Beyond Temptation (12 page)

They had been discussing Yale’s idea for an exhibition. Robyn had been enthusiastic about his proposal. He wanted to display a selection of his work and had been asking her advice about locations. He had initially made a wild suggestion that his art could be displayed in Holbert Manor, but Robyn believed she had put that ridiculous idea out of his thoughts. However, she did want to help him find somewhere to show off his work and the thought of being a part of his success thrilled her. And yet, while the idea of participating in a young artist’s first major exhibition was an exciting proposition, it was not nearly as exciting as the one suggested in the lilt of Yale’s smile.

Yale looked like he had the potential to be her perfect lover. If she had been asked to draw up a composite picture of her ideal man for the evening, she would have drawn Yale. Not only was he deplorably good-looking but his long dark hair lent a flamboyant allure to his appearance. Added to that was his wicked smile, cool, appraising gaze and lean, muscular body. She could have gone on to list the excitement she felt at his talent and extensive knowledge of art, but there was no need. The display of erotic paintings he had revealed was already igniting her libido. Her body tingled in its intense response to him.

‘Look into my eyes and tell me you don’t want me. If you can do that I’ll move my hand away,’ he promised.

She didn’t dare to look into his eyes. The warm fingers that caressed her neck lit flames of passion. ‘No,’ she gasped firmly. ‘We can’t do this.
I can’t
.’

His grin was lewd. ‘You could if I showed you how.’

‘I’m married and my husband wouldn’t approve.’

He shrugged. ‘Does he have to know?’

Robyn bit her lower lip and nodded. ‘I can’t lie to him. He only has to look at me when he’s asking a question and I have to tell him the truth. It’s always been that way between us.’ She could have added that it had never been a problem until now. But that wasn’t a conversation she wanted to have with a comparative stranger like Yale.

He took a step closer to her side and placed his other hand on her waist. As he coaxed her tight against his body she was able to feel the thrust of his erection through his jeans. Uncomfortable with her involuntary response to his nearness, she tried to pull away from him.

‘I’ve said no,’ she insisted. ‘And I meant it.’

He shook his head. ‘You said the word, but we both know you didn’t mean it.’ The hand that had been at her neck fell to her front. He cupped her breast through the fabric of her T-shirt.

Robyn gasped. Her resolve weakened as her body demanded that she give herself to Yale. She allowed herself the teasing thought that her husband might not find out.

‘Harold doesn’t have to know about this,’ Yale assured her. He pressed his lips against her neck. ‘We can keep it between you and me. No one else would need to know. It would be our little secret.’

She wanted to believe him. She wanted him to continue kissing, working his lips downwards as he touched and excited her. She wanted so many things, but the voice of caution screamed loudly in her ear. Pulling herself from Yale’s grip, Robyn glared at him.

‘How did you know my husband’s name?’

He stared at her, seeming confused by the unexpected question. ‘Excuse me?’

‘How did you know my husband’s name?’ Robyn demanded. ‘I never told you he was called Harold. How did you know?’

He rolled his eyes and then shook his head. ‘I read your magazine,’ he reminded her. ‘I’m aware that you’re married to the editor of
Art
.’

‘Editor and owner,’ she corrected. She studied him suspiciously. ‘Have you met him?’

He glanced away from her before replying. ‘He’s never returned any of my calls and his PA doesn’t pass my messages on.’

‘You’re lying,’ she said abruptly. A thought struck her and she grasped at it as though it was the absolute truth. ‘You’re not just lying. You’re trying to deceive me, aren’t you?’

‘Are you a madwoman?’

She sneered. ‘Harold sent you up here, didn’t he? He issued that fucking ultimatum of his, and now he’s sent you up here to try and make me give in.’ Pointing a menacing finger at Yale, she hissed, ‘It won’t work. I know what you’re up to, and it won’t work.’

‘You are a madwoman,’ he decided. ‘You’re an absolute nutter. I’ve never met your bloody husband.’

‘And you expect me to believe that?’ She sniffed. ‘Harold knows the type I go for. If I hadn’t heard about you from your friend Dominic, I would have thought he’d hired an actor for this role.’

Yale shook his head. ‘Nutter,’ he repeated.

