Christmas with the Boss Read online

  And it had been almost as long since he’d last been down to the other cottage: his grandparents’ cottage. Not since Derro’s funeral. Dominic pushed open the door and the fresh smell of the ocean was replaced by the musty smell of an old house that had been locked up for a long time.

  Pretty eyes too.

  He grinned again as green cat-like eyes fixed on his stomach flashed into his head. He’d never noticed those cute freckles on her nose either. Maybe he’d break his own rule and ask Jilly Henderson out for dinner once they got back to work.

  Chapter Three

  Jilly threw her junk food purchases onto the back seat next to the healthy groceries. Shaking her head she peered up the road but the silver Audi was out of sight.

  Who would ever a thunk it, as Shaz would say with a giggle. Fancy Mr Iceberg being up here on the north coast. Shaz had soon branded the new boss with his nickname, when it became quite clear he was not up for socializing… or flirting. It was only last week that the girls had been speculating about where he’d spend Christmas. Jilly had been quiet and her colleagues had been sympathetic to her losing Dad.

  London, Paris, skiing at Aspen had all been mooted for the boss. Slumming it north of Sydney hadn’t rated a mention. Jilly wondered how far north he was going; probably heading for trendy Byron Bay. Anyway it would be fun to recount her experience of checking him out in the service station; the girls would get a laugh out of that. She hadn’t contributed much to the usual hilarity in the lunch room these last few months. Maybe she wouldn’t tell them just how delectable he looked in his board shorts. She’d file that little picture away for the board meetings where Mr Iceberg sat business-like in his dark suits, barely cracking a smile as he concentrated on profit margins and stock movements. Anyway, that was work; this week was for much needed relaxation and regaining her emotional strength after nursing Dad in his final days.

  Jilly turned on the GPS as she drove back onto the main road and headed for the beach. Several wrong turns and much swearing later, she finally turned onto the sandy road that led to the address on the receipt shoved into her bag. The GPS had kept telling her to turn right—into the ocean.

  The sun had set and darkness was falling quickly. She hoped the key to the rental was where it was supposed to be; the guy on the phone had been vague and hard to understand with his soft muffled voice. She frowned as a long, deserted road loomed ahead of her. Bush encroached on both sides and there was no sign of any houses. She stopped and pulled the receipt out: yep, that was it—Swimming Creek Road. Jilly knew she was finally on the right road; she’d seen the sign when she had ignored the robotic voice of the navigation system, followed her instincts, and turned off the esplanade.

  She frowned; no luxury cottage fitting the description of Beachside Vista anywhere to be seen. She’d checked out the holiday rental online when she’d received an email advertising a vacancy over the holiday break; the photographs had displayed the interior of a spacious cottage decorated in a retro style across from the beach. Not that she really needed spacious for the few days she’d be here. Her car moved slowly along the narrow road and the beachside she-oaks formed a dark canopy above her, and she stared ahead trying to see in the murky light.

  The sandy road narrowed even more, and the frequent potholes got deeper. Jilly shivered as a feeling of gloom pervaded the early evening. Suddenly a light appeared ahead of her to the left and she almost overshot the driveway. She hit the brakes and the car pulled to a stop. An old wooden sign hung crookedly from a post in the long grass at the side of the narrow road proclaiming she had arrived at Beachside Vista.

  “Oh, no.” A groan escaped her lips.

  An old weatherboard cottage loomed out of the darkness as she stepped from the car. She squinted in the dim light. The paint was peeling and loose guttering hung in a jagged, rusty spiral, scraping noisily against the side of the house. The wind had picked up and another shiver ran down her back as it keened eerily through the trees, the breaking ocean providing a mournful background.

  All it needed was a storm to make it totally spooky.

  Crack! A clap of booming thunder instantly followed the flash of lightning that lit the sky almost as though she had summoned it and Jilly glanced around nervously.

