His Secretary's Little Secret

by Catherine Mann

  “Thank you, they’re lovely.” She brought the dozen buds up to her nose and inhaled the sweet fragrance.

  Easton took a carafe from the wet bar and slid the flowers inside, pouring water into the makeshift vase. She was touched by the way he didn’t order staff around to do his every task. He was a man with the money to pay for most anything he wanted and help for every moment of the day, and yet he lived a purposeful life.

  He nodded to the flowers’ placement before turning to her. “I thought about getting you candy too, but I keep seeing that basket full of edible toys back in that honeymoon suite.”

  Laughing, she pressed a hand to her lips and finally gave up holding back her amusement. “I’ll return the vase once the peonies wilt.”

  She would be drying them as a keepsake for their baby. Far better to explain how she and her child’s father had dated and enjoyed their time together. She couldn’t bear for their child to feel like the unwanted result of an impulsive night.

  Easton pulled out a chair for her at the wooden table. The peonies added the perfect touch to their romantic dinner, no one but the server and the musicians around.

  Soft wind whispered as Easton pushed in her chair, his fingertips lingering for a moment on her bare shoulders. He took his seat across from her, foot knocking playfully into hers. His ready smile illuminated by the Tiki torch that kept bugs at bay.

  Easton tucked his ankle against hers. “You really do look beautiful. If I didn’t think to tell you before tonight, I apologize.”

  “You told me.”

  “You didn’t believe me, though, did you? There’s a skepticism in your eyes that stuns me.”

  Portia leaned closer to him, so her words didn’t strain against the melody of the guitar and piano. “Of course I realize we’re attracted to each other.”

  He touched her chin and tipped up her face. “You are lovely, elegant and always have been. It’s all I can do to keep my hands to myself at work.”

  “You’ve always been completely professional in the workplace.”

  “I’m a damn good actor, then.” He plucked a hibiscus from a nearby arrangement, spinning the stem between his fingers.

  She laughed, unfolding her napkin and placing it in her lap. These luxurious meals were a treat, but she would have to watch her fish intake for the baby. Still, her mouth watered with hunger, a welcome relief from the morning sickness that grew worse each day. “I do appreciate and respect that you’ve been restrained in the office.”

  He tucked the flower behind her ear near the jeweled pin, ramping up her awareness. Distracting her from the parmesan-and-herb-spiced yellowfin tuna that overtook her plate.

  “So it’s okay for me to touch you outside the office now?”

  “I didn’t say that, exactly.”

  He dragged another flower up her arm, until it rested on her cheek. “I can see something’s holding you back. Am I simply not your type?”

  “Why do people assume they know my type?” She shimmied away from the flower, picking up her fork and skewering one of the roasted tomatoes.

  “Someone else agrees with me?” He lifted one eyebrow.

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “I know I’m eccentric.” Laughing, he pointed to the decorations overhead.

  “You’re brilliant and a gifted veterinarian who manages to work with a wide variety of exotic animals.” Portia rested her fork along the upper edge of her plate. “And, yes, you’re also one eccentric tree climb away from having your own television series.”

  “You don’t make that sound like a compliment.”

  “I only meant I’m reserved. Some have even called me prim—” She held up a palm. “I’m alright with that description. I know myself. But you are eccentric. I would expect you to be drawn to someone more flamboyant.”

  “Some say opposites attract. I think it’s more complex than that. Attraction defies reason.”

  So true. But that didn’t stop reason from interfering with attraction, reminding her how hard she’d fought to be independent, to build a life for herself outside of her parents’ shadow. She couldn’t afford to forget that in the long term.

  And yet, still, she burned for this man. Unable to resist for this one moment at least, she lifted her fingers to stroke his collar-length, wild hair. The touch happened before she thought better of it. And maybe it wasn’t so bad as long as she knew it was her decision. She was in control. “Relationships are based on common interests.”

  “What are your interests? You draw, but what else?”

  “I’m your secretary.”

  “My assistant.” He corrected her gently, placing his hand on top of hers.

  “Whatever. It wasn’t your place to know my hobbies.”

  “We’ve spent more time together than some people do when officially dating. I should have listened better.” He thumbed the inside of her palm, a small smile tugging at his mouth.

  “Is this going to be round two of Quiz Show?”

  “I was just going to ask you what song you would like for me to request from the pianist.”

  “Something with a beach music flavor. I love to dance.”

  “You do?” His bold mouth twitched in a crooked smile. “See, we have something in common after all. Hold on while I place our request.”

  He pushed out of his chair, heading to the pianist, all elaborate arm gestures and flash. An intoxicating vision.

  Returning to the table, he extended his hand. “If you’ve finished with your dinner, could I have this dance?”

  How could she resist? Right now, she couldn’t. “I would like that, very much.”

  “I’m honored.” He bowed deeply before whisking her onto her feet to the makeshift dance floor.

  Pressing against each other, she felt time strain and stop for this moment. The scent of his cologne mingled with sea breeze and salt. He sang softly in her ear, his hot words warming her inside out.

  His soft eyes met hers, desire and electric sparks passing through his gaze.

