Читать книгу In Bed With Her Tall, Sexy Handsome Boss: All Night with the Boss / The Boss's Wife for a Week / My Tall Dark Greek Boss - Natalie Anderson, Anna Cleary - Страница 11

RORY ran up the stairs back at the office with more energy than a nuclear reactor. The blood in his veins sang. He felt vitally alive and his excitement was palpable. James and Marnie had fed off it too. The meeting had been fantastic. The client had bought it hook, line and sinker and awarded a massive project to Franklin. He’d proved his right to win that promotion well and truly.

And now he was going to win what he’d really been racing for. Lissa. No holding back. Last night, she’d blown him away. So passionate. So damn hot. Utterly on fire for him. He’d nearly lost all reason and had her on the table then and there. How good that would have looked when James and Marnie walked back in with that pizza.

He laughed aloud exultantly. He’d hardly slept but he wouldn’t have with the meeting today anyway. He didn’t mind that it had scuppered the chance of being with her last night. It made the prospect of tonight even more exciting. It felt as if he’d wanted her for ever. It had been good to have the presentation to concentrate on in the end; reciting facts and figures had been a way to finally get to sleep rather than twisting and turning all night with the most enormous erection of his life. Of course, he’d been dreaming of her when he woke. The ache in his body had been growing since the night he first met her. She was so alive. So refreshingly blunt. Her laughter. So sexy with those long legs and caramel hair. But her reluctance in the office nearly killed him. It was all he could do to stop himself from teasing her, tormenting her into betraying herself. Making her reveal the sparkle and enthusiasm he knew bubbled under that cool façade.

His body tightened at the thought of the night to come. Unbuttoned and tousled. Oh, yes, it was all going to happen. After her response last night he knew she wouldn’t say no to him.

He wasn’t sure what she’d wanted to do just as the others got back. He’d seen the fear in her eyes and guessed she wanted to try to push him away again. But she couldn’t. She’d opened up to him and going back now was impossible. He knew. He knew her passion for him was as blazing as his for her. And she knew he knew.

He strode into the library wanting to establish a date even before going to debrief George, the managing partner, on how the meeting had gone. He came to an abrupt halt by her empty chair. Damn. He looked around, encountering Gina’s bland look.

‘She’s not here,’ she said.

Disappointment hit him in the chest and a bad feeling rose with it.

‘She’s at home. Sick.’

He flinched, the bad feeling bang on. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘Flu, I think. She sounded terrible.’ Gina and Hugo were both watching him closely. Did they know something of what was going on with him and Lissa? Frankly he didn’t care what they thought, but he knew Lissa did.

‘Right,’ he said. ‘I just wanted to let her know how we got on today.’

Hugo nodded and went back to his work. Rory glanced at Gina. Her sceptical ‘yeah, right’ expression let him know he hadn’t fooled her one iota. He winked and left.

An hour and a bit later, after meeting George with James and Marnie and wangling the afternoon off as time in lieu, he was bounding up another flight of stairs. Thank God he’d driven her home that night otherwise he’d have had to con her address out of Gina or HR. That would have definitely raised eyebrows.

He reached the door of her flat and pounded on it. If she was sick, he’d take care of her.

Hell.

He’d do anything for this woman.

He stopped banging as he absorbed that idea. Anything?

No, he’d do the same for anybody who was unwell. Compassion, a normal human reaction. He wasn’t driven by any greater urgency just because it was Lissa, was he?

He hadn’t had a serious girlfriend in a while, didn’t want one. Had dated, sure, but nothing much more. He’d been too preoccupied with his career. Damn it, he was still preoccupied with his career. Only now something else demanded his attention.

Lissa.

After waiting a while he rapped again, harder this time, unable to stop the drive that insisted he see her. Finally, he heard some movement on the other side of the door. It opened a fraction and when he saw her big tawny eyes staring at him in surprise, he pushed it right open.

She was wearing an old white tee shirt over panties and nothing else. At least he hoped she wore panties; the shirt hung down to mid-thigh and he couldn’t quite tell. All the blood in his body headed south—fast. He forced his eyes back up.

