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She didn’t tell him, in the end. Not right then. She wasn’t that brazen. But she told him later, after she realised he had no more condoms and she’d moved way beyond brazen, way beyond anything she thought she could ever be.
CHAPTER EIGHT
JUSTIN stared down at the sleeping woman in his bed with disbelieving eyes. Was that really his prim and proper PA lying there in the nude, looking wickedly sexy with a sheet pulled suggestively up between her legs? And had it been himself who’d ravaged and ravished her amazingly co-operative body all night long?
The answer was yes, to both questions.
He groaned, his hands lifting to clap each side of his face then rake up into his hair. Whatever had possessed him? With Rachel, of all women!
Bosses who seduced their secretaries were top of his most despised list of men.
But seduce Rachel he had. The fact that she’d enjoyed herself enormously in the end had little bearing on the fact that initially he’d taken advantage of her drunken and vulnerable state, blatantly using his position as her boss to pressure her into sex. When he thought of the things he’d asked her to do in the shower his mind boggled. That she’d done everything he wanted, without question, was testament to her not being her usual sensible self. It was a particularly telling moment when she’d confessed later in the night to being on the Pill. No girl these days made such a rash revelation, not unless they were totally out of their minds with lust!
Which Rachel had been by then. No doubt about it.
Astonishing, really. He would never have believed it of her. Not with him, anyway. Still, given the circumstances, possibly any man would have done last night. He’d known that subconsciously. Hell, no, he’d known it consciously. He’d thought about her vulnerable state before he’d crossed the line. And what had he done? Still crossed that line, then wallowed in her unexpected sensuality and insatiability, urging her on to arouse him repeatedly with her mouth till he was ready to take her in yet another erotically challenging position.
His body stirred just thinking about it. Groaning, Justin dragged his eyes away from Rachel’s tempting nudity and headed straight for the bathroom, plunging his wayward flesh into the coldest of showers.
She’ll have to go, he began thinking, despite the icy spray doing the trick. I can’t possibly work with her. She’ll make me feel guilty all the time. Or worse.
The prospect of spending every weekday having cold showers at lunch time would be untenable. Aside from the constant distraction and frustration, it would remind him of Mandy, and what Mandy was up to on a daily basis with that bastard boss of hers.
Yet to sack Rachel would make him an even bigger bastard of a boss. Justin was trapped by the situation. Damned if he did and damned if he didn’t!
‘Bloody hell,’ he muttered, and slammed his palms hard against the wet tiles.
Rachel woke with a start, her eyes blinking as she tried to focus on where she was. She didn’t recognise the ceiling. Or the walls. Or the bed, for that matter.
And then, suddenly, she remembered.
Everything.
‘Oh, God,’ she moaned.
The sound of the shower running was some comfort, because it gave Rachel the opportunity to jump out of the bed, gather up her clothes and escape back to her own room without having to face Justin, naked, in his bed.
Grimacing, she dived into a shower of her own without delay, where she stayed for some time, doing her best to wash away all the evidence of what she could only describe as a night best forgotten.
But forgetting the way she’d acted was nigh on impossible when she was constantly confronted with the physical consequences of her amazingly decadent behaviour. Her nipples ached. Her mouth felt like suede. And she probably wouldn’t be able to walk without discomfort for a week.
As much as she hadn’t felt ashamed of her behaviour last night—she’d blindly viewed it as an exciting liberation from her drab, lonely and celibate existence—in the cold light of day she could see that having her own private orgy with her boss had not been a good career move.
He would not be pleased, she knew, either with her or himself.
Rachel was sitting on the side of her bed half an hour later and wishing she were dead, when a knock on the door made her jump.
‘Rachel,’ Justin said through the door in a businesslike voice. ‘Are you dressed?’
‘Not quite,’ she croaked out. A lie, since she’d just pulled on an outfit from Isabel’s discarded resort wardrobe, white capri pants and a matching white and yellow flowered top, with underwear, thank God. She’d bought a couple of bra and pants sets the previous day. But her hair was still wrapped in a towel and she hadn’t a scrap of make-up on.
