How to Sleep with the Boss

by Janice Maynard

  She barely seemed to notice his offering, but she didn’t protest when he slid the gloves onto her hands. Finally, the cab stopped. “We’re here,” she said. For a moment, she didn’t move.

  “Libby? Are we going to get out?”

  She looked at him blankly.

  “Libby?” He kissed her nose. “C’mon, darlin’. There’s no bogeyman waiting for you. Nothing but bricks and mortar.”

  “I know that.”

  Even so, when they stood on the sidewalk, she huddled against him, pretending to shelter herself from the wind. But they were shielded by the building, and the biting breeze had all but disappeared.

  He put his arm around her shoulder, at a loss for how to help her. “Which floor was yours?” he asked...anything to get her to talk.

  “The penthouse. Daddy liked looking down on Central Park.”

  Patrick stood quietly, holding her close. “I’m here, Libby. You’re not alone.”

  At last, she moved. He thought she meant only to walk past the impressive building, but she stopped in front of the double glass doors and, after a moment’s hesitation, stepped forward to open them.

  Before she could do so, a barrel-chested, white-haired man in a gray uniform with burgundy piping flung them wide. “Ms. Libby. Good God Almighty. I’ve been worried sick about you. I’m so sorry about your mother, baby girl. Come let me hug you.”

  Libby launched herself into the man’s embrace and wrapped her arms around his ample waist. “Oh, Clarence. I’ve missed you so much.”

  Patrick watched in bemusement as the two old friends reconnected. He entered the lobby in deference to the cold, but hung back, unwilling to interfere with Libby’s moment of closure.

  At last, the old man acknowledged his presence. “Come on, Libby. Tell me about this handsome young fellow.”

  Libby blushed, her face alight with happiness. “That’s my boss, Patrick Kavanagh. Patrick, this is Clarence Turner. He’s known me since I was in diapers.”

  Clarence beamed. “Sweetest little gal you ever saw. And she grew up as beautiful on the inside as she was on the outside. For my sixtieth birthday, she made me a banana cream cake from scratch. Nicest thing anyone had ever done for me since my wife died.”

  Patrick stuck out his hand. “An honor to meet you, sir.”

  Clarence looked at Libby, his face troubled. “I’d take you upstairs if I could, but I think it would upset you. The new owners redid the whole place. You wouldn’t recognize it.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Libby said. “Seeing you is enough. I always thought my parents and I would give you a big, awesome gift when you retired...maybe a trip to Hawaii...or a new car. Turns out you’ll be lucky to get a card and a pack of gum from me now.”

  She smiled and laughed when she said it, but Patrick knew it troubled her not to be able to help her old friend in any substantial way. Patrick made a mental note to follow up on the situation and see what he could do in Libby’s name.

  Clarence shot Patrick an assessing glance. “I thought maybe the two of you were an item,” he said, not so subtly. “A man could do a lot worse than to marry Libby Parkhurst.”

  Before Patrick could reply, Libby jumped in. “Patrick and I are just friends. Actually, I’m working for his company temporarily. Patrick’s mother and mine were good friends. Maeve Kavanagh has been helping me get back on my feet.” She hugged Clarence one more time. “We have to go. But I promise to write more often. You’re still at the same address?”

  “Yes, indeed. They’ll have to take me out of there feetfirst.” He looked at Patrick one more time and then back at Libby. “You’re going to be okay, Libby. I never saw a girl with more grit or more light in her soul.”

  “Thank you for that, old friend.”

  When Patrick saw Libby’s soft green eyes fill with tears, he decided it was time to go. “Nice to meet you, sir. I hope our paths will cross again.”

  Though Libby glanced over her shoulder and waved one last time as they braved the cold again, she didn’t protest. Patrick had a feeling that the emotional reunion had taken more out of her than she realized.

  On the sidewalk, he tipped up her chin and kissed her forehead. “How ’bout we go on the hotel and check in? I think we both could use a nap. If we’re going to have a night on the town, you need your beauty sleep. And now that I think about it, I probably should get some play tickets.”

