The Boss's Secret Mistress

by Alison Fraser

  It was late when they all trooped off to dormitories. The washing facilities were limited and they took turns. Tory volunteered to go last and was locked in a shower cubicle when she finally unfolded his missive.

  She expected it to offer an explanation for his appearance but it was frustratingly brief: ‘TRY TO SLIP AWAY. NEED TO TALK. ROOM 12. L.’

  While she showered, she debated her next actions. She had only a vague idea where Room Twelve might be—the male and female dormitories were on two different sides of a rectangle with staff rooms on the short side connecting the two. What if she crept along to the end, only to be witnessed going into his room?

  She could hear Lucas’s voice in her head, saying, So what? And, of course, he was right. According to her research, assignations were not uncommon on these management bonding weekends. Why should anyone conclude their meeting was anything other than this?

  She could go now or she could wait till everyone slept and go later. She weighed the options up and decided on now, while she had the alibi of showering to account for her absence from her dormitory.

  She quickly towelled herself dry, put on a pair of passion-killing winceyette pyjamas and stuffed her clothes and toilet bag in a cupboard to be retrieved later.

  She padded down the corridor, ready with an excuse about looking for a drink if necessary. She discovered Room Twelve to be on the corner. She presumed he’d be expecting her and slipped inside, unannounced.

  He was there, but not quite expecting her as he turned to face her, naked but for a towel tied loosely round the waist. From his wet hair it was evident he’d just come out of a shower.

  She’d never seen him undressed before. Her eyes went from broad shoulders to a chest matted with dark hair tapering to towel level, and, beyond that, lean, muscular legs. She wasn’t conscious of staring until he lifted a mocking brow, seeking her approval.

  She should have ducked out of the room at that point. She wanted to. But behaving like an outraged virgin seemed pathetic under the circumstances.

  So she stood her ground and, in chilly tones, said, ‘You wanted to talk.’

  Always perceptive, Lucas observed, ‘You’re mad with me, right?’

  Hopping. But Tory opted for disdain. ‘Mad? Why should I be mad? If you want to waste your time, checking up on me, not to mention putting the whole project in jeopardy, that’s your business.’

  ‘Mmm, I was afraid you’d see it that way.’

  ‘There’s another way?’

  He grimaced at her sarcasm before explaining, ‘Wiseman Global intended sending an observer to evaluate the course but their man dropped out at the eleventh hour. Chuck asked if I’d go instead. Nothing to do with Eastwich Productions. I apologise, however, if you feel undermined,’ he added, almost verging on contrite.

  Tory wondered if he really expected her to swallow such rot.

  ‘If that’s the case, why didn’t you tell me on Wednesday when you phoned? You knew then, didn’t you? Hence the “let’s pretend we don’t know each other” speech,’ she recalled, lips twisting.

  ‘Yes, well, I suppose I could have said something,’ he conceded. ‘To be honest, I was afraid you might not show.’

  He gave her a long, steady, sincere look that had Tory questioning if she had the word ‘gullible’ tattooed on her forehead.

  ‘And Mr Wiseman had no one else he could send?’ she retorted smartly.

  He hesitated, debating his answer. ‘All right, you’ve got me. I throw in the towel.’

  Not literally, Tory hoped, glancing involuntarily to his makeshift loincloth.

  He read her mind and grinned slightly before continuing, ‘Bad choice of phrase… Still, I admit it. Chuck has a band of yes-men only too happy to go fish for him. I volunteered solely so I could see you again, but, trust me, it had nothing to do with your work at Eastwich,’ he ended on an intent note.

  He had no need to say more. Tory raised her eyes to his and his gaze said it all. Her face suffused with warmth.

  Lucas did nothing to hide his feelings. He’d had her and wanted her again. He wanted her enough to put up with a weekend of hard bunks and tepid showers.

  He started to close the gap between them and Tory backed against the door.

  ‘I’ve got to go,’ she garbled out, alarmed by the racing of her own heart. ‘They’ll be wondering where I am.’

  ‘I expect so,’ he agreed with a slight smile.

