Читать книгу A Very Personal Assistant - Portia Da Costa - Страница 5

“Thank God that’s over!”

Miranda Austin tossed her leather document binder onto her blotter, threw herself down into her chair and kicked off her shoes beneath her broad leathertopped desk. How was it that sometimes after these high-level meetings, she felt as if she’d been put through a mangle when she returned from the boardroom? Closing her eyes, she tried to claw back her usual calm and poise and center herself.

“Tough gig?” enquired her personal assistant, Patrick Dove, as he crossed the office toward her.

“I’ll say…” She breathed in deep, finding it hard to settle. “But I got my way in the end, even though it took some doing with those idiots from Overseas Assets.”

“You always get your way.” Patrick’s tone was smooth and quiet—not false praise, but a simple observation. “Would you like some coffee, boss?”

Patrick made perfect coffee, but right now, Miranda felt too wired and too wound up to appreciate it. Eyes still closed, she shook her head.

“Is there something else I can do for you?” He paused, and the room seemed unnaturally quiet, almost as if neither of them were even breathing. “Some other way I can help you instead?”

Patrick said words like that a hundred times a week at least. Both to her and to the many clients and colleagues he had to deal with on her behalf. But this time Miranda knew he really meant them. Not that he didn’t mean them when he was answering her calls, of course. It was just that today his soft, suave, charming voice sounded different somehow, weighted and full of strange intent as if he were trying to manipulate her in a benign yet subtle manner.

Miranda’s eyes snapped open. She frowned. Was she imagining things? Probably. She was just tired, a bit burnt out and weary of deals and wrangling. She loved that she was the highest-ranked woman in the company, and generally she relished even the most confrontational meetings, but sometimes, like now, it all drained her. What she needed was a lift, a boost, and seeing Patrick studying her so intently with those beautiful, sexy, compassionate eyes of his, she suddenly found herself saying, “I don’t know…. But I do need something…. Maybe you should whisk me off my feet and take me away from all this?”

“Okay then. I will.” His voice sounded different in a new way now. Brisk. Decisive. In charge. His gentle eyes somehow weren’t quite as gentle anymore, either, but they twinkled with a light of daring and challenge. “You don’t have any meetings this afternoon. Let’s go for a drive, get out of town, play hooky for a few hours.”

Heart shuddering inside her, she felt nervous, excited. As if something wonderful were about to happen, but she didn’t quite know what. Leaving the office for the afternoon was absurd, out of the question. She had little enough time to catch up these days. But something in Patrick’s smile, and the almost cocky way he was studying her, made her think of a box of chocolates or a heady, potent cocktail. A treat, indulgent but irresistible. And when he flicked his tongue over his lower lip, her body surged, rousing suddenly and hard.

“I’ve got too much work to do.” Her voice sounded odd, too, light and feathery when usually she was so cool, contained and on top of everything.

“Well, you said you wanted to get away from it all.” His eyes narrowed, still teasing, still tempting.

“No, I didn’t, not really…you know I didn’t mean it.”

“Ah, but I’m psychic. I can tell you really did mean it.”

Was he arguing with her? He didn’t usually do that, but this time it seemed he was, and as his challenging smile broadened, the mad, insane, totally inappropriate fluttering in her nether regions intensified. She’d always mildly fancied Patrick in a rather disciplined, disconnected way, but her feelings never broken through or taken control like this.

“No, you’re not psychic. There’re no such thing as psychic powers. You’re just an uncannily efficient personal assistant who mostly anticipates his boss’s needs, but who’s way off in this case.”

“So you say.” He tilted his head to one side, his sandy blond hair glinting beneath the strip lighting. It was a bit curly and wayward, giving him the look of an angel from a painting or a fresco. A very naughty, playful angel, with all the earthy foibles of a man. “But I still think a few hours out of the office would do you good.” He winked at her, no angel now, but more like the very devil. “Give you what you need.”

The fluttering turned to a pounding, and enveloped her entire body. Heart, brain, sex. She felt as if she were standing on a precipice, or before a secret door, or at the edge of some narrow rickety bridge, leading…leading somewhere.

“All right then. But just an hour or so, no more. I’ll order the car.” Shoving her feet back into her shoes, she sat up and reached out toward the keypad on her phone. “Where shall we go?”

