroked another delicious line across the small of her back, sending a cascade of goose bumps rippling beneath the seam of her gown and shocking the words she was about to utter into silence.

She couldn’t stand it anymore. She stepped forward and turned so he could no longer reach her bare skin. “Mr. Knight—”

“Connor. And let it go for one night, okay. Orders from the boss.” He stared down the final protest that hovered on her lips, a taunting slant to his smile. “Speaking of the boss, let’s work our way over and see mine.” He nodded to where his father, Tony Knight, the founder and president of Knight Enterprises stood, like the patriarch he was, his erect posture exuding strength and pride as he gazed about the room.

The steady gentle pressure of Connor’s hand returned against the base of her spine, a pressure that sent wild spirals of warmth unfurling through her body. She barely acknowledged the greetings and festive wishes from the staff as they cut a swathe through the crowd, the minglers parting like the Red Sea as they moved across the room.

As they neared the gathering of senior executives, she struggled to regain her composure, to ignore the imprint of Connor’s proprietary hand against the small of her back and to settle the butterflies that fluttered every time she had to deal with the senior Mr. Knight. She worked with men of his position and power on a regular basis, but there was something about Antony Knight that commanded respect. A respect that, for Holly, bordered on something closer to awe. She certainly didn’t want to dissolve like an idiot at his feet because his youngest son was sending her senses into meltdown.

A first generation Kiwi, born to Italian immigrant parents who’d anglicised their name to better fit into their adopted country, Tony Knight had built Knight Enterprises from the ground up. Holly had no doubt he could still swing a hammer with the best of them, but that wasn’t what made her admire him the most.

No, she acknowledged as she fought to bank the fire burning in her veins, it was his unstinting devotion to his family. His abiding love for his long-dead wife. He’d raised three sons while building an empire, and yet, even though she had no doubt that the past had been rocky, he’d maintained that solid thread of familial connection between them. Despite his setbacks he hadn’t given them up to strangers to raise, like her mother had when she’d discarded Holly, as if she’d been unwanted baggage.

Holly would give just about anything to be a part of a background like that. A background she could call her own. The sobering thought did its work with chilling accuracy and she stepped clear of Connor’s reach to greet his father.

Her face ached with the effort of keeping a smile pasted on.

Connor had stayed close to her all evening, shepherding her as she mingled and chatted sociably with their colleagues, ensuring she constantly had a glass of champagne in her fingers and that she stayed well clear of administrative responsibilities for the evening. For once she knew what it felt like to be the one being looked after—the sensation was totally foreign to her and strangely unsettling at the same time.

She lifted her drink to her lips and took a tiny sip of the wine. Darn, warm again. She’d barely drunk a full glass all evening. Mind you, that was probably a good thing. Her stomach had been so knotted with tension she hadn’t eaten, either. While the food on the buffet and circulating on trays looked wonderful, and as usual she’d ensured there was plenty of it, she simply couldn’t bring herself to take a bite.

She flicked a glance to the wall clock by the door, and her shoulders sagged gently in relief. Things would draw to a close soon. Mr. Knight, Sr. would make his usual end-of-year speech, thanking the skeleton crew who would keep the business ticking over in its usual efficient fashion during the three weeks while most staff took their holiday break, and wishing everyone a happy Christmas.

Happy Christmas indeed, for those who had family and friends to share it with. Holly felt a tiny frown pull at her forehead, and the beginnings of a headache prodded behind her eyes.

Would Andrea even be aware it was Christmas Day tomorrow? The staff at the nursing home had recommended that Holly not come in, and that her foster sister wouldn’t worry if for once she spent a holiday with her other friends. Except Holly had no one else she wanted to spend the day with. Andrea was all she had—her one positive link to her past.

Maybe she’d call into the home, anyway, and take Andrea the filmy new nightgown she’d bought her—a soft mossy green, to match her eyes.

“Hey, smile. It’s Christmas, remember? No need to look so sad.” Connor’s warm breath caressed the side of her neck, his voice lowered to a sensuous hum that stroked along her nerve endings like fingertips over plush velvet. A rush of awareness prickled all the way up into her scalp.

“Was I?” She turned to face him. “I’m okay.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course,” she responded in her usual brisk tone.

