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

by Melanie Marchande

  For a moment, he just stares at me, curiously. Like I’m some new species of wild cat at the zoo. Then, he takes another drink and chuckles.

  “You don’t strike me as very churchy, Ms. Burns. So that makes you…annoyingly pedantic?”

  Well, that’s fair play. I did call him an asshole. I’m smiling at him as I answer, because in spite of everything, that little grin of his - part impish and part pure evil, is just so contagious. “I went to Sunday school a few times. But if we’re going down this road, I might as well tell you that you used ‘begs the question’ wrong, too.”

  “Christ,” he groans. “How is that even possible? What else could ‘begs the question possibly mean?” Before I can answer, he makes a frantic gesture with both hands, shaking his head vigorously. “No. No. For the love of God, don’t tell me. I’ll be much happier not knowing.” He taps a piece of paper lying out on his desk, and I realize belatedly that it’s my resume. “You don’t have the experience I’d normally expect from a candidate for this job, as I’m sure you know. But you stuck your foot in the door regardless. Why is that?”

  He’s been trying to throw me off-balance since I walked in the door. It’s understandable, I suppose. I have been pretty obnoxious throughout this whole thing, but he deserves it.

  I clear my throat softly before answering. “Because I know I’ll be the best assistant you ever had. And I think you have a suspicion that I’m right, otherwise I wouldn’t be sitting here right now.”

  He just watches me for a moment, with that damn smile on this face.

  I wish I knew what he was thinking.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ADRIAN

  Oh, she’s going to kill me.

  The whole virgin bride thing…my God. I don’t know where it came from, but I’m more than happy to play along. Wish fulfillment, maybe. She wants me to erase the memory of all other lovers from her body.

  I’m doing my best.

  She doesn’t have to tell me that nobody else made her feel this way. It’s obvious. When I make her come without a lot of preamble, her mouth forms that little O of surprise - a sure sign that she’s never been with someone who could do that before. Of course, the prolonged foreplay is fun too. And the results are definitely more impressive. I recall a few weeks ago, I was still licking her taste off my lips when she told me it was the hardest she’d ever come. Her husky voice, glassy eyes, and the echoes of a scream still ringing in my ears supported the claim. She didn’t seem to remember having made the same declaration before.

  I aim to hear it again tonight.

  Recovering now, both from her orgasm and the rush of emotion that accompanied it, she pulls back from my embrace just enough to look at me. She smiles, biting her lower lip slightly. “Why do I feel like you’re planning something that’ll make me blush?”

  Oh, if only we weren’t playing this silly game, I’d really make an effort. How much would it take to embarrass my Meg these days? It’s been a little while since I managed. I’ll have to tuck that one away for later. She’s not shy anymore about touching herself in front of me, I’ve had my face buried between her legs from every possible angle, and she no longer tries to control the strings of incoherent words and sounds that come out of her when I work my magic. And after last night’s foray into the one part of her body I hadn’t explored yet, there’s certainly no reason for her to hold anything back.

  My dick twitches eagerly at the memory. Down, boy. This isn’t the time. Sure, it was fucking incredible, the tight heat of her body gripping me like a vise as she writhed underneath me. The noises she made, God - and when I reached between her legs she was dripping wet. As much as I like to pat myself on the back, it’s not every day that I feel her blooming open like that, the kind of arousal that makes her wild and irrational.

  But I have to let her recover. It was her first time, and even though I prepared her body with as much patience as I could muster, it was obviously a very intense experience. Time for me to be the responsible one, and resist the urge to bring it up.

  So to speak.

  “Take off your dress,” I tell her, in the steadiest voice I can manage.

  She steps away from me and turns around. “Can you…?” she asks, softly.

  I’m pretty sure she can reach the zipper herself. She’s gotten very flexible lately. But I do it anyway, pulling it down to the middle of her back, slowly. She reaches around and grasps it, lowering it slowly, just past the curve of her lower back, until I can see the white lace at the top of her panties.

