Seduction (17 page)

I didn't think about why I'd done it at all until I'd shut the windows and drained the hot tub and dropped towels over the mess on the floor. Then, when I'd wrapped my shivering, goose-fleshed body in a robe and lay absorbing the warmth of my comforter, I let myself ponder why. And I think I knew the answer.

He'd given me a challenge, he'd dared me without daring me. He'd woken up the sleepy part of me that didn't really give a
shit about garden parties and scented candles and had only grown dormant from not finding the chance to hunt what it craved. With that smile and those bedroom eyes he'd offered me the elusive something else, and I wanted to claim it.

The next morning I was at work bright and early, having slept like a baby. Had to be all the exertion from the night before. With a grin, I sat down at my desk, opened up my email and stared at the message sitting at the top of my box. Sent the night before at 1.14 a.m. from an address I didn't recognise, but with a name attached that I absolutely did.

‘Robyn. I apologise that it's taken me so long to get back to you. I have been travelling for the last few weeks, but I will be back in town on Monday and I'd like to see if you are free for lunch anytime next week. I am entirely at your disposal . . .'

I breezed through the rest of the email, but I was already grinning. So he wanted to play after all. Well, we'd see. I hit reply.

‘Trent, it's great to hear from you and I really would love to meet with you, however my schedule is booked solid at the moment. I'd like to put you in touch with Jerome Houston . . .'

I carbon-copied Jerome and hit send, then leaned back and looked out the window with a smile. How bad do you want it, Trent? Bad enough to come to me when I make you? Bad enough to beg?

Yeah. Life was fun again.

But whoever said patience was a virtue obviously never tried playing chess. When you've made your move and you sit waiting for your opponent to make his, trying not to fidget and betray your nerves, wondering if he'll take your bait or see a move you never did, going crazy with every second or day that ticks by when he still hasn't budged. Nope, it ain't a virtue by any stretch of the imagination, just a masochistic exercise in frustration.

Then, just when I was about to give up and ask Jerome how things were going, I walked into the elevator on the second floor and right into
him
. I stopped short, teetering in my heels, and felt his steadying hand on my elbow, sure it was no accident that I ended up just a little closer to him as he helped me regain my balance.

‘Robyn!' The pleasure in his voice, at least, he couldn't disguise or tone down. It made the sound of my name sexy and I smiled as I looked into his eyes.

‘Well hi there! I wanna say I'm glad I ran into you, but . . .'

He laughed, dimples and all, and let go of my arm, but he didn't move away as the doors closed.

‘Well
I'm
glad you did. I'm really sorry I didn't get in touch with you earlier, I've just been on plane after plane.' He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck while I enjoyed the sight. ‘I was looking forward to working with you.'

I tried not to let my grin show too much glee. I tempered it, or tried to, by putting on a half-frown of concern. ‘But everything's going well with Jerome? He's one of our best . . .'

‘Oh yeah. Yeah. I . . .'

Damn elevator. It stopped, opened, and we had no choice but to step out onto the white granite floor of the lobby, our heels clacking as we walked towards the front doors, making intimate conversation impossible. We were losing our opportunity, I was losing my advantage. We'd go through those doors and separate and it would be a stalemate unless one or the other decided to give in. And given how we'd played the game so far, how stubborn we both were, I didn't cherish much hope that either of us would.

My heart sank as the doors slid apart and he gestured me through. I had a moment to think how hot he looked in that navy suit, how elegant and confident, just the kind of man I'd always thought about having but never pursued. Both hubbies and most of the boyfriends had tended to prefer manual
labour, dirty fingers and power tools, and I liked the way they balanced me.

But Trent, he was my final frontier, the last fantasy of taking on my equal and my mirror. I didn't want to let it, to let him, go. I turned, opened my mouth, and he spoke first.

‘Robyn . . .'

We stood in the pale sunlight, warm for late February, spring already well on its way after the sketchy winter.

‘Yeah?'

He looked down and then out at the parking lot and I knew I was holding my breath. ‘Umm . . . I completely understand if I'm way out of line here, but . . . well, given that Jerome is handling our account I'd . . .'