  Okay, she’d wanted privacy but maybe not quite this much isolation. The knee-length grass brushed against her bare legs and she turned back to the car for the small torch she kept in the glove box. Small creatures rustled in the long grass and she stepped quickly back to the side of the road. She flicked the torch on and shone the light along the side of the old building. Sure enough, there was a small box at the side of the porch where she’d been told to find the key. Lifting the lid, she pulled out an envelope and flashed the torch on the spidery writing.

  ‘Henderson. Five nights.’ She shook the envelope and a large key slipped into her hand. Thank goodness, it was the right Beachside Vista, but it was nothing like she’d expected.

  No matter; it was close to the beach and that’s where she’d be spending most of her time. Jilly shrugged and climbed the stairs. The door opened slowly with an ominous creak.

  Talk about cinematic setting. What was it going to be like inside?

  Two minutes later—because that’s all it took to investigate every nook and cranny of the small cottage—Jilly returned to the car for her backpack and food supplies. She quickly stowed her groceries in the ancient, rusted fridge on the back porch along with the chocolate and the two bottles of wine she’d brought from her fridge at home. The plum pudding took pride of place in the centre of the old red laminated kitchen table and the red and green ribbon around it gave a small, festive air to the room.

  The fridge was on the porch because there was no room in the tiny kitchen for much more than the table and two old mismatched chairs.

  Luxury? Huh! She could cope with, but wasn’t so sure about the outside shower and toilet located at the far end of the back porch.

  Jilly reached for the salad bag and closed the fridge. The bag crinkled in her hand as she looked down at the unappetizing green leaves. Changing her mind, she pulled open the door again, put the salad back and pulled out a chocolate bar and a bottle of strawberry milk.

  It was Christmas Eve!

  That would be her celebratory dinner, and then she’d brave a quick shower outside and have an early night. Look on the bright side; the cottage was cutesy in a retro way, although she wondered how secure the back wall of the kitchen was. It was made entirely of latticework and wouldn’t keep anything out.

  Wind, bugs or intruders. And it was swaying in the wind with an ominous creak.

  With a sigh and a swig of strawberry milk, Jilly searched out a clean towel from the camphor-smelling linen cupboard beside the back door and headed for the shower.

  ***

  Dominic pulled the cap on a bottle of beer and held the cool glass against his forehead. The air was muggy and by the look of the flashing sky to the west there was a decent night storm brewing. He took a swig of the beer, put it on the bench and picked up his keys. He’d clear out the carport and get the Audi under shelter as best he could. There was hail in that sky.

  His eyes narrowed as he stepped outside. There was a light on in Derro’s cottage down the road. There shouldn’t be; no one had lived in their grandparents’ place since Derro had died. Aunty Vi had talked about letting it as a holiday rental but Dominic had convinced her not to. It hadn’t taken much talking; as well as the physical problems with the place, the whole family knew the real reason it couldn’t be let out.

  Not that we ever talk about it.

  With a sigh, he shoved his hands in his pockets and hurried down the steps. The last thing he wanted to do was go to the cottage but he should make sure squatters hadn’t moved in. All he wanted was peace and quiet for this break; he didn’t want to have to deal with any problems.

  Or any other person for that matter. He was here to surf and chill and forget about the cutthroat business world he’d left
behind in Sydney.

  ##

  Taking a shower in the tiny cubicle had been fraught with problems. Jilly had to manoeuvre an old surfboard out of the small shower recess and brush down the sticky cobwebs that hung from the showerhead to the taps on the wall. No sign of spiders but they could be lurking in the dark. At least the room looked clean but the smell of mouldy concrete pervaded the dimly lit space. She reached up to open the small louvre window at the top of the shower and squealed as a Daddy Long Legs spider scurried across her hand. She dropped her hand and opted to keep the window half shut rather than brave the spider and any family he might have.

  Slipping her shorts and T-shirt off, she looked around for somewhere to hang her clothes…and her towel. Not a hook or a bench to be seen. Opening the door a crack, she shoved them through the door and placed them on the floor of the verandah, before turning on the taps and waiting. She jumped as another flash of lightning lit the night sky, and a far off rumble of thunder reverberated along the verandah.

