Desk Job (London Menage Book 2) Page 5

  Fuck. What the hell just happened in there? For a wild second I’d thought about having sex in that office. Okay, I’d always had a high libido and this drought in my love life wasn’t fun … but still.

  Suppressing a giggle that was part shock and part elation, I glanced at the office door. I could hear Andre. Just the sound of him talking did hot things to my body. It was clear I had a crush of full-blown proportions, something that had never happened before with an employer. But what the hell? It seemed he was pretty damn keen on me too. What did I have to lose?

  My job.

  I’d get another one. To hell with it.

  Besides, he’d promised it wouldn’t get complicated. Whatever that meant.

  I picked up a pen and hovered it over my to-do list. What was the other thing he’d said? You’ve got me tied up in knots. Well that was good, because I was tied up in knots, too, and the sooner he started unraveling them and seeing to this need that was building in me, the better.

  Chapter Four

  Andre barely got another spare minute during the day, and then had to rush out to an early dinner meeting with a client from Japan. I’d booked Nobo and as I traveled home on the Tube, I hoped they were having a nice time.

  I planned a lazy day on Saturday, though I woke early with one thing on my mind—Andre. Memories of that kiss in his office swarmed around my brain, dominating all my thoughts. It had been a while since I’d been kissed, admittedly, but I couldn’t recall a man ever making me want to shed my clothes and allow him to do whatever he pleased with my body.

  And the more I thought about it, the more I realized that was exactly what I wanted. To give myself over to him. Surrender to what I hoped would be his expert between-the-sheets skills. He was damn good at everything else he set his mind to. I couldn’t imagine that wouldn’t translate to the bedroom as well.

  After a long soak in the bath, I called my parents for a catch-up. They were planning a trip to the coast to enjoy the sunshine, though of course there were the usual complaints about the fact the traffic would be heavy. My mother had packed up a picnic because my father didn’t want to eat in a restaurant—he had his heart set on a beach-based lunch. I bid them a nice day then mooched around my flat.

  I sprawled on the sofa and tried to catch up on my favorite programs from the week just gone but couldn’t concentrate. Lullabelle cuddled up with me, purring loudly, so I stared at the screen for as long as I could. It was to no avail, though. I wished it wasn’t Saturday and that I was in the office, with Andre. I craved his company, his smile, the feel of him against me.

  “What the hell are you doing?” I paced to the window and stared out at the London skyline. My apartment was high and on a hill so I could see mainly rooftops and in the distance The London Eye and The Shard. I adored the view, it calmed me, and I took a few deep breaths.

  Maybe I should go out for a walk. Follow my parents’ plans and enjoy the sunshine. I’d take my pen and notebook and maybe see if I could get a few lines together for a new poem.

  Making a sudden decision, I slipped from my sloppy trousers and faded but super-soft lounging t-shirt and pulled on jeans and a light sweater. I found a pair of flat sandals and dragged my hair into a high ponytail. A slick of lip balm, a squirt of perfume, and my shades and I was ready.

  “Sorry Lullabelle, but I’ll see you later.” I tickled her chin. She was sprawled in the sunshine and didn’t look remotely distressed about being left alone.

  The air was warm and held a slight breeze coming from the south. As I walked through Regent’s Park, I began to feel a little better, less tangled up with my longing for Andre, but still, he was all I could think about. Monday couldn’t come soon enough.

  “Damn I have it bad,” I muttered as I gazed at a couple in the distance. They were lying on a picnic blanket, cuddled up close and clearly oblivious to everyone else around them.

  I spotted a bench and sat.

  Monday.

  “Oh fuck.” I pressed my lips together and checked no one had heard my expletive. Andre would be in Barcelona on Monday. I’d booked him the flights and hotel. In fact, he was leaving late on Sunday to ensure he was on time for the important meeting with clients.

  I rummaged in my bag, checked my phone for messages—none—then pulled out my pen and notebook. I crossed my legs, jiggled my foot, and wrote down the title of a new piece.

