Christmas with the Boss Read online

  Christmas with the Boss

  By

  Annie Seaton

  Copyright © October 2015

  Annie Seaton

  All Rights Reserved

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead or actual events is coincidental.

  This book is an extended version of the short story Gone Surfin’ first published in 2014.

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to my whole family.

  Christmas is for family time!

  Acknowledgments

  A special thank you to my wonderful editor

  and dear friend, Susanne Bellamy.

  Chapter One

  Christmas Eve

  Jilly Henderson joined the end of the queue at the only service station in the quiet little beachside town of Sandy Heads. She folded her arms and settled in for a long wait; it was Christmas Eve and it appeared everyone was stocking up on their last minute snacks before the shops shut for Christmas Day. Glancing down, she smiled as a pair of large, tanned, sandy, and bare feet in front caught her attention. She straightened and lifted her eyes a fraction, enjoying the sight of tightly muscled calves above those bare feet. Tilting her chin higher, her leisurely perusal continued up tanned skin lightly brushed with blond hair, up to firm thighs that disappeared into a pair of board shorts moulding one of the most perfect male butts she had ever seen. Down south, her feminine bits that had been dormant for way too long gave a little jiggle.

  “Always check out the size of their feet, girls. Big feet, big—”

  “Sharyn!” The giggles that had gone around the office were in contrast to the corporate black suits and classy chignons of the executive assistants on the tenth floor of the bank building in George Street. Between the bouts of frantic activity that happened on the trading floor twenty four hours a day, Jilly spent most of her work day shaking her head at Shaz’s antics and advice. Shaz always managed to come up with a dry comment to break the tense atmosphere of trading. The one about checking out the size of a guy’s feet before accepting a date had the girls howling with laughter. Until the boss had lifted his head and frowned through the glass wall of his office.

  Now Jilly stared down at the feet of the guy in front of her. Not that he’d be interested in her, but this guy had big feet. She let out a soft sigh; the pretty young things chattering away in front of him were keeping his attention to the front of the queue.

  She hadn’t been on a date for over a year, so she hadn’t had a chance to put Sharyn’s test into practice. And the quivers below were few and far between these days, so that little tremble low in her belly had put a happy smile on her face. Memories were nice.

  Jilly needed no one; she was here at the beach to have a total break. Five days of bliss, alone, no work and no one to bother her.

  Mr Big Feet took a step forward as the queue moved and Jilly shuffled along closer to the counter. Her gaze lingered on that tight butt, clad in snug fitting board shorts, before she lifted her eyes to feast on a golden tanned back. No harm in looking.

  Oh, my. Broad shoulders lightly dappled with freckles with a sprinkling of sand stuck to the smooth skin. Small grains were embedded in the sexy hollow at the top of his shoulder. Jilly literally had to curl her fingers to stop herself from reaching up and brushing it away. Maybe the surf god wouldn’t be impressed if a tired and stressed looking woman with dark circles beneath her eyes ran her fingers over that glorious back. To distract herself, she turned away and looked out at the cars, trying to pick which one was his.

  Of course. A beat up 1970s Kombi van with two surfboards secured to the roof racks was at the front of the line. Jilly nodded to herself; that would be the surfer boy’s car. Another step forward in the queue and she turned her gaze back to him.

  His curly brown hair was sun-bleached on top, and the thick, springy curls just brushed his collar. Even his neck was strong and tanned.

  She fanned herself as her wicked imagination kicked into overdrive, and tilted her face up toward the frigid air blowing from the vents in the high ceiling. Even though artificial, the air was blessedly cool. A welcome relief after the strong smell of diesel that had pervaded the hot petrol bay as she’d filled her car. It was just on dark, but Jilly was sure the mercury was still registering over thirty degrees outside.

  And her internal temperature was sizzling as the erotic fantasy filled her mind. What a sad life she must lead to be fantasising in a service station! This short holiday was way overdue.

  It had been a long, long drive. The sooner she found the beach cottage and fell into bed the better. Exhaling with a tired sigh, she shuffled forward another step as the queue moved fractionally.

  “No, the party’s at the surf club tonight.” Jilly tilted her head to the side, looking past Mr Surfer Boy’s broad shoulders. The cashier behind the high counter chatted to the customer at the head of the queue. Mary—Jilly could just see her name tag— reached for the milk that the customer had placed on the counter. The register beeped as she scanned the plastic container.

  “Tonight? I thought the party at the surf club was on New Year’s Eve?” The pretty young girl in a red sarong pushed her hair back from her face as she lifted the rest of her groceries onto the counter. Her voice rose shrilly.

  Mary chewed gum as she shook her head; no rush here. The dozen or so customers in the queue ahead of Jilly almost let out a collective sigh as they jiggled their feet, tapped their hands and looked at their watches. Even the surf god’s shoulders tensed a little, sending another pleasant little ripple through her belly.

  Country service. But Jilly liked it; people-watching was fun, even if she was tired. In Sydney, you were lucky to get a hello at any store. Now Mary, the slow-moving cashier, leaned on one elbow and imparted the correct information about this party to anyone who was interested. “No, it’s tonight. Starts in a couple of hours.”