  A clanking and groaning preceded the burst of steaming hot water that sprayed her from above. Jilly jumped back and it took a bit of fiddling to adjust the heat to a comfortable level, but finally she tipped her head back, and closed her eyes, letting the warm water ease her tension.

  She was here; the inside of the cottage was clean, the bed was soft and the beach was a stone’s throw across the road. She had food and books to read and a couple of bikinis. What more could she need? The outside bathroom would add to her adventure. She opened her eyes and reached for the shampoo bottle on the floor and tipped it into her hand, lathering her long hair into sweet-smelling suds as a picture of sun-tipped curls came to mind.

  What were the chances of running into her boss in a small town so far from Sydney? He was the last person she would ever have expected to see in a pair of board shorts. She narrowed her eyes as she remembered the sand on the back of his legs. Maybe he wasn’t travelling; maybe he was staying in this beachside village although she doubted if there were any flash condos in this town.

  Smooth golden skin filled her thoughts as she massaged her hair and imagined massaging those delectable muscles.

  Stop it.

  No matter how attracted she was to Mr Dominic Smythe-Phillips, that attraction would be firmly put in its place when she went back to the office. Two work relationships had already gone pear-shaped and Jilly had sworn off them for life. Brad Wallace had used her to get a promotion at the Federal Bank and then suggested she move on when he’d been promoted above her. Luckily, the job at SAB had paid more and given her many more opportunities in the two years she’d been there.

  Thanks for the opportunity, Brad.

  Jilly closed her eyes as she rinsed the suds from her hair.

  Phil Long had been worse; there was the wife he’d neglected to mention. Luckily Jilly had found out about her just in time.

  So the new policy she stuck to rigidly: work and sex did not mix. Trouble was, working so hard, and looking after Dad left no time for meeting guys anywhere else.

  So celibacy had been the order of her life for a long year.

  Creak.

  Jilly’s eyes flew open and the sound of slow footsteps reached her. Quickly rinsing the last of the shampoo from her hair, she switched off the taps and listened. With her heart thudding madly, she opened the door a crack, bent down and reached out for the towel. Her hand met smooth, worn floorboards and she stretched her arm out further and patted around the floor. There was no towel beneath her roving fingertips.

  Shit. Or clothes. Pulling the door closed quietly, she listened as the front steps creaked.

  Great. As she stood there wondering what the hell to do, someone pounded on the back door along the porch. She held her breath; if she was quiet maybe they’d go away. For goodness sake, she was stark bollocky naked. She slowly turned the lock on the inside of the shower door and the resulting snick was like a gunshot going off.

  So much for trying to keep quiet.

  “Hello? Who’s there? Where are you?”

  “Oh shit.” She’d know that voice anywhere. Jilly rolled her eyes as the deep and sexy voice of Mr Iceberg drifted through the louvre window.

  “Me.”

  “Who?” His voice was terse now, more like the impatient tones as he queried a report at the office.

  “Er…I’m in here,” she called out.

  The footsteps came closer. Jilly leaned against the door and stifled a groan. Of all the rotten luck.

  “Where’s here and who’s me?” The voice was louder and she leaned back against the wall and rubbed her arms. The wind was swirling through the gap above the door now.

  “In the shower.” She realised he would have no idea where the shower was. “At the end of the verandah. And it’s me, Jilly Henderson.”

  Silence.

  What the hell is he doing here anyway? She stood there shivering as cold rivulets of water dripped down from her wet hair to her neck and body. Taking a deep breath, she tried to compose herself. Her nipples gave a little tug before flaring to high beam, ready to say hello to anyone who looked. Blasted cold.

  Jilly had no intention of stepping out of this shower until she had a towel around her and her clothes back from wherever they were.

  “Jilly?”

  “Yes, it’s me.”

  “What the hell are you doing in there?” The sexy voice had taken on a dangerous edge. It appeared he was just as unimpressed to find her here, as she was to hear him outside the shower. “I’m taking a shower.

