The Secretary’s Seduction

by Jane Porter

"And what if your idea of love doesn't exist?"

  Her eyes burned and she blinked hard. "You're so cynical."

  "Maybe. Or maybe I'm just a realist." Maybe.

  She blinked again, thinking that maybe it was possible to see life from two different perspectives, and have both be equally right. And if that was the case, while they'd never see eye to eye, it didn't mean they couldn't enjoy the moment and, let's face it, they were in the middle of paradise.

  St. Jermaine’s was the most beautiful place she'd ever been and from the looks of it, there'd be a gorgeous sunset later tonight. She was drinking her first banana daiquiri and soon she'd be sitting down to dinner with the love of her life.

  Dinner was served on the veranda, white gardenias in a bowl, the glass table glowing with the flicker of a dozen white candles. It was the most romantic table she'd ever seen.

  The service was discreet. Mr. Foley uncorked a bottle of red wine and disappeared. Morgan was being his charming best. Winnie leaned back in her chair and listened to the soft lap of waves against the sand.

  I could get used to this, she thought, picking up her goblet, admiring the wine's ruby sheen. This is definitely the good life. Wouldn't it be something to really live like this? What would it be like to be Morgan's girlfriend ... or his mistress?

  "You're smiling," Morgan said, topping off her glass with more wine before refilling his own.

  "I am," she agreed, stretching a little, very relaxed.

  She lifted her glass in front of one candle and let the flame glow through the goblet, marveling at the warm garnet glow, red symbolizing love ... passion.

  Sex.

  Maybe it was the Merlot in her veins, or the balmy evening, but she felt really lazy and really happy, and swirling her glass, Winnie thought she'd like to feel this way more often.

  To feel like this not just now, but always.

  "What are you thinking?" Morgan asked, his dark hair gleaming in the candlelight, his teeth flashing.

  She looked at him from beneath her lashes. "That you're not bad company when you're not worrying about the stock market."

  He grimaced. "I don't worry about the stock market."

  "No, you obsess about it."

  Lines deepened near his mouth. He was trying not to laugh. "I'd never obsess about anything."

  Her eyebrows arched.

  He laughed out loud. "I must say, you're not bad company when you let your hair down." His dark blue gaze met hers, held. "I like your hair down."

  "Literally or figuratively?"

  His eyes were doing something crazy to her insides.

  Her heart raced and her arms felt weak, as if the bones had turned to butter. She slipped her hands to her lap and balled her fingers together.

  "Both," he answered. "Don't pin it up anymore. I like it down. I like you like this. You're an interesting woman, Winnie. You're constantly surprising me."

  His compliment touched her. She felt a lump grow in her throat. "You like interesting women?" she asked, voice suddenly husky.

  "Of course. Why, do you prefer boring men?"

  She was feeling so much intense emotion she didn't think she had a laugh in her just then, but he'd found it and she chuckled. "Boring men, please."

  "Good. I'm just your type. I'm very boring. Incredibly dull. You'll yawn yourself silly with me."

  Her eyes locked with his, and his eyes were saying he wanted her. His eyes were making her feel hot and hungry again.

  Blood rushed through her, from her middle up her neck, into her cheeks.

  "We could have fun boring each other, Winnie." His voice was pitched so low it felt like velvet sliding across her skin.

  "Yes."

  "There's a lot of ways I could bore you."

  Heat flooded her limbs yet again, and Winnie grabbed her water glass, took a big gulp. She'd like to be bored, if that's what he wanted to call it. She'd love to be bored as a matter of fact. "But I'm really not your type."

  "What's my type?"

  Winnie slowly looked up into his face. His eyes, so blue, so intense, were looking straight into hers. "Annika, Brigit, Hannah-"

  "Oh, yes, my blond Scandinavian supermodel type."

  "It's true. It's your preference. You're attracted to tall, slender, sexy and that's certainly not me."

  "No, you're not tall, and blond, but I'm still very attracted to you."

  "Morgan, I don't think you understand me. I'm talking attracted as in sex."

  Creases fanned from his eyes. "Winnie, I understand you perfectly. I'm talking about sex, too, and I think we'd have great sex together."

  The warmth in her tummy did a sinuous dance through her middle, along her tense spine, flooding her qui very limbs with heat. Part of her brain told her she should drop the subject, back away from it now, but another part wouldn't let her. She was fascinated, intrigued by all that she didn't know and had never done. "You do? And how do you know?"

  He shrugged. "I can tell from the way you kiss."

  She felt hot all the way through, her skin scorching, pulse racing. She drew a breath but she wasn't getting much air. She was thinking about sex. Thinking about his mouth on her skin. "You liked the way I kiss?"

  "And taste."

  Winnie sagged against the back of her teak dining chair, heart thumping, belly clenching, aching in places she didn't think could ache.

  His words made her want and his voice made her need and she thought she'd do just about anything if he'd teach her a few things about sex and passion and love. Or just sex and passion because she already had the love part figured out.