  He made no move to stop her, no move at all, but continued to look at her as if looking were enough.

  Tory knew that her own feelings were the real danger. She had to get out of here. She felt the door handle pressing at her back. She just had to reach behind her and turn it.

  But it seemed her limbs were paralysed. Even when he raised a hand to cup her cheek, she stood stock-still. Even when the hand shifted to caress her neck, she did nothing. The truth was she wanted this, needed it.

  He drew her to him and she went. He began to lower his head to hers and she waited. He covered her mouth with his and finally freed her from passivity.

  Still she didn’t fight him but, moaning, parted her lips to accept his kiss, to kiss him back, to taste him as he tasted her, exploring each other’s mouths while hands explored each other’s bodies.

  This time both were stone-cold sober and the heat between them was spontaneous. Her hands slid over his bare back already slick with sweat, twined round the nape of his neck, buried into thick, wet hair while he pulled at her clothes, tugging free buttons to slip inside her pyjama top, seeking the swollen weight of her breasts. A thumb began to stroke and rub her nipple into throbbing life. She groaned aloud. He tore his mouth from hers. She fell back against the door. He pushed her top upwards, and bent to lick and suck on one pink bud of flesh until it ached. She grasped handfuls of his hair, forcing his head away, but only to offer her other peaked nipple to feed his hunger and hers.

  When he started to push down the waistband of her pyjama trousers, she let him. She reached for him, too. He was already naked, the towel dislodged. She touched the hard pulse of his manhood and he exhaled deeply. She stroked along the thick shaft and drew pleasure from him as he groaned aloud. He let her touch him until his control began to slip, then he curved his hands under her hips and began to lift her upwards.

  It took Tory a second or two to realise he meant to enter her, there, against the door. It took her another to accept that she wanted it, too, wanted him inside her. She put her arms round his shoulders and braced herself for that first loving thrust of sex.

  It didn’t happen. Wrapped round him, wrapped up in him, Tory had ceased to be aware of the outside world when a loud, ear-splitting ringing suddenly rent the air.

  Dazed and uncomprehending in the first instant, she opened wide, alarmed eyes to Luc.

  He was already up to speed, swearing aloud, ‘Jesus, a fire drill!’ as reality rudely interrupted their lovemaking.

  Then everything happened in hurried reverse as Luc set her back on her feet and helped her to pull her pyjamas back on while footsteps ran up and down the corridors outside and doors, including their own, were rapped and a voice shouted with some urgency, ‘Everybody out! This is not a drill! Everybody out!’

  It was hard not to panic but it helped that Luc didn’t. He had her dressed, with a warm jumper pulled over her head and a hurried instruction of, ‘Go straight out!’ in moments before he kissed her hard on the lips and pushed her out of the door.

  It closed behind her. She knew she should be following the fleeing mass round her and understood that Luc would be out in the matter of seconds it took him to dress. But she just stood there, waiting for him.

  It was one of the centre workers who took her arm and shouted above the uproar, ‘For God’s sake, get moving!’

  He didn’t give her any choice as he forcibly dragged her along the corridor to the fire exit at the end. He led her away from the house to join the others already marshalling on the driveway outside. She stood aloof from the group, wa
tching the exit doors, and, when Luc failed to appear, she started walking back towards the building. Someone detained her, a hand grasping her arm. She tried to wrestle free but gave up as a familiar figure finally emerged from the fire exit.

  Now dressed in jeans and sweatshirt, he strolled calmly from the building.

  In that first instant of relief, Tory wanted to run and throw her arms about him. Fortunately relief was closely followed by sanity as she realised they were surrounded by witnesses. God alone knew if someone had already spotted her emerging from his room.

  She turned round instead and walked away, suddenly unable to face him. She knew it was absurd. Five minutes earlier and they’d been about to have sex. She wouldn’t call it making love. She couldn’t. That took two. But here she now was, acting like a love-struck teenager.

