Off Limits

By Clare Connelly

In this erotic romance from an international bestselling author, a woman lusts after her forbidden boss, knowing an office romance could end her career.

“I want to taste you tonight.”

With chemistry this hot, it’s worth getting burned.

Billionaire Jack Grant is totally off-limits to Gemma Picton. He’s wild, deliciously dangerous . . . and her boss. When working late turns X-rated, it’s better than her wildest imaginings—and Gemma’s imagined a lot! But Jack has major emotional baggage, so when Gemma starts wanting to heal his heart as well as enjoy his body, she knows she’s in big trouble . . .

FREE BONUS STORY INCLUDED IN THIS VOLUME

“Hands On” is the sizzling prequel to Clare Connelly’s Harlequin Dare debut, Off Limits: When Gemma Picton accepts a job with billionaire Jack Grant, she expects a challenge. A professional one—not to be distracted from the tasks at hand by her outrageously sexy new boss! The instant attraction of their first meeting burns hotter than expected, but neither will let it consume them.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Open Road Integrated Media
• Release date: Feb 1, 2018
• ISBN: 9781488082368

Clare Connelly

Clare Connelly was raised in small-town Australia among a family of avid readers. She spent much of her childhood up a tree, Mills & Boon book in hand. Clare is married to her own real-life hero and they live in a bungalow near the sea with their two children. She is frequently found staring into space - a surefire sign she is in the world of her characters. She has a penchant for French food and ice-cold champagne, and Mills & Boon novels continue to be her favourite ever books. Writing for MIlls & Boon is a long-held dream.

Book preview

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DARE is Harlequin’s hottest line yet. Every book should come with a free fan. I dare you to try them!

—Tiffany Reisz, international bestselling author

International bestselling author, Clare Connelly’s enticing short prequel and red-hot debut for Harlequin DARE will set your pulse racing!

HANDS ON

When Gemma Picton accepts a job with billionaire Jack Grant, she expects a challenge. A professional one—not to be distracted from the tasks at hand by her outrageously sexy new boss! The instant attraction of their first meeting burns hotter than expected, but neither will let it consume them....

OFF LIMITS

I want to taste you tonight.

With chemistry this hot, it’s worth getting burned....

Billionaire Jack Grant is totally off-limits to Gemma Picton. He’s wild, deliciously dangerous....and her boss. When working late turns X-rated, it’s better than her wildest imaginings—and Gemma’s imagined a lot! But Jack has major emotional baggage, so when Gemma starts wanting to heal his heart as well as enjoy his body, she knows she’s in big trouble....

Hands On is a prequel to Clare Connelly’s debut Harlequin DARE, Off Limits. Also included, a preview of her upcoming Christmas book, The Season to Sin.

Clare Connelly was raised in small-town Australia amongst a family of avid readers. She spent much of her childhood up a tree, Harlequin book in hand. Clare is married to her own real-life hero and they live in a bungalow near the sea with their two children. She is frequently found staring into space—a sure-fire sign that she’s in the world of her characters. She has a penchant for French food and ice-cold champagne, and Harlequins continue to be her favourite ever books. Writing for Harlequin is a long-held dream. Clare can be contacted via clareconnelly.com or her Facebook page.

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OFF LIMITS

Clare Connelly

This book is for romance readers everywhere, who fall in love again and again with the characters of our creation.

You give our stories life just by reading them.

Thank you.

Table of Contents

Hands On

Off Limits

Excerpt from The Season to Sin by Clare Connelly

HANDS ON

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter One

PEOPLE KEEP TELLING me that ‘time heals all wounds’.

That in time, things will go back to normal. I know they’re wrong. I know that nothing will ever be normal again.

How can it be?

Once I was alive...

And now there is just this... Existence, in a post-Lucy world. A matter of survival, but survival isn’t living.

I watch as the woman opposite me crosses her legs, her expression impossible to interpret, her long blonde hair pulled into a sensible bun low at her nape. I think it’s the bun that does it—the sensible hairstyle makes me ache to loosen it.

Something long forgotten stirs inside of me. Something unwelcome and unmistakable.

A rush of sexual interest fires my blood and it angers me. It’s too soon. What kind of lousy-arse husband am I that I could actually be getting turned on not even three months after burying my wife?

‘Tell me about yourself,’ I invite, pushing back in the chair, my attention wandering almost as soon as she starts speaking.

She has nice lips. They’re full and perfectly shaped, like rosebuds. She is animated when she talks. I doubt she has known grief in her life. She has the air of one who still believes life will be easy and simple, that happiness is guaranteed.

