Page 13 of Covert

He couldn’t believe he’d been so stupid, insisting she ditch the uniform. At least he’d managed to keep his mind somewhat on the job when her lithe body had been encased in boring navy. Now, with the array of suits she wore each day, his imagination took flight, wondering what a stray button undone or removing a lacy camisole would reveal.

Though she didn’t dress provocatively, he wished he’d kept his big mouth shut. And now he’d invited her on a night out, who knew what outfit she’d produce to add to his sleepless nights?

Another strange phenomenon; since Sam had entered his life, his ability to sleep through the loudest thunderstorm had mysteriously vanished. Instead, night after night, her image filled his head in an erotic kaleidoscope, making slumber impossible. He hadn’t had such vivid dreams since his teenage years, and it rattled him.

He shouldn’t be havingthosethoughts about Sam. Damn it, she was his employee, and a valuable one at that. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing her so early in her contract. He’d have to keep his libido under control.

A loud knock interrupted his musings, and for a second he wished it were Sam, back in her role as butler. Thankfully, he’d had the sense to change that little arrangement—the thought of facing her in his bedroom like he had the first day sent his self-control spiralling downhill.

He may be strong-willed, but he wasn’t a saint.

“Come in.”

His mother stuck her head around the door. “Ready, darling? The Taylor’s have arrived.”

He nodded and followed her out. “Remember what I said, Mum. No match-making.”

He didn’t like his mother’s sly grin. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

9

Sam towel-dried her hair, donned her oldest jeans and a singlet top, and settled down to watch a movie.

Though she enjoyed working late with Dylan most evenings, having a night off was a welcome relief. He told her he had old family friends coming to dinner and she’d leaped at the chance to spend some quiet time alone.

Since his invitation to give her a guided night tour of Melbourne, their working relationship had become fraught with a weird kind of tension. She’d caught him staring at her several times, an unfathomable expression in his eyes.

If she didn’t know any better, she’d almost think he felt the same bizarre attraction she did, though it had to be a figment of her over-active imagination.

Her last date had been ten months ago, and had ended like the rest of them, with her fending off groping hands. Dylan inviting her on a tour of Melbourne shouldn’t be a big deal. He made it clear it was thanks for the work she’d done, not a date. She’d been the foolish one to put that connotation on it.

Wishing she could stop thinking about him, she searched for her grocery bag of supplies. She’d walked to the local shops earlier and stocked up on her favourite ‘stay-in’ food: chocolatecookies, dried apricots, cashew nuts, and cheesy corn chips. Ebony shared her weird taste in snacks and they’d spent many nights curled up on the couch, watching horror movies and scaring themselves silly.

She missed her best friend, their weekly phone chats and occasional texts not the same as sharing every aspect of their lives like they usually did—and had since they met at boarding school all those years ago. Thank goodness Ebony had moved to Brisbane permanently after school finished. Who else would’ve kept her sane all these years if she hadn’t had a friend to off-load her family dramas to?

Sam searched the room, before realising she must’ve left the bag of goodies in the kitchen when she grabbed a light dinner earlier. Thankful the Harmons would be busy entertaining their guests and no one would see her outfit, she darted down the hall toward the kitchen. However, as she rounded a corner near the guest bathroom, she almost collided with a supermodel.

“Watch where you’re going,” the sultry brunette muttered, as she smoothed a hand over her shiny, shoulder-length hair.

“Sorry,” Sam said, feeling like one of the ugly stepsisters standing next to Cinderella at the ball.

The beauty wrinkled her nose. “Who are you?”

Resisting the urge to wipe her hand down the front of her jeans before she offered it, she said, “Sam Piper. I’m Dylan’s personal assistant.”

The other woman’s eyebrows shot up. “You’rethe P.A. he’s been raving about?”

Pride filled Sam, though it was quickly replaced by some strange emotion she could easily label as jealousy. This supermodel look-a-like could only be one of the Taylor’s, the old family friends Dylan had told her about. Funnily enough, when he’d said old, she assumed he referred to their ages as well as the length of their acquaintance.

Sam squared her shoulders, though she fell inches short of the towering woman in front of her. “Yes, I’m very good at what I do.”

“And what’s that?” The woman’s haughty tone echoed in the marble hallway.

Sam didn’t like being spoken down to, never had, and she responded in impish fashion.

“I’m there for Dylan in whatever capacity he needs me. After all, that’s the service a personal assistant should provide, don’t you think?”

The woman’s beautiful features contorted. So Sam’s barb had hit home? That meant the woman had more than a friendly interest in Dylan, and irrationally, the realisation filled Sam with dread.

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