It Started With... Collection

‘Maybe dancing together isn’t such a good idea.’

‘Just shut up, boss, and move your feet.’

Her uncharacteristic assertiveness surprised him, but he shut up and moved his feet. Still, he’d been right. It wasn’t a good idea. The slow, sensual rhythm of the music got further into his blood, as did the scent—and softness—of the woman in his arms. Of course, it didn’t help that her fingertips started stroking the back of his neck in a highly provocative fashion, or that she kept gazing up at him with eyes full of erotic promise. By the time the music stopped he was in agony, his erection straining against the fly of his suit trousers.

At least he had a jacket on.

‘I need to go to the gents’,’ he ground out after depositing her back in her chair. Fortunately, their coffee had finally arrived. A potful, as ordered. Hopefully, after a couple of strong cups Rachel might sober up and stop trying to seduce him.

His normally very proper PA was going to hate herself in the morning, Justin thought ruefully as he strode back inside the bar and over to the gents’. Alcohol could make even the most sensible woman behave a bit stupidly. Add her tipsy state to all that had happened earlier this evening, and he had a very different Rachel on his hands tonight.

Of course, he had to shelve some of the blame himself. He hadn’t realised when he’d encouraged her to make herself over today that her transformation would be quite so dramatic. When a woman looked as seriously good as Rachel did tonight she was apt to find her flirtatious side.

Still, what was his excuse for responding so powerfully? Since he didn’t fancy Rachel in that sense, he could only conclude he was suffering from acute frustration.

Maybe his male body was finally rebelling against its long stint of celibacy. Possibly it was time for him to search out an accommodating female who’d give him regular sex without any emotional strings involved. Definitely no strings involved. The last thing he wanted was a serious relationship. Or being told he was loved.

Definitely not. Sex was all he needed, something that was painfully obvious when he went into a cubicle in the gents’ and confronted his wayward flesh.

Justin sighed and waited till the worst had subsided. But he was still aroused when he emerged from the cubicle to wash his hands. The sight of a condom dispenser on the wall next to the basins immediately caught his attention, with temptation not far behind.

Before he could think better of it, he dropped a couple of single dollars in the slot provided and slipped two condoms in his trouser pocket. Who knew? He might come back up here after Rachel was asleep. It was still only early. He’d already noticed an attractive redhead sitting all by herself at the bar, who’d given him the eye as he walked past. He just might return and take her up on her none-too-subtle invitation, since getting to sleep tonight in his present state of mind and body might prove difficult.

Difficult? More like bloody impossible!

Once Justin left her alone, Rachel’s conscience—and common sense—returned with a vengeance. What on earth did she think she was doing, flirting with her boss and dancing with him like that, winding her arms around his neck like a clinging vine and moulding her body to his like some neglected nymphomaniac?

Justin’s getting turned on wasn’t his fault. He was just a man after all, a man who possibly hadn’t had sex for some time. His leaving her to race off to the gents’ had been too embarrassing for words.

Rachel cringed with humiliation, and guilt. If she could have bolted back to her hotel room right now without consequences she would have. If Justin hadn’t been in possession of the door key she might have. As things stood, she had no alternative but to sit there and wait for his return, when she would apologise for her appalling behaviour, and beg his forgiveness and understanding. She would blame the wine, then throw herself on his mercy by explaining that she wasn’t herself tonight.

Not her recent self, anyway. The Rachel Justin had employed would never have acted as she just had. In a way, it amazed her that she’d had the gall. Being sexually aggressive took courage, and confidence. Either that, or being turned on to the max.

This last thought bothered her the most. Because during those moments when she’d felt his hardness pressing into her stomach she’d wanted him in the most basic way; wanted to feel him, not against her but inside her. It was a startling state of affairs for a girl who’d always believed she had to be in love to want to be made love to. Clearly, she’d come to a point in her life when that wasn’t the case any more. Perhaps that was what happened to a single woman when she got to a certain age, or when she’d been so lonely for so long that any man would do.

Rachel hated that idea but she could not deny it just might be true.

Crossing her arms with a shiver that had nothing to do with being cold, Rachel peered anxiously through the plate-glass window into the more dimly lit bar, both wanting and fearing Justin’s return.

But there was no sign of him. He was certainly taking his time.

Desperate for distraction from her increasing agitation, she poured herself some coffee and gulped it down, black and strong. Unfortunately, this only served to sober her up and make her agonise further over the folly of her earlier actions.

She was refilling her empty cup when her boss finally showed up, but he didn’t sit back down. He stayed standing by the table, his expression grim as he frowned down at her.

‘I think I should take you back to the apartment,’ he said abruptly. ‘What you need is sleep, not coffee.’

‘I’m not that drunk,’ she replied sharply before remembering that being intoxicated was to be one of her excuses for behaving badly.

‘I didn’t say you were. But you’ve had a long and emotionally exhausting day. Come along, Rachel, be a good girl, now, and don’t argue with me.’

Perversely, Rachel now felt like arguing with him, his patronising tone having really rubbed her up the wrong way. Any thought of apologising went out of the window.

He’d been equally to blame for what had just happened, she decided mutinously. If he hadn’t insisted she tart herself up she would never have had the confidence to do any of the things she’d done tonight. He’d never have asked her to dance, either. When she’d been a plain Jane he hadn’t given her a second glance.

She’d be damned if she was going to feel ashamed of her behaviour. Considering how long it had been since a man had taken her in his arms, it was no wonder she’d lost her head there for a while. She was only human.

A soon-to-be unemployed human, if you keep this attitude up, came the dry voice of reason.

With a sigh of surrender to common sense over rebellion, Rachel put down her coffee-cup and levered herself carefully out of the chair. This time, she was much more steady on her feet.

‘I didn’t think Cinderella had to go home till midnight,’ she muttered with a glance at her watch. ‘It’s only half-past ten. Still, if you say it’s time for me to go to bed then it’s time for me to go to bed. You’re the boss after all.’

Justin wished she hadn’t said that, his mind immediately filling with various lust-filled scenarios associated with his taking this particular Cinderella to bed, none of which involved his playing the role of Prince Charming. More like the Black Prince. When he went to take her arm he thought better of it, deciding to keep his hands to himself till she was safely ensconced in her bedroom. Alone.

‘Let’s go, then,’ he grated out, and stepped back to wave her ahead of him.

Unfortunately, Rachel walking ahead of him in that highly provocative dress stimulated him further. If she’d had eyes in the back of her head she’d have been disgusted by his suddenly lascivious gaze as it gobbled up her rear view, which, whilst not quite as delicious as her front, had the bonus of its owner not being aware of being ogled. He could ogle to his heart’s content.

Justin didn’t even notice the redhead at the bar this time as he passed by, his attention all on Rachel’s derrière in motion. The tinkling sounds of the crystal-drop hem brushing against her legs dragged his eyes down to her shapely calves, then further down to her slender ankles and sexily shod feet.

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.