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

by Melanie Marchande

  People, on the other hand…

  Which brings me to here and now.

  The senior partners are rising out of their seats. I shake all of their hands, one by one, and sit down.

  “So, Meghan.” The most senior of them, Tom, keeps glancing down at the proposal in front of him. “Tell me - where has that boy been hiding you?”

  Adrian’s office is exactly how I remember. We walk in slowly, and he shuts the door behind him. Someone’s even been taking care of the plants. That used to be my job, because “this boy” - a term that will never stop amusing me - couldn’t even be trusted with a ficus. And I’m planning on having children with him.

  Ah, but he’ll step up to the plate. Doesn’t he always?

  The senior partners didn’t look askance at his request to visit it and have a look around, to see what would need to be done to get it prepared to re-occupy - and to expand.

  “It’s kind of creepy,” I tell him, laughing softly. “They left it all untouched. A shrine to their golden boy.”

  “Not quite untouched,” he points out. “Somebody dusted.”

  Smiling, I glance over at the window. It really hasn’t changed, and I’m surprised by the distinct lack of negative feelings that come over me, now that I’m back here. All I remember is his sinful laugh, his sexy smile, and all the private moments we shared before we both realized how much we needed each other. We could’ve had something beautiful a lot sooner, if we’d been a little less stubborn. But at least we have it now.

  My body jerks backward, against the wall. I gasp, stumbling, as Adrian presses his body against mine. His hand around my wrist, I realize, is what propelled me. He pins it above my head, and he kisses me.

  The word kiss actually seems inadequate to describe it. While his tongue dances against mine, he pushes his leg between my thighs, forcing me to part open for him. With his free hand, he gropes freely at my body, rough and careless and everywhere. Moaning into his mouth, I surrender to it completely. This is what we missed. The opportunity he always wanted, that he never took.

  When he finally breaks away to catch his breath, our foreheads briefly touch.

  “This is so…” I pant, squirming against him.

  “Unprofessional?” He grins, nuzzling against my cheek, the side of my neck.

  “Wrong,” I whisper, tugging at the knot of his tie.

  “Oh, you have no idea how wrong this is about to get,” he says, his gaze flicking heatedly down to my cleavage. “If you don’t hate me a little by the end of it, I’ll consider it a job poorly done.”

  “Do your worst.” I kiss him again, but before I let him go, I bit down on his lower lip.

  “Ow. Fuck.” He hisses, pulling away. “Right, get on your knees.”

  He grabs a handful of my hair and pushes down. Which is, of course, universally considered to be about the rudest thing you can do in bed, so he’s on the right track. A spike of heat goes through my body, and I kneel down, fumbling in his zipper. His grip on my hair is enough to make my eyes water.

  “Suck me like your job depends on it,” he growls.

  Don’t I always?

  He curses softly when my tongue reaches out to lap his cock, and when my lips close around him, his hips jerk and stutter. I’m starving for him, wanting to touch every part of his body, frustrated by all the clothing in the way, wanting everything at once. My whole body is overheated.

  “Stop,” he rasps, but my mouth won’t obey.

  “Stop,” he repeats, gripping my hair harder. Finally, I disengage, looking up at him with a smile.

  His eyes are dark and wild. “On your feet,” he says. “Strip. Now.”

  I stumble and manage to pull myself upright, leaning on his desk, pulling off my blouse so hurriedly that one of the buttons pops, pinging against a filing cabinet and rolling behind a potted plant. Once I’m naked, he gestures to his desk, and I hoist myself up so that I’m sitting on the edge.

  “No,” he says, shaking his head. “Lie down.”

  I do, arching my back and parting my thighs. He looms over me, just looking, at first, though I can almost feel the heat of his eyes as he does. His fingers drift down my body after that, leaving a trail of goosebumps as he goes.

  “Adrian,” I whimper, unable to ignore the buzzing heat between my legs anymore.