  They climbed into a cab and Libby took his hand. “What if we skip a play and just go out to dinner? That way we’d be back to the hotel early.”

  He swallowed, aware that the cabbie was perhaps listening, despite the fact that he had his radio on. “I’d like that very much.” He clenched his other fist. “I want to be alone with you,” he muttered.

  “We could skip the nap, also.”

  In her eyes he saw everything he wanted and more. “I booked two rooms,” he said hoarsely. “I didn’t want to take advantage of you.”

  “I’m not weak, Patrick. I can take care of myself. And I was mad when I asked for that second room. We don’t need it. I don’t expect anything from you except pleasure.”

  “Pleasure?” His mouth was dry, his sex hard as stone. His brain had for all intents and purposes turned to mush.

  She leaned into him. “Pleasure,” she whispered. “You’re a smart man. You’ll figure it out.”

  Fortunately for Patrick’s sanity, it was a brief cab ride. He paid the fare, aware all the while that Libby watched him.

  He couldn’t bear to look at her. He was too close to the edge.

  At the front desk, the polite employee didn’t blink an eye when Patrick canceled one of the rooms. The clerk dealt with the credit card and handed over the keys. “We’ve been holding your luggage, Mr. Kavanagh. I’ll have it sent up immediately, along with a bottle of champagne and some canapés. Is there anything else we can do for you?”

  Patrick swallowed, his hand shaking as he signed the charge slip. “No. Thank you.”

  He turned to Libby. “You ready to go upstairs?”

  Twelve

  Libby linked her hand in his. “I’m ready.” She was under no illusions. If she hadn’t pushed the issue, Patrick might well have ignored the spark of attraction between them. He was wary of hurting Libby, and he had a healthy respect for his mother’s good opinion.

  Libby rested her head on his shoulder. They were alone in the elegant elevator. “No one will know about this but you and me, Patrick. You’re not interested in a relationship, and I’m not, either. But that doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy each other’s company.”

  His grip tightened on her hand when the elevator dinged. The bellman had come up on the service elevator, so there was a busy moment as Patrick opened the door and the luggage was situated. A second bellman came on the heels of the first, this one pushing a cart covered in white linen. The silver ice bucket chilled a bottle of bubbly. An offering of fancy cheese spreads and toast fingers resided on china dishes, along with strawberries and cream.

  Once the efficient Carlyle employees disappeared, tips in hand, Patrick leaned against the door. “May I offer you a strawberry...or a glass of champagne?”

  Libby nodded, her heart in her throat. “The latter please.” She was accustomed to drinking fine champagne, but it had been a very long time. When Patrick handed her a crystal flute, she tipped it back and drank recklessly. The bubbly liquid was crisp and flavorful.

  Patrick followed suit, although he sipped his drink slowly, eyeing her over the rim. “Have I told you how sexy you look in that dress?”

  She was crestfallen. “I thought it was suitably professional.”

  “It is suitable,” he said. “And professional. But the woman inside makes it something else entirely.”

  “Like what?” She held out her glass for a refill. Her knees were shak
y. Was she going to chicken out now? She couldn’t remember the last time she had experienced such genuine, shivery, sexual desire.

  Patrick filled her flute a second time. But before he handed it to her, he took a sip...exactly where her lipstick had left a faint stain. “Tastes amazing,” he said.

  She kicked off her heels and curled her toes against the exquisite Oriental rug. Ordinarily, she hated panty hose with a passion, but the weather today had been a bit much for bare legs. There was no good way for a man to remove them...romantically speaking.

  “Will you excuse me for a moment?” she asked, setting down her half-empty glass.

  “Of course.”

  In the opulent bathroom, she covered her hot red cheeks with cold hands. She was going to have sex with Patrick Kavanagh. Casually. Temporarily.

  Good girls didn’t do such things. But then again, she’d been a good girl for much of her life, and look where it had gotten her.

