It Started With A Look

‘What reliable sources? What little birdie?’

‘The people who live here in Coolangatta, and work here. Shop owners. Suppliers. Taxi drivers. They have no reason to lie, whereas the present owners of Sunshine Gardens have every reason to misrepresent the truth.’

‘I see.’

‘So what do you say? We miss the dinner and stay up here?’

‘Yes, please,’ Rachel said eagerly as relief overwhelmed her.

Justin smiled his own pleasure at the change of plan. ‘We’ll order a bottle of wine with our dinner,’ he suggested on picking up the menu. ‘And then we might have a dance or two. That dress has dancing written all over it.’

Rachel’s heart jolted. She hadn’t danced in years. The last time had been with Eric, the week before he’d broken off with her, and the day before she found out the awful news about Lettie. They’d been to a Christmas party and she’d got very tipsy on the punch. He’d whispered hot words of love and desire in her ears whilst he danced with her, holding her very close, making her want him to put his words into action. When she’d been beyond resisting him he’d whisked her into the bathroom and made love to her up against the door.

Or so she’d thought at the time. Now she knew he hadn’t been making love at all. He’d just been having sex. Because he’d never really loved her.

‘I…I haven’t danced in years,’ she said, her voice shaking a little at the memory. As much as she no longer loved Eric, the damage he’d perpetrated on her female psyche was still there.

‘You didn’t dance at your friend’s wedding?’ Justin asked on a note of surprise.

‘No.’

‘Why not? I’ll bet you were asked in that dress.’

‘Yes, I was.’

‘Why did you say no?’

‘I…I just didn’t want to.’ In truth, she’d felt far too emotionally fragile at the time to do something as potentially destructive as dance with a man. When she’d watched the bride and groom dance their first dance together she’d been consumed with a pain so sharp, and a misery so deep, she’d fled into a powder room—one of her favourite escapes—and cried for ages.

Justin frowned. ‘This has something to do with Eric the Mongrel, hasn’t it?’

Her smile was sad. ‘How did you guess?’

‘You told him in the lift you’d moved on, Rachel. And you told me just now he no longer mattered to you. I think it’s time you put your feet where your mouth is. You’re going to dance with me tonight and I don’t want to hear another word about it. I won’t take no for an answer.’

‘Yes, boss,’ she said, rather amused by his tough-guy attitude. It was so un-Justin. Same as with his earlier pretending to be a sleazebag boss.

‘That’s a very good phrase,’ he pronounced firmly. ‘Practise saying it.’

‘Yes, boss.’

‘Again.’

She laughed. ‘Yes, boss.’

He grinned. ‘By George, she’s got it!’

CHAPTER SEVEN

JUSTIN sat there, watching Rachel really enjoy herself, possibly for the first time in years. She’d relished the food, despite the meal being a simple one, and she’d certainly swigged back her fair share of the wine. Now she was looking totally relaxed, leaning back and peering up at the stars.

He’d just ordered their after-dinner coffee but it probably wouldn’t arrive for a while. Whilst the setting and ambience of the bar was great, the service was slow. The place was clearly understaffed, especially for a Saturday night. Management were probably cutting costs to make their profit margin look better, a common strategy when a business was for sale.

Time to ask Rachel to dance, Justin decided. The music coming from inside the bar was nice and slow, the rhythm easy to follow.

He rose to his feet, walked round her side of the table and held out his hand towards her. ‘Shall we take a turn around the terrace, Ms Witherspoon?’ he asked with feigned old-fashioned formality.

She smiled up at him. Such a lovely smile she had. Pity she didn’t use it more often. Still, maybe she would after tonight.

‘Why, thank you, Mr Darcy. Oops. Mr McCarthy, I mean.’ When she stood up she swayed back dangerously on her high heels. He grabbed her upper arms and pulled her hard against him.

‘Oh,’ she gasped, her eyes startled as they jerked up to meet his.

‘Methinks you’ve had too much to drink, Ms Witherspoon,’ he chided gently. ‘Just as well you find yourself in a gentleman’s company this evening, or you might be in a spot of bother.’

‘Yes. Just as well,’ she murmured even whilst her eyes remained locked to his and her woman’s body stayed pressed up against him.

