Coming In Hot Box Set

by Gina Kincade

  And now she was paying for it. For what she’d considered safe fantasy fodder was now a reality. A reality that was mere inches away. Already her body was betraying her—her nipples beading and her pussy tingling with awareness. Heat prickled up her chest, neck, and across her face.

  Samantha was frozen with indecision. If she attempted to turn away and head somewhere else, her movement would inevitably be spotted by someone in the group. Plus, where would she go? She hadn’t yet seen another cluster of people she’d happily go and tag on to.

  But if she stayed, was drawn into conversation with Andrew, she’d be stuck. Stuck close to Brett, unable to escape the effect he had on her. An effect that would no doubt be noticed by the man himself, and by his employer.

  What the hell was he doing there, anyway? She’d barely made a case for Andrew’s presence, but Brett was an underling. Not even a partner, someone with standing and respect. An employee. A good one, admittedly, but just someone on the payroll nonetheless.

  Soon, the decision was taken from her hands. As she remained standing there, bag tucked under her arm, glass in one hand, canapé in the other, Brett moved slightly, then spotted her out of the corner of his eye. Turning his head to look at her properly, he gave her a polite nod, then touched Andrew’s arm, drawing the older man’s attention to the presence of his client.

  Oh, for goodness’ sake! Why didn’t you just make a break for it while you had the chance? Stupid, stupid, stupid!

  Andrew spun on his heel to face her. “Samantha Hanson-Bishop! How are you, lass? Long time no see. How’s that mare of yours?”

  Incredibly aware of Brett’s gaze burning into her, she stepped up to Andrew and partook of the superficial double air kiss prevalent in such company. “Andrew Norris. How wonderful to see you! I’m very good, thank you, and Venus is absolutely fine. She’s recovering very well. How was your holiday? And where’s your lovely wife? I haven’t seen her yet.”

  With a fond smile, he replied, “Oh, she’s not here, I’m afraid. We got our dates muddled and she’s off on holiday with her sister. Greece. My fault, of course.” He winked, then shrugged. “Still, I couldn’t miss this do for the world, and I thought it would be a good opportunity for Brett here to meet some other folk in the area. He’ll likely bump into them all at some point, so why not in happier circumstances than animals needing a vet?”

  “Very true,” she said, sliding her gaze over to Brett, and instantly regretting it as the thrum of awareness in her body that had been present since laying eyes on him intensified. Taking a big gulp of her drink, she swallowed, focusing on the fizz and pop of the bubbles as they travelled down her throat. “So…” she continued, a little too brightly, “nice to see you again, Brett. As I just said to Andrew here, Venus is doing brilliantly. Thank you again for looking after her so well. You did admirably in Andrew’s absence.”

  A barely-perceptible expression flitted across Brett’s face. It could have been anger, amusement, or anything in between.

  Andrew’s indignant response dragged her attention back to him. Not that her treacherous body seemed to notice as it continued to ache with arousal. “Of course he did!” he blustered. “He’s worth his weight in gold, this boy! I knew it from the moment I interviewed him, and he’s proved me right ever since. You know very well, Samantha, that I would never employ just anyone to work in my practice. This young man has an exemplary education record, glowing references and twice the practical experience of most vets his age. I’d better shut up, actually, before he asks for a pay rise!”

  The older man’s eyes twinkled as he nudged Brett with an elbow.

  Smiling tightly, Samantha replied, “Yes, we wouldn’t want that now, would we? Better not inflate his ego too much! Oops,” she added, looking at her almost-empty glass, “I think that went down a little too quickly. Please excuse me, gentlemen. I need to go and visit the little girls’ room.”

  Chapter Five

  Brett had no idea how he managed to keep his cool as Ms Samantha Hanson-Bishop, once again, talked down to him and insulted him—albeit it in her skillfully veiled fashion. Sly, that’s what she was. A sly, sneaky, stuck-up bitch.

