The Bedroom Business

by Sandra Marton

  “You don’t know anything about my grandmother, either. Jake. Jake! What are you doing?”

  “Getting rid of this horse-blanket,” Jake said grimly, as he tugged her suit jacket from her shoulders and dumped it on top of the coat that lay at her feet.

  “Dammit, Jake...”

  “It’s a cocktail party,” he said, as he undid the first button of her blouse, “not a wake. You’re the one who pointed out that you weren’t dressed right.” Emily grabbed at his hand as he started working on the second button but he shrugged her off. “We’ll do what little we can. Let your hair down, get rid of that jacket, open a few buttons...”

  “Hey,” a voice called, from somewhere outside the ele­vator, “anybody stuck in there?”

  People, Emily thought desperately, people near enough to save her. But save her from what? It was hard to concentrate, when she was so furious at Jake...

  ...when Jake’s fingers were at the next tiny button on her blouse.

  Emily grabbed his wrist. “Stop it!”

  He didn’t stop. He kept going, opening buttons, muttering that it was time she stepped into the twenty-first century and let herself look like a woman, until she glanced down at herself and saw the first hint of...

  “Lace?”

  Jake’s voice cracked. He looked up. Emily did, too. Their eyes met, and she could see that his were no longer cold and dark but a deep, hot emerald. Her heart did a strange two­step before lodging in her throat.

  “Lace,” he said again, very softly, “under all those layers of wool.”

  “I happen to like...” Emily licked her lips. Jake followed the movement of her tongue with an almost unholy fascina­tion. She took a step back but there was nowhere to go; her shoulders hit the wall of the car. “I happen to like lace,” she said, in a voice that sounded as if she were a marathon runner approaching the finish line. “Besides, what I wear under the wool is none of your—”

  “Shut up, Emily,” Jake said, and kissed her.

  It was a gentle kiss, hardly a kiss at all. Only their mouths met, his moving over hers in soft, exploratory touches.

  And then he groaned, or maybe she did. The only thing Emily knew for sure was that, suddenly, she was in his arms.

  His kiss changed, then, became the kiss of a conqueror, hungry and rapacious, demanding surrender. And even as she told herself not to give in, she curled her arms around his neck, opened her mouth to his and kissed him back.

  Jake gathered her tightly against him. She swept her hands into his hair, tugged his head down and lifted herself to him. He pressed her back against the wall. She moaned. He was so hard. So strong. So aroused and so completely, magnifi­cently male.

  He wanted her.

  Wanted her, as much as she wanted him.

  His arms offered no escape and she desired none. This, this was what she yearned for. Jake’s lips, plundering hers. His tongue, in her mouth. His erection, against her belly.

  Emily whimpered, twisted in his arms, wanting something more now, wanting it with sweet desperation. Jake pulled her blouse out from the waistband of her skirt, swept his hands beneath it and up to her breasts. He groaned her name, moved his thumbs against her lace-covered nipples and she sobbed with the ecstasy of it.

  This, yes. This was what she ached for. Jake’s touch. The pads of his thumbs moving, like that. Just like that, stroking her there. The curling ribbon of fire that lanced from her breasts to her belly. The answering tug of liquid heat between her thighs.

  “Emily,” Jake said thickly.

  He drew back. She moaned, refused to let him go until she realized he only wanted enough room to undo the rest of her buttons.

  “Let me,” he said, “Emily, let me...”

  “Yes,” she whispered, against his mouth, “Jake, yes...”

  Off in the distance, an alarm bell began to ring. Emily didn’t hear it. The beat of her heart, the sexy-sweet rasp of Jake’s whispers, drowned out everything else as he eased her blouse open.

  “Beautiful.” His eyes, so hot and dark, locked onto hers as he ran the roughened tip of his index finger along the soft, warm curve of flesh that rose above the lace of her camisole. “Such a beautiful little sparrow.”

  He bent his head, let the tip of his tongue follow the same path as his finger and she cried out, arched towards him...

  Emily’s shoulder hit the Stop switch. The car lurched into motion. After a few seconds, so did her brain.

