His Girl Monday to Friday Read online

  ‘My flat’s upstairs,’ she said. ‘There are stairs just in front of us, and my flat’s upstairs.’ The jittery travelogue seemed to have a life of its own. ‘The house is divided into flats. I have a self-contained flat on the first floor.’

  His laugh caressed her. ‘Well, I’m glad to have that straightened out. Let’s have a look at this first-floor, self-contained flat, shall we?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Barbara. She started up the stairs, forgetting to turn on the light. She heard Charles behind her on the stairs.

  ‘You’ve still got the keys,’ she said breathlessly, waiting for him at the top. He’d kissed her twice. Three times if you counted inside and outside the car as two separate times.

  ‘So I have,’ said Charles, joining her at the top of the stairs. ‘Which one is it?’

  He spread out the keys; her fingers brushed his as she selected one, sending an electric shock up her arm. How could just touching him do that? she thought despairingly. And why had no one else had that effect? She’d tried to go out with other men, tried to put him out of her mind, but how could you put someone out of your mind if kissing other men was as exciting as kissing the sofa?

  Charles slipped the key into the lock and opened the door. Barbara turned on the light and they went into the living room of the small one-bedroomed flat where she’d been living for the past five years. The room was cluttered with books and there were a couple of family photos on the mantel, including a group picture from one Christmas because Charles was in it.

  Charles was walking up and down, his hands in his pockets. ‘It’s just the way I imagined it,’ he said, a smile tugging at his mouth.

  Barbara smiled shyly. It was odd to see him in the light, looking just the way he always did, after that passionate kiss downstairs in the dark. It was odd—no, it was wonderful to see him in her flat. She’d never imagined in a million years that he would ever actually visit her here. Later, when he went on to girl number 5,672, or whatever it was he was up to, she’d be able to look around her flat and see him walking up and down and smiling.

  Suddenly he squatted down in front of a bookcase and pulled something out. ‘Good Lord, so you actually kept this,’ he said.

  ‘What is it?’ said Barbara.

  ‘Zazie Dans le Métro. I gave it to you one Christmas when you were about fourteen.’

  ‘Of course I kept it,’ Barbara said offhandedly. ‘I never throw away a book.’

  It was the first whole book in French she’d ever read. The colloquial French had been fiendishly hard, but she’d kept reading anyway, struggling to follow the story of the obnoxious little girl who’d gone to visit her uncle in Paris when the Métro was on strike, and who wanted to see nothing in Paris except the Métro. She still remembered opening the slim package by the tree, not knowing who it was from, then seeing his name and knowing he’d only bought it so as not to hurt her parents’ feelings. Even so, it had been her favourite present. ‘One little terror deserves another,’ he’d written inside the front cover, and he’d signed with a dashing scrawl—‘Charles’.

  He gave her a gleaming glance. ‘That would explain it, then. I thought I saw a lot of old friends here.’

  ‘It was very thoughtful of you to remember me,’ Barbara said politely. At one point she’d kept all the books he’d given her over the years in one place; thank goodness she’d later decided to scatter them alphabetically throughout her collection.

  ‘Wasn’t it just?’ He raised a sardonic eyebrow. ‘Especially considering what a self-centred, bad-tempered, highhanded, arrogant swine I am.’

  ‘Would you like a drink?’ asked Barbara, changing the subject.

  He leapt lightly to his feet.

  ‘No, I don’t want a drink,’ he said. He was smiling down at her. ‘I’d just like to make sure there hasn’t been some mistake.’

  ‘Mistake?’ Barbara said blankly.

  ‘I’d like you to kiss me where you can see what you’re doing.’ He grinned at her, the old heart-stopping, knee-weakening grin that he’d been turning on girls so carelessly ever since she’d known him. ‘It was dark in the car,’ he said seriously. ‘You may not have realised you were kissing a selfish, arrogant swine with no consideration for his staff. You didn’t turn on the light downstairs, either. I could have been anybody. I could have been somebody without any of the character defects you’ve been calling to my attention for the last fifteen years.’