She glared at him. ‘Perhaps I am a nutter,’ she agreed. ‘But I’m the nutter who’s telling you to get your fucking paintings out of here. If you want me to look at this stuff you can come to my office when I get back there.’

He sighed heavily. ‘Could we forget that I was trying to come on to you? I misread the signs you were giving out and I responded the way a man usually does in those circumstances. Can we both accept that and act like mature adults about this?’

She shook her head and pursed her lips. It didn’t matter whether he was telling the truth or not. It didn’t matter that Harold might not have sent him. As long as Yale was at Holbert Manor she knew she would be tempted. The need to succumb to her longing for him was irresistible but she valiantly struggled against the urge.

‘Go.’ She hissed the word between clenched teeth. ‘I don’t want you here. I don’t need you here.’ She could see he was going to argue his position. Inspiration struck as she realised there was one way she could be assured of getting him to leave the property. ‘If you stay a moment longer I’ll make sure any review I do is unfavourable.’

He glared at her in disbelief.

‘I mean it,’ Robyn promised. ‘I’ll call it comic-book artwork. I’ll say it’s only as good as the stuff in low-budget magazines.’

He bristled, but she could see the threat had been effective.

‘Nutter,’ Yale mumbled angrily. He turned his back on her, collected his paintings and stormed out through the door.

Robyn heaved a sigh of relief as she watched him walk away. The need to have him had been powerful. She still felt touched by arousal. How she had resisted him was a mystery and she was surprised by her own restraint. Hurriedly she ran to the door and slammed it closed. Sure she wouldn’t be properly safe unless she took every precaution, she turned the key in the lock.

Of course, she knew she was stupid for thinking that Harold had sent him. But the idea nagged at her like toothache. Regardless of who had sent him, she knew that she would have been powerless to resist Yale had he remained in the house any longer. The thought made her shiver, although she couldn’t decide if that was a response to excitement or to fear.

A pounding at the front door brought back the feeling of disquiet.

She hesitated before twisting the key and then opening it. Yale stood defiantly before her. His expression struggled to conceal his hostility.

‘I’ve got a bit of a problem with my vehicle,’ Yale said carefully.

Robyn glanced behind him and saw that the back door had been torn from the motor home. Yale’s models, Amelia, Christian and Bernice, all stood beside the vehicle looking round-shouldered and dispirited.

‘I know you won’t be happy about this,’ Yale said quietly, ‘but my friends and I would appreciate it if you could lend us a couple of rooms for the night.’

There were no explicit rules about what should be worn in the office. Jeans and T-shirts were the usual choice of the copy staff. Short skirts and tight blouses were the norm for the typists, temps and secretaries. Trouser suits, Lycra leggings and low-cut tops were all accepted. Cleavage was allowed to be seen. Some women thought it was a must to display the tops of their thighs. And some of the male staff wore jeans so tight you could see the denomination of their loose change. The office dress code was so lax that almost anything was permissible.

But if there were still some unwritten rules, Sheridan came close to violating every one of them. Her skirt was short enough to show off the gusset of her panties. The fact that her skirt was black PVC, as were her pants, helped to mask this fact. But anyone who gave her a passing glance could see how boldly she was dressed. And there were a lot of passing glances as she walked down the corridor.

Her outrageous appearance was enough to draw the attention of every male head in the building. Her suit jacket was also black PVC, laced with shiny silver zippers that screamed the punk style suggested by her multicoloured hairstyle. One functioning zipper ran down the front of the jacket. It had been tugged low, revealing her ample cleavage for the approval of anyone who dared to look. A dusting of pink blusher darkened the valley between her breasts, enhancing their allure. The short cut of the jacket meant she could show off her pierced belly button at the same time. A thin line of her flat stomach was clearly visible, revealing the gold banana semi-circle she wore against her flesh.

On her legs, she wore a pair of dark fishnet stockings.

She had considered wearing deliberately laddered hosiery but she thought that gave her ensemble the look of an accident victim. The fishnets she had donned this morning were a brand-new pair. The dark tops showed beneath the short hem of her skirt and she knew this was adding to the excitement enjoyed by her voyeuristic admirers.

She drew a handful of wolf-whistles as she stepped into the lift.

