‘Miss Walker?’

‘Yes?’

Her dazzling green eyes captured his attention and shot it into the stratosphere. They sparkled with intelligence, and even a hint of wariness couldn’t hide the glint of fun in their rich moss- green depths.

‘You’re late,’ he said, his gaze roaming over her heart-shaped face with its high cheekbones, pert nose and lush mouth a tad on the full side. Her features melded into a heart-stopping combination, and for a guy who appreciated beautiful things on a daily basis, and had since he could first walk and talk, he couldn’t tear his gaze away.

‘And you are?’

Surprised by her comeback, when she should have been on the back foot, and more than a little annoyed at his urge to laugh, he said, ‘Someone who could have your butt for waltzing in here late on your first day.’

She stuck out her hand, a wide grin curving her lips, and he found himself unwittingly returning her smile while he shook her hand.

‘Aidan Voss—the new boss around here.’

A boss who had no right noticing how her eyes twinkled when she smiled, or the cheeky lilt in her voice when she spoke, as if challenging him to do goodness knows what…

Praise for

Nicola Marsh

About Nicola’s Modern Heat™, TWO-WEEK MISTRESS: ‘Funny, witty and sensually enticing, TWO-WEEK MISTRESS by Nicola Marsh left me laughing at the antics of her characters while enjoying the sensuality of this novel.’ —www.cataromance.com

About BIG-SHOT BACHELOR, also from Modern Heat™: ‘Nicola Marsh writes a down-to-earth romance that will appeal to everyone…’ —www.cataromance.com

About INHERITED: BABY from Mills & Boon® Romance:

‘Awe-inspiring characters combined with an incredible

story, INHERITED: BABY by Nicola Marsh

tells the story of a woman’s inspirational spirit

to live her life her way, who is able to succeed

in getting the man of her dreams…’

—www.cataromance.com

Nicola Marsh has always had a passion for writing and reading. As a youngster, she devoured books when she should have been sleeping, and later kept a diary whose content could be an epic in itself! These days, when she’s not enjoying life with her husband and sons in her home city of Melbourne, she’s at her computer, creating the romances she loves, in her dream job. Visit Nicola’s website at www.nicolamarsh.com for the latest news of her books.

Nicola also writes for Mills & Boon® Romance.

Recent titles by the same author:

PURCHASED FOR PLEASURE

BIG-SHOT BACHELOR

TWO-WEEK MISTRESS

THE BOSS’S BEDROOM AGENDA

BY

NICOLA MARSH

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For my blog readers, who cheered me on

with this one every step of the way.

Thanks, you’re the best!

CHAPTER ONE

BETHANY WALKER stuck her tongue out at her reflection as she twirled in front of the floor-length mirror.

‘I look gross.’

Her cousin Lana smirked. ‘I officially pronounce you a bona fide nerd.’

‘I do look like a nerd, don’t I?’

Lana, queen of the nerds and loving it, pushed her tortoiseshell glasses further up her nose as her serious gaze travelled from the tips of Beth’s low-heeled black pumps to the top of her blonde hair pulled back in a tight bun.

‘You look exactly how a proper tour guide should. You’ll fit in at the museum, no worries.’

Beth screwed up her nose as she smoothed the stiff cotton of her ultra-plain white blouse. ‘How could you wear such hideous clothes?’

Lana quirked an eyebrow and picked up Beth’s discarded apple-green midriff top and cut-off denim shorts from the floor. ‘I could ask you the same question.’

‘Touché, cuz. Touché.’

Beth grinned, eternally grateful for the close relationship she shared with her cousin.

From the first moment Lana had stood up to her, a mousy six-year-old who refused to back down when the boisterous, pushy pain in the butt she used to be had tried to wrestle a doll out of her hands, their friendship had been cemented.

‘Anything else you want me to cram before I do this? Any last minute pep talk? Instructions? Ways to bore the entire city of Melbourne senseless as they troop through the museum?’

The corners of Lana’s mouth twitched. ‘There is one more thing.’

‘What?’

She didn’t like the gleam in her cousin’s eye, the one that screamed she wasn’t done turning a swan into an ugly duckling just yet.

‘Here.’ Lana opened the top drawer of her dresser and reached into the back. ‘You need to wear these to complete the look.’

Her heart sank as she saw the ugliest pair of glasses she’d ever laid eyes on resting on her cousin’s outstretched palm.

Shaking her head, she held up her hands in protest. ‘Uh-uh. No way. Haven’t I done enough? You’ve dressed me, prepped me, turned me into another you. You can’t make me wear those!’

Lana cracked up. ‘I know, I’m just kidding around. Though I hear these are the latest fashion statement for all the cool tour guides this year.’

‘I bet.’

Beth rolled her eyes, grimacing at the ugly black-rimmed glasses, ignoring the faintest ring of ‘four eyes, four eyes’ in her ears.

If she’d hated being a brain as a kid she’d hated wearing glasses more and the memories had lasted way too long; long enough until she’d got a part-time job and earned enough money to buy contacts at the age of sixteen.

As for the old saying ‘guys didn’t make passes at girls who wore glasses’ it had been all too true in her case and she’d set about correcting that impression the second those contacts slipped in. She’d transformed from shy geek to flirty femme fatale and hadn’t looked back.

‘You sure? It would complete your new look.’

Lana stood back, folded her arms and admired her handiwork while Beth felt like the bride of Frankenstein in her ugly shoes and uglier clothes.

‘You know I’m not really going to wear this get-up, don’t you? I’m merely doing this to humour you?’

‘Yeah, I know. You’ll probably rock up to the museum in a micro mini and halter top, right?’

‘Now that you mention it…’

Lana groaned. ‘Tell me again why I helped set up the interview for you.’

Beth patted her arm as she shimmied out of her cousin’s clothes and slipped back into her own, rehanging the awful suit and slamming the wardrobe door shut before she had to look at it for another second. ‘Because you think I’m the bee’s knees. Because blood is thicker than water. And any other soppy cliché you can think of.’

Lana’s mouth twitched, her patient expression one Beth had seen many times before. ‘So what are you really wearing?’

The image of her new David Lawrence raven pinstripe suit with the fabulous pencil skirt complete with flirty frill flashed across her mind and she did a little jig complete with arm twirl and cancan leg kicks.

‘I’ve bought a gorgeous suit. Me, in a suit. Can you believe it?’

Lana chuckled. ‘Actually, no, I can’t. This I have to see.’

‘I’ll drop by on my way home so you can check it out. Speaking of which…’ she glanced at her watch and grimaced ‘…I better hit the road.’

‘Yeah, you’re pushing for time. You should get going.’ Lana took a hop towards the door and a ripple of pain flashed across her face.

‘Hey, you need to sit down. That ankle isn’t going to heal if you don’t take it easy. And as much as I appreciate your help in telling me about the vacancy for this job, it isn’t going to be the same traipsing around that mausoleum without you.’

