Talking Dirty With the Boss (Talking Dirty#3)

by Jackie Ashenden

  Her mouth curved. “You should have. Instead you let the dumb blonde get there instead.”

  Dumb blonde? He caught her chin in his hand. “You’re not dumb, Marisa.”

  She rolled her eyes but a strip of color stained her cheekbones. “Uh-huh.”

  “Is this about what I said to you in the supply room? When I told you that you were pretty and blond and not my type?”

  “I’m surprised you remember.”

  “Like I said, I remember everything.” He stroked her chin with his thumb. “And for what it’s worth I was wrong. It seems you’re very much my type.”

  The blush deepened. “So, if I’m your type, I guess that means we’ll be doing something about…uh…this?” Her hand rested lightly on his abdomen before sliding farther down, fingers curling around his steadily hardening erection.

  God, it had only been fifteen minutes since they’d last indulged themselves. He couldn’t be wanting her again, could he? Then her fingers tightened more, and oh yeah, he could.

  “We could,” he said thickly. “What did you have in mind?”

  “A few things. After all, it’s not Monday yet, right?”

  Pleasure slid up his spine, stealing all coherent thought. “No. It’s not Monday till tomorrow.”

  “Excellent. That means we have plenty of time, then.”

  “Stop talking, Marisa. There are much better things you could be doing with that mouth of yours.”

  She laughed softly. “Whatever you say, boss.”

  …

  “So how’s it going?”

  Marisa, neck-deep in some meeting notes she had to type up, jumped as Christie plonked herself down on the edge of the desk. “I’m not enjoying this role reversal,” Marisa informed her sourly. “Just so you know.”

  Her friend shrugged, unrepentant. “Now you know how irritating it is. So come on, tell me all the gossip.”

  Marisa sighed, glancing toward Ben’s closed office door. She’d arrived late again this morning—Luke’s fault. Like it had been his fault all the other times she’d been late this week.

  That first night they’d spent laying a few ground rules about how they were going to live together without killing each other. Marisa was allowed to sprawl out in the guest rooms that Luke had set aside for her, as long she left all other rooms the way she’d found them. It was kind of weird how anal he was about tidiness but she didn’t argue. It was his house, after all.

  As they’d also agreed, the sex had to be over by Monday morning, which meant she’d gone to bed that night by herself. Only she hadn’t been able to sleep. Finally, she’d gotten up to get herself a glass of water and found a disturbed and agitated Luke wandering around the kitchen. They’d taken one look at each other and that had been that—no more sleeping alone, the rules adjusted to allow for Marisa’s presence in Luke’s pristine room.

  Of course, that had meant keeping everything on the down-low when it came to work. Luke had been uncomfortable about it but he hadn’t been able to argue, what with their chemistry wreaking havoc each time they got close to each other. They had to deal with it somehow, and this was the best way.

  It also meant that no one could know about the pregnancy or about her living with him, either, at least not until after the usual twelve-week mark.

  Not that she was complaining. At all. She only wished she didn’t have to get up so early each day. A week on from her pregnancy diagnosis and the infamous first trimester weariness was beginning to kick in, though not, thank God, the nausea.

  “I’m fine. Luke’s fine. The baby’s fine. Happy?”

  “No.” Christie narrowed her gaze. “You seem tired.”

  “Of course I’m tired. I’m pregnant.” And sleeping with an incredibly sexy man who can’t get enough of me.

  Christie nibbled on her lip. “How’s living with Luke going?”

  Marisa cast another surreptitious glance around for any suspicious eavesdroppers. “Actually, it’s going surprisingly well.”

  And it was.

  She loved his house, for a start. A modern, architecturally designed series of boxes set into the cliff top, with massive views over Auckland’s blue harbor and the green of the islands in the gulf beyond. As she’d suspected, Luke’s tastes ran to minimalism, which meant white walls, dark carpet, and no art on the walls. Yet what he had instead were large windows and their views, and lots of light and sun, making the whole place seem airy.