  She sought safety in numbers and clung to the crowd as heads were counted and explanations sought and finally given some time later by Tom Mackintosh. It seemed somebody had sneaked back to the day room to have a cigarette and, on finishing, had dropped the butt into a metal bin where it had ignited some waste paper. There had been no real danger, the fire contained within the bin, but enough smoke had been produced to trigger the alarms.

  This information was greeted less than enthusiastically by the crowd, most standing shivering in night-wear, and accusing eyes scrutinised faces in the hope of identifying the guilty party.

  Tory kept her eyes fixed to ground rather than risk catching Luc’s eyes and was taken aback when Amanda Villiers declared, ‘Well, far be it from me to go around accusing people, but you were absent for some time, Victoria, darling, weren’t you?’

  The ‘darling’ was as poisonous as Amanda’s tone and Tory assumed no one would give her any credence but a glance round the others’ faces told her otherwise.

  At least Tory had the wit to say, ‘I don’t smoke.’

  ‘So you say.’ Amanda clearly didn’t take her word as proof.

  Tory was formulating another protest when she caught Luc’s eye over Amanda’s shoulder.

  He raised a brow and Tory understood immediately. If she wanted, he would wade in and tell the group she’d been otherwise occupied.

  She shook her head in horror. Bad enough that he’d discovered she was a sex maniac. She didn’t want the rest of the world knowing it.

  She was considering another line of defence when Mel spoke up, ‘I saw Tory coming out of the shower room when the alarm went.’

  ‘Mmm.’ A sceptical sound from Amanda but she could hardly continue arguing and no one wanted to pursue it anyway when the all clear was given, allowing them to troop back inside.

  Tory fell in step with Mel and, when she got the chance, mouthed the word, ‘Thanks.’

  ‘No problem.’ Mel grinned back at her. ‘I did actually see you coming out of a room, just not that one.’

  She nodded towards Lucas, a few steps ahead of them.

  Tory’s face fell and she felt only a little better when Mel promised, ‘Fast work—but don’t worry, my lips are sealed.’

  Of course it had been too much to hope that she hadn’t been spotted, emerging from Luc’s room. She supposed she should be grateful that Mel thought it a case of casual sex rather than conspiracy which had led Tory to his door.

  Later, lying sleepless in her bunk, she wondered if subconsciously it had been her real reason to go calling on him. Yes, she’d wanted to know what he was up to. And true, she had been incensed at the idea he was checking on her. But it hadn’t taken much for her to suspend hostilities and re-enact their last encounter. And if the fire bell had saved her from going the whole way, she’d surely been willing.

  She cringed now when she considered how willing. It was as if she’d turned into a different person. With other men, she’d been in control, choosing where and when and how they made love. With Lucas, no thinking or planning went into it. It seemed he just had to touch her and she wanted him. She didn’t need words or tender gestures from him. She didn’t care how he took her, as long as he did. Passion overwhelmed everything else.

  And there was no point in saying she wouldn’t let him next time, because she knew she would. No way of her dismissing it as ‘just sex’, because it wasn’t. Ordinary sex, even loving sex with Charlie had never been like that.

  It was a need, a hunger, a desperate thing. She still wanted him now. Only pride stopped her slipping out of the dormitory and walking the few yards down to his room.

  Pride told her that, for him, she was simply a minor distraction. He was a man who worked hard and consequently played hard. Sex was sport to him, one he happened to be good at, perhaps through practice. Love was something else, quite unconnected.

  And she had to give it to him. He never used the word love, never pretended. Right from the beginning, it had been a matter of sex. He hadn’t wasted time wining or dining her, impressing her or persuading her. From week one he’d asked her to leave Alex and move in with him. But it had always been clear that sex was the driving force.

  So why not go along for the ride? She asked herself that now as she lay on her bunk, knees drawn up, trying to ignore the ache of longing inside her.

  She didn’t have to think too hard for the answer. She’d never used the word either. Love. But she’d thought it.

  And what if the ache didn’t go away? What if it got worse each time they made love? What if it consumed her?