  She was in an elevator in the Ascot Towers. It was heading up, towards a floor filled with people. And she was half-­undressed, making love with her boss.

  “Jake!” She shoved against his shoulders, tugged at his hair. “Jake! The elevator. The car’s going up!”

  Right, Jake thought dazedly, and slipped his hand under her chemise. Everything was going up. And the ground was shifting under his feet.

  “Stop it,” Emily hissed, into his ear. “Do you hear me? Stop!”

  Stop? How was he supposed to...

  “Jake!”

  Emily pounded her fists against his back. He blinked, looked up, and realized that it wasn’t the ground shifting, it was the elevator. It was rising, and fast. Thirty, said the panel Indicator lights. Thirty-one. Thirty-two...

  “Hell!”

  Jake grabbed Emily’s jacket from the floor, draped it around her shoulders, draped her coat over that. He ran his hands through her hair, through his hair, tugged at his tie, his shirt...

  The elevator stopped. The doors slid open and a small sea of faces peered at them.

  “Hey, McBride,” a male voice said, “you guys okay?

  This thing must have been stuck for twenty minutes.” Jake peeled his lips back from his teeth. “We’re fine.” “Fine,” Emily croaked.

  Fine? Jake smothered a groan. She was as pale as a ghost; he could feel her trembling in the curve of his arm.

  “Miss Taylor,” he said, “my, ah, my assistant. She, uh, she has a touch of claustrophobia...”

  “Claustrophobia,” Emily said, and smiled brightly.

  Jake tightened his hold, led her through the little crowd, down the hall and towards the party. Halfway there, she dug in her heels and balked.

  “I can’t go in there looking like this,” she hissed.

  He nodded. Of course she couldn’t. Neither could he. What they could do was turn around, get back into the elevator, stop at the reservation desk in the lobby and take a room for the night...

  Oh, hell.

  He cleared his throat, looked around, saw the discreet signs for the lounges, and pointed her towards the ladies’ room.

  Emily disappeared through the door. Jake stumbled into the men’s room. It was empty, but he wasn’t taking any chances. He went into a stall, locked the door, took off his coat and hung it up. He straightened his shirt, his tie, his suit jacket, checked out his fly. Then he sagged against the wall and tried to figure out what had just happened.

  Actually, what hadn’t happened, no thanks to him. If the elevator hadn’t started moving, he’d have made love to Emily right then and there. Made love to a sparrow, when there was a nest full of brightly plumed chicks just aching to be plucked only seconds away.

  He groaned and rubbed his hands over his face.

  Never mind that, he thought grimly, forget the bird anal­ogy. The bottom line was that no man with even half a brain in his head got involved with his secretary. Okay, so Emily was his executive assistant, not his secretary. Whatever she was, he had to be out of his mind, even sniffing the air in her direction.

  He hissed with frustration.

  An intelligent man did not get involved with a woman who worked for him, even if she looked like a goddess, which Emily most certainly did not. Just imagining the repercus­sions of such a relationship were staggering. The sexual ha­rassment charges. And even if there weren’t any, the emo­tional complications...

  He was a civilized man. He ended relationships in ways that were bloodless. Jake thought of Brandi and winced. Okay. Relati
vely bloodless. And that would never be possible if he had an affair with Emily. It was bad enough to have a woman stalking him like the ghost of Hamlet’s father but if that woman worked for him, there’d be no avoiding her at all. She’d be there, all day, every day, sniveling into a hanky and giving him damp-eyed, woeful looks.

  No way. No, no, no. A smart man didn’t ever mix business with pleasure, and Jake had always been smart, when it came to both.

  He put his coat over his arm, unlocked the stall door, walked to the sink and turned on the cold water.

  Emily was an excellent secretary. An excellent associate. He had no intention of losing her and he would, if he let his gonads get in the way.

  He draped his coat over a chair, splashed cold water over his face.

  Okay. So he’d done something stupid but the damage wasn’t irreversible. He knew the reason things had gotten out of hand, in the elevator.

  It was the shock of seeing that white lace.