A sheen of sweat bathed her face and her eyes looked huge in her pale face. Huge and slightly glazed. She’d twisted her hair back into a loose, low pony-tail but large sections were escaping. He thought she looked beautiful, but while his gut twisted with desire he could see she was in no way up to a marathon session of love-making. She looked about ready to collapse on the spot. The protective male bit in him reared its head.

‘What?’ She looked stunned to see him.

‘I wanted to make sure you were OK.’ Well, he wanted that and a few other things, but they’d have to wait right now.

‘I’m fine.’ She leant back against the wall for support.

‘No, you’re not,’ he said softly, stepping into the tiny hall and closing the door behind him.

She pulled upright with visible effort and walked through into the main room. Rory followed, looking about him with growing concern. The place was tiny. A studio apartment and freezing to boot. His concern leapt into worry and then manifested as irritation. He couldn’t help but notice the big bed in the corner with the sheets in disarray. He looked away hurriedly. She obviously wasn’t sleeping too good, judging by the way the covers were tossed about. Either that or she never made her bed.

‘Have you eaten?’ He tried to focus back to the basics.

She shook her head weakly.

‘Drunk anything?’

Again she shook her head.

His voice rose in irritation. ‘Taken any medication?’

She put up a hand. ‘Don’t start lecturing me. I’m fine; it’s just a wee bug.’

He stood back watching as she tottered back to the bed, obviously trying to control the shivering. ‘Like hell it’s a wee bug. You look half dead.’ He swung around the room. ‘Where’s the kitchen in this place?’

She gestured to the bi-folding cupboard doors in the far corner. He wrenched them open and stared in disbelief. The kitchen, or kitchenette he supposed it would be called, consisted of a bar fridge, a shelf for groceries, about three plates and assorted mismatched cutlery, a microwave, twin hotplate and sink. He looked at the few packets on the shelf. Cereal, cereal and more cereal. All quarter to half full. He opened the fridge, already knowing what he’d find.

Just as he’d thought; skimmed milk and a couple of tubs of yoghurt. The bottle of chocolate sauce standing alone on the middle shelf diverted him momentarily. Wrenching his mind away from the extremely exciting vision of licking chocolate off her breasts, he slammed the door shut with force. ‘This is ridiculous. What do you eat?’

‘There’s a supermarket just around the corner,’ she replied defensively. ‘I haven’t been for a couple of days.’

‘Obviously. No wonder you’re so trim. You’re half starved.’

‘I eat at the office,’ she said resentfully.

‘You eat cereal at the office. Don’t you eat anything else?’

‘I really like soup,’ she replied, tilting her chin up, daring him to criticise her.

Resisting the urge to plant a kiss on those upturned lips as he wanted, he rolled his eyes instead. ‘When did you last have a decent home-cooked meal?’

‘This is my home. I do cook. And it’s none of your business.’ She flung herself down on the bed and ruined the defiant effect completely by doubling over and coughing. He moved across to her and rubbed her back in gentle wide circles as she hacked away. He could feel her warmth through the thin tee shirt and he tried not to notice that there was no bra strap under it.

A few minutes later she looked up at him with watery eyes and mumbled, ‘Rory, I feel awful.’

He sat down next to her and put his arms around her in the age-old gesture of comfort. He felt no resistance as she leaned into his embrace and he continued to rub gently up and down her back. ‘I know, beautiful.’ He gently pushed her back onto the bed so she was lying down and hastily pulled a rug up to cover her long legs. Her eyes closed and she shivered spasmodically. He watched her closely. She really looked sick. He could feel the frequent bouts of shivering, and her skin was burning up. The cough was nasty. He guessed she had the flu with a chest infection on top of it. Looking around him, he felt frustrated. She couldn’t stay here alone like this. In this condition she wasn’t capable of looking after herself and she sure as hell wasn’t going to be making any trips to the supermarket for supplies in a hurry. He stroked her arms gently. She appeared to have gone to sleep.