Before she could actually depress the button, a warm hand fastened about her wrist, immobilizing her. Normally she would have shaken off the unsolicited grip of any man, even Patrick, but a delicious honeyed sensation made her yield. Dear God, he was actually making her feel weak!

“No need for a car. I’ll drive.” His voice was quiet but powerful. “Just do what you need to do and then meet me down in the car park.”

His hand tightened on her wrist, just for one moment, then he released her, winked again, and strode purposefully from the room.

* * *

This is crazy. I’m his boss and he’s my personal assistant, for heaven’s sake. We shouldn’t be doing this.

Well, if that were the case, why had she primped and preened and fluttered in the cloakroom? Why was she smelling rather more than usual of Shalimar?

Her rational self told her it was just an hour or two out of the office, a change of scene, maybe a drink or a coffee somewhere. Patrick was a good conversationalist, with smart opinions on politics, current affairs and the media. It was always fun and mentally stimulating to chat with him, however briefly.

But her irrational self said this jaunt was all about sex.

Score one for my irrational self.

Especially when she turned the corner, reaching the car park, and her pussy literally rippled at the sight of Patrick.

He didn’t look all that different, leaning against his powder-blue vintage Citroën in the sunlight. In fact he looked exactly the same as he usually did, in his sharp, but very traditional three-piece suit that fit his body so beautifully. The only perceptible change was the absence of his tie, and the opening of his collar—but in other ways, it was if a magic prince had suddenly appeared and the relaxed energy in his lithe, athletic body seemed to promise that anything, in fact everything, was possible.

“Er…hi!” The slight squeak in her voice when she called out made her sound like a nervous teenage girl on her first date rather than a confident, powerful woman in her thirties and a senior partner in the firm.

“Hi, yourself,” replied Patrick, pushing himself off the car with a smooth powerful shove, then opening the door for her.

The Citroën was low, and Miranda was acutely conscious of the frisky slide of her skirt as she half flung herself into the passenger seat. Patrick’s smile broadened and seemed to twinkle as if it’d been animated by Pixar, while their eyes acknowledged the wedge of dark lace stocking top she’d just flashed at him. “Nice,” he murmured, leaving her so flabbergasted at his cheek that she couldn’t answer.

Clipping the buckle of her seat belt, she expected him to ask, Where to? But instead, he just set the car in motion, drove out of the car park and headed off confidently without reference to her or her preferences.

“Where are we going?”

Miranda swallowed, nerves and maniac butterflies fluttering in her chest. She’d been in cars with Patrick before, en route to away meetings and functions, but even though they’d been just as physically close in these instances as they were now, it’d never seemed so intimate, so intense. Senses she couldn’t quantify were seeing him in perfect detail even while she affected a nonchalant interest in where they were heading.

“Oh, nowhere you know…just a little place. Off the beaten track. You’ll like it.”

“But where is it?”

Waiting at a set of lights, he was able to turn to her. His expression was arch, amused, completely in charge. Miranda felt as if the Citroën had become a parallel world where Patrick was the boss, and she the subordinate. And yet even as she thought that, she realized that she’d only ever been his superior in a nominal sense. Even when she’d been giving him instructions and doling out tasks, on some level he’d been oh-so subtly controlling her instead.

Oh, God…what am I into here? What are we into?

“It’s a secret. Why spoil the fun?” he said mildly, putting his foot down as the lights changed. They were taking a road out of town, and already greenery and sunlight were all around them. “You asked me to take you away from it all, and that’s what I’m doing…. I’m taking you away from being in charge.”

Oh, God…oh, God…

Miranda trembled. The phrase “a whole new ball game” had never really meant a lot to her, but now, she understood it completely. The door into the new world slammed shut behind her, the thud of it rushing through her body like a hot tsunami that crested deliciously in the pit of her belly and her sex.

As if he’d observed the phenomenon with X-ray vision, Patrick flashed her a quick glance. He barely took his eyes off the road for a second, and yet Miranda knew he’d seen everything, both hidden and unhidden.

“Let’s play a game.” He waggled his expressive blond eyebrows.

“What kind of a game?”

“Oh, just a little something to loosen you up. To relax you.”

