Читать книгу Once Upon A Mattress - Kathleen O'Reilly, Kathleen O'Reilly - Страница 10

BEN WANDERED through the hallways late into the night, hoping he looked like the proprietary owner rather than a paranoid Director of Security. No one seemed to think it strange that Ben, who never worked more than thirty hours a week before, was now stalking the halls like a man bent on worldwide domination.

That was a laugh. All he wanted was his family back together.

Worldwide domination was probably easier. Actually, getting his family back together looked pretty much impossible. His mom acted too accepting of the divorce, his father was ready to audition for Fear Factor. MacAllister Beds was all that was left.

Gradually, the plant had emptied, the parking lot vacated. Now it was time.

He went to the research center and picked his spot carefully. The bed across from room number eight.

It sounded like a bad cable movie. Typical Thursday night fare.

He shook his head, tossing the thought aside, then he shut off the lights. Instantly, the room turned black as pitch, empty. He settled himself on the bed, crossing his arms across his chest.

Eleven…midnight. Still nothing. He tossed on the mattress, wishing for the familiar bed in his apartment. Another storm raged outside, the cooling masses pressing against the heated air. Nothing to worry about.

Finally, convinced he was paranoid and all was actually right with the world, Ben fell asleep, dreaming of lavender and the green eyes of a cat.

DETERMINED TO HAVE a solid alibi, Hilary decided to work in her office until midnight, or until her body quit, whichever came first. To be honest, the world was getting a little hazy and she wasn’t exactly sure what was what.

Could be the early onset of a cold. She should have stocked up on Vitamin C.

She made due with two cold tablets sans water. Her throat had expanded and she wasn’t sure that the water would have gone down. Her voice had dropped two octaves since this afternoon and soon it would be gone altogether. She liked talking to herself as her voice disintegrated—pretending she was Mae West. After all, a woman needed role models.

Feeling a little giddy, she did a short bump and grind to get into her sleep shirt and shorts.

By the time she reached the third floor, she was pretty well wiped. Walking like the zombie she was, she thought she’d returned to the room she’d been in the night before. Pulling her pillow from her backpack, she inhaled the soothing barley with a heavy sigh. At least she could still breathe.

She collapsed on the bed and then climbed under the crisp sheets. Her eyes felt so heavy, sleep was so close. Thank God for MacAllister Beds.

THERE WAS A HAND on her breast. A possessive hand. Hilary smiled drowsily at the familiar warmth. Mark always did have a perfect sense of timing.

The alarm began to beep, and Hilary reached over to shut it off.

Then she rolled closer to him, basking in the heat that radiated from him. Ah…he felt so good. Slowly her fingers crept underneath his pajama shirt to find hard muscles beneath.

It must be the gym. She had told him it would pay off.

His lips trailed over her neck, and she could smell his new cologne. It was milder than what he usually wore, but underneath she could smell him. Strong, bold, masculine.

She tried to open her eyes, but she felt too lazy, too adored. Diving into this warm pool of hedonism, Hilary simply let him dally at her neck. Never had she felt so hot. It was like fire everywhere his lips touched.

She wrapped her arms around him, bringing him fully on top of her. With a contented sigh, she absorbed his weight, his strength. Her hands splayed over his back, over his butt. There she lingered, wondering why she had never noticed exactly how built he was.

Tomorrow she would tell him. Or today. Maybe she could tell him yesterday. Oh, she was getting silly.

Then his lips took hers in a kiss that gave no quarter. She had never let him kiss her before she had brushed her teeth, but today she didn’t want to move. Didn’t want to leave this marvelous world where kissing was so much fun.

And soon she was responding to his kiss and forgot all about her morning breath. It felt amazing to just live in the moment.

He pushed up her shirt, and she felt cool air against her overheated flesh. But soon his hands were there, hard and daring.

Everywhere they touched her, she responded. It was as if she was new, unfamiliar.

His hands cupped her breasts, and his fingers stroked her eager nipples. She arched her back, wanting more of his ardent attention. The air felt thick and heavy, the blackness like a balm. All was quiet, except for the sound of his breath. Steady and strong.

She felt detached from her body, the sensations so intense that she could no longer separate each new touch.

His hips pressed against her and she moaned. A heavy ache beat like a pulse between her thighs. Feeling very Mae, she wrapped her legs around him and ground her hips tight.

THE LINE BETWEEN reality and his dream was getting all blurred now. Ben’s logical brain was shouting for him to wake up. His primordial brain had abandoned all principles and just wanted more.

Her hands were not shy at all, exploring his chest and his stomach with a sureness that made him burn. She was a flame that he held in his arms; everywhere she touched, his skin turned to fire.

