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Justin didn’t normally have a shoe or foot fetish, but that didn’t stop him imagining Rachel walking in front of him in nothing but those turquoise high heels. Nothing. Not a stitch.
His stomach crunched down hard at the mental image, blood roaring round his body and gathering in his nether regions. The end result was an erection like Mount Vesuvius on the boil. It surprised him that there wasn’t smoke wafting from his trousers.
Their ride down in the lift was awkward and silent, Justin keeping his hands linked loosely over his groin area in a seemingly nonchalant attitude, but inside he was struggling with the most corrupting thoughts.
She probably wouldn’t stop you if you started making love to her. She wants it. You know she does. Understandable under the circumstances. She probably hasn’t been to bed with a man since Eric the Mongrel left her. And she certainly hasn’t looked this good since then, either. She wants you to want her. That’s why she was stroking your neck like that. And that’s why she wasn’t all that happy a minute ago when you brought her Cinderella night to an abrupt halt. You’d be doing her a favour if you slept with her. You’d be delivering the whole fantasy. A man in her bed for the night. A man wanting her again. A man finding her beautiful and desirable and, yes, sexy.
Which he did find her tonight. What man wouldn’t? She looked gorgeous.
But what about in the morning, Justin? What about next week when you have to work with her? What then?
Justin smothered a groan. He couldn’t do it. No matter what. It was unacceptable and unconscionable and just plain wrong. She might not be dead drunk but she was decidedly tipsy, and extra-vulnerable tonight. She needed compassion, not passion. Understanding, not underhanded tactics.
‘You’re angry with me, aren’t you?’ she said wretchedly when they finally made it into the apartment, neither having said a word since they’d left the bar.
Justin sighed. ‘No, Rachel, I’m not angry with you.’
‘You’re acting as though you are.’
‘I’m sorry if it looks that way. If you must know, I’m angry with myself.’
She blinked her surprise. ‘But why? I’m the one who’s been behaving badly.’
‘That’s a matter of opinion. If you could see into my head right now then you wouldn’t think that.’
She stared at him and he stared right back, his conscience once again raging a desperate war with his fiercely aroused body. He tried to recapture the gentle and platonic feelings Rachel usually engendered in him; tried to recall how she’d once looked. But it was a losing battle. That sexless creature was gone, and in her place was this incredibly desirable woman. All he could think about was how she’d felt in his arms upstairs and how she’d feel in his bed down here.
‘This is an even worse idea than dancing with you,’ he muttered as he stepped forward and cupped her startled face with his hands. ‘But I haven’t the will-power to resist. Don’t say no to me, Rachel. Not tonight.’
He was going to kiss her, Rachel realised with a small gasp of shock. No, not just kiss her. He was going to make love to her.
She almost blurted out ‘no’, his carnal intentions fuelling instant panic. But before her mouth could form any protest his lips had covered hers in a kiss of such hunger and intensity that she was totally blown away. His tongue stabbed deep, his fingers sliding up into her hair, his fingertips digging into her scalp as he held her mouth solidly captive under his. It was a brutally ravaging, wildly primitive, hotly demanding kiss.
And she loved it, her moans echoing a dazed, dizzying pleasure.
‘No, don’t,’ she choked out ambiguously when his head lifted at long last, leaving her mouth feeling bruised and bereft. She actually meant, No, don’t stop. But he naturally took it another way.
‘I told you not to say that,’ he growled, and swept her up into his arms. ‘There will be no “no”s tonight.’
He kissed her again as he carried her down to his room, then kissed her some more whilst he took off all her clothes. Once she was totally, shockingly naked, he spread her out on the bed and kissed every intimate erogenous part of her body.
And she never once said no. Because she never said a word. She was beyond words. Beyond anything but moaning with pleasure.
Yet she didn’t come. He seemed to know just how much she could endure without tipping over the edge. Time and time again she would come incredibly close, and tense up in expectation of imminent release. But each time he would stop doing what he was doing, and she’d groan and writhe with frustration. As often as not he’d just smile down at her, as though he was enjoying her torment.
By the time he deserted her to strip off all his own clothes she would have done anything he asked. But he didn’t ask. Instead, he drew on one of the two condoms he pulled from his trouser pocket, and just took. Swiftly and savagely.
‘Oh,’ Rachel gasped, coming within seconds of his entering her. She’d never climaxed as quickly as that before, her flesh gripping his as he continued to thrust wildly into hers. He didn’t last long, either, his back arching as his mouth gaped wide in a naked cry of primal release. Afterwards, he collapsed across her, his chest heaving, his breathing raw.
