His Secretary's Little Secret

by Catherine Mann

  She wondered when he would call a stop to this and reach for the honeymoon suite gift basket by their bed—a basket with condoms in every color imaginable. But he showed no signs of stopping.

  With knowing hands, he kept touching her, pushing her toward the edge, interspersing deep kisses with roving hands. Driving her wild. He took her closer to release, then eased up, only to tease her closer again. And she reveled in tempting him in equal measure, stroking and stroking, grazing her thumb over the head of his erection. The first droplets of his impending release slicked over the tip, giving her the power to move faster, his breath speeding in time. Thank goodness. Because she didn’t know how much longer she could hold back...

  Bliss.

  Pulse after pulse of pleasure ripped through her, and she only barely kept her wits around her enough to bring him to his release, as well. His deep groan caressed her ears bringing a fresh wave of aftershocks shimmering along her passion-sensitive nerves.

  As the last tremble faded, she sagged back, gasping from the power of her orgasm. She couldn’t even find the will to open her eyes just yet. She could only feel.

  A rustle sounded beside her. Easton. The covers shifted as he untangled them from their feet, and then a sheet settled along her. The ceiling fan overhead sent gusts of air down to dry the perspiration along her forehead.

  Easton settled beside her, and she glanced at him, rolling to her side. His arm was flung over his eyes, his chest rising and falling rapidly, each breath a hint slower but still not back to normal. She reveled in the knowledge she’d brought him the same pleasure he’d given her.

  Her eyes drifted to the honeymoon suite gift basket by their bed, looking at the assortment of neon condoms. Was that glitter on them, as well? A hint of apprehension whispered through her. She wasn’t ready to tell him that they didn’t need condoms.

  Now she just had to figure out how to deal with using glitter-covered birth control.

  The moment felt like an eternity as she stared at the basket, contemplating how to proceed. Heart hammering, Portia felt her hands start to tingle, a sure sign of her anxiety.

  Easton’s deep blue eyes searched her face. “Come here.”

  He opened his arms to her.

  She hesitated.

  He lifted her hand and tugged her gently until she toppled to rest against his chest. His arms folded around her and anchored her there. “Sleep.”

  Surprise drifted through her passion-fogged mind as she realized somehow he’d understood her hesitation even though she hadn’t voiced it. “You’re serious? You don’t want to finish this?”

  “I do. But I can tell you’re not ready and I’m smart enough not to make the same mistake twice. You’re too important to me.”

  His words touched her as intensely as any stroke against her skin.

  “If you’re sure?”

  “I am. Very.” He rubbed her bare shoulder gently. “Now rest. We’ll talk more tomorrow.”

  He draped himself around her, encircling her in his muscled arms. Protective and gentle.

  She settled into him, noting the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest. The darkness in the room covering them both, shielding them from the reality of the morning. But for right now, Portia could pretend everything was fine and normal. That having someone take care of her was exactly what she needed.

  And it was damn hard to deny that this didn’t feel natural.

  * * *

  Morning sun streaking through the shutters, Easton listened to the patter of the shower and thought of the night before when Portia had been in that same bathroom, soaking in the tub.

  They’d never made it to the spa in the corner of their bedroom, the ledge decorated with candles and champagne. But then this was a honeymoon suite, and they were not honeymooners.

  He scratched his chest and kicked aside the covers. While all his plans for the evening hadn’t come to fruition, he had no regrets. He’d made significant progress in his hopes of winning his way back into her bed.

  Instinct told him the best move was to give her space. To pursue her carefully so as not to scare her off again. He wasn’t risking this second chance to be with her. He knew too well how fast life could change, how quickly people he thought he could count on were gone. He also knew his own shortcomings in maintaining relationships for the long haul.

  He swung his legs off the mattress, feet meeting the cool floor. He tugged on his boxers and reached into his pants pocket for his cell. After that storm, he should check in with Maureen and make sure the refuge hadn’t suffered substantial damage. While he loved spending the night with Portia, he knew the staff and animals at the preserve counted on him.

  Walking out to the balcony, he cued up Maureen’s number. The Gulf Coast waters glistened in the aftermath of the storm. A few branches littered the beach and chairs were overturned, but he didn’t see any major upheaval. Morning walkers and shell collectors were already on the sand, a few kids dodging waves in bathing suits and tiny life vests. Vacationers were getting back to normal. Hopefully he would get the same report from home. Maureen answered on the third ring, her voice bright and alert.

  “How’d we fare with that storm last night?” Easton asked in lieu of a normal introduction.

  “And good morning to you, too,” Maureen teased. “We’ve been worse this year. Some debris, naturally. I’m mobilizing a team of volunteers for yard cleanup.”

  Easton sank into one of the wooden Adirondack chairs, looking out onto the sun-speckled water. “How about the animals?”

  “Spooked a few of them. But no substantial damage to any of the facilities and no major injuries to speak of,” Maureen said, a parrot cawing in the background. “We were lucky.”

  “That’s great to hear. I worried about them and you guys.” He inhaled deeply, the scent of ocean overpowering his senses.

  “So are you transporting any animals on your way back up?” Maureen asked.