Strangely, despite the pounding of sexual excitement, Miranda realized she did feel relaxed. And safe, in an odd way. Which didn’t make sense because she also knew, finally and with certainty, that Patrick was dangerous. Very dangerous.

She shook her head and tried to order the mismatched thoughts.

“Okay?” he said immediately.

“Yes…fine. I think.”

“Well, in that case, take off your knickers and give them to me.”

Miranda’s jaw dropped, the breath knocked out of her. It wasn’t as if she wasn’t partly expecting something like this, but to hear it, in Patrick’s soft, mellifluous tones, was like being tackled from the side by a twenty-stone wrestler.

“I beg your pardon?”

Again, that sly, mischievous look from the corner of his eye. “Oh, go on…it’s just a bit of fun. Something different to take you out of yourself.” His wicked pink tongue peeped out again. “Just for the hell of it.”

She was about to protest, but the crazy friskiness of the idea was so seductive. What would they think at the firm, eh? If they knew… No-nonsense, corporate high-flyer Miranda Austin playing silly sex games with her discreetly urbane personal assistant. Her very personal assistant, right at this moment.

“All right then! Just for the hell of it!” She snorted with laughter, and beside her, Patrick’s smile broadened, and became creamy and smug in a sweet, boyish way. He didn’t take his eyes off the road, but she could feel his elation and triumph.

And strangely, it didn’t annoy her one bit.

Hitching herself about in the seat, she managed to get a hand up her skirt and snag her knickers without flashing him. He’d asked her to take her panties off, but she was still in charge, in a little way. She wasn’t giving him extras, at least not yet. With a lot of wriggling and tugging and wrangling with her skirt, her underwear and even the seat belt, she eventually achieved her goal and hauled her cream lace trimmed knickers down to her ankles.

Blood rushed into her face. She was blushing a little already, but when she caught sight of her panties, she felt a huge rush of heat. The crotch of them was drenched and sticky. She’d known she was aroused, turned on by this new, risqué Patrick, but as swimmingly as this? Good God! And she was odorous, too. A rich waft of woman-smell rose from the pale fabric, the perfume of her desire, haunting yet pungent.

“Now what?” she demanded, wadding them into a ball, trying to hide the incriminating evidence, but knowing that even as she did, he was probably fully aware of her state. After all, it was exactly what he’d been hoping to induce, she supposed.

“Throw them out of the window.”

“What? Are you mad?” Her heart thudded. She almost wanted to do it, but they were still on a fairly busy road. “There are other cars…and also, they’re part of a fairly expensive set that I happen to be rather fond of.”

Patrick chuckled and, feeling goaded, Miranda reached for the window button.

“No! Don’t do that. On second thought, it’d be a shame to lose them. They’re very pretty—” he paused, as if for effect “—and they smell amazing!”

Miranda gasped. She couldn’t help herself. The heat in her face blossomed, and much the same thing happened between her legs, in her pussy. Which felt all the more breathtaking for her precarious lack of underwear.

“So, why don’t you slip them into my pocket, for safe keeping?” he asked, his voice light, deceptively casual.

Why not indeed? Men and their quirks. Somehow she’d not thought of Patrick in those terms…well, not consciously. But he was a man, all the same. Very, very much so. As she reached across, and rather clumsily stuffed the panties into the pocket of his suit jacket, the cloth slipped to one side, giving her a clearer view of his hips and thighs and crotch.

It didn’t surprise her that he had a very pronounced and respectably sized erection. He winked again when she glanced back up again. The devil. He’d observed her checking him out, the smug bastard!

“Look, what’s all this about?” she demanded, feeling off balance.

“Like I said, it’s therapy…symbolic. I wanted you to throw your knickers away as a representation of you discarding your worries and the stress of work.”

“And there’s nothing in it for you, then, knowing I’ve got no panties on.” She glanced very pointedly at his groin, and her heart thudded. Was he even bigger?

“Of course there’s something in it for me,” he said softly, his voice more intense and not quite as serene and controlled as before. “The thought of your naked sex is giving me an enormous horn. Do you think I don’t think about you that way?” He snuck her another fleeting glance, then concentrated on a right turn, down a smaller road. “Hell, I think about your pussy all the time, Miranda. And your breasts and your bottom and your thighs and every other bit of you. I’m a man, and you’re a beautiful woman. I can’t help myself. Why wouldn’t I think about your body?”