Justin could not believe it when his own male body suddenly stirred to life. Neither could Rachel, by the look on her face.

Nevertheless, she didn’t move. Or say a word. Just stared up at him with those lovely eyes of hers, her lips still parted. Yet for all that, she didn’t look disgusted, or repelled by his arousal. Neither did she attempt to push him away, not even when his arms developed a devilish mind of their own and stole around her waist, one hand settling in the small of her back, the other sliding down to play over the soft swell of her buttocks. Instead of wrenching away from him in outrage, her own arms actually slipped up around his neck, and she sank even more closely against him.

‘Rachel,’ he breathed warningly.

‘Yes, boss?’ she said in a low, husky voice, her hazel eyes having gone all smoky.

‘You’re drunk.’

‘Yes, boss.’

‘Maybe dancing together isn’t such a good idea.’

‘Just shut up, boss, and move your feet.’

Her uncharacteristic assertiveness surprised him, but he shut up and moved his feet. Still, he’d been right. It wasn’t a good idea. The slow, sensual rhythm of the music got further into his blood, as did the scent—and softness—of the woman in his arms. Of course, it didn’t help that her fingertips started stroking the back of his neck in a highly provocative fashion, or that she kept gazing up at him with eyes full of erotic promise. By the time the music stopped he was in agony, his erection straining against the fly of his suit trousers.

At least he had a jacket on.

‘I need to go to the gents’,’ he ground out after depositing her back in her chair. Fortunately, their coffee had finally arrived. A potful, as ordered. Hopefully, after a couple of strong cups Rachel might sober up and stop trying to seduce him.

His normally very proper PA was going to hate herself in the morning, Justin thought ruefully as he strode back inside the bar and over to the gents’. Alcohol could make even the most sensible woman behave a bit stupidly. Add her tipsy state to all that had happened earlier this evening, and he had a very different Rachel on his hands tonight.

Of course, he had to shelve some of the blame himself. He hadn’t realised when he’d encouraged her to make herself over today that her transformation would be quite so dramatic. When a woman looked as seriously good as Rachel did tonight she was apt to find her flirtatious side.

Still, what was his excuse for responding so powerfully? Since he didn’t fancy Rachel in that sense, he could only conclude he was suffering from acute frustration.

Maybe his male body was finally rebelling against its long stint of celibacy. Possibly it was time for him to search out an accommodating female who’d give him regular sex without any emotional strings involved. Definitely no strings involved. The last thing he wanted was a serious relationship. Or being told he was loved.

Definitely not. Sex was all he needed, something that was painfully obvious when he went into a cubicle in the gents’ and confronted his wayward flesh.

Justin sighed and waited till the worst had subsided. But he was still aroused when he emerged from the cubicle to wash his hands. The sight of a condom dispenser on the wall next to the basins immediately caught his attention, with temptation not far behind.

Before he could think better of it, he dropped a couple of single dollars in the slot provided and slipped two condoms in his trouser pocket. Who knew? He might come back up here after Rachel was asleep. It was still only early. He’d already noticed an attractive redhead sitting all by herself at the bar, who’d given him the eye as he walked past. He just might return and take her up on her none-too-subtle invitation, since getting to sleep tonight in his present state of mind and body might prove difficult.

Difficult? More like bloody impossible!

Once Justin left her alone, Rachel’s conscience—and common sense—returned with a vengeance. What on earth did she think she was doing, flirting with her boss and dancing with him like that, winding her arms around his neck like a clinging vine and moulding her body to his like some neglected nymphomaniac?

Justin’s getting turned on wasn’t his fault. He was just a man after all, a man who possibly hadn’t had sex for some time. His leaving her to race off to the gents’ had been too embarrassing for words.

Rachel cringed with humiliation, and guilt. If she could have bolted back to her hotel room right now without consequences she would have. If Justin hadn’t been in possession of the door key she might have. As things stood, she had no alternative but to sit there and wait for his return, when she would apologise for her appalling behaviour, and beg his forgiveness and understanding. She would blame the wine, then throw herself on his mercy by explaining that she wasn’t herself tonight.