Lana’s presence would’ve made her induction into monotonous regular work bearable. Given a choice she would rather be holed up in her warehouse apartment creating the metal sculptures she loved, but she needed this job desperately and while acting as tour guide at Melbourne Museum wouldn’t set her world on fire, it would take her one step closer to her dream.

‘God, you’re pushy.’

Lana slipped the crutches back under her armpits and hopped to a hard-backed chair a few steps away before sinking onto it with a barely suppressed groan. ‘And I’ll be back on deck just as soon as this damn ankle heals.’

She winced as she lifted her leg beneath the knee and propped the ankle on a pouffe. ‘I’m sorry I won’t be there to show you the ropes like I promised. I know this isn’t your ideal job and I said I’d help ease you into it…until this!’ She pointed at her plaster cast and scowled.

‘Don’t worry, cuz. All I have to do is remember the stuff we swotted and take a bunch of curious geeks around the museum. Easy.’

Lana didn’t look convinced.

‘You’ve heard about the new boss? He’s the son of the old CEO and a major player in archaeological circles so, while Abe Voss hired you, I have no idea how tough Aidan is.’

Beth plopped on a nearby footstool and gently patted the cast. ‘I’ll have to smile my way into his good books. I’m sure this new boss won’t be any different.’

‘So you think you can charm him, huh?’

By the dubious expression on Lana’s face, she could see what her competent, super-intelligent, serious older cousin thought of that.

‘Either that or dazzle him with my tour-guide skills, one or the other. Come on, you know you can trust me to do a brilliant job and keep the Walker girls’ prize-employee reputations intact, right?’

Lana chuckled and rolled her eyes. ‘Do you really want me to answer that?’

‘Actually, no.’

They laughed in unison, remembering the countless times Beth had asked Lana to trust her only to stand her up in favour of a boy, a cool party or the latest fashion sale.

‘You’ll be fine. If you have any questions during the day, you can always sneak into the Ladies and buzz me on your mobile.’

‘Hmm…real professional.’ Beth grinned, bounced up and slung her designer bag over her shoulder. ‘Right. Time to strut my stuff.’

‘Okay, off you go. And remember—don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.’

‘Yes, m’am.’ She saluted, sending Lana’s ankle a pointed look. ‘Aren’t you going to wish me luck? Something along the lines of “break a leg”?’

Lana pointed towards the door. ‘Out. And take your lousy sense of humour with you.’

Beth pouted and stuck a hand on a hip. ‘Now is that any way to talk to the museum’s new star tour guide?’

Lana quirked a bushy eyebrow in desperate need of a good plucking. ‘Star, huh? I’d be happy with good, sensible, dedicated tour guide. You know, the type of tour guide who does a great job and impresses the new boss so much he can’t wait for his new star curator to start.’

‘Sensible? Mmm…’ Beth grinned, yanked down her funky top and did a little shimmy in her tight denim mini. ‘Don’t worry, cuz. You can count on me.’

She only just heard Lana’s murmured, ‘That’s what I’m afraid of,’ as she strolled out the door with a spring in her step.

‘These shoes are something else,’ Beth murmured, staring down at her new Sonia Rykiel satin-toed sable pumps with delight.

She really should’ve worn something more comfortable for her first day on the job, yet considering she was currently squashed on a peak-hour tram between a sweaty businessman and a scruffy uni student who hadn’t discovered the joys of deodorant yet, the snazzy new shoes were a comfort.

She’d dithered over a pair of sexy sling-backs, wishing she could slip into a comfy pair of inappropriate fancy flip-flops, before settling on the pumps with a killer heel and just the right amount of beaded detail around the forefoot.

She was a devoted shoe girl, always choosing the perfect shoe to suit her mood, and right now these new pumps gave her a much-needed confidence boost.

Traipsing around a museum all day rather than sculpting her precious metal hadn’t been high on her priority list until recently, but with the bank breathing down her neck she needed a steady job and this was it.

Sighing, she hugged her tote bag tighter to her chest, somewhat comforted by the stab of stilettos through the soft leather. She had a date with an old uni buddy after work and after calling at Lana’s as promised, she wouldn’t have time to head home to change so had brought her outfit with her. The simple knowledge she had another pair of fabulous shoes in her bag made her feel a whole lot better.

Unfortunately, she didn’t feel comforted for long. As the tram screeched to a stop outside the museum, she stepped off and took two steps before a heel caught in the tracks and stuck there. It wouldn’t have been a problem if she’d stuck too. However, with a quick glance at her watch sending her scurrying, her body weight pitched forward while the heel didn’t and it broke with a resounding snap.

She muttered a few unladylike curses Lana would never approve of as she stared at the beautiful heel sticking out of the tracks.

Great, not only had she ruined a pair of sensational new shoes, but she’d be starting a few minutes late—without a pair of shoes!

As if reminding her of their presence, a stiletto dug into her ribs as she tucked her bag under her arm and she perked up, grabbed the offending heel out of the tracks, dashed across the road and plopped onto a wrought-iron bench.

Fishing her favourite Manolos out of the bag, she slipped off the pumps and wriggled her fuchsia-painted toes into the sandals, sighing at the luxurious feel of her favourite shoes adorning her feet.

Pushing aside the thought that sexy black patent sandals with tiny straps and decorated with feathers probably weren’t appropriate tour-guide footwear, she strode towards the museum as fast as her three-inch stilettos could carry her.

With the correct footwear, a girl could face anything and right then Beth knew her day was looking up.

Those shoes are something else, Aidan Voss thought as he caught sight of the new tour guide sashaying across the polished marble floor towards him, her nose in the air and a small smile playing about her glossed lips.

She looked as if she didn’t have a care in the world rather than a woman who was five minutes late her first day on the job.

‘Miss Walker?’

‘Yes?’

If her shoes were something else, her dazzling green eyes captured his attention and shot it into the stratosphere. They sparkled with intelligence, and even a hint of wariness couldn’t hide the glint of fun in their rich moss-green depths.

‘You’re late,’ he said, his gaze roaming over her heart- shaped face with the high cheekbones, pert nose and lush mouth a tad on the full side.

Her features should’ve clashed. Instead, they melded into a heart-stopping combination and, for a guy who appreciated beautiful things on a daily basis and had since he could first walk and talk, he couldn’t tear his gaze away.

‘And you are?’

Surprised by her assured comeback when she should’ve been on the back foot, and more than a little annoyed at his urge to laugh, he said, ‘Someone who could have your butt for waltzing in here late on your first day.’

If her confidence surprised him, her glossed lips curving into a saucy smile shocked the hell out of him.

‘You could have my butt, huh? Sounds like an interesting way to foster employee relations.’

His mouth twitched despite the urge to send her packing before she’d begun.

