My Naughty Little Secret

by Finnegan, Tara

  “Oh, save it for the paying customers,” I said shyly. “Even with the staff discount I can’t afford this, it’s fifteen hundred quid!”

  “Look at your man, that new fellah, what’s his name, with his gob open—he obviously thinks it looks great too,” Gloria said, pointing towards the shop floor.

  I turned around to see Michael walking through the store with a Subway bag in hand. He was literally stopped in mid-stride, staring at me. Damn him, he always caught me on the hop. I scurried into the changing room to put back on my work clothes. When I came out, Michael had disappeared, but Gloria and Kate were still laughing.

  Several times after that I bumped into him. It seemed there was no escape from my mortification. He still looked me up and down, but he was more inclined to make small talk, sometimes even stopping by my office for no obvious reason. By Friday, I wasn’t terribly surprised to see him in the staff canteen before me. If I wasn’t so sure he disapproved of me, I would have thought he was waiting for me as his eyes were trained on the door as I came in. I still wasn’t sure what to make of him, but I was gone past anger or intimidation and readily accepted the proffered seat. In the middle of chatting about work, out of the blue, he said something that nearly sent me flying off my chair.

  “Siobhan, I’d like to take you out this weekend.”

  I spluttered on a mouthful of water. Fuck! I really didn’t know what to think. It was a statement, not an invitation or a request. Was I even permitted a say in it?

  I hated him and yet I wanted him. He scared me, but he excited me. But the bottom line was if I went out with him this weekend, I’d still have to face him on Monday, and he was one of the managers. I meant to say no, I really did. But somehow the words that came out of my mouth were:

  “Sure, I’d love to.”

  I don’t know who said them, but I’d almost swear on my life, even to this day, that it wasn’t me. I hoped my voice and face were showing less shock than I felt. My heart was pounding and I wouldn’t have been surprised if Michael could hear it from where he was sitting. I was almost wondering, had it really happened or had I been hallucinating?

  It took him a second to register my reply and it dawned on me that he hadn’t intended to ask me out either. He seemed as stunned as I was. There was this awkward pause where both of us seemed to be wondering what to say or do next. Michael was first to recover control.

  “What do you enjoy doing, Siobhan?” he asked.

  “Oh, I dunno; theatre, cinema, and nice food. I love sightseeing, even just going to a pub in the city, clubbing…” I blurted, not even sure what I was saying. I just seemed to need to talk…to fill up that void of disbelief…

  “Give me your number and I’ll organise a surprise. I’ll call you tonight and arrange a time to pick you up,” he said in his demanding way.

  “I think you probably already have my number. And while we’re on the subject, where did you get my address?” I asked tetchily. For one brief moment there, in my astonishment, I had almost forgotten the real Michael. But the spell was broken by the mention of the phone number. I’d find out how he’d gotten that information somehow.

  “Oh…” he said suddenly, touching my arm. Had he changed his mind already? And maybe it might be for the best. “…I almost forgot; would you prefer to go out tomorrow or Sunday?”

  An unexpected relief washed over me and I was aware of the pleasant sensation where his hand was on my arm. Strangely, I was in no hurry for him to let go. Now, that was unanticipated. And it seemed I did have some sort of say in it; I could pick the day. Well, lucky me!

  “Tomorrow any time after lunch.”

  I didn’t want the weekend worrying about it. Unfortunately his excuse for touching me seemed to have expired and he removed his hand. Somehow I felt bereft, yearning for his fingers.

  Every time I saw Michael that afternoon, he seemed to be looking at me pensively. I wondered if he was regretting asking me out. For starters, he was a department head; there was always a risk that his invitation could be misconstrued. And I’d no idea if the store had any policy on interpersonal relationships. I’d say it was the least constructive day he’d ever spent in his life because he seemed to be doing naff all except thinking and staring through his open door whenever I walked past.

  The rest of the day was spent in wishing it away, partly because I hated being under his scrutiny, but also because I had to prepare and think about what to wear. Of course I couldn’t really decide that until he’d made some arrangements. A surprise date might seem exciting and romantic, but on a practical level, it was a pain in the arse.

