on>
Secretly, she’d already made up her mind.
It happened sometime between two and three o’clock after he’d taken off his shirt. On a good day Ben was hard to resist. On a day like today with the afternoon sun beating down on his broad back as he worked on her house—resistance was futile.
And why had she been resisting him?
“You mind if I get cleaned up before we move on to the office work? I could use a shower.”
Instantly Hilary had processed the statement and kicked into analysis mode. Ben was going to take a shower, but there wasn’t a “You want to join me?” invitation in his eyes. Chance of sex: 10%.
Hilary said in her best “of course I’m not thinking carnal thoughts” voice, “Sure. Be my guest.”
Ben brought in some clothes from his truck and then the torture began. First he closed the bathroom door, but she didn’t hear it click. Did she dare join him? Next there was the sound of water bombarding her with images of his strong, naked, taut body.
Following her urges, she went toward the bathroom. She could do this, of course she could. Chance of sex: 80%. Just as she shucked her T-shirt, the water turned off.
Damn.
Chance of sex: 0%. But the night was still young.
Dear Reader,
When my editor invited me to write for THE WRONG BED series, we brainstormed all the places where beds were found. I wanted to do something a little different—write a book about a place with a veritable treasure trove of beds: a mattress company. Immediately I thought of one of my favorite musicals, Once Upon a Mattress, based on the fairy tale The Princess and the Pea. But you know the thing about fairy tales? They’re always about the princess and never about the prince. Does that seem fair? Not to me. Every princess may have her day, but every prince has his story, and Ben was Hilary’s prince.
Hilary was so easy for me to write. I knew her pain and the distrust that always seemed to follow. Ben was more difficult. Oh, he was a prince, all right, but his world wasn’t quite the way he assumed it to be.
So, on to the story. I love to hear from readers, so please visit my Web site at www.kathleenoreilly.com.
Enjoy!
Kathleen O’Reilly
Books by Kathleen O’Reilly
HARLEQUIN TEMPTATION
889—JUST KISS ME
HARLEQUIN DUETS
66—A CHRISTMAS CAROL
Once Upon a Mattress
Kathleen O’Reilly
MILLS & BOON
Before you start reading, why not sign up?
Thank you for downloading this Mills & Boon book. If you want to hear about exclusive discounts, special offers and competitions, sign up to our email newsletter today!
Or simply visit
Mills & Boon emails are completely free to receive and you can unsubscribe at any time via the link in any email we send you.
This book is dedicated to the most disagreeable girl.
May she always be so contrary.
Contents
1
BEN MACALLISTER STUDIED her from across the conference room table. “Bad breakup?”
“I beg your pardon?” she replied, lifting her head.
Hilary Sinclair wasn’t the sort of woman that men would notice at first glance. At first glance, a man might overlook her—dismiss her even. The second time, Ben had noticed the “I’m bookish” stiffness—the social difficulty that came from being highly intelligent.
The third glance turned his head and made him wonder why the world didn’t pay more attention to Hilary Sinclair. He settled back in his chair, the old wood squeaking under his weight. “I don’t mean to be rude, but you’re very hostile toward younger men and you certainly aren’t happy.”
Ben was new to his father’s company—MacAllister Beds—but Hilary was even newer. Ten days ago she’d come on board, and it was only in the past week that he’d begun to analyze her.
“You’ve sat around and contemplated what you’ve assumed is the absolute misery of my love life, and you’ve divined all this in the short time since I’ve started?” she asked, leveling her green gaze at him as if he was the scourge of the earth, which in a perverse way proved his theory.
“I’m intelligent, not completely understanding of the workings of the female mind, but I think that’s an impossibility. So, to answer your question, yes.”
“A woman must have a man to be happy. Is that what you think?” Her eyes flashed and came alive. He liked it when she was angry.
“No, but it doesn’t hurt.”
She arched a dark brow, not quite as well as he could, but the intent was there. “You’re absolutely right. And if you must know, I castrated him.” Then she took a sip from her Starbucks coffee cup, two drops leaking onto her shirt. She didn’t even notice, just put down her cup and stared determinedly at the blank sheet of paper in front of her.
He didn’t believe her for a moment, but protective male instincts made him press his legs together.
The conference room was quiet, the rain drumming on the old roof of the warehouse. He’d shown up early, to be prompt for what might be an important meeting, but also because he knew she’d be early, too.
Oddly enough, he found himself compelled to talk to her, compelled to garner her attention. “You