Quietly he stood and surveyed the scene critically. She hadn’t a lot of possessions, hadn’t bothered to make much of a personal mark on the place. Clean and clutter-free, it looked as if what she had could be thrown together reasonably quickly. An assortment of candles sat arranged on a shelf; he could smell their vanilla fragrance even unlit. Next to them leaned a framed photo of a woman who looked as if she could be Lissa’s sister. There were no other photos. New Zealand, eh? Beautiful mountains there, good for snowboarding. He smiled.

A huge pile of books stood stacked in two towers by the bed and he glanced at a few titles with interest. Novels, biographies and a few travel guides. A map of London was taped to the wall. A toiletries bag stood neatly on the chest of drawers. The suit she’d worn yesterday lay in a crumpled heap on the floor by the wall, which surprised him. That didn’t seem to fit with the way she wore it so creaselessly. He’d thought she’d be fastidious about hanging her clothes up. She must have been feeling terrible when she got in. Frowning, he picked up the skirt and jacket, shook them out a bit and draped them over the back of a chair. He didn’t poke into the wardrobe, feeling as if he was intruding enough.

He spun about quickly; he needed to do something about her. She couldn’t stay here alone. He didn’t know if she had other friends to call on and in any case she was in no condition to get to them. Besides, if he knew her at all, she wouldn’t even if she could. Miss Cool Independence. He did know one thing for sure; she hated admitting a weakness. Well, undoubtedly she’d hate him for what he was about to do, but tough. Sometimes, he figured, you’ve just got to lie back and let others help you. He grabbed the keys lying on the table and, flipping open his cell phone, strode out of the flat.

She never wanted to wake up. The dream seemed so real and lovely. She floated in a state of bliss. Soft, comfortable, secure. But it hadn’t started that way. Someone had been shining a light in her eyes and from a distance she’d heard an unfamiliar voice asking questions, annoying questions that tried to rouse her, made her feel as if she’d been taken hostage by the Spanish Inquisition and she just wanted whoever it was to go away. Then she’d been hot, so hot and dreadfully thirsty. Her mouth had been too dry to be able to swallow and her lips were cracking. Then he’d appeared. He’d cradled her and helped her drink something cool and refreshing. Then he’d moved away and she’d felt so bereft and so alone. She’d called to him. Asked him not to go.

‘Not going anywhere, beautiful.’

She’d rested back against him, smiling, her irritated skin feeling soothed against something smooth and soft. At last she’d slept, cocooned in arms that were tender and strong.

She opened her eyes and blinked at the wall lazily. At least her eyeballs didn’t hurt quite as much as they had last time she’d used them. When was that? It felt like hours ago. She came to with a rush. Rory. Rory had turned up on her doorstep. She lifted her head off the pillow and looked around her. Where was he now? Wait a second—where was she? She stared at the totally unfamiliar room. There was a snowboard leaning up against the wall and a couple of boxes stacked beside it. The curtains were pulled but she could see a chink of pale light through the gap. What time was it?

Then she became aware of regular breathing near her and she turned her head, rolling over onto her back to look properly. Rory, clad in jeans and a tee shirt, was lying on his side beside her, sound asleep. Her heart stopped in her mouth as surprise came and went in a flash. Fascination took hold. She had never seen him so vulnerable. Until now she’d only seen him in suits or corporate casual wear and even though he had that easy charm he always exuded self-assurance, a commanding style. Now, just in jeans and tee, he looked younger, a little less like the boss and more like a sporty hunk. She studied his mouth, the fuller lower lip that curved into such a devastating smile when he was awake. She took in the long dark lashes resting on his cheek, a hint of a shadow on his jaw. Her fingers itched to rub against it. He looked relaxed. It was incredibly appealing.

She really hoped she hadn’t got some form of selective amnesia and was unable to remember what should have been the most awesome sex of her life. She wriggled a little experimentally. While her body ached, it wasn’t the kind of ache you got after a night of passionate love-making. And he was lying on top of the bed fully clothed. No, somehow she’d got to his place and he’d looked after her. She remembered her dream, and knew him helping her drink had been real. Guilty pleasure swamped her. She shouldn’t be here, this shouldn’t have happened, and yet she was so pleased it had. She glanced around the room again with more interest now she knew it was his. There wasn’t a lot to make it personal—just the snowboard hinting at athletic pastimes and boxes signalling the recent return from his time overseas. The walls were painted a warm creamy colour and she wondered what the rest of the place was like.