From scanning her CV he’d expected an eager-to-learn, deferent trainee. Instead, with her sun-streaked blonde hair perched high on her head in a jaunty pony-tail, a figure- hugging pinstripe suit outlining a compact, curvaceous body and a pale pink shirt that reminded him of freshly spun candy floss, this woman screamed ‘sex kitten’ rather than tour guide.

Sex kitten? Where had that come from?

Dropping his gaze to her feet and those funky shoes, he knew exactly what had put the idea into his head.

He was a leg man through and through, and the sight of her curvy stockingless calves and dainty feet thrust into shoes that definitely didn’t belong to a conservative tour guide had his head in a spin.

He chose to ignore her sassy remark, considering his obsession with her legs didn’t need the added burden of thinking about her butt too.

‘I’m not an employer.’

He sent her his best glower, the one that made most workers jump to his tune on various digs around the world.

Her eyes lit up, sparking green fire as she tilted her chin up. ‘In that case, you have no right telling me off. So if you don’t mind—’

‘I’m your employer.’

He expected to see fear or the glimmer of an apology replacing the glint in her eyes.

Once again, she proved him wrong.

‘Pleased to meet you. Beth Walker, tour guide extraordinaire at your service.’

She stuck out her hand, a wide grin curving her lips and he found himself unwittingly returning her smile while he shook her hand.

‘Aidan Voss, the new boss around here.’

A boss who had no right noticing how her eyes twinkled when she smiled or the cheeky lilt in her voice when she spoke, as if challenging him to do goodness knew what.

‘Do you personally greet all your employees?’

‘Only the ones who are late on their first day.’ He tapped his watch face. ‘I must say your lack of punctuality surprises me, Miss Walker.’

‘Call me Beth.’ She dropped her gaze, but not before he’d seen a flicker of fear, the first sign she was anything other than confident. ‘And I’m really sorry for being late. I was running on time until I had a shoe crisis.’

Once again, his lips gave a decided twitch and he clamped down his urge to laugh out loud.

‘Speaking of your shoes, do you think they’re appropriate for your role here?’

She gripped her bag tighter, her knuckles standing out, as he glimpsed another sign Beth ‘Fancy Feet’ Walker might be more rattled than she let on.

‘Shoes this good are always appropriate…’ She trailed off as he frowned at her and her fingers flexed around the strap of her leather carry-all again. ‘Considering I broke a heel on my pumps in the tram tracks out front a few minutes ago, I had no choice. It’s my Manolos or go without and I’d hazard a guess you wouldn’t go for the bare look?’

Finding his gaze drawn unwittingly to those sexy shoes again, he wrenched it upward with effort, determinedly ignoring how great she’d probably look padding around these hallowed halls barefoot.

Clearing his throat, he said, ‘Just make sure you wear something more appropriate tomorrow.’

Her lips curved in a tentative smile. ‘So that means I’m not in too much trouble for being five minutes late?’

‘Don’t push your luck,’ he muttered, intrigued by the contrasting combination of confident woman one moment, vulnerable new employee the next.

Even now, while her fidgeting fingers toying with her bag strap belied her nerves, she met his gaze without the slightest hint of intimidation.

He’d never met anyone like her, most of the people he worked with deferring to his experience or in awe of his connections in the archaeological world.

As a new employee, she would know about his family and their role in the museum yet she acted as if he were an acquaintance. Or, worse, as if he were a guy she could flirt with.

‘If there’s nothing else, I’ll get started?’

Nodding, he tried another frown for good measure. It had little effect as a sunny smile banished the last hint of any susceptibility and transformed her into cheeky ingénue in a heartbeat.

‘Fine. I take it you had your tour following the interview?’

‘Uh-huh.’

‘Then you can start in the Australia Gallery today. It should be quiet in there as we’re not expecting many school groups and Mondays are notoriously flat around here anyway. Any questions?’

‘No, thanks. I’m ready and raring to go.’

He blinked, struck by how every word tumbling out of her lush mouth sounded like a naughty invitation.

Annoyed at his wayward thoughts, especially in relation to an employee, and hating how she’d had him on the back foot since he’d first laid eyes on her, he injected the right amount of coolness into his voice. ‘That’s all for now. Good luck.’

Her confident smile didn’t waver. ‘Thanks, but I don’t need it. I’m good at what I do.’

With that, she turned on those ridiculous three-inch heels and strutted away—in the wrong direction.

‘Beth, the Australia Gallery is that way.’

She stiffened and paused mid-step, swinging back to face him, and he pointed over his right shoulder.

Something akin to panic flickered in her eyes for a second, though it could’ve been a trick of the light as the bright sun’s rays of a Melbourne spring morning filtered through the towering glass comprising the museum’s shell.

‘I knew that.’

She fidgeted with the strap on her bag, sending him a tight smile at total odds with her previous self-assurance. ‘I was hoping for a quick caffeine fix before I started.’

‘The staff cafeteria’s that way too.’

He grinned, somewhat satisfied to see her flustered as she gripped her bag tighter.

With a dismissive shrug, she set off in the opposite direction. ‘I’ve always had a lousy sense of direction.’

‘Well, I expect you to get up to speed pretty quick around here. After all, how do you expect to take tours if you need a map and a compass yourself?’

‘I’ll be fine.’ Some of her earlier pluck returned as she tilted her chin in the air to send him a glare. ‘Thanks for the welcome, but it’s time I started my new job.’

He couldn’t help but smile at her confidence, eager to return to his office and check out her résumé again.

Either his father was losing his touch at reading people or there was a lot more to their newest tour guide than met the eye.

‘I hear the boss is a compulsive clock-watcher.’

With that parting comment she waltzed away, looking way too appealing in that snazzy suit, the tight skirt with a little flare grazing her knees leaving him with an unimpeded view of those sensational legs.

Oh, yeah, he definitely needed to read up on his newest employee.

Anyone who could wear shoes like that on her first day and not be intimidated by him was worth watching and he had every intention of keeping a close eye on her.

Very close.

CHAPTER TWO

‘COULD this place be any bigger?’

Beth muttered under her breath, scanning the endless corridor for a sign of the Australia Gallery.

She’d been the length and breadth of the rabbit warren of corridors, following the clearly marked signs, but had somehow ended up in the dinosaur room, the creepy crawly room and the reptile room without a glimmer of Australiana in sight.

‘Can I help you?’

Beth inwardly groaned. Just what she needed, someone else pulling her up for being late or lost when she should know her way around here.

Fixing a smile on her face, she turned towards the tentative voice. ‘Actually, you can. This is my first day on the job and I was a bit frazzled after the interview when I got the grand tour and can’t seem to find the Australia Gallery.’

The young woman’s bemused expression spoke volumes. She obviously thought the new tour guide was a brainless bimbo.

‘I’m heading that way myself.’

‘Great.’