  Rapidly, she stripped off her panty hose and stuffed them in a drawer of the vanity. She fluffed her hair and then held a damp cloth to her cheeks, trying to tame the wild color that was a dead giveaway as to her state of mind.

  When she could linger no longer, she returned to the sitting room. It was lovely, with pale green and ecru walls. Antique French furnishings lent an air of romance. Patrick had even lit a candle, though it was the middle of the day.

  He came to her and slid his hands beneath her hair, his smile holding the tiniest hint of male satisfaction. “Are you shy, Libby love?”

  “Maybe. A little bit. I’m suddenly feeling rather unsophisticated.”

  “I don’t want sophistication. I don’t need it.” His eyes had gone all dark and serious, the blue-gray irises like stormy lakes.

  She curled her fingers around his wrists, not to push him away, but to hold on to something steady as her emotions cartwheeled. “What do you want and need, Patrick?”

  He scooped her into his arms. “You, Libby. Only you.”

  On the way to the bedroom, he stopped to pick up the heavy pillar candle. But he couldn’t manage it and Libby, too. Not without tumbling them all to the floor in a pile of hot wax. The image made her smile.

  Patrick scowled. “Are you laughing at me?”

  She looped an arm around his neck. “I wouldn’t dare. I was merely contemplating all the ways I could use hot wax to drive you wild.”

  He stumbled and nearly lost his balance. His jaw dropped. Not much. But enough to let Libby know her little comment had left him gobsmacked. It felt good to have the upper hand, even if for only a moment.

  The bedroom was something out of a fantasy...soft lavender sheets, fresh violets in a crystal vase...a Louis XIV chaise longue upholstered in sunshine-yellow and aubergine brocade. The ivory damask duvet had already been folded back. All Patrick had to do was gently drop Libby on the bed.

  “Don’t move,” he said. “I’m going back for the ambience.”

  She barely had time to blink before he returned. He put the candle on the ornate dresser, a safe distance away. Then he closed the drapes, shutting out the gray afternoon light.

  Libby propped her elbows behind her. “I thought you wanted a nap,” she teased.

  “Later,” he said.

  His jaw was tight, his cheekbones flushed. As he walked slowly toward the bed, he stripped off his tie and shirt and jacket with an economy of motion that was both intense and arousing...as if he couldn’t bear to waste a single second. Libby’s breath caught the first time she saw his bare chest.

  “Nice show,” she croaked. Her throat was dry, but the champagne was in the other room.

  When he stood beside the bed, he unbuckled his belt and slid it free. Next went the shoes and socks. When he was down to his pants and nothing else, he crooked a finger. “Come here and turn around.”

  Trembling all over, she got up on her knees and presented her back to him. His fingertips found the top of her zipper and lowered it slowly. He cursed.

  She looked over her shoulder, alarmed. “What’s wrong?”

  His expression was equal parts torment and lust. “You’re too young. Too vulnerable. Too beautifully innocent.”

  “I’m not entirely innocent.”

  “I’m not talking about that kind of innocence,” he said gruffly, stroking the length of her spine. He unfastened her bra, sliding his arms around her and palming her achy breasts. “It’s you. All these things have tried to defeat you and yet you’re still like a rosy-eyed child. As if nothing bad could ever happen.”

  She took one of his hands and raised it to her lips. “I’m only young in calendar years, Patrick. Life gave me an old soul, whether I wanted it or not. Now, quit agonizing over this and come to bed.”

  * * *

  Patrick knew he was a lucky man. At this point in his life, he possessed most everything he’d ever wanted. But he had never wanted anything or anyone the way he wanted Libby Parkhurst. He wanted to be her knight, her protector, her one and only lover. The intensity of the desire overwhelmed him and left a hollow feeling in his chest. Because to have Libby in his life on a permanent basis would mean changes he wasn’t prepared to make.

  He wasn’t in love with her. This was about sex. Nothing more.