  Frustration

  I underlined it twice.

  The way I felt was tight, like an elastic band had been wound within me. I was restless, needy, my body ached from my bones to my chest. All I needed to do now was get that feeling down in some kind of order with the use of carefully chosen words.

  I took a deep breath and allowed my thoughts to drift, playing with sentences and rhymes. The all-consuming kiss and the way Andre dominated my senses drew up the words passion, desperate, urgent, impatience, and began to scrawl the first few lines on the page.

  Just when I was getting into the flow of it, my phone rang. I reached for it absently, it would likely be Sian calling to see how the new job had gone. Good. I’d be able to fill her in on all the gossip and get her take on the rollercoaster crush I had on my boss.

  Except when I looked at the screen, it wasn’t Sian at all. It was a number I didn’t recognize.

  “Hello.” I frowned, hoping it wasn’t someone trying to sell me something or represent me for an accident I hadn’t had.

  “Stella?”

  I caught my breath. I knew that voice. “Yes.”

  “It’s Andre.”

  “Oh, hi.” I shut my notebook and closed my eyes. What the hell was he doing calling me? Not that I was complaining.

  “I hope you don’t mind, I got your mobile number from your CV.”

  “No, of course I don’t mind.” Hell, I wanted the guy to take me to heaven and back, I wasn’t likely to have a problem with him calling me. “Is everything okay?”

  “Yes. I’m at the office.”

  “Really, on a Saturday?”

  He chuckled. “I told you, dull as dishwater.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Very kind of you to say so. No, I had some preparation to do for Monday’s meeting in Barcelona, so thought I’d get a head start on it today rather than leaving it for when I got to Heathrow.”

  “Okay.” There was a silence, but I didn’t fill it. He’d called me after all.

  What does he want?

  “About yesterday,” he said. “I just wanted to say I wish we hadn’t been interrupted by James.”

  I smiled. “Me too.” I wondered if he was smiling as well. I liked to think he was.

  “I’d be quite happy to do it again, kiss you that is.” He paused. “Would you like that, Stella?”

  “Very much.” I had the urge to punch the air but an elderly couple were walking past with a posse of poodles on leashes. I didn’t want to startle them. “But I guess it will have to wait. As you said on Thursday, you’re a busy man.”

  “Are you free tonight?”

  “I could be.” Abso-bloody-lutely.

  “I have tickets for Chicago at the Cambridge Theater. Do you fancy it?”

  “I haven’t seen that show.” I smiled.

  “I hear it’s very good. Though if you’d rather do something else, that’s fine.”

  I hesitated, enjoying the knowledge that Andre Bramon was so keen to spend his Saturday evening with me. Well, as keen as I was to spend it with him. “Catching a show sounds great. I’ll look forward to it.”

  He expelled a breath, as though he’d been holding it. “I’ll pick you up at six-thirty then.”

  “I can meet you there.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, fine, it will save you the drive out this way. Shall we say seven at the box office?”

  “Okay and Stella…”

  “Yes?”

  “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “For giving me a chance.”

  “That w
orks both ways.”

  “I guess. Later then.”

  “Bye.” I hung up and slipped my phone away.

  A group of pigeons were heading toward me, strutting along the pathway and pecking for crumbs as they went. I picked up my pencil and flipped to a new page in my notebook.

  Anticipation

  Again, I underlined it twice. My feelings had switched. Now excitement rolled inside of me. I had a lovely warm sensation in my belly that radiated outward. Thoughts spun like a tornado in my mind. What to wear? How to style my hair? What underwear to put on? Would Andre get to see my underwear tonight? Would we get the chance to take it further, the way I would have in his office if I’d thought I could have gotten away with it?

  A shiver of desire snaked up my spine and over my scalp. It was a delicious, smile-inducing sensation. This evening I’d be with Andre, the object of my preoccupation. After thinking I wouldn’t see him for days, now it was only hours. And he’d called me. He’d sought out my company.

  It seemed our need to be together was mutual.