“Good to see you’re feeling better.” Connor grinned back at her. “You’ve got your ‘office voice’ back again. Come on, let your hair down. Enjoy yourself.”

“I am.” Oh, Lord, she sounded so darn prim and defensive. To offset the prudishly proper tone of her voice she lifted her wine again to take another sip, but was halted when a warm hand grasped her wrist. A shock of electricity raced up to her hand, causing a wild tremble as Connor took the glass from her suddenly nerveless fingers.

“Here, I’ll get you another. That one must be warm by now. You are supposed to drink it, you know.”

She shook her head slightly, but he ignored her and signalled to a passing waiter for a fresh glass. She grasped the slender stem, sloshing a bit of the wine over the edge.

“Are you sure you’re all right, Holly?” Connor stepped closer, his arm slipping supportively behind her back. “You still look a bit shaky, there.”

“I’m fine. Just a little tired, that’s all. If you don’t mind, perhaps I could slip away early.”

“Great idea.” Connor scanned the room. “I think we’ve done our dash tonight. Let’s go.”

Together?

“No, truly,” she protested, “you stay. I’m sure your father—”

“Will excuse me this time. He owes me for that Santa episode. He knows how I feel about kids.” Even though he was smiling, there was a hard glitter in his eyes. The urbane mask he’d worn all evening slipped, and bleakness hardened his face to marble.

“You don’t like children?” Holly couldn’t keep the surprise from her voice. He’d been so natural with the little ones, so patient.

“On the contrary.” His voice was clipped. “He knows exactly how much children mean to me. Let’s make our goodbyes.” He slipped her hand in the crook of his arm, and they moved to where his father was holding court with a bunch of his cronies. She felt every eye in the room surreptitiously staring at them as they cut through the crowd.

What on earth was he talking about? If he liked children, why the big deal about being Santa? Unless, a thought occurred to her with sharpening clarity, it had served as a painful reminder of what he didn’t have. That might explain his reluctance earlier tonight, not to mention his irritation with his dad.

Another gulf of difference between them. He wanted kids; she didn’t. So don’t go getting any ideas about his behaviour tonight, she warned herself firmly.

“I see the two of you are off, then.” Tony Knight sent a sharp look at Connor, which Holly read quite clearly as admonishment. She watched the silent interplay between father and son, neither backing down, yet an undercurrent so strong flowing between them no one would dare get caught in their crossfire. Holly knew Tony Knight frowned on relationships between staff, and for the life of her she couldn’t understand why Connor was giving his father the impression they were leaving together.

“Yes, Papa. We are.”

Connor’s subtle emphasis on the word we made the older man’s lips thin somewhat in response, and his eyes flicked assessingly between her and his youngest son. A frisson of disquiet trickled down Holly’s spine. He thought they were a couple? She had to dissuade him from that idea straight away.

Before she could interject, he bent down and bussed Holly’s cheeks in his extravagant Italian fashion. Her shock at his action burst through her cool reserve, painting a warm stain of colour on her face. For all that his family had done their best to adopt the “Kiwi way”, he was, and would always remain, Italian to the soles of his handmade shoes.

“You did a marvellous job again tonight, Holly.” He smiled, although it didn’t quite reach his eyes. They remained sharply tuned to her face—watching as intently as a hawk, and making her feel about as vulnerable as a field mouse exposed on an overgrazed paddock.

“It’s my pleasure, sir,” she eventually managed, her own smile frozen on her face.

He gave a sharp nod in acknowledgement, then fired his gaze back at Connor. “I’ll still be seeing you tomorrow morning, then? Remember my cousin Isabella and her daughter will also be attending.”

“Of course.” She felt Connor’s arm tighten beneath the fine cloth of his suit as if he was holding himself in check.

“Good.” His father turned slightly, dismissing them both.

“I thought I’d invite Holly to join us. You don’t mind, do you?” Connor’s challenge hung in the air, and he faced down the shocked expression on his father’s face. He turned to Holly. “You don’t have any plans for the morning do you?”

“But I—” she began to protest.

“I’m sure Holly—” Tony Knight spoke simultaneously.

Connor raised an eyebrow at Holly. “Well?”

