His Secretary: Undone and Unveiled (The Complete Series Collection)

by Melanie Marchande

  “You know if you actually dock my paychecks, I’ll go to the labor board.” I swallow down the lump in my throat, forcefully.

  “Ah, but you won’t.” He grins. “Because if you go and do a spiteful thing like that, I’ll never put my tongue anywhere near your beautiful pussy again. And trust me, that’ll hurt me more than it hurts you.” He kisses me hard and fast this time, and although I part my lips, he doesn’t deepen it before pulling away. “Now, are you going to behave yourself?”

  “Probably not.” I reach for his belt buckle. “We’ve got two hours before my panel, think you can teach me a lesson by then?”

  Dodging my grasp, he stands up. “You know, if I were a cruel man, I’d spend every moment of that time devouring you, but never letting you come. Bringing you right to the edge, and then back again. And I’d make you do your panel appearance as a sopping, incoherent mess. But lucky for you, I’m not.”

  I swallow hard, my fingers twitching with the need to touch him. But he’s heading for the door.

  “Wait,” I plead, but he’s already turning the handle.

  “Sorry, Ms. Burns. You’ll have to live with only having me once this morning. I trust you’ll endure.”

  “But…”

  The door slams.

  I pick up the phone and punch his room number in, angrily.

  “Adrian Risinger speaking.”

  “Get your ass over here!” I shout down the receiver.

  There’s a moment of silence.

  “Sorry, who is this?”

  I throw the phone at the wall.

  CHAPTER TEN

  IT’S LIKE MY college literature classes, all over again.

  “What do you think, Natalie?”

  I clear my throat. “Well, you know, it’s important to distinguish between fantasy and reality when it comes to this stuff. Most readers, and do pay attention to the operative word there, want to read about the kind of guy they can’t have in real life. Not because he’s inaccessible, but because he’d be a terrible partner in real life. So you create this fantasy of the controlling bad boy who becomes something else, during the course of the story - but without losing his teeth. He knows exactly when to be pushy, and exactly when to back off.”

  I am completely talking out of my ass. The last time I was this full of shit, I was using my memory of a Wishbone episode to convince my professor I’d actually read The Legend of Sleepy Hollow. Don’t ask me why the fuck The Legend of Sleepy Hollow was in a college curriculum in the first place, but thank God for small mercies.

  The audience member at the microphone pipes up. “But don’t you think things are changing? Is the age of the bad boy on its way out? I keep seeing more and more people talking about how they want to read about nice guys.”

  Someone coughs.

  Izzy glances down the row of panelists. “Anybody have any thoughts on that?”

  “Well,” I hear myself pipe up, “I think of course there’s always going to be room for something different. But it’s not like alpha bad boys are some new phenomenon. That don’t-give-a-shit attitude, pardon my French, always has been and always will be sexy. It telegraphs power and control. It sends the message that he’s a man who will fight for you, and stand by you, even if the rest of the world turns on you. And if he wants something, he’ll go after it. If you look at those few popular books that do feature nice guys, they still have those qualities. They’re just a little bit softer around the edges.”

  “Great point,” says Izzy. “We’re just about running out of time, I think we can take one more question.”

  I look up, just in time to see Adrian - who’s appeared out of nowhere - sweet-talking the next woman in line into handing him the microphone.

  Oh, for fuck’s sake.

  “I’m curious about the billionaire phenomenon,” he says, locking eyes with me. “I see a lot of readers saying they’re tired of billionaires and they just want to read about regular guys, to the point where they’ll avoid anything that has “billionaire” in the title or description. Have we reached the point where it’s more of a harm than a help?”

  Izzy glances at me, like she’s wondering if I planted him. I shake my head a little.

  “Well,” she says, “not to call on you again, Natalie, but you are the billionaire romance expert here. What do you think?”

