by Sarah Morgan
His mouth was hungry on hers and then he slid his hand down her sleek body, losing himself in her curves and her softness. His touch was bold and explicit, the sexual urge so shockingly powerful that it drove aside every other emotion and drowned out the ache. Part of him knew that he was taking this too fast, but she was like a drug. The more he consumed the better he felt and the better he felt the more he wanted. He was out of control and he knew it. He knew it as he spread her legs and heard her soft intake of breath. He knew it as he slid his hand under her and lifted her and he knew it as he thrust into her body, propelled by an almost desperate urgency that didn’t allow him to hold back.
Heat engulfed him. A heat intensified a thousand times by the tightness of her body gripping his shaft. He felt every ripple of her body in the most intimate way possible. Never before had he experienced anything like it.
‘God, Emma—’ Her body clasped his and he wanted to pause, to make it last and prolong the moment, but he couldn’t hold back. Physically he was stronger than her. Much stronger. And he used that strength as he surged deep. Through the heat that blurred his brain he heard her moan his name. Felt her fingers grip his back and heard the breath catch in her throat. Perhaps he should have slowed things, whispered soft words or gentle endearments but Lucas could no longer access soft or gentle. He was deaf and blind to everything except his own need. He felt slick silken muscle tightening around him and he gave into it, gave into the rhythm and the wildness, his performance driven by instinct, not technique. Everything about it was raw and primitive, each sure thrust of masculine possession designed for his own gratification. The bite of his hand on her soft skin held her where he wanted her. The scent of her made him dizzy and the softness of her skin drove him wild. He took greedily, he plundered all that she offered and more and, in that single moment, those few suspended seconds of sexual oblivion, he was aware of nothing but the pleasure of release. And as his body emptied, so did his brain. Emptied of everything except this woman.
It took a while for reality to return.
Lucas became aware first of the heat of the fire burning his skin, and finally of the warmth of the woman still wrapped around him. Not any woman, he thought.
Emma.
Emma, his PA. Sweet Emma who deserved so much more than a one-night stand with a selfish bastard like him.
Closing his eyes, he rolled away from her onto his back feeling a rush of self-disgust, wondering what insanity had possessed him. More alcohol would have been a better option. At least then he would have woken in the light of day with no apologies owing. There would be a price, he thought. There was always a price for everything.
The only question was how high it would be this time.
Emma woke to find herself alone in the huge four-poster bed. The first fingers of cold winter daylight shone through the windows and all that remained of the fire in the hearth that had warmed their night of loving was a sprinkle of glowing embers.
It was morning, the dawn of another day, the agony and anguish of the night before nothing more than a cold memory.
But it wasn’t all forgotten, was it?
Her body ached in ways that were new to her. She felt—
Emma rolled onto her back and stared up at the canopy of the four-poster bed.
Incredible. She felt incredible. And with that thought came guilt. It seemed thoroughly wrong that what felt like the best night of her life had been the worst night of his.
For him, it hadn’t been special, had it? It hadn’t really been about her at all, even though it had been her name he’d spoken in the heat of the moment. She wasn’t foolish enough to pretend it had been personal. For him, it had been nothing more than a temporary escape. She’d offered distraction at a time when he’d needed it most, a woman who’d happened to be there when he was in trouble. She was his employee—Emma’s smile vanished and she felt a sudden rush of panic as reality bloomed.
Oh God, she’d slept with her boss. What had she been thinking?
Sleeping with the boss wasn’t incredible, it was stupid.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
She, of all people, knew just how foolish that was. How could she have been so reckless? She was always professional. Always. She was always careful not to step over that line.
Emma shot out of bed on legs that shook and grabbed the clothes she’d left drying in front of the fire. Afraid that he might reappear at any moment she dressed in a flash, a surprising achievement considering that her hands were shaking as much as her legs. Switching on her phone, she saw that it was eight a.m. And she already had five missed calls from Jamie.
Oh God, Jamie.
It was like a thump in her stomach. The warm glow that had surrounded her when she’d woken had vanished and all that was left was cold panic.
What had she done? From the moment she’d put her hand on Lucas’s shoulder, she hadn’t given her life a single thought. It had all been about the moment, not about what would happen afterwards. With a groan of remorse, she sank onto the edge of the bed.
‘This looks like a serious case of morning-after regret to me.’ A dark male drawl came from the doorway and Emma gave a start because she’d been hoping for some time to pull herself together before having to face him and now there was no hope of that.
This was a scenario she’d never had to handle before and she was clueless.
She looked at him and felt her stomach drop. He was insanely attractive. Not just good-looking, but truly gorgeous in a deliciously sexy, bad boy sort of way, with those strands of dark hair flopping over his forehead and his jaw unshaven. Was it wrong to wish he hadn’t decided to leave the bed before she woke? Wrong to wish they’d woken together?
Sex with him had been unforgettable.
And that was the problem.
