Talking Dirty With the Boss (Talking Dirty#3)

by Jackie Ashenden

  “We have lunch together at one.”

  She swallowed. “I know. I’m sorry.”

  There was a pause down the end of the phone. “I need you here for lunch, Marisa.”

  A strange kind of hurt turned sharp inside her. “No you don’t. Not really. It’s…a routine we’ve gotten into.”

  “You’re not a routine, Marisa.”

  “Every day we buy the same sandwiches from the same shop and we always sit in the same place at the same time. How is that not a routine?”

  There was silence down the end of the phone for a moment. “I have lunch with you because I also like talking to you.”

  She swallowed, a little bubble of longing bursting in her chest. “Do you?” she asked, before she could help it. “Do you really?”

  Do you really? God, how desperate did she sound? Marisa sat back in the chair, hating her vulnerability.

  “Of course I do,” Luke said, sounding impatient.

  Oh sure, that was convincing. “I’m sorry, I probably won’t be able to make it to the park on time. We could have coffee at the café next to the office instead if you like.”

  “We can’t meet near the office, you know that.”

  No, of course they couldn’t. Because they might be discovered. Because of his precious rules. “It’s one coffee, Luke. No one’s going to suddenly think we’re in a relationship because they saw us having coffee together.”

  “They saw us having lunch last week,” he said flatly. “Another date will cause people to talk.”

  Marisa’s fingers tightened on her phone as the hurt slid deeper. Digging in more. So, once again, she’d become a man’s dirty little secret. Yay, her. “Who cares if they talk?” She tried to make her voice sound casual but it didn’t come out that way. “I mean really, who gives a crap if I’m seen with you?”

  “I give a crap. The rules against workplace relationships are in place for a reason, Marisa. I can’t ignore them when it suits me. I’m the CEO. It’s not a good look.”

  “Yeah, you’re the CEO. You were the one who made those stupid rules in the first place.”

  “Which means I’m the one who can change them, presumably?” He made it sound like she wanted him to go murder a puppy or something.

  “That’s not what I’m saying.”

  “Then what are you saying?”

  The hurt mixed with the anger, creating a giant ball of acid that sat painfully in her gut. “I’m saying that I’m sick of being a secret, Luke. I’ve been there before and it sucks.”

  There was a silence on the other end of the phone. Then he said, “I’ll try to think of a work-around.”

  “That’s…” She stopped, took a breath. “A work-around isn’t actually the point.”

  “Then what is the point?”

  She wanted him to understand her, she realized. She wanted him to know without having to explain. But of course he wouldn’t. “The point is that you won’t bend the rules. Not even a little. Not even for me. I thought…I thought I mattered.”

  He said nothing for a long time and she wondered if he’d hung up on her. But then, at last, his voice, quiet and cool. “You do matter, but I can’t bend the rules, Marisa. You know that. Not even for you.” Another silence. “We’ll talk about this tonight.”

  Which meant the conversation was over.

  “Sure,” she replied, trying to be casual. Trying not to care. “Tonight.” Yeah, right.

  After he’d hung up, she stuffed her phone back in her purse, her throat tight, her eyes prickling. As if she was upset. Which was dumb because she wasn’t upset. Or disappointed.

  It was only a stupid lunch date. That’s all it was. But maybe it was time to have a little distance. Have some space away from each other. It wouldn’t hurt, would it?

  Yeah, that’s what she’d do. A night away from Luke’s intense, consuming presence was what she needed.

  …

  Luke pulled his car into the garage and got out, shutting the door and locking it. He was early, and because he was early, he was antsy and out of sorts. The way he’d been ever since Marisa hadn’t turned up for lunch.

  He knew he shouldn’t be angry about that and yet he was. Stupidly angry. She hadn’t arrived at all and it had ruined his entire day. He’d had to cancel meetings because he knew he wouldn’t be able to concentrate, and now he’d have to reschedule his entire week.

