It’s Friday night, and expert business accountant Tamsin Clair is trapped in tax season hell. Snowed under with her incompetent boss’s late invoices, she dreams of a life with less stress and more meaning.
Gorgeous Aussie plant technician Barry McCracken doesn't much enjoy his Friday night workload either. But he always looks forward to his little chats with the super-hot accountant he respectfully calls “Ms. Clair”.
Barry’s broad accent and relaxed speech has most Americans believing he’s a little mentally-challenged, affectionately earning him the nickname "Slowpoke".
Tamsin knows better. Left alone in the office together, the two find they have much more in common than just crazy work hours.
But can Tamsin trust the hunky Aussie with her secret...a secret that is guaranteed to change how he feels about her?
WARNING: This title contains graphic language, sexual situations, Australian slang and a healthy disregard for the taxation system!
He drew in a sharp breath and closed his eyes, his lips kinked up at the side in a way that made me want to suck them off his face. When he looked at me again there was no playfulness in his eyes. It’d morphed instantly into hunger.
He closed the small gap between us in a heartbeat and his hands slammed down either side of my hips. I think I might have squealed as he pressed his nose against mine.
For all the ferocity in his eyes, the kiss, when it came, was slow, deliberate and so, so hot. He cradled my mouth in his and gradually worked me open, his tongue curling around mine like a fast-growing vine. I felt all the strength he held in check as he angled my head back using nothing but his lips.
I hummed tunelessly as I curled my legs around him. He felt solid as a tree and I pulled my hips forward until I felt his wood nestling right in where I needed it. Even the rustle of falling papers couldn’t break the mood for me.
His fingers were surprisingly nimble for their size. He easily persuaded my blouse open, and I really wasn’t sure what happened to it after that. I took care of the bra myself.
The silken touch of Bazz’s mouth against my throat coaxed a moan from my chest. I stabbed my fingers into his short hair and held onto him as if I was drunk.
Without realizing I’d moved, I suddenly found my bare back pushed against the mess of papers covering my desk. Bazz nuzzled against my neck a little longer before finding his way to my nipple. His breath curled around the sensitive bud and I felt a tingle through my body. I arched my back and tickled his lips.
“Yes,” I hummed, and almost jumped as Bazz pushed a sharp laugh across my skin.
“Pushy, pushy. My dad warned me about American chicks.”