Mistress Under Contract

by Natalie Anderson

  There were a few stragglers still on the road but it was largely quiet, peaceful and warm. Despite the couple of mouthfuls of whiskey he’d had he was stone-cold sober. As he neared the club he started to walk that little bit faster—he could hear music. Worse than that, he could hear country music. Well past closing. He got to the door—it was locked and the stairwell light was off. He walked into the middle of the road so he could see up to the windows and into them a little—they were wide open and there was a light on inside. What the hell was going on? Was she staging some sort of lock-in? The music was appalling. Had she turned the place into a line-dancing school? Either way it was being shut down now.

  He shouldn’t have hired her. Never should have done it. He’d been bamboozled by a beautiful body and eyes that begged for him to believe in her.

  Idiot.

  He pulled the keys out of his pocket and inserted them in the lock. She was about to be sacked.

  CHAPTER SIX

  It is essential for you to try things with your own hands

  LUCY was whirling round the floor, arms outstretched, when she heard it. Heavy footsteps on the stairs. Inside. Coming up. Fast. She stopped still. Brain spinning. She dashed for the bar and got behind it. Then cursed herself for her stupidity. If he was after cash he’d come straight for the till. She thought about her mobile phone—in her bag in the back room. Useless. Fear slashed through her but she refused to freeze. She had to fight.

  Her mind flickered, eyes hunting for a weapon. Glasses, bottles—weapons which would be used against her. Then she saw it—the postmix—the drink dispenser. She could squirt soda at the intruder and dash for the fire alarm with the seconds that bought her. She lifted the nozzle from its rung and stood square on to the door just as it opened and she saw the manly figure outlined—tall, broad, familiar. Body achingly familiar.

  ‘What the hell are you doing?’ they shouted simultaneously.

  Lucy swore as he advanced and she saw it truly was him. Her heart didn’t know whether to speed up, slow or stop altogether.

  ‘You gave me one hell of a fright.’ She couldn’t mute the remains of high-strung panic. Snatching quick, full breaths, she tried to calm. The relief washing through her was as effective at shutting off her brain functionality as the fear had been moments before.

  What was he doing here? Especially looking like that? Angry, dishevelled and so, so hot. He still wore his suit but the jacket and tie were gone now. It was just his white shirt, unbuttoned at the neck, tails escaping his trousers, and even rougher stubble on his jaw.

  ‘Well, what are you doing? You should be home by now and this place should be shut up.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’m not going to get your precious licence revoked.’

  ‘So what about the licence? It’s dangerous for you to be here alone at this time. You should leave when the others do and go home in a cab.’

  ‘I was sorting the paperwork.’

  ‘Do it tomorrow. With music like that Noise Control will be here any moment.’

  ‘It’s not that loud.’

  ‘No, but it is truly awful.’

  ‘Don’t you like country?’

  ‘Hell, no.’ His glare softened. ‘Just what were you planning on doing with that?’ He nodded towards her hands.

  She remembered she still held the postmix. Devilish temptation called. Not water—not enough power. Cola would stain and the taste brought back horrible memories. It would have to be lemonade. Her fingers flexed. Her hands raised to aim.

  He saw the movement. His eyes narrowed. His mouth opened.

  Before sound emerged, she pressed the button. Frothy lemonade squirted out, hitting him square on the chest. His shirt was soaked in seconds. He stood still, not giving any clue to his reaction. The liquid raced, leaving a translucent path down his chest, fitting the material to him like second skin.

  She stared. ‘Maybe you should revisit the strip-club idea.’ She cleared her throat. ‘Or at least instigate a wet-tee-shirt night. Or wet business shirt.’ She couldn’t stop the huge smile spreading across her features, the burgeoning glow of amusement, the flame of desire, the illicit thrill that she got from his unreadable expression. How was Mr Cool Collected Type A going to handle this?

  She lifted the nozzle again.

  He spoke. ‘You. Dare.’

  Goose-bumps peppered her skin, but her smile still grew. She got him in the hair and face this time.

