Free Head Over Heels for the Boss (Donovan Brothers) by Susan Meier

“Please?”
    He sighed again.
    Sighed? Again? For the love of God, she was not an ogre. He should be thrilled to dance with her. She was a smart, funny woman who’d gotten a makeover to get him to notice her. And he had noticed her. He absolutely liked what he saw.
    The hell with cute little looks and feminine sighs! “Oh, come on, Devon. Everybody’s dancing but us. We look like two losers.” Knowing she might have gone too far in the other direction, she smiled prettily. “What can it hurt?”
    He looked away. “We’re not losers.”
    “Then we should be dancing.”
    With another sigh, he rose and held out his hand. She took it, her heart thrumming in her chest, her knees weak with anticipation. He might be doing this grudgingly, but if he had even one ounce of feeling for her, dancing would melt him. That is if it didn’t melt her first.
    But as they walked to the dance floor, the original slow song ended. Isabelle almost groaned. Then she saw Barbara Beth standing with the DJ. A confident smile lit BB’s pretty face, and she gave Isabelle the thumbs-up sign.
    Another slow song began to play. Devon turned to her and, in one smooth move, took her into his arms.
    All the air disappeared from her lungs. For years she’d dreamed of this moment, this man. And now here she was dancing with him.
    Of course, they stood at a safe distance.
    And his eyes weren’t on her. He looked out at the other couples. When he homed in on his mom and Bob, his eyes narrowed.
    In her head, she tried to run down her list of “What Would Barbara Beth Do?” notes. Smile. Engage in conversation. Hold his gaze when he talked. Make him feel important. Make him feel like this whole thing was his idea.
    Nothing about when they were dancing.
    And technically she’d already blown the “make him feel the whole thing was his idea” instruction when she’d asked him to dance.
    He whirled them around, and she used the opportunity to shift a bit closer. His jacket ran across the skin of her arm as she moved those few sacred inches, raising gooseflesh. But once she had herself settled, she realized she might have gotten a tad too close. Her breasts brushed against his chest. Their thighs bumped.
    Oh, dear God. Mistake or not, this was what she wanted.

    D evon’s breath jerked to a halt when Isabelle took a step closer and her breasts pressed against his chest. Her flirtations, her wanting to dance, her sweet smiles all flashed through his head. There was no denying it. She was making a move on him.
    And he liked it.
    He was going to have to stop her, but he liked it. He liked it a lot. He liked the way she felt in his arms and the tingle that rose when their thighs swished across each other with every step. He liked that her eyes were a shiny, sexy green that held his captive. He wanted to twirl her around, just to pull her close again and feel that bump when her breasts hit his chest, when their torsos met—
    Oh, no. What was this? Where was his head? Well, actually he knew exactly where his head was and most of the blood that should be coursing through his veins and arteries. They had all gone to one spot, a spot that was encouraging him to explore what seemed to be happening between them—
    Except she was his employee.
    And he was something of a dog when it came to women. Which was why he only got involved with women who were looking for a good time in bed. A night, a weekend, even a week of sex—then nothing. Because he didn’t do commitments. Seeing how love had kept his mother a prisoner in a very bad marriage, he didn’t even want to risk getting close to someone. All of the women he dated knew he liked a good time, but he didn’t want anything serious.
    Of course, what did he know about this brand new Isabelle? Maybe she didn’t want a commitment either? If she only wanted a night or a weekend, too, wouldn’t he be a fool to turn her down? And wouldn’t it be great if she did? They could have a blistering affair and no one