  Goddammit. He’d had to come home early so he could have it out with her. So he could stop her from taking up valuable headspace in his brain.

  Fool. It’s not only about your schedule.

  Which was pretty much his problem because no, it wasn’t. He’d also been disappointed because he’d been looking forward to seeing her. Somehow lunch with her had become a bright spot in his day. A chance to talk about things he didn’t normally talk about—their friends, books, movies, music. They were both so different and yet they’d discovered a shared love of mysteries and the joys of a good action movie. She sometimes teased him and he found he liked it. Had begun some experimental teasing in return.

  While they were in public, all they could do was talk, so the chemistry between them hummed away in the background, allowing him to get to know her as a person. And she was quite a person. Witty, with a sense of humor that he didn’t quite understand but appreciated all the same. Loyal to a fault and extremely generous. Caring.

  He was beginning to like her. Very much.

  Maybe she was partly a routine. But she was also someone he wanted to spend time with and he was pissed off at her for not being there. And for not understanding when it came to the rules.

  Yes, her past must make it difficult for her when it came to hiding their affair at work, but he couldn’t bend those rules. He couldn’t afford to, not if he wanted to remain in control of his OCD. Not even for her.

  Striding up the stairs, he paused to put his briefcase down on the desk in his study where he always put it. Then fought a brief battle to resist his usual procedure of taking off his work clothes and hanging them up systematically in his wardrobe. Impatience won as he stalked through the house trying to find her.

  Marisa was in her room, the one she didn’t sleep in anymore. There was an open suitcase on the bed and she was in the process of packing. Or rather, stuffing things into it.

  He stood in the doorway a moment, trying to figure out what was going on. Because it really seemed as though she was leaving.

  “What are you doing?” he bit out.

  She tossed something filmy and lacy into the suitcase. “You’re early.”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re never early.”

  “I told you on the phone I wanted to talk to you.”

  Her blue eyes flicked over him. “And you’re in your work clothes.”

  Already restless with not having completed his post-work routines, he didn’t appreciate the reminder. Shoving away from the doorway, he went over to the bed, looking down at the case. “What are you doing?”

  Her chin jerked up. “I thought I’d go back home for the night.”

  Cold trickled down his spine. “Why the hell would you want to do that?”

  “Because I thought we could both do with some space.”

  “Space?”

  “Yeah, you know. A large area with no one in it. My own room, with my own things, for example. Where some guy isn’t always checking up on me and I don’t have to lie to anyone about going out to lunch every day with my boss.”

  The simmering anger licked up inside him. “I don’t want you to go.”

  Her mouth opened. Then shut. Then she put her hands on her hips. She was wearing another pencil-skirt-and-blouse combo, with the most shockingly high stiletto sandals. Her hair was loose today, tumbling over her shoulders in a glorious golden fall. The princess turned businesswoman. Beautiful.

  “I’m sorry, Luke, but whether you want me to or not, I’m going.”

  Luke couldn’t keep still. He rounded the bed, wanting to close the distan
ce opening up between them. “This is because of lunch, isn’t it? Because of the rules?”

  “What if it is?” She reached for the hairbrush that sat on the dresser. “Like I told you on the phone. I’m not one of your routines and I sure as hell don’t want to be your dirty little secret. It’s not good for you and it isn’t good for me.”

  The anger licked higher. “Those rules are important to me. I’m the CEO, I can’t bend them. I thought you understood.”

  “Sure, I understand. It’s about control, isn’t it? Control over your damn company.”

  “I can’t afford a slip, Marisa.”

  “Why not? “ She waved the hairbrush at him. “You’re the boss, Luke. You made the rules. Which means you can break them, too.”

  Of course she wouldn’t understand.

  Because you haven’t told her.

  His hands were in fists, tension gripping his muscles tight. He knew he had to tell her. But now was not the time. Not when she was so angry. Not when she was on the point of leaving.