She laughs at something she’s said and leans forward.

Oh, shit. Her shirt gapes a little and my body goes into overdrive. Guilt is hot on its heels. What am I doing fantasizing about this woman?

Any woman?

That’s not how this is meant to go.

Sex is sex, I remind myself. Or maybe that’s my dick doing my thinking for me. He certainly seems keen to join the conversation, if the hardness straining against my pants is any indication. Of all the times for my libido to literally rear its head, this is definitely not ideal.

For a start, even though she’s attractive, there’s a coldness to her that makes me think she’d be bad in bed. She laughs again and my dick jerks.

Or maybe not.

What the hell is going on?

I mean, sure, it’s been a long time. A really long time. Lucy was sick for months and months, and our sex life was non-existent, but obviously that didn’t even bother me. I didn’t feel deprived—I had far more important things to worry about, like keeping my wife alive. Up until now, I haven’t even thought about sleeping with anyone.

Except suddenly I do; I feel like I need to make up for lost time, starting with this woman.

Jesus. I can’t even remember her name but I think I can guess her cup size. I can imagine the feel of her breasts in the palms of my hands, their warmth and softness would just about fit perfectly.

She’s stopped talking and I’m staring at her breasts. So far as job interviews go, this is definitely one she’s going to remember for all the wrong reasons.

‘Look, Mr. Grant...’

‘Jack, please.’ It seems appropriate she should use my first name, given that I’ve just been fantasizing about yanking her over the desk and straddling her onto my lap.

‘Jack.’ She nods. A curt, professional movement that refocuses some of my attention. ‘You’re having difficulty keeping someone in this position.’

Great. Let’s talk about positions. That’ll help.

I say nothing. I fear I’m about one minute away from googling the Kama Sutra and seeing exactly which position she’d like best.

‘I’m not a quitter. I like a challenge, and I want this job.’

Chapter Two

‘I PRESUME YOU know my story.’

Emotions thicken his deep Irish accent, and his eyes flicker with a hint of resentment.

Of course I know his story. Who doesn’t? It was in all the papers when it happened—the kind of attention that somehow I just know this man would have abhorred. Photos ran of the pair of them. Jack and Lucy Grant on their wedding day. At various charity functions. He is handsome, smart, successful and rich and she was beautiful and kind, with a timeless grace. They had been the darlings of the society scene, for the brief period in which life was kind to them.

It’s not a question, but I suspect he’s waiting for an answer. I meet his eyes even though there’s something in them that makes my whole body feel supercharged and hyperaware.

His expression hasn’t changed. He is impassive and commanding.

And yet, his chest gives him away. His powerful chest is moving as though he’s run a marathon. It inflates and deflates rapidly. As though his question has sparked a physiological response of near-panic.

He takes my silence as agreement, and continues, but his voice is thick with emotions that make my heart twist for him. ‘I don’t want someone looking for a line on their CV. This isn’t a normal nine-to-five job. The company is my life. More now so than ever.’ His eyes flash and I understand. ‘But I can’t... I am not...’ He pushes back in his chair, fixing me with a direct stare. A stare that makes my body tremble. It’s a wholly inappropriate response, given that we’re in the middle of a job interview.

‘I need someone who will be me. This isn’t about showing up and getting given a list of priorities. This is a job for someone who’ll see what needs doing when I don’t. When I can’t.’

The admission is hard for him to make; I can see that. He is asking me for help, not just offering me a job. ‘I can do that.’

‘I’m not easy to work with.’ He lays the words down like a gauntlet. A challenge he expects me to shy away from.

But I like a challenge. ‘I’ve worked with some of the biggest bastards you can imagine.’

He pulls a face. I suspect he disagrees. That he thinks he might be worse than all of them.

So I push harder. ‘I want to be a part of something bigger.’

He rubs his fingers over his jaw, lost in thought. ‘And you think I’m it?’

I choose my words wisely. There is something between us. I feel it pulling between him and me like an elastic that will easily get to snapping point if we don’t take care.

I am careful not to make this about him, or me, so much as what the job is. ‘I think what you’ve done is remarkable. I think your achievements are...astounding. Yeah. I think this job is exactly what I want.’

The air between us seems to crackle.

He studies me a little more, nodding slowly.

‘And what if you hate it—’ he looks down at my résumé ‘—Gemma?’

