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“Good. I want you at your best for that banquet tonight. Shay will have her hands full with the birthday party this afternoon in the Blue Salon, so don’t expect backup from her. The florist has arrived with the table centerpieces, or haven’t you noticed? And have you checked the PA system? How about the sound setup for the jazz trio? And what about the signage?”
“Ah…I haven’t had a chance yet to—”
“Please do so. Now. And put your cell phone in your purse. This constant checking for messages is annoying the hell out of me.”
Becca stuck her tongue out at the woman’s retreating back before she could stop herself, and held her phone down below the edge of the desk, surreptitiously rereading the text of the last message she’d sent to Nick. She suppressed the urge to giggle at her own silliness.
got virginal lingerie 2 go with glasses. hair 2 short for bun, but that’s ur fault. love, the formerly frigid sex bomb secretary.
The phone chimed.Omigod. He’d already gotten back to her. She made sure Marla’s back was still turned before she clicked to open.
cannot fucking wait
Oh God.She could actually see his gorgeous, sexy grin, creasing up the grooves around his mouth, the gleam in his seductive dark eyes.
She practically choked on the giggles backing up inside her. She was having so much subversive fun today, more than she’d ever had in her life. And Nick was playing along. Egging her on, even. Of all things she’d expected from him, goofy playfulness wasn’t one of them.
She’d never had a wild secret affair before. It just wasn’t the kind of thing that ever happened to her. And with a guy who made her feel…oh, wow. Her posterior ached from being spread so wide, ridden so long and hard. And as for her private parts, well. They were definitely feeling the effects of vigorous, prolonged use.
And even so, every time she thought about him, she instinctively squeezed her saddlesore thighs together around the tingle of heat. It was making her giddy, distracted. Working her into a lather of unprofessional titillation. A naughty nymphomaniac who could think of nothing but Nick’s fierce dark eyes, his clever tongue, his dazzling smile. His volcanic sexual heat. His big, thick…oh dear, oh dear.
She needed a fan in the worst way. Whew. She was sweating.
For heaven’s sake. She would fire her too, if she were Marla.
But oh, it was lovely. She hadn’t had anything to feel euphoric about since…well, she had been dazzled for a while after Justin’s proposal, and full of hopeful dreams of domestic bliss, but that was nothing on this. No fiery sexual component, no life or death drama.
It had taken her over a half hour to find the cell number that he had programmed into her cell, because he hadn’t put it under N for Nick, or even W for Ward. After combing through her whole address file, she finally found it under M. For Mr. Big. That clown.
Time to check with the caterers, take delivery for table decorations, and triple check the settings and the gift presentation table. She forced herself to make a mental To-Do list. Very difficult to do while her brain ran amok, jumping and squeaking. What a morning. Up before four AM, dragged into the shower with Nick, with yet another explosive erotic outcome. To say nothing of the flood that had stretched down the bathroom corridor to soak the living room rug.
Then, after he’d left, the frantic destruction of her entire closet system while she tried to figure out what to wear for a sexy midnight tryst. A suitcase was stowed in the back of the rental car out in the back lot, with a few changes of clothing, makeup, toiletries, her prettiest dress, her only pair of fuck-me shoes. She’d even dug around in her bathroom until she found the diaphragm she’d gotten a couple years before. Like the shoes, it had never gotten much use. Hardly any, actually. The affair she’d gotten it for had petered out embarrassingly quickly.
For some reason, she’d never thought to propose its use to Justin, even after they got engaged, and a damn good thing, too. Maybe she’d known, on some level, that he was going to fool around on her.
The thought of using it with Nick, of having that electric, bare-skin-to-bare-skin contact with his gorgeous, um, member aroused her almost to the point of fainting. Yeah, and Marla would really love it if she did.
She glanced down at the glossy, pink-striped shopping bag that held her lingerie, and on impulse, she rummaged in her drawer for a different bag, something plastic and anonymous. She shoved the frilly nothings into the bag and slipped out of the office, heading straight for the ladies’ room. She was going to put that stuff on. Right now.
Hey, might as well wear the evidence of her mad folly on her body. At least that way, she wouldn’t have to make excuses to anyone for it.
“Would you sit your manic ass down for five seconds and at least pretend to give a fuck about what you’re doing?” Seth Mackey said testily. “Weren’t you supposed to lie in wait for that sicko asshole?”
Nick looked over at the door where Seth was lounging, taken aback. “Huh? Yeah, sure. I was. I am. So what’s your problem?”
“You,” Seth said shortly. “You are my problem. That shit-eating grin on your face. You’re pacing, dude. Jiggling your car keys, fucking around with your cell phone, bouncing off the walls. Yesterday you were the Zombie King. Now you’re humming, for Christ’s sake! What gives?”
Nick felt his face grow hot. “So don’t watch.” Abashed, he sank down into one of the ergonomic swivel chairs the room was furnished with and peeked one last time at his cell.
“And stop fondling that damn thing,” Seth snapped. “An army of mafiya thugs could be trooping through that woman’s door, and there you are out in la la land, sexting your girlfriend.”
Nick’s head jerked around, but the crafty gleam in Seth’s eyes cut off his grumpy rebuttal.
“So it’s true,” Seth said triumphantly. “Listen, chump. I could resign myself to having my wife stare at your fucking video monitors in the dead of night—when she should be resting—if you were lying on the staff couch, catching some z’s. I figure, the pathetic slob looks like he hasn’t slept in six months, give him a break. But you weren’t on that couch. You went out last night. To get laid!” Seth sounded outraged by this conclusion.
“Aw, fuck off,” Nick muttered without much conviction.
But Seth was far from finished. “Having Raine work a graveyard shift on your fucked-up project to save your sorry ass from getting shot up is one thing. But having her do it so you can waltz out of here and get your rocks off with your girlfriend is entirely another.”