Rachel just lay there under him, stunned and confused. For a woman whose body had just been racked by a fierce and fantastic orgasm, she didn’t feel at all satisfied, just primed for more.
‘Don’t talk,’ he commanded when he finally withdrew and scooped her still turned-on body up in his arms. ‘Talking will only spoil everything.’
His en suite bathroom was as white and spacious as hers, with a shower cubicle built for two. Holding her with one strong arm, he adjusted the water on both shower heads then deposited her in there before leaving to attend to the condom.
Rachel stood under the warm water and watched him through the clear glass of the shower cubicle, thinking that he really had a fabulous body. When he’d undressed earlier she’d been too caught up with her own excitement and apprehension to notice him in detail. Now her eyes avidly drank in his perfect male shape; the broad shoulders, slender hips, tight buttocks. Muscles abounded in his back, arms and legs. He also sported an all-over tan, except for the area that had been covered by a very brief swimming costume. Justin was built very well indeed. His wife certainly hadn’t left him because he was inadequate in that department. Or in the lovemaking department either. He knew what to do with a woman’s body all right. He made Eric’s idea of foreplay look pathetically inadequate.
Thinking of Justin’s wife and Eric reminded Rachel that what she was doing here—and what Justin was doing here—had nothing to do with love and relationships, and everything to do with need. Need for sex, and the need to be needed, even if only sexually.
At least, that was the way it was for her. Justin’s wanting her, even for this one night, had done more for her feminine self-esteem than all the physical make-overs in the world. He’d brought out the woman in her again. If nothing else, after tonight she could not go back to being that pretend plain Jane who’d been playing the role of his prim PA in such a piteous fashion.
Even if it meant having to resign, she would truly move on from this point, and live her life as she once had. There would be no more wimpishly making the least of herself. No more hiding behind dreary black suits and spinsterish hairdos. Definitely no more being afraid of other people, and men in particular. That sad, lonely chapter in her life was over.
‘You’re thinking,’ Justin grumbled as he joined her under the water and turned up the hot tap.
‘And you’re talking,’ she reminded him as she lifted her hands to slick her dripping hair back from her face.
‘That’s my prerogative. I’m the boss. Keep your arms up and your hands behind your head like that,’ he ordered thickly. ‘Lock your fingers together. Keep your elbows back.’
Rachel was staggered by his request. But she obeyed, and found the experience an incredible turn-on. By the look in his eyes, Justin did too. His gaze roved hotly over her body, which felt extra-naked and extra-exposed as she stood there like that. The now steaming water kept splashing over her head and running down her face, into the corners of her by now panting mouth. Down her neck it streamed, forming a rivulet between her breasts, pooling in her navel before spilling down to the juncture between her thighs, soaking the curl-covered mound and finally finding its way into the already hot, wet valleys of her female flesh.
‘Beautiful,’ he murmured, his voice low and taut. ‘Now close your eyes and don’t talk. Or move.’
Her eyes widened but then fluttered closed, as ordered. Rachel was far too excited to even consider not obeying him. She’d never played erotic games before, and the experience was blowing her mind.
Now, within her self-imposed prison of darkness, she could only imagine how she looked, standing there so submissively, with her elbows back and her breasts thrust forward, their nipples achingly erect. Was he looking at her and despising her for her unexpected wantonness, or delighting in her willingness to play slave to his master?
The shocking part was she didn’t seem to care, as long as he looked, and touched, and satisfied her once more. By the time his hands started skimming lightly over her body, she was already craving another climax, her mind propelling her forward to that moment when he’d surge up into her, filling her, fulfilling her.
She moaned softly when something—not his hand—rubbed over her nipples. Soap, she soon realised. A cake of soap. He wasn’t washing her as such, just using the soap, caressing her with its slippery surface, making her nipples tighten even further. Every internal muscle she owned tightened along with them. When the soap started travelling southwards Rachel sucked in sharply.
No, not there, she wanted to warn him. But before her tongue could formulate her brain’s protest the soap was between her legs, sliding back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. She tried to stop the inevitable from happening, but it was like trying to stop a ski-jumper in mid-jump. When her belly grew taut and her thighs began to tremble she knew the struggle for control had been futile.