Chapter Three

IT IS MY TURN to assess him. I narrow my eyes without realizing it, staring at him long and hard. Why doesn’t he want me to take this job?

Is it because he thinks I won’t be able to do it? Pride fires my hackles.

Or is it because he’s a sexist, misogynistic bastard who thinks only a man could possibly fulfil the role he’s offering? No, it can’t be that. He’s got one of the most gender-balanced workforces out there, and was an advocate for equal pay well before it was a hot-button topic.

Or is there another reason?

I stand, not letting my gaze drop from his for even a moment. ‘I won’t.’ I move towards him, and see the way he sucks in a breath, holds it, before pushing out of his chair, bringing himself to his full height. I extend a hand. ‘I want this job, Mr. Grant.’

For a moment, I think he’s not going to take my hand. I wait, the air around us beats with silent expectation. My fingertips tingle, waiting, wondering.

I am aware of everything. Of every noise, movement and smell. I am hypersonic.

A rustle of fabric precedes his movement. He pushes his hand forward. Our palms connect solidly; his fingers wrap around mine and his thumb finds the sensitive patch of flesh bridging fingers to thumb. Warmth spreads like wildfire, ravaging me completely. I do not show the effect the simple touch has on me.

I hold my ground and he holds his.

It is over in seconds. We have shaken hands and then we are separate again, two human beings who do not know one another.

‘Fine,’ he says with a shrug, as though we’ve just agreed to split a cab. ‘Let’s give it a go.’

* * *

Gemma Picton.

I stare at her résumé and see only her face in my mind. Her bright blue eyes, shaped like almonds, and the way they’d seemed to see right inside me.

A sigh rips through me and I reach for my baseball on autopilot and pass it from one hand to the other, feeling the red stitching with the pad of my thumb.

There is nothing wrong with her. Quite the opposite, in fact. She pretty much ticks all the boxes for what I want, professionally. Her academic results are exceptional. She’s clearly very bright. Not to mention her career history, which has seen her ascend the ranks of enormous corporations faster than just about anyone. She’s obviously determined.

So why am I scouring the damned thing with a fine-tooth comb, looking for a reason not to hire her?

I like a challenge.

I’m more than a challenge, though.

I’m a mess.

And I suspect Gemma is going to work that out in no time flat.

Chapter Four

I WATCH HER arrive as I have every morning this week. It is not yet six o’clock and yet here she is. That same sensible bun in place, making my fingers itch to tangle into its neat structure and pull it apart, bit by bit. I have no idea how she does that. Does she pin it? Or is it secured with a hair tie?

I don’t remember Lucy ever doing anything elaborate with her hair.

I liked it loose.

I ache to reach my fingers into Gemma’s hair and unravel it from that style. I don’t even know how long her hair is, and that bothers me. Does it fall to her breasts? Lower? Would it be halfway down her back?

Great. Now I can see her naked back, her hair blonde against it, and my fingers are still in its length, twisting it.

What the hell am I doing?

My wife has died. I can’t be thinking about someone like this—especially not someone who’s just started working for me.

Someone who, as far as I can tell, has no idea that I spend most of the time we’re together mentally undressing her.

Fuck.

This is not okay. Not any part of it is okay. She pauses, only a few paces away from my window, but I am on the first floor, and unless she looks upwards I am safe to continue watching. She reaches for her handbag and pushes a hand into it.

Curiosity makes me lean farther forward. Her fingers curl around her iPhone. She looks at the screen and I’m at just the right angle to see her grimace and hesitate, as though she’s thinking of not answering the call.

I’m instantly interested. I haven’t thought of her like this—as someone with a life of her own. Is she involved with anyone?

I look at her dispassionately, trying to separate the absurd film of desire that has settled in front of my eyes.

She is beautiful. Aloof and cold-seeming, but in a way that sure as hell makes me want to dislodge that. To find the heat that I’m sure must be pulsing beneath the surface.

She answers the phone; her expression is tight. Whoever is on the other end is doing most of the talking. Gemma is listening with a bemused expression on her face, and then she takes a few paces back, stopping near the oak tree at the middle of my drive. She puts a hand on her hip and the fabric of her dress pulls tighter, so that I can make out her silhouette easily.

Jesus.

This is not going to help.

I no longer need my imagination to furnish me with the shape of her figure; I can see it clearly. And while that’s going to add a degree of realism to my fantasies, it’s also going to make getting through the days a lot harder.

I know two things for certain in this moment.

First, I shouldn’t have hired her. This kind of chemistry is going to backfire, badly.