She fell into step with the woman whose name badge had ‘Dorothy’ typed in bold black print as she surreptitiously checked out Dorothy’s footwear for signs of sparkly red shoes—and was not in the least surprised when she found staid black flats instead.

‘I’m Beth, by the way.’

‘Dorothy. I’m a volunteer.’

‘You don’t get paid to be here?’

Jeez, she could think of any place she’d rather be if she wasn’t doing this for the stability factor. Steady job plus adequate funds equalled a lease on a small gallery to showcase her work and right now she needed that lease. She’d waited long enough to set her dream in motion.

‘I’m an archaeology student. I do this for a bit of extra experience.’ Dorothy’s brown eyes lit up for a moment, brightening her make-up-less face.

‘You must really love what you do.’

Dorothy nodded, her bobbing head setting her bun wobbling precariously atop her head. ‘And the opportunity to work alongside someone of Aidan Voss’s calibre was too good to pass up.’

Beth’s ears pricked up. She’d been so busy trying to find her way around this maze she’d deliberately pushed aside thoughts of her boss.

Guys who looked like Aidan Voss didn’t enter her sphere too often. The proverbial tall, dark and handsome seemed way too trite when describing his devastating looks. If it hadn’t been for the inch-long scar near his right eyebrow, he could’ve modelled rather than dig around old ruins and keep watch for recalcitrant tour guides.

‘So he’s good?’

Beth kept her tone casual despite the sudden urge to learn more about the guy with the sharp cheekbones, strong jaw, slate-grey eyes and hint of a dimple. Not that she’d memorised every detail of that striking face or anything.

Dorothy’s incredulous expression had Beth biting the inside of her cheek to prevent laughing out loud.

‘Good? He’s the best. Not only does he come from one of the most renowned historian families in Australia, he’s been responsible for several major finds around the world. Egypt, South America, Greece, you name it, he’s done it.’

A faint blush stained Dorothy’s pale cheeks and Beth had a feeling the boss’s good looks hadn’t gone completely unnoticed by the enthusiastic volunteer.

‘But surely you know all this? I would’ve thought the lure of working with a man like Mr Voss would be irresistible to anyone interested in this business?’

‘Oh, working with Mr Voss is irresistible all right.’

Beth’s memory worked down from that chiseled face to the way he’d filled out his charcoal suit, how his powder-blue business shirt had stretched taut across his chest and how he’d strutted rather than walked.

In those few minutes he’d hauled her up for being tardy she’d had the impression of a self-assured guy, a guy on top of his game, a guy who could turn a girl’s head without trying.

Not that he was her type. She preferred her men scruffier, less domineering, more casual, and the super-confident Aidan Voss definitely didn’t fit that bill.

Not that she should even consider him as any ‘type’. Lana would keel over and break her other ankle if she thought for one second Beth was sizing up their boss as ‘sexy guy’ material.

‘Well, here we are.’

‘Thanks,’ Beth said, momentarily distracted by thoughts of

Aidan as sexy and pulling up just in time to stop slamming into Dorothy’s ramrod-straight back.

‘I’ll be fine from here,’ she added, eager to get rid of the volunteer so she could start doing some serious exploring and familiarise herself with the room. Though she’d studied up on the museum and done some serious swotting with Lana, she couldn’t afford to make any more gaffs. Her job depended on it and, in turn, her ticket out of here and into her dream gallery.

Dorothy hesitated, toying with her name badge while a small frown creased her brow. ‘Can I ask you something?’

‘Sure.’ Beth hoped it wasn’t a question about Phar Lap’s location or where the authentic Neighbours set was.

‘Where did you get those amazing shoes?’

She laughed and wriggled her toes, still rueing her broken satin-toed pumps but delighting in her Manolos.

‘I’m hopeless with fashion and I’d kill to have a pair like that.’

Feeling decidedly like Professor Henry Higgins in My Fair Lady about to make over Eliza Doolittle, Beth said, ‘Why don’t we meet for lunch and I’ll let you in on all the best shoe shops in Melbourne?’

‘Great. See you in the cafeteria at one.’

Dorothy’s genuine smile was the first hint of real warmth she’d seen in the rather plain girl and as she watched her walk away in her brown trousers and matching jacket, with a prim cream blouse, severe hairstyle and not a skerrick of style, Beth definitely felt like the professor about to make a grand magnanimous gesture.

It wasn’t till she entered the room, her eyes assaulted by myriad displays that made her dizzy, did she realise she’d made a mistake.

She should be focussing on getting up to scratch in here, not indulging her passion for retail therapy. This job was too important and she’d already made a less than favourable impression with her lateness.

Sighing, she shook her head and headed for the first display. This business of being a good, sensible, dedicated tour guide was going to be a lot harder than she’d thought.

Aidan sat back in his oversized leather chair and stared out of the wide window at the Royal Exhibition Building framed by a cloudless blue sky.

He loved the old building, had loved this view the first moment he’d entered his dad’s office as a cocky archaeological student determined to take on the world. Or, more correctly, travel the world in search of the ancient relics that made his pulse pound with excitement and always had since he’d accompanied his parents on his first dig as an inquisitive five-year-old.

He’d never forgotten the feel of hot sand beneath his hands as he’d dug alongside them with a miniature spade, the heat of an unforgiving Egyptian sun beating down as he’d scrabbled harder and harder until he’d found the small mummy figurine his father had assured him was there.

It wasn’t till years later he’d realised his dad had planted it there for him to find, but by then he’d chosen his path. He’d wanted to be an archaeologist, the best in the business. His dad might have chosen a desk job despite being the top historian in Australia, but he’d wanted more, had craved more.

Rather ironic, considering he now sat in his dad’s vacated chair, the last place he wanted to be.

Grabbing the phone, he punched number one on speed dial, knowing his dad would berate him for interrupting his siesta, remembering times gone by when the indefatigable Abe Voss would’ve been out and about at this time of the morning, prime exploratory time before the scorching outback sun sent even the hardiest explorer scurrying for shade.

‘Abraham Voss speaking.’

Abe’s clipped tones elicited a wry grin. Aidan had never known the old man to answer the phone any other way, especially when he had more important things to do with his time.

‘Hey, Dad, it’s me.’

‘What’s up?’

Aidan stiffened, Abe’s gruff, brisk tone the same abrasive way he’d spoken to him all his life, as if he were an interruption to be tolerated.

No niceties, no normal exchange of pleasantries. But then, what did he expect—for him to change just because he was doing the old man a favour?

Swallowing his annoyance, he swivelled his chair away from the view and picked up Beth Walker’s résumé.

‘I met the new tour guide this morning. She’s not what I expected.’

‘She’s something else, isn’t she? I knew she’d be perfect for the job.’

‘Something else’ was right. The minute he’d laid eyes on Beth Walker he’d known she was perfect—though, inappropriately, work had been the furthest thing from his mind.