“I can’t intrude.”

“So you have no plans, then, for tomorrow?”

“No.” Her response was barely a breath on the air. She hated having to admit it. Hated it, and the unwanted sympathy it always engendered, with a vengeance.

“Fine. We’ll be there at ten-thirty, Papa.”

Holly felt as though she’d been hijacked. At what point had Connor decided to use her in some game he was playing against his father? And why? The older man’s eyes were spitting chips of ice although he reined in his anger well. If she hadn’t already been so finely attuned to the atmosphere between the two men, she might not even have noticed.

“Don’t be late.” Tony Knight bit off the command, acceding he’d been outmanoeuvred.

“We won’t be.”

Before she could further analyse their veiled animosity, Connor was guiding her towards the door.

In the elevator Connor released a deep sigh and leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes briefly. He was sick of playing his father’s games. Tony Knight had tried to control each of his three boys at some time or another. Connor had always counted his blessings that he’d been last in the queue. But tonight, especially tonight, he’d resolved not to play his father’s game any longer. There was no way he’d be put on parade for yet another matchmaking attempt with yet another distant cousin. The pressure his old man had been exerting, initially subtle and then later not so, for Connor to get over Carla and find a new woman to make a home—a family—with, had been the last straw. Especially today.

He shouldn’t have used Holly like that, though. It was shameful. He’d seen the questions flinging around in his father’s mind as if they were graffiti, starkly spray painted on the boardroom wall. What was he, Connor, thinking? Christmas had always traditionally been for family. Only family. The last woman he’d brought had been Carla, as his wife. He knew he’d be in for a grilling tomorrow. What the hell? It’d be worth it. Maybe he’d even get around to telling his father about the grandchild he’d never get to know or love.

He glanced at Holly. The slender line of her throat arched slightly as she held her head tilted, staring at the numbers as they lit consecutively on the overhead console. A man could dream about making love to a neck like that. Feathering gentle kisses along the pale-blue pulse that beat beneath her ear. Stroking his tongue down the feminine cord of her neck, lower and lower until he bit softly at the curve of her shoulder.

Heat flooded his groin, driving his body to full, pulsing life. What the hell was he thinking? Holly wasn’t some potential conquest to reignite the flame of hunger his wife had annihilated with her deceptions. Yet, for some reason he couldn’t tear his eyes from her throat, and his mouth dried as he imagined living out the fantasy of the image playing in his mind.

At their floor, the doors slid smoothly open and she stepped out ahead of him, affording him a delectable view of her smooth straight back. Her skin glowed with a hint of colour that made him wonder if she’d be that colour all over.

A jolt of need struck him, deep and hard. Suddenly, Lord help him, it was crucial to find out.

Three

“It always feels weird being here when everyone’s gone home.” Holly retrieved her suit carrier and handbag from the cupboard in her office.

“Yeah,” Connor agreed from where he leaned against the wall, his hands thrust into his trouser pockets.

Holly turned, startled by the odd note to his voice. He watched her, his dark black-brown eyes unblinking. The burning heat in them made her stomach lurch with a nervous flip-flop.

She needed to get this business about Christmas Day sorted now. “About tomorrow—”

“I’ll pick you up in the morning. I’ll need your address.”

He pushed off the wall and came to stand closer. The fresh citrus scent of his cologne together with the underlying spice of pure male filled her nostrils. They flared involuntarily, as if trying to inhale his scent deeper. Instantaneously she shut down the urge to breathe in deep, switching instead to short, shallow intakes through her mouth. It was one thing to believe yourself in love with your boss but quite another to believe he was interested in return. Somehow he must have unconsciously picked up the message that she was attracted to him, more than attracted if her wildly chaotic hormones were anything to go by. He was strong, he was male, no doubt he was reacting instinctively to whatever signals she’d been sending. The signals had to stop here and now.

“Look, it won’t be necessary. I’ll call your father in the morning and make my apologies. You don’t need me gate crashing your family’s special day.”

“Nonsense. You’re coming.” Connor strolled towards his office, loosening his tie before discarding it on the couch against the wall. “And speaking of special days, how come you never told me it was your birthday?”

He knew? “It’s not important,” Holly responded sharply.