  During the coffee break I nipped down to the lingerie department and bought that underwear I’d seen at my interview. Home time eventually crawled around and as I was making my way out, having picked up my bag, Michael was walking back towards his office.

  “I’ll call you tonight,” he promised with a wink.

  Bloody hell, I thought, did I just imagine it or did Michael Henrii just wink at me? I didn’t know he had it in him to be playful.

  “Ok, catch you later,” I said, hoping I’d hit a nonchalant note.

  I was on high dough as I fought my way through the Friday evening commuter mayhem. I was hardly aware of the pushing and shoving that usually irritated the hell out of me. Michael’s face was in front of me and my arm still seemed to glow from his touch.

  I was excited, but scared as hell. I couldn’t wait to tell the girls. I was really surprised at myself; four weeks ago I thought he was the most arrogant prat I’d ever met. I still did in a way, but I had managed to gain his approval at last and somehow that seemed to change things.

  I was first home. I put on the water for the inevitable preening session that I’d have to undergo. I couldn’t even remember when I’d last shaved my legs; since I’d been undergoing a man drought I hadn’t been bothered, my hairs were fine and light and I could get away with it. I opened a bottle of Shiraz and poured myself a glass as I sang, well, more crowed, away to the radio. I heard the door open and Tara and Claire were chatting as they arrived in together.

  “Shiv, you have to come clubbing tonight,” was Tara’s greeting as she barged through the door. Obviously she’d already tried Claire to no avail.

  “No chance, I’ve a hot date tomorrow and tonight is going to be spent primping and preening,” I said resolutely.

  “Ya wha’?” Tara said incredulously, “with who?”

  “Michael,” I grinned.

  “Fuck off, no way, ya jammy bitch,” she eloquently replied after she picked her jaw up from the floor. “Seriously, Shiv?”

  “Well, thanks very much, am I that bad?”

  “You’re lovely! Don’t mind that wagon, she’s just jealous, she hasn’t shut up about him since she met him in Covent Garden,” Claire intervened.

  “Y’know I’m only messin’, I’m green with envy.”

  “I know,” I agreed. I was way too distracted to be taking offence at Tara’s off-the-cuff remarks. I knew her long enough by now to know she meant no harm. I poured them both a glass of wine. I was dithering whether or not to get into the bath as Michael hadn’t rang yet. I didn’t want to have to answer the phone to him with the sound of water sloshing around.

  By nine p.m. I’d had enough of sitting around aimlessly. Almost as soon as I had submerged into the nice hot water, the mobile rang. Typical. Why did these things keep happening to me? I rummaged round to find a towel and snapped on my phone with exasperation.

  Right away I knew it was him. I tried to be really still so he wouldn’t hear the water slapping against the side of the tub. The last thing I wanted was him imagining me in the bath; bad enough the underwear.

  “Hello, is that Siobhan?”

  “Yes, that’s me. Hi,” I replied with feigned chirpiness.

  “Hi yourself, it’s Michael; sorry it’s taken me so long to get back to you. Arranging it all took longer than I thought,” he apologised.

  “S’ok. What’s the plan?”<
br />
  “Now if I told you that it wouldn’t be much of a surprise, would it?” he teased me in a slow sensual voice. “I’ll pick you up at 3.00 p.m. tomorrow.

  Michael was doing teasing—had he had a personality transplant? I hesitated, not wanting to put him to unnecessary trouble and also not really wanting him to come here.

  “There’s no need to pick me up. I can meet you in town somewhere.”

  “Absolutely not, tomorrow you’re my date and you will be treated like a lady, no arguments.” He was adamant.

  Mmm! I liked the sound of that. I felt an unexpected shiver of anticipation. He was a work colleague; he was hardly going to hurt me.

  “Ok, what should I wear?”

  “Dressy, maybe cocktail dress or something like that, is that ok?” he asked.

  “Ha! I bet you’re afraid now that I have nothing respectable to wear, Irish culchie that I am,” I taunted.

  “What on earth is a culchie?” he enquired.

  “Oh, it’s a derogatory term that city folk use for country folk in Ireland, a put you down…”

  He protested and I put him out of his misery. “I’m teasing, of course I’ve a dress and I’ll look forward to it.”