Acknowledging the appraisal good-naturedly, she smiled at the men who were ogling her and waved her hand in a small farewell as the doors closed. Normally, the attention of so many admirers would have improved her mood but she had other things on her mind this morning. There was something she wanted from Harold and it was about time he started giving it to her.

After punching the button for the floor where
Art
had its offices, Sheridan realised she wasn’t alone in the lift. A man stood behind her, his appreciative gaze fixed upon the tops of her legs. In one hand he held a BlackBerry and constantly stroked the keypad with his thumb. Sheridan watched him caressing the gadget and wondered if he knew how distasteful the habit was.

He glanced up from his appraisal of her legs and faltered beneath her scowl.

‘Wayne, from sales, yeah?’

He nodded, extending a friendly hand towards her.

She ignored it pointedly. With a flick of her eyes she had taken him in. He had blond highlights in his pale hair, giving him an effete look that she knew she could easily dominate. The thought warmed her.

‘Do you like what you see?’ Sheridan asked, drawing her hand against the top of one stocking-clad leg.

He stammered in reply, blushing furiously.

‘Yes or no?’ she prompted. ‘Do you like what you see?’

‘Yes,’ he said quickly.

‘Open your mouth.’

He looked puzzled by the request and she had to repeat the words. Thinly veiled impatience stiffened her tone. ‘Open your goddamned mouth.’

Obediently, he opened his mouth.

‘Now close it.’

He snapped his jaw shut.

She smiled, an idea brewing at the back of her mind. ‘You follow instructions well.’ Stroking beneath his jaw, she said, ‘Keep that mouth of yours shut, and see me down in the car park in thirty minutes. Wait by the convertible silver Merc in the orange zone.’

He swallowed thickly. ‘Are you serious?’

Sheridan moved her hand to his groin and clutched him tightly. She could feel his shaft through his trousers and was pleasantly excited by the size and breadth of the eager cock he possessed. After squeezing him firmly, she moved her hand away and grinned. She placed her finger over his lips and treated him to a wicked smile. ‘Keep your mouth shut, wait thirty minutes, and you’ll find out if I’m serious.’

The lift’s bell sounded the end of their conversation. The doors opened and she stepped smartly out into the corridor. Before they had closed behind her, she heard Wayne tapping numbers into his phone and suspected he was attempting to cancel his next meeting. The notion was confirmed for her when she heard him begin his conversation with the words, ‘Something’s come up.’

Smiling happily to herself, Sheridan stroked her hands down her thighs and braced herself for the conversation she was about to have with Harold.

She could hear the distant murmur of a hundred conversations all at once. The excitement of the magazine touched her with a now familiar rush of adrenaline. She wasn’t an aficionado of the art world, unlike so many of the others who worked on
Art
, but Sheridan could understand the excitement the team enjoyed in working together to prepare the periodical. It was interesting work and she guessed the sense of community would have held a great appeal for someone who didn’t share her contempt for humanity.

Feeling her heartbeat quicken as she hastened her pace, Sheridan marched towards Harold’s office.

A raised voice on her left caught her attention. She glanced towards Gayle’s office. Looking through the open door, she spent an idle moment studying Robyn’s PA. The mousy brunette looked harried and flustered.

‘I can’t call her because her mobile’s out of range,’ Gayle bawled insistently into her telephone. ‘Don’t take this the wrong way, Harold, but she’s
your
wife. I’m only her PA. I’m not her keeper.’

Sheridan watched the woman staring at the receiver. It was clear from her expression that Harold had hung up on her and she was now listening to a dial tone. Sheridan smiled wickedly to herself and strolled on before Gayle knew her conversation had been overheard.

Gayle’s phone rang again. She answered with a weary sigh.

‘I’ve just told you once to sod off, Wayne. I didn’t have the time to see you anyway, so you haven’t cancelled our appointment.’

And, as she moved further out of earshot, Sheridan’s interest in Gayle began to evaporate. She had to work on Harold and, judging from what she had just heard, he wasn’t in the best of moods. Her wicked smile broadened as she realised his anger could probably be used to her advantage. Whatever ailed Harold, whatever was currently making his life a misery, Sheridan believed she was the person who could soothe the troubles from his life. Even if she wasn’t the person who could make things better for Harold, she wanted him to believe that she was.