Her Billionaire Rancher Boss

  HER BILLIONAIRE RANCHER BOSS

  She’s handed in her resignation—but this wealthy rancher is ready to offer her another position…

  Benedict Merrill is handsome, wealthy, and the perfect cowboy. Unfortunately for Pilar Lopez, he’s also her boss, which means he’s completely off limits. She has no plans to seduce him, at least not outside of her wildest fantasies.

  But when she hands in her resignation, Benedict reveals plans of his own—ones that involve Pilar in his bed. She can handle a short-term affair no sweat. But when she starts to fall for Benedict, will she be able to handle loving him for always?

  This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2015 by Genevieve Turner

  Digital Version 1.0

  Cover photographs © Illustrated Romance | illustratedromance.com and Kotenko Oleksandr | shutterstock.com

  All rights reserved.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Pilar Lopez tucked the envelope behind her tablet computer, shifting the corners this way and that. And never completely concealing it.

  Could he see it? That was all that mattered.

  He being her boss, Benedict Merrill. Sitting behind his desk in a bright white button-down shirt, long legs stretched out before him in starched and pressed Wranglers. She couldn’t see from here, but she imagined his battered black ropers were crossed at the ankle.

  When a man ran one of the largest cattle-ranches-turned-hotel-and-resort in Southern California—not to mention the stock horse operation—he could wear Western business casual to work. Not that Benedict was casual. He was tough, efficient, almost cold.

  Too bad his demeanor didn’t chill her attraction to him.

  Only three more months. As soon as you give him that letter.

  But not now. He was frowning—not at her, but at some expense report. Not a good time then.

  She’d only been telling herself that for a week.

  Today. She would definitely do it today. Just not at this particular moment.

  “Tell Liliana,” he said in his deep voice, “that the feed bill for her horses was too damn high this month. I don’t know what she’s feeding them, but it sure ain’t alfalfa based on the price I saw. She needs to get a better price if she’s gonna buy that much.”

  “I can do that.” She made a note on her tablet to talk to Benedict’s younger sister. Liliana ran the stock operations, although Benedict kept a close eye on everything. He treated his siblings with the same businesslike reserve he treated his employees. At least on company time. She guessed he was more approachable off the clock, considering that his siblings seemed to like him.

  There was nothing in his office to hint at some hidden warmth though. Spartan was a good word for it—in the lacking things sense, not the naked warrior sense. He liked everything squared away and in its proper place. Very type A, Mr. Benedict Merrill.

  The sparsity of his office décor wasn’t meant to highlight the man himself, but that’s exactly what it did. You couldn’t look anywhere but at him.

  At least Pilar couldn’t.

  He reached across the desk, the light catching the heavy watch he wore, his sleeves rolled up to reveal sinewy forearms, rough with hair and golden skinned. Her stomach clenched as she fought her reaction.

  The first four years she’d worked for him, she’d been as crisp, as unfeeling, as he was. On the inside and on the outside. But the past year… she’d begun to notice him. Like notice him.

  He tapped a finger on the paper in his hand. “Luke wants to meet about this?”

  Luke ran the resort. Liliana and Luke and Benedict, another generation of Merrills to run things in Cabrillo.

  And Josh, but no one spoke of Josh. At least not to Benedict’s face.

  “Would you like me to set it up?” She looked down at the tablet, fingers poised over the small keyboard, waiting for him to tell her yes.

  He didn’t.

  She glanced up to find him watching her. His gaze pressed on her with a weight it had never had before, her bones seeming to shift under it.

  She dropped her eyes back to the tablet, resisting the urge to rub the goose bumps from her arms.

  Be cool. Of course he’s looking at you—what else is there to look at?

  “Pilar?”

  A tiny shiver danced down her spine at the way he said her name—a softly breathed P to open it and ending on a rolling R. Just as it was meant to be pronounced.

  He leaned toward her, a hank of dark brown hair falling across his brow, his blue eyes narrowing. “Is everything all right?”

  She shifted in the chair, her skirt dragging up her thighs half an inch. Damn. She didn’t want to have to tug down her skirt in front of him. She froze, hoping to arrest its climb. “Everything’s fine. When should I schedule the meeting?”

  He leaned even closer and put on a reassuring—and devastating—smile. “If there’s anything the matter, you can tell me. We’re friends, you know.”

  Friends. Friends shared jokes and secrets and mundanities. A friend didn’t take dictation for another friend.

  But that wasn’t quite fair. They might not be friends, but he did care. She wouldn’t have this job if he didn’t. His solicitude made her attraction to him that much more painful.

  She pulled up her I’m a friendly and competent admin smile, the one she used on everyone who came through his office. “Everything’s great.”

  The envelope beneath her tablet poked through the knit of her tights to scrape the skin of her knee, a potent reminder that she was a liar.

  He sat back, hooked his thumbs into his belt, his hands framing the buckle he’d won for team roping in high school. His picture in the paper for that had showcased a wide smile on his younger, easier face. He was in the paper these days too, but for things like opening a new Boys & Girls Club and donating to the food pantry; he took his responsibilities to the area seriously.