Not her recent self, anyway. The Rachel Justin had employed would never have acted as she just had. In a way, it amazed her that she’d had the gall. Being sexually aggressive took courage, and confidence. Either that, or being turned on to the max.

This last thought bothered her the most. Because during those moments when she’d felt his hardness pressing into her stomach she’d wanted him in the most basic way; wanted to feel him, not against her but inside her. It was a startling state of affairs for a girl who’d always believed she had to be in love to want to be made love to. Clearly, she’d come to a point in her life when that wasn’t the case any more. Perhaps that was what happened to a single woman when she got to a certain age, or when she’d been so lonely for so long that any man would do.

Rachel hated that idea but she could not deny it just might be true.

Crossing her arms with a shiver that had nothing to do with being cold, Rachel peered anxiously through the plate-glass window into the more dimly lit bar, both wanting and fearing Justin’s return.

But there was no sign of him. He was certainly taking his time.

Desperate for distraction from her increasing agitation, she poured herself some coffee and gulped it down, black and strong. Unfortunately, this only served to sober her up and make her agonise further over the folly of her earlier actions.

She was refilling her empty cup when her boss finally showed up, but he didn’t sit back down. He stayed standing by the table, his expression grim as he frowned down at her.

‘I think I should take you back to the apartment,’ he said abruptly. ‘What you need is sleep, not coffee.’

‘I’m not that drunk,’ she replied sharply before remembering that being intoxicated was to be one of her excuses for behaving badly.

‘I didn’t say you were. But you’ve had a long and emotionally exhausting day. Come along, Rachel, be a good girl, now, and don’t argue with me.’

Perversely, Rachel now felt like arguing with him, his patronising tone having really rubbed her up the wrong way. Any thought of apologising went out of the window.

He’d been equally to blame for what had just happened, she decided mutinously. If he hadn’t insisted she tart herself up she would never have had the confidence to do any of the things she’d done tonight. He’d never have asked her to dance, either. When she’d been a plain Jane he hadn’t given her a second glance.

She’d be damned if she was going to feel ashamed of her behaviour. Considering how long it had been since a man had taken her in his arms, it was no wonder she’d lost her head there for a while. She was only human.

A soon-to-be unemployed human, if you keep this attitude up, came the dry voice of reason.

With a sigh of surrender to common sense over rebellion, Rachel put down her coffee-cup and levered herself carefully out of the chair. This time, she was much more steady on her feet.

‘I didn’t think Cinderella had to go home till midnight,’ she muttered with a glance at her watch. ‘It’s only half-past ten. Still, if you say it’s time for me to go to bed then it’s time for me to go to bed. You’re the boss after all.’

Justin wished she hadn’t said that, his mind immediately filling with various lust-filled scenarios associated with his taking this particular Cinderella to bed, none of which involved his playing the role of Prince Charming. More like the Black Prince. When he went to take her arm he thought better of it, deciding to keep his hands to himself till she was safely ensconced in her bedroom. Alone.

‘Let’s go, then,’ he grated out, and stepped back to wave her ahead of him.

Unfortunately, Rachel walking ahead of him in that highly provocative dress stimulated him further. If she’d had eyes in the back of her head she’d have been disgusted by his suddenly lascivious gaze as it gobbled up her rear view, which, whilst not quite as delicious as her front, had the bonus of its owner not being aware of being ogled. He could ogle to his heart’s content.

Justin didn’t even notice the redhead at the bar this time as he passed by, his attention all on Rachel’s derrière in motion. The tinkling sounds of the crystal-drop hem brushing against her legs dragged his eyes down to her shapely calves, then further down to her slender ankles and sexily shod feet.

Justin didn’t normally have a shoe or foot fetish, but that didn’t stop him imagining Rachel walking in front of him in nothing but those turquoise high heels. Nothing. Not a stitch.

His stomach crunched down hard at the mental image, blood roaring round his body and gathering in his nether regions. The end result was an erection like Mount Vesuvius on the boil. It surprised him that there wasn’t smoke wafting from his trousers.

Their ride down in the lift was awkward and silent, Justin keeping his hands linked loosely over his groin area in a seemingly nonchalant attitude, but inside he was struggling with the most corrupting thoughts.

