Lessons in Love

by Kathryn R. Blake

  Before she could reply, he slipped out the door. Pam sighed, fingering her lips where he’d caressed them. Kissed them.

  "Lock the door, Miss Weston," he ordered brusquely.

  With a grin and a shake of her head, she obeyed. Then, after the sound of his steps trailed down the hall, she got ready for bed and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The next morning, Pam was weeding out the food she doubted she would ever eat when her phone rang. Peterson's driver waited for her downstairs. Sorting the containers into two, large paper bags, she locked up her apartment and took the elevator to the lobby.

  Paul met her when the doors opened.

  "I'll take those, Miss Weston."

  "Thanks. Mr. Peterson said they could be taken to the shelter."

  "Yes. He told me. I will see to it. I am also your ride for the time being both to and from work. Mr. Peterson will make sure you know how to contact me, but I will be waiting downstairs for you at 5:00 p.m."

  "Not too much pressure," she mumbled, sliding into the back of the limo. Paul smiled as he shut the door.

  When he got into the driver's seat, she inched forward to talk to him. "How long have you worked for Mr. Peterson, Paul?"

  He glanced back at her through the rearview mirror. "Nearly ten years. Please sit back, Miss Weston, and fasten your seatbelt."

  Pam wanted to learn more about her enigmatic boss, but did as Paul requested since he refused to start the car unless she complied. Just how many bossy men did Peterson employ anyway?

  Once they were in the building, Pam went straight to her desk and pulled out the Hemley file. Seconds later, Krista approached with a wink.

  "How did it go last night?" Krista asked, pulling up a chair to sit beside Pam.

  Pam wondered how much the other woman knew. "How did what go last night?"

  Krista grinned. "Mr. Peterson was not happy when he heard you considered skipping lunch and were still at work when I left. I figured he probably called and read you the riot act. What time did he call?"

  "What time did he call you?"

  "Six thirty."

  "He said circumstances prevented him from calling me right away, so I got two more hours."

  Krista's eyes opened wide. "You were still here at eight thirty?"

  Pam nodded. "Yup. And, he wasn't pleased."

  "I bet. He's pretty strict about overtime being pre-approved."

  Pam drew back. "I wasn't planning to put in for overtime."

  Krista shook her head. "Nope. He won't allow that either. If he catches you fudging your time card, you'll discover the hot water you thought you were in last night was actually tepid in comparison. What's left to do on the Hemley file?"

  Pam's response was cut off by the arrival of her boss.

  "Ladies," he murmured with a nod before walking past them to step into his office.

  Pam mouthed, "He's early."

  Krista mouthed back, "I know," then said aloud, "Why don't you tell me what you need done, Pam, and I'll finish up. Mr. Peterson indicated he wanted time with you this morning."

  "Not until nine," Pam countered, as she sensed the energy of the man standing behind her. When his hands landed on her shoulders; however, she gave a small shiver.

  "I thought we would start early, since it appears we have quite a bit to discuss."

  Pam gazed helplessly at Krista, who merely smiled before she addressed Mr. Peterson. "We wanted to complete a few things so Pam wouldn't worry about them."

  His firm fingers squeezed Pam's shoulders. "How long?"

  "Half an hour?" Pam suggested tentatively.

  "Consider yourself on the clock, Miss Weston. I'll expect to see you in front of my desk no later than eight-thirty. Understood?"

  "Yes, sir."

  He gave her a final light squeeze. "Good."

  Pam swiveled in her chair as he turned to walk back into his office. "Would you like me to get you some coffee, sir?"

  He smiled back at her. "No need. I'm going to order some breakfast brought up for our meeting, since I'm certain you didn't take time to eat anything this morning. Did you?"

  Pam flushed with embarrassment. How did he understand her so well in so short a time? "No, sir."

  "You now have twenty-nine minutes, Miss Weston, before I pull you out of that chair and escort you into my office."

  Her cheeks growing even warmer, Pam gave a small nod and waited for him to shut the door before she gazed at Krista in terror. "I'm not sure I can do this."