He was her boss. She had to forget it. She had to ignore that tiny, ridiculous part of her that just wanted to resign on the spot and see if this thing between them could go somewhere. She had to ignore that part of her that wanted to forget the professional so that they could pursue the personal. That would have been crazy and impulsive and she was neither of those things. She had responsibilities. Commitments. She always made sensible decisions and the sensible decision was to lock last night away in her brain and forget it had ever happened. She had to forget everything personal that she knew about him.
The question was—how?
She wondered if he was asking himself the same question but one glance at his face told her that he wasn’t. There was no doubt or uncertainty there. Nothing that suggested that what they’d shared had meant anything to him but a way of getting through a bad time. There was no evidence now of the unspeakable agony she’d witnessed the night before. Whatever dark, savage emotions had gripped him in the bitter cold of the night had been chased away by the morning light. Lucas Jackson was back in control, those secrets buried deep under layers of self-discipline.
She, however, felt emotionally and physically wrecked.
He was already dressed, in black jeans and a black sweater that added emphasis to powerful shoulders. His choice of clothes was casual, and yet there was still an innate sophistication about him, an effortless style that was evident in everything he did.
Through her moment of panic came the memories. Memories of how those shoulders had felt under her fingers, the ripple of male muscle and hard strength. Memories of how it had felt to touch him and be touched. Strange, she thought, how even that unscheduled glimpse of vulnerability hadn’t seemed like weakness. There was nothing weak about this man.
They hadn’t even talked about it, she realised. Not really. All she knew was that he blamed himself for the death of his daughter. Other than that she had no details and, judging from the grim set of his mouth, he had no intention of offering any.
This was the man she knew. The Lucas Jackson she recognised. And of course that made it worse, because this man was her boss.
Which really only left her with one course of action.
Emma stood up slowly, as if by taking her time a miracle might happen and she might somehow know what to say. And he was obviously waiting for her to speak. That intense blue gaze, always more perceptive than most people’s, held hers for longer than was comfortable. And although it seemed shallow to care about such things, she was acutely conscious of how appalling she must look. She had that exhausted, gritty-eyed feeling that followed a night of seriously reduced sleep so she knew she’d be pale. And she knew she’d look rumpled because, although she’d pulled on clothes, she hadn’t had time to do more than smooth her hair and after the way he’d treated it the night before it tumbled in a wild mess over her shoulders.
As awkward moments went, this one reigned supreme.
‘Hi. Good morning—’ Oh God, this was awful. She cleared her throat, thinking that it was impossible to sound businesslike when faced with a man who had intimate knowledge of every part of your body. ‘I just need to make a quick phone call and then I’ll be out of your way.’
The last thing she wanted was to talk about what had happened, so she was relieved when he said nothing. Instead, he continued to study her as if he were seeking an answer to something. And Emma soon discovered that his scrutiny was every bit as uncomfortable as any conversation would have been. The way he was looking at her unsettled her so badly that in the end she turned away and rescued her shoes from their place in front of the fire. The snow had made a mess of them, but at least they were dry and putting them on gave her something to do and made her feel more dressed, somehow.
Wanting to escape as fast as possible, knowing that she was already going to be in trouble, she dug her hand in her bag and pulled out her phone. ‘I need to call Jamie,’ she muttered, ‘and tell him I’ll be back later. He’ll be worried that I didn’t make it home last night. He’s already called this morning but my phone was off.’
‘Are you sure he’ll be worried? You’re that close, are you?’ His hard tone held a hint of scepticism and she looked up, shocked and confused by the question.
Was this just about the fact he was annoyed with her for staying when he’d wanted to be alone? Was he cross that he’d woken to find that someone was the wrong side of his castle moat?
‘Of course. I did tell him I’d be late but he wasn’t expecting me to not make it home at all.’
Those blue eyes didn’t shift from her face. ‘And how is he going to feel when he finds out you had sex with me?’ His blunt question was so unexpected she gave a soft gasp.
‘Well, obviously I won’t be mentioning that part.’
One dark eyebrow lifted and the faintest of smiles touched his hard mouth. That same mouth that had kissed her to oblivion the night before. The same mouth that had caressed its way down her shivering, compliant body. ‘If that’s your plan then you’d better learn not to blush or he’ll see right through you.’
Suddenly she was angry with him. And yes, with herself. It was embarrassingly unsophisticated to have a morning-after encounter with a face the shade of a tomato, especially when he seemed to be treating the whole episode with something that came close to indifference. No romantic words then, she thought numbly. No soft smiles or gentle touches to smooth the transition from passionate to professional. And maybe she should be grateful for that, Emma thought, as she strived to match his detached approach. She would have liked to look calm and businesslike and sail out of his life with her dignity intact but she knew there was very little chance of that. ‘Jamie doesn’t think the way you do.’
‘No?’ His expression revealed nothing of his thoughts. ‘What if you’re wrong? What if he guesses?’
‘Why would he guess? It’s not exactly the sort of thing we talk about.’
‘And yet you claim to be close?’
‘We’re close but I’m hardly going to tell him I slept with you, am I?’
