A few minutes later, she entered the office and followed her usual Monday morning routine. “Good morning, Mr. Rutledge. Did you have a nice weekend?"
He returned her greeting from the confines of his office. “Good morning, Miss Andrews. Yes, thank you. And you?"
"Just a quiet weekend. I caught up on some chores and ran errands. Nothing special.” Nothing special—no, nothing special at all other than the hottest sex of my life with the most incredible man alive. A man I think I've fallen in love with.
She made coffee, turned on her computer and prepared for the day's work. As soon as the coffee was ready, she filled his mug and carried it into his office. Even though she made a valiant attempt, she could not help but favor her ankle a little bit. Hopefully he wouldn't notice. The next item on her normal Monday morning routine was to water the plants in his office. She set the coffee mug on his desk.
He looked up and offered a distracted smile. “Thank you, Miss Andrews."
Jonathon took a sip of coffee, then another. He had spent a very restless night going over the final moments of his time with his mystery lover. Once again he had stood there stark naked, unable to follow her outside the room. And as before he was filled with the sensation that someone very special had just run out of his life. Then he spotted her shoes. He had been left with a clue. A slim lead, but at least it was something.
He had been in his office since six o'clock that morning going over lists of everyone he knew, both personal and business. He couldn't come up with anyone who matched the description of his mysterious lover—not a woman he had dated nor even the wife of any of his most obscure business contacts. He had finally resorted to looking up private detectives in the phone book.
Unlike last week, this time he had a lead. Actually two leads. In addition to her shoes, there was the room she had booked at the Bayfront Inn. If she paid with a credit card, that was a definite lead to follow. Even if she paid cash in advance, she would need to do that in person, which meant someone saw her face. One way or the other, he was determined to find out exactly who she was.
He glanced down at the pair of red high heels on the floor next to his desk. He had not bothered to really inspect them. If only he felt confident that he would be as lucky as Prince Charming in tracking down his Cinderella after she had run away from the ball, leaving her shoe behind.
An abstract thought entered his mind. Cinderella had pretended to be a princess so she could pass herself off as someone other than who she really was, someone she believed the prince would find acceptable, someone of the prince's peer group. Could his Cinderella be someone other than who she had pretended to be? Someone who insisted on keeping her mask on because he would recognize her if he saw her face even if he didn't know her name? Perhaps someone he came in contact with during the course of his business day? Someone who—
He watched Trish walk across the office, carrying the pitcher to water the plants. Something was different. She was walking with a very slight limp. He looked closer, taking note of her wrapped ankle in spite of the fact that she was wearing pants rather than a skirt.
He gestured toward her foot. “You injured yourself, Miss Andrews?"
"Uh ... yes, I took a misstep off a curb in the grocery store parking lot yesterday afternoon and twisted my ankle. It's not bad. I'm sure it will be fine in a day or two.” She resumed watering the plants.
Jonathon picked up the high heels from the floor, turning them to inspect the soles. They were almost brand new. He set them on his desk. Had they been purchased specifically for the party to go with that sexy red dress, then only worn again the following Saturday night? Too many questions. Too many pieces of the puzzle. Everything began to bounce around inside his head, pieces floating in the air looking for a place to settle, a pattern to fit into.
Was his lady in red someone sent by one of his competitors to trap him in some way? Maneuver him into a compromising position? A night of sex wouldn't do that. Two nights of sex wouldn't do it, either. After all, he wasn't married or even engaged. It might cause a little bit of embarrassment for him, but nothing more.
Business secrets? Neither one of them ever mentioned anything having to do with business, his or hers. In fact, there hadn't been that much conversation of any kind. He had already confirmed that she hadn't been wearing a wedding ring nor did she normally wear a ring on that finger. Yet she somehow knew him, not only his name but where to find him.
Trish finished watering the plants, but as she turned toward the door her gaze landed on the high heels resting on his desk, the ones that hadn't been there a couple of minutes ago. The ones she left in the room at the inn as she made her hasty departure. Her breath froze in her lungs. Panic consumed her to the point she could barely think. She felt light-headed.
Had he discovered her identity? Figured out that she was the mystery woman? Was he simply biding his time until the right moment presented itself for him to confront her? Had he placed the shoes on his desk in hopes that they would intimidate her into confessing? Was he simply toying with her?
She tried to take in a deep breath to break the tightness pulling across her chest. Stay calm ... stay calm ... breathe slowly.
Jonathon rose from his chair and came out from behind his desk. “Are you all right, Miss Andrews? You look pale as a ghost."
"I'm—I'm fine. Really."
He grabbed her arm and steered her toward the couch. “Sit down. I'll get you a glass of water."
He rushed to the bar in the corner of his large office, filled a glass with ice and water, then returned. “Here, have a drink of this. Then lean back and rest for a bit."
As she took the glass from him, he noticed the ring she wore on her little finger of her left hand. He had been aware she always wore a ring but had never paid any attention to it. Until now. He had seen it before, the delicate filigree pattern. It was the same ring worn by his mystery lover.
A thought too preposterous to be true started to take hold in his mind. Could it be? Was it even remotely possible? Did he really want to know?