  “No. This isn’t exactly a business trip.”

  He could practically see Maureen’s eyebrows raising as she responded. “Yeah. I guessed that. Easton?”

  “What?”

  “Be careful with Portia. I think she is going through something. She’s just been off lately. At first, I thought she was worried about how Marshall was doing in college, but now I’m not so certain that’s the only concern in her life.”

  Protectiveness crept through him, making him want to scoop her up and handle any worries that burdened her. He would figure them out, damn it. “Thanks for the heads-up.”

  “We all care about her. She’s more than an employee.”

  “I know. I’ll talk to her today on our way back. See you soon.” He ended the call, looking through the sliding glass door, Maureen’s words echoing in his mind. He had noticed the same thing about Portia more than once lately.

  But he’d failed to take action in helping her. He’d been so focused on his own pursuit, his own needs. Guilt stung.

  Easton went back inside and practically ran into Portia. Her hair was damp and loose from her shower, but rather than a towel, this time she was dressed in her clothes from yesterday. They were wrinkled, but dry. He didn’t want to rush her, especially not after he’d just made a point of deciding to give her space.

  No caveman tactics today. He would take things slow.

  But she looked gray, like the color had been leeched from her. Her eyes briefly met his, but she turned away to perch on the edge of the sofa as if ready to take flight.

  With a doctor’s eye—even if for animals rather than people—he studied her more closely. Looked into her eyes. Counted her respiration as well as her pulse throbbing along her neck. And still he was no closer to figuring out what had upset her.

  He could heal any animal, identify birds by their songs, but determining what made Portia tick
was proving to be much more challenging.

  Noting the exhaustion on her pale face, he said the first thing that came to mind, “You’ve been putting off going to school because of your brother’s loans. What if I told you that you don’t have to wait?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Plenty of bosses help pay for their employees’ college education. So why not start classes now?”

  “I’m not the kind of woman who will take money from a man she’s seeing, much less sleeping with, and it’s insulting that you think I would.” Fire burned in her eyes.

  And her response struck a nerve for him.

  “I’m insulted you think I would offer for any reason other than wanting to help. I should have thought to learn more about you sooner, and I would have known the need.” He clasped her shoulders in a gentle grip and hoped she would read the genuine concern in his eyes. “Clearly stress is wearing you down and if you’re burned out then that’s bad for me on many levels. As a boss and as a person who cares about you. So let me help how I can.”

  “No.” She shook her head, lips tight.

  “That’s it? No?” His hands dropping to his sides, he stepped away, and paced for a moment until he caught his betraying restlessness and leaned against the doorframe, trying his best not to appear frustrated. Easton wanted the best for Portia. No strings attached. He cared about her.

  “Yes.” She tugged her hair scrunchie off her wrist.

  “Good.”

  “No, I meant, no you can’t help.” She piled her hair into a high ponytail on the top of her head, pulling it tight. “And yes, my answer is still no.”

  “Would you care to expand on that?”

  She sagged into a chair. “Another time?”

  Every road led back to this with her—to him being shut out like last time. As if she was leaving before she even had a chance to inevitably head out the door. “Sure, but on one condition.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You won’t close yourself off again and block me out completely,” he said, a gentle demand. He searched her face to gauge her reaction.

  Portia’s eyes fluttered shut. For a moment, she didn’t speak. A sigh escaped her, and she opened her eyes to stare at him. “That’s not a promise to sleep together. Last night—”

  “Was another impulsive moment.” He completed the sentence for her, finding he actually agreed with her. Stepping closer, he continued, “I get that. Completely. That’s why we didn’t finish.”

  “Truly?” She played with her necklace, sliding the charm back and forth on the silver chain.

  “Yes, Portia. Truly. I want you to have sex with me totally aware of what we’re doing. Not swept away. Well, swept away, but for all the right reasons. And trust me, I do believe that will happen and in the not too distant future.”

  “You’re mighty confident.” The first hint of a smile shone in her eyes, tipping her beautiful lips and chasing away some of the strains of exhaustion.

  “About what we’re feeling? Yes, I am.” He lifted her hand and pressed a kiss to the inside of her wrist, lingering, holding her eyes for an instant before linking their fingers and stepping back. “Now let’s get dressed and hit the road. We’re both going to be late for work.”

  * * *

  The ride back to the refuge had been mostly silent. Portia organized her notes, working hard as they drove.

  As she color-coded her tasks, she felt more settled. This process with her notes and highlighters provided order and grounding. Each precise stroke of the pen and marker helped erect her protective walls.

  Easton hadn’t pressed her during the ride, letting her work in silence while he guided the low-slung Corvette around the storm-tossed debris on the roads. He hadn’t even argued when she’d bypassed breakfast and asked only for warm tea with peppermint. Although she had pretended to nibble on a cookie.

  She looked up from her planner, the afternoon sun warming her skin. They were on the road to the refuge. Somehow, two hours had come and gone.

  He pulled the Corvette into the driveway, parking beneath a tall royal palm tree. They unbuckled, each exiting the vehicle. When her foot touched the solid ground, Portia’s nerve and resolve grew.