Then she looked under the bedclothes and made a shocking discovery.

‘What am I wearing?’ she screeched.

Rory jerked awake. ‘What?’

She watched as alertness sprang into his features and repeated the question.

He frowned as her words sank in. ‘Oh,’ he mumbled. Then as she watched, amazed, an embarrassed flush mounted in his cheeks. ‘You were h-h-hot and sweating.’ He was actually stammering. He cleared his throat. ‘You said the cotton was too rough on your skin. You were aching. You were complaining about the sheets too.’

‘I what?’ Oh, dear God. She was mortified. She remembered feeling hot and uncomfortable. She must have been feverish. What else had she been muttering while in that delirium? She masked her embarrassment with aggression. ‘So what—you just happen to have a selection of silk negligees for whoever comes to stay? I assume this is your, your…’

‘Spare bedroom. Yes.’ He looked directly at her. The flush had receded. ‘And, no, I went and bought it especially for you. In fact—’ his eyes gleamed ‘—I bought two.’

Her mouth hung open for a second before she remembered herself and snapped it shut. She said nothing, absorbing the fact that she was wearing nothing, nothing, other than a simple, long silk negligee. No lace, no knickers. ‘Did I get changed myself?’

He started to colour again and looked away.

‘I didn’t think so,’ she muttered darkly. Then a coughing fit took over.

‘Hey, you’re OK here.’ His low comment did nothing to soothe her.

She sat up sharply, knowing damn well she wasn’t, and the room spun horribly. She wasn’t OK and it wasn’t the flu bugging her.

‘Take it easy,’ he said, pushing her back down with a gentle but firm hand on her shoulder. ‘You’ve been very sick and you haven’t eaten in days.’ His hand lingered. His warm fingers on her bare skin were heavenly. She realised she was hungry. And not just for food.

‘What time is it?’ she asked abruptly.

He checked his watch. ‘Seven p.m. Saturday.’

‘You mean Friday.’

‘No, I mean Saturday. You’ve been out of it for over twenty-four hours. You’ve had me damn worried. But I think half of it was just exhaustion. Once the fever broke, you slept like a child.’

Saturday.

‘You want to use the phone at all? Will anyone be wondering where you are?’

She ignored the question in his eyes and simply shook her head. No, if friends called they’d probably think she was out with someone else.

He seemed to have forgotten his hand still rested on her shoulder, his thumb smoothing over her skin. The touch did crazy things to her insides. She shivered and this time it wasn’t the fever causing it.

He frowned. ‘You lie still and just relax. I’m going to get some food.’

He slid off the bed and she felt sorry as the warmth and weight of him disappeared. She cringed at the hazy memory of begging him to stay with her. What else had she let slip? But she couldn’t stop watching him leave the room, his butt shown off beautifully in the low-slung jeans.

She bit her lip and looked up at the ceiling. She was in trouble here. Big trouble. The question was, did she get up and try to go home now, or did she just give in and let the inevitable happen? She tried sitting up again and slumped back in a hurry. The inevitable. No contest.

He reappeared twenty minutes later bearing a tray that, she had to admit, smelt heavenly.

This time, she discovered, she was able to sit up no problem at all. She propped the pillow up behind her. He carefully placed the tray across her knees and smiled. Her heart thumped slowly and she tried to ignore the tenderness in his actions.

‘This is great.’ She gazed in pleasure on the laden tray before her. In the centre was a bowl of rich red soup accompanied by a plate of fingers of buttered toast. A smaller bowl of freshly cut fruit was also on the tray; it included, of all things, raspberries. She was in heaven. She picked up the glass of juice on the side and tasted. Pineapple. How did this guy know all her favourites? The question must have been written all over her face.

‘You were begging for it last night.’ He grinned. ‘I had to go to the twenty-four-hour shop to get it.’

‘Thank you.’ She put the glass down, having drained half of it. She felt bad for having reacted so ungratefully before. ‘I’ve put you to a lot of trouble.’