  “Really?”The girl in the red sarong leaned forward. “Are you sure?’

  “Yes, it’s at the surf club tonight. The New Year’s Eve party is at the pub on the river.”

  “Well, I’m not missing either of them. Have you seen the talent in town this week?” Jilly resisted a nod as the ‘talent’ in front of her stretched to his toes and the muscles in his calves flexed.

  “All the local surfers are home for Christmas and the party will be hot!” The young girl pushed her hair back from her face as she turned apologetically to the person in the queue behind her. “Sorry, just have to grab some party supplies. Won’t take a minute.” She flicked a glance back to the cashier and her mouth split into a grin. “Just as well I’ve already been to the bottle shop.”

  “Got your priorities right there, love.” Mary, the cashier’s, voice held a tinge of sarcasm.

  Jilly watched as the girl headed for the fridges lining the back wall. The next customer in line stepped up to the other register but Mary waved him away.

  “Sorry, love. The other cashier is on a tea break. You’ll have to wait.” She flicked open a magazine on the counter and began to read, ignoring the cross mutterings of the waiting customers.

  Jilly closed her mouth as another yawn threatened. What was one more delay? Her day had been fraught with them since she’d hit that first red traffic light in Manly this morning. Anyone would think she was having a bad luck day. Black cats, ladders, broken mirrors, shoes on tables—her dad had been a sucker for superstitions and Jilly knew them all. She swallowed as she pushed that thought away; her grief was on hold until she was ready to deal with it.

  The entire trip up the coast from Sydney had been a nightmare from star
t to finish. Heavy traffic had choked the M1 as what had seemed like the entire population of the city, headed for the beaches of the north for the annual break between Christmas Eve and the New Year. Dad had always told her not to leave Sydney on Christmas Eve but Jilly had been so keen to get away from the city after the funeral, she’d decided to put up with the traffic.

  But it had turned into a ten hour trip, instead of the five it should have taken. Despite the six lane freeway, a broken down truck near the Gosford interchange had added two hours to her trip. Finally, after crawling through slow bumper to bumper traffic, she’d called into a small town just south of her destination to stock up on groceries for her eight day break. Once she got to the beach cottage she had no intention of getting back in her car until she left after the New Year.

  Keen to travel the last short leg of the trip, she’d hurried out to her small sedan with her few grocery bags, and groaned. An old, battered utility had her car parked in. She sat on the grass verge in the hot sun, fuming for half an hour until an elderly couple pushed their laden trolley across the car park. The words that she’d had ready to blast the car’s owner died away as she watched the old man hold his wife’s hand and place her carefully in the front seat, before he slowly unpacked the trolley into the back of the ute. Jilly couldn’t help herself. She pushed herself to her feet and helped him unload.

  “Thank you, my dear.” He went around to the front of the car and came back with a small parcel and pressed it into her hands. “Merry Christmas. One of Ethel’s plum puddings for you.”

  Tears welled into her eyes and she ran the back of her hand over her face; emotion had clogged her throat for the whole trip but she wasn’t going to give in. “Merry Christmas to you and your wife too.”

  He drove away sedately; still oblivious that he had blocked in Jilly’s car. With a sigh, she’d pulled out and hit the highway again.

  Smothering a yawn with the back of her hand, she rocked on her feet as she waited and looked over to the brightly coloured products on the shelves along the wall. Everything to tempt the sweet tooth she tried her best not to indulge.

  Bad move. On the back seat of her car were three bags filled with salad makings, and fruit. Sharyn and Elise, the perpetual dieters at work had taught her good habits; there was no Christmas cheer for her apart from Ethel’s plum pudding. Jilly smiled as she stepped away from the queue. She was at the rear, so if she was quick she wouldn’t lose her place.

  Picking up a basket she headed to the fridge and opened the door. A minute later her basket was filled with a carton of custard to go with the plum pudding, five small bottles of strawberry-flavoured milk—full cream, so there, skinny minnies at work—two family size chocolate bars and two trashy magazines. Jilly stepped between the shelves, and threw in two bags of potato chips for good measure on her way back to the queue. No one had joined it and she got to stand behind the surf god again.

  The girl in the sarong was still loading her basket. Not in a hurry, that one. It was Christmas; Jilly had to dig deep to find some Christmas spirit. Finally, the girl came back to the counter, paid for her party goodies and the queue began to move. There were now only seven customers ahead of Jilly and she covered another yawn with one hand.

  A second cashier appeared behind the counter and the queue moved forward quickly. Jilly reached down to pick up her basket as surfer boy reached the head of the queue and paid for his fuel. Bending down, she reached for her basket as he turned to pass her. She glanced his way as she straightened. Did the face match the perfect body?

  Oh. My. God.

  Jilly froze and forced her open mouth to close. If you could freeze when prickles of heat scorched your skin.

  “Miss Henderson.” Her boss, the senior group executive and chair of the Executive Committee of the SBA bank stopped walking and flashed a smile at her. Perfect white teeth, the same sexy grin that she’d admired every day for the past six months. She’d tried to ignore her good looking boss since he’d arrived at the bank mid-year. But now, the impeccable business suit had been replaced with a bare chest and those low slung board shorts, and the fantasy of the last ten minutes left her gasping for composure. Her mouth dried as she stared at the V of dark blond hair that disappeared into his shorts below his navel. The muscles on his front were as ripped as the rest of him. Who could ever have known what that business suit hid?

