His Secretary Mistress

by Chantelle Shaw

  ‘What?’

  ‘You seem to have a fascination with carpets; you certainly spend enough time studying them. Do you have a problem with looking at me, Jenna?’

  ‘No! Of course not. Don’t be ridiculous.’

  Jenna felt her cheeks burn, unable to reveal that the sight of him did strange things to her equilibrium. His suit was designer, the exquisite cut of the jacket emphasising the width of his shoulders, and her fingers ached to stroke the fine white silk of his shirt. Anxious to deny his taunts, she stared at his face and felt a peculiar little dart of pain in her chest as she absorbed the masculine beauty of his bone structure. He was devastating, and, from the flirtatious glances that were bouncing his way, she wasn’t the only woman to find him so.

  ‘You could hardly be described as ugly, Alex; most of the women in this room are positively drooling at the sight of you.’

  ‘But not you?’ he queried lightly, and she shrugged.

  ‘Is drooling a necessary requirement from your staff? If so then I will by all means. But may I point out that I am married?’

  ‘There’s no need to remind me,’ he said curtly, and to her relief they were called in to dinner.

  On her way into the restaurant Jenna slipped into the ladies’ room, needing an excuse to delay her so that she could avoid sitting at the same table as Alex.

  The glass of wine seemed to have gone straight to her head. She felt dizzy, and her cheeks were flushed, although whether that was a result of the alcohol or her close encounter with Alex she couldn’t be sure. She stared despairingly at her reflection, noting her over-bright eyes. Her dilated pupils gave some clue to the heady excitement that filled her. She had to get over this ridiculous crush, she told herself sternly. It was so uncool to get in a flap every time she came within a five-mile radius of Alex, and if she wasn’t careful others would notice—particularly him.

  She had left her hair loose for the evening, and it swung around her shoulders, making her look softer and sexier. For a moment she was tempted to scrape it back into a no-nonsense bun, but there was no time. The last thing she wanted to do was arrive at the table so late that she drew attention to herself. Hastily she adjusted the black jersey halter-neck top she had changed into before she left work, and groaned as she saw how lovingly it moulded her curves and emphasised the hard peaks of her nipples.

  Wonderful, she thought grimly. She would either have to wear her jacket all through dinner and boil, or sit with her arms folded across her chest. Because no way was she going to flaunt the shaming evidence that Alex turned her on.

  Fortunately Alex was seated at another table when she took her place next to Margaret, and she gave a sigh of relief that she could at least eat her dinner without feeling painfully self-conscious. With some distance between them she was able to covertly study him, her eyes feasting on the way his hard features softened when he smiled. The party was in Charles Metcalf’s honour, yet it was Alex who held centre stage. He sat like a king surrounded by his courtiers, all eyes focused on him, while Katrin Jefferstone sat beside him, trying very hard—too hard—to act as his consort.

  It was at that moment that Jenna realised she was not the only person suffering from an outsized case of hero-worship. A glance around the restaurant revealed that most women, even those with their partners, were affected by Alex’s looks and sheer charisma. He must surely be aware of the looks directed at him—indeed, he probably felt as if he was sitting in a force nine gale with the amount of eyelash-batting taking place around him—and Katrin was certainly conscious of his popularity.

  Katrin was a curious woman, nicknamed rather unkindly by some as the Ice Queen. She was cool to the point of rudeness, kept herself very much to herself, and seemed to have taken an instant dislike to Jenna. Watching them, Jenna noted the edge of desperation in the other woman’s body language as she strove to keep Alex’s attention. They were subtle gestures—a toss of her hair as she moved her head closer to his, her fingers resting lightly on his arm whenever he turned away—but they added up to a woman who could barely contain her hunger. Katrin was in love with Alex. She too must be beset by the same aching awareness that consumed Jenna whenever she was in Alex’s company, but, unlike Jenna, she made little effort to disguise the invitation in her eyes.

  She was just one of the crowd, Jenna accepted bleakly. Alex was a stunningly virile man, and she was no different from the countless other women who prayed for him to look their way. He looked up then, his eyes focusing directly on her, and she blushed at the ignominy of having been caught studying him. Hastily she looked away, but her eyes were drawn to his by a magnetic force and she discovered that he was watching her, his expression unfathomable, although even across the width of the room his personality swamped her.

