by Lilac James
He nodded at Bessie, and she smiled back.
“But it was a woman I’d never seen before,” he continued. “She jumped out of her car and ran over to me.” He glanced at his uncle.
Bessie followed his gaze and flinched at the frown on Ferguson’s face.
“So should I have punched her at that point, Joe?” Reece said. “Or pushed her away and gone inside and locked the door?”
Bessie had missed Reece’s initial relating of the story. Apparently his uncle hadn’t taken it well, and the strength of her desire to protect Reece startled her. Loyalty to her boss, of course. Nothing to do with his handsome face or broad shoulders or…no, that was Mr. X with the washboard abs.
Ferguson shook his head.
“She screamed at me that she knew I was responsible and I’d be sorry I fired Hendricks. That’s when I figured out she must be Corinne Lasky. She said she was going to the papers and we couldn’t stop her. She got pretty incomprehensible. And more than a little foul-mouthed. When she got to the part about seeing that everyone who worked here would pay big time and tried to hit me, I shook her arm loose, came inside, and locked the door behind me. She stood there kicking the door until she saw me pick up the phone at reception, and then she left.” Reece sat back, clearly finished.
“And that’s when you called the police?” one of the lawyers asked.
Reece nodded.
“I can’t believe you did that,” Ferguson said. “You knew I wanted to keep this whole thing quiet. How could you do such a stupid thing?”
Bessie looked up from her notebook, aghast at Ferguson’s idiocy. She was used to his out-of-step take on the modern world. They were all used to his old-fashioned “morality.” But she’d never heard him say something so completely irresponsible. What if that had been one of the older women who worked in Customer Service? What if it had been her? And besides that, how could he be dumb enough to undermine his handpicked CEO like this?
Reece looked around the room. “Maybe we’d better discuss your opinion of my actions privately, Joe. For now, what’s done is done, and we need to discuss what to do next.”
“Excellent idea, Reece,” Hibben said. “I don’t suppose you recorded any of her diatribe.”
Reece suppressed a smile.
Bessie squirmed in her seat. She had to look away from that bone-melting grin and concentrate on taking notes.
“Sorry,” Reece said. “Afraid I was fresh out of spy gear this morning. But we were standing where one of the cameras would pick us up. The police have a DVD of whatever it recorded.”
“I’m assuming it will show that Ms. Lasky was the aggressor.”
“I assume so too,” Reece said. “I haven’t seen it, but I asked Anne to make another copy and bring it up here so we can all watch.”
“It would help if you would write down the conversation—or the diatribe—as accurately as you can—”
Reece picked up a folder from the table in front of him. “Already done. I did that as soon as the police left. I might be able to add to it when I watch the DVD.”
Anne arrived with the DVD. Bessie inserted it in the player and watched with the others. She wanted to cheer when the camera recorded the event just as Reece had described it.
When the recording faded to snow and the lights came back on, Mr. Ferguson cleared his throat. “Owe you an apology, Reece. You did exactly the right thing.”
“Thank you, Joe. I’m glad to hear you think so.
Bessie smiled to herself. Reece sounded genuinely grateful instead of sarcastic. What a perfect boss to work for.
“We need to address the issue of publicity,” Reece said. He turned to Hibben. “The police will certainly arrest her after they view the DVD. And we can try for a restraining order to protect our employees. Do we want to wait for her to go to the papers, or…?” Reece sat back and let Joe argue with his legal team.
Bessie kept taking notes, until finally they wound down to silence.
Hibben and his team left to get restraining orders, Reece and his uncle left for parts unknown, and Bessie went back to her desk to download the notes and fantasize about the evening ahead.
* * * *
Reece followed his uncle into the executive conference room. Anne trailed behind them and stopped in the doorway. “Will there be anything else, sir?”
“No. Thanks. Make sure we’re not disturbed, please.”
Anne nodded and left, flipping a DO NOT DISTURB sign on the door.
“I guess we’re in for it,” Joe said, slumping heavily into a chair.
Reece took a chair across from him and poured coffee for each of them. “Unless you want to pony up five mil, I’d say so.”
“That woman. She looked like she wanted you dead.”
“I think she did. She’s pretty much off the rails. I don’t know what she was like when she worked here, but now…definitely five cans short of a six-pack.” Reece looked at his uncle. “You look pretty shaken up. That DVD bothering you?”
Joe nodded. “I want to talk to her coworkers and see if she was…weird before. I can’t stop wondering if Hendricks is to blame for the way she is now.”
“He didn’t help, that’s for sure.”
Joe buried his face in his hands. “What a mess.”
“No argument there.”
“This is why I insist on no fraternization. Nothing good ever comes of mixing business with pleasure.”
Reece thought back on a few interesting episodes from his past. “Well, I don’t know,” he said. “There are times…”
Joe straightened and gave Reece a killing glare. “Don’t tell me I have to worry about you too? Sometimes I feel like I’m some kind of school counselor riding herd on a bunch of hormonally poisoned teenagers. Goddamn it, Reece. What are you gonna do? Start fucking Anne? Or what’s her name, the receptionist?”
“Not hardly. One’s old enough to be my mother and the other one young enough to be my daughter.”
