Page 37 of Resisting Her Playboy Boss

He seemed to read her doubts. ‘Iwantto be friends.’ He leaned across the car to brush a lock of her hair from her face. ‘Truth is I like you. I had fun.’

‘So did I.’

And notthatkind of fun. Of course now the trouble was the yearning, for that was all she could feel right now. Especially after that sweet kissing session last night—those deep kisses had turned her heart completely inside out. It was one thing to have dynamite, animal sex. It was another to have tenderness and quietness and restraint. That had showed respect.

At the time she hadn’t wanted it, but it had beenrespect,not rejection, that had stopped him from going down on her. From taking everything she’d been offering in her most vulnerable moment. She got out of the car quickly and didn’t look back. She was in enough trouble without a longing parting glance.

Fortunately in the modern age there was that safe way to communicate—the text message. Where you could send just the smallest of sentences and wait to see what—if any—response you got. She was completely overthinking it already, mentally composing some silly thing she’d write the first time. Wondering again whether he’d even reply or whether he’d just been going along with her ‘friends’ idea merely for form’s sake over the weekend...

Just as she was rolling her eyes at her own pathetic thoughts her phone chimed. She read the text right away.

Is it within friend boundaries to say I miss you already? Can’t stop thinking about you.

She smiled and tapped out her reply.

No, I think that’s ok. Friends do miss each other.

Yeah but you don’t know what it is I’m thinking about doing with you.

That’s possibly too close to the boundary.

I like to bend boundaries.

Ellie flexed her feet to rid even a fraction of the amount of tension from her overwrought body. He was hopeless. But even so, she was happier to have him as a hopeless charmer than not at all.

I’m turning my phone off, my flight’s about to depart.

Ellie managed not to turn her phone back on after she’d landed—not ’til she was home and in her pyjamas and had one of her fave films loaded. It rang a mere five minutes later.

‘Are you watching a movie?’ He obviously heard it playing in the background.

She chuckled. ‘Yes.’

‘What is it?’

‘Casablanca.’

‘What happens?’

‘You’ve never seen it?’

‘No. Tell me about it.’

Somehow they ended up talking for over an hour.

* * *

A week and a half later Ruben lay back in bed and touched her name on his phone. He’d called her almost every night. He hadn’t meant to, but it was so easy. Just a quick call for an update. It was always just before sleep time, in that most quiet of moments when he was alone in his room and she was all he could think of. She’d gone on tour again and had him in hysterics nightly with her descriptions of her clients and the way they were getting on with each other. He was looking forward to the latest anecdotes.

But part-way through the week, reluctant to break the connection too soon one night, he’d ended up talking to her about his own work. The deal was almost sealed—two more properties added to his collection and a million more hassles to work through. He confessed them to her—he, who’d worn all the worries alone for years, now found himself telling her the most stupid small details. She listened, she laughed and somehow helped him cut through the burden. She was a good listener. But it didn’t make him want to see her any less.

‘I’m flying back into Wellington on Monday. You want to do lunch next week?’ he asked as soon as she answered his call. He wanted lunch on Monday but he was trying to keep it casual. Not desperate. They were friends now, so the driving need to see her could just ease off—yes?

‘Oh, I can’t, sorry, not going to be here.’

He sat bolt upright. ‘Where are you going?’

‘I’ll be on the road again, back-to-back tours.’

---