  If he didn't insist on marriage, she could almost imagine a life with him. There'd be dates, dinners, evenings out and evenings in.

  Winnie could see herself riding down Park Avenue in his stretch limo, stepping out at one of the hot clubs, treated to a private box at the opera. He'd have seats behind home plate at Yankee Stadium. There'd be ice skating at Rockefeller Square

  . She'd receive invitations to all the fashion premieres.

  Stylish haircuts, waxed eyebrows, year-round tan. The fantasy came to an abrupt end. Because even tan and waxed and wearing a stylish new do, she'd never feel complete, it'd never be enough if he didn't love her.

  "It wouldn't work," she said after a moment, the lovely vision bursting like a bubble inside her head. "We wouldn't survive a week."

  "Why not?"

  "Look at us. You're ... you ... and I'm ... me."

  He laughed softly. "Very insightful."

  "I'm serious."

  "So am I. There's a lot of chemistry here, Winnie, more chemistry than I ever felt with Brigit, or Hannah, or Annika."

  Her head jerked up. She stared at him wide-eyed.

  "Really?' '

  "Really." He pushed aside his wineglass and stood up. "Let's head down to the beach to catch the sunset."

  The sun was just setting when they reached the cove and the colors at dusk were incredibly intense red, bright orange, purple and turquoise water.

  Winnie slipped off her sandals to walk barefoot through the surf and when Morgan threw himself down on the beach, she sat down next to him, burying her feet beneath the still-warm sand.

  It was so quiet on his island. The birds she'd heard earlier were silent and unlike New York, which was never still, here there was nothing of civilization to disturb the peace. No voices, no cars, no traffic, nothing but the gentle lap of waves against the creamy edge of sand.

  "It's lovely," she whispered, pressing her hands against the sand, feeling the warm soft grains against her skin.

  Morgan nodded. "I feel good here. I feel calm here. And I like having you here with me."

  She leaned forward and propped her chin on her forearm, not knowing what to say. She was still rather intimidated by him, still felt some awe that she was here, in the Bahamas, on Morgan's island. It was surreal. Intimate. Exclusive. It was almost as if she'd gone on the honeymoon even though she'd missed the wedding.

  Morgan stretched out an a
rm, pointed to the water.

  "Look, the sun's going quickly now."

  He was right. Once the round red sun hit the horizon, it sank fast, disappearing into ocean as if it were a heavy fireball, and for one exquisite moment the ocean lit up and the surface shone ruby and gold.

  Winnie held her breath the last few seconds, feeling almost bereft when the sun disappeared altogether, leaving the horizon a quiet, sullen, blue.

  "That was beautiful," she said, wrapping her arms more tightly around her knees. It was still warm out but the contrast between the intense red sky and the now gray night made her shiver.

  Morgan must have noted her shiver because he reached over, touched the middle of her back. "Cold?"

  "No." But she shivered yet again, not from cold as much as desire. When he touched her she felt so much, it was almost too much. She'd never known such pleasure.

  For seven months now she'd battled her feelings. For seven months she'd tried to dismantle the desire, deny the need, ignore the want. She'd told herself her feelings would fade. She'd forced herself to go elsewhere, look for another job just to put distance between her and heartbreak but here she was at the end of July and she was still hoping, wanting, needing, dreaming.

  Would it be so awful to stop fighting herself, to stop fighting for the higher, moral ground and to just let herself enjoy him? To just enjoy this?

  Would it be so bad to be with him just for the moment and to take what she could ... even if it was only sex?

  "Winnie, we don't have to make any big decisions today."

  She turned her head, looked at him, wondered how he could know exactly what she was thinking. "I used to believe I was really old-fashioned," she said, her throat so dry it felt as if she'd swallowed a bucket of sand. "But I'm beginning to think I'm not so very conservative.'

  "Winnie-'

  "I don't want to marry you. If a marriage is to last it must be built on love, but there are things I'm curious about, and there are things I don't know."

  He waited and she clenched her hands together, praying for courage. "I'd like if it you ..." She drew a deep breath, finding these words almost impossible to say. "If you could teach me these things ... show me how it works ... what to do."

  "You make it sound like rocket science."

  "It is if you don't know how."

  "Well, I don't think you need to worry. You're a natural." His lips slowly curved but the smile didn't reach his eyes. "It'll be easier than you think."

  She loved it when he looked at her like that. When his eyes were serious, but she could feel the heat. He tried to check the emotion yet she felt it anyway. "That's what you said about kissing," she said a bit breathlessly.

  Grooves formed next to his mouth. "And was I wrong about that?"

  He was doing it again. Making her hot, making her want. Winnie exhaled slowly in the semidarkness, her skin so warm that she wanted to peel her camisole top off, push her skirt down and throw herself into the ocean.

  And Winnie realized that's exactly what she wanted to do. Strip down. Get naked. Skinny-dip. She'd never done anything half so daring but this was the time, this was the night. If she didn't do something risky now, she never would.