“All birthdays are important. Besides, I got you something. Come in here for a minute.”

Holly’s heart hammered in her chest like a woodpecker at a tree trunk. He’d bought her a gift?

She placed her things carefully on her desk and stepped into his office. The door swung silently to a close behind her as he turned from his desk, a large cellophane-and-tissue-wrapped parcel in his hands.

“I noticed today how much you seem to like these things, but I wanted to get you something a bit different. Here, happy birthday.”

Connor stepped forward and placed the white poinsettia in her hands. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry until weary emotion got the better of her and sudden tears sprang to her eyes. She blinked, hard, and kept her head tilted down, not trusting herself to speak. She would not break down in front of him.

“It’s beautiful, Mr. Knight. Thank you.”

“Hey, I thought we’d agreed you’d call me Connor.” He lifted a long finger and tipped up her chin so she couldn’t avoid drowning in the concern reflected on his face.

Her breath hitched, and she blinked again. Except this time she couldn’t stem the acidic burn of moisture in her eyes.

“Tears, Holly?” His eyes narrowed as one fat tear hovered for a brief second then spilled off her lower lashes and tracked its inexorable path down her cheek to the corner of her lips. She turned her face, pulling away from the tenderness of his fingers, the pity in his gaze.

She’d had a lifetime of pity and she couldn’t bear to look up and see more from him. Not now. Not ever. She swallowed against the lump in her throat, instinctively reaching for the anger she knew she needed to shore herself up and carry through with the rest of this farce.

“It’s nothing. Just a headache, that’s all.” She held the gift with numb fingers, the crunch of the cellophane rippling in the air over her laboured breathing.

Connor stepped forward and removed the plant from her hands. “It doesn’t look like nothing to me.”

He put the plant back on his desk, then turned and caught her hands in his, drawing her closer until her breasts brushed against the fine-textured cloth of his suit. Beneath the fabric of her gown her nipples tingled and tightened almost painfully.

Her reaction to his nearness, to him, didn’t go unnoticed. His eyes gleamed like black fire, his pupils dilating, almost consuming the rich dark brown of his irises.

For an infinitesimal moment Holly allowed herself to dream, to believe he might want her. To believe he might return her love. In that moment, she was certain, her heart laid itself bare to his scrutiny, her own eyes the shimmering window to her feelings.

But then the smouldering anger flamed back into life. Love, ha! He didn’t love her. He pitied her. Otherwise why would she be here, pressed up against the hard wall of his chest, feeling the rise and fall of his breathing as it matched her own. She couldn’t allow herself to be so vulnerable. Vulnerability was an indulgence she simply couldn’t afford. She pulled free of his hold, her body mourning the loss of his heat even as she did so.

“I must go. Thank you for the plant.” She wrenched the poinsettia back off his desk and swivelled on her heels to leave, silently castigating herself for a being a fool to want more than she had a right to.

Three weeks away from work, away from Connor Knight, would be a godsend right now. She wanted distance and she wanted it now. Yet a tiny chink in her rapidly assumed armour whispered, Liar. You want him.

“Holly—?” He caught her by her elbow and swung her around to face him.

Refusing to make eye contact, she stared blindly past his shoulder at the sparkling vista of the Auckland city lights, dazzling like a pirate’s treasure against the skyline and inky black harbour beyond. He could keep his wretched pity and he could keep his blasted plant along with it.

He brushed another errant tear from her cheek with the back of his hand, his touch igniting the banked embers of desire she was working so hard to contain.

Contain it be damned.

She’d probably regret this in the morning. Heck, probably, nothing. Regrets were for the weak. If life had taught her anything it was how to be strong. To grab what you wanted and hold on tight. And right now, more than anything, she wanted Connor Knight.

The poinsettia dropped, unheeded, to the soft carpeted floor. The crinkle of cellophane as it rolled to one side, spilling a little dark soil on the pristine grey wool surface, barely registering against the roaring sound in her ears.

Holly reached up and laced her fingers at the back of Connor’s neck and drew his head down to hers. She parted her lips, drawing in the taste of him before she pressed her mouth to his.