  She hesitates there, holding the fabric around herself to keep it from slipping to the ground.

  “Show me.” I keep my tone quiet, but firm. “Don’t hide from me, Meg.”

  Finally, she lets the dress fall. She stands there, silent and motionless, except for the rise and fall of her shoulders with each breath. The dress stays in a heap around her ankles. My gaze follows the line of her garters down to the tops of her stockings - with little blue bows at the tops, of course.

  Letting my eyes rove their way back up her body, I note the little string of pearls around her neck.

  Smirking, I circle around to face her. When I reach out slip my finger under the necklace, tugging gently, her eyes flutter closed.

  “You like wearing pearls around your neck?” I murmur.

  She nods.

  As my finger dips down between her breasts, she inhales sharply. “Adrian…”

  The lacey, demi-cup bra certainly doesn’t leave much to the imagination. Most of her soft flesh is on the verge of spilling out over the top, invitingly, and it’s very tempting to reach around back and unclasp it. But she does look very fetching with the whole kit on.

  “Tell me something, my innocent, blushing bride…”

  The corner of her mouth twitches, but she holds her composure.

  “…would it absolutely shock you if I asked you to take off that bra, lie down on the bed, and hold your tits together for me, so I can decorate your neck with something else?”

  I can see her swallow, hard. “No,” she whispers.

  “Really?” I grin a little. “But surely, with that pure mind of yours…”

  “I have an imagination, Ryn,” she says. “And if it involves you touching me, it’s safe to assume the idea has occurred to me at some point.”

  The real Meg is starting to shine through. She can’t hide it for very long.

  “Tell me something else you’ve imagined.”

  She blushes prettily. “Mostly, I just think about how you’d feel inside me.”

  Of all the filthy things she could have said to me, that simple, innocent statement is my undoing.

  With a soft growl that I didn’t even mean to let out, I grasp her tightly, lifting her up and tossing her on the bed. She shrieks, landing in a heap of pillows and blankets and wild red hair. It’s tempting to climb up after her, but the bed’s ridiculously tall and I have a much better idea.

  Grabbing her ankles, I drag her to the edge of the mattress. She smiles, her eyes fluttering closed as her thighs instinctively part for me. She’s not quite at the right height, so I drag one of the big pillows over.

  “Lift,” I tell her, softly, patting her hip. She tilts her hips up off the bed, and I slide the pillow underneath her ass.

  Hurriedly, I shuck off my jacket and unfasten my tie. This is the perfect angle. She’s on display for me, her eyes shimmering with lust. Every inch of her skin glows from all the sunbathing, making the stark white of her bridal lingerie even more inviting.

  I could take a picture, I’m sure she would let me, but I don’t need to. The image of her is burned into my mind.

  As much as I’d like to keep the game going, I’m officially at a loss for words. She hooks one leg around me, drawing me close, and even though we’ve done this hundreds of times my heart’s racing with the anticipation of it.

  After all this time, we’re here.

  Married. In Hawaii. And I’m about to really make her mine.

&nb
sp; I grab the center of her panties and shove them aside. All of the dark thoughts and insecurities, swirling in the back of my mind since the pre-wedding jitters set in, melt away as I slide into her. Slowly. She gasps, her inner muscles clenching around me - on purpose or an uncontrollable reflex, I can’t possibly know. All I can do is feel.

  Groaning, I grip onto her tightly, letting my fingers sink into the fleshiest part of her hips. Her neck arches, head thrown back as her body writhes under me. Standing up like this, I can see every part of her. With each thrust, her whole body bounces, and her tits are threatening to escape from the delicate lace that barely holds them.

  Perfect. Perfect.

  Almost perfect.

  I grasp the bra and yank it down. The straps have already slipped from her shoulders, so it gives way easily, letting me see the stiff peaks of her nipples freed from the fabric.

  Fuck.

  I’ve been anticipating this for too long. I can feel the tightness building already, but I can’t. I have to make this last.