He tilted his head and turned his gaze to the spot behind her ear. The spot where he had noticed the tiny heart shaped birthmark on his mystery lover. He closed his eyes as he forced a calm to his breathing. Then he slowly opened them and focused on the spot, on the delicate heart shaped birthmark behind Miss Andrews’ ear.
The blue eyes and sensual mouth, the only part of her face that had been visible around the mask, he now knew where he had seen them before. They had been in front of him for the last three years, only he had never noticed. Miss Andrews—tailored, all business, efficient with her hair pulled back in that tight bun.
Trish Andrews, who had turned his life upside down and inside out in one night, then confirmed it with a second night of unbridled passion. The hottest sex and most tender lovemaking he had ever shared with a woman.
A quick surge of panic told him exactly how out of control he felt at that moment. He didn't know what to do or how to proceed. He couldn't simply continue with his business day as if nothing had happened.
He would never again be able to look at her and see only his efficient administrative assistant without also seeing the blonde curls feathered across her mound. Without seeing the passion glowing in the depths of her blue eyes. Without seeing her perfect breasts capped with the deliciously puckered nipples. Without knowing her unique taste and the way it continued to linger in his senses. Without remembering the way her tight pussy walls encased his cock in a hot wet cocoon that sent exquisite waves of rapture crashing through his body.
Without reliving the two most incredible nights he had ever experienced.
They had to talk about this, but she had gone to great lengths to make sure he didn't know she was his mystery lover. He couldn't simply blurt it out and take a chance on humiliating her. What if she walked away from him again? And this time permanently? He couldn't allow that to happen.
"Are you feeling better?” He tried to force a calm, casual timbr
e to his voice. To sound normal. But normal no longer existed. He wanted to take the pins from her hair and let it fall around her shoulders, to caress the creamy smooth texture of her skin. To kiss her delicious mouth. To taste every inch of her.
And so much more.
"Yes, thank you."
She glanced up as she handed him the water glass, but didn't make eye contact. She looked as uncertain as he felt. “Your, uh, ankle? Are you sure it's okay? Did you go to the doctor or the emergency room?"
"No, there wasn't any need to. It's just a simple sprain."
He kneeled down beside her and carefully slipped her shoe off her foot. He pressed gently on her ankle. “Does this hurt?"
"Just a little twinge. It's nothing—really. Please don't concern yourself."
Trish was scared. Did he know or was it her guilty conscience leading her astray? She had been handling everything okay until he escorted her to the couch. The moment he touched her was almost too much. And then he held her calf as he removed her shoe. Regardless of his good intentions and genuine concern as employer to employee, for her it was an intimate gesture that brought back every intense ripple of orgasmic delight she had experienced with him.
But it was immediately followed by a rush of foreboding. She had done a very stupid thing and now she was going to have to pay for it. If only she could turn back the clock.
No. That was not what she wanted. The two nights would live in her memory and in her heart as the most exciting time of her life. But the apparent consequences were something she hadn't adequately prepared for. She squeezed her eyes shut. Maybe if she concentrated hard enough it would all go away.
But rather than the memories being banished, an image of his naked body popped into her mind. Just the sight of his hard erection standing tall and ready sent a gush that dampened the crotch of her panties. Her nipples puckered into taut peaks, the sensitive buds rubbing against the lacy fabric of her bra. A tingle of excitement hummed between her legs, a need that demanded the type of attention her vibrator could never satisfy. The kind of attention that only Jonathon Rutledge could provide.
Her thoughts were interrupted when he again grasped her calf and slid the shoe on her foot.
"Well, it seems to be a perfect fit. What do you think ... Cinderella?"
Her eyes opened with startled alarm. She looked down at her foot, at the red high heel that was, indeed, a perfect fit. She closed her eyes again and buried her face in her hands. She couldn't bear to look at him, to see the contempt and disgust on his face. A sick churning in the pit of her stomach tried to work its way up her throat. There was no way she could deny anything. It was over.
There was nothing left for her to do except resign before he fired her.
She lowered her hands, but she still could not look at him. “I offer you my sincere apologies, Mr. Rutledge. You will, of course, have my immediate resignation along with my promise to not say or do anything that will compromise your reputation or further embarrass or humiliate you."
She felt his weight sink down on the couch next to her. Then there was a long moment of silence. Full-blown anxiety raced through her body, touching every corner of her consciousness. She couldn't stand it any longer. She glanced at him, and what she saw truly stunned her. No contempt, no disgust, no condemnation. She saw only tenderness and caring ... and confusion.
"I don't understand, Miss Andrews. Why did you do it?"
"I...” Trish quickly averted her eyes, choosing to stare at the pattern on the carpeting. She didn't know what to say or how to answer his question. She shook her head. “It doesn't matter any more. As I said, you'll have my resignation immediately."
"I'm afraid I have to disagree with you. It does matter. I want to know. What prompted you to go to such lengths? To perpetuate such an elaborate deception?"
"It's—I just wanted one night—"
"One night?"
"One night that became two nights—"
"For three years you've been in my office five days a week, and you never let on—I never suspected...” He drew in a deep breath, held it for several seconds, then slowly exhaled. “I'm not sure what to say, Miss Andrews."