A jolt of shock shuddered through him. Shock and desire. Hot, hungry and hard. It had been years since he’d felt like this. Since he’d allowed himself to feel like this. Tonight Holly had struck at something deep within him. Something he’d held encased in ice, since desire and trust had been eviscerated from him by his ex-wife. Something that was now beginning to thaw.

Connor angled his head to taste her more deeply. While she’d led, he now took control. It was what he did best, and his body had been dormant for far too long. His tongue probed the moist recess of her willing mouth, stroking, tasting and wanting more. He slid his hands around to the small of her back, tilting her hips forward, drawing her closer towards his heat, his very need. A groan wrenched from deep in his throat at the contact—the warmth of her body igniting a fever in him, making him want with a savage hunger that ached through his entire frame.

He stroked one hand along the length of her exposed back, drawing her closer until he could feel the softness of her breasts pressing against his chest. And it wasn’t enough. Right now, he felt like it would never be enough.

His hand travelled further, upwards to the nape of her neck, where tiny strands of fine dark hair had fanned out and escaped the confines of her formal hairdo. Tiny strands that had enticed and goaded him all evening to feel their softness—a hint of the woman beneath the touch-me-not armour.

Her skin tightened and reacted to his touch, much as his had earlier this evening when she’d helped him transform into Santa Claus. But he felt anything but jolly and benevolent right now. He was like a dormant geyser, coerced into boiling, surging life. A geyser about to erupt.

His lips left her mouth. He had to taste her skin, to feel its texture against his lips, his tongue. He relished her sudden gasp as his tongue traced along the base of her hairline and he welcomed her weight as she sagged bodily against him.

Yet still, it wasn’t enough, he wanted more of her. To touch. To see. To explore.

“Stay right where you are,” he instructed, his voice nothing more than a husky growl.

Connor moved swiftly behind her and skimmed both hands under her dress to coax the fabric over her shoulders until with a ‘shoosh’ of lining it dropped forward. In the reflection of his privacy-tinted floor-length office window he watched, mesmerised as the falling fabric exposed the delicious line of her collarbone. The dim lighting of the office lent ethereal mystery and shadows to the creamy caramel of her skin.

“Lift your arms,” he instructed, and slid the fabric down further as she did so.

A groan of approval, husky and raw, escaped him as he exposed the full roundness of her breasts, her dark rose-tinted nipples tight and distended.

“So beautiful,” he murmured.

Holly felt a moment’s panic as his warm breath sent flickers of dancing flame across the nape of her neck. She watched their reflection as his strong hands cupped her breasts, taking their weight, testing them. Then panic was overwhelmed by sensation as his thumbs stroked the aching peaks. Tension swamped her body, and her legs began to tremble as sensation arrowed to the core of her body, tighter and tighter until moist heat gathered then pooled in her panties.

She shivered and sucked in a breath as Connor nipped gently at the tender skin below her ear. The tiny pleasure-pain the pressure of his teeth left against her skin was foreign, yet deeply addictive at the same time.

She uttered a tightly strangled sob when his hands left her breasts. She wanted more with a desperation she’d never known. Not even when she’d been a child, wanting and needing a family to call her own. A family to belong to. She might not belong to Connor Knight forever, but she could belong to him for now—this moment—couldn’t she? For this one exquisite moment?

She sighed as his hands trailed gently down her back to where her dress had arrested at her waist. The movement of his wrist was slight, but sufficient to send her gown cascading in a pool of crimson to her feet, exposing her matching lace bikini briefs and the length of her bare legs.

In the window she watched, mesmerised, as his hands slid over the gentle curve of her hips and the tension at the apex of her thighs ratcheted up another notch.

“Do you like what you see?” His voice was a tantalizing whisper in the shell of her ear.

Holly trembled as his hands slid around to the front of her body. One hand stroked upwards to caress her breast, and the other down where it slid inside the sheer lace of her panties and dragged them away to expose the dark coils of hair that led to her private core.

“Y-esss,” the word hissed past her lips as he parted the folds of her flesh and gently stroked the centre of tension that wound her body hard against his like a bow. Unaccustomed sensation cascaded through her, building in undulating waves, but riding on the crest of those waves surfed a flicker of fear. She was losing control, surrendering absolutely to him.

“So do I.”