  Not for the first time, he was surprised she seemed to think so much of Andrew. It had only been hearsay up until a moment ago, of course, but after seeing her with him, he realized there was a genuine fondness there. But it wasn’t attraction; wasn’t sexual. She hadn’t flirted—he doubted she knew how—merely chatted like acquaintances do. For some reason, she actually liked someone. Strange.

  Even stranger, Andrew seemed to like her back, though he obviously wasn’t blind to her faults. Again, not sexual… more like an indulgent father.

  Taking a sip of his depleting champagne, Brett glared at Samantha’s retreating back as she sauntered away, trying to ignore the tug low in his gut that signaled no matter what his brain’s opinion of Samantha, his cock was still pretty hooked.

  Stupid damn cock. It clearly had no idea what was good for it.

  He’d almost forgotten Andrew was still there until he spoke. “Don’t take any notice of her, Brett. She’s as prickly—and bitchy—as they come, but although I’m no psychiatrist, I think it’s some kind of protective mechanism. You know I’m not into gossip, but from what I’ve heard she had a tough upbringing. I don’t think she was sexually abused or anything like that—thank God—but her parents apparently preferred her brothers. She was surplus to requirements. She rushed into marriage at a very young age to escape her home life, and by all accounts, that didn’t work out very well, either.”

  That would explain why she doesn’t like men, then. She was jealous of her brothers, and her husband pissed her off somehow, too.

  “She seems to like you,” Brett replied, quirking an eyebrow.

  Andrew shrugged. “I’ve known her a very long time, ever since she moved here. If it makes you feel any better, she was unpleasant to me back then, too. It seems over the years I’ve slowly chipped away at the wall she puts up around herself. Anyway!” He cleared his throat, seemingly eager to lighten the mood. “Enough of that—we’re supposed to be here to enjoy ourselves, remember. Just don’t take it personally, all right? I know it’s incredibly annoying to be spoken to like that, but she’s a paying client—a very well paying client—so you’ll just have to suck it up.” He lowered his voice. “You could always get a dartboard and stick a photo of her face on it.”

  Spluttering out a laugh at the unexpected humor Andrew had come out with, Brett turned to his boss. “Don’t worry, I’m already getting used to sucking it up around her. I’ve already had to bite my lip so many times I’m surprised I haven’t drawn blood. Perhaps the dartboard isn’t such a bad idea.”

  “It’ll be worth it in the long run, lad. Maybe you’ll wear down her defenses eventually, too. Hey, I should send you out instead every time she calls for a vet—she’ll soon get used to you then.”

  “What?” Brett said, too loudly. It was a kneejerk reaction, and he quickly turned down the volume, glancing around nervously to be sure no one was listening. “No thanks, Andrew. That’s quite all right. She likes you already, and she told me her horses do, too. Why rock the boat? I don’t want to be her friend, I just want to do my job. And frankly, I’d rather stick my hand up a thousand cows’ back ends than get verbally ripped to shreds every time one of her precious horses gets thrush.”

  Throwing his head back, Andrew roared with laughter. A few people glanced over at the noise, but quickly turned back to their respective conversations. Recovering from his bout of mirth, Andrew took a big gulp of his champagne and swiped a tear from beneath one eye. “Oh, lad! I was only pulling your leg!” He let out a snort. “Don’t you worry none about Samantha Hanson-Bishop. I’ll deal with her—and her horses—for as long as I’m still kicking. Gets me out of sticking my hand inside a few cows, don’t it? Seems I can leave that to you, eh, since you like it so much?”

  He winked to show he was joking, and Brett shook his head. “Just don’t
start booking too many more holidays, all right? I don’t think my ego would take it.”

  “You needn’t worry about that. I only went on the last one because the missus pestered me to. Happen she got sick of being with me non-stop for a week, though, given she’d barely set foot back on British soil before buggering off with her sister. Suits me. I love my Lizzie, don’t get me wrong, but when she goes on holiday, it’s like I get one, too. What do they call ‘em? Staycations, is it? I stay at home, with all my creature comforts, but have the added bonus of being on me tod and getting some peace and quiet. I go to work when I want, come home when I want, eat what I fancy, watch what I want on the telly… what’s not to like?”