  Barbara wasn’t going to take this lying down. ‘Don’t be silly,’ she said loftily. ‘It was just a kiss. I didn’t think it was necessary to ask for a character reference.’

  ‘I’m so glad to hear you say that, Barbara,’ he said gravely, the gleam in his eye belying his tone of voice, ‘because you can see for yourself I’m just the same old selfish, arrogant swine you’ve been lighting into all this time, and I’m going to kiss you again. I’d hate for you to be kissed by a selfish, arrogant swine and not know what was happening until it was too late.’

  He put one hand in her hair, cupping her head, and bent his head, kissing her softly. Her mouth opened under his; she raised one hand to his shoulder. He was kissing her for the fourth time, she thought wonderingly. It would probably never happen again so she should make the most of it. She should remember all the best parts of all the other kisses and make sure they happened again, and she should remember all the things she’d wished she’d done the other times and do them this time while she had the chance.

  This kiss seemed to be different from the others. He was kissing her softly, coaxing her mouth open. His hand held her head, but he was hardly touching her, so that she was somehow more conscious of his body just inches away. She remembered that she had put her hand in his hair last time.

  Most of the time she sat in meetings next to him, or she sat in his office, taking notes, and her eyes would be drawn to the powerful column of his neck with the black hair cropped close at the base of his head and all she could do was look. Now she could run her hand up his neck into his hair; she could do anything she wanted to. She slid her hand up over his collar, up the back of his neck, and splayed her fingers in his hair so that she could feel the hard curve of his skull.

  What hadn’t she done last time? What else had she always wanted to do? Sometimes when he was working late at the office he would take off his jacket and pace up and down, and she could see the powerful shoulders and muscular back under the cotton of his shirt. He was wearing his jacket now, but she could slip her other hand inside it. She did so, feeling the corded muscles of his back. Now she would never see him pacing up and down in his shirtsleeves without remembering this.

  She melted into his kiss, revelling in the contrast between the strength of the body under her hands and the soft, soft mouth on hers.

  They were standing beside the long sofa which had been a present from her mother. Charles drew her down onto it. They were sitting on a pile of books. He was still kissing her. Oh, it was lovely. Why was he stopping? He had raised his head; a smile quirked at his mouth.

  ‘Mind if we move all this stuff to the floor?’ he said.

  Barbara shook her head speechlessly. Charles swept the books to the floor with a single ruthless gesture.

  He swung his long legs up onto the sofa, stretching out on his side against the back, propping himself on one elbow.

  ‘Care to join me, Five Per Cent?’ His eyes gleamed up at her.

  Barbara lay down on her side, facing him.

  His mouth brushed hers. Were they still on four? Or maybe that was four and a half, she thought, her mouth stinging from the contact. The emerald eyes were perhaps an inch from hers.

  ‘Lie down on your back,’ he said softly. ‘I’ve left you lots of room.’

  Barbara lay back, looking up into his face. ‘Are you seducing me, Charles?’ she asked.

  ‘Certainly not,’ said Charles. ‘In the first place you’re my secretary, and I don’t believe in getting involved with my secretary. In the second place you’re only a five
per cent shareholder and, as you pointed out yourself, I couldn’t possibly go all the way with someone who only had five per cent. And in the third place—’ his eyes gleamed with amusement ‘—we don’t have the time.’ A smile tugged at his mouth. ‘This is just a practice run. Mind?’

  Barbara supposed she should say something sarcastic—he really was impossibly arrogant. But the teasing look in his eyes disarmed her. A smile tugged at the corners of her own mouth. How was she supposed to look disapproving when she’d been kissed four and a half times by someone who for years had only kissed her in her dreams? She shook her head, the dark blue eyes meeting his with a gleam of their own.

  ‘I thought you were being suspiciously nice,’ she said. ‘Just getting into practice, are you?’

  ‘Mmm.’ His mouth brushed hers again. ‘I’d just like to see,’ he said softly. laughter in his voice, ‘exactly how far a five per cent shareholder is prepared to go with a cocky director who never thinks of anyone but himself…’

  Barbara smiled up at him. They were lying on her sofa. Now, whenever she sat on her sofa, she’d be able to remember Charles lying there next to her.