  “Why are you here? Did you follow me?”

  “Why the hell would I do that?”

  If he wanted to play nasty, she could be cranky too. She wasn’t at work and she didn’t have to put up with his stiff manner like she did most days at work. A tight smile with a muttered good morning was as social and pleasant as he got in the office. Even if he looked sexy when he smiled, he made no friendly overtures to anyone. Hence the Mr Iceberg tag.

  But she was at a disadvantage.

  At least he had clothes on. Well, some clothes anyway. Her nipples tightened as that golden skin flashed across her mind again.

  “Well, what are you doing here?’

  “I told you. I was taking a shower.” Her voice was as cool as her skin which was now covered with goose bumps. Strange, because the evening was hot and muggy. A cool breeze rushed though the shower and the back of Jilly’s neck prickled. A chuckle sounded from the other side of the shower door.

  “What’s so funny?” Indignation filled her at the thought of Dominic Smythe-Phillips standing outside laughing at her predicament.

  Wait a minute. Her eyes narrowed. The only way he would know of her predicament would be if he’d moved her clothes and towel himself.

  Another voice came from the other end of the verandah and Jilly strained to hear. There was someone with him. A shiver of fear snaked up her spine.

  Don’t be stupid, it’s only him—the storm was making her skittish.

  “Dominic? Look I need some help here.” But all she heard was that same quiet chuckle a little closer this time.

  “Dominic!” Her voice was shrill as she pushed away the fear that was settling in her chest. There was nothing to be afraid of. This was Dominic Smythe-Phillips, second-in-charge of the largest trading bank in Sydney and a well respected business man… and her boss. She sat outside his office and spoke to him every day. Okay, so she didn’t know much about him—never a personal conversation—but his quietly spoken demeanour and his rare, albeit sexy, smile told her he was a decent guy. Although he was cold and distant, he was always polite, never lost his temper and had never seemed the sort to play a practical joke.

  Like taking my clothes. Another shiver ran down her back and she leaned against the shower wall.

  “If you’re here, go away. Okay?” Dominic’s whisper was quiet and the floorboards on the verandah creaked again.

  If you’re here? Who else was there?

  Jilly looked around the small
shower cubicle for something to cover up with but there was nothing there apart from the soap and shampoo bottle.

  That would be a great look, she thought. Charge out with a cake of soap over one boob and a bottle of shampoo over the other. Ta da! Hello Dominic!

  A door slammed somewhere outside.

  “Just stop it!” His voice was angry now.

  “Stop what?” Jilly called out. “Look , I…er…need a hand in here.” Oh fuck it. “I…I don’t mean a hand, I mean I need some help.”

  “I didn’t say that.” By the close sound of his voice Dominic was outside the shower now.

  “Say what?” It was like some sort of bizarre movie, nothing was making sense, least of all this conversation. “Look, Dominic…I mean, Mr Smythe-Phillips”—keep it formal or as formal as she could, naked and no clothes within reach—“I don’t know what you’re playing at but I would be very grateful if you would pass my clothes in.”

  And then go away.

  “What clothes?”

  Jilly gritted her teeth. “The clothes and towel you took from outside the shower.”

  This time she could hear the amusement in his voice. “So you’re in there in your er...shall I say… in your natural glory?” So he could crack a joke but she was decidedly unimpressed.

  “I am in here waiting for you to return my towel and clothes.” Jilly folded her arms across her chest. Her skin was drying rapidly in the cool breeze blowing through the half open slats of the louvre window. She was not finding this situation the slightest bit amusing, as her boss seemed to be finding it.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t have them.” Jilly couldn’t figure out the tone of his voice. There was another hurried whisper. “I didn’t take them.’

  “Who else is out there?” She folded her arms.

  “No one.”

  Bullshit. Another nervous skitter ran up her back. “Well, if you didn’t take them can you please find them? A pair of shorts and a T-shirt, and a pink towel.” The thought of him finding her undies blowing about the lawn brought heat to her cheeks.