  “When you put it like that,” Brett said dryly, “it makes me wonder why married men ever go on holiday with their wives at all. Right, on that terribly depressing note, I’m off to the little boys’ room.”

  Andrew didn’t miss the mockery in his words. “You watch out, lad. It’s right next to the little girls’ room. If she gets her claws into you again, there’s no telling what will happen.”

  “Humph. Indeed. Well, if I’m not back in five minutes then, send a search party. Or possibly an ambulance. I could be wounded and bleeding to death.”

  Chuckling, his boss replied, “I’ll do that, lad. Don’t you worry, I’ll do that.”

  He walked away from Andrew and back towards the foyer of the building, putting his now-empty champagne glass on the tray of a passing waiter on his way with a nod of thanks. Both hands now free, he reached up to try and loosen his bow tie a little—fucking thing had been driving him crazy ever since Andrew had secured it for him earlier. His whole outfit was driving him crazy, in fact. He hated dressing up—was much more comfortable in his jeans, boots and a T-shirt—and only did so when he absolutely had to.

  He couldn’t complain, he supposed. Getting closer to thirty and he could still count on one hand the number of times he’d had to wear a monkey suit—his graduation being one of them. Hopefully the next time would be his wedding. Or, even better, he’d find a woman that wasn’t bothered about having an ostentatious do, and would be happy getting a minister to perform the ceremony on the top of a mountain or something, and they could wear hiking gear.

  At least tonight was for a good cause—the event he’d been all but dragged to by Andrew in Lizzie’s absence was a charity fundraiser for a local animal shelter. That was the reason he hadn’t felt he could fib his way out of it. Brett was never sure how any money was left over for charity at these events after venue hire, catering, booze and whatnot, but there always seemed to be plenty. Just went to show how much filthy rich folk were willing to pay for prizes in these silent auctions. Though it seemed utterly stupid to bid for things like exotic, ludicrously expensive holidays in the south of France when you could probably just book one through a travel agent for a fraction of the price.

  Still, it wasn’t for him to comment on. He was just there to keep Andrew company. His salary certainly wouldn’t allow him the luxury of bidding on anything. Not that he wanted to, anyway. The prizes were no doubt aimed at the caliber of most of the people attending—in other words, those with more money than they knew what to do with. What possible use could Brett have for that kind of stuff?

  Shaking his head and giving his bow tie an overly vicious tug, he spotted a sign for the Gents’ at the end of the corridor. He groaned when he realized he’d overdone it—in his heavy-handedness he’d loosened the knot and the ends of the tie were rapidly divorcing one another. “Oh, for fuck’s sake!”

  “Now, now,” a familiar voice interrupted, “there’s no need for language like that, young man. You’re in esteemed company, don’t you know?”

  Flicking his gaze in the direction the voice had come from, he saw Samantha peering languidly at him from around a corner, which looked as though it led to another corridor. His heart gave an unpleasant lurch, and heat began diffusing through his veins; his body ready for a confrontation, even though his brain wouldn’t allow it. “Leave me alone, please, Samantha. I’m not in the mood, all right?” He took another step towards the bathroom.

  “Hey, wait,” she said, stepping out from her almost-hiding place.

  “What?” he barked.

  Sauntering over to him, she narrowed her eyes. “Well, well, someone’s tetchy.”

  Whether it was the booze loosening his tongue, or whether he’d just had enough of her and her snide comments, Brett snapped. Quietly, but firmly, he shot back, “What do you expect? I’ve met you exactly twice now, spoken to you on the phone once, and in that brief time all you’ve done is mock me, insult me, put me down and generally speak to me like I’m worthless. I’ve put up with it for the sake of the practice, and for Andrew, but I’m sick of it. I don’t deserve it, and you’re clearly incapable of speaking to someone without being unpleasant, so if you don’t mind, I’d rather you didn’t speak to me at all. Now, if you’ll excuse me—”

  He’d barely lifted a foot to take another step closer to the Gents’ when Samantha covered the space between them, reached up and grabbed the ends of his bow tie in one finely manicured hand, then spun on her heel and started striding away, dragging him behind her like a naughty puppy.