  “Before I go, did I catch you in the bath?”

  I groaned. Mr Intimidation had resurfaced. “Yes, you bloody did. I can imagine what you think of me.”

  “I’d better not tell you what I am thinking or you won’t come out with me tomorrow. Until then, goodnight, Siobhan.”

  Hell, that was playful, intimidation, and flirty in the course of two minutes. Seemed there was more to Mr Henrii than I realised.

  “Ok, ‘night and thanks.” I pressed the end button.

  I was feeling rather naughty as I shaved my legs and trimmed my bikini line. I soaked, de-fuzzed, and exfoliated, and did all the other stupid things we do for half an hour. As I washed between my legs, I could feel the smooth silky moisture gathering in spite of the bath water and my sex felt swollen and needy. I couldn’t resist lingering and circling. I soaped my other hand and washed my breasts, allowing my fingers to trail my erect nipples, rolling and tweaking them until I felt the pleasure rippling through me. I closed my eyes and recalled Michael’s stern but handsome face and the touch of his hand on my skin as I touched myself intimately. I managed to lose myself in my reverie, imagining it was his hands roaming my body. I circled my nipples and my clitoris with his image in my mind until I felt myself shudder into a mild orgasm. Almost as soon as I came, I felt embarrassed and humiliated at my foolishness—thank God I was the only witness!

  As I felt the water going cold, I reluctantly climbed out of the bath and rubbed my Burberry body lotion into my skin, lingering on my breasts and nipples. I was aware of a tingling all over my body, the aftershocks of the orgasm. These were forgotten sensations. That man was no good for me!

  I briskly dried off, trying to get my wayward thoughts under control. I tried on the new underwear. They felt so sensual and luxurious, further fanning the flames of the fire that had been too long dormant. I pulled on a bathrobe and went in search of Claire, who grinned as I came into the living room.

  “He got you in the bath, didn’t he? I suppose he copped it?”

  “Course he bloody did, this is me—these things always happen.”

  “Well, I guess he’ll have pleasant dreams tonight! Where are ye going?”

  I shrugged my shoulders. “He’s picking me up at three and I’ve to dress up.”

  “Oooh. Sounds like he knows how to treat a lady. You lucky thing,” Claire echoed Michael’s words.

  “I hope he knows how to treat a woman too,” I retorted.

  “Shiv! Is that house prude turning into house tart? Tara’d better watch out,” Claire warned. “What are you going to wear?”

  “I think I have it covered. I’ve a dress I got for a charity ball last year. It’s full length though and might be too formal; come up and I’ll show you.”

  I ran up the stairs two at a time, closely followed by Claire, and rooted through the wardrobe. Luckily, it was still covered with the plastic sheet from the dry cleaners, preventing it from gathering dust. I pulled off the robe and Claire whistled. “Sexy!”

  “…but will it be covered by the dress is the six million dollar question. It feels lovely I’d nearly think about buying a new dress if it doesn’t work.”

  “Bloody hell, do you not think that’s a bit extravagant?” Claire tutted.

  “Well, maybe a tad,” I giggled.

  I slipped the emerald green silk dress on over my head. It was still a perfect fit and the basque emphasised my cleavage. I was delighted that I could wear both.

  Claire whistled again. “You’ll really knock him dead. I know the dress is full length, but it’s simple and elegant, it’s perfect.”

  “Jeez, I find him so sexy. I get all jittery from his touch, arrogant and all as he is,” I admitted. “Even talking to him this evening has every nerve ending in my body alert and waiting. Who knows, I might even do a Tara and bed him on our first date.”

  Claire bristled; I could see she wasn’t impressed. “Well, bear in mind if you do, it might well be your last date too.”

  “Yes, Mammy! Look, I can tell he’s bad news; he’s so bloody self-assured. He’s drop-dead gorgeous and probably has women all over the place, Paris, London, and God knows where else. He’s not even my type. But fuck it, there’s something about him and when a fellah like him asks you out, you don’t refuse.”