  “All right then,” he said, back to steady neutrality. “Tell Luke we’ll meet tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Will do. And the preliminary agreement for Mr. Farrell? Did you want to work on that now?”

  He ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back into place. Which was a shame, since he’d looked so delectable before.

  No. It was good that he was less attractive this way. Very good.

  “Let’s stop for lunch and pick up again after.”

  She nodded in response and gathered up her tablet—and that stupid letter she was too much of a coward to give him. She headed for the door, her kitten heels click-click-clicking along the tile floor. She shut his office door quietly behind her, then went to sit at her own desk, scooting herself into place. Kitten heels were cute for bounding through the halls, but the slick soles made her feel as if she were scrabbling whenever she moved her chair.

  Her own workspace was a little more welcoming than Benedict’s. No windows—her view was of the ranch logo, the words “Honoring the past, looking toward the future,” emblazoned below it. Two desks—one for her and a spare—a couple of peace lilies that were overflowing their planters, some orchids for color, and a bromeliad just because. She sometimes wondered what people thought, going from the indoor forest she’d created here to the austerity of Benedict’s office.

  She checked the moisture level of the bark in the orchid on her desk and sighed. Lunchtime. She could head outside to eat her lunch, but the red button on the e-mail program flashing 52 at her put that idea to rest. She had to work through some of those e-mails. Lunch at her d
esk it was.

  She pulled open a drawer, slipped the letter under her purse where it couldn’t taunt her, then slammed the drawer shut when Benedict came out of the office.

  He stopped, stared at her. “Everything okay?”

  She folded her hands in an imitation of innocence. “Great,” she chirped. “See you in about an hour.”

  He stayed right where he was… and cocked his eyebrow. Just the one, coming up in a dead-sexy lift.

  Had he ever done that before? It looked like he was about to call her a naughty girl and spank her.

  Get a grip, Pilar. He only thinks you’re acting weird. Which you totally are.

  Thank God she was leaving in three months, because her libido was taking over her subconscious at this point. Give it enough time in Benedict Merrill’s presence and it’d take over her conscious brain as well.

  She kept her hands folded, her smile tight on her face, and prayed she looked professional and not deranged.

  That brow of his slowly returned to its normal spot, and he turned to leave, giving her a fine view of his ass in those Wranglers. A fine and torturous view.

  She shook her head and smashed her fist into her forehead for good measure. Idiot. She meant herself, but a bit of that irritation was directed at him. Why did he have to pull that stunt with his eyebrow? And coming out right when he had, just as she was hiding the letter and scaring her half to death? That had been a close call.

  Of course, after lunch she’d hand over the letter and there’d be nothing more to hide. Sighing, she pulled out her peanut butter sandwich. Hurriedly downing her sandwich with her left hand while pecking out replies with her right, she tilted one ear toward the hallway in case someone came. An admin should never be caught with a palm full of sticky peanut butter.

  Once the unanswered e-mails were down to sixteen and her sandwich was entirely gone, she click-clacked down the hall to the washroom. These offices—and the entire resort—looked like those a mission might have, with red tile floors and white adobe walls. If a mission had been devoted to luxurious relaxation and not religious conversion.

  The surroundings made her feel very much like an admin in a movie, with her skirt that highlighted and smoothed her curves—a hard thing to find in her size—and a shirt that showed just enough cleavage to say Hello rather than Look at me! At least, if they made movies about overweight Mexican girls instead of Jennifer Lopez. Who wasn’t overweight. Or Mexican.

  The bathroom was tiled in vibrant shades of blue and yellow, a sultan’s hamam by way of California. She washed her hands, the peanut butter smell faintly lingering under the floral soap, brushed her teeth, and went rooting in her bag for her lip stain. She made a kissy face in the mirror with her newly bright lips. Please God, let the makeup company never discontinue this color—it was hard to find a red that looked good on her and was appropriate for work. Maybe she should stockpile it—how long did lip stain last? Like, cockroach long? Or maybe just government-cheese long?

  She click-click-clicked her way back to the desk to deal with those last sixteen e-mails. Her hands were poised above the keyboard as she tried to think of the best way to word this refusal, when Benedict came back.

  He strode toward his office door, not in a rush but clearly not wishing to waste time. He went past her desk… and stopped. And smiled at her.

  An answering smile began to spread across her face, hot and quick as a pool of gasoline catching a spark.

  Then it guttered and died.

  The letter.

  No more putting it off.

  “Ready?” he asked.

  She nodded dumbly, and he disappeared into his office.

  Coming to stand before him, the envelope clutched between her fingers, she felt as shaky and sick as when… well, as when she’d been standing before him five years ago with another piece of paper in her hands. Her résumé that time, instead of a letter of resignation.

  She’d been there ostensibly to apply for the admin job, but they both knew why she was truly there: to ask for yet another Merrill handout.