  Krista patted her shoulder. "Say the word, and I'll go in and rattle the lion's cage for you to get him to settle down a bit. He appears to be on a testosterone high today."

  Pam rolled her eyes then winced. "I've been warned against eye-rolling, too. How serious do you think he gets?"

  "Too serious. I don't agree with his methods, and I wouldn't put up with his antediluvian attitude, but he seems to read you correctly."

  "Antediluvian? Really? You seriously think Peterson's attitude predates the biblical flood?" Pam asked with a laugh, but when Krista merely shrugged in response, she sighed."Well, as for reading me, I'd say he does that a little too well. It's scary." She picked up the file. "This is what I've got left to do…."

  After filling Krista in, Pam had five minutes to spare, so she rushed to the bathroom. A part of her wanted to stay and hide, while another part of her longed for Robert Peterson to pick her up and hold her close again. His presence had a calming effect on her while arousing her enough to make her want to do things she'd never done with anyone else.

  He'd kissed her last night. She'd been in such a fog, she hadn't thought much about the way his lips had paid court to hers until this morning. Though the kiss was merely meant to reassure her she was safe with him. That he didn't intend her any harm, it had stirred her all the same. Being held by him comforted and agitated her all at once. With a groan, Pam lowered her face to her hands. She was so screwed.

  "Pam?" Krista called from the doorway. "Are you okay?"

  "I'm fine," Pam assured, knowing she behaved like a total coward.

  "Your absence has been noted, and the lion is pacing."

  "My stomach's a little upset. I'll be out as soon as I can."

  "Not sure I should tell him that, since he would most likely call the paramedics to get you checked out if I did."

  Pam chuckled. "It's not that bad. Slight queasiness is all. Nerves, I think."

  "Okay. I'll tell him you're scared shitless, and he needs to back off."

  "No!" Pam cried, trying not to giggle. "Don't tell him that. Next thing I know you'll be bringing me a cell phone, and he’ll insist I talk to him from here."

  "Nope. We're way past cell phones at this point. Next step, he'll come in himself."

  "Yikes. Okay, tell him two minutes."

  "Sweetie, he's got you on the clock. If I say two minutes, that is all the time he will allow you before he barges in here to get you."

  "Five minutes, then."

  "I'll tell him five, but you had better make it three," Krista warned before shutting the door again.

  Pam didn't know whether to laugh or cry, but she pulled herself together and washed her face. When she emerged from the restroom, she saw his tall form over the vast rows of low-walled cubicles as he gazed at something on Krista's computer screen. He glanced up the moment she stepped out and jerked a thumb toward his office. The message was clear. Get in there, or else.

  Walking the dead man’s mile, Pam kept her gaze focused straight ahead of her, breathing a small sigh of relief when she reached her destination without mishap. His conference table was set up with an array of beverages, fruit, and boxed cereals. She fixed him a cup of coffee, the way she'd been told he liked it, then made herself some tea. She was fingering through the selection of cereals when he stepped in and shut the door.

  Pam quickly straightened and stared at him, her throat suddenly dry. He spotted the coffee sitting on his desk and smiled.

  "Tha
nk you. That was most thoughtful."

  Unsure what to say or do, she nodded and returned her attention to the small, gaily-colored boxes, careful to keep her back straight the entire while.

  He came up beside her and put a hand at her waist. "I chose a variety, since I wasn't sure what you preferred. Though I'd take you for a Cheerios girl."

  She smiled back. "I do like Cheerios."

  "Good. He took the box from her hand, opened it, and poured it into a bowl. He added enough milk to cover it and handed it to her with a spoon and a napkin—serving her.

  "I thought my job was to serve you, sir."

  He fixed himself a dish of granola mixed with yogurt. "No. Your job is to assist me. Not serve me. Take a seat at the table, and we'll begin. I ordered lunch to be served at eleven thirty."

  Her stomach lurched. "You think we'll be here that long?"

  He regarded her as he selected the chair on her left. "Why? Does the possibility worry you?"