  He helped her out of the black dress. Underneath it, her bra and panties were pink lace. He’d never particularly been a fan of pink. But on her, it was perfect.

  When she was completely naked, he sucked in a breath. “Get under the covers,” he said gruffly. “Before you freeze.”

  He wondered if she saw through his equivocation. The room was plenty warm. But he needed a moment to collect himself. Turning away from the bed, he stripped off his pants and briefs. His erection could have hammered nails. He ached, almost bent over with the need to thrust inside her and find peace. When Libby flicked off the only remaining lamp, he turned around.

  In the light from the single candle, her hair glowed like a nimbus around a naughty angel.

  She curled on her side, the covers tucked to her chin. “I’m feeling nervous,” she said quietly.

  Did the woman have no filters? No emotional armor? “I’m feeling a bit shaky myself,” he admitted.

  Her eyes widened when she spotted the physical evidence of his excitement for the first time. “Really? ’Cause from over here it seems like you’re good to go.”

  Her droll humor made him laugh. He flipped back the covers and joined her, his legs tangling with ones that were softer and more slender. “You have no concept of how much I want to make love to you.”

  “Why, Patrick? Why me?”

  “Why not you?” He teased the nearest nipple, watching in fascination as it budded tightly.

  “That’s not an answer.” She cried out when he bent to suckle her breast. But she must have meant for him to continue, because she clutched his head to her chest, her fingers twined in his hair.

  She smelled like wildflowers and summer love affairs. In the midst of winter, she brought warmth and sunshine into this room, this bed.

  He kissed her roughly. “Not everything in life can be explained, Libby.”

  Her arms wrapped around his neck, threatening to choke him. “Try.”

  “You give me something no one else ever has,” he admitted quietly. “When I’m with you, everything seems right.”

  He saw in her eyes the recognition of his honesty. It wasn’t something he planned. In fact, he felt damned naked in more ways than one. But if he couldn’t give her forever, at least he could give her this.

  “Make love to me, Patrick.”

  It was all he needed to hear and more. Later there would be time for drawn-out foreplay and fancy moves. But at the moment, all he could think about was being inside her.

  Reaching for the condoms he had dropped on the nightstand, he sheathed himself matter-
of-factly, trying not to notice the way Libby’s gaze followed his every motion. “Now, my Libby. Now.”

  He eased on top of her, careful to shield her from his entire weight. For a moment, he couldn’t move. He was hard against her thigh, shuddering with the need to take and take and take.

  Libby reached up and cradled his face in her hands. “I want you, too, Patrick.”

  “You wouldn’t lie about not being a virgin...would you?”

  Her eyes darkened with an emotion he didn’t understand. “I don’t lie about anything.”

  That was the problem. Few people in life were as transparent as Libby. If he hurt her, either physically or emotionally, he would know it. Immediately. Was he prepared for that responsibility? The first one, yes...no question. But the second?

  Slowly, he eased inside her, pressing all the way until he could go no farther. Her sex was warm and tight. Yellow spots danced behind his eyelids. Every muscle in his body was tense.

  Libby curled her legs around his waist, unwittingly driving him deeper still. “This is nice,” she said, catching her breath.

  “Nice?” He clenched his teeth. He was damned if he would come like a teenage boy—all flash and no substance.

  Libby squeezed him inwardly, her mouth tipped up in a tiny smile that told him she enjoyed flexing her newfound power. “I give you high marks for the opening sequence. Very impressive delivery. Appealing package.”

  He choked out a laugh. “Haven’t you ever heard of calling a spade a spade? You can refer to it as a co—”

  She clapped a hand over his mouth with a move that was beginning to seem familiar. “No I can’t.”

  “Where did you say you went to school?”

  “Catholic everything. My parents were Protestant, but they liked the idea of surrounding their baby girl with nuns.”

  “Can we please not talk about nuns right now? It’s throwing me off my game.”

  She nipped his chin with sharp teeth. “Proceed. You’re doing very well so far.”