His words were almost her undoing, yet she clenched her body tight—holding on, holding back, trying to regain some measure of restraint.

Connor slid one finger inside the liquid heat that threatened to send him over the edge. He struggled to meet the challenge of maintaining an intellectual distance from the vision in the glass and the waves of heat and passion that emanated from the woman shaking in his arms—against his insistent body.

Their reflection only served to incite him to a higher plane of need. Her glowing creamy skin fractured by the scanty line of red lace and framed by the darkness of his black suit behind her. The total contrast in their state of dress did nothing to lower the raging want that almost threatened to undo him, to send him uncontrollably over the edge in a way he hadn’t experienced since his early teens.

He focused on Holly’s face and noted, with powerful pleasure, how her eyes glittered. No longer with tears, but with a dark intense blue flame of passion.

With a slick finger he circled the hood of swollen flesh concealing the sensitive bud of nerve endings he knew would send her over the edge. Her breath quickened and the luscious swell of her breasts tightened and lifted as he gently increased pressure.

Her cry of release was a trophy to his ears, and he supported her body against the screaming responsive demands of his own as she shuddered to completion. He felt all-powerful. For the first time in forever, he felt like a man who had it all.

Well, not quite all, he acceded as he slid her underpants further down, exposing the globes of her buttocks, buttocks that as they’d pressed against him had been driving him closer and closer to losing control.

He bent her forward, placing her hands to rest on the surface of his desk, and swiftly released himself from the confines of his trousers. He guided himself forward until his tip nestled at her entrance. He was acutely sensitive, still feeling the tiny tremors that pulsed through her, waiting, holding back until he could hold back no longer.

The guttural cry that ripped from his throat as he thrust forward was as foreign to him as the concept of making love to his PA on his desk, yet for some reason—here, now—it all seemed perfectly right.

She was tight, almost unbearably so, and from somewhere he miraculously found the strength to hold back until he felt her mould to his length, to sheath him with her wet heat until instinct overrode sensibility. Her body stiffened as he drove his full length into her and he reached around again to caress her sensitive nub. Taking the time to bring her to climax again was excruciating, until the rhythmic pull of her inner muscles took him suddenly, gloriously, over the edge.

Spent, mentally and physically, and breathing in great gulps, Connor collapsed over Holly’s back. Bit by bit he became aware of their surroundings. Of the way his body pressed against hers, the feel of her silky smooth buttocks against his groin, her knotted fists beneath the spread of his fingers where he’d imprisoned them against the polished surface of his desk.

His desk.

The distant “ping” of the elevator returning to their floor rudely brought him to his senses. Someone was outside in the main office.

Reluctantly he withdrew from Holly and hastily rearranged his clothes before bending to assist her with the twisted swathe of her gown from where it lay about her feet.

As she slid her underpants back up, Connor caught sight of a telltale stain on her inner thighs. Blood?

“Here,” he said, retrieving a handkerchief from his pocket, “You have your period.”

“No.” Her voice was strained. “It’s not my period.” She shimmied back into her gown, hiding the luminescent glory of her skin behind the rich glowing fabric.

“What?”

“I said I don’t have my period.” Holly smoothed her gown with shaking hands.

“You mean…” Connor was lost for words. She was a virgin? Or at least she had been until he’d taken her like a rutting stag. He grabbed her hand and stopped her as she started to walk away.

“Holly, you can’t just leave. We need to talk.”

A knock sounded at his inner office door.

“I think we’ve just said everything we needed to say for tonight.” Holly lifted her chin and summoned every ounce of poise she’d worked so hard to develop. “Merry Christmas, Mr. Knight.”

As an exit line she knew it was sadly lacking, but her mind was so scrambled she could barely think straight. She slid from his grasp and walked over to the door, swinging it open.

“Yes, Janet?” Holly dragged every scrap of composure she could garner. No mean feat when her heart still pounded like a marathon runner’s and her legs were the consistency of jelly.

“I, um, I came upstairs to get my things, and I thought I heard something in Mr. Knight’s office. I didn’t realise you were still here.” A flush of pink dusted the younger woman’s cheeks, emphasizing the unsettled look in her eyes as her voice petered out. Holly only hoped her own embarrassment wasn’t as visible.