  "Want to swim?" she asked, blushing a little.

  "You mean get our suits and head to the pool?"

  "No." Her blush deepened, her face felt sensitive, and she thought that she'd do just about anything to make him kiss her soon. "Let's swim here." Winnie swallowed hard. "Naked."

  Morgan scooped up a handful of sand and held it in his closed fist. He wasn't sure that stripping to skin and swimming was the thing he needed right now.

  Winnie was having a really potent effect on him. He could feel her, smell her, still taste her. He'd been battling his desire all evening. Dinner had been a lesson in discipline. During the meal when she'd leaned forward and placed a hand on his forearm, he'd hardened instantly. Ardently.

  It was one thing to hide an erection seated at the dinner table. It was another naked on the beach.

  "Come on, Morgan," she entreated, leaning forward, her breasts brushing his bicep. Waves crashed not far from their feet, the salty spray coating their skin. "Swim with me."

  He searched her face. She looked so eager, her face very alive, eyes wide, lips parted, her expression completely unguarded. He loved that about her-her openness, her freshness.

  Beautiful women were always interested in protecting power, jostling for position. Annika had always kept her guard up. Hannah wouldn't ever compromise. Brigit played coy. But not Winnie, and he thought she was just as beautiful, if not more beautiful, than the others.

  He glanced behind him at his low house with the steeply pitched roof. It glowed like a mysterious Japanese lantern on a hill. The tiki torches lining the dirt path from the beach to the bungalow shimmered, yellow flames dancing and licking at the night. It was a warm night, warm enough to sleep outside, and definitely warm enough for a swim.

  He opened his fingers and let the powdery sand slide through. "You really want to do this?"

  "Yes," she answered, voice quavering.

  "All right, but you go first."

  CHAPTER NINE

  "Go FIRST?" She'd risen and now stood above him, feet slightly apart and planted in the sand.

  Her hands were on her hips and her shoulders were bare. She looked very sexy and he couldn't forget the softness of her mouth, the delicate shape of her lips, or the smoothness of her skin. Just thinking about the kiss, remembering the way she'd felt in his arms, made Morgan hard again.

  He craved the feel of her. He longed to put his mouth against her collarbone, feel her gasp as his tongue traced the delicate skin at her throat and the hollow beneath her ear.

  "Skinny-dipping was your idea," he reminded, wondering now how he could have ever thought her big or solid. She was barely five five, maybe five four.

  Without a word Winnie reached behind her, unzipped her skirt and peeled the beige linen fabric over her hips, down her legs to fall at her feet. Morgan inhaled sharply as Winnie stepped out of the skirt, leaving her in just the beige camisole and the nude-colored panties.

  Winnie had legs. Amazing legs that were smooth and silky and very bare.

  She looked over her shoulder, at the water, giving him a glimpse of firm thighs and a rounded bottom. Morgan was turned on all over again. "I've never done this before," she said in a small, breathy voice.

  Winnie, his Winnie, the Winnie he'd worked with for the past seven months was driving him absolutely crazy. "You're doing just fine."

  Her lips curved briefly and grasping the edge of her linen camisole she pulled up, lifting it over her head.

  As Winnie tugged the camisole up, Morgan caught the sway of full, firm breasts. The top came off and the rising moon flooded her with light, illuminating her pale soft skin. She wasn't wearing a bra. Her breasts swayed as she dropped the camisole onto the sand.

  Blood surged through him. Blood pounded in his ears, in his limbs, in his groin and Morgan felt as if he'd been taken over, hit by a wave of hunger so strong he was a sixteen-year-old kid again, looking at a centerfold.

  She was lushly made-full breasts, hips, thighs-the body of a woman as a woman was meant to be.

  His desire stunned him. His body actually hurt.

  This was Winnie. This was the woman he'd worked so closely with for seven and a half months and he'd never known how sexy, how seductive, how sensual she was.

  "You're going to join me?" she asked, hesitating slightly, as if starting to doubt the wisdom of an evening swim.

  "Yes." Morgan remained where he was but slowly began unbuttoning his white Egyptian cotton shirt. His fingers weren't quite steady. In fact, he could hardly concentrate on the task at hand, still too enthralled by the vision of Winnie.

  If he hadn't promised to take things slow ...

  "You're having trouble with that last button," Winnie said, head tilted, watching him.

  He looked down at his shirt. It was true. It w
as all unbuttoned but the last and his fingers couldn't seem to get it undone.

  Winnie crouched in front of him. "Let me help," she said, crisply, impossibly matter-of-fact.

  He stared at her breasts. They swayed just inches from his face. If he bent his head he could capture one of her pale pink nipples in his mouth. Her nipple in his mouth. His tongue against the tiny round peak. His body surged. He ached. He ground his teeth together to keep from touching her now. But oh, he wanted to taste her skin, wanted to feel her firm nipple in his mouth and he'd suck it, warm it, make her cry his name.