  Disappointingly there were no bonsais or Zen gardens, but there were lots and lots of books. And though he didn’t have art on the walls, he had abstract sculptures in pleasing, organic forms here and there. She also liked the heated lap pool, even if he didn’t have a Jacuzzi. The lack of which was more than made up for by the massive spa bath in the rooms he’d set aside for her.

  “Surprisingly well, huh?” Christie gave her a measuring look.

  “Yes. Surprisingly.” If “surprisingly well” meant having a lot of sex. “Are we done here?”

  “Details. You normally inundate me with details. But I’m not hearing any now. This is intriguing.”

  Marisa gritted her teeth. Then said quietly, “Okay, you got me. So we’re sleeping together. A lot. On any surface that happens to be handy at the time. The dining room table, the kitchen counter, the car, the—”

  “Hey, I didn’t say I wanted details, okay?” Christie said hurriedly, flapping her hands. “In fact, I’m more than happy not to hear them.”

  “You did ask.”

  Her friend folded her arms and scowled. “Can we leave the intricacies of your sex life till later? What I’m most intrigued about is that you have one. Especially when you told me that you and Luke wouldn’t be having any kind of relationship.”

  “Fine, so we’re in a sexual relationship. But that’s all it is. And while we’re on the subject, could you keep your voice down? We have to keep it secret. Those stupid rules and all that.”

  Christie’s eyes widened. “A sexual relationship? That’s ‘all’ it is? You know how lame that sounds?”

  “It’s only sex, St. John.”

  Are you sure? Can it ever be only sex, when the sex you’re having is with the father of the baby you’re currently pregnant with?

  Marisa ignored that thought. She couldn’t think about anything more. About anything deeper. About the way her heart beat faster whenever Luke walked into the room. Whenever he looked at her. Whenever he touched her. A quickening of her pulse that had nothing to do with sex…

  “Sex is never only sex, Mar,” Christie said sagely. “Believe me. I know.”

  “It is when your feelings aren’t involved. And neither of ours are.”

  But her friend’s brow furrowed. “So that’s it? You’re going to keep sleeping with him until you’re over it?”

  Marisa leaned back in her chair and folded her arms. “That’s the plan. Never had any problems with it before.”

  “Hate to point it out to you, but that was before you were pregnant. Or sleeping with the father of your child.”

  Damn her friend. Damn reality. She didn’t want to think about the implications or her stupid feelings. Or about what would happen when the baby came and she and Luke had to start being parents. It was all too much. Too hard.

  She swallowed. “So what’s your point, St. John?”

  Christie chewed on her lip again. “I don’t know, to be honest. I don’t want either of you getting hurt.”

  “We won’t, I promise you.” Marisa plastered on a smile. “Now can I get on with my stupid meeting notes?”

  Ten minutes later she was still sitting there, staring at the screen with not another word of her meeting notes typed, unease sitting in her gut.

  It was just sex. That’s all it was. Exciting, bone-shaking sex, but just sex all the same. She wouldn’t allow it to be anything more. Getting emotionally involved with a man like Luke was the last thing she wanted. He may not use or deceive the women he slept with, but the fact that he’d said he didn’t want a relation
ship was warning enough to steer clear. She couldn’t face another broken heart, not after Alistair. And soon there’d be a baby, and that was enough to have to deal with all on its own.

  Besides, she was supposed to be seizing the day. And she couldn’t seize the day with Luke around.

  Braced by the thought, Marisa tried to concentrate on her notes but was interrupted by the chime of a new e-mail. Always ready for distraction, she checked who it was from.

  Luke.

  Her heart gave a strange little leap as she opened it.

  Marisa,

  I’m free for lunch. Would you like to join me?

  Luke.

  For a second she stared at the adorably formal line of text on her screen. Lunch? With him? What was that about? He’d never asked her before.

  But you want to go.

  Marisa put her finger in her mouth, realized what she was doing, and dropped it again. Well, what if she did want to go? It was only lunch.

  Sure, honey.