She probably wouldn’t stop you if you started making love to her. She wants it. You know she does. Understandable under the circumstances. She probably hasn’t been to bed with a man since Eric the Mongrel left her. And she certainly hasn’t looked this good since then, either. She wants you to want her. That’s why she was stroking your neck like that. And that’s why she wasn’t all that happy a minute ago when you brought her Cinderella night to an abrupt halt. You’d be doing her a favour if you slept with her. You’d be delivering the whole fantasy. A man in her bed for the night. A man wanting her again. A man finding her beautiful and desirable and, yes, sexy.

Which he did find her tonight. What man wouldn’t? She looked gorgeous.

But what about in the morning, Justin? What about next week when you have to work with her? What then?

Justin smothered a groan. He couldn’t do it. No matter what. It was unacceptable and unconscionable and just plain wrong. She might not be dead drunk but she was decidedly tipsy, and extra-vulnerable tonight. She needed compassion, not passion. Understanding, not underhanded tactics.

‘You’re angry with me, aren’t you?’ she said wretchedly when they finally made it into the apartment, neither having said a word since they’d left the bar.

Justin sighed. ‘No, Rachel, I’m not angry with you.’

‘You’re acting as though you are.’

‘I’m sorry if it looks that way. If you must know, I’m angry with myself.’

She blinked her surprise. ‘But why? I’m the one who’s been behaving badly.’

‘That’s a matter of opinion. If you could see into my head right now then you wouldn’t think that.’

She stared at him and he stared right back, his conscience once again raging a desperate war with his fiercely aroused body. He tried to recapture the gentle and platonic feelings Rachel usually engendered in him; tried to recall how she’d once looked. But it was a losing battle. That sexless creature was gone, and in her place was this incredibly desirable woman. All he could think about was how she’d felt in his arms upstairs and how she’d feel in his bed down here.

‘This is an even worse idea than dancing with you,’ he muttered as he stepped forward and cupped her startled face with his hands. ‘But I haven’t the will-power to resist. Don’t say no to me, Rachel. Not tonight.’

He was going to kiss her, Rachel realised with a small gasp of shock. No, not just kiss her. He was going to make love to her.

She almost blurted out ‘no’, his carnal intentions fuelling instant panic. But before her mouth could form any protest his lips had covered hers in a kiss of such hunger and intensity that she was totally blown away. His tongue stabbed deep, his fingers sliding up into her hair, his fingertips digging into her scalp as he held her mouth solidly captive under his. It was a brutally ravaging, wildly primitive, hotly demanding kiss.

And she loved it, her moans echoing a dazed, dizzying pleasure.

‘No, don’t,’ she choked out ambiguously when his head lifted at long last, leaving her mouth feeling bruised and bereft. She actually meant, No, don’t stop. But he naturally took it another way.

‘I told you not to say that,’ he growled, and swept her up into his arms. ‘There will be no “no”s tonight.’

He kissed her again as he carried her down to his room, then kissed her some more whilst he took off all her clothes. Once she was totally, shockingly naked, he spread her out on the bed and kissed every intimate erogenous part of her body.

And she never once said no. Because she never said a word. She was beyond words. Beyond anything but moaning with pleasure.

Yet she didn’t come. He seemed to know just how much she could endure without tipping over the edge. Time and time again she would come incredibly close, and tense up in expectation of imminent release. But each time he would stop doing what he was doing, and she’d groan and writhe with frustration. As often as not he’d just smile down at her, as though he was enjoying her torment.

By the time he deserted her to strip off all his own clothes she would have done anything he asked. But he didn’t ask. Instead, he drew on one of the two condoms he pulled from his trouser pocket, and just took. Swiftly and savagely.

‘Oh,’ Rachel gasped, coming within seconds of his entering her. She’d never climaxed as quickly as that before, her flesh gripping his as he continued to thrust wildly into hers. He didn’t last long, either, his back arching as his mouth gaped wide in a naked cry of primal release. Afterwards, he collapsed across her, his chest heaving, his breathing raw.