  ‘You don’t seem very worried about it,’ he said. ‘Considering all the times you’ve told me…’ his mouth brushed hers ‘…in no uncertain terms…’ he kissed her again ‘…all the things you’re always telling me…’ he kissed her again, his mouth curving in a smile against hers ‘…in no uncertain terms.’ His eyes smiled into hers. ‘God, you’re beautiful, Barbara. More beautiful than a five per cent shareholder has any right to be.’

  She’d lie on her sofa, Barbara thought, and she’d remember Charles telling her she was beautiful and kissing her.

  ‘Now, Barbara,’ Charles said seriously, ‘if I do something you don’t like I want you to tell me. Instantly.’ His eyes gleamed over a perfectly straight mouth. ‘You’re always telling me I ride roughshod over people. Now, you know I can’t afford to alienate my shareholders so I want you to tell me if I do anything you think might alienate a shareholder.’

  ‘All right,’ said Barbara. She felt as if she was drowning in those glorious sea-green eyes.

  ‘That’s good,’ said Charles, ‘because a selfish, arrogant swine is unbuttoning the dress of a five per cent shareholder of the company.’ She could feel the pull of the fabric as his fingers pushed the buttonhole over the first button, then the release of tension as the button slid through and his fingers moved to the next. His eyes held hers. ‘Being so selfish and arrogant,’ he said very softly, ‘if you don’t tell him…’ he flicked up an eyebrow ‘…he might not know when to stop.’

  Barbara stared up at him, her blue eyes enormous. His hand was down to her waist. She seemed to have stopped breathing; it was as if just drawing a breath might break the spell.

  ‘Don’t stop,’ she said at last breathlessly, the words just audible.

  ‘I’ve got to stop,’ Charles said softly. ‘I’ve run out of buttons.’

  His hand slipped inside her dress and rested lightly for a moment on her thigh before running up the line of her side.

  He brushed her mouth again with his. ‘A selfish, arrogant swine,’ he murmured in her ear, ‘has his hand on your breast.’ His thumb slid across the flimsy fabric of her bra, dragging it across her nipple. ‘Bloody cheek—’

  ‘Stop,’ said Barbara raggedly.

  He took his hand away abruptly.

  She shook her head impatiently. ‘Stop joking,’ she said hoarsely. Her eyes were enormous dark pools. ‘You don’t have to. It’s lovely.’

  He smiled at her. ‘Sorry. My mistake.’

  He hooked a thumb inside the lapel of her dress and pulled it off her breast, so that the whole side of the dress fell away from her towards the floor. Then he drew the other side of her dress towards him, tucking the fabric down between them. She was wearing a gauzy bra that fastened in front; he unfastened the hook and let the two halves of the bra fall down to either side, too.

  He looked down at her for a long moment, then met her eyes. ‘I said you were beautiful, Barbara,’ he said softly, ‘but I didn’t know the half of it.’ His eyes drifted down again.

  The corner of his mouth quirked up. ‘Let’s get rid of these tights,’ he said. He slid a hand under the waistband and rolled the filmy tights down over her hips. He propped himself on his other hand to pull them down each thigh, over her knees and finally over her feet, then dropped back to his elbow.

  ‘Mmm, lovely,’ he said, sliding his hand up over her flat belly. She shivered at his touch; the warm hand on her cool skin seemed to send a warm flood of sensation through her body.

  He bent over and kissed her breast. She gasped involuntarily; it was as if a live wire had been put to her breast, setting off a convulsion of pleasure. She could feel his mouth, hot and soft and wet, and the supple tip of his tongue, playing with her nipple—sending arrows of unbearably piercing sweetness through her. She drew a shuddering breath. She’d never imagined that anything could feel like this. Why couldn’t it just go on and on? Why did it ever have to stop?

  He didn’t stop for a long time, and when he did it was to kiss her other breast. She shuddered uncontrollably. His tongue kept setting off explosions of sweetness until her whole body seemed to be one quivering mass of pleasure, but with a strange aching between her legs that grew as he went on. As if he had sensed this, she felt his hand drift down again over her stomach and slip inside the filmy scrap of fabric across her hips. Abruptly, unthinkingly, she jerked away from him, overcome suddenly by horrible embarrassment.