  ‘I think my husband is determined to dance with every pretty girl in the restaurant.’ An amused-sounding voice interrupted her thoughts, and Jenna smiled at Charles Metcalf’s wife. ‘It is his birthday, so I suppose I’ll forgive him. Charles, do mind Jenna’s toes—she’s only little.’

  As the evening continued Jenna grew breathless and pink-cheeked from her exertions on the dance floor, but found she was thoroughly enjoying herself. Charles and the other staff proved to be great company, and as she was coerced into jiving to an old Elvis classic, she realised how good it felt to throw off her responsibilities for a few hours.

  ‘You appear to be having a good time. Dancing is obviously one of your hidden talents.’

  She stumbled to a halt on the way back to her table, her path blocked by Alex’s formidable chest. ‘It’s a wonderful party,’ she agreed huskily, her heart performing its familiar somersault at the sight of him. ‘I’d forgotten how much I love dancing.’

  Her enjoyment had been evident; he had spent much of the evening watching her on the dance floor, unable to tear his eyes from her slender, graceful figure. Her hair gleamed like burnished gold on her pale shoulders, which were left bare by her halter-neck top. For a brief moment he envisaged winding his fingers into a silken strand, untying the ribbon that secured the top around her neck and drawing the material down to expose her breasts.

  Jenna Deane was proving to be a distraction he could do without, he thought, and smiled derisively. Who was he kidding? Jenna was fast becoming an obsession he could do without. She was married, for God’s sake! At the end of the evening she would go home to her husband. Another man had the right to fantasise about her delectable body, but not him.

  ‘You’re such an expert—you’d better give me a few lessons,’ he suggested lightly. It would look odd if he didn’t dance with his secretary, and the upbeat tempo of the music meant that there was little danger of body contact.

  She could hardly refuse him, Jenna conceded, trying to mask her reluctance as she took his hand. She could manage one dance without making a fool of herself, surely? With one hand resting lightly on her waist, Alex danced as he did everything else—superbly. The music changed seamlessly from disco to a slow ballad, and Jenna stepped back, but his arm tightened imperceptibly around her waist, drawing her up close against him.

  It was heaven and hell, and she moved in time with the music, trying her best to ignore the hardness of his thighs pressing on hers. She was so aware of him it hurt, every nerve-ending seemed ultra-sensitive, her senses heightened to such a degree that she was intoxicated by the sensual musk of his aftershave, and another, more subtle scent that was him. She focused rigidly on a point above his shoulder, and a frisson of excitement shot through her when he coiled a strand of her hair around his finger, his head bent so low that if she turned she would graze her cheek against his jaw.

  The song eventually came to an end and she pulled abruptly out of his arms. ‘I really must go before I miss the last train.’

  ‘You can’t possibly be planning to travel alone on the underground at this time of night?’

  The impatient edge to his tone made her bristle. ‘Why ever not? I live in a suburb of North London, not the Bronx. I’m qui
te capable of taking care of myself, Alex.’

  His scathing look said it all. ‘I take it your husband didn’t offer to collect you and escort you safely home?’

  ‘Chris is away this weekend, visiting friends.’ That much was true anyway; her brother had travelled up to Nottingham to visit an old schoolfriend at the university.

  ‘I’ll take you home,’ he said, in a tone that brooked no argument. But she argued anyway.

  ‘Absolutely not. There’s no need for you to leave the party on my behalf; honestly, Alex,’ she added, a note of panic entering her voice, ‘I’ll be perfectly all right.’

  He won, of course; there was really no contest. When Alex was determined to have his own way he was like a bulldozer, flattening any opposition, and Jenna was faced with causing a scene in front of the entire workforce or acceding to his will.

  She remained silent on the journey home. Polite chit-chat was beyond her, and the simmering tension that hovered like a spectre between them stretched her nerves to screaming point.

  ‘Do you have any plans while Chris is away?’ His voice cut through the silence and she shrugged.