She came with a violent rush, her knees going to jelly and her arms falling back down to her sides. She might have sunk into a wet heap on the floor had he not snapped off the water and swept her back up into his arms. Her eyes must have conveyed her shocked state as he carried her back to his bedroom, but he just ignored them and spread her dripping body face down across the bed, pushing a pillow up under her hips.
Was she too shattered to stop him at that moment? Or was this what she secretly wanted as well? For him to take her like that. For him to take her over and over in every position imaginable. To make her come again and again. To show her…what?
That she could be as wickedly sexy as the next woman? As Charlotte, perhaps?
When he didn’t touch her—or take her—straight away an impatient Rachel glanced over her shoulder, only to see he was busy with a condom. She was tempted to tell him that he didn’t really have to use protection. Not unless he was a health risk. Perversely, she was on the Pill for reasons which had nothing to do with contraception. It simply stopped her from having dreadful PMT, which she hadn’t been able to cope with on top of the stress of minding Lettie.
She didn’t tell him, in the end. Not right then. She wasn’t that brazen. But she told him later, after she realised he had no more condoms and she’d moved way beyond brazen, way beyond anything she thought she could ever be.
CHAPTER EIGHT (#ulink_11dc443f-7d65-59de-92c8-d8966f1f90f7)
JUSTIN stared down at the sleeping woman in his bed with disbelieving eyes. Was that really his prim and proper PA lying there in the nude, looking wickedly sexy with a sheet pulled suggestively up between her legs? And had it been himself who’d ravaged and ravished her amazingly co-operative body all night long?
The answer was yes, to both questions.
He groaned, his hands lifting to clap each side of his face then rake up into his hair. Whatever had possessed him? With Rachel, of all women!
Bosses who seduced their secretaries were top of his most despised list of men.
But seduce Rachel he had. The fact that she’d enjoyed herself enormously in the end had little bearing on the fact that initially he’d taken advantage of her drunken and vulnerable state, blatantly using his position as her boss to pressure her into sex. When he thought of the things he’d asked her to do in the shower his mind boggled. That she’d done everything he wanted, without question, was testament to her not being her usual sensible self. It was a particularly telling moment when she’d confessed later in the night to being on the Pill. No girl these days made such a rash revelation, not unless they were totally out of their minds with lust!
Which Rachel had been by then. No doubt about it.
Astonishing, really. He would never have believed it of her. Not with him, anyway. Still, given the circumstances, possibly any man would have done last night. He’d known that subconsciously. Hell, no, he’d known it consciously. He’d thought about her vulnerable state before he’d crossed the line. And what had he done? Still crossed that line, then wallowed in her unexpected sensuality and insatiability, urging her on to arouse him repeatedly with her mouth till he was ready to take her in yet another erotically challenging position.
His body stirred just thinking about it. Groaning, Justin dragged his eyes away from Rachel’s tempting nudity and headed straight for the bathroom, plunging his wayward flesh into the coldest of showers.
She’ll have to go, he began thinking, despite the icy spray doing the trick. I can’t possibly work with her. She’ll make me feel guilty all the time. Or worse.
The prospect of spending every weekday having cold showers at lunch time would be untenable. Aside from the constant distraction and frustration, it would remind him of Mandy, and what Mandy was up to on a daily basis with that bastard boss of hers.
Yet to sack Rachel would make him an even bigger bastard of a boss. Justin was trapped by the situation. Damned if he did and damned if he didn’t!
‘Bloody hell,’ he muttered, and slammed his palms hard against the wet tiles.
Rachel woke with a start, her eyes blinking as she tried to focus on where she was. She didn’t recognise the ceiling. Or the walls. Or the bed, for that matter.
And then, suddenly, she remembered.
Everything.
‘Oh, God,’ she moaned.
The sound of the shower running was some comfort, because it gave Rachel the opportunity to jump out of the bed, gather up her clothes and escape back to her own room without having to face Justin, naked, in his bed.
Grimacing, she dived into a shower of her own without delay, where she stayed for some time, doing her best to wash away all the evidence of what she could only describe as a night best forgotten.
But forgetting the way she’d acted was nigh on impossible when she was constantly confronted with the physical consequences of her amazingly decadent behaviour. Her nipples ached. Her mouth felt like suede. And she probably wouldn’t be able to walk without discomfort for a week.
As much as she hadn’t felt ashamed of her behaviour last night—she’d blindly viewed it as an exciting liberation from her drab, lonely and celibate existence—in the cold light of day she could see that having her own private orgy with her boss had not been a good career move.
He would not be pleased, she knew, either with her or himself.