  Then she thought about it and added,

  As long as you can answer one question: what underwear am I wearing today?

  The reply came back almost immediately.

  The black lace thong with the silver embroidery. But you’re not wearing the matching bra. You’re wearing the white cotton one you like to wear a lot. Probably because it’s comfortable.

  Marisa blushed like an idiot. That morning she’d dressed in his bedroom while he’d been busy shaving in the en suite bathroom. She’d put on the matching bra but didn’t like the way the lace scratched so had put on a white cotton one instead. Her comfortable go-to bra. She hadn’t thought he’d noticed.

  Oh God, you noticed that? Well, there goes my sexy image.

  After a second, she got his response.

  You’re more than sexy lingerie, Marisa. I’ll come by at one.

  A warm feeling went through her. A dangerously warm feeling.

  Marisa gave it a mental kick as she decisively closed the program and tried to get on with her work.

  Warm feelings about Luke McNamara were not allowed. Yes, he was the father of her child and yes, she was sleeping with him.

  She’d take the hot sex, but that’s all it had to stay.

  She’d fallen once before and fallen hard. But she wouldn’t be falling again.

  …

  Luke glanced at his watch again. He couldn’t remember how many times he’d done it already during the meeting, but it was a lot. Probably because the HR manager, who was always a talker, kept going off topic and relating completely uninteresting anecdotes instead of sticking to the point.

  Dammit, he wanted to be finished by one so he could meet Marisa for lunch. He’d told her he would and so he would.

  “George,” Luke snapped, unable to help himself as the HR manager launched into yet another tedious story, “do you have anything more to add about filling the taxation consultant position or are we done?”

  George, knowing his boss well, quickly finished up his presentation and left with a minute to spare, much to Luke’s relief.

  Because he could use that minute. Mainly to calm the hell down and try to figure out what was bloody wrong with him. He felt restless, unable to sit still—like Joseph, come to think of it. And it was connected somehow with Marisa, to seeing her.

  Possibly it was due to the fact that for the past week, he’d been breaking the rules regarding workplace relationships and it was making him extremely uncomfortable. Not the sex part, no, that was good. It was the keeping secret part of it he hated.

  But then he didn’t have any other option. He couldn’t be seen not following his own regulations, and to change them to suit himself was downright wrong.

  You could just stop sleeping with her.

  No, and that was the most urgent problem. He…couldn’t. His need to touch her, kiss her, hold her, have her in his bed, overrode everything else. And the nights they spent together only made him want her more.

  She was so amazingly sexy, and yet it wasn’t only the sex that made him want her. She’d kept the majority of her chaos to her room. There had been one or two issues with keeping the kitchen in order and several times he’d found her hairbrush and one or two other female implements in his room but on the whole, she’d been fantastic. Certainly while she was around, that itching, prickly sensation that made him have to keep checking on her was gone. In fact, having her around made the OCD more manageable than it had been in years.

  Except for now, when he hadn’t seen her since that morning. And the good feeling he’d had at the start of the day was fraying. Stretching out. It was almost as if he…missed her.

  Lunch. It was only lunch. And he’d thought to ask her because as he was shaving this morning, he’d happened to catch a glimpse of her in the mirror. She was standing in nothing but that pretty silver-and-black lingerie and pulling a face. And as he watched, she suddenly tugged off the lovely bra and picked up another one that had been lying on the bed. A much plainer, more practical white one. Then she’d put it on and, he had to admit, he’d been disappointed because he’d been enjoying the view of her beautiful breasts. She’d carefully adjusted the straps over her shoulders and around the sides, short, sharp movements that he knew were little routines, and began to dress in the rest of her clothes.

  And it came to him then that although he knew the sexy, beautiful Marisa in her red lace thong, or naked on the bonnet of his car, he didn’t really know the Marisa who wore bunny panties, who sometimes preferred her plain white bra to her sexy, lacy one. Marisa who’d cried into his handkerchief. Who’d given him a hug.