  Charles’s hand dropped away immediately. He raised his head, a look of faint surprise in his eyes, as if to make sure he had understood her.

  ‘I—I’m sorry,’ Barbara stammered.

  ‘Don’t be sony,’ he said softly. ‘I want you to tell me what you want.’

  He looked at the vivid face—the black eyebrows that had scowled at him, the eyes that had alternated between scorn and fury, the broad mouth that had hurled insults at him over the years. She’d maddened him more times than he could count, but even when the insults had been close to the mark there’d been an electric energy in the air around her that had made him, oddly, like her better than most of the women who’d adored him unquestioningly.

  Like—it wasn’t the right word. Even at her most infuriating she’d never bored him. Now the dark blue eyes were drowning with desire, the broad mouth swollen with his kisses. It was as if he’d never seen her before.

  She flashed him a sudden, unexpectedly mischievous look.

  ‘Well,’ said Barbara, ‘you might take a few of your clothes off.’

  He gave a shout of laughter. ‘As many as you like,’ he said, his eyes dancing. He gave her a hard, swift kiss and sat up, sliding his legs under hers.

  He shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it to the floor, then loosened his tie and pulled it free. He raised a quizzical eyebrow. ‘How much further do you want me to go?’ he asked.

  Barbara smiled. ‘I’ll take over now,’ she said. She put her hands on his shoulders and pulled herself up onto his thighs so that her face was level with his. She unbuttoned his collar and undid another button, and when he gave her his heart-stopping, careless grin she kissed him and kept going. He was still grinning when she got down to his belt and pulled out his shirt.

  She could never have imagined that he could be so easy to be around. Usually he couldn’t be in the same room with her for two minutes without saying something infuriating. He’d probably smiled at her more times in the last half-hour than he had in the whole fifteen previous years—really smiled, that was, instead of giving her the old mocking smile she’d always hated.

  It was odd to think that he’d done all this so many times with so many women. Other women must have unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it out, and he must have grinned, and it hadn’t made any difference—the very next day he’d lost interest and hadn’t bothered to call and had been bored if they called him.

  She knew she’d
remember every minute of this night for the rest of her life—the touch of his hand, the taste of his mouth, that knee-weakening smile in his eyes—and yet the fact was that if he could have his way he’d never speak to her again. He’d have to speak to her, of course, because she was still his secretary, but what he’d want would be never to see her again.

  ‘What is it?’ said Charles.

  ‘What’s what?’ said Barbara.

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘You had a rather strange expression on your face just now.’

  Barbara made an effort to smile. ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘Probably just wondering whether to let you keep your trousers. I think I’ll respect your modesty.’

  ‘I’m too arrogant to be modest,’ he said, with another grin, ‘but I’ll respect your modesty. Come here and kiss me again.’

  He put his arms around her, holding her to him inside his open shirt for a long, lingering kiss.

  Barbara tried not to think of anything but that moment. If only she could enjoy it while it was here, instead of being constantly aware of how soon it would be over and how cold and distant he would be tomorrow. But some of the magic was gone. It was wonderful to be in his arms, of course, but even as he kissed her she could not put aside a growing feeling of dread.

  In the end she was actually the one to break off. She raised her head and glanced at her watch.

  ‘Charles,’ she said, ‘it’s six o’clock. You need to go home and pack.’

  His eyes were brilliant. ‘Must I?’

  ‘You said you needed to spend a couple of hours in the office this morning before we go. If you’ve got to be in the office by eight, you’ve got to go home and pack now.’

  ‘I suppose you’re right,’ he said.

  ‘Of course I’m right,’ said Barbara. She slipped off his knees and stood up.

  Charles rose to stand beside her. He really did look wonderful, she thought gloomily. She liked him much better this way, with his shirt hanging out and that lurking smile in his eyes, than in his driven executive mode. Too bad she was likely to get so much more of the latter than the former.