Joe turned purple. “This isn’t a joke, Reece. Are you telling me you approve of what Hendricks did? Are you telling me that age is the only thing keeping you from—from—” He choked, and Reece leaped up to pound on his back and offer him a glass of water.
When Joe had regained his breath, Reece sat back down. “Jesus, Joe, don’t scare me like that. First of all, no, I do not approve of what Hendricks did. Hendricks is a dishonest, manipulative ass. He put the moves on someone whose job depended on him, and when he got caught, he hung her out to dry. That is not someone either one of us want to have working for this company.”
“Certainly not.”
So why didn’t you fire him? Not a good time to ask a question like that. “But that’s not the same thing as an honest relationship that doesn’t involve one person reporting directly to the other.”
“You planning to write a company procedure for figuring out what’s ‘an honest relationship’ and what isn’t?”
“Don’t be sarcastic. And no, I’m not. I’m going to go along with your prohibition. No office nookie allowed.” He had to say it, but as soon as the words were out, Reece saw an image of Bessie. The way she looked at him. The glorious legs exposed by that hiked-up skirt. Oh well. Into each life there must fall some regrets.
And there was always his mystery woman.
And she’d be spread out and tied down for him to see tonight.
Chapter Six
Bessie had never been so nervous in her entire life, not even the first night she went to Milady’s Pleasure. What if he thought she was ugly? What if he did something she didn’t like? What if he could tell who she was?
Stop. She had to calm down. First, she wasn’t ugly. If he thought so, he was wrong. And she’d never see him again, so it didn’t matter. Second, he wouldn’t do anything she didn’t like, because they’d agreed on rules. And she had a safe word. Maurice would see that she stayed safe. And finally, he’d never know who she was because they’d both be masked. So. Calm. She was calm.
Aft
er she showered, she shaved her legs. Twice. And her underarms. And slathered herself with lotion. And decided she was too sticky, so she showered again. And clothes didn’t matter, since he wouldn’t be seeing her dressed. A wave of faintness had her collapsing on the edge of the bed at the thought.
She’d be naked.
He would see her naked.
He would touch her naked body.
Mother would die. Ground her for the rest of her life.
Mother would never know, and Bessie wanted to know what a man’s touch felt like. This might be her only chance. And the previous two evenings at the club had certainly exceeded her expectations. She was going to do this.
No matter what.
Half of her clothes were spread on the bed as she tried to decide what to wear. Even if it didn’t matter, she couldn’t make up her mind. Finally she grabbed a flared black skirt with white scrolls embroidered around the hem, and a low-cut black knit shirt. Not exactly siren stuff, but not an outfit Mother would have approved. Good compromise. She started to dress and realized she was wet with nervous perspiration. Back to the shower.
Maurice answered the door at Milady’s Pleasure and took her hand to usher her in. She gave him points for not flinching at its clamminess.
“Nervous, my dear?” Maurice asked.
She nodded.
“You will be safe,” he assured her as he led her down the hall to a dressing room.
An undressing room, she thought with a bolt of panic.
“Of course you are nervous, but you will not come to harm. I will guarantee that.” He patted her hand. “Now. You will relax in this room for a bit. Remove your clothes and put on the robe hanging on the wall. You will not be gagged, so I will give you a safe word. Do you remember what that is?”
Nearly blind with terror at this point, Bessie nodded.
“I think a good word for you would be…chocolate. If anything the gentleman does is not to your taste, you may ask him to stop. In the unlikely event that he does not, you simply say chocolate, and I will come. Is that satisfactory?”
Bessie nodded again.
“Excellent. I will leave you now. And here”—he turned and took a cup of tea from a server—“is something to help with your nerves.” He went to the door. In the hall, he turned back to her. “You will have a wonderful evening.”
It sounded like an order. Bessie almost snapped to attention and said “Yes, sir.” But he had gone, so she paced around the room and tried to be calm. The dressing room had a shower, so she showered again and patted scented powder over herself once she’d dried off. After she put on the robe, she sat on a delicate silk-covered chair beside the table and sipped her tea.
She couldn’t tell if she’d relaxed or gone numb with fear by the time someone tapped on the door. She froze, expecting the two men who had tied Mr. X that first night. The thought of two more strange men seeing her naked paralyzed her.
Maurice must have mind reading as part of his abilities, because he had returned and put a gentle hand on her arm. “No panic, my dear. These are only two gentle and completely reliable ladies who will help you into place. It will be the same room as last night. But first, let’s get you masked to prevent any possibility of someone seeing your face.” He dropped the hood over her head and fastened the buckle that held it comfortably snug around her neck.
She couldn’t see out, which caused another moment of panic. But Mr. X wouldn’t be able to see in, so that was good.
Bessie relaxed. As much as possible, which wasn’t saying much.
“Are you ready to go now, ma’am?” one of the attendants asked in a gentle voice.
Bessie straightened and gripped the lapels of the robe tightly together at her collarbone. “Yes.” She tried for a strong, confident voice, but it came out a choked question.
The two women took her by the arms and led her out and along a carpeted hall. Bessie stumbled along, numb with either fear or anticipation.