  She wasn’t normally a person of impulse but after last night, she wondered if perhaps she should tell him about the baby now after all.

  “Um, Easton,” she began, hesitantly, words catching in the air as Maureen bounded onto the scene.

  Portia couldn’t ignore the huge sense of relief over being let off the hook a little while longer. Yes, she selfishly wanted more time with Easton to explore this attraction before risking a possible confrontation when he found out about their child.

  “Hey pretty lady, you’re back. I have a surprise planned for us.” Maureen beamed at her, wrapping Portia in a hug. “I’m stealing your assistant for the remainder of the day. And your brother wants to talk to you.” Maureen laughed, pulling Portia to the door of the mansion.

  “You two have fun. Portia, we’ll talk more later.” He waved. Heading toward the clinic.

  Maureen tugged Portia into the mansion toward the spacious women’s locker room. She put her hands over Portia’s eyes as she led her inside.

  Relaxing harp music sounded, and when Maureen removed her hands, Portia took in the transformation. The steel and oak-benched locker room had been transformed into a day spa, not just with softer lighting, candles and sparkling water, but complete with pink-draped massage tables, a table of dainty foods, and makeup/hairstylist gear.

  Maureen spread her arms wide. “Surprise. I knew you would try to go back to work after the time away, so I caught up with everything at the clinic. Now we can enjoy a girls’ getaway, complete with dinner and pampering. Facials and shoulder massages and even a hair trim.”

  Portia froze, indecision and old insecurities taking control. “I appreciate your generosity, but I’m not comfortable with a makeover.”

  “That’s not what this is about at all. You’re beautiful as you are. I meant what I said about pampering only. You work too hard.”

  Maureen pointed to the spread of food on the far table.

  Portia pursed her lips, leery of trusting Maureen. She felt vulnerable. But the food smelled divine. The long wooden table had a mixture of breads, garlic-crusted chicken, crab legs, and angel-hair pasta with lemon butter. Portia’s stomach growled in response.

  Now that Portia’s stomach had settled and since she hadn’t eaten yet today, the meal tempted her as much as the prospect of a shoulder massage.

  “You have beautiful hair. Why do you keep it pulled back? It looks almost painful.”

  “It isn’t.” She touched her ponytail self-consciously.

  “I’m sorry.” Maureen winced. “I shouldn’t have said anything. That was rude of me. I just wondered...but it’s none of my business.”

  “I actually have my mother’s hair.” Portia stepped up into the stylist chair, looking at her reflection in the mirror. She shrugged her shoulders.

  “And that’s not good?”

  “We had our differences, many of them. In fact, we were different in every way except for our thick hair—if not the same color. I want to be my own person so I chose a different style than hers.”

  “Then be your own person. Take charge.”

  “I have.” Mostly. Partly. She’d brought up Marshall. She’d provided for him, a contrast from her mother’s version of caring, which involved making sure they had the right “look.” Their mom’s pampering of her son had been almost smothering as she paraded her little boy in front of agents in hopes of landing a child star role in a commercial or television show. Portia felt that lack of a normal childhood could have been at least as damaging as the criticism she’d received. And then after their mother’s death when Portia and Marshall had gone to
live with their aunt in Florida, the decidedly nonmaternal woman had used what bit of parenting instincts she had to parent the younger of the two, leaving teenage Portia to fend for herself as she navigated young adulthood.

  “Okay.” Maureen nodded, slicing a mix of cheeses from the assortment and sliding the samplings onto the bone china plate along with fruit and crackers. She brought it to Portia, a smile resting on her lips. “Good?”

  “Looks delicious.” Portia took the delicate dish, wary of Maureen’s easy acquiescence. “Just okay? You aren’t going to push me to participate in some magic makeover?”

  “Remember! Today is not about makeovers. It’s about relaxation and letting our inner self shine through.” Maureen plucked up a grape and popped it into her mouth.

  “But you want to offer advice.”

  “Of course. I’m opinionated.” She snorted on a laugh. “Just ask my husband. Or anyone who knows me for more than five minutes then, like you.”

  “Alright, then. Let it fly. I’m a canvas.” She popped a cheese cracker into her mouth before setting aside the china. “Paint me.”

  Maureen sat back in her chair, examining Portia. “I would suggest you let your hair down and quit thinking about your mother. Embrace who you are. Your hair doesn’t have to be up or completely down either. I realize you like it back from your face. So perhaps try some clips, have fun with jewelry.”

  “That’s it? Let my hair down and pack some BeDazzled pins?” She was surprised, half imagining that Maureen was going to suggest a severe haircut or worse—bleach it as her mom had not-too-subtly suggested more than once.

  Well, damn. She did think about her mother’s criticisms too often.

  “It’s a start, Portia. If you could choose any dress you wanted, no holds barred, what would you choose?” She gestured wide with her hands, as if all the clothes in the world were actually in front of them.

  “I thought you were supposed to be helping me pick.”

  “I will, if you need me, but I don’t think you need anyone’s guidance on this.”

  Portia glanced back over her shoulder, curious and a little suspicious of some mystery motive. “What’s really going on here? Did Easton put you up to this?”