  She shrugged. "I just didn't think you would…. I mean, I assumed everything was rather cut and dried. You'd tell me what you expected, and I would either agree, or not."

  He leaned back. "This is a partnership, Pam. I'm not here to lay out a bunch of rules and say either you obey me or walk. I will tell you what I hope to gain from our association, and how I intend to achieve it, but this is a discussion. And, as such I will expect your input."

  "Oh."

  "Eat your cereal while I tell you a little about my philosophy. As you listen, I want you to think about what worries you the most. What has your stomach so twisted into knots this morning, you had to hide out in the ladies' room? You were at ease with me last night, but today you are so brittle I'm afraid you'll break if I touch you."

  "You were different last night, too," she admitted, although she wasn't sure that was true. He'd been relaxed enough to tease her, and he hadn't been so formally dressed, but he wasn't treating her any differently. Not really.

  He reached for her hand and gave her fingers a squeeze. "How so?"

  "Well, for one, you weren't in a suit."

  "Ah. The businessman syndrome. I should have realized." He stood up and removed his jacket, which he draped over the chair, loosened his tie, and rolled up his sleeves. Placing his hands on his hips, he turned to face her. "Better?"

  She smiled and shrugged. Even in jeans, the man looked dangerous. Standing with his firm biceps exposed, he looked even more so, but she wasn't about to tell him that.

  "Still doesn't do it for you?" He took a seat beside her and grabbed her arm to pull her over. Instant terror gripped Pam's insides as she fought against his hold. He didn't argue, scold, or give any outward appearance that he recognized her resistance; he simply pulled until she had no choice but go where he directed. Letting out a small scream, she ended up sitting on his lap before he wrapped his arms around her. "What did you think I was going to do?"

  With a shake of her head, Pam struggled to rise, but he refused to release her. She resisted more desperately, but his arms remained locked about her waist, not budging an inch.

  "Let me go!" she demanded finally.

  "No." The word was softly spoken, but firm.

  She glared at him. "Why not?"

  He smiled. "Because you don't want me to."

  No. That couldn't be it. "Yes, I do. What must I do to convince you I want to be released?"

  "Relax your body, so there's no tension, and ask me nicely."

  She pressed at his wrists and tried to wriggle free, but he held her close with no sign of strain or weakening.

  Tired and out of breath, she slumped against him and relaxed, conceding her battle for freedom. Though she was utterly frustrated by his manhandling, she couldn't say she hated being seated on his lap.

  "Good." He pulled her bowl closer and dipped the spoon in.

  "What are you intending to do?" she asked as suspicion crept around the back of her mind, taunting her that she was nothing more than a useless excuse for a woman, whom her boss felt needed to be fed like a small child.

  "Are you ready to eat?"

  "I'm not hungry." Right, Pam. Shake the red flag at the bull, why don't you?

  "Oh? So, why is your stomach growling?"

  She scowled at him. "I'm not a baby you need to hold on your lap and feed."

  "Trust me, Miss Weston. I am fully aware of what you are." And with that, he drew her even tighter until she felt his hardness pressing into her hip. "Proof positive," he added, bringing the spoon to her mouth. "Open."

  Clamping her lips shut, she shook her head.

  He laid the plastic utensil down and regarded her with a slight frown. She continued to breathe heavily but made no further attempt to rise. Then, he leaned forward and kissed her. Her mouth opened beneath his as her eyes closed and she gave herself over to his kiss. It wasn't a passionate meeting of the lips, nor was it especially gentle. He claimed her as his, and when he straightened, he slipped the spoon in. She sputtered in surprise then chewed and swallowed.

  "Very good. Now that wasn't so difficult, was it?"

  She frowned, but when the next spoonful approached, she accepted it as she watched him warily.

  Uncertain why he insisted upon holding her on his lap and feeding her, a part of her still wanted to resist. She should insist she was too old to be held and fed, while another part of her unexpectedly found comfort in the simple act. Food was essential for life, and he was insisting she accept what she required from his hand. When the bowl was empty, he let her sit up and started to rub her back.