  ‘I’ll probably just rent a film and order a pizza.’ She could hardly explain that she intended to spend her leisure time catching up on the chores that had built up all week, or that the highlight of the weekend would be cleaning out Maisie’s pet rabbit.

  She was filled with a sudden restlessness and wished that her life sounded more exciting. She loved spending time with Maisie, so why suddenly was it not enough? Why was she filled with a longing for adult company, and, if she was honest, for this particular man’s company?

  Alex caught the note of misery in her voice and wondered again about her husband. Would she spend the weekend missing him, impatiently waiting for him to return? He stared at her, his bland expression belying the surge of jealousy he felt as he imagined her eagerly welcoming the man he had briefly glimpsed when he had driven her home on her first day.

  Maybe they would go to bed early on Sunday night. Doubtless they would make love. Jenna was a beautiful, sensual woman; she wasn’t going to play Monopoly! He fought to blank out the stark image of her naked, pale limbs entwined with those of the man he had seen—her husband. This had to stop, he told himself furiously. Fantasising about his married secretary was repugnant, and he was sickened with himself. He had definitely been too long without a lover, but this weekend he could count on the companionship of a particularly charming ex-girlfriend, with whom he still enjoyed an open relationship. It was time he banished Jenna Deane well and truly from his mind, and the form of physical exercise he was planning for the next few nights should do the trick.

  ‘How about you? Do you have anything exciting planned for the weekend?’ Jenna queried, and his mouth curved into a sensual smile.

  ‘I’m going to spend a few days at my apartment in Cannes.’

  ‘Oh, yes, I’d forgotten.’ She had a vivid image of him cavorting in Cannes with a gorgeous blonde and felt sick. Suddenly the interior of the car seemed claustrophobic; she urgently needed air and she fumbled to release her seat belt.

  ‘Wait—the strap of your bag is tangled round the belt catch. What’s the sudden hurry?’

  She couldn’t restrain the tremor that shook her as his hand closed around her wrist, and she shook her head frantically, her hair dancing wildly on her shoulders. ‘Nothing, I need to…’

  He was close, so close that even in the dim interior of the car she could see the laughter lines at the corner of his eyes and the grooves on either side of his mouth. His face was suddenly a taut mask.

  ‘No, I need…to do this,’ he muttered, his voice so deep she could barely make out the words. But she was in no doubt of his intent. His fingers tightened on her arm while his other hand cupped her jaw and exerted gentle pressure so she tilted her face up to his. His lips moved as soft as a butterfly over hers, caressed briefly and then lifted and paused fractionally before skimming again, his touch as light as gossamer.

  Jenna shuddered and closed her eyes, not wanting to see the contempt in his when he realised that she had been lost from the moment he’d first touched her. She waited in trepidation for him to release her with a disparaging comment, and her heart leapt when, instead, his lips brushed over hers once more, the pressure stronger this time, stirring her response.

  Her lips parted. She couldn’t have stopped her response even if she had wanted. Her mind and body were at war and her body was the runaway victor. The tentative slide of her tongue was the tinder that set the fire ablaze, and he groaned low in his throat as sanity succumbed to the flames of a passion that had been building inexorably all week. His hand slid the length of her jaw to cup her nape, forcing her head up so that he could take her mouth in a devastating assault that racked her, his tongue probing between her lips, demanding entry and forcing her to accept a level of eroticism that was beyond anything she had ever known.

  When at last he lifted his head he stared down at her, his eyes glittering like twin sapphires, but there was no warmth in their depths and Jenna shivered, suddenly feeling chilled to the bone.

  ‘Chris is a fool. If you were my wife I wouldn’t trust to leave you alone for a day, let alone an entire weekend.’

  His words were like a slap in the face, and she flung open the car door, desperate to get away from him. ‘Save the sympathy for my husband, Alex. The only fool is me. I knew I should have caught the train. I would have been far safer travelling alone on the underground than accepting a lift from you.’

  She had turned her key in the lock and opened the front door before she heard his car furiously roar away, and in the recesses of her mind she appreciated the degree of care for her well-being that had made him wait until she was safely inside.