And against his neck, her lips whispered a promise of paradise.

He could smell her, smell the lavender, the barley, the musky arousal that even her perfume could not mask.

Her magic fingers unbuttoned his fly and then slid beneath his briefs, and she laughed, low and husky. “Mark,” she whispered against his neck, as if just his name delighted her.

Mark?

Mark?

Ben opened his eyes and stared into wanton green eyes that glowed fever-bright with desire.

He had tasted the heat of her lips. He had felt her breasts heavy in his hands. Still, her voice played in his head.

Mark?

With legs slightly unsteady, Ben ignored all his instincts, climbed out of the bed and turned on the lights. The sight of her bare golden skin was mesmerizing. His stubble had left red streaks on her skin. Marks of possession.

Ben wasn’t a man who thought in terms of possession, hell, he prided himself on having as few as possible, but this morning there it was. His mark.

He could do nothing but stare, his body protesting the space between them. He was a fool.

The fog lifted from her gaze and her face froze in horror. “Mr. MacAllister,” she gasped, pulling her shirt down and gathering the covers around her. She looked the picture of naive innocence. Ben remembered the way she had stroked him earlier and thought the Victorian modesty bit was way overdone.

“I think you can call me Ben,” he said with what he hoped was a reassuring smile. Unfortunately, her eyes flashed sexual harassment. What was the law, anyway?

She pulled the sheet tight around her, an extra layer of protection over her shirt and shorts. “Let’s just forget this moment ever happened. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll get dressed.”

Oh, please. “You are dressed,” he said in a calm, non-threatening voice. “Look, this was nothing more than a case of mistaken identity.”

She tried to climb out of the bed, but the sheet kept coming untucked, and she wouldn’t let go. He held a hand, but she scooted away from him. “Don’t touch me.”

As if he were some sort of monster. Jeez, who had climbed into bed with whom here? And why was she here? “Look, I’m sorry. Okay? But this isn’t that big a deal.”

She swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood. Then she braced a hand behind her on the bed and closed her eyes. For a second he thought she was going to faint. But not Miss Hilary Sinclair. She opened her eyes again, emerald sharp, and took a deep breath. “Not a big deal? You are such a man.”

He jammed his hands into his pockets. “A fact you were perfectly happy with about fifteen minutes ago.”

Direct hit. Her faced flushed fire-engine red. “I expect a co-worker to behave with a bit more decorum, but obviously in your case, that’s too much to ask. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m leaving.”

She shuffled out the door with quite a bit of dignity for a woman sporting humidity hair, dragging a sheet behind her.

BEN SPENT the early-morning hours locked in his office, waiting for a decent hour to make a call. Tonight, when he had a cold beer in his hand and a cold shower nearby, he would linger over the surprising aggressiveness of Miss Hilary Sinclair and her bodacious breasts, but right now he needed to put MacAllister Beds first. He picked up the phone and dialed, hoping he hadn’t screwed up too badly.

“Danny, this is Ben. Listen, I need to ask you a lawyer question.”

“Shoot.”

“It’s about sexual harassment laws.”

“Did you get yourself in trouble?” Danny asked quietly.

“God, I hope not. I don’t think so. It’s Dad’s company, not mine. Last thing I want is to mess it up.”

“Um, this a consensual situation?”

Now that was the million-dollar question. He had no idea. Ben told Danny what had happened and then sighed as he wrapped up the sorry tale. “Could I get her to sign a waiver or something?” he asked, and immediately thought of her nonexistent sense of humor, and figured it’d be easier to herd cats than get a signature from her, but he’d do whatever he had to.

“A waiver? Ben, relax. You’re fine. If she starts making noises, call me back. But I don’t see a case there.”

Ben let out a long sigh of relief. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it. Haven’t seen you since you got back in town. What are you up for next?”

“Cowboy.”

“Rodeo? Whoa, dogies.”

“Nope. Just roping and stuff.”

“Still, pretty cool. Hey, what are you doing tomorrow? The guys are going to OutdoorLand to check out their hiking gear. Got a big trip planned in a couple of weeks. You gotta come.”

Ben leaned back in his chair and put his feet up on the desk. Hiking, now that he could handle. “Sounds like fun.”

“See you on Saturday,” Danny said, and then hung up.

One bullet dodged.

Ben put down the phone and swiveled his chair to face the window. What was he doing here? Downtown Dallas. Rain. Buildings everywhere.

Being a businessman really was the pits so far. Out on the range, there was only the wind and the sky. And the last thing a cowboy had to worry about was sexual harassment.

Damn.