  Utterly thunderstruck, he didn’t even put up a fight.

  Chapter Six

  Surprised and confused by her own behavior, Samantha didn’t dare risk a glance over her shoulder to see Brett’s reaction. All she knew was that he was following her silently—not that he had much choice in the matter, given her death grip on his bow tie—and she didn’t actually have any idea where the hell she was going, or what the hell she was doing.

  What exactly did one do with a tall, gorgeous young man?

  As they passed room after room along the seemingly unending corridor, she realized the answer was staring her in the face. Literally. The building they were in was huge—a cross between a hotel and a conference centre—there had to be an empty room somewhere they could use to…

  A gasp escaped her lips. Use to… what? Come on, Samantha, get a grip. You are a grown woman, not a small child. Use to have sex. Fuck. Make the beast with two backs. Whatever you want to call it.

  Now the idea was in her head, she knew there was no getting rid of it. Besides, things had already gone too far. Much as she was loathe to admit it, her subconscious had probably had this planned all along—why else would she have grabbed hold of Brett and dragged him off, like a weird back to front caveman act?

  And, if he really, really wanted to get away from her, he could. Especially now they were a long way from the party, and anything he said or did wouldn’t make a scene.

  The fact they’d made it this far told her one thing: wherever they ended up, and whatever they ended up doing, they were both complicit.

  The thought didn’t make the situation any less bizarre, but it did send a heavy dose of arousal whizzing through her body, centering on her groin. What on earth was it about this… this boy that got her going so much? She barely knew him—just his name, his age, a rough indication of his educational background, and his current employment status.

  Oh, and that he had a wonderful manner with animals. And large, gentle-looking, yet strong hands…

  Gracious, there went her imagination again. She closed her eyes momentarily as she walked, hoping it wouldn’t backfire and she’d end up tripping over.

  Maybe this was for the best, she decided. Whatever this… thing… was between them, it was alien, uncomfortable, and distracting. She was horny all the time, but only for him. Pleasuring herself didn’t seem to satiate her appetite, or stem the erotic images that regularly flickered through her brain. Her need was immense, and her need was him. If they just screwed each other’s brains out, just this once, then that’d be it. Wham, bam, thank you Brett the Vet. Great sex—hopefully—then forget all about it and move on with their lives.

  Her mind made up, she started trying each door handle as they passed its respective door. Four proved to be her luck
y number. The metal beneath her hand moved, and the wooden door swung open, revealing the room within. It was in complete darkness. Samantha’s heart pounded at the realization that she’d done it, she’d found an open, unoccupied room that she and Brett could use for their nefarious means.

  Stepping over the threshold quickly, lest someone spot them, she then turned, releasing her hold on the ends of Brett’s bow tie as she did so. Giving him a chance to escape, to walk—or run—away, to grab her and shake her until her teeth rattled, or to scream at her until he was blue in the face.

  He did none of those things. Instead, he remained frozen on the spot, looking down at her. The angle of the light from the corridor behind him meant the front half of him had been thrown into shadow, but there was just enough illumination for her to see the indecipherable expression on his face. She couldn’t help but stare—trying to work it out, trying to see if it would give her a clue as to what he was going to do next.

  Blood thundered through her veins, rushing in her ears and pooling between her legs. Her pussy throbbed with overwhelming need. Come on! she wanted to scream. Do something! Throttle me, shout at me, but preferably, just fuck me.

  The anticipation was too much. She simply had to do something to break the spell they’d found themselves embroiled within. Taking a careful step backwards, into the darkness, into the unknown, she kept her gaze on him.

  A decade passed. Or maybe it was just a few seconds… it felt the same to Samantha. Then, finally, Brett moved. Glancing briefly over his shoulder, he then moved further into the room, then turned and closed the door behind him.

  Gasping as the darkness became complete, Samantha groped around for… something. Anything. A table, a chair, a fucking rubbish bin. All she’d seen in the milliseconds it had taken her to open the door and spin on her heel was that the room they were now in was some kind of office.