  She was too wound up to sleep and paced the house, reliving the moments in his arms and haranguing herself for her pathetic weakness where Alex Morrell was concerned. Why had he kissed her? Had she made her fascination for him so obvious that he’d decided to take advantage of the fact that her husband was away, sure that she would be a willing partner for the night? He might be spoilt for choice of female company, but what man would turn down a one-night stand with a woman whose married status, he believed, would mean she would make no further demands on him?

  It was almost one in the morning when she forced herself to get ready for bed. In a few hours Maisie would be home, and she needed to be bright and happy for her daughter. She had responsibilities, a child to bring up without the support of a father, and there was no place in her life or bed for Alex.

  As she doused the bedside lamp the phone rang, its strident sound making her jump, and she fumbled in the dark to answer it.

  ‘Alex?’ She could think of no one else who would ring her at that hour, but the silence on the line filled her with dread, and the hoarse breathing, which in the light of day she could have mocked, sounded ominously threatening. ‘Go to hell, you sick idiot,’ she yelled, before she slammed down the receiver and burst into tears.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  JENNA returned to work on Monday morning, safe in the knowledge that Alex was in France and she was spared having to face him for a couple of days. She had spent the weekend tearing herself to shreds over the way she had responded to his kiss, and was dreading seeing him again, certain that she would be subjected to his particular brand of cruel sarcasm.

  The day dragged, and by five o’clock she was forced to admit that she missed him. Even worse, she was counting the hours until he returned—which must make her some sort of masochist, she thought despairingly.

  ‘Alex has just called to say he won’t be coming back this week,’ Margaret announced. ‘Apparently the weather on the Riviera is wonderful. Although, between you and me, I think he’s met up with an old girlfriend. He sounded…’ Margaret gave a conspiratorial chuckle ‘…tired, but the break will do him good. I’ll just have to reschedule his diary.’

  Good for him, Jenna thought as she trudged through the rai
n to the station, trying to ignore the sick jealousy that burned in the pit of her stomach. It was none of her business what he got up to, she reminded herself. He could be enjoying himself with the entire French ladies’ rugby team for all she cared, and at least while he was away she didn’t have to worry about him breathing down her neck. Alex was an attractive, virile man; of course he had lovers—dozens of them, probably, and, just like Lee, he was doubtless unable to remain faithful to any of them.

  On Friday morning she raced into the office, fifteen minutes late and cursing public transport, and collided with a familiar figure, her heartbeat accelerating as she found herself in Alex’s arms.

  ‘I thought you were supposed to be living it up in Cannes?’ she accused, frantically trying to disguise the flare of pleasure in her eyes.

  ‘Is that why you’re late? You didn’t feel the same urgency to arrive on time, believing that I was still away?’ He watched the way she hastily disentangled herself from him through hooded lids, and inhaled sharply as he caught the drift of her perfume.

  ‘That’s grossly unfair; as you once pointed out, I have no control over the vagaries of London Transport.’ She glared at him, hands on hips, her eyes flashing with the temper that was her only weapon against the insidious warmth that flooded through her at the sight of him.

  ‘When you’ve calmed down, I’d like you to bring me the Robson file. Margaret has some letters for you to type—oh, and we’re flying to Paris on Monday. I assume your passport is in order?’

  ‘Paris!’ She stared at him in consternation. ‘For how long?’

  ‘A couple of days.’ He noted the panic in her eyes and sighed irritably. ‘It’s not Mars, Jenna, it’s just across the Channel. Do you have a problem?’

  ‘Absolutely not,’ she lied as she followed him into his office, her mind already reeling with preparations.

  It was the first time she had been asked to travel with him. Up until now her job had worked out better than she had anticipated, and she had been home at six each evening, just after Nora had collected Maisie from the day nursery. It was only a couple of days, she reassured herself. Maisie would be perfectly happy staying with Nora and Charlie, and Chris would be on hand to help out. She mentally listed all the tasks that needed to be done before she went away. She would have to reschedule taking the cat to the vet, and fit in an evening dash to the supermarket before she left. Alex’s words went straight over her head.