Bella's Impossible Boss. Michelle Douglas
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the drapes. A tiny pink sofa sat in front of the television unit, and she couldn’t see how Dominic would fit into it on his own let alone with someone—that was, her—wedged in beside him.
A small dining table held pride of place in an intimate alcove. Four chairs stood around it, though she didn’t see why the decorators hadn’t dispensed with the pretence and ditched two of them. A ridiculously ornate chandelier hovered over it all.
The furniture was dainty, feminine and incredibly seductive. Her arms inched about her waist. The apartment crouched as if waiting to pounce and force her to unleash her rampant desires the moment she let her guard down.
Minky yowled and Bella jumped. She hastily removed the cat’s cage from the coffee table and checked the satinwood for scratches. Dominic glanced at the cat and his lip curled as if he’d just stepped in something he wished he hadn’t.
‘Are you allergic?’ she asked, half-hopefully. Maybe he’d choose a tent over sharing an apartment with a cat.
‘No.’
Damn.
‘But I don’t like them.’
‘Me, neither.’ Minky glared at her. She glared right back. ‘I’m more of a dog person.’
‘Then why do we have a cat in our apartment?’
‘It’s not mine.’ She transferred her glare to Dominic. She didn’t like the way he’d emphasised the words we and our in that sentence, but didn’t know how to say so without sounding like a stark, raving lunatic.
Who knew? Maybe she was a lunatic. Mel had lumped her with the cat, hadn’t she?
‘A favour for a friend.’ She sighed. ‘It should only be for a week, maybe two. If you really hate it that much, I’ll put off moving to Newcastle until later.’ Then she could get away from this God-awful apartment. It’d mean a long commute for the time being, but that was suddenly far more attractive than spending more time than necessary in this apartment. With Dominic.
‘I can put up with the cat for a week or so.’
Fabulous.
She glanced around again and this time it was her lip that curled. ‘This is my exact idea of what a brothel would look like.’
‘I’ve never been in a brothel, so I can’t help you out there.’
No, he would never have to pay for sex.
She stiffened and tried to banish that thought from her mind. ‘I, uh … My father can’t possibly be responsible for this apartment.’
‘He wouldn’t have organised it. His secretary’s secretary would’ve booked the accommodation.’
Right. She thought about that for a moment. This so-called hiccup, this farce of an apartment, Dominic’s reputation … She tried to keep her voice casual. ‘You don’t happen to know this particular secretary’s secretary by any chance?’
He stilled. Then he swung around, his eyes narrowed. He folded his arms. Each movement made muscles ripple. ‘Are you asking me if I’ve slept with your father’s secretary’s secretary?’
She gave up on being casual. ‘I’m wondering if there’s someone in the chain who would find this amusing.’ Exactly how many hearts had he broken? How many women were there out there who wouldn’t mind the chance for a little payback?
His lip curled. ‘You’ve been listening to gossip.’
‘Warnings,’ she countered.
House rules. Ground rules. Now.
‘You have a reputation, Dominic. A reputation any woman would be a fool to ignore. I’ve been told you break women’s hearts as easily as you snap your fingers. That it’s all a game to you.’
His mouth opened but no sound came out.
‘I’m a woman, I have a heart and now I’m stuck in this God-awful apartment with you for who knows how long. Believe me, I mean to heed the warnings.’
He slammed his hands to his hips. ‘And just like that my character is condemned?’
‘I’m not condemning you.’ She took a step back. ‘But you’re a confirmed bachelor, right?’
‘There isn’t anyone more confirmed.’
‘Marriage is …?’
‘A dirty word.’
‘Whereas me, I’m a hearts-and-flowers kind of girl all the way—marriage, babies, the works. That’s what I want.’
She tried to laugh but her eyes had dipped below shoulder level and the laugh caught in her throat. With his legs planted firmly apart they looked longer, firmer. The loose, low-slung cut of his jeans couldn’t hide the power of his thighs. Bella’s fingers flexed and curled.
She wanted to look away, but she couldn’t. Her cheeks started to burn. She dragged her eyes up to his face. His hair was a halo of fiery reds and golds. Temptation personified. She shook herself. ‘Are you telling me your reputation is unearned?’
‘I’m telling you that it’s irrelevant.’
Really? She might not be all that experienced where men were concerned, but in her father’s office last week she’d noticed the way Dominic’s eyes had kept travelling the length of her legs whenever he thought she wasn’t watching. Then there’d been the speculation in their depths, their heat, when they’d rested on her mouth. It had sent an answering heat surging through her. She knew enough to know that meant trouble. She meant to cut it dead in its tracks.
‘So … strictly business?’
‘Strictly business,’ he confirmed.
‘Do you appreciate straight talking, Dominic?’
‘I do.’
‘Then I have to say that walking around half-naked doesn’t seem to me the height of professionalism.’
‘My walking around without a shirt bothers you?’
She refused to lie. ‘It does.’
With a tightening of his lips, he turned on his heel and stalked from the room. He returned a moment later wearing a loose T-shirt that hung below his hips.
Had she offended him? She bit her lip. She couldn’t afford to get him offside. She’d need his support if she were to bring her dream restaurant into being. She’d need his good opinion if she wanted to make her father proud. If he told Papa that she was a failure, that she was stupid … She gulped and refused to follow that line of thought. ‘Thank you,’ she murmured.
He didn’t say anything. Then, ‘I left you the master bedroom.’
She swallowed. ‘That was kind.’
‘You might want to reassess that opinion once you’ve seen it.’
That didn’t sound promising.
‘Is this all your luggage?’ He motioned to the bags. ‘Or do you have more downstairs?’
‘These aren’t mine, they’re the cat’s.’ Her gear was still in the boot of her car.
‘What?’
She kicked a bag. ‘We have dry food, tinned food, special treat food. We even have cat chocolate.’
He stared at her as if he didn’t know what to say. She didn’t blame him.
‘Then there’s her basket, her blankets, her toys. This cat even has a different DVD for each day of the week. I’m supposed to set them to play on continuous mode whenever I go out so she doesn’t get lonely. This is the blasted prima donna of all cats. Do you still think you can put up with it?’
‘Yes.’ But he ground the word out