His gaze swung back to me and his lips curved together in a way that made me suddenly very conscious of the lace on my panties.

‘I'd like to ask you to lunch. In a totally non-professional way. Whaddya think?' For a few heartbeats I let him hang, mostly because I couldn't think of how to talk, but then I smiled and reached out to let my fingers linger on the sleeve of his arm.

‘I think there's nothing I'd love to do more,' I said.

It started with lunch. Then lunch and cocktails. Then a movie sometimes. Slap me silly and paint me pink, but he was playing hard to get. I wasn't surprised, and to be honest, I didn't mind. Ten years before, I'd have been pulling down his pants by the second date, maybe the third if I was feeling sensitive, but now I enjoyed the excruciating pretence that nothing sexual was going on. Chaste kisses goodnight and hugs so careful they made my dates with E.D. Dave look downright pornographic.

Fine with me if he wanted to make me pant and squirm because I knew he was inflicting it on himself too. I could tell when his gaze strayed to my cleavage, which I always made
sure was amply visible. When he flushed under his tan and had to find somewhere safe for his gaze so he could calm down. When he kissed me and I could feel the impatient pressure in his lips that wanted to press harder, wanted to crush my mouth and invade it and leave me breathless.

Oh, he was doing good, real good, but I had the upper hand. Age doesn't always bring wisdom, but it sure as hell teaches endurance, and I could hold out – I had my showerhead and plenty of batteries. Just like he'd given in standing before my office building, he was giving in on this too. I wanted total, unconditional surrender.

I
wasn't
ready for his phone call that Friday at 11 a.m.

‘Hey there, girl.'

‘Hey yourself,' I said, swivelling my chair around to look out the window and grinning as my hand went to the single-strand choker of garnets he'd given me on my birthday, which I tried to wear almost every day. Every day I didn't wear the silver tennis bracelet, that is.

‘I need you to do something.'

‘What's that?' I asked, smiling happily up at a tree outside that was covered in the bright shiny leaves of new foliage.

‘Cancel your afternoon and meet me downstairs in fifteen minutes. I'm on my way.'

I laughed. ‘I can't do that.'

‘Sure you can. If there was something earth-shattering going on, you'd be tense. I can tell you aren't.'

Damn, that was creepy. It had taken Drew nearly ten years of marriage to figure me out that well and Steve never had.

‘So . . .' he was saying, ‘I'll see you outside. And Robyn?'

‘Yes?'

‘Before you come down here, take your panties
and
your bra off and throw them in the trash.'

I missed a beat. In fact, I missed a few before I managed to get out, in a very giggly voice that I absolutely hated myself
for, something about how much my underwear cost, but he only snorted.

‘I'll buy you more. Now, do it OK? Love you, gorgeous. See you in a bit.'

And he hung up.

The bastard hung up and left me to steal guilty glances at the door while I cleared my calendar and set the out-of-office message on my email. I shut down the laptop, and while it powered off I sat with my eyes still fixed nervously on the door and chewed my thumbnail. My heart was thudding. I couldn't seriously be considering it, not really. But if I didn't do it, wasn't that just admitting I didn't have the nerve? Would I see disappointment flash in those grey eyes?

For a minute more I chewed away at my thumbnail, then I stood and closed the blinds. And locked the office door.

Was I ever happy I'd worn a skirt today. Simple to pull my panties down and step out of them, even though I almost lost my balance as one sandal heel snagged, but a few seconds later there they were, lying peach and silky and abandoned on the carpet. Halfway there. My bra was harder; I had to take my jacket off and then wriggle the straps down my arms and pull the whole thing out through one sleeve of my blouse. But that was easy compared to the niggling thought that without the help of underwires and D-cups, I wasn't the perky gal I'd once been.

That shouldn't matter, I told myself. Once you got down to business and all the clothes came off, it didn't make a lick of difference; but my female vanity put up a fight all the same. It cringed and blushed as I wriggled the straps over my elbows and threw the bra after the panties. It blushed some more as I put my jacket quickly back on, and sat staring at the evidence of my shamelessness on the floor, but time was ticking by and my computer was off.