  Smiling, he lets his touch travel to my inner thigh, then a little closer, then a little closer, but still not where I need. “Don’t forget this room isn’t exactly soundproofed.”

  And with that, he plunges two fingers inside me.

  Toes clenching, I manage to keep the noise that comes out of me to an indoor-voiced hnnngh. Adrian just laughs, curling his fingers upwards inside of me. I choke, back arching on the hard desktop.

  “If I touch you like this, will you make a mess all over my nice desk?” he teases. “Like that time on the plane?”

  The only way to keep my voice from spiraling out of control, is to whisper. “You shouldn’t finger me on your precious jet if you value the upholstery,” I tell him. “You never know what might happen.”

  He tsks softly. “Just can’t control your reactions around me, can you? Well. I have to confess I’d like to see it again.” He rubs against the rough spot deep inside that makes me want to groan loud enough that the whole city will hear. I grind my teeth to keep quiet. “I can’t remember exactly what I did…was it this?”

  “Hnnng,” I agree.

  His thumb circles my clit, and every muscle in my body tenses. “What do you think?” he whispers. “Can I see you lose control like that again? Come for me like you did on the plane?”

  I’m honestly not sure, I have no idea what triggered it last time, but I have a feeling he’ll find a way to make my body do whatever he wants it to do. I’m another level already, gripping the sides of the desk because I feel like I’m about to fly into a million pieces.

  He thrusts and rubs harder, deeper, and then I feel it. That very particular pressure and sense of release, moments before the blissful almost-numbness of my climax comes over me. My eyes are squeezed shut, but even if I couldn’t feel it, I can hear his reaction.

  “Oh, fuck.” There’s a touch of wonder in his tone, mixing with the unmistakable lust. His breathing grows harsher as he twists his fingers inside me, wringing the orgasm from my body. I literally can’t hold back the sounds that are pouring out of my throat, and I don’t have the brain power to care.

  As my body shudders back to reality, he jerks his fingers free abruptly and replaces them with his cock, before I have a chance to protest.

  I manage to open my eyes, just in time to see the wetness streaked down the front of his shirt. Oh, wow. Was that me?

  The look on his face suggests yes.

  It also suggests fuck yes, fuck yes, fuck yes, baby.

  I don’t think I’m reading too much into things.

  Moaning and writhing beneath him, I’ve almost forgotten that somebody might hear. He clamps his hand over my mouth and growls a command. “Quiet.”

  I do my best.

  I don’t know how much time passes before his rhythm grows erratic, and he’s clearly struggling to hold himself back.

  “Meg,” he pants, through gritted teeth. “I can’t…oh, fuck.” He stills his movements, jaw twitching.

  “Do it,” I whisper.

  He does.

  I stare the ceiling of his office, filled up with him, and all I can think is, yes.

  Yes.

  Finally.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  ADRIAN

  This whole place is sparkling.

  It might as well be Cinderella’s castle. I’m pretty sure this is exactly the kind of place that every little girl pictures getting married in. It took a long time to get it booked, even with a hefty deposit, but we weren’t in any particular hurry, thankfully. No, it’s still not a shotgun wedding…though not for lack of practice.

  I’ve arranged everything to be absolutely perfect. I don’t know exactly what this
has done to my psyche, but I actually enjoyed it. Of course someone else did most of the work - an industry veteran wedding planner who consistently introduces himself as “Marc with a C” - but I still had to choose and approve absolutely everything. I wanted it to be a surprise, and Meg, shockingly enough, actually went for it. It’s a level of trust I never actually expected from any woman, let alone her. But she does always manage to surprise me.

  Anyway, I’m in deep. It’s my wedding day, sort of, and I’m practically vomiting hearts and flowers.

  “Why the fuck aren’t you dressed?” Marc with a C has materialized out of absolutely nowhere, which appears to be one of his many talents. “I swear to God. Working for you is going to shave years off of my life.”

  “I just wanted…” I start, knowing he won’t let me finish.