  And then he moved. Faster than she’d thought possible for such a big guy. He took three paces and vaulted over the bar to where she stood. In a split second he had the postmix out of her hand and held it firm in his and she was pinioned to his side by his spare arm.

  She squirmed. He squeezed—pulling her even closer.

  ‘You know you’re trouble with a capital T.’ He waved the nozzle at her. ‘You’re about to get really wet.’

  It must have been his proximity that caused her to do it. She looked at the broad chest against her, wanting to taste the trickling bubbles of soda. She wanted to taste him. She breathed in his male musky scent. The hit kicked her inner vixen to life. She replied, a slow, sassy drawl.

  ‘I already am.’

  She lifted her lashes and let the lust out. Unthinking, uncaring. Just wanting the moment. Now.

  He stood stock-still, body rigid. His gaze slowly left hers and lowered, to her lips and down—to her perfectly dry top. Then he looked back up—and to her delight the gold had flamed into life.

  His arm pulled her even tighter to him and she sucked in a breath as her body flared against the hard feel of his.

  ‘Yes.’ She was close enough to feel his breath on her skin, to see the stubble on his jaw—almost close enough to flick her tongue out to taste him. She couldn’t control it. Her tongue touched the tip of her own lip—a tiny, flickering movement.

  He tossed the postmix away. She heard it clatter on the bar and then that sense shut down as his other arm closed around her. She became aware only of the feel of him. Close, so close. His gaze had fixed on her mouth and she lifted it as he brought his down slowly.

  Their bodies touched, chest to chest, abdomen, hip, thighs and finally lips. Sealing them from top to toe. The kiss was slow. Soft. Simple. But it heralded complications of seismic proportions. From the second his mouth pressed on hers it was all over. There was no way she wasn’t taking this to completion—him to completion—and her.

  He lifted his head a whisker and the pulse throbbing in her lips forced her to part them. Immediately he was back and the soft, slow kiss resumed.

  He had patience, able to take time for careful consideration.

  She didn’t.

  She wanted it all. Right now.

  So she slipped her hands up between her and him, wanting to unfasten the buttons of his wet shirt. But found she couldn’t. The wet made the material hard to manoeuvre. So she just pulled, heard the rip, then felt the warmth. Fingertips touching the smooth skin that sheathed hard muscle.

  She felt her moan rather than heard it. Loved it when he yanked her that little bit closer in reply. Soft became stronger. His hands lifted and worked into her hair, holding it tight at the roots. He took a step forward, forcing her back against the bar.

  She ran her hands across the top of his chest, loving the heated strength. His hands massaged in her hair, fingers working through its length. Then one came to cup her jaw, to hold her as his kisses grew in intensity and her response grew more fevered.

  She’d never imagined he’d kiss like this. That Mr In Control could have her so out of control in just a few minutes. She felt the shift deep inside. Her body readying, ripening. Wanting it all.

  He seemed to sense it. His hands moved from her hair and face to her waist where they gripped and he lifted her up to seat her on the bar. He lifted his head and looked at her while his hands went to her knees—pushing them apart so he could stand between them. Then he reached round her back again and slid her forward on the bar so she perched right on the edge of it�
��so her open body was pressed against his. Unhesitatingly she wound her legs around his waist. This was what she’d wanted from the first moment she’d clapped eyes on him. Lust at first sight. Suit be damned.

  The kisses resumed—deep, his tongue searching, conquering. And she ran her hands over his shoulders, pulling at the remnants of the wet shirt, pulling it down his arms until he shook it free, flinging it over the bar. She took a second to study the bronzed torso before her. Still damp, super hot. Defined muscles bunched, taut nipples tempted her, but before she could do as she wanted and lean in to taste he was pushing her skirt up to bare her thighs. His fingers trailed fire, teasing, striking at her need. His smile grew wicked at her sharp inhalation of breath. He undid the button at the back. This guy might seem to be square but he was by no means inexperienced in the art of undressing a woman. Maybe he was more of a player than she’d realised. Maybe it wasn’t all work. Right now she couldn’t care less. In fact it was cause for celebration; the sooner they were both free of fabric, the happier she’d be. He unzipped the skirt and, bunching it in his hands, slipped it up, scooping her top at the same time and taking both off over her head. She raised her arms to help. Then she was in panties, bra and cowgirl boots. His hands smoothed over her thighs, rubbing ever upwards while his head bent to kiss soft, hot kisses from her collar-bones to her peaking breasts. She gasped, things were happening fast now—her body melting, desperate for him, but her brain couldn’t keep up. She needed to keep some semblance of control—of protection.