Before I could think too much about what I was doing, I
stopped at the ladies' on the first floor and transferred panties and bra from the depths of my purse to the garbage with yet another furtive glance around. Never mind that the restroom was empty and no one had seen me come or go. My heart was still pitter-patter as I left the lobby, as guilty as if I'd just stolen half the company secrets and a couple of billion into the bargain. I felt the glances of the security guards and the few passers-by as if they knew and saw right through the lined wool of my suit, and my face burned as I walked to the lobby doors. Who knew a little exhibitionism could be such an event?

He knew. Of course he did, as he leaned across and flung open the door of the Jag for me.

‘I take it you followed instructions,' he said, grinning.

I dumped my laptop case on the floor and got into the car, careful to keep my legs together as I sat, and shot him a dirty look once I'd closed the door.

‘That was $60 I just dumped in the garbage, thanks.'

He rolled his eyes, checked his mirror and pulled out.

‘Save the excuses, girl. You like it.'

He turned out of the parking lot and we accelerated along the tree-lined path leading out to the freeway.

‘But,' he said, looking sideways at me, ‘I'm not
certain
you followed instructions. Did you?'

‘I said so, didn't I?'

‘How do I know that?'

I folded my arms and crossed my legs and gave him a slow smile. ‘Guess you'll just have to trust me.'

I wouldn't give him the satisfaction, no matter how much my nipples were pointed and aching and how badly I wanted to feel his fingers exploring them through the silk of my blouse as he steered the car. Just the thought was enough to get my clit throbbing between my crossed legs, but I held out.

‘Guess I will,' he said. He put both hands on the wheel and
looked straight ahead as we joined the freeway, but I saw the smile playing around his lips and I knew it was far from over.

‘I figured the weather was perfect for a picnic.'

I could only agree as we got out of the car. He'd driven out to Briar Park, and followed the winding roads down to a spot where springy, soft grass rolled down a gentle embankment to a small inlet of the lake. Trees clustered around and above the embankment, creating a green grove shielded from view of the roadway and the lake itself. But it wasn't hidden to anyone walking by, especially any game wardens or rangers.

I helped him lay the thick blanket out as if this were no more than a romantic picnic, as sweet and innocent as all our dates thus far, but when I sat and bent to take my sandals off he looked up from where he was fiddling with the picnic basket and shook his head.

‘Leave them on.'

We looked at each other for a long moment. He'd left his jacket and tie in the car, but I still wore my jacket. Because once it came off there was no more pretending, no more playing modest.

So when at last he nodded at it, when he broke the silence of whispering trees and songbirds and distant water and told me to take it off, I knew we'd finally crossed the line. Although, now that we were here, I wasn't sure just which side the surrender was happening on.

I unbuttoned the single button and let the jacket fall from my shoulders. In the stillness, it felt like I was moving in slow motion. He forgot the picnic basket and leaned back, just as slowly, bracing himself on his elbows as he watched me take my shirt off too, unbidden. Bit his lip as I untied my hair from its twist and combed out the long, still-fiery curls with my fingers.

‘God, I love your hair,' he said. ‘I love how you keep it long.'

I smiled, but he wasn't done.

He sat up, eyes alight, and let his gaze travel over my bare torso to my legs, neatly crossed at the ankles, sandals still in place on my feet. Still bracing his weight on one hand, he hung the other over his knee and lifted his fingers like a symphony conductor, guiding my movements.

‘I want to see you play with those beautiful tits. But first I want your skirt up over your hips. I want to watch you.' He paused and his gaze met mine. ‘Will you let me?'

God, how do you say ‘no' to something like that? For that matter, how do you say yes?

I couldn't find words at all. I just nodded and turned to recline on my side, facing him. I hiked my skirt up as I turned, so that my lower belly, my trimmed bush and the lips of my pussy were visible. I propped one hand under my head and with the other I caressed my nipples and the heavy weight of my breasts. He looked at me and his hand moved across his crotch, and I knew he didn't care about the stretch marks from carrying Jennie on my thighs and hips or the fact that my tits weren't perky.