Frowning, he tapped her résumé against the desk. ‘Her credentials aren’t super impressive. Tour guide at Flemington during the Spring Racing Carnival and at the Melbourne Grand Prix isn’t exactly the same as here, is it?’

‘Are you questioning my judgement?’

Hell, yeah.

But he wouldn’t push it. The only reason he was sitting in this chair was because his father had asked him to, had made the first overture in his life to acknowledge his skills, and he wasn’t about to sabotage the tentative professional mateship they’d developed lately.

‘Guess her demeanour threw me a little.’

‘Why? Because she’s a tad on the exuberant side?’ Abe snorted, an exasperated sound that told him exactly what he thought of this phone call. ‘Look, Lana Walker will be a huge credit to the museum. She’s the best curator on the eastern seaboard and I trusted her judgement when she recommended her cousin. Then I interviewed Beth and she’s exactly the type of employee we need. Fresh, vibrant, willing to learn. So what’s the problem?’

‘No problem.’

Not unless he counted the awful sinking feeling he was attracted to her when he shouldn’t be.

CEOs shouldn’t fraternise with staff, even ones with sparkling eyes, cheeky smiles, flamboyant suits and come-get- me shoes.

‘If that’s all, I have to go. Your mother has me on this crazy exercise regimen.’

Aidan paused, knowing Abe hated talking about his health, well aware he’d irritated the old man enough for one day with his interrogation about Beth.

‘How’s the heart?’

‘Fine. Blood pressure’s down. No angina since we came up here.’

‘Great—’

‘Must go. I’ll call you next week to check up on how the place is doing.’

The dial tone hummed in his ear before he’d had a chance to say goodbye and Aidan snapped his mobile shut, the familiar disappointment clawing at him.

The old man would never change and he’d be a fool to hope otherwise. Yet when Abe had been advised by the docs to rest up or risk a heart attack and he’d made the decision to head for the tropics of Queensland for a little R & R, he’d turned straight to his son.

Aidan hadn’t been able to refuse, buoyed by the uncharacteristic action of a man who’d barely acknowledged his achievements growing up, a small part of him still hoping for the unthinkable to happen, that dear old Dad would finally recognise his worth.

So here he was, trying to prove a point, aiming to be the best damn CEO the museum had ever seen even if it was only for a few months.

He’d made that more than clear. There was no way he’d give up his passion for the digs.

He’d made that mistake once before.

Never again.

Being the best CEO meant keeping a close eye on employees… Scanning Beth’s résumé again, he shook his head.

His gut instinct had served him well in the past, giving him a feel for the best sites to search, directing him where to dig.

Maybe in this case his instincts were wrong?

However, the more he read of Beth’s résumé and her apparent lack of skills, and compared it with the mental image he had of the feisty tour guide, the more he had the feeling she wasn’t the right person for the job.

But he believed in giving people a fair go so that was exactly what he’d do here. However, if the cutesy tour guide made one too many mistakes… He shoved her résumé back into its folder and stood up.

He wanted this place running up to speed and the only way to ensure that was to do spot checks on his staff.

Starting with one highly unusual tour guide.

CHAPTER THREE

‘SO HOW did it go?’

Beth took a long, drawn-out sip of her mocha-mint iced latte and smacked her lips, trying to hide a grin at Lana’s anxious expression and failing.

‘This isn’t funny, Beth. I’m in agony over here and I’m not just talking about my ankle!’

‘Okay, okay, hang on to your crutches.’

She drained the rest of her favourite drink, placed the takeout cup on the coffee table and stretched. ‘There isn’t much to tell. My first day was uneventful and glitch-free.’

Well, almost, if she didn’t count her run-in with the charismatic Aidan Voss first thing in the morning and the slight mishap with the train display later.

Lana frowned and gave her the same disgusted look she reserved just for her ever since they’d been playmates fighting over the same crayons or dolls.

‘Right. Now tell me the truth. All of it.’

Beth blew her cousin a raspberry.

‘Where do you want me to start? The part where I broke my heel on the way in and got into trouble with the boss? Or the part where I got lost traipsing around that monstrosity? Or the part where I befriended this lovely volunteer in desperate need of a fashion makeover and took her shopping?’

Lana guffawed. ‘So I guess you couldn’t charm or smile your way out of everything, huh?’

‘Hey, it’s only my first day. Give a girl a chance to work her magic.’

Lana rolled her eyes. ‘Now that we’ve established your indefatigable self-confidence hasn’t taken a beating, tell me exactly what happened.’

Beth waved a hand in the air and reached for a melt-in-the-mouth Brunetti’s biscotti with the other. ‘Teething problems, cuz. Everyone has them in a new job.’

‘I know, but I’m bored out of my brain here all day, wondering what’s going on over at the museum.’ She slapped her injured leg and grimaced. ‘I hate being this helpless, this dependent on other people.’

‘You mean me?’

Lana had an independent streak a mile long. Guess it came with the territory of losing her mum early. In a way, her cousin’s tragedy had bonded them as nothing else would. Considering she’d lost her own mum in the same car accident the two of them had clung to each other, a pair of devastated six-year-olds with their worlds turned upside down. And hers had never righted.

‘I know you’re doing your best.’ Lana’s grim expression implied her best wasn’t good enough. ‘It’s just that I don’t think I can last three months sitting around here doing nothing but paperwork.’

‘You don’t exactly have a choice.’

A bit like herself, actually. She owed Lana and if her cousin had asked her to walk on water she would have. Trying her best not to slip up while working at the museum was small payback for everything her cousin had done for her. Not to mention the added bonus of the fact she really needed this job!

Her muse had gone AWOL along with her latest boyfriend, taking her chance of having a display in his gallery along with him. Though she should be grateful: the rat’s actions had prompted her to finally follow her dream and lease her own space. If the powers that be at the stuffy bank ever gave her the loan to secure it, that was.

Renting her warehouse and spending most of her earnings on fashion and shoes didn’t build a great credit rating and, boy, had the bank bigwigs rubbed her nose in it.

‘Good point. So tell me about the boss. What’s Aidan Voss like? I’ve heard on the grapevine he’s a gun.’

Son of a gun, more like it, Beth thought, remembering those slate-grey eyes and their calculating expression as they sized her up.

‘He’s quite impressive.’

An unexpected quiver of excitement skittered down her spine as she contemplated exactly how impressive Aidan Voss was.

‘His credentials, you mean?’

‘I mean the whole package.’

Oops. Beth mentally slapped herself for putting together ‘impressive’ and ‘package’ in her imaginative mind.

A furrow appeared on her cousin’s brow. ‘I don’t like that gleam in your eye.’

‘What gleam?’

She tried her best innocent look and knew it came up lacking when Lana groaned and shook her head.

‘The gleam you get whenever any male under thirty-five and halfway good-looking enters your world.’