  “Go,” he commands. “You have an Armani tux waiting for you. It costs more than most people’s cars. You’re going to be the first up against the wall when the revolution comes, but at least you’ll look fantastic.”

  “I don’t need Armani for that.” I grin at him, as he pushes me towards my designed dressing area. “Seriously, can I just…I literally haven’t seen my wife in hours, I thought I could just say…”

  “You’re breaking my heart.” Marc with a C backs of the room and shuts the door.

  This time, we’re doing it right. Almost everyone who worked with us at Risinger Industries, except for the few blatant assholes, and the ones who really hated me - which I can’t strictly blame them for - has been invited. Most of them actually showed up. After some debate, we even decided to invite Kara, who politely declined. Shelly is here, although she’s currently ensconced in one of the side rooms, making sure that Meg’s wedding gift doesn’t shred the curtains.

  Yes, I took Cassie’s advice. I just hope it doesn’t come back to bite me in the ass. Literally.

  I take one look in the mirror before I leave.

  Not bad. Not bad.

  Taking my place at the altar, I can’t help but marvel a little at the packed-full room. This is how it should be. All of these people, every single one of them, cared enough to be here. To witness the most important thing we’ve ever done. To celebrate and support us, even though it’s only for show.

  No, I never needed it. But it’s nice to have.

  The organist starts to play, and suddenly the big doors creak open.

  Meg and Chuck are walking down the aisle.

  My breath catches in my throat. If I thought she looked amazing in Hawaii, it’s nothing compared to now. She’s glowing like a goddamn supernatural being as she glides up the aisle, I’m not even really sure her feet are touching the ground - it’s not right that I should be able to make somebody this happy, especially not just by standing here in a stupid Armani tux in a huge ceremony that was mostly arranged by somebody else.

  This time, we have our own vows. We put some time into it. She keeps telling me she’s nervous, feels inadequate, because I’m “A Writer” and she’s not. I’ve told her a thousand times that it’s not about crafting words, but about the sentiment. I don’t know if she believes me, but as we face each other at the altar, she doesn’t look nervous. Just radiant.

  It feels like only seconds before the officiant is saying, “…and the couple will now recite their own vows…”

  Shit.

  I pull the card out of my pocket, my throat going dry as I suddenly feel like it’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever written and it’ll never be good enough.

  “Meg…you know me better than anyone, and somehow you love me anyway. At least, that’s what I used to think. It took a long time for me to realize that you loved me because of who I was, just like I love you. Helplessly, hopelessly, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. You make me better. Better than I ever thought I could be. And I promise to do everything I can to make you happy. Not because of what you’ve done for me, but because I love you. All I ever want is to see you smile, every day, for the rest of my life.”

  Her eyes glisten with tears.

  “Adrian…” She takes a deep breath. “You’ve always given me a light. Sometimes it felt like I was alone in the dark for a long, long time. But you shone from a distance. You still shine. I always wondered how you could ever trust someone enough to let them in to every part of your life…but with you, I realized it wasn’t a choice you make. It’s inevitable. I had to take it on faith, because your light was the only thing that made sense to me - and I’m so grateful for it. For you, I want to be perfect. I know it’s impossible, but I’ll always try, just for a chance to see myself the way I’m reflected in your eyes.”

  There’s a lump in my throat, and I’m not even ashamed.

  I put the ring on her finger, again, and I kiss her, again, except this time her father is standing right there and it would be a little bit weird, if I were capable of being embarrassed. The bells ring and people cheer as we run from the chapel, hand in hand.

  We walk into the reception, just as the choir is wrapping up their first song.

  A few minutes late - yes. Exactly for the reason you think.

  Forgive me for drawing the curtain. Every once in a while, there’s something you just have to keep for yourself.

  “Is that…” Her eyes are already brimming with tears, and for once, I’m proud to be the one making her cry.