  Yet he had to say something. “I can’t break them,” he said curtly. “I’ve already bent them by continuing to sleep with you and I can’t bend them any further. There’s a reason my company is so successful, Marisa, and you’re right, it’s because I’m in complete control. Because I’m rigid. It’s a formula and it works for me. I don’t want to mess with it.”

  A long silence fell.

  Marisa sighed, the anger dying out of her eyes. “I can understand that.” She fiddled with the hairbrush in her hands. “I just don’t like being your secret. It’s like being Alistair’s mistress all over again. Like…” She stopped.

  “Like what?”

  Her gaze met his. Then she said, her voice cracked. “Like I’m not important.”

  The expression in her eyes broke the paralysis that had been gripping him and he moved. Closed the distance between them, pulled the hairbrush out of her hand, and tossed it on the bed, not bothering to check where it landed. Then he reached out and took her lovely face between his palms, looked down into her blue eyes. “If you weren’t important, Marisa Clair, I wouldn’t have broken those rules in the first place.”

  “Oh sure.” Her gaze flickered. “But now I’ve become merely a routine to you. I mean, that’s why you were angry at me for being late, right?”

  “No. the reason I was angry was because I was looking forward to seeing you and I was disappointed you weren’t there.”

  …

  Believing him was hard. As though she was conceding something she didn’t want to. Allowing him a piece of her she didn’t want to give up. It was easier and far less threatening to believe she wasn’t important to him.

  His hands were warm against her face, his gaze intense, focused. He wanted her to believe him. But she couldn’t let herself. Because then she’d have to admit her own feelings. The frightening ones.

  “Really?” she said, unable to keep the sarcasm from leaking out. “It’s really me you wanted to see?”

  “Why is that so hard for you to accept?”

  “Why would I accept it? We’ve both acknowledged we don’t like each other, that the only reason we’re here living together is for the baby’s sake, and because we can’t seem to get our hands off each other.”

  “What if I changed my mind?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What if I told you I was wrong? That I do like you? That I think you’re funny and loyal and kind. And generous. And interesting. You’re complicated, Marisa. And I like complicated.”

  “I’m not complicated. I’m a silly blonde who’s made a mess of her life, nothing more.” She tried to pull away from him but he wouldn’t let her. “Let me go, Luke.”

  “What’s it going to take for you to believe me?”

  “Nothing. It’s going to take—”

  But the words died in her throat as he bent his head and covered her mouth with his. And it was instinct that had her melting against him, the way she always did when he touched her, kissed her. Arching into him. Opening her mouth to his. Because this too was easier. Simpler.

  She kissed him hungrily, winding her arms around his neck, waiting for the moment when they’d both ignite and he’d push her down onto the bed and take her hard and fast.

  Yet the moment didn’t come.

  He held her in his arms, his mouth slow and sure on hers, tasting her, gently exploring her. There was no rush this time, no explosion of desire, though that was there. It was as if he was carefully building a fire. Starting with dry tinder, feeding it with kindling. Stoking the flames.

  She shivered, her hands pushing into the thick black silk of his hair, pressing her body against his, trying to incite him. Because she didn’t want slow and careful. Fast and furious was better. Less dangerous. She could lose herself in pure physical pleasure so she didn’t have to feel anything else.

  “Don’t do that,” he murmured against her mouth. “Keep still. I want to show you something.”

  “What?”

  “Keep still and you’ll find out.”

  Her heart raced. She wanted to find out and yet another part of her told her that sticking around would be a mistake. That she should be leaving, getting away from him and the complicated mix of emotion he always seemed to generate inside her. “I should…I should be going…”

  His hand moved to the neck of her blouse and he began to undo the buttons one by one. “You can leave. But then you won’t see what I want to show you.”

  She should make some kind of jokey comment right about now, say something flippant, but she couldn’t think of what. The expression on Luke’s face was absorbed as he finished unbuttoning her blouse, as if it was an important task he was doing.