  Taking in a deep, shuddering breath, I stop. I’m buried deep inside her, and it takes her a moment to realize. She blinks at me a few times.

  “Touch yourself,” I tell her.

  She smiles, and she does.

  I stay exactly where I am, feeling her grow even hotter around my cock. Clenching my jaw to keep still, resisting the incredible urge to thrust, I just watch her. As her breathing goes shallow, her cheeks flushing a darker pink, I feel her inner muscles start to ripple.

  “Look at me,” I command, breathless, as every muscle in my body aches to keep on fucking her. When she opens her eyes again, I do.

  Fingers flying, she goes tense beneath me, and my focus fades as I hear her shout my name.

  The world disappears in a flash of white, and then slowly seeps back in to my awareness. I have to blink a few times before I can see her clearly again, climbing up on the bed to join her. She murmurs wordlessly, curling up against me and burying her face in my shirt.

  “I love you,” she sighs.

  Something twinges in my chest. She doesn’t say it often, not without me saying it first.

  “I love you too.” My fingers are tangled in her hair. “Are you happy?”

  She laughs softly. “Is that a real question?”

  “I just like to hear you say it,” I tell her.

  “Perfectly happy,” she murmurs. “I won’t lie, I didn’t expect to go home married.”

  “Neither did I. But I thought I’d waited long enough.”

  For a moment, we just breathe.

  “I’m sorry I wasted so much time,” I tell her.

  Meg is quiet for a long time before she answers. “It’s okay,” she says. “We’re here now.”

  And so we are.

  Five Years Ago

  I don’t need this girl in my life.

  She licks her lips, quickly - a nervous habit, I think, but that doesn’t help me any. I force myself to look at something other than her mouth, and end up staring at the gap in her blouse, instead.

  Great. Well done.

  She’s wearing a camisole underneath, of course, as curvy women always do, but I still shouldn’t be staring at it. Right? Right?

  Bad form, Risinger. Very bad form.

  Obviously, I can’t hire her. Aside from her inexperience, she’s too young, too clever, and too…

  Too soft and ample and voluptuous and -

  “Well?” she says, cutting off my thought process right before it becomes X-rated. “Did you want to ask me anything about my…you know, resume? Work experience? References?”

  Clearing my throat, I glance back down at the paper on my desk. “Well, there’s not much to ask, is there?”

  Harsh. She doesn’t lose composure, though, just sitting up straighter in her chair. “You knew that before you called me in,” she points out. “I can assure you that I’m very professional, and a quick learner. And I won’t run away at the first sign of a challenge. So I guess the question you have to ask yourself is, how picky can you afford to be right now?”

  This must be the strangest job interview she’s ever had, but you wouldn’t know it from her demeanor. Already, within ten minutes, she’s dealing with my bullshit better than anyone else I’ve hired. And I’m not even trying to be nice. Because I can’t hire her.

  I have to hire her.

  I stand up and extend my hand to her, because I can’t think of anything else to do.

  “Thank you for your time, Ms. Burns. I’ll be in touch.”

  She raises her eyebrows a little, but she stands up too, subtly tugging her skirt down to make sure it’s covering her thighs. It is. I’m trying very hard not to notice. “Is that it?”

  “I have another meeting,” I tell her, in a tone of voice that I hope conveys finality. But with somebody like her, there’s no telling.

  “All right,” she says, after a moment of silence. “Thank you. I look forward to hearing back.”

  The minute the door clicks behind her, I let out a long, sharp sigh. I’m still trying to massage the pain out of the center of my forehead when my phone starts ringing. I stab the button angrily.

  “Well?” Cora says. “Should I get the paperwork started?”

  Speaking of people I don’t need in my life. “She’s an adorable ingenue, Cora, well done, but you know I can’t hire her. This business will eat her alive.”

  “Ingenue?” Cora laughs so hard she sparks up a coughing fit, which momentarily worries me. These days, though, I don’t dare ask her if she’s okay. She takes it as an insult and spends the rest of the day muttering about how just because she’s old, doesn’t mean she’s on death’s door.