  No matter what the future held for her, or how he reacted to her secret, there was only one way this night could end. Together, tangled.

  Eight

  Dancing with Portia set him ablaze. His hands had touched the bare skin of her back peeking out from behind her breezy green sundress. After the music faded, she looked at him through shy eyes.

  “Walk me home?” her voice quiet, eyes burning into him.

  Easton’s hand trailed alongside her right arm, enjoying the softness of her skin, the way she seemed to melt under his touch.

  He leaped at the chance to lace her fingers with his, for the extra time together. His stolen sidelong glances at her increased the farther away they walked from the main mansion to her modest off-white cabana. Her shoulders, normally strained, seemed relaxed. A light breeze tossed her half up, half down hair, the moonlight illuminating soft traces of makeup that accented her slender face and beautiful pink lips. She seemed like a tall fairy—an extension of the landscape. His landscape.

  Their footfalls on the white sand road looked like shooting stars in the night.

  Portia had always been naturally beautiful, but he couldn’t recall a time when she’d seemed so at ease and calm. The spa afternoon had brushed life back into her, making it all too obvious to him how she always did things for other people and didn’t do things for herself. He wanted to pamper her. He wanted to protect her. But as she spoke of common interests and viewpoints, he wondered if he should be protecting her from himself and his vagabond spirit.

  She fiddled with her keys, fishing them out of her pale yellow purse. Shifting her weight from leg to leg, he noticed how her strappy sandals pushed against her skin.

  The cabana she’d been given as part of her pay had been stark and basic when she’d
arrived. Now the little wooden hut glistened with peace and beauty, her stamp everywhere. Flowers of nearly every hue overflowed from boxes and pots. Lush ground cover filled in spaces with only jeweled step stones breaking their flourish. A fountain built of terracotta clay pots overflowed into a pool of fat orange fish.

  She unlocked the bright yellow door, brushing her feet on the mat before stepping inside and clicking on the lights. Inside, a plump, inviting sofa, in what he’d heard Maureen call a shabby chic print, nearly filled the room. There was an artistic flair to Portia he hadn’t noticed before, in spite of her telling him she enjoyed drawing. He could see her creativity in the way she’d planned her garden and how she’d refinished old pieces of furniture, end tables with swirls of color patterned into the grain and shape. Even her simple ice cream parlor table sported handblown glass spheres that filled a bowl like crystallized treats. Somehow, he knew she’d made those, with her patience, frugality and eye for beauty. Why hadn’t he thought before about how she commented on the distinct hues of the birds and other creatures in the wild?

  And how had he not stepped inside here before now?

  He’d missed so much about her until that night of the storm when he’d been drawn to her with new eyes, the electricity in the air gathering around her like lightning bugs. Even in trying to get her back into his bed, somehow he’d missed important details. Getting to know her had been a selfish plan, but he was finding himself more captivated than he’d ever been by another person.

  “Portia, your place is lovely.” Like her.

  She slipped her shoes off and nudged them in line beside the door with her toe. “It’s nothing compared to your professionally decorated mansion.”

  “You have an artist’s flair to you that surpasses anyone else we could have hired.”

  “Thank you.” A blush on her cheeks, she stared lovingly at her possessions. Proud of her space and vision. Confident.

  “I like the way you brought nature inside.” He stepped to the walls lined with pen-and-ink sketches of Florida coast scenery and animals. “And your art. These sketches are yours?” he asked even as he saw her initials precisely in the corner of each one.

  “Yes, I mentioned I like to draw.” She tapped one of her sketches, an alligator winding through marsh grass, a wry smile on her face. She’d never seemed so sexy, so decisive. So sure of herself as she was in the arena of her art.

  “I remember. But this is more than just doodling or drawing. This is talent, a gift.” He turned back to her. “I respect the work you do for me. You keep me organized and focused in a way no one has managed before. But here, I feel like I’m keeping you from your true calling.”

  She looked at him thoughtfully, her love of art apparent on her face. “I’ll get back to it one day as more than a hobby.”

  “Why one day? Plenty of college students work while enrolled. I did.”

  Taking his hand, she led him into the living room. She sat on the bright yellow couch in lotus position, patting the seat next to her. Inviting him closer. She leaned forward, interest and surprise knitting into her brow. “Even with your family’s money?”

  “Absolutely. I wanted hands-on experience.” He sat too, linking fingers with her. Needing to touch her.

  “That’s nice to hear about you. I didn’t know.” Her palm rested on his knee in an unspoken promise of more to come.

  This was another dance they were doing now, one he could see in the awareness in her eyes, the widening of her pupils.

  “It must not have come up in your Quiz Show.”

  “I would have expected your life growing up, traveling the world, would have given you the opportunity for vast experiences.”

  “We were talking about you. And your brother. And why you refuse to let anyone help you with him,” Easton said, not taking the bait to talk about himself. Portia so often deferred her interests and needs to others. He didn’t want her to do that now. Not as he finally glimpsed her soul and her sparkle.

