Resisting Nick (Wicked in Wellington) Read Online Free PDF

“I think I absolutely look the part.”
    Anita draped the pearls around her neck.
    “No,” they squealed in unison.  
    Sammie took another moment to review her appearance. Her legs were now longer, slimmer, and shadowed with smoke from the sheer pantyhose. When she crossed them, she’d   send the men a potent ‘I’m gorgeous but don’t you dare touch me’ message.
    She’d never risk driving in the mile-high Manolos, but if she wore something else and changed in the car-park, that would be fine. She grabbed a pair of flat sandals.
    Her reflection told her she looked prim and classy. Rich and snooty. The plunging lace-trimmed top of the camisole could easily be Victoria’s Secret underwear. She fastened one button of the jacket. Yes, just a hint of lace.
    “And some of this delicious ‘Siren Red’,” Anita insisted. Sammie held still for the scarlet lip-gloss. Anita applied it with a generous hand and then misted Sammie’s cleavage with Ysatis. “Good to go,” she said, laughing at the slang she’d no doubt picked up from one of her sons.
    Sammie picked her way down the stairs, changed into the sandals on the front porch, and unlocked the car. It was still just shy of one o’clock.

    Nick reached forward, shook hands with his visitors, and introduced them to Rich. They could either make him a lot of money or save him a lot of money. Both were good.  
    “Rod—great to meet you at last. Glen—nice to see you again, buddy.”
    Where the hell was Samantha? Two nasty possibilities occurred to him. Had she crashed his car? Or been so offended by his suggestion of dressing like a ‘proper’ secretary she’d walked out, never to return?  
    Dammit, he’d only been joking.  
    He showed Rod and Glen through to his office, worrying about what had become of her. Was this one more disaster on top of little Erin’s tragic illness, Julie’s defection, and Doc Latimer’s shattering bombshell? How much more did a man need?
    “As we’re working, I thought beer rather than wine?” The others agreed and snapped briefcases open. Nick turned toward the bar-fridge.
    His pulse hiccupped and slowly resumed its former rhythm.
    Samantha glided through the doorway looking like something from a Paris catwalk. Legs up to her armpits. Neckline down to her belly button. Lips in a hot red pout.
    The black suit of armor said ‘don’t touch’. But everything else sent the opposite message. Where had the outdoorsy girl in casual clothing gone?
    “Good afternoon gentlemen,” she murmured, taking the last chair. She slid one endless leg over the other, exposing a long stretch of toned thigh, set her steno pad on her knee, and licked her pencil. “Ready when you are.” She gazed around the circle of men. “Or should I serve your lunch first?”

CHAPTER FOUR

    Eight eyes bored into her, but she saw only Nick’s. They flashed with the same hot attention he’d riveted on her in the implement shed. The same fierce masculine hunger that even as a young girl she’d found thrilling.
    “Yes, lunch first.” Husky and soft.  
    It sounded like a threat.
    As though he was lying in wait, like a stealthy sun-dappled tiger.
    Intensely aware of him now, she rose from her chair and began to distribute plates and napkins to the four men, balancing somewhat precariously on the tall heels, and hoping she wasn’t bending over too far in the shortened skirt. Tyler had been right about his office—only a view over the back parking lot, but big. With a ring of comfortable chairs surrounding a large low table well to the side of his desk.  
    She brought four bottles of beer from the fridge and set one down beside each plate. Then retrieved the sushi selection and colorful multi-layered sandwiches and grapes, and placed them in the center of the table.  
    There was a collective grab for the beers.
    “There are plenty more,” she said, resuming her chair, crossing her legs again, and taking up her notebook.
    “No lunch for you?” Nick