  I shrug. “Plenty of books have billionaires, they just don’t put it out there. I guess you could argue in some cases it’s better to be subtle about it now, but the tropes still apply. They’re powerful, but they’re isolated. A bit weird, at best. ‘Eccentric’ is just weird with money, as we all know.”

  The audience titters.

  “We just found a new word for it. Today, Mr. Darcy would be a billionaire. All those dukes and lairds and roguish princes from the old Harlequins - same deal. They snap their fingers, you come.”

  Adrian smirks.

  “But I think the readership is still there,” I go on, ignoring him - even as a deep blush spreads across my chest. “You can’t please everybody all of the time, but the billionaire readers aren’t going anywhere.”

  He’s still smiling at me.

  Izzy announces the end of the panel, and we all get a round of applause. I can see Adrian making his way up to me, and before I can stand up, he lays a hand on my shoulder. It would look friendly to anyone else, maybe bordering on intimate, but I can feel the power and control that it signifies.

  “A bit weird, am I?” he murmurs.

  “You better believe it,” I tell him, without looking up. “I think I want to go to that serials workshop, for the last session. Unless you had other plans.”

  “Go ahead,” he says. “I’m heading back to the room for a bit. Have to make a few phone calls.”

  I’m irritated, but I don’t show it. I no longer feel out of my element, and the sour taste in the back of my mouth from implicitly lying to all of these people has started to fade. After all, he hired me to do it. It’s not like I stole someone’s identity.

  I wonder who he needs to call, that’s so important. Kara has been noticeably absent from our big events. I’m glad for it, so I haven’t questioned why, but he always has a sour expression on his face when he’s just been talking to her. I wonder if she’s heard about my panties. I was worried when I first walked into the room, but so far, nobody’s mentioned anything, or even given me a sly look. Maybe the cover models did something really crazy after I left, and eclipsed the whole thing.

  Normally I’d be upset to miss it, but I can’t say I regret my decision to let Adrian drag me back to his room.

  No, not by a long shot.

  The serial workshop turns into a terminal bore, so I sneak out the back and return to my own room. Adrian said he needed to make a phone call, after all, so I figured I’ll let him have his privacy. Anyway, I’m not sure exactly how much he wants me hanging around when we’re not either fucking or sleeping. Kicking my shoes off, I throw the curtains open to let some light in. I wonder if Adrian’s discovered his balcony. A quick peek out the glass tells me yes, he has.

  One hand has his phone glued to his ear, and the other is resting on the railing as he looks out over the city. I watch him for a minute before I start to feel creepy again, and return to flop down on my bed.

  He could easily walk over and see me. I’m not sure if he’s realized yet that he can. A wicked idea starts to grow in the back of my mind, and the more I try to suppress it, the more it grows. I sit up on the bed and peer out again. He’s still there, more or less where I left him. But maybe he’s a bit closer - or is that just my imagination?

  Smiling to myself, I drag a chair over from the corner and situate it right in front of my doors. If he turns around, he’ll see me lounging there. I pop a few of the buttons on my blouse and let my legs splay open, a little more than is proper for this skirt.

  Just when I’m starting to think he’s never going to notice, he turns his head just slightly.

  I see it - that moment where he’s
startled, then taken aback, then realizes I’m clearly playing an angle. He turns around slowly, a smile playing at his lips.

  I wave a little, and I can see him chuckle.

  The glass is too thick for me to hear his voice, and he seems to be mostly listening to the conversation, anyway. Maybe it’s some kind of conference call. Ugh. Horribly boring, wouldn’t wish them on my worst enemy.

  I can make it a little more interesting.

  He’s the only one who can see me, all the way up here. I’m pretending to play with my collar, letting my hand trail down my shirt, casually finding a button and slipping it through the hole. His eyes narrow slightly, and he takes a step closer.

  With my shirt now gaping open, I get up and saunter over to the mini bar. Fetching a tiny bottle of scotch and a glass, I shovel some ice in and pour. I’m not looking at him now, but I hope I still have his attention.

  I do.