‘No trouble,’ he said easily. ‘Eat your soup—roasted red pepper.’

She didn’t need to be told twice. But while she was hungry, she wasn’t hungry for a huge amount of anything much and this platter was exactly what she would have chosen herself. ‘What about you?’ she asked between mouthfuls.

‘I ate earlier,’ he replied, settling down on the end of the bed.

She couldn’t manage to eat it all, but when she finally sat back she felt a million times better. He smiled at her. She wished he wouldn’t; every time he did her resolve disappeared another inch—make that mile.

‘Now you need these.’ He shook a pill bottle at her.

She frowned.

‘Antibiotics,’ he explained. ‘You have a chest infection as well as the flu. The doctor prescribed these to clear it. So far you’ve been good about taking them.’

‘Doctor? What doctor?’

He grinned at her. ‘One of my mates is a GP. He came round after work yesterday and gave you the once-over.’

That explained the man from the Spanish Inquisition.

‘You were that worried about me?’ She took the dose and washed it down with the remainder of the pineapple juice.

‘I was.’ He smiled, the warmth lightening the atmosphere. ‘Want to stretch your legs?’

She did. She definitely did—stretch them all the way home, or so she ought.

‘Do you have something that I can put over the top of…um…’ Her voice trailed away and she gestured towards her breast with her hand. She saw the flare in his eyes as he followed the movement of her hands and hurriedly put her arms in front of her breasts to try to hide the all too pleasurable reaction there.

‘There was a matching robe.’ He stood and went to the chest of drawers, pulling a long cream-coloured silk robe off the top. ‘I’ll see you in the lounge. You can’t get lost.’ And he swiftly exited the room.

Bit late for modesty now, she thought ruefully as she swung her legs out of the bed. Still, who was she to be concerned about modesty? If she remembered right she was the one who had been on the desk, begging him to screw her in the middle of the office when people had been due back any minute. Had she no shame? Nope, she realised. Not when it came to Rory.

She sat on the bed for a few seconds, making sure she had her strength together before standing. She was still weak and, underneath it all, still tired. But she didn’t want to be lying in bed with Rory lounging on the end of it. That was just too much in the way of temptation.

She pulled the robe around her and glanced in the mirror hanging on the far wall. Her pallor surprised her. And her hair was a mess. She grimaced. What she really needed was a shower. Leaving the room, she discovered Rory was right; she couldn’t get lost. Following the sounds of activity, she passed another door—open, showing the bathroom—and another closed; she guessed it must be his bedroom. She quelled the desire to open it and take a peek.

He was in the kitchen, holding two large towels in his hand. The guy really was a mind-reader. ‘Want to have a shower? You’ll feel better.’

She stopped in front of him and stared. He really did look incredible in those close-fitting jeans and tee shirt. His chest just about took up all her vision, it was so broad. Two towels—one each? Where had her self-control gone?

‘Thank you.’ Her voice was husky. Her body was starting to feel all sensitive again and this time it wasn’t because of the fever.

Slowly he held them out to her, his eyes fixed on hers. Her heart thudded faster. She reached out and took them and looked away from him in a hurry. She had to get out of here or there would be no stopping things. ‘I should go home after. Could you give me a lift?’

‘You’re not going home tonight.’

She’d known he was going to say that. She was also aware she wasn’t going to fight him. Much. ‘Why not?’

‘It’s getting late. You’re still weak. That flat of yours is freezing.’ He’d obviously been storing up a few reasons.

‘I forgot to switch on the radiator,’ she broke in.

‘You’re staying here.’ They stared at each other. His mouth curved into a wry smile and his eyes twinkled. ‘Don’t worry. You’ll be quite safe.’

Yeah, right. It wasn’t him she was worried about. It was her own weak, needy self.

‘I’ll get that other negligee for you,’ he said quietly. ‘I’ll leave it in your room. I grabbed your toiletries bag from your flat; hopefully it has everything you need in it. It’s in the bathroom. I didn’t want to pry so I got a toothbrush and comb from the shop just in case.’

‘Gee, you’ve thought of everything,’ she said sarcastically, still fidgeting with the belt on the robe. ‘Do you do this often?’