  “All right, Shiv,” she backed down. “I’d better go and change for my hot date in the local. So Michael’s coming to pick you up here at three; do you want me to do your hair and make-up?”

  “No you’re grand, thanks, I can manage. Anyway, you better get ready. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  I settled down in bed with my book, determined to get a good night’s sleep. I was stuck in the thriller when my phone bleeped with a text. Damn and blast, I’d left it in the bathroom; I reluctantly climbed out of my cosy bed to get it. The text was from Michael.

  “Just thinking of catching u in the bath earlier, hope I caught u in bed now! See u tomorrow. M.”

  Why did he have to do that? Maybe he was trying to be funny, but it made me nervous. What if he was some kind of pervert? He really didn’t know me well enough to make comments like that.

  “Yes, in bed in fluffy PJs reading about a woman who roamed New York killing peeping Toms!” I hoped he’d see it as a good-humoured warning.

  “Fine, I get it, I’ll behave,” he texted back.

  “Good, I’m an innocent Irish lassie.”

  “I always heard they were the worst.”

  “I thought u said u would behave.”

  “I can’t help it. It was the bath. I wanted to wash your back.”

  “Michael, I only know u a few weeks. You’re scaring me now.”

  “Sorry! I’ll see u tomorrow if that’s still ok?”

  “Perfect. Thank u. Goodnight, Stalker.”

  “Can u be a stalker by text, is that a recognised crime?”

  “Do u want me to ring the cop shop to find out?”

  “No, that’s fine, thanks. I’ll leave u alone. For now…”

  I giggled at the last couple of texts and decided it was time for sleep. It was good to know he had a sense of fun and I liked that he’d texted, even if they were a little too raunchy. It meant he was thinking about me. I was quite looking forward to tomorrow in spite of the fact that I felt a little anxious about him and the fact that we worked together.

  I had the weirdest dream that night, with Michael in the headmaster role again, and me the errant student. I was leaning across his desk, bare-bottomed, waiting for a caning. In my dream I heard him approach me and swish the cane mid-air; before I felt the thwack; I woke up in a cold sweat, my body jerking with that falling sensation. Shit, what was that about? It took me ages to get back to sleep and I was really troubled by the dream. I spent the rest of the night tossing and turning and woke up
feeling very unrefreshed. Bloody typical, the one night I wanted to feel rested and look my best was the very night that I would end up tossing and turning, promising red puffy eyes the next day!

  Chapter Four

  Within minutes of waking up, the enormity of what I’d agreed to hit me like a thunderbolt. Shit, I had a date with Michael Henrii tonight. What the hell was I thinking of? And the dream didn’t help. I was seriously considering calling it off when my phone bleeped.

  “3 pm sharp. I look forward to it.”

  Flaming Michael! Stalking again. I couldn’t cancel now, could I? Christ, he was so bossy. The dream came back unbidden into my head. I shook a bit of sense into myself and took stock. It was still only nine o’clock; maybe if I got up now, I might be able to get an appointment to have my hair done. I dove under the shower, got dressed, and had breakfast. The salon agreed to fit me in and by noon I was home, with a very elaborate up-style, and killing time. The house was tidy, as was my bedroom, just in case. In case of what, I scolded myself.

  I forced myself to eat some food, as I didn’t know whether I’d have anything later. This surprise crap made it really difficult to plan. I just had to trust to my fate. In a way, it was surprisingly liberating, only having charge of my clothes. Usually I liked to have everything planned in my head. I was ceding control to someone else and I actually quite liked it.

  I heard the girls arrive home as I was putting the finishing touches to my mascara and carefully pulled my dress on over my head, taking care not to ruin my hair or smudge my makeup. Claire yelled up the stairs:

  “Shiv, it’s two-thirty already, you need any help?”

  “I’m nearly done, be down in a minute!”

  I shoved a toothbrush, lip gloss, credit card, and door key into my small handbag, and carried my shoes down the stairs. I slipped them on before I went into the living room to get the verdict from the girls. Of course they had to say I looked lovely; they’d hardly tell me I looked like a dog. I was in the process of being appropriately praised when I heard the doorbell ring. My stomach hit the floor. The nerves were back; I had managed to lose them while I was dressing.