Tilting her nose in the air as if she didn’t give a damn, Beth said, ‘I have no idea of his age. From how tense he appears he’s probably ancient.’

‘And the good-looking part?’

Trust Lana not to back down. Damn it, she was like a dog with the proverbial bone. Or in this case, the curator with a dinosaur bone.

‘He’s not bad for an uptight older dude who likes fossicking for boring old artefacts.’

Lana laughed, the sound echoing around her quaint single- storey weatherboard in one of Carlton’s quieter streets.

‘I’m on to you.’ Lana’s laugh grew to belly-shaking proportions. ‘Your version of not bad equates with sex god. So he’s that good?’

Beth nodded, joining in the laughter. ‘Better. Honestly, you should see this guy. Tall, great bod, killer smile, fabulous eyes. A knockout.’

‘Don’t forget the brain behind the package.’

Lana’s not-so-subtle emphasis on the last word had them in fits.

‘You’ll see him soon enough.’

‘If I don’t hack this leg off in frustration over the next few months, that is.’

Her cousin’s laughter petered out so Beth did the only thing possible, the one thing she’d done her whole life to cope when faced with uncomfortable circumstances; made light of the situation.

‘And miss out on seeing Voss the Boss in the flesh? Not likely.’

Lana cringed. ‘You know you just called one of the most influential men in archaeological circles Voss the Boss? Just make sure that little gem stays between us.’

‘You got it.’ She leaned forward, tapped the side of her nose and dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. ‘Now, would you like me to bat my eyelashes at him to get on his good side? You know, to keep the Walker girls in favour with the boss.’

‘Don’t you dare!’

Lana’s eyes widened in horror behind her tortoiseshell glasses and Beth chuckled.

‘Don’t worry, cuz. I have no intention of flirting with the boss.’

However, she had to resist the urge to squirm under her cousin’s speculative glance as she quickly pushed aside the thought she already had.

Beth ignored the wolf-whistle of a passer-by as she strolled down Lygon Street on her way to meet Bobby, her friend— and date for the evening.

Not that catching up for a drink with Bobby was a date exactly. In fact, the thought of seeing the lanky, red-headed drummer as anything other than friend material brought a smile to her face.

So she’d dressed up? No big deal. She’d needed to slip into her favourite black mini and shimmery aubergine top to feel halfway normal again after spending all day in a suit, stylish as it was.

As she passed her favourite gelateria and studiously avoided looking in the window to stop from drooling all over her top, her mobile rang and she scrambled in her bag, hoping Bobby wasn’t standing her up. She was really looking forward to a drink, some light-hearted conversation and the inevitable laughs that spending an evening with a good mate entailed.

It had been way too long since she’d had a good night out; she, the party girl of Melbourne, had spent too many evenings lately holed up in Lana’s place, swotting up on the museum. Bor-ing. Time to live a little, just as she used to.

Staring at the caller ID and not recognising the number, she hit the answer button. ‘Beth Walker.’

‘Hello, Beth. Aidan Voss here.’

She stumbled and would’ve sprawled onto the nearest café table if a kind waiter, with the deepest chocolate-brown eyes she’d ever seen, hadn’t reached out to steady her.

Mouthing ‘thanks’ at the waiter, whose wink had her beaming back at him, she continued walking while furiously trying to think up something fabulously witty to say, anything other than, ‘What do you want?’

‘Sorry to ring you after hours but I need to see you.’

Great, he needed to see her. Some first impression she must’ve made.

Unbidden, the memory of the way he’d looked at her that morning sprung to mind and she wondered if the sizzle of something between them wasn’t just a figment of her imagination.

‘I can come in early first thing tomorrow,’ she said, banishing her ludicrous thoughts and trying to keep her tone businesslike.

‘I need to see you now.’

‘Oh.’

Damn, that one tiny syllable came out on a sigh and she quickly reassembled her wits.

‘Sorry, no can do. I have other plans.’

‘This isn’t a request, it’s an order.’

His silky-smooth voice did little to disguise the thread of steel beneath. Here was a guy used to making people jump, people who probably asked how high.

‘I’m meeting someone,’ she blurted, gnawing at her bottom lip the instant the words left her mouth, realising how stupid it sounded as an excuse. As if high and mighty Aidan Voss would care if she had a date or not.

‘Far be it from me to disrupt your love life, but this is important and it can’t wait till morning.’

‘Bobby’s just an old friend,’ she said, refraining from slapping her head, just, as another corker popped out of her mouth without her thinking.

Damn it, what was it about this guy that rattled her so much? She usually handled guys with finesse, flirting with them while keeping them at arm’s length, using quips and witty repartee rather than blurting the first thing that came into her head.

‘I’m glad.’

He paused and for one insane second she hoped he might be glad she wasn’t on a real date—before realising why the heck would he care? She was just an employee, a lousy one at that if his unimpressed tone and his order to see her immediately was any indication.

‘That means you can take a rain check and Bobby won’t be disappointed. I’ll meet you in the museum foyer in an hour.’

Cupping her hand over the phone, Beth sighed. She was so tempted to tell him where to get off, but the bank needed proof of a reputable job before considering her application for a loan to secure the gallery’s five-year lease, so she had no option but to do what he wanted.

Removing her hand, she said, ‘Fine. I’ll be there. Though the least you can do is tell me what this is all about.’

‘That episode with the train display today? The child’s mother has lodged an incident report and we need to discuss it.’

Incident report? Great, just great. As a first day on the job this one sucked, big time.

Clamping down on the flicker of fear that this pending meeting couldn’t be good for her job security, she mustered her best contrite tone. ‘No problems. See you in an hour.’

‘One other thing.’

‘What is it?’

‘Don’t be late.’

He hung up before she could respond and with a resigned sigh she snapped the phone shut and flung it into her bag.

If it weren’t for Lana and her dream gallery at stake, she would walk away from this less-than-appealing situation and never look back.

She wasn’t a tour guide, she was an artist, and having to follow someone else’s rules didn’t sit well with her. She was used to creative freedom, to being her own boss, not jumping to someone else’s tune.

As she passed a bright, airy shopfront filled with exquisite paintings and sculptures she sucked in a deep breath and squared her shoulders.

She wanted that.

Her very own space filled with her work, with the autonomy to do what she wanted when she wanted. Recognition for her talents, recognition of any sort if she were completely honest with herself, something she’d craved from her dad and never got considering he’d spent the bulk of her childhood traipsing around the countryside.

Casting one last longing glance at the mini-gallery, she tucked her bag tighter and picked up the pace.

She could do this.

She had a job to do and she’d better do it well.

Achieving her dream depended on it.

Aidan paced the empty entrance hall of the museum and wondered what the hell he was doing.

He’d had a very bad day, starting with a pile of boring financial reports and ending in a complaint from an irate mother.

Though officially his day hadn’t been all bad and it hadn’t exactly started off with those reports considering he’d laid down the law to the new tour guide first thing.