  “Because I can take care of him. He’s my family. He has a learning disability. He’s brilliant but needs tutors. He will graduate, it’s just taking five years with summers. He’s even picked up a part-time job as a residence hall advisor this fall. I’m proud of how hard he’s worked.”

  “And then it will be your turn?” He reached for her cheek, stroking it with a soft thumb. Wanting to give her all of her dreams.

  She placed her hand over his, stilling the motion of his fingers, yet pressing his touch more firmly against her skin. “I thought we were coming here to make love.”

  “Wow, I struck a nerve, didn’t I?”

  She rose from the couch, headed to the kitchen as if she were considering his words. Lingering by the fridge, she cocked her head to the side and popped her hip out. “Maybe I want to start getting hands-on experience with my art right now.”

  “What do you mean?” His heart pushed, hammered, at the suggestion in her pose, at her yet to be articulated promise. Standing, he strode into the kitchen.

  “You can be my canvas.” She pulled a tub of whipped cream from the refrigerator. She lifted the lid and swirled her finger through, painting her lips before licking them clean.

  He almost swallowed his tongue.

  She was distracting him on purpose. Of course she was. But looking at her right now, feeling the answering heat inside him, he would gladly let her. He would find out more about why she was delaying her schooling later.

  After he explored every tasty inch of her. He couldn’t take his eyes off her still-damp lips. “I assume that’s my cue to get undressed.”

  “If you want.” She shrugged nonchalantly, staring at him with a certain, commanding smile.

  He made a mental note to make sure her future included all the spa days she wanted. Whatever magic Maureen had worked in getting Portia to take some downtime had paid off in spades. There was a new relaxation and confidence in her.

  “I want. Very much.” He stepped closer, unbuttoning his shirt and tossing it aside.

  She swept her finger through the dessert topping again and touched his collarbone. Her stroke was cool from the cream, and then she dipped her head, her breath warm as she said, “Ooops, I need to erase that.” She swept her tongue along his skin. “I’ll need to draw that over again.”

  “Do I get to practice my artwork on you?”

  “Are you any good?”

  He took the tub from her and set it on the table by the colorful glass display. “I damn well hope so.”

  His hands damn near shaking, he reached behind her to unzip her dress until it slid from her body to pool around her feet. She kicked it to the side. He took in the vision of her peach-colored lace bra and panty set, her breasts perfect globes calling to his hands to explore. Her eyes held his as she released the front clasp. He was quick to help her stroke free of the scrap of lace so he could “paint” a snowy cloud of whipped cream over one nipple, lave it clean before giving equal attention to the other.

  Her kittenish purrs of pleasure rewarded him for his diligent effort. She cupped his face and guided him back for a kiss. The sweet taste of sugar on her tongue went straight to his senses. Before he could gather his thoughts again, they’d both stripped away their clothes in a frenzy of motion on their way to kneeling on the kitchen rug.

  Taking turns, they painted each other, although his artwork was more precise than hers, Portia’s more in the league of landscapes that sent her kisses all over. He focused more on her breasts, a trail down her stomach, then settled between her legs for an intense, intimate kiss. The sweetness of her had little to do with the topping and far more to do with her. Portia. This amazing woman who’d come into his life and shaken him from his superficial dating ways.

  He wanted more from her. So much more.

  With each stroke and circle of his tongue, her breathing grew fa
ster. She gripped his shoulders, her nails digging half-moons into his flesh urging him to cover her body with his. He didn’t hesitate.

  He settled between her legs and positioned himself at the hot slick core of her. Something tugged at his mind but before he could finish the thought, Portia skimmed the arches of her feet along the backs of his calves and hooked her ankles around his waist. The arch of her hips welcomed him inside her. Where he belonged.

  His head fell to rest against hers, the bliss of being joined with her so incredible it almost pushed him over the edge. He gritted his teeth to hold back his release, to make sure she found complete pleasure, everything he could give her before he indulged himself.

  Stroke after stroke, thrust after thrust, he filled her and savored her rocking motion in sync with his. They were learning each other’s bodies, specifics and needs, erogenous zones. The scent of her freshly perfumed skin and some kind of massage oils along her shoulders teased his every breath.

  He would drink her in if he could.

  Let her know how beautiful she was. Always. No makeover needed.

  She was Portia. He’d not realized why he’d pursued her so stubbornly, but this surprising woman was who he’d been waiting for. And finally he was where he wanted to be.

  That thought tore away the last vestige of his restraint and sent him hurtling over the edge into a blinding orgasm. His release sent him pulsing deeper into her, faster, each pump of his body drawing a “Yes, yes, yes” from her lips until... Her back arched upward. Her head fell back, her silken hair fanned around her.

  No need for them to be quiet here in her home, just the two of them. Their cries of completion twined in the way their hands did over her head. Together.

  His arms gave way and he just barely caught himself on his elbows before he rolled to his side, taking her with him. He folded her against his chest, their bodies sticky with sweat and the remnant of whipped topping.

  In the stillness of this cabana, he felt at peace. The rise and fall of his chest made more comfortable by the press of Portia’s body against his. His fingers stroked down her side. The moment of rest as beautiful as she was.