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Her belly tightened. As did her thighs. Her bottom. Her insides. He groaned in response to her involuntary squeezing and then they were both splintering apart, their cries of erotic ecstasy echoing in the stillness of the room. His back arched back as he shuddered into her whilst she gripped the edge of the desk so hard her fingers went white.
But the spasms of pleasure passed, as they always did, and this time Rachel came back down to earth with a terrible thud.
The reality of what they were doing together could no longer be denied. It was beneath her, carrying on like this. So why was she settling for such an arrangement? Why?
The reason was obvious, she accepted with considerable anguish. The reason had always been obvious, if she’d looked for it. The reason was at this moment still inside her body, his arms wound tightly around her waist, his head resting between her sweat-slicked breasts.
It was then that she started to cry.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
‘I THOUGHT you said you were never going to take me out to dinner,’ she said with curiosity—and something else—in her voice. Was it hope?
Rachel’s unexpectedly breaking down into tears after the episode on the desk had jolted Justin out of his selfish desires, and made him take a long, hard look at what he’d been doing. He wasn’t a complete fool, or a bastard, even if he’d been acting like one. It didn’t take him long to realise that a woman of Rachel’s standards and sensitivity couldn’t indulge her sexual self indefinitely without her emotions—and her conscience—eventually becoming involved. She claimed she was all right, and that she often cried after she came.
But she never had before.
She’d said through her sobs that she didn’t want him to stop, but to continue in the face of her distress was something he simply could not do. He hadn’t sunk that low.
So he’d comforted her as best he could, then announced that he was starving and couldn’t possibly go on till they’d eaten, adding that he didn’t want any of the take-away muck they sometimes had delivered to the office. He wanted a decent meal. And decent wine.
Despite a momentary look of surprise, she hadn’t made any protest, so he’d booked a table in a nearby restaurant whilst she’d made whatever repairs needed to be made after sex, and retrieved her panties from where she always put them in her top drawer. Fifteen minutes later, here they were, sitting opposite each other at a candlelit table, with Rachel finally giving voice to what was a very fair question over his changing the rules of their arrangement.
He stared across the table at her and thought how lovely she looked in the soft candlelight. The simple mauve dress she was wearing was very classy and elegant. There again, all the clothes she wore to work these days were classy and elegant.
‘So I did,’ he said quietly. ‘But things change, Rachel. I thought it was time we talked.’
Was that panic in her eyes? Or fear? Fear of what, for pity’s sake? Of his stopping the sex? Or changing the rules?
Maybe she hadn’t been lying to him when she said she was all right. Maybe she liked things the way they were. Maybe she’d become as addicted to his body as he was to hers.
Such thinking threw him. He didn’t want her feeling nothing but lust for him. He wanted… He wanted… What did he want, damn it?
He wants to call it quits, Rachel was thinking.
Oh, God, she couldn’t bear it if he did that. Which was perverse, considering. It should be her telling him that, yes, things had changed, and that she wanted out. Out of his office and out of his life.
But she stayed silent and waited for him to say what he had to say, nausea swirling in her stomach at the thought he might not want her any more.
‘We really can’t go on like this, Rachel,’ he said, and a great black pit opened up inside her.
‘Why’s that?’ she said, struggling to sound calm and reasonable whilst her world was disintegrating.
He sighed. ‘Look, it’s been fantastic. I grant you that. Every man’s fantasy come true. But I can see things are in danger of becoming…complicated.’
‘In what way? I’ve done everything you asked.’
He stared at her. ‘Yes, you certainly have. Just excuse me for a moment whilst I order the wine.’
She sat there numbly, with Justin and the wine waiter’s voices nothing but distant murmurs. Her mind was going round and round and so was her stomach. What was she going to do when he told her it was over? How would she survive?
‘Rachel…’
‘What?’ She blinked, then made an effort to gather herself.
‘The waiter’s gone.’
‘Oh. Yes. So he has.’
