It Started With A Look: At Her Boss's Bidding / Bedded by the Boss / The Man Every Woman Wants

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.