Five Exotic Fantasies: Love in Reverse, Book 