  This seemed wrong. A dance only half-completed. A routine only half-done. He couldn’t only know half of her. He had to know all of her. A logical step, given they would be raising a child together.

  Except what if she wants to know about you?

  That was a problem. Because she couldn’t know all of him, could she? Not while he kept the thing that ruled his life such a secret. Unless, of course, he told her about it. But then what would she say? Would she think he was crazy as everyone else in his life had?

  He’d thought about it all morning and he knew he couldn’t go on with the rest of his day until he’d talked to her. Lunch. They’d have lunch and they’d talk. Get to know each other better and then maybe… Maybe he could say something.

  It was either that or he ended it between them. Made her one of his “two-week girlfriends.” And she didn’t deserve that. She really didn’t.

  Luke gave his tie one last tiny adjustment. Checked his watch one last time. And took a deep breath.

  Whatever happened, it wasn’t going to end well, that was for sure.

  …

  At five minutes to one, Marisa found herself checking her hair and makeup in the mirror of her compact. Seemed a silly thing to do. Like something you’d do before a date. And this wasn’t really a date, was it? But that didn’t stop her from touching up her lipstick and fiddling with the loose curls around her face.

  “Hot lunch date?” Ben asked as he passed by her desk.

  “No date.” Marisa shut her compact with a snap. “Just lunch.”

  Ben gave her a skeptical glance. “Never seen you touch up your lipstick for ‘just lunch.’”

  “Hey, I have an image to maintain.”

  “With the big boss?”

  Marisa frowned at him. “How did you know?”

  “Rumors.”

  Oh hell. “Okay, so I’m having lunch with Luke. It’s…personal.”

  “Personal?” Ben’s eyebrows shot up into his hairline.

  “We’re friends. No big deal.”

  Clearly this was difficult for Ben. He narrowed his gaze at her for a long moment, then at last said, “Right. Well, don’t be late.”

  As if Luke would ever let that happen.

  Sure enough, he arrived perfectly on time and Marisa tried to ignore the interested glances from the rest of her colleagues as she walked with him out of the Total Tech offices.


  “What are they looking at?” Luke said, scowling. “You haven’t told anyone, have you?”

  “No, of course not.” A small lie considering she’d told Christie. But then Christie’s knowing didn’t count. “I told them we’re friends.”

  “I don’t like it.”

  “Friends are allowed to have lunch together, Luke.”

  He didn’t say anything to that, only commenting, “I thought you could choose where we went.”

  The offer surprised her considering how much control he liked to exert over what he did. “Okay. Well, what do you think about lunch in Albert Park?”

  “But there aren’t any cafes in Albert Park.”

  “I’m not talking about a café. We could buy some sandwiches and sit on the grass.”

  Luke blinked. “Sit? On the grass?”

  No wonder he seemed horrified. Lolling around on the grass catching a few rays wasn’t exactly Luke’s style. Marisa grinned, then threaded her arm through his. She was being naughty, but then sometimes Luke could use a little naughty. “Yeah, come on. You’re not scared of a little grass, are you?”

  Luke frowned. “Certainly not.”

  They bought sandwiches and hot chocolates to go at a nearby sandwich bar, then made their way up to Albert Park, a large green space in the middle of city. It was dotted with huge old pohutukawa trees, fountains, and artworks, and due to its proximity to both the university and the central business district, it tended to be full of a mix of students and businesspeople, sitting on benches or lying on the grass.

  Marisa found her and Luke a nice spot near one of the trees, and was about to flop down on the ground when Luke said, “Wait. What about a bench?”

  “I thought you weren’t scared of a bit of grass.”

  “I’m not. But you’ll get stains on your pretty dress.”

  She glanced down at herself and the white cotton sundress she’d put on that morning. It was true: white didn’t really mix well with sitting on the ground. Touched that he’d thought about her and also that he liked her dress, she said, “I guess we could find a bench.”

  “No, you wanted the grass.” He stood for a minute, brow creased. Then abruptly he took off his suit jacket and spread it out on the ground. “There. You can sit on that.”