  And because Benedict was kind and considerate, he’d given her the job. She’d worked as hard as she could, aiming to be the ideal secretary, but no matter how well she performed, it couldn’t erase the fact that she never would have been considered if her parents hadn’t died. If she hadn’t suddenly found herself responsible for her thirteen-year-old brother.

  Benedict’s initial impulse of charity had meant that she could keep Javier and herself fed and housed. And could amass a sizable college fund for her brother. She was grateful—but she also wanted to be free of Merrill charity.

  Which was why she waited before him now, clutching her letter of resignation. And she’d give it to him just as soon as she found her voice.

  He set his knuckles on the desk and rose from his chair as she stood there in silence. “Now I know something is wrong.” His voice vibrated with worry—actually vibrated—setting off tiny tremors in her limbs. “Please tell me. I want to help.”

  She nearly whimpered. There had been nothing like that from him when she’d first applied. It had been all impersonal efficiency layered over what was really happening: “Yes, you’re the best qualified person, I’m happy to hire you,” instead of “You need my help.”

  She closed her eyes, reached for indifference.

  People leave jobs all the time. You’re not ungrateful or resentful. You’re allowed to move on.

  She almost believed it.

  Eyes wide, shoulders back, heels snapping, she marched to him, the envelope hanging at the end of her stiffly outstretched arm. He snatched it from her before she could say anything.

  “What’s this?” he rumbled as he tore into it.

  “It’s, um…” God, she still couldn’t say it. And he was already reading it!

  His gaze snapped back and forth as he scanned it. “What the fuck?” he snarled before throwing it to his desk.

  Whoa. He never swore like that. Ever. She blinked at the letter lying there between them.

  He pointed at her. “Sit down.”

  The force of her butt hitting the seat snapped her out of her odd mood. This—his reaction—was all wrong. People left jobs—even people who worked for him. He’d need a few months to adjust to a new admin, but snapping at her? Swearing?

  “Yeah, that’s my resignation letter,” she said. “Which you already know.”

  Snark. Her favorite weapon in awkward situations. Sometimes he even laughed at her little asides.

  He wasn’t laughing now. He sat down himself, pinning her with a look that was intense. Almost mad.

  No, not mad. She’d seen him irritated, and this was different. Hotter. And sadder, all at the same time.

  “I won’t let you leave,” he said starkly.

  The room seemed to rise, spin three hundred sixty degrees with her as the unmoving center, then settled back into place, everything as it was. Only not quite. Things gleamed a little brighter, edges were a little harder, shadows a little murkier. And Benedict, a house cat turned into a mountain lion, his sharp teeth lengthened into fangs.

  Stop it. That was crazy. He was only pissed that he’d have to train a new assistant.

  “I’m pretty sure you have to let me leave,” she pointed out. “The Thirteenth Amendment and all that.”

  He blinked at her. “Did you just invoke the Thirteenth Amendment?”

  “Yeah,” she admitted. “I guess I did.”

  He reached for the letter again, his fingers pinching and releasing the folds but never opening it. “Of course you can leave.” His voice took on a funereal hush. “I… I can’t make you stay.”

  She frowned at the letter herself, at his fingers plucking purposelessly at it. It sounded almost as if he wanted to make her stay. But there wasn’t anything deeper in his protests. Her own frustrated attraction was adding nuances that simply weren’t there.

  “Why do you want to leave?” he asked. “Pilar”—his voice went to a register of pleading she
’d never heard before from him—“God, I thought you were happy here. With me.”

  Was this a discussion about her resignation or a breakup? Things were getting very weird. “Of course I’m happy to work for you.”

  His frown deepened. What the hell? She’d just said she was happy to work for him. She’d thought he’d be pissed and that he’d try his best to hide it. That reaction she’d been prepared to deal with.

  But this… guilt trip? It wasn’t fair. She’d been an excellent secretary for five years. She’d raised her brother for five years. She deserved to snatch something for herself, and she wasn’t going to feel guilty about it. Or at least she wasn’t going to let that ball of guilt forming in her gut stop her plans.

  “So why?” he demanded.

  “Javier graduates in three months,” she began.

  “I know,” he said shortly. As if he had it marked on a calendar or something.

  “After that, it’s time for something different.” Somewhere far away from Cabrillo. And from Benedict Merrill.

  But not too far. She still had to keep an eye on Javier.

  Benedict slid his knuckles along the edge of the desk, the menace in the gesture made ice crust her spine. Man, he was freaking out here. And freaking her out.

  “What different thing do you want to do in Cabrillo?”

  If he was going to offer her another job… But of course he would, if he assumed she was staying. The Merrills had a finger in every pie in this town. Hell, they owned half the town.

  Which was part of why she wanted to escape.

  “I’m planning on moving. Maybe to LA. Maybe even farther,” she said defiantly. She appreciated the opportunity he’d given her, but now she was going to go make some opportunities of her own, in a place not his own.

  “You really are leaving,” he said slowly, his brows drawing together.

  Finally. Some of this was getting through to him.