  “Hey,” he said softly, to his reflection in the mirror over the sink, “who expects to see Mary Poppins wearing white?”

  Not him. Definitely, not him.

  He took a towel from the stack neatly piled on the marble countertop, dried his hands and face, then tossed it aside.

  That was all of it. The unexpected glimpse of lace. And, yeah, that cloud of silken curls. And all right, the surprising roundness, the feel of her breasts. The smell of her skin. The taste of her mouth. The way she’d responded to him, all that heat and fire...

  “Dammit, McBride!”

  Was he crazy? He was supposed to be reminding himself of how foolish it would be to take things even a step further; instead, he was turning himself on.

  Okay. That was it. What had happened tonight was the start and finish of his relationship with Emily.

  She’d be disappointed.

  He knew she would be, Jake thought, and sighed. After what had happened just now, Emily had to figure this night would end with him in her bed. He’d have to reason with her, make her see that even though he’d like that, too, it was out of the question. It would only make for trouble. She’d just have to understand.

  There was no sense letting her think that things could pro­gress between them.

  Jake nodded at his reflection. “She’ll have to understand,” he murmured.

  She would. Emily was an intelligent woman. She’d listen to reason, put this behind her and get on with business.

  Jake let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Then he slung his coat over his arm and went outside, into the corridor. Emily wasn’t there. He frowned, glanced at his watch, tapped his foot.

  The door to the ladies room swung open.

  “Emily,” he said briskly...

  It wasn’t Emily. It was Crystal. When she saw Jake, she smiled.

  “Hi, handsome. Waiting for me?”

  “Uh, not exactly. Did you happen to see Emily Taylor in there?”

  “Who? Oh, you mean that dowdy little... Your secre­tary?” Crystal batted her lashes. “Nope.” She moved closer, her head tilted, her smile brilliant. Too brilliant, everything about her. The sprayed-to-stay hair, the bright red mouth, the endless eyelashes. “Is it really important? To find her, I mean?”

  “Yes,” Jake said, “it is.”

  Crystal’s face fell but he didn’t notice. Of course it was important, he thought, as he made his way through the crowded corridor. He had to find Emily so he could tell her that what had happened—what had almost happened—was a mistake.

  On the other hand, he didn’t have to tell her tonight. It might be best to let her down easy. Yeah, that was it. Take her home, see her in, maybe just kiss her again a few times, so she wouldn’t be as upset when he said­

  “Jake?”

  Jake cocked his head. “Emily?”

  “Jake. I’m over here.”

  Over where? There. Inside the jammed main room, he could just make out a hand waving in his direction.

  “Excuse me,” Jake said, and started towards that hand.

  Emily, in the thick of the party? It amazed him, that she’d worked up enough courage to move ahead on her own. Well, that was an improvement. Getting her out among people had been a good idea. If only he could convince her to let him put his plan into motion. Introduce her to guys. Get her to go out on dates. It would be the right thing for her, especially if she harbored any silly ideas about him, now that they’d had that insane business in the elevator...

  “Jake? Jake, here I am.”

  Jake almost skidded to a stop. “Emily?”

  It was Emily, all right, but an Emily he’d never seen be­fore. Her coat and jacket were gone. She’d taken all those loose curls and piled them high on her head, though several fell sexily around her face. Her blouse was closed but only as far down as the button that had started all the trouble because he could see that hint of white lace emphasizing the sweet curve of flesh rising above it.

  Jake stared.

  What had happened to her skirt? What had she done to it? A little while ago, it had hung somewhere between her calves and ankles. Now it hung just above her knees. It wasn’t shapeless anymore, either; she’d cinched something around her waist. A belt. The belt from her coat? Yes, that had to be it. The belt, hugging her waist, holding up the skirt...

  “Jake,” she said pleasantly.

  He blinked. She was smiling, smiling and hanging on to Thad Jennett’s Armani-clad arm. And Thad was beaming down at her.

  “We’ve been looking for you.”

  “Really,” Jake said, when he could find his voice.