Ironic, he’d be ending his day the same way he’d started: glancing at his watch and shaking his head at Beth Walker’s lack of punctuality.

He shouldn’t even be here.

Confronting her over the train-display drama could’ve waited till morning, but something had prompted him to ring and order her back tonight.

He muttered a curse, knowing exactly what that ‘something’ was: fascination.

She had him wound up tighter than a DNA strand and he needed to see her now for no other reason than to reassure himself that his absorption with her when he should’ve been focussing on those reports had stemmed from interest in the skills of a new employee and not an underlying fatalistic attraction he couldn’t act upon.

As if on cue a loud tapping sounded on the glass door in front of him and he flicked the lock, sliding a finger between his collar and neck while doing so.

He needed some air, fast.

His lungs had seized the second he laid eyes on Beth in a shimmery purple top, full make-up, blonde hair sleek and a black mini skirt that would keep him up all night.

Correction, the memory of her long, tanned legs on full display in that skirt would do that.

‘Let me guess. You’re going to tell me off for being a few minutes late.’

The full megawattage of her smile hit him as she flicked her hair over her shoulder in a gesture suggesting habit rather than an attempt to capture his attention.

Not that she needed to do anything other than stand there to do that.

‘I saw you staring at your watch just before I knocked.’

‘Occupational habit.’ He ushered her in and locked the door, trying not to inhale too deeply at the tempting fruity fragrance in her wake. ‘I like things running to clockwork. It’s the way I’ve always worked.’

‘I never would’ve guessed.’

Her eyes twinkled with amusement, her lips curving into a dazzling smile that slammed into him with the force of a tumbling pyramid.

‘Come on, let’s go. We have business to discuss.’

‘So you said on the phone.’

Her smile faded and, irrationally, he was disappointed.

‘Let’s wait till we reach my office so you can read the complaint for yourself.’

He found his gaze unwittingly drawn to her shoes as she fell into step beside him. The frivolous, fancy, feather shoes with barely there straps completed this outfit much better than the suit she’d worn earlier and the ‘sex kitten’ label instantly sprang to mind again.

Damn, he shouldn’t be thinking this way, shouldn’t be noticing things like sexy shoes or her alluring outfit or the way the shimmery silver on her eyelids highlighted the vivid jade depths beneath.

‘You don’t fit the image of the average tour guide.’

She chuckled, her soft laughter as enticing as the rest of her. ‘So what does an average tour guide look like?’

‘Not you,’ he muttered, glad they’d reached his office.

Most of the lights had been turned off at closing time and walking along the narrow corridor hip to hip with her had him wishing he hadn’t suggested this after-hours meeting.

Proving to himself he wasn’t interested in her was great in theory. Pity the practice did little more than show him up for fraud.

He was her boss. Which meant she was a no-go zone. Now he just had to remember it.

Eager to get this over and done with, he flung open the door and gestured her to enter before him.

Bad move.

If that itty-bitty skirt highlighted her incredible legs, it did amazing things to her butt.

‘Okay, let me have it.’

He wrenched his gaze up to meet hers in record time, but the knowing smile curving her lush mouth spoke volumes: she’d caught him checking her out and was enjoying every minute of it.

Irritated by his slip-up, he strode to his desk and handed her the written complaint.

‘Here. Read this, then we’ll discuss it.’

She sped-read it, anxiously gnawing at her bottom lip while he tried to ignore the crazy urge to do the same.

When she reached the end, she ran a shaky hand through her hair, inadvertently draping it over a delectably bare shoulder.

‘So what do you want to do about this problem?’

Furious he couldn’t keep his mind on the task at hand and off trifling observations like the subtle glimmer of bronze dusted on that bare shoulder, he gestured for her to have a seat while he perched on the edge of the desk.

‘This problem is indicative of a larger one, namely you.’

Her eyes flashed emerald fire while her bottom lip wobbled ever so slightly. ‘I wasn’t a problem when your father hired me. He thinks I’ll be an asset to the museum.’

‘And do you feel the same way?’

‘Of course.’

While that tremulous bottom lip suggested she was quaking inside, she locked stares with him, challenge in her green depths, taunting him to break the deadlock and look away first.

Like hell he would.

‘My father may have hired you, but that doesn’t mean I can’t fire you.’

He dropped the magic F word and she dropped her gaze in record time.

Well, well, looked as if Miss Fancy Feet valued her job more than she let on.

‘The train thing was a misunderstanding.’ She handed him the complaint pro forma and sighed. ‘It wasn’t my fault the little monster—uh, cutie-pie—was fiddling with the display.’

How did she do that—undermine his annoyance with a hint of a smile and a blunt response?

Nothing was remotely funny about this situation—the written complaint highlighted a day filled with her incompetence— yet he had to hide his amusement before responding. ‘It’s an interactive display. Kids are meant to fiddle with it.’

‘How was I supposed to know that?’

‘It’s your job to know.’

‘Good point.’

Feeling like an ogre and wishing like mad she’d stop worrying that delectably full bottom lip, he said, ‘You may have convinced my father to hire you for this job but I’m calling the shots now. And right now I’m less than impressed with your performance. Your résumé doesn’t inspire me with confidence and neither have your skills on the first day.’

She stood so swiftly he found himself reaching out to steady her, his hands connecting with her bare arms before he had time to think.

‘Look, I’m just nervous, okay? This job means a lot to me and I’m sorry for the misunderstanding with that, uh, little angel. As for the rest, I’ll try to do better. Honest.’

He heard the sincerity in her voice. However, it didn’t match the banked heat in her eyes and yet again he found himself contemplating the mysteries simmering beneath the surface of this vibrant woman—before mentally yelling to stay the hell away.

‘Was there anything else? Because if there isn’t you can probably let me go now.’

He dropped his hands in record time, unwittingly captivated by her warring vulnerability and defiance to the extent he’d forgotten he still had hold of her.

‘A better effort is all I ask. So you’re off to get that drink now?’

She shook her head, sending an intoxicating waft of peach and vanilla his way, instantly transporting him back twenty- five years to the rare indulgent days when his mum actually took time out to cook his favourite peach cobbler dessert.

‘Bobby’s not the patient type so he pretty much took off when I rang him and said I didn’t know how long I’d be here.’

‘Sorry,’ he said, not sorry in the least.

Though he had no right to feel this way, the thought of her spending time with any guy, friend or not, looking as she did, annoyed the hell out of him.

‘How sorry are you?’

‘Pardon?’

‘If you’re really sorry, you’ll make it up to me by buying me that drink I’ve missed out on. I’ve had one heck of a first day, including being dragged in here out of work hours by a very demanding boss. I’m stressed. I need to wind down.’

She tilted her chin up and tucked a curling strand of blonde silk behind her ear, befuddling his senses with her sensual scent and quirking lips.

He should’ve said no.