He laughed, that open, warm sound that had had her melting on the night she’d first met him. ‘No. Pretty much everything with you is a first.’

She wondered what he meant by that.

She headed for the bathroom pronto.

Just as he’d said, her toiletries bag sat on the vanity. She peered inside it. She always had it pretty well packed—just in case she was hit by a sudden urge to take a weekend mini-break. Just beneath her body spray rested her pill packet. She picked it up. She didn’t take them for contraceptive purposes, having not been involved with anyone since Grant. The little plastic bubble marked Saturday was full. It was still Saturday. She popped it from the foil and quickly swallowed it. A girl could never be too careful.

Stepping into the shower she turned the taps on hot. The pressure was marvellous and she couldn’t resist standing there for long moments letting the water pound on her head and body. It felt so good to get rid of the sweat. She tried not to think about him. Tried to ignore the desire swirling in her belly. It was like trying to stop a tidal wave with a flannel. They were alone. The outside world had disappeared at the door. Just her and Rory. Out of the office and in his home. And she knew and she wanted it to be just so, just for now. She reached for the shower gel—the packaging advertised its therapeutic powers—‘invigorate’. She flipped the lid and caught a whiff of the lemony citrus flavour that she associated with him. The gel lacked the underlying masculine tang that was pure Rory but it was close enough. She closed her eyes as she washed indulging in the feeling she was being enveloped by his presence.

He knocked softly on the door as she towelled dry. ‘Lissa, are you OK?’

‘Fine, I’ll be out in a tick.’

Clad in the second negligee—the same as the first only in a pretty pastel blue—and the robe, she padded back out to the lounge. The flat was marvellously warm. Even her feet, which were usually like blocks of ice, were cosy despite being bare.

He knelt, fiddling with the gas fire. ‘Sorry,’ he said, obviously hearing her arrival. ‘You were a while and I was worried maybe you’d collapsed in the shower or something.’

‘No.’ She grinned. ‘It’s a girl thing. We take our time in the shower. You guys are all the same. Turn it on, jump in, jump out, get dressed without drying properly and it’s all over.’

‘Really?’ He raised his brows. ‘And how do you know so much about it?’

‘Flatmates arguing over the power bill.’ She smiled teasingly and pulled the robe tighter. She had to admit she loved the silky feel against her skin. Smooth and sensual. Its simple design clung to her; she liked the soft rustle as she moved. She knew it had probably been outrageously expensive. It made her feel sexy. She couldn’t help but have sex on her mind. She realised she’d been staring at his jeans-clad thighs. The denim showed off their strong, muscular outline better than his suit trousers. She looked up with a start. She was so aware of him.

‘Could I get that comb? I didn’t have one in my bag.’ Her voice wobbled a bit.

‘Sure. I’ll go get it.’

She expelled the pent-up air from her lungs as he left the room briefly. But her blood started zinging again the instant he returned, comb in hand. Her fingers brushed his as she took it from him. The sensation from that slightest of touches was enough to send a tremble through her. In the hour and a half since she’d woken up her body’s awareness of him had been growing stronger and stronger. Now just the sight of him and the tiniest touch had her craving more. Her breathing shallowed. It was madness to have agreed to stay. But it was a madness she couldn’t stop.

She sat on the sofa and tried to comb her hair. After just a few seconds she felt exhausted from holding her arms up. It was pathetic. He seemed to know. She wondered if he knew everything, if he knew how turned on she was feeling, that his nearness drove her crazy. That he was so damn sexy that she just wanted to reach out and plant her mouth on his. Hard.

‘Here, let me,’ he said in a low tone. He took the comb from her nerveless hand. She turned away from him so she sat sideways on the sofa. He tucked the towel around her shoulders and carefully lifted her hair over it. With long, sure strokes he worked the comb through. The regular rhythm was soothing. Detangling and smoothing.

He stopped and she heard the click as he set the comb on the table. She felt him press the towel on her hair, sponging up the damp. Then he slid the towel away. She sat still, half holding her breath. He seemed to have paused too. And then, just when she knew it would happen, she felt his warm lips on her neck.