“So, no real interest in my mind at this time, then? I’m just a sex object to you?” she snapped out, covering her shock.

The mock-chastened expression he assumed was utterly adorable. Both sweet and wolfishly sexy at the same time. Miranda’s heart pounded harder, and if she hadn’t been securely buckled in, and he hadn’t been at the wheel of a swiftly moving vehicle, she would have launched herself at him to kiss him, and a lot more.

“Oh, I’m in awe of your mind, boss. Really I am. Why else would I so enjoy working for a woman? With anyone less smart than you, it’d be irritating…and against my nature.”

Frowning, Miranda tried to absorb what he was saying.

“You’re a dominant?”

His smile was slow now, and narrow. Not threatening, but certainly possessed of power.

“Of course.”

He worked for her. He took her orders. Yet all the time, his natural inclination was to give her orders. What an irony. What a performance. He never showed it, nor any sign of irritation. What a tour de force.

Miranda fell silent for a while, as Patrick negotiated what was becoming an increasingly twisty lane. They were out in the country now, in the wilds, and he controlled the car with only the lightest touch, effortlessly and economically.

Just the way he was completely controlling her.

“So what do you want me to do now?”

He changed gear before he answered, rounding a bend.

“How about showing me your pussy?” He didn’t look at her, but he smiled, how he smiled.

There weren’t many vehicles about around here, but occasionally they passed the odd one. Miranda realized her alarm must have shown on her face, because Patrick spoke again, almost immediately.

“Okay, that’s a bit too extreme, for now…. So how about just the tops of those delicious stockings you wear. Mmm, lace…I love it.”

“How do you know I wear lace-topped hold-ups?”

He laughed again, a free, happy sound. A little like the way Miranda was starting to feel.

“A man can sometimes catch a sly glimpse when a lady is reaching for something.” He tapped a finger on the wheel. “And then there’re the couple of spare pairs you keep in the filing cabinet…I’ve dreamed about them.”

Along with my pussy, and my breasts, it seems.

She didn’t speak, but she edged the hem of her skirt up her thighs, inch by inch. He’d told her to, after all, and even if a passing motorist got an eyeful, it could be attributed to inadvertent creep of the fabric, not a deliberate act.

Patrick scored a quick glance, then bit his lip, looking pleased as punch with her.

Again, they drove on for a while, in companionable yet dynamic silence. Miranda had never felt this excited and needy in her life before, even after hours of diligent foreplay by previous lovers. It was a state of peaceful desperation. High lust, but almost restful, too.

He’s going to fuck me. And touch me. And do things to me. It’ll make things hellishly complicated and awkward back at work, but I don’t care, I don’t care, I don’t care!

* * *

Eventually, they pulled up in front of a timber-built cottage, the last one in a small row, built alongside a lazy, leafy canal bank. They were clearly holiday homes, but Miranda could see no sign of life in any of them. Maybe they were weekend occupancy, and stood empty in the middle of the working week?

“It belongs to my gran. She likes to come here for little breaks, and she lends it to anyone in the family who wants a few days peace and quiet,” said Patrick conversationally, nodding toward the blue painted door of the quaint little structure. “No one’s here now, though…it’s all ours. We have total privacy.”

Total privacy. What did that mean? Miranda shuddered, not afraid, more excited.

“Come on. Let’s go inside.”

She nodded, her heart racing as he leapt of the Citroën. Shoving at her skirt, she caught the top of one of her stockings and it slithered down her thigh. She was still hitching at it when the passenger door swung open.

“Let me…”

The contact of Patrick’s fingers on her bare skin was like a jolt of sweet energy barreling through her. Kneeling beside the seat, he smoothed the lace up her thigh again, deftly righting it, then slid his hand beneath the hem of her skirt for just a moment, touching the soft hair at her crotch and brushing his thumb over it.

Miranda moaned. His touch was fleeting, barely there, and yet her clitoris leapt and her sex rippled as if he’d been fondling and fondling her and almost brought her to the point of orgasm. Maybe he had brought her to it, just with words, with his glances, and with his presence.