Christmas with her Boss by Marion Lennox Page A

his gumboots.
    On the other side of the shed teenagers were happily dismantling the wreck, labelling pieces with Letty’s preserving stickers. She had a bunch of gloriously happy teenagers, and the guy who’d caused it all to happen was apologising. Meg stared down at her boss’s legs and thought she could totally understand where Letty’s proposal had come from.
    And she’d never realised until now how sexy a pair of grease-covered legs could be.
    â€˜So… So where did you learn mechanics?’ she managed.
    â€˜I told you. Powering up my father’s golf cart.’ His voice was muffled, but she was aware of an undercurrent of contentment.
    â€˜And the rest?’
    â€˜My parents were away a lot. They had enough cars to warrant hiring a mechanic. He taught me.’
    â€˜Nice guy,’ Meg said, deflected from thinking about legs—or almost. She thought instead of gossip she’d read about this man, about how appalling his parents sounded, how lonelyhis childhood must have been. ‘Did this mechanic have a name?’
    â€˜Mr Himmel.’
    â€˜Mr Himmel.’ She grimaced at the formality. ‘He called you Mr McMaster?’
    â€˜Of course. Can you pass me under the tension wrench?’
    â€˜Tension wrench?’
    â€˜On the left with the blue handle.’
    â€˜That’s a tension wrench?’
    â€˜And you a dairy farmer and all.’
    â€˜Dairy farmers aren’t necessarily mechanics. Plus I’m a commerce graduate. And a PA.’
    â€˜Right, I forgot,’ he said, but absently, and she knew his attention was on whatever he needed the tension wrench for.
    She watched his legs for a little. His attention was totally on the car.
    She watched the boys for a little. Their attention was totally on the car.
    Guys doing guy stuff.
    Befuddled, she headed back to the dairy, where Letty was sluicing. They cleaned almost in silence but she was aware that Letty kept glancing at her.
    â€˜What?’ Meg said at last, exasperated.
    â€˜He’s lovely.’
    â€˜So why are you looking at me?’ She sighed. ‘Anyway, he’s not lovely. He’s covered in grease.’
    â€˜You know what I mean.’
    â€˜Okay, I do,’ she admitted. ‘But you know who he is, so you can stop looking at me like you think I should do something about it. He’s William McMaster, one of the wealthiest men on the planet. He’s my boss and I have one of the best jobs in the world. If you think I’m messing with it by thinking he’s lovely…’
    â€˜I suppose it would mess with it,’ Letty said. ‘Falling for the boss…’
    â€˜It’d be a disaster.’
    â€˜I don’t know how you haven’t before.’
    â€˜Because I’ve never seen him in overalls before.’
    â€˜They do make a man look sexy,’ Letty said thoughtfully. ‘That and carrying a grease gun. My Jack was always attached to a grease gun. Mind, once I had to get the grease off his clothes the novelty pretty soon wore off.’ She sighed but then she brightened. ‘But times have changed. Domestic equality and all that. He could get his own grease off.’
    â€˜You’re seriously suggesting William McMaster could do his own laundry?’ Meg even managed a chuckle. The idea merited a chuckle.
    As was thinking of those legs, sticking out from under Letty’s car. As was thinking that William McMaster was sexy.
    Legs or not, even if the man carries a grease gun, he’s still my boss, she told herself. A good servant knows her place. Just plaster that message across your box of hormones and leave it there.
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    They ate dinner on the run. The boys were in no hurry to go home. At dusk they took off, pack-like, whooping away on their bicycles, and Meg knew they’d be back first thing in the morning.
    This was priceless.
    Scott was almost asleep on his feet, but lit up almost as much as the