Second? The only way to manage this is to scratch the itch. Elsewhere. It’s not Gemma I want—it’s sex. Right?

Chapter Five

FOUR DAYS INTO working for Jack Grant and I think I should sue him for misrepresentation. Describing this job as ‘not nine to five’ is sort of like saying there’s a tiny bit of metal in the Eiffel Tower.

Then again, he told me it would be hard. He told me he needed someone who could basically be him. I just had no idea I’d be virtually running the place in my first week on the job.

It is eleven o’clock, late at night, and my body is tired but my mind is buzzing. I skim the email again, check the figures against the spreadsheet I’d seen earlier that day and nod. It’s the last thing on my radar for the day, but I know he’s got another huge schedule tomorrow and that I need to be prepared for it.

My smile is mocking.

Prepared for what? Anything.

That’s going to be my motto, I think. All week, I’ve been ‘prepared’ and had the carpet ripped out from under me more times than I can count. Jack Grant moves at a pace that would outstrip lightning and I have to move with him.

It is definitely challenging.

‘Still here?’

My heart slams against my rib cage and I startle visibly. ‘Jesus, Jack. You scared me half to death. I thought you were out.’

He is leaning against the door frame, wearing a suit that has been loosened at some point during the evening. His shirt is half-untucked at the waist, his tie is loose and the top two buttons have been undone.

Jack Grant is sexy as hell, but like this? He has an air of debauched rough-and-tumble that makes my mind go in directions it definitely, definitely shouldn’t.

I think of Lucy.

I think of the fact he was widowed only a few months earlier.

I think of the fact I’m pretty much the worst kind of human that I keep fantasizing about how he’d probably be amazing in bed. Or out of bed. Jack Grant could take me anywhere and I think I’d reach whole new heights...

My eyes meet his and I flush guiltily. The poor man deserves better than having me drooling over him whenever his back is turned.

‘I live here,’ he reminds me. There’s something about the words that sparks curiosity inside of me. Is he drunk? Or has he been drinking? He seems fine and, yet, there’s something different about him. Something I haven’t appreciated before.

‘Did you need something?’ I prompt.

His eyes spark as they connect with mine. The silence in the room is no longer passive; it takes on its own personality, throbbing with things unsaid.

For a moment, I imagine that he’s feeling as I am. That he’s thinking about me in a way that’s definitely not professional. That the desk between us offers more than a place for papers and my MacBook Pro.

‘Not anymore,’ he says with a smile that is more like a grimace. ‘I’m under control.’

Chapter Six

‘OH, JESUS FUCKING CHRIST.’

I don’t know what’s worse. The pain from my stubbed toe or the fact the jerking movement caused me to drop my coffee cup straight down, landing it hard against my breasts. The heat from the drink spreads over my chest at the same moment Jack Grant presses the buzzer to my hotel. At least, I presume it’s Jack Grant. It’s not like the doorbell sounds any different than it would if it were a doorman or Ed Sheeran, but it’s five minutes before I was expecting him and it’s so like him to be early.

‘Just a second,’ I call.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

I look in the mirror and wince at the image I make. The beautiful cream blouse that I’d teamed with a pair of wide-bottomed pants is never going to be the same again. I doubt even my superstar drycleaner, Artie, will have any luck with this.

Shit.

I spare a glance at my wristwatch and shake my head.

I have the outfit I wore yesterday. There’s nothing for it; I’ll have to get changed. Damn Jack for suggesting we come to Paris about an hour before his private jet was ready to take off. Damn him for telling me only once we were on the plane that we’d be meeting with the French President.

This has been his form for weeks.

Itineraries that I have double and triple checked, prepared for, anticipated, have been swapped at the last moment. There is very little rhyme or reason to how he operates. There are instincts and connections and he is peripatetic and confusing, and yet he is also brilliant and energizing.

The doorbell rings again and I grind my teeth together. Of course Jack Grant won’t wait.

I stride to the door quickly, already undoing the top button of my shirt.

‘Hi.’ I’m curter than I intended to be but, then again, I’ve just spilled boiling-hot coffee down my front, ruined a very nice, very expensive shirt, all about forty minutes before our meeting with the French President. I’d say that’s a good reason to be more than mildly stressed, wouldn’t you?

‘Gemma?’ His eyes drop to my shirt and heat spreads right to my hairline. ‘Your shirt is...wet.’

‘Oh, is it? Jeez, I hadn’t noticed,’ I snap sarcastically. ‘I need ten minutes. I’ll meet you in