Rachel just lay there under him, stunned and confused. For a woman whose body had just been racked by a fierce and fantastic orgasm, she didn’t feel at all satisfied, just primed for more.

‘Don’t talk,’ he commanded when he finally withdrew and scooped her still turned-on body up in his arms. ‘Talking will only spoil everything.’

His en suite bathroom was as white and spacious as hers, with a shower cubicle built for two. Holding her with one strong arm, he adjusted the water on both shower heads then deposited her in there before leaving to attend to the condom.

Rachel stood under the warm water and watched him through the clear glass of the shower cubicle, thinking that he really had a fabulous body. When he’d undressed earlier she’d been too caught up with her own excitement and apprehension to notice him in detail. Now her eyes avidly drank in his perfect male shape; the broad shoulders, slender hips, tight buttocks. Muscles abounded in his back, arms and legs. He also sported an all-over tan, except for the area that had been covered by a very brief swimming costume. Justin was built very well indeed. His wife certainly hadn’t left him because he was inadequate in that department. Or in the lovemaking department either. He knew what to do with a woman’s body all right. He made Eric’s idea of foreplay look pathetically inadequate.

Thinking of Justin’s wife and Eric reminded Rachel that what she was doing here—and what Justin was doing here—had nothing to do with love and relationships, and everything to do with need. Need for sex, and the need to be needed, even if only sexually.

At least, that was the way it was for her. Justin’s wanting her, even for this one night, had done more for her feminine self-esteem than all the physical make-overs in the world. He’d brought out the woman in her again. If nothing else, after tonight she could not go back to being that pretend plain Jane who’d been playing the role of his prim PA in such a piteous fashion.

Even if it meant having to resign, she would truly move on from this point, and live her life as she once had. There would be no more wimpishly making the least of herself. No more hiding behind dreary black suits and spinsterish hairdos. Definitely no more being afraid of other people, and men in particular. That sad, lonely chapter in her life was over.

‘You’re thinking,’ Justin grumbled as he joined her under the water and turned up the hot tap.

‘And you’re talking,’ she reminded him as she lifted her hands to slick her dripping hair back from her face.

‘That’s my prerogative. I’m the boss. Keep your arms up and your hands behind your head like that,’ he ordered thickly. ‘Lock your fingers together. Keep your elbows back.’

Rachel was staggered by his request. But she obeyed, and found the experience an incredible turn-on. By the look in his eyes, Justin did too. His gaze roved hotly over her body, which felt extra-naked and extra-exposed as she stood there like that. The now steaming water kept splashing over her head and running down her face, into the corners of her by now panting mouth. Down her neck it streamed, forming a rivulet between her breasts, pooling in her navel before spilling down to the juncture between her thighs, soaking the curl-covered mound and finally finding its way into the already hot, wet valleys of her female flesh.

‘Beautiful,’ he murmured, his voice low and taut. ‘Now close your eyes and don’t talk. Or move.’

Her eyes widened but then fluttered closed, as ordered. Rachel was far too excited to even consider not obeying him. She’d never played erotic games before, and the experience was blowing her mind.

Now, within her self-imposed prison of darkness, she could only imagine how she looked, standing there so submissively, with her elbows back and her breasts thrust forward, their nipples achingly erect. Was he looking at her and despising her for her unexpected wantonness, or delighting in her willingness to play slave to his master?

The shocking part was she didn’t seem to care, as long as he looked, and touched, and satisfied her once more. By the time his hands started skimming lightly over her body, she was already craving another climax, her mind propelling her forward to that moment when he’d surge up into her, filling her, fulfilling her.

She moaned softly when something—not his hand—rubbed over her nipples. Soap, she soon realised. A cake of soap. He wasn’t washing her as such, just using the soap, caressing her with its slippery surface, making her nipples tighten even further. Every internal muscle she owned tightened along with them. When the soap started travelling southwards Rachel sucked in sharply.

No, not there, she wanted to warn him. But before her tongue could formulate her brain’s protest the soap was between her legs, sliding back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. She tried to stop the inevitable from happening, but it was like trying to stop a ski-jumper in mid-jump. When her belly grew taut and her thighs began to tremble she knew the struggle for control had been futile.