She walked beside them to the room, the one where she’d touched Mr. X. As he’d said, turnabout was fair play.
When her guides stopped, she heard a door open, and she was led into the room that would be the scene of the climactic experience of her life. So far. In the silence, with the guides slipping off her robe and helping her to lie facedown on what she imagined was a table just like the one Mr. X had been on last night, she admitted to anticipation. Even as they fastened her arms with fur-lined handcuffs, she admitted she’d waited her whole adult life for this.
It would have been nice to make these discoveries in a more normal way, dating in her teens, for instance. But Mother would never have permitted any such thing.
While she waited for Mr. X to enter the room, she wondered for the zillionth time why Mother had been such a prude. Bessie had come to realize, slowly, ever so slowly, over the last two years that no matter how much she’d resented her mother, she’d also loved her dearly. And that Mother had been a real whack job when it came to men. Bessie had always known it had something to do with her father, the man she’d never seen or heard from. From the way Mother had refused to discuss him, Bessie knew the relationship had ended badly. He must have been a real loser to make such a kind and loving woman close up as she had done.
The door opened and closed. Bessie knew he had entered the room. Her anticipation vanished. Her whole body went rigid while she waited for something to happen.
And waited.
And heard him pace around the table, as he’d done last night, and as she’d done in her turn.
Why didn’t he touch her? What was he going to do? She couldn’t get any more tense or rigid, so she just waited, scarcely breathing.
“Relax, Ms. Mystery,” he whispered. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
Good to know. Could she believe him?
He went on in that same intimate murmur. “You’re beautiful, you know.”
Even if she wanted to reply, what could she say to that? She’d had so little experience with compliments in her life.
“Yep. Real pretty.” He made a low, humming noise in his throat as he drew close enough for her to feel warmth pouring off his body.
He would touch her soon. Her breath caught with anticipation.
“Now I’m going to put my hand on you,” he said in a rough, exciting whisper.
She tensed. How amazing that even with no way to see what he did, she could still sense the nearness of his hand as it hovered over her back, as it moved across from one shoulder to the other. The heat increased until she felt the brush of his fingers, the touch of flesh on flesh. She shivered as his hand came to rest across her spine. Big hands, she remembered. Big, warm hands.
He leaned close enough for fabric to brush against her arm. Disappointment and relief warred for dominance when she realized he was dressed. Both hands clasped her shoulders, and he began kneading the tense muscles. He trailed his fingers up her neck to the edge of the hood and back down to resume the massage. If she’d been made of butter, she would have melted right into the table. “Mmmm,” escaped her lips in spite of her vow to remain quiet.
A quiet chuckle rewarded her.
Those magic fingers worked down along her spine and back up. The next time his touch moved toward her waist, their path was closer to her side, was slipping downward, so that a featherlight caress on the sides of her breasts startled a shocked “Oh” from her.
“It’s only going to get better, baby,” he whispered.
She believed him. Now that his hands were at her waist, what would he do next? The possibilities made her tremble.
Her bones dissolved when he shaped his hands around her butt. He kept them there, still and hot, until her quivers ceased. Only then did he begin to move. The firm but gentle massage progressed down the backs of her thighs to her knees and back. When his touch started back down, a wicked finger pressed between her thighs, and dizziness swept over her. Oh. My. God. Better than she could ever have imagined.
“I like hearing you moan, honey.�
�� That rough whisper sounded in her ear, and she realized she must have made a sound.
“I think it’s time for you to turn over, don’t you?”
Yes, yes, yes! She bit her lip and remained quiet. Apparently he took her acquiescence for granted, because in a moment she heard the door open and her two guides were back. Easing her to her back and refastening the bindings took only a few heartbeats. She wanted it to take longer. At the same time, she couldn’t stand waiting for what would come next.
“Beautiful,” he murmured again, once the two women had left. “Now I can really make you moan.”
Maurice had promised she’d be safe, but she jerked in panic.
He put a hand on her stomach to stop her flailing. “Moan from pleasure, honey. That was not a threat. Relax. Remember, you have a safe word.” His hand moved in slow, mesmerizing circles. “Do you remember?”
“I remember,” she whispered.
“Well then, lie back and let me pleasure you.”
The rough promise of his words, of his voice, liquefied everything from her knees to shoulders. If she’d been standing, she’d have collapsed from the surge of pure lust that swept her. His hands on her were a thousand times better than her own pitiful explorations of the other night.
“A thousand times better” rocketed straight into the millions when he drew a finger, just one, along the slope of her breast. He paused to test the weight of the breast before moving to the other side.
She tried to swallow, aware of her suddenly dry-as-bone mouth.
His finger continued its magic path, teasing and testing her patience until it circled the areola, coming closer and closer to her nipple.
She shifted restlessly, trying to nudge him closer to the spot that clamored for his touch.
He laughed and began the slow torture of the other breast.
She couldn’t lie still. Her struggles progressed from squirming to twisting. Just as she was about to lose control and start begging, he leaned close. With one hand, he repeated what she’d done to him, bunching his fingers to draw the nipple upward. Her moan choked off when he circled the other nipple with his tongue and drew it into his mouth.
