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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.