  I opted for a sleeveless white halter dress that showed off my cleavage and neat waist but flared at my hips and came down just past my knees. It was a favorite of mine and I always felt a bit like Marilyn Monroe when wearing it. I’d teamed it with silver heels, a silver necklace and a sparkling clutch. Beneath it, I opted for a sturdy strapless bra that had lace detail on the cups and a matching thong.

  I’d been careful to exfoliate and ensure not a body hair was out of place, finishing off with a lavish application of a new vanilla and mango body cream that made my skin soft and strokeable.

  Standing now at the Cambridge Theater, I pressed my hand over the throw I’d folded on my forearm just in case it was cool later. Though I hoped things would only get hotter between Andre and me.

  I was a few minutes early, being late was a fear of mine, but that was okay because I enjoyed watching the other theater goers arriving—ladies dressed in finery, men in smart suits, and polished shoes.

  Seeing Chicago appealed to me. I knew some of the songs and had caught snippets of it on TV over the years. The evening ahead would be very pleasant. I only hoped the night would be too. I shifted from one foot to the other, but was I jumping into bed too quickly with Andre, if that was in fact what happened later?

  Maybe.

  Perhaps.

  Probably.

  But what the hell? I was single. He was single. We fancied the pants off each other. Life was short. Too short not to take a chance, grab some fun, get some satisfaction when it walked on by.

  “Hey. Stella.”

  I turned to my right.

  Andre stood there, looking more handsome in his black suit than any other man who’d entered the theater. His hair appeared damp, as though he’d not long ago showered. He was perfectly clean-shaven and wore a deep purple tie.

  “Am I late?” He frowned and glanced at his watch.

  “Not at all. I was early.”

  “I didn’t mean to make you wait.” His frown was still in place.

  “I was quite happy people watching.”

  “Ah, yes.” His expression softened. “Getting inspiration for those poems of yours.”

  “Something like that.”

  He leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to my cheek.

  I inhaled his cologne and let the scent drift down into my lungs, lacing the back of my tongue as it did so.

  “You look beautiful,” he said quietly against my ear.

  “Thank you.”

  He pulled back. “And I’m a lucky guy to have you on my arm.” He held out the crook of his elbow. “Shall we?”

  “Yes, please. I’m looking forward to it.”

  The show was amazing. I became lost in the music, the dance, the characters and the story. It was a feast for my senses and made all the more special by the fact Andre was beside me. When it came to an end, I was surprised how the time had flown.

  “I could watch it all over again,” I said to Andre as the final rounds of applause died down.

  “You enjoyed it then?”

  “I completely loved it. Everything about it.”

  “I’m glad.” He stood and held out his hand. “Shall we get a nightcap?”

  I set my fingers in his palm and watched as he closed his hand around mine. Did I want a nightcap? Hell yeah. In fact, I wanted that and more. “That sounds perfect.” I stood and found myself pressed close to him in the narrow aisle.

  “Shall we find a bar or would you like to come back to my place?” he asked.

  Fuck. That was the million-pound question.

  I looked into his eyes, they sparkled and held a glint of hope.

  “I guess we’re not far from Chelsea.” That wasn’t quite true but I didn’t think he’d quibble. “Your place sounds good to me.”

  His mouth twitched into a smile. “It sounds good to me, too.”

  The crowd opened up and still holding my hand, he led me down the steps and out of the theater. The throng of people soon dispersed and Andre hailed a taxi.

  My ears rung from the loud music as I climbed inside and buckled up. I also felt cool. I shook out my wrap only to find Andre taking it from me. He spread it wide then carefully placed it around my shoulders being sure to drape it evenly and gather it at the front, over my chest.

  “Thank you.”

  He said nothing, just looked at me intently.

  “Everything okay?” I asked.

  “Never better.” He adjusted his position on the seat then clipped his seatbelt secure. Once again, he took hold of my hand.