  “Mmhmm. A girl’s choir singing classical arrangements of popular hits from the late nineties. I thought you might like it.” I hold her close, aware that all the eyes in the room are on us, but not really caring. Just like our first wedding, this is only for us. The difference is now, there are people to share it with. People who can witness and celebrate. I’ve never needed anybody’s approval, but I have to admit it’s nice to have. “Wait until you hear the next song selection.”

  When the choir breaks into “She Hates Me,” Meg’s hand flies to her mouth, and she’s laughing and crying and shaking her head at me.

  “Adrian,” she says, her eyes sparkling with happiness and shining with tears.

  “I know,” I tell her, simply.

  We’re coming up on six years since the day we met, and after all this time, we don’t always need words to tell each other what we’re thinking. In a way, we never did.

  So we dance. Everyone is watching, but we hardly notice.

  “Penny for your thoughts.” I tighten my arm around her waist.

  “What if I hadn’t sent you my resume?” She lifts her head from my chest and looks up at me, her brow knitting slightly, genuinely troubled by the thought. “What if you threw it in the trash, and we’d never met?”

  I just shake my head. “There’s no possible world where we don’t meet,” I tell her. “I don’t buy it.”

  She giggles a little. “That’s sweet.”

  “I’m serious. You really think we wouldn’t have found each other? We would’ve met on the sidewalk, or in a bar, or at the DMV. There’s just no way any possible twist of fate in any possible universe could keep us apart.” Leaning down to kiss the side of her head, I whisper, “there’s no getting away from me, sweetheart. You can quantum leap into any parallel universe you want, but you can’t get away from me.”

  She snickers. “That’s the nerdiest thing you’ve ever said, Risinger.”

  “Sure, Megatron.”

  “Oh, Ryn. That’s below the belt.”

  Laughing softly, I spin her around. “You knew exactly what you were getting into, with me.”

  “I did,” she says, eyes shining up at me. “Thank God for that, right?”

  And we dance.

  Every quarter, I get a report from my financial manager. It tells me how much I’m worth. In dollars and cents, I have a value, and it’s enough to get me onto a list in a magazine with oil barons and business magnates and princes and kings.

  And that’s the only thing that makes me extraordinary.

  I can buy anything my heart desires. So naturally, the only thing I’ve ever wanted - the only thing that made me lose s
leep at night - is something that couldn’t be bought.

  “Adrian,” she says, softly. “I…”

  “Shh.” I smile down at her. “Don’t exhaust your vocabulary on thanks just yet. You haven’t seen your gift yet.”

  “Um…brides and grooms don’t usually exchange gifts.” She licks her lips. “Unless that’s innuendo, of course.”

  “For once, no. There’s an actual gift, and it’s no-strings-attached….”

  “Tell me!” she demands, softly, with a grin. “Come on. You wouldn’t have brought it up if you didn’t want to spoil the surprise.”

  “No,” I insist. “Shelly would kill me if I…”

  “Shelly?” she repeats. Then, her face lights up with the realization. “Oh…oh my God, are you serious?”

  I nod. “I know it’s irresponsible, but she said there’s a little black kitten you’ve grown very attached to, and you lamented on more than one occasion you’d take him home if only your husband wasn’t such an irredeemable asshole.”

  She bursts out laughing. “That’s not what I said!”

  “I paraphrased,” I admit. “You never even thought to ask me if I like cats.”

  “My mistake,” she says.

  “It’s all right. Means I still had a chance to surprise you.”

  Her eyes light up even brighter. “What’s your opinion on puppies?”

  My mouth twitches. “Don’t push your luck.”

  She just laughs at me.

  And we dance, and we dance.

  His Secretary's Christmas

  IF ONE MORE person asks me when we’re going to “start a family,” I’m going to throw an ashtray at their head.

  Yeah, yeah, I know. It’s just one of those things. The minute you get married, everyone decides that their life plans for the next thirty years are a matter of public record. Are you planning on having kids? Are you trying? Have you heard about the latest fertility tea that Dr. Oz is talking about?