He should’ve cited work as a plausible excuse.

He should’ve remembered every sensible reason he had for pushing her away and not getting involved.

Instead, he found himself grabbing his car keys off his desk, placing a hand in the small of her back and propelling her out the door while trying not to grin as if he’d just discovered Tutankhamen’s forgotten tomb.

‘Lucky for you, I’m in an extremely forgiving mood. Let’s go get that drink.’

CHAPTER FOUR

‘IS THIS one of your regular haunts?’

Beth bit back a smile at Aidan’s dubious tone. She’d been right in her assumption the stuffy boss man wouldn’t frequent a place like this.

That was pretty unfair. Aidan wasn’t all that stuffy considering she’d basically run a guilt trip on him earlier, not expecting he’d take her up on it. And not only had he gone for her idea he’d been laid-back, witty and charming on the way over here, regaling her with tales of his adventures overseas, making her all too aware of how downright tempting he was.

Much easier to think of him as stuffy and not her type when in fact his stories of travel, exploration and discovering hidden delights of places she’d never been to only served to add to his appeal.

As if he weren’t attractive enough already!

She really needed to concentrate on doing well at this job, securing the gallery, making loads more money from selling her work and guaranteeing a stable future, something she’d craved her entire life but never had.

And doing well at this job meant not melting in a puddle at his feet every time he smiled that gorgeous, almost- dimpled smile.

Trying to delude herself into focussing on ‘stuffy’ and not ‘sexy’, she glanced around. The Loft was packed to its steel rafters with patrons draped over the expansive mirrored bar, the low, curved ruby sofas and each other, while funky acid jazz spewed out of floor-to-ceiling speakers designed to wake the dead.

‘Don’t worry, Professor, I’ll look after you.’

She raised her cranberry martini in his direction, her hand jerking when she registered the shocked look on his face meant she’d let that little gem slip out.

‘What did you just call me?’

‘Professor,’ she mumbled into her drink, using the glass to shield her burgeoning smile at the frown creasing his brow and making him look more professor-ish than ever.

‘Why?’

She waved away his question, sloshing some of her drink onto his leg in the process.

‘Oops, sorry.’

She grabbed at the napkin serving as a coaster on the table and dabbed at the spreading gin stain on his trousers.

‘Leave it, it’s fine,’ he snapped, stilling her frantic hand while she tried not to yank hers out from under his.

If she thought he looked hot it had nothing on the effect he had on her body when he touched her.

It had taken all her will-power back in his office not to lean into him when he’d taken hold of her arms in a purely reflex gesture, the type of rescuing gesture a guy like him would make.

He was a gentleman, no two ways about it, so what was she doing here flirting with her boss?

This was madness. What had she been thinking?

She hadn’t thought as usual, caught up in living for the moment, flying by the seat of her pants.

Story of her life, really.

‘You didn’t answer my question.’ He released her hand before taking a healthy slug of his boutique beer. ‘Why professor?’

‘It’s a term of endearment.’

She raised her martini glass in his direction before draining the rest of her drink. Better to down her drink and appear a lush than accidentally upend it over his chest.

Though if she got a chance to dab at that broad expanse of muscle because of it…

His lips twitched, drawing her attention to their shape. They looked tailor-made for imparting instructions to his employees… or for kissing crazy women not doing a very good job when their dreams depended on it.

‘But we hardly know each other. Not to mention I’m your boss and have taken you to task several times today, and you find me endearing?’ He shook his head, a slow smile spreading across his face. ‘You’re full of surprises.’

If he bowled her over with his touch, his charismatic smile slugged her with its sensual power and she cast a frantic glance towards the bar, wishing it weren’t inappropriate to get tipsy in front of the boss on the first day.

‘So tell me a bit about yourself—something I wouldn’t know from reading your résumé.’

Twirling the delicate martini glass stem between her fingers, she decided to have a little fun. If the professor wanted her to do a better job, why not impress him with a little knowledge?

‘I collect vintage hotties,’ she said, trying not to giggle at his incredulous expression.

‘What?’

‘You know, old hot-water bottles made from porcelain.’

As if.

The only old stuff she collected came in crates, the bits of scrap metal essential for her unconventional creations.

However, Lana collected old hot-water bottles and Beth had been drilled in the finer art of what a good hottie entailed considering the museum had an extensive collection and she’d need to expound its virtues on her tours.

‘Really?’

By the sardonic quirk of an eyebrow, he was having a hard time believing her. ‘Tell me about them.’

Wishing she hadn’t drunk her martini in record time, she tried to recall every boring detail Lana had imparted, though she doubted her cousin had envisaged the cosy couch and drinks when they’d been practising the Q and A routine.

She certainly hadn’t and, while she might have a razor- sharp memory, sitting this close to him, trying to stay focussed on his eyes and not his lips, trying not to inhale for fear of copping another delicious lungful of the faintest ripe blackcurrant so reminiscent of her favourite Shiraz, it was increasingly difficult to string two coherent words together, let alone recall boring facts.

‘Well, they date back as far as eighteen ninety. Of course, they’re not practical, made from porcelain and all, but I love their uniqueness. My favourite is a cylindrical foot warmer made by Lambeth Pottery in London, closely followed by a brown ceramic hot-water bottle in the shape of a Gladstone medical bag. That one’s made by Bourne Denby England. Then there’s the foot warmer in the shape of a pillow, which bears the word Osokosi, a play on the phrase “oh so cosy”.’

She slapped a hand over her mouth, pretending to shut herself up when in fact she couldn’t remember any more of the facts she’d rote-learnt.

‘Look at me, running away at the mouth. I’m sure you didn’t expect such a long-winded answer.’

Something shifted in his eyes, a hint of shrewdness mingling with confusion, as if he wanted to believe her but didn’t.

‘On the contrary, I’m fascinated by your hobby. Tell me more.’

He was testing her. She could see it in the triumphant glitter in his eyes, in the smug smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Too bad she’d run out of hottie facts to bore him senseless with. Oh, hang on a second, that was her being bored out of her brain. He probably lapped up mindless drivel like this, considering he had to be fixated on old stuff to be an archaeologist in the first place.

Faking a trill little laugh designed to distract, she placed her glass on the table in front of them and clapped her hands together.

‘Uh-uh, that’s enough about me. What about you? Is there more to the professor than meets the eye?’

She half expected him to tell her to knock off the professor stuff, but to her surprise he slugged back the rest of his beer before answering her.

‘Not much to tell. I’m an archaeologist by profession who has temporarily traded in his trowel for a briefcase.’

‘Why?’

‘My dad’s unwell and asked me to fill in for a few months, which is about all I can handle. The thought of being stuck behind a desk for longer than that drives me crazy. I’m a nomad through and through.’

He spun the empty bottle in his hand, the expression on his face surprisingly sombre for the discussion they were having. Since when did trading small talk get so serious?

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