  I bit down on my bottom lip. This was the big step I’d been expecting, going back to his place held endless possibilities. Most were fun, sexy and I hoped, thoroughly satisfying, but still, it was a huge step to jump into bed with my boss.

  But this man, at my side, holding my hand. He wasn’t just my boss. It was Andre, sweet, caring, sexy Andre. It would all be fine. More than fine. We would be amazing together and just maybe, hopefully, exactly what each other had been searching for.

  We began our journey to Chelsea. The streets were busy with public transport, smart cars and black cabs.

  “How long have you lived in your place?” I asked.

  “For three years. I bought it when Emma and I split.”

  “Oh, I see.” Of course, the ex-wife, Emma.

  “We had a home in Kent that we shared together. I signed it over to her and started afresh on the property ladder.”

  “Wow, that was generous.”

  “It was the least I could do after what I’d put her through.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “Were you that bad?”

  He kind of chuckled but it held little humor. “I didn’t beat her or have affairs but I was never there for her. I didn’t treat her the way she should have been treated or make her feel special the way a man should make his wife feel special, so yes, I was bad and I’ll always regret that.”

  I squeezed his hand. “Sounds like you had a rough time.”

  “It wasn’t fun, but it was my own doing. I blew my chances with her and goodness knows, she gave me enough of them.” He drew my hand up to his face and set a kiss on my knuckles. “But I want to do it differently next time I fall in love. I won’t make the same mistakes again.”

  Next time he falls in love. A bubble of something scarily like hope grew inside me. Love was a big word, he’d also confessed to what he wanted for his future, and damn the guy was quite a catch. Handsome, kind, successful. I could live with all of that in the short term and the long.

  But right now, there were some more basic needs to attend to.

  We pulled up beside a high red brick wall that had huge dark green gates set in it.

  “Thanks.” Andre handed a few notes over to the driver then opened the door. He climbed out, then held offered his hand once more for me to take.

  I stepped out, clutching my throw at my chest and looked up at the tall greenery that went higher than the wall that li
ned the pavement. “Is this your place?” I asked, nodding at the gates.

  “Yes, not the most impressive entrance but it’s secure and private.” He pulled out a key and inserted it into a small Yale lock on the gate.

  A smaller gate opened up, enough for a person and not a vehicle.

  “Come in,” he said, stepping through and holding it wide.

  I did as instructed, my feet sinking in the small stones on the inner driveway. I looked up. “Wow.”

  Before me stood a grand Georgian house. It was painted cream, had thick pillars on either side of the black front door, huge bay windows and a balcony leading over the porch. It had a high roof with several sturdy chimney pots and next to me, on the driveway, sat a silver Maserati.

  “Do you like it?” he asked, guiding me past the car toward the steps that led to the front door.

  “It’s beautiful.” It was my ideal house. It was the type of house I would have drawn as a little girl, the kind I mooned over in estate agent windows and could quite happily live in forever.

  “I did some work on it. The inside was stuck in a time warp from last century, and not a particularly stylish decade at that.”

  “I can’t wait to see inside.”

  He grinned and led the way up the steps. After opening the door and turning off a quietly beeping alarm, he held out his hand. “Shall I take that?”

  “Yes, please.” I let the throw slip from my shoulders and watched as he draped it over a mahogany chair set beneath a gold gilded mirror.

  “This way to the kitchen,” he said. “Or would you rather sit in the lounge?”

  “I want to see your kitchen.” I smiled. “Where the magic happens.”

  “Magic doesn’t happen in the kitchen.” He glanced up the stairs then back at me.

  Oh fuck. He was so damn sexy and I wanted some of his magic. But I decided not to respond to his flirty comment and keep him guessing as to whether or not I would go upstairs with him.

  “What would you like to drink?” he asked, turning and heading through a wide door to his right.

  “Gin and tonic, if you have it.” I followed him.

  “I certainly do.”

  The kitchen was ultra-modern, the units white and a vast amount of sparkling black granite covered the work surfaces. A big island was set in the center and held a tall, sleek tap and a vase of white peonies.