  Returning to my chair, I stir the drink with my finger and raise it to my mouth, slowly sucking off the liquor. It burns bitter on my tongue, but I close my eyes in pleasure.

  Adrian’s still pressing the phone to his ear, but his other hand is a clenched fist. I don’t have him completely hooked. Not yet.

  I set down my drink, and unbutton my shirt the rest of the way. Letting it slip from my shoulders, I glance at him from under my lashes. He’s shaking his head, and he shows me the flat of his palm. He’s still not letting himself smile all the way, but I know it’s more of a promise than a threat.

  I’m cupping my breasts, one in each hand, letting my nipples stiffen and come to life. It doesn’t take long, looking at him. Watching him slowly unravel. I can see him starting to get hard, and that’s all the encouragement I need - even if he’s not acknowledging it.

  I unhook my bra and toss it aside.

  Through the glass, I see his Adam’s apple bob up and down. His eyes close slightly, and he takes a step forward.

  I stand up, walking towards him. His hand reaches for the glass, as if it could meet with mine, and I mirror him, so that our fingertips almost appear to touch.

  Our eyes meet, and I quickly realize I’m in over my head. We’re sharing something more than a striptease. My heart’s thumping like crazy and I can’t put my finger on what, exactly, is happening - I just know it’s not what I signed up for.

  Suddenly, he lowers the phone.

  Shoves it in his pocket.

  And then he’s reaching for the door handle.

  I can’t hold back my grin. He tugs, then tugs again. Frowning, he looks up at me.

  This time it’s easy enough to read his lips, because I already know what he’s saying.

  It’s locked.

  I just shrug. Can’t hear you.

  His eyes darken. It’s fucking locked.

  I shake my head, pointing to my ear.

  He takes out his phone again, and in a moment, mine’s buzzing. But I pretend not to hear it.

  Adrian pounds on the glass, glaring at me. I just keep shrugging and smiling, and retreat to my bed, picking up my discarded shirt along the way and pulling it on.

  A moment later he disappears, and the knocking displaces itself to the connecting door. I keep on ignoring it, even when it stops and reappears again, this time coming from the hallway.

  I pick up my phone, now that he’s out of sight.

  YOU BITCH

  I’m giggling like a loon.

  You reap what you sow, Mr. R.

  The response comes fast and furious.

  You’ll fucking regret this when you finally let me get my hands on you

  I sense a shadow passing by the glass doors, and I look up. He’s got his belt in one hand, and his tie in the other, and he’s wearing a sexy glower on his face that would make any woman fucking melt. I give him another what? look, and he rolls his eyes before pulling out his phone again. The text comes a moment later:

  Use your imagination.

  I laugh, tossing the phone down on the bed. He disappears again, and this time he doesn’t come back.

  As much fun as it would be to let him in, he needs to pay for teasing me earlier. And I have a feeling things are only going to get better, the longer I let him simmer.

  After I’ve waited for a while to make sure I don’t run into Adrian in the hallway, I grab a few drinks with Izzy at the hotel bar to kill some time. She asks me some probing questions about my relationship with Adrian, but I manage to dodge them, more or less. She’s definitely sensing some vibes, though. Thankfully, she has another party to go to - a private one, this time, so I’m not invited.

  Good. I’ve got something else on the agenda for tonight.

  After a long elevator ride, I take a deep breath, and knock on his door. It doesn’t take him long to answer, and he’s got a key card in his hand when I do.

  “I meant to give you this earlier,” he says. “Although, for the record, the connecting door is unlocked on my side.”

  I’m slightly taken aback. “…thanks.”

  He shrugs, turning around and ambling back to the desk, where he’s got a few papers spread out. “No expectations. Just, if you want to move your stuff in here, you’re welcome to. I won’t make the mistake of doing it again myself.”

  I roll my eyes. “For the record, what normal people do is this: ‘hey, you know, if you want to share a room for the rest of the trip, feel free to bring your bags in here and claim a spot for your toothbrush.’”