‘I’m no expert on relationships, but I can imagine that would make things pretty awkward.’ His tone was scrupulously polite, as if they were in the office discussing a project. ‘And if that’s the way you want to play it, that’s fine with me. But I do have one question before we turn to more practical matters.’
Practical matters? ‘What question?’
There was silence, and that silence stretched from seconds to a full minute. A full minute that she counted out with each beat of her heart. And not once in that time did he stop looking at her. Not once did his gaze flicker from hers.
When he finally broke that silence, his voice was soft. ‘If your relationship with Jamie is “close”,’ he drawled, ‘why did you have sex with me?’
CHAPTER FIVE
HE WATCHED as the colour deepened in her cheeks. On one level she fascinated him because everything about her was fresh and unexpected. Or perhaps it was just that he was jaded and cynical. Too jaded and cynical for someone like her. If circumstances had been different then perhaps, just perhaps, the conversation they were about to have would also have been different. But he couldn’t change the way he felt. Or rather, the way he didn’t feel.
If he hadn’t already regretted the madness that had driven him to take what she’d offered in the dark of the night then he regretted it now because it was all too easy to guess how she was feeling. It was written all over her face.
For her, it hadn’t been about living in the moment. It had been significant. And if there was one thing he didn’t look for in a relationship, it was significance. He was quite possibly the worst man she could have found herself trapped with in a snowstorm. And perhaps she knew that because right now she wasn’t looking at him. All he could see was her profile. The curve of her cheeks, slightly pinker than usual, the swoop of those dark eyelashes as she focused her gaze on the snowy landscape that isolated them as effectively as any moat.
It was up to him to unravel the mess.
‘Emma?’ He kept his voice neutral, knowing that the way he played the next few minutes was crucial. He didn’t want her to misinterpret what had happened between them. He didn’t want her yearning for something that wasn’t going to happen. Most of all he didn’t want her ending her relationship over it, even if that relationship seemed pathetically lacking to him. ‘Emma?’ He repeated her name more firmly and this time she turned, her expression confused.
‘I don’t really understand your question.’
Which left him with no choice but to take over both sides of the conversation. ‘Jamie. You’ve been with him for two years so it must be serious.’
She was eyeing him as if he were an alien. ‘I think there’s been a bit of a misunderstanding,’ she said slowly and Lucas frowned because he knew there was no ‘misunderstanding’.
He was plain-speaking to the point of blunt and he saw no reason to modify that trait now. Determined to extract the truth, he took her face in his hands, feeling the soft skin of her cheeks against his rough palms, noticing for the first time the flecks of green in her brown eyes.
‘He’s obviously someone who means a lot to you if you’ve been together for two years.’ He heard the cynicism in his own voice and thought bitterly that he had to stop judging other people’s relationships. What did he know about sustaining a long-term partnership? About as much as he knew about love. Which was precious little. His hands dropped to his sides.
Someone like him shouldn’t be touching her. He shouldn’t have touched her the night before and he shouldn’t be touching her now.
It was wrong on every level.
She was looking at him steadily. ‘I’ve been with him longer than two years. Jamie and I have been together for nine years. Which is basically the whole time he’s been alive. Jamie is my little brother. His current obsession is Star Wars Lego.’
It took a moment for those words to sink in.
Brother? Brother?
‘Lucas?’ She was still watching him. Carefully, as if his every reaction was a mystery to her. ‘I don’t know where you got the idea Jamie was my—I don’t know—significant other. You were the one who mentioned him earlier, so I
assumed you knew who he was. It didn’t occur to me that I needed to explain.’
‘I heard you on the phone to him and—’ Lucas breathed deeply and dragged his hand over the back of his neck as he confronted the depth of his error. ‘Your brother?’
‘Yes.’
‘How can you have a brother who is nine years old?’
There was a hint of humour in her eyes. ‘I think you can probably work that out for yourself.’
‘But you’re—’
‘Twenty-four. And he’s a lot younger than me. Welcome to the world of complicated families.’ She shrugged. ‘Jamie lives with my sister and me. Or rather, he lives with my sister and I join them at weekends and holidays.’
‘But you live in London.’
‘During the week. On Friday nights I drive to them and take over so that Angie—that’s my sister—can have some time to herself. We’re sort of sharing the parenting. I suppose you could say I’m the main breadwinner.’
And with that simple statement it all fell into place.
Suddenly he understood her rule that she wouldn’t work on a Friday and never at a weekend. He realised how much he’d assumed and just how wrong he’d been. ‘I thought you kept your weekends free because you were having a wild social life.’
‘You must be confusing me with Tara,’ she said lightly. ‘I’m a normal person, with a normal person’s life. A life that I happen to like very much. But I confess it isn’t full of parties. It’s a pretty routine existence.’
Lucas was stunned. ‘Caring for your little brother isn’t exactly a routine existence. It’s an enormous sacrifice on your part.’
Her gaze cooled. ‘It’s not a sacrifice at all. I consider myself very lucky to have such a lovely family. I just wish we could live in the same place all the time. It’s pretty lonely for me during the week stuck in London by myself.’