  ‘You know you’re still not my type.’ It sounded so school-girl but it was the best she could come up with under pressing circumstances.

  ‘And you’re not mine, but we’re doing this regardless.’

  Oh, yes.

  Her panties were wetter than his shirt had been and she didn’t have the postmix to blame. The sense of urgency increased.

  His hands slipped the bra straps from her shoulders and un-clasped the back of it. He stared at her bared breasts. She could see the flush in his face.

  ‘Condom?’ One word. Primitive male.

  ‘Bathroom.’ She panted. ‘Dispenser.’

  He scooped her off the bar and she tightened her legs round his waist, kissing him. He headed in the direction of the toilets.

  She pulled back. ‘Coin-operated.’

  He swore and then swiftly headed to the back of the bar. His skill at walking while carrying and kissing her was impressive.

  He punched at the cash register and took coins from the compartments.

  ‘Discrepancies in the till,’ she muttered as she lifted her head from nuzzling his warm, rough jaw.

  ‘I’ll replace it later.’

  ‘That’s what they all say.’ She felt his chuckle and giggled aloud herself.

  He hoisted her higher so he could suck her nipples as he walked through the bar to the restrooms. Lucy was thankful she’d cleared the chairs from the floor space—ample room to weave over the floor in abandon.

  They made it to the bathroom. He barged through the door and pulled up next to the vending machine.

  She looked at him. He was unable to operate the machine while holding her.

  ‘I’m not letting you go.’ He grinned. ‘I can feel that wet heat through your panties on my stomach and it’s a sensation I’m not willing to give up yet.’

  She twisted round to get the coins from him and dropped them in the slot. ‘Preference?’

  ‘You choose.’

  He was making any kind of decision impossible, the way he was nipping at her breast. Teasing. She pressed the first button and with satisfaction pulled the package from the hold, waving it in victory above her head. He rewarded her with a kiss even hotter than before.

  She had to break it, tipping her head, letting her hair tumble down her back, winding her arms tighter round his neck, enjoying the movement of his hard abs against her as he walked.

  He strode back through to the bar and with single-minded purpose went to the far end of the room and laid her on the pool table. He kicked off his shoes and his trousers slipped from his waist. He stretched forward onto the table. His shoulders broad, his arms long and muscular as they braced over her. She lay back, propped on her elbows, delighting in the hunger she saw in his face as he skimmed down her body, stopping at her centre.

  He pressed his open mouth to the crotch of her panties. Her hips jerked. Her hands fisted. Her squeal instant. Involuntary. Ecstatic.

  He looked up to her and spoke, the old challenge back in his eyes. ‘I hope I’m not going too fast for you?’

  She looked down at him, his handsome face between her spread thighs, his near-naked body primed and poised. She licked her lips and drawled right back at him. ‘I think I can keep up.’

  Fact was he wasn’t going fast enough. Would he just get her panties off! He bent to her again but she couldn’t stand it. The sensation of his mouth on her, his tongue tasting, but that scrap of silk in the way. She went to rectify it herself, her hands going to the elastic waistband, tugging it down, but his hands covered hers, stopping her actions.

  He looked up at her. ‘I like to unwrap my presents slowly, savour each part as it’s revealed.’

  ‘I like to rip the paper off and play with the toy right away.’

  ‘This isn’t going to be over in thirty seconds, Lucy. This isn’t one toy that you’re going to play with, break and forget about in five minutes.’

  Their eyes met in deadlock.