  “I didn’t want to come on too strong.” He shrugs.

  I give him a look.

  “Okay, in retrospect, yes.” He makes a conciliatory gesture. “I see your point. You can stop looking at me like that.”

  “I really don’t know if I can,” I tell him.

  He sighs. “I thought maybe…I didn’t want you to think I was joking. That’s all. So I, you know, I committed the cardinal sin of touching your stuff.”

  “And breaking into my room,” I point out.

  “Breaking in.” He scoffs. “I had the key.”

  “Which you took out of my pocket.”

  “Which you left on my floor,” he says. “How is moving your belongings more of a violation of privacy than literally putting a part of my body inside of your body?”

  I throw myself across the bed with a dramatic sigh. “Normal people don’t ask these kinds of questions, Adrian. Normal people just respect other people’s boundaries without making it into an existential dilemma. And normal people don’t go through a woman’s clothes to find her hotel key.”

  “Going through is a strong term,” he says. “It’s not like I was looking for your panties.”

  “Wow.” I roll over and glare at him. “You should really stop talking at this point.”

  He shakes his head, sitting back down at the desk. “That’s just as well. I have work to do.”

  Work? Seriously? Is he going to play hard to get now?

  I get back on my feet, because apparently, having a willing woman sprawled across his bed isn’t enough of an enticement. “The only reason you weren’t looking for panties is because you already got a pair,” I purr, coming up behind him and draping my arms across his shoulders. “You can keep those, by the way.”

  “Hmm.” He’s actually still pretending to pay attention to those papers, the asshole.

  I step back.

  “Oh, not good enough? Want me to dress up like a stewardess?”

  He blinks. “Sorry?”

  I’m not proud of myself for bringing that up, but hey, now it’s out there. “Come on, don’t pretend like you weren’t drooling over her on the flight over.” I’m trying to laugh it off, to sound casual, like I’m just poking fun at him. Instead of, you know, seething with jealousy. Considering how we’ve spent the majority of our time here so far, it’s pretty ridiculous that I can’t just let this go.

  Of course, it’s not really her I’m jealous of. But the last thing I want to think about right now is Kara.

  “I’m sure your ass would look fantastic in a li
ttle blue skirt,” he admits, capturing my wrist and pulling me close. “But if you opened your eyes, Meghan, you would’ve noticed I was mostly looking at you. The only difference is that you didn’t want to see it. I spent the whole car ride over trying not to notice how far your skirt rode up your thighs. I was in a bad state. Very, very bad.”

  He stands up, and drags my hand down to his fly, pressing it firmly against him so I can feel how he stiffens at my touch. “And when you get a man into that kind of mood, he happens to notice if a woman’s buttocks are directly at eye level. It’s difficult not to.” He unzips and guides my hand between the folds of fabric. “But it doesn’t mean she’s the one I really want.”

  “I’m not jealous,” I insist, squeezing him gently.

  His eyes close for a moment. “Of course you’re not,” he says, roughly. “Why would you be? She’s not the one with her hand down my pants right now, is she?”

  I let out a soft snort, which does nothing to flag his arousal. “Like you’d say no.”

  Adrian grabs a handful of my hair, yanking my head back just enough to make me gasp. “Do you really want to run through the laundry list of every woman in the world I’d be willing to fuck? Would that make you happy?” His eyes flicker with anger and lust. “I’ve fucked a lot of women, Ms. Burns. Let’s not make any mistake about that. I can’t say how many, not just because it’s some obscene number, but because I don’t know. Is that what you want to hear?”

  I’m still stroking him. Faster, in fact. My heart’s pounding and I feel like I can’t catch my breath.

  “I don’t know and I don’t care,” he growls, “but I’d rather be here now, getting an angry handjob from you, than have an orgy with every single one of them. Is that fucking clear?”

  My knees buckle, and he catches me, slamming me against his body. My hand and his cock are trapped there, immobile, and I feel him throbbing to the same insistent beat of my arousal.