"You don't need to say anything. What I did was inexcusable. You don't need to ask for my resignation. I'll have it on your desk within the quarter hour."
Jonathon placed his fingertips under her chin and gently lifted until he could look into her eyes. They were the same eyes that had been so filled with fire and heated passion. Now he saw anxiety and trepidation, and it upset him. It also left him slightly bewildered. The very special woman who he thought he had lost turned out to be someone he knew well ... yet apparently didn't know at all. He wanted to see the fire of passion again, to know the heat of their combined desires.
"I won't be asking for your resignation."
She wrinkled her brow in confusion. “I don't understand."
"Well, Miss Andrews...” He plucked the pins from her hair until it fell loose to her shoulders. “I was about to ask for something, but it wasn't your resignation."
The mesmerizing control of his stare, combined with the way he had undone her hair, left Trish speechless. She wasn't sure what was happening, but she knew his closeness robbed her of the ability to muster even a mild protest.
He reached for the top button of her blouse and slowly unfastened it. Then the next and the next. Her insides quivered with a combination of excitement and anxiety. She finally forced herself to move. She placed her hand on top of his, stopping him before he unfastened the next button.
"Please don't, Mr. Rutledge—"
"I think in light of everything that's happened, it would be okay if we dropped the formalities ... Trish.” Jonathon closed his eyes for a moment. The perfect breasts with the deliciously puckered nipples, the incredible body that could drive any grown man to distraction, the blonde curls decorating the entrance to a treasure worth fighting for. And all of it topped by a beautiful face he saw every day yet never really noticed.
He pulled her into his embrace. Oddly enough, it was not the call of hot sex that propelled his actions. She felt good in his arms. It all felt right. Could it be that he had finally found what had been missing from his life?
He lowered his mouth to hers. The spark of desire ignited the moment their lips came in contact. But again, the spark was not one demanding the pleasures he knew her body held. It was a spark of emotional need, a desire for closeness.
Trish wrapped her arms around his neck, melted into his embrace and fully responded to his kiss. The kiss deepened. He twined his tongue with hers in a sensual mating that fed his emotional desires as much as his physical ones. His thoughts filled with the two times they had made tender love, the emotionally fulfilling intimacy. That's what he wanted at the moment. But he couldn't assume she wanted the same thing.
He reluctantly broke the kiss, but continued to hold her in his arms. “I didn't think I'd ever see you again. I've been exploring every avenue I could think of in hopes of finding my mystery lover. It never occurred to me to look in my own office.” He unbuttoned the final button of her blouse, then seductively ran his finger along the edge of her lacy bra.
"I don't know what to say, Mr. Rutledge—Jonathon."
"Say you'll make love with me, right here, right now."
Was this the way it was going to be? She would now be nothing more than his office play toy? It was a possibility Trish hadn't considered. But then she had also admitted to herself that she hadn't thought out the plan very carefully, at least not the part about the consequences should he discover her identity. Nor had she thought out what she wanted after the second night. Would there have been a third and then a fourth night of hot sex and unbridled passion?
Hot sex with Jonathon Rutledge had been indescribably incredible, but this was so much more. There was a physical connection that throbbed between her legs, but there was an emotional connection that went directly to her heart. Could he possibly be feeling the same thing she was?
/> She couldn't keep the hint of disappointment out of her voice. “Well, I guess it would be somewhat silly of me to offer any objection at this point."
He cradled her head against his shoulder. “I'm afraid you've misunderstood me. I'm not dictating or assuming. I'm not talking about hot sex or recreational fucking. I'm not expecting you to be at my beck and call whenever I feel the urge. I'm asking if you will make love with me. It has nothing to do with your job or my job, nothing to do with anything in the outside world. It has to do only with you and me—a man and a woman. And then I'd like for us to have dinner tonight, a romantic restaurant at the beach."
Had she heard him correctly? “Dinner at a romantic restaurant?"
"You left me with two very unsettled weekends. I ended up with one pair of red high heels and more thoughts and feelings than I could handle. For three years, we've been working together in a smooth and efficient relationship. I think after what happened the last two Saturday nights, it would be safe to say we also have an incredibly hot physical relationship. So...” He leaned forward and placed a soft kiss on her lips as he caressed her cheek. “I think we should explore what exists between those two extremes, find a solid footing for a lasting relationship."
He brushed another tender kiss against her lips, then offered a hopeful smile. “Will you have dinner with me tonight?"
The biggest risk of her life, what minutes ago had seemed to be a total disaster, had just paid off in the most unexpected way. His smile totally melted her insides and any concerns she still harbored.
"Yes, I'd be honored to have dinner with you.” She placed a soft kiss on his lips. “And if that offer to make love is still open, I'd be honored to accept that, too."
"You can consider that a standing offer. Any time and any where."
She pointed toward the office door. “Perhaps you'd best lock the door. I don't think this is proper office protocol, and it's definitely against company policy."
He ran his hand seductively across her rear end, locked the door, then gave her his sexiest grin. “I have a feeling there will be lots of things happening in here that won't be proper office protocol ... beginning right now."
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