Rachel was sitting on the side of her bed half an hour later and wishing she were dead, when a knock on the door made her jump.
‘Rachel,’ Justin said through the door in a businesslike voice. ‘Are you dressed?’
‘Not quite,’ she croaked out. A lie, since she’d just pulled on an outfit from Isabel’s discarded resort wardrobe, white capri pants and a matching white and yellow flowered top, with underwear, thank God. She’d bought a couple of bra and pants sets the previous day. But her hair was still wrapped in a towel and she hadn’t a scrap of make-up on.
Despite regretting going to bed with Justin, no way was she going to revert to plain-Jane mode again. If nothing else, yesterday’s make-over had propelled her out of that pathetic state.
‘We have to talk,’ Justin went on. ‘And we have to eat. In case you haven’t noticed, it’s after eleven and the breakfast buffet downstairs has long closed.’
‘I’m not very hungry,’ she said wretchedly.
‘Maybe not, but you still have to eat something. We’ll only get a snack on the flight home this afternoon. Look, why don’t I order sandwiches from Room Service whilst you get dressed? Then we can talk over brunch on the terrace. We have plenty of coffee and tea in the room, so a hot drink is no problem. See you out on the terrace in, say…half an hour?’
‘All right,’ she agreed, thinking with some relief how very civilised he was sounding. Maybe he wasn’t going to sack her after all.
Any hope of Justin’s that she might appear dressed in dreary black again was dashed when she stepped out onto the terrace looking delicious in tight white trousers and a bright yellow top that hugged her breasts. For a girl he’d recently thought of as skinny, she had some surprising curves.
And some surprising moves, he recalled, doing his best not to stare at her pink glossed mouth.
Gritting his teeth, he waved her to her seat at the table, then got straight down to brass tacks. No point in putting off the unpleasant.
‘Before you say anything,’ he began, ‘let me immediately apologise for my appalling behaviour last night. I have few excuses, except possibly eighteen months of celibacy and half a bottle of wine. Then, of course, there was the way you looked last night…’ Not to mention the way you look this morning, he could have added when his gaze swept over her again.
On top of the figure-fitting clothes, her hair was swinging around her face in a sleek, sexy red curtain, and her scarlet-painted toes were peeping out at him from her open-toed white sandals. She also smelled like fresh green apples, a scent he’d always liked.
‘I owe you an apology as well,’ she returned with what sounded like relief in her voice. ‘I led you on when we danced together. I know I did. And I certainly didn’t say no at any stage. I guess I must have been drunker than I realised.’
Justin was happy to play it that way, if it made her feel better. It certainly made him feel better. Or did it? Was she implying she must have been plastered to go to bed with him? Did she need reminding just how many times she’d come last night? And how often she’d begged him not to stop, long after the effects of that wine had worn off?
She’d been drunk all right. Drunk on desire.
You wanted me, baby, was on the tip of his tongue.
But, of course, he didn’t say that.
‘Fine,’ he said instead. ‘We’re both to blame. That’s fair. So let’s forgive each other, forget last night ever happened and just go on as before.’
He saw her shoulders snap back against the seat and her chin jerk up in surprise. She fixed frowning eyes upon him. ‘You can really do that? Forget last night ever happened?’
Not with you sitting next to me, sweetheart. And looking good enough to eat.
Justin shrugged. ‘Yes, why not? It didn’t mean anything to either of us. You needed a man and I needed a woman. It was simply a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. It’s obvious that both of us need to get out more,’ he finished up with a bitter little smile.
‘So you’re not going to sack me?’
‘Sack you! Of course not. The thought never occurred to me.’
Which was possibly only the first of a host of lies he’d be telling Rachel in future.
‘I…I was worried that you might. Isabel always says that to have an affair with the boss is the kiss of death, job-wise. The girl always ends up being given the boot.’
Not always, he wanted to say. Not when the woman in question is my beautiful blonde ex-wife. She’s been her boss’s assistant-cum-mistress for two years and they’re still together, at it like rabbits on desks and in private jets and on yacht decks.
‘But we’re not having an affair, are we?’ he reminded Rachel ruefully. ‘We made the mistake of going to bed together. Once. But we won’t be making that mistake again, will we?’
‘What? Oh, no. No, certainly not,’ she said firmly, but her eyes remained worryingly ambivalent.
Justin knew then that she was experiencing at least a little of the leftover feelings which were still haunting him.
Damn, damn and double damn! His own dark desires he could cope with. And hide. But he was a goner if she started coming on to him again.