  She wasn’t used to slow with him. She didn’t want slow with him. “Stop, Luke. I’m not sure what you’re trying to do here, but—”

  “Marisa.”

  The racing of her heart wouldn’t go away. She tried to take a deep breath, get some calm back. “What?”

  “Do you trust me?”

  The question seemed to come out of nowhere. “I’m not sure…what you mean?”

  The look in his eyes made her want to run away and hide for some reason. “Do you trust me?” he repeated.

  Her heart continued to race, anxiety twisting in the pit of her stomach. And she couldn’t work out why she was anxious, because he was trustworthy, she knew it. He was the most honest, kindhearted man she’d ever met. But admitting it to him felt like the start of something more. The start of a something she couldn’t bear to contemplate.

  She put a hand on his chest. “Tell me what’s going on, Luke.”

  He was silent a moment. “I want to show you that you’re not a routine. Or a broken rule. You’re a woman I want touch. To kiss. To hold. You’re important, Marisa. You’re important to me.”

  A fine crack appeared in her armor, running all the way through. “Luke, I—”

  “Close your eyes. Let me show you.”

  She should be running away from him. Protecting herself from him. But she didn’t. Instead she closed her eyes. And felt his mouth on her again, brushing over hers, kissing her throat. Not fast and hard but slow, exploratory. He stroked her bare stomach, up around her rib cage, touching her as though she was something precious. Taking his time.

  She trembled a little, her skin sensitized, goose bumps rising everywhere. Luke fast was pretty overwhelming, but Luke slow would be devastating.

  You don’t want this again. You don’t want to feel anything for him.

  No. She didn’t. But she did nothing while he gently pushed her blouse off her shoulders, his hands skimming lightly up her sides, unhurried. He kissed her throat and the breath went out of her. She leaned into him as she gripped his shoulders. Beneath the fine wool of his jacket his muscles were rigid with tension.

  And she knew why.

  He was so tidy and anal about changing his clothes. The moment he walked in the door he’d put his briefcase down and go to hi
s bedroom, take off his suit, and hang it up. She’d watched him do it. No matter how badly he wanted her, no matter how impatient he was to get to her, he always changed his clothes. It was one of his routines.

  Except for now. And it was clearly bothering him.

  Her heart tightened inside her chest, as if there were a large hand squeezing it. She didn’t like that he was bothered. It hurt. “Luke.” She cupped his strong jaw in her hand. “Stop.”

  “No. Not again.”

  “But don’t you need to change your clothes?”

  “I wanted to show you how much more important you are than that.”

  The hand squeezed harder. Luke was fighting who he was to prove himself to her.

  Oh, you idiot. Weren’t you supposed to NOT fall for him?

  Marisa ignored the voice inside her head. “I know, but your routines are part of you. Just like my untidiness is part of me.” She reached for his tie to undo it.

  “Marisa, don’t—”

  “You don’t have to prove anything,” she said unsteadily, her hands shaking.

  Screw space. Screw getting away from him. He’d probably follow her, anyway, so what was the point? Besides, her poor, uptight, gorgeous McNamara needed her and she wasn’t going to turn his gesture into nothing by denying him.

  She made short work of the tie, pulling it free. Then she turned and draped it over the back of the chair near the dresser. “Does that work?” she asked him.

  He nodded curtly. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”

  “It doesn’t matter.” She began undoing his jacket.

  “Marisa…”

  She glanced up at him. He seemed so unhappy. So disappointed. Undoing the last button, she rose on her tiptoes and kissed his stern mouth. “Haven’t you ever heard the words ‘it’s the thought that counts’?”

  His hand caught suddenly in her hair, holding her close. He was kissing her again with greater hunger. “Marisa…”

  Gently she pushed him, smiling. “This will be so much better if you let me finish this.”

  “I can do it.”

  “No.” And she didn’t realize how much doing this for him meant to her until now. “I want to.”