  "If you try to burp me, I'll throw up all over you."

  "No, you won't. You looked pale, and I suspected your blood sugar was low."

  She glared at him. "Is that why you fed me?"

  "Not entirely. How do you feel?"

  "A little like you rolled over me with a truck."

  "Yes. Being forced to reenact a moment from your childhood as an adult can be a little traumatizing." His fingers continued to massage until she let out a sigh and relaxed.

  "Good. I can feel your tension easing."

  Realizing he wouldn't release her until he decided to, she laid her head against his shoulder and closed her eyes while he maintained his slow, firm rub.

  After a few minutes, he pressed his lips against the top of her head and asked, "Would you like me to put you back in your own chair?"

  "If you wish," she answered just as softly.

  "Good answer," he praised. "However, I think I should keep you here with me for a little while." When she didn't object, he continued. "Did you think I was punishing you by making you sit on my lap while I fed you?"

  "In the beginning, I did. Yes."

  "What changed?"

  "You kissed me, and it didn't matter anymore. I no longer wished to resist you."

  "Why did you feel the need to challenge me at all?"

  "I didn't want you to see me as weak and clinging. I don't want to be a burden to you."

  He pushed her up. "Whoa. Where did that come from?"

  She shrugged, not sure she wanted to answer.

  "Pam. I asked you a question, and I deserve the courtesy of a response in return."

  "Celine."

  "What about, Celine?"

  "Krista said you don't like tearful, clinging women."

  "Hmm. I shall have to have a word with Krista."

  Pam glared at him. "She only told me the truth. What's wrong with that?"

  "Nothing, except I don't care much for gossip, and Krista is not entirely correct. Celine and I had an unusual relationship."

  "Really? Why am I beginning to suspect that unusual for others is quite ordinary for you?"

  He gave her hip a firm tap, and she recognized the gesture for what it was. A warning. However, his arms remained entwined about her, which she found oddly reassuring. She was sitting on her boss's lap while he spoke of his girlfriend. Freud would have had a field day.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  "Do you wish for me to continue?" he asked
, his tone another cool warning.

  "Yes, please," she whispered, releasing a small sigh of relief when he leaned back.

  "We were introduced by a mutual friend. She was having some problems, and I offered to facilitate as her disciplinarian."

  Pam turned to stare at him. "How? I mean what did you say you’d do?"

  "She possessed a quick temper and a foul mouth that had gotten her into serious trouble with the law, more than once. She claimed she wanted help in learning how to control her unruly emotions. I agreed to assist her on the condition she would do exactly as I said. No arguments. No discussion."

  "I don't understand. What did you ask her to do?"

  "Several things. She resisted me at first, which is common, until she ultimately gave in and submitted to my discipline. I thought we were making progress, so I was quite surprised and dismayed to discover she'd been reporting our activities to a newspaper reporter, which was a violation of our agreement, and my trust. That's why she called yesterday. She discovered the article due out in tomorrow's paper would release a backlash of negativity and she was scared, both for herself and my reaction. She'd been angry with me after a rather intense punishment session and lashed out in retaliation, except the proverbial lash curved around and struck her on the hip. I had to leave yesterday in order to straighten the mess out with the paper and with her. Needless to say, we broke off our relationship, which was more professional than intimate anyway."

  "You do this for pay?"

  "No. Perhaps professional is the wrong word. We weren't having an affair, and there was nothing sexual between us even though Celine badly wanted me to be her lover."

  "So, she's off your list of 'disturb at any cost,' calls?"

  He chuckled. "Yes. She's off that list."

  "Krista told me she thought she would be."

  "In this case, Krista was right. Though I'm still going to have a talk with her."

  "She thought I should know, in case—"

  He gripped her waist, lifted her and moved her over to her own chair. "Fine. Good. I agree. Let's go through what we came in here to discuss, then."

  Startled, Pam regarded him uneasily. "Are you angry with me?"