  ‘You think?’ She’d better forget about him in five minutes. This was so not a good idea but, hell, too late now.

  ‘I know.’

  His confidence simultaneously annoyed and excited her. ‘Prove it.’

  He threw his head back and laughed. ‘I don’t need to prove it, Trouble. I only have to touch you like this and I know.’ He slid a finger under the leg of her panties and stroked—just the once. She clamped her jaw to stop the moan escaping.

  ‘See?’ His finger left her panties again. ‘Now where was I?’ He looked down again. ‘Unwrapping.’

  He ran his tongue along the edge of her panties. Her stomach muscles contracted. His hands slid up her torso to toy with her breasts again. It was then she realised Daniel might not play as fair as he ought. He was deliberately setting out to torment her.

  That thought gave her the licence to abandon herself completely. Give over to his way of doing things. Let him have this moment. She’d have her turn shortly. Fine. That wasn’t so difficult. So she let go, her hips moving as she wanted, rising to meet his kisses, enabling him to remove her panties inch by painfully slow inch. She let her arms float in the air as he buried his face into her—learning her.

  When his tongue flicked against her, her whole body tensed. His rhythm increased. Oh, yes. She’d take it now. Moments from climax, she called to him. ‘Oh, yes. Yes!’

  Then suddenly he slowed, right when she wanted it fast to take her that last inch to ecstasy.

  And while it was wildly frustrating it was also incredibly intense, ratcheting up her excitement to a level she hadn’t known was possible. Then he began to speed up again.

  She smiled as she sighed. This time.

  But just as she neared he slowed again—right down. Torturous.

  ‘Daniel.’

  He lifted his head and gave her a wicked look. ‘I’m not boring you now, am I?’

  She threw him a look of utter venom and he threw back his head and laughed. Then the smile turned sinful again and he bent to tease her some more.

  She felt even more excited by the way he’d suddenly become so playful, provocative, passionate. But it was time for her to take charge. Heat flooded through her, as did a surge of female strength. She sat up, slipping her hips back from him. He looked up.

  ‘Come here.’

  He pulled up onto the pool table, stretching out beside her.

  She ran a forceful arm from his shoulder to belly. ‘Don’t think you can mess with me, Daniel.’

  ‘Why? What are you g
oing to do about it?’

  Make him pay. He’d said she was a tease, although it seemed to her that the boot was on the other foot—his. Well, she could give as good as she got.

  She pushed his chest so he lay down and moved to straddle him. Then she slid up onto his belly so his erection didn’t press against her—she knew her own limitations and getting too close to that would be game over. She leant over him, watching as his pupils widened the nearer her breasts got. She knew he liked them, had seen him sneaking quick peeks at them from the moment they’d first met. The way he’d been burying his face in them when she’d been getting the condom had been a bit of a give-away too. She brushed her nipples against his open mouth. Shivered as he expertly caught one in his mouth. She let him tease a little before pulling back. He was going to be the one in trouble.

  She bent, trailing kisses down his chest, wanting to get to know him—all of him. But he grabbed her hair, pulling her away from him. Took her by the shoulders and lifted her to lie beside him. Then he rolled onto her, trapped her. She was happy to be caught. He held her gaze. ‘What do you want from me?’

  ‘Everything you have to offer.’ Flippant but at the same time, for once in her life, totally honest.

  ‘And what do I get in return?’

  ‘The same.’ She ran her hand across his shoulders, the heady passion making her reveal more than she intended. ‘You have such a beautiful body.’

  ‘So it’s my body you want. Not my mind?’

  She frowned. ‘I think we should leave our minds out of it.’ She reached up to touch him again, breathe in his scent. ‘No thoughts. No analysis…’

  ‘No regrets.’ He kissed her. ‘Just tonight. Just once.’

  He’d told her in the temp agency he didn’t do commitment. Nor did she—not with him. Neither of them would ever commit to their polar opposite.

  She kissed her acquiescence. Once was just fine—so long as it was right now.

  He lifted his head and muttered, ‘Where’s the condom?’