  CHAPTER TEN

  THINGS were meant to look different in the morning and, yes, when Tory woke to the sound of Amanda grumbling, the previous night took on an air of unreality. She felt tired and irritable rather than frustrated or lovesick as she yawned herself awake and joined the lengthy queue for the centre’s temperamental plumbing.

  By the time she’d queued for breakfast, she was testy enough to resist any overture.

  Not that Luc made any. Tory only knew he was present because, en route to her table, she’d briefly caught his eye. He looked as he always did—amused by something, or maybe just life. He certainly showed no signs of regret for his behaviour last night.

  Tory looked away quickly and deliberately sat on a bench with her back to him. That was how she planned getting through the rest of the weekend. By ignoring him totally.

  That wasn’t so easy, of course. He was there ostensibly to observe, and observe he did. Every time she looked round, he seemed to be in view, smiling even when she blanked him.

  She was just glad that she was reasonably fit and didn’t end up a gasping, sobbing heap in the middle of the centre’s assault course like Angela, the sales director from Toi. Or be as scared of heights as Sam, and be pressured into abseiling down a cliff-face, only to go catatonic halfway down and have to be rescued by centre staff.

  In fact Tory acquitted herself reasonably well in such physical challenges but that hardly endeared her to Amanda who became increasingly vituperative. Tory was careful to react minimally. She wanted no suggestion that she’d encouraged Amanda’s frothing at the mouth for the camera.

  In fact, Tory was surprised how outspoken most of the course members were, considering they knew they were being filmed. Even if Tom Mackintosh hadn’t announced it at the beginning, the CCTV cameras were easy to spot. But it seemed, after some initial reticence, people just forgot about them.

  They were more wary of Lucas himself, watching from the sidelines.

  ‘Who do you think the KGB is working for, then?’ speculated Jackie, Vitalis’s art director, during team games that evening.

  ‘KGB?’ was echoed by Mel.

  Jackie nodded towards Luc. ‘Killingly Gorgeous Bloke.’

  It raised some laughter before Mel suggested, ‘Ask Tory.’

  Curious eyes fixed on Tory and she actually felt herself go red as she muttered back, ‘How should I know?’

  Mel grinned mischievously but didn’t pursue it; perhaps she remembered Tory had helped her out twice that afternoon when they’d been doing daft things in canoes.

  ‘He keeps watching you,’ a
nother girl put in. ‘I noticed that when we were abseiling.’

  ‘That’s what he’s here to do,’ Tory pointed out.

  ‘No, you specifically,’ she added.

  ‘Lucky thing,’ rejoined Jackie. ‘I certainly wouldn’t kick him out of bed.’

  Neither would Tory. That was the problem.

  Listening to other opinions confirmed what Tory already suspected. Lucas was too popular for his own good—or for hers.

  She shrugged, a pretence of indifference, and was relieved when they returned to the task, making a mock-up format for a new magazine. As ideas began to flow and rivalries were set aside, it proved an enjoyable exercise and there was much jubilation in the group when their creation was declared the winner.

  They were sitting together later, toasting each other with their prize of champagne, when Lucas and some other staff came to sit alongside, offering them congratulations. By studiously staring into her glass, Tory gave him no openings to address her directly. She knew it might seem childish but she was scared of betraying any emotion.

  He, of course, was as relaxed as ever. When Jackie specifically asked him if he worked for the centre or Wiseman Global, he stated neither and, without telling any explicit lies, gave the impression that he was an interested outsider, considering running his own management course.

  ‘Well, darling,’ Jackie continued in her flamboyant style, ‘if you omit the assault course, abseiling and cold showers, and fill it with hunky, available men like yourself, we’ll definitely sign up, won’t we, girls?’

  This was greeted with general laughter and agreement.

  Tory remained aloof but a surreptitious glance confirmed that Lucas wasn’t in the least bit disconcerted at being centre of attention.

  ‘I’m honoured by the compliment, ladies,’ he drawled back, ‘though, the truth is, I’m no longer available.’

  A mock groan went round the table while Tory’s eyes flew involuntarily to his. He caught the surprise in them and slanted her a smile.