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"Sam . . ." It was gratifying to see how much trouble he was having pulling his gaze up to her face, but he wasn't the only one who knew how to taunt and tease a person to distraction. She didn't linger in front of him, at least no longer than necessary for him to realize she had nothing on beneath the yellow blouse. From standing in front of her mirror, she knew the smudges of her nipples were unmistakable beneath the nearly transparent silk.
She took her seat in the chair, her back straight, the skirt barely covering her ass when she sat down. Modestly, she crossed her ankles and tucked her legs at an angle beneath the chair. If he'd been directly in front of her, the small open triangle where the fabric stretched over her thighs would give him a shadowed view of her bare pubic mound. She expected he was already wondering what was under the skirt. She'd see how long it would take before curiosity inspired action.
She respected Geoff's work, but he'd been working pretty much nonstop since Sunday. She and Chris both knew sometimes he needed forced breaks to give him balance. Normally, that was when she and Chris would gang up on him, drag him off for a bike ride or to see a concert in the park. Maybe go out to dinner at a new place.
She wasn't under any illusions she was being motivated by such selfless concerns right now, but if it served both purposes, all the better.
She fitted the buds into her ears. She'd put up her hair with two sticks, letting some of it fall and tease her nape, the sides of her face. She wondered if he'd pull it all the way down. She wanted him to do that.
She had to be impairing his focus, but that was a two-way street. In order to type up his brief correctly, she had to get past the way the sexy clothes and his hot gaze were making her feel. It helped to realize that true absorption in the task, acting oblivious to his regard or her provocative appearance, was a good way to drive him to even further distraction. She pressed play on the recorder.
She loved listening to his voice. Geoff tended to dictate as if he were presenting information to the judge or a jury, his tone alternating between humor, patience, instruction, and--her favorite--stern reproof.
On tape or in person, it was obvious he had such passion for learning and understanding how the law worked. He wasn't the least bit idealistic about the legal system, but he believed in the law and its purity even when it was twisted to ill purpose, as it so often was. For a man who seemed like a no-nonsense cynic, he was actually quite a romantic.
She and Chris had attended a couple of his trials. She'd learned the lawyer was usually required to stand in one specific spot, not allowed to wander around for dramatic effect as they did on TV shows. Even with that restriction, Geoff was mesmerizing to her, an orator who could have stood in the center of the Roman Senate and swayed minds to his way of thinking.
She finished the brief, read it through twice for any corrections and sent it to his computer to be reviewed by him before he printed or submitted it. Throughout, she'd been aware of the slow turn of pages at the kitchen table, mixed with the heat of his regard. He was watching her and, though it had taken an effort more strenuous than running uphill with a backpack of rocks, she'd made sure she hadn't looked at him once, focusing only on getting the job done.
Now, as she rewarded herself by finally glancing his way, she realized he was done. He had his laptop lid pushed halfway closed and was sitting back in his chair watching her, fingers templed, elbows braced on the arms of his chair. He had his legs in a casual sprawl. He'd shed his coat when he got home but was still in what she not-so-teasingly called his "power wear": slacks, shined shoes and dress shirt. He'd loosened his tie and rolled up the sleeves of the shirt and, because of his agitation with the admin, his hair was spiked over his forehead. His eyes were filled with such intensity that when she met them, it felt like she was standing close to a fire burning dangerously hot. Pressing her lips together to cover an erratic breath, she rose and stood before him, cocking a hip and giving him a light smile.
"Brief should be in your inbox, sir. Is there anything else I can do for you? I've been trained in several ways to relieve stress." Not letting herself chicken out, she let her gaze slide boldly down his body to linger between his sprawled legs. The slacks couldn't disguise how much he approved of her outfit. She wet her lips at the sight, as aroused by how he made no move to conceal it as the evidence of the erection itself. "You look stressed. Sir."
His gaze didn't leave her face. Would he play along? She thought the whole world spun once on its axis before he finally spoke, a slow drawl that made her heart leap. "Are you wearing anything under that skirt, Miss Gerard?"
She shivered at the address. "No sir."
"Turn around, bend over and show me. You look like someone who does yoga. I'm betting you could grab your ankles and fold yourself in half."
She pivoted, heat sliding down her neck, over her back and hips as she complied, slowly bending forward and then clasping her ankles. As the skirt adjusted, it inched up over her buttocks, telling her he was getting a view of those and the folds of her pussy, framed by the curves of her thighs. As the seconds ticked away with her face pressed to her shins, her legs began to tremble.
"Stand up, turn around and face me again."
She did. He was leaning forward with his hands clasped loosely between his spread knees. He cocked his head, eying her from head to toe. "Miss Gerard, you dress inappropriately for an office environment. Someone probably needs to take you in hand and teach you better behavior."
"Well, Mr. Cade has offered. And you know, he's so authoritative and in charge. I'm sure he'd be a good mentor."
She squealed as he lunged for her, caught her wrist and tugged her forward until she had to straddle his knees. Putting his hands on her hips to hold her there, he flashed a dangerous grin at her, but his hot gaze returned to her breasts, the tips pressing up high against the fabric. He slipped another button, then another, spreading the blouse open.
"I want a massage, Miss Gerard."
When she started to move back to circle around him, he shook his head. "You'll do it on my lap. Take off the skirt so you can spread your legs. Leave the shoes on."
He let her step back to shimmy out of the skirt. "And the blouse," he added. "I want you in nothing but those fuck-me shoes."
God, what did it say about her that she loved the rough sound of his voice when he spoke like that? She was quivering all over as she let the silk float to the floor. When she was done, she stood before him in nothing but a pair of high heels, her tiny diamond stud earrings and her navel piercing. His attention slid over her once again, slow, taking his time. She didn't think she could ever get tired of him looking at her like this, absorbing her into his gold-and-green gaze.
"Geoff." She had to say his name, couldn't play anymore. His eyes lifted to her, broody, unfathomable.
"Do you know what you're doing, Sam?"
She nodded, shook her head. His mouth quirked at the dual response. "Good to know we're in the same boat. Take off the shoes and come here." He extended his hand. She took it, grateful for the firm pressure of his fingers, and he slid her back into a straddle of his lap, guiding her legs so she could brace her heels on the slats of his chair for support. He enclosed her hips in his arms, holding her there. When he leaned forward, she expected him to go right for her quivering breasts, but instead, his mouth found the pocket of her throat. She dropped her head back, eyes closing, fingers clamped on his forearms.
"Miss Gerard," he murmur
ed. "Take down your hair."
She did, shaking it loose so the brown straight strands fell down her back and into his waiting hands. "Very good. Now give me that massage."