  “Yes.” She smiled at him, then at Thad, and just for minute, Jake wanted to pound his fist into Jennett’s slickly handsome face—but that would have been stupid because this was exactly what he’d hoped for, that Emily would meet some man to date.

  “...waiting for you, when Thad came along, and...”

  But not Jennett. Not without knowing more about hi Was he okay? Pete Archer was supposed to have been okay but look what had happened. The bastard had come on t Emily like an octopus.

  “...that I had to wait until you...”

  So, okay. Tomorrow, he’d do this the right way. He’d sit down, draw up a list of names. Guys he knew well enough to let Emily date them. It might take a while. He’d have t’ check their backgrounds, talk to people who knew them, talk to the guys themselves...

  “...leave now, Jake, if you have no objection.”

  “No,” Jake said. He smiled politely and reached for her arm. “No, on the contrary. I was just thinking the same thing. Let’s just get your coat and—”

  “Oh, I didn’t mean I was leaving with you,” Emily said, with a brilliant smile. She looked up at Jennett, who smiled back at her. “Thad’s asked me to supper.”

  “Supper?” Jake repeated, as if the concept was alien to him. “You, and Jennett?”

  Jennett leaned forward, man to man. “Food’s not up to par tonight, Jake, not up to par at all. Looks as if UBS had to cut corners, to make up for that extra two mill a year they’ve agreed to pay me on my new contract.”

  Jennett laughed. Emily smiled. Jake knotted his hands and jammed them into his trouser pockets.

  “Thad? Would you get my coat, please?” Emily shifted closer to Jake as Jennett hurried off. ‘‘Jake, I want to be sure you understand that—that what happened in the elevator...” She licked her lips. “It was a mistake.”

  “Says who?” Jake snarled, as all his good intentions flew out the door.

  “Oh, come on. You know it was.”

  “What I know is that going to supper with Jennett is a damn-fool idea!”

  “It’s an excellent idea.” Emily touched his arm. “It was good of you to do what you’d said. Introduce me to a nice man, I mean.”

  “Jennett? That’s your idea of a nice man?”

  “Uh-huh. He’s charming.”

  Jake’s mouth thinned. “What he is,” he said coldly, “is a one-man publicity machine. That smile’s a
s phony as a three-dollar bill. I’ll bet every tooth in his mouth is capped.” He clasped her elbow and pulled her towards him. “And I don’t know enough about Jennett to agree to a date.”

  Emily pulled free of Jake’s hand. “Then it’s a good thing he asked me out instead of you,” she said sweetly.

  “Dammit, Emily! You can’t go out with anybody unless I say you—”

  “Ready?”

  Thad Jennett smiled at them both as he draped Emily’s jacket over her shoulders.

  “Completely ready,” she said, with a cold look at Jake.

  Jake thought about answering. He thought about punching out Jennett’s lights. He even thought about slinging Emily over his shoulder and heading straight back to the elevator…

  But he was a civilized man. And anyway, what did he care who his exec dated? Her life, and the men in it, were her business.

  He got himself a drink, then scoured the room until he spotted Crystal.

  “Crystal,” he called, and when she turned and smiled, he held out his arms in welcome.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  JAKE stood at the window in his office, sipping a cup of what was supposed to be coffee.

  It smelled right. It even looked right. But if coffee tasted like this, the world’s tea-leaf growers would be billionaires.

  He took another mouthful, shuddered and swallowed. This was what you got for relying on someone. It was Emily’s job to make the coffee. Every morning, promptly at nine, she brought him a cup.

  But she’d come to work too late to do it yesterday. Jake shot a scowling look at his watch. And she was going to be late today, too. There was no excuse this time. No snow. No tangled traffic. No subway trains running late. He’d had to mike his own coffee and dammit, Emily obviously knew something about the coffeemaker he didn’t because the stuff she made never tasted like this.

  “Never,” Jake growled, as he strode into his private bath­room and dumped the sludge down the sink.

  The day was definitely not off to a good start.

  Jake stomped back to his desk and sat down in his chair.

  Flow could the day begin well, without a proper cup of coffee? Without the presence of his executive assistant? Without having a memory of an evening that should have been, to say the least, memorable?