The Secretary's Secret

“You scared me,” she admonished. So much for sneaking out before he woke up. Call her a chicken, but she hadn’t been ready to face what they’d done. How many times they had done it.

How many different positions they had done it in…

The bed was in shambles and there were discarded condom wrappers on the bedside table and floor. She winced when she thought of the way they’d touched each other, the places they had touched. How incredibly, shockingly, mind-meltingly fantastic it had been.

And how it could never, ever happen again.

“Going somewhere?” he asked.

“’Fraid so.”

He looked over at the digital clock beside the bed. “It’s the middle of the night.”

Exactly.

“I thought it would be best if I leave.” But God help her, he wasn’t making it easy. He sat there naked from the waist up, looking like a Greek god, a picture of bulging muscle and golden skin, and all she wanted to do was climb back into bed with him.

No. Bad Zoë.

This had to end, and it had to end now.

She edged toward the bathroom, snagging her purse from the floor. “I’m going to go get dressed, then we’ll…talk.”

She backed into the bathroom, his eyes never leaving her face. She shut and locked the door, then switched on the light, saw her reflection and let out a sound that ranked somewhere between a horrified gasp and a gurgle of surprise.

Just when she thought this night couldn’t get any worse.

Her hair was smashed flat on one side of her head and sticking up on the other, last night’s eyeliner was smeared under her red, puffy eyes, and she had pillow indentations all over her left cheek. Unlike Nick who woke up looking like a Playgirl centerfold. It’s a miracle he hadn’t run screaming from the room when he saw her.

Had there been a window in the bathroom, she would have climbed through it.

She splashed water on her face, used a tissue to wipe away the smudges under her eyes, then dug through her purse for a hair band. Finger combing her hair with damp hands, she pulled it taut and fastened it into a ponytail. She had no clue where her bra and panties had disappeared to, and there was no way in hell she was going to go hunting for them. She would just have to go commando until she got home.

She tugged on her battered dress, smoothing out the wrinkles as best she could. In his haste to undress her, Nick had torn one of the spaghetti straps loose. One side of the bodice hung dangerously low. The form-fitting silk skirt was still a little damp and stained from the glass of champagne she’d spilled on herself.

It was the dress she’d worn to both of Nick’s weddings. It looked as if maybe it was time to retire it.

Or incinerate it.

Zoë studied her reflection, hiking the bodice up over her half exposed breast. Not great, but passable. Maybe everyone wouldn’t look at her and automatically think, tramp, as she traipsed through the five-star hotel lobby. Not that she would run into too many people at three-thirty in the morning.

She heard movement from the other room, and fearing she would catch him as naked and exposed as he had caught her—she cringed at the thought of her big rear end in his face when he turned the light on—she called, “I’m coming out now!”

When he didn’t respond, she unlocked the door and edged it open, peeking out. He sat on the bed wearing only the slacks from last night, his chest bare.

And boy what a chest it was. It’s not as if she’d never seen it before. But after touching it…and oh my, was that a bite mark on his left shoulder? She also seemed to recall giving him a hickey somewhere south of his belt, not to mention the other things she’d done with her mouth…

Shame seared her inside and out. What had they done?

As she stepped toward him, she noticed the gaping hole in the front of his pants. She was about to point out that the barn door was open, then remembered that in her haste to get his slacks off last night, she’d broken the zipper. They’d torn at each other’s clothes, unable to get naked fast enough, as if they’d been working up to that moment for ten long years and couldn’t bear to wait a second longer. She would never forget the way he’d plunged inside her, hard and fast and deep. The way she’d wrapped her legs around his hips and ground herself against him, how she’d moaned and begged for more…

Oh God, what had they done?

She clutched her purse to her chest, searching the floor for her shoes. She needed to get out of there pronto, before she did something even stupider, like whip her dress off and jump him.

“I think these belong to you.” Nick was holding up her black lace bra and matching thong. “I found them under the covers.”

Swell.

“Thanks.” She snatched them from him and stuffed both in her tiny purse.

“Should we talk about this?” he asked.

“If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather leave and pretend it never happened.”

He raked a hand through his short blue-black hair. Thick dark stubble shadowed his jaw, which explained the chafing on her inner thighs.

“That is one way to handle it,” he said, sounding almost disappointed.

He had to know as well as she did that this was a fluke. It never should have happened. And it sure as hell would never, ever happen again.

Not that he was a bad guy. Nick was rich, gorgeous and genuinely nice—and okay, a touch stubborn and overbearing at times. And there were occasional moments when she wanted to smack him upside the head. But he was sweet when he wanted to be and generous to a fault.

How he hadn’t found the right woman yet, she would never understand. Maybe he was just trying too hard. Either that or he had really bad luck. When it came to finding the wrong woman, he was like a magnet.

Personally, she liked her life just the way it was. No commitments. No accountability to anyone but herself and Dexter, her cat. She’d already done the mommy-caregiver gig back home. While both her parents worked full time jobs she’d been responsible for her eight younger brothers and sisters. All Nick had talked about during the past five years was marrying Susie homemaker and having a brood of children. The closest she was going to get to a diaper was in the grocery store, and that was only because it was across the aisle from the cat food.

The day Zoë turned eighteen she’d run like hell, clear across Michigan, from Petoskey to Detroit. And if it hadn’t been for Nick, she wouldn’t have lasted a month on her own. Despite having just started his construction company, or maybe because of it, he hadn’t fired her when he found out she’d lied on her application about having office experience.

The truth was, she couldn’t even type and her phone skills were questionable. Instead of kicking her out the door, which she admittedly deserved, his alpha male gene had gone into overdrive and he’d set out to save her. He’d helped put her through college, trained her in the business—in life. She’d been more than a tad sheltered and naïve.

To this day Zoë didn’t know why he’d been so good to her, why he’d taken her under his wing. When they met, something just clicked.

And, in turn, Zoë had been Nick’s only family. The only person he could depend on. He never seemed to expect or want more than that.

No way she would throw it all away on one stupid lapse in judgment, because the truth of the matter was, in a relationship, they wouldn’t last. They were too different.

They would kill each other the first week.

“We’ve obviously made a big mistake,” she said. She spotted her brand new Jimmy Choo pumps peeking out from under the bed. She used her big toe to drag them out and shoved her feet in. “We’ve known each other a long time. I’d hate to see our friendship, our working relationship, screwed up because of this.”

“That would suck,” he agreed. He sure was taking this well. Not that she’d expected him to be upset. But he didn’t have to be so…agreeable. He could at least pretend he was sorry it wouldn’t happen again.

She hooked a thumb over her shoulder. “I’m going to go now.”

He pulled himself to his feet. She was wearing three-inch heels and he was still a head taller. “I’ll drive you home.”

She held up a hand to stop him. “No, no. That’s not necessary. I’ll call a cab.”