  Finally, she recovers enough to continue. “Did we meet the same person? Or maybe you were too distracted to notice how smart she is.”

  “I wasn’t distracted,” I snap.

  “Right,” says Cora. “Well, I’m not fetching your mail anymore, so you’d better rethink your opinion of Ms. Burns. And while we’re at it, think of all the time you’d save by consolidating your work life and your love life into one convenient package.”

  My headache throbs to life again. “I don’t even have time to start explaining to you all the ways in which that’s a terrible idea.”

  “Pfft. I made my way around the office plenty of times in my heyday, never hurt anyone.” Cora is probably making a dismissive gesture with her worn-out book. “Those ‘don’t dip your nib in the office ink’ people just hate the idea that somebody else is getting laid, because they’re not.”

  Groaning, I lean forward on my elbows, covering my eyes with one hand. “Please, please, please tell me you didn’t sleep with your boss.”

  “Of course not,” she says, mildly. “Your father would never.”

  Letting out a sigh that’s half relief and half frustration, I sink even deeper into the pillow of my folded arms. “I can’t hire her, Cora.”

  “All right,” she says, smugly. She knows she’s already won.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  MEG

  I’m curled up in the overstuffed armchair in Adrian’s home office. It’s about as different from his former work-office as I could possibly imagine, with dark wood paneling and a plush, wine-red carpet. It’s soft and lovely under feet - or any bare skin, for that matter.

  From time to time, he lets me stay in here. I usually leave him alone when he’s working, but sometimes he keeps the door open, signifying that he’d welcome some company. We can go for hours without talking, but I just like knowing he’s there.

  Today, he’s scrolling through book reviews.

  “Do you think I curse too much?” he asks, abruptly.

  I grin at him. “Fuck no.”

  “I mean in my books,” he clarifies.

  “Let me think.” I set my drink down, feigning thoughtfulness. “Fuck no.”

  “Some people complain,” he tells me, looking back at my screen. “Apparently it’s not necessary.”

  Snorting, I rearra
nge myself on the chair so my legs are draping over the arm. “Neither was that scene with the vibrator and the nipple clamps, but I don’t hear them complaining about that.”

  “Read some of the others,” he says, spinning around. “Too sexy is the second most popular complaint.”

  He leans back in his chair, stretching one leg out in front of him while his other foot remains firmly planted. I let my head fall back over the other arm of my chair, and smile at him.

  “Just like real life,” I quip, which gets a little smirk out of him.

  He’s quiet for a few moments, just rotating a quarter-turn in his chair and then back again, over and over.

  “What made you pick up one of my books?” he says, finally.

  “I told you. It was a random coincidence that it came up in search.” I sit up straight again, trying to figure out what he’s driving at.

  He’s shaking his head. “No, no, I mean…why did you actually click on it? You knew it wasn’t what you were looking for, but you wanted to read it anyway. Why?”

  Shrugging, I try to remember. “I don’t know. The cover? The title? It was an impulse thing. Something about it, just…I dunno.”

  “The It Factor,” he says, more to himself than to me.

  “I guess?”

  “It’s always about The It Factor,” he says, nodding slowly. “The difference between a good seller and a bestseller. Not even expert analysts can explain what separates the two.”

  There’s something in his tone that I don’t like. I get up and walk over to him, stopping his compulsive fidgeting with my arm draped across his shoulders. He relaxes a little, letting his head rest against my torso.

  “Are you worried you lost your It Factor?” I ask him, lightly scratching at his scalp.

  “Nobody keeps it forever,” he says. “My days have always been numbered. But it’s still hard to watch. Every new book has fewer and fewer people interested in it. I know it’s also because nobody wants to jump into the middle of Dirk and Amanda’s story, but how do I create a new couple that people care about just as much? The only reason why anyone likes them is because they’re us. I don’t know how to create someone from scratch.”