  “Mr Smythe-Phillips,” she finally managed to croak out.

  “Feeling peckish, are you, Miss Henderson?”

  “What?” Jilly lifted her eyes from his bare stomach to meet a pair of eyes crinkled with laughter.

  Sprung. How bloody embarrassing. His grin widened as he pointed to her plastic basket.

  Thank God. He was talking about the food. Jilly swallowed and forced the huskiness from her voice. “Ah yes, um…er…um…some holiday supplies.” She stuttered and stumbled over her words like a teenage girl with a crush.

  Thank God, he hadn’t noticed her when she’d been salivating over him in the queue. There was no way she could have sustained a conversation with him for any length of time with him half-naked in front of her; she would have died of embarrassment. It was bad enough to be caught out in a pair of skimpy shorts, and a tight fitting T-shirt. At least he was on his way out and she didn’t have to make social conversation.

  “See you back at the office next week. Have a good Christmas.” His voice was as deep and sexy as ever and Jilly nodded mutely.

  He really was just too gorgeous; for six months she’d managed to hide how she’d dreamed about Dominic Smythe-Phillips. And that was when he was in a business suit. Now he’d morphed into a tanned surfing god, she was a goner. How the hell she’d ever sit across the board table without thinking of that bare chest when she went back to work…

  Little warm tingles were having a fun time down in the now ex-dormant zone. Jilly stared after Dominic as he opened the door of the silver Audi TT Roadster that was parked behind the Kombi van. Wrong again.

  “Stop perving and hurry up, love. You’re holding up the queue.” Mary’s drawl was amused as her gaze followed Jilly’s. “Bit of a looker, is our Dom, isn’t he?”

  Jilly closed her mouth and turned to the waiting cashier.

  Our Dom?

  Chapter Two

  Dominic Henderson turned his sleek sports sedan onto the sandy road that skirted the beach.

  He deliberately looked away from the first cottage and turned his attention towards the beach. Purple shadows cast by the setting sun hovered on the glassy Tasman Sea. The last rays caught the slow moving swell as it pushed to shore, breaking as a bridal veil of foam on the wet sand. Even though the waves were small, there was a nice right-hand break on the point, just catching the last glimmers of light from the sun as it sank below the Great Dividing Range to the west of Sandy Heads, the small town where he’d learned to surf.

  Should be great for a surf in the morning.

  But surfing tomorrow wasn’t at the forefront of his thoughts. The skimpy shorts and the figure-hugging tank top were very different to the attire of Miss Henderson of the corporate suits and high heels. If it hadn’t been for the glorious copper-toned hair that cascaded down her back, Dominic probably wouldn’t even have recognised the woman behind him as his executive assistant. The lush image imprinted on his mind since Jilly Henderson had gaped up at him in the service station wouldn’t go away. The same woman who had caught his eye the day he had been appointed as chief of the Group Executive at the biggest bank in Sydney. There’d been muttered comments about special treatment when she’d been promoted to his executive assistant, but it hadn’t taken much to dispel the gossip. He was used to it; corporate banking was a bitchy and cutthroat environment. He recognised talent and hard work; good looks were a bonus.

  He wondered idly where she was heading and then focused on the surf. They hadn’t shared their Christmas plans; the office was too busy for personal conversations. And he much preferred to keep work businesslike without the social chitcha
t that went on in the lunch room.

  Kept the rumours at bay. Although he did wonder what Jilly Henderson had been up to lately. Usually one to stay late at her desk, in the last month she’d been leaving as soon as trading ceased for the day, and then she’d had a few days off last week. Personal time, she’d said with no further explanation. She got her work done, so it was none of his business.

  Dominic shrugged as he turned to the ocean. And she did her work very well; she had a keen eye for the stock market and on more than one occasion Jilly Henderson had directed his attention to recent trends before he’d noticed them.

  Forget work. He was here for a break.

  If the swell stayed small, he’d get his knee board out and wax it ready for the morning. Didn’t matter that it would be Christmas Day; no family left in town.

  Nice legs, though.

  It had probably been stupid to come up here in his rare time off from work, but it was as good a time as any to try to put his memories to rest. Long overdue.

  And cute freckles too.

  He’d hit the sack as soon as he’d waxed his board. Pleasant tiredness tugged at his muscles; he’d been in the surf all day on his large board. He’d hit the surf early again tomorrow; his knee board should still be in the small wooden shed attached to the old building at the back of the cottage.

  The familiar and long-loved smell of salt and seaweed met Dominic as he climbed out of the Audi. He grabbed the carton of beer he’d picked up at the pub from the back of the car, and walked through the long grass to the old cottage. He’d have to pull out Pa’s old mower while he was staying here. He stood on the front steps and looked back down the road. It had been a long time since he and Derro had walked together down that road on their way to high school… and to the surf. Teenagers without a worry in the world.