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She wanted him—loved being in his arms.
She longed to have him tell her the things she wanted to hear, but how could that ever come about? He didn’t love her, did he? He’d never said those words she desperately needed him to say. And through it all he was still her boss—the man who held power over her future. Hadn’t she told herself she would never get into this situation ever again? What was wrong with her that she couldn’t find the willpower to keep him at arm’s length?
Islands hold a special place in most people’s hearts, I would imagine. The idea of love blossoming on a palm-fringed paradise is wonderfully romantic, and conjures up all kinds of possibilities.
But things may not always be what they seem. Living and working on an island comes with its own set of problems—as my heroine soon begins to find out.
I had a great time seeing how Saskia managed to contend with all her difficulties—Tyler being first and foremost among them. Falling for the boss was never going to be a good idea as far as she was concerned, and the fact that they were total opposites added a whole other dimension to her troubles.
I hope you, too, enjoy the journey as Tyler and Saskia work together to find a solution to their problems.
Love
Joanna
Daring to Date
Her Boss
Joanna Neil
When JOANNA NEIL discovered Mills & Boon®, her lifelong addiction to reading crystallised into an exciting new career writing Mills & Boon® Medical Romance™. Her characters are probably the outcome of her varied lifestyle, which includes working as a clerk, typist, nurse and infant teacher. She enjoys dressmaking and cooking at her Leicestershire home. Her family includes a husband, son and daughter, an exuberant yellow Labrador and two slightly crazed cockatiels. She currently works with a team of tutors at her local education centre, to provide creative writing workshops for people interested in exploring their own writing ambitions.
Contents
‘DROP IT, BOOMER. Right now. Drop it and give it back.’
Saskia turned over in bed and pulled the duvet more closely around her. What was going on? Why was there so much noise? Dimly, her sleep-befuddled brain made out eight-year-old Becky’s voice, growing shrill with urgency. Saskia blinked, and drowsily stretched her limbs before opening her eyes a fraction. She peered groggily around the unfamiliar room.
Soft sunlight filtered through the chenille curtains, highlighting the glazed, Georgian-style wardrobe doors and the wide dressing table with its plush upholstered stool. It was a lovely room, but for a moment or two Saskia stared at it, perplexed. What was she was doing here? And what on earth was all the shouting about? She was used to peaceful mornings, to gradually waking to the low sound of the radio on her bedside table. There was no such luck today.
A loud wail shocked her into sitting upright. Groaning softly, she swung her legs out from under the cosy duvet and rested her bare feet on the carpeted floor. What time was it?
She reached for the short silk robe that was draped over a nearby chair. Pulling it on over her thigh-length nightshirt, it was all starting to come back to her. Her circumstances had changed pretty dramatically over the past few days. She was here to look after the children. A small wave of panic engulfed her. In that case, what was she doing in bed while they were up and about?
‘You’re a bad dog, Boomer. I don’t like you any more. Go away.’
There was a sharp tap on the bedroom door and Saskia must have muttered acknowledgement because two seconds later the door was flung open and an irate Becky stood in front of her, angry tears staining her flushed cheeks.
‘Boomer’s chewed Milly’s bottle and now it’s ruined—look.’ The child thrust the offending object towards her, and Saskia gazed blearily at what had once been a doll’s feeding bottle. Becky was right. It was ruined, that was for sure.
Saskia put a comforting arm around her niece’s shoulders and laid her head against the child’s golden curls. ‘I’m sure we’ll manage to get another one for you next time we go to the shops. You have to keep these things out of Boomer’s way, you know. He might be two years old, but he still acts like a pup a lot of the time.’
‘Well, he’s a bad dog.’
‘Yes.’ Straightening, she glanced at the watch on her bedside table. It was ten o’clock already? Another quiver of alarm washed through her until she remembered that she didn’t have a job to go to and, anyway, it was Saturday. So...no worries there, were there? Hah. As if.
The doorbell rang a couple of minutes later as she wandered into the living room to check that all was well with Becky’s brother and sister. Boomer, the family’s exuberant springer spaniel, set up a frantic barking in response to the door chimes, and Saskia frowned. Her head was beginning to ache.
Who could that be? She really wasn’t in the mood for visitors. Besides, the place was a mess, with packing crates everywhere and half-opened boxes taking up every available surface.
Six-year-old Charlie was trailing his cars over the play mat in a corner of the room and acknowledged her with an absent ‘Hiya’ as she greeted him with a smile.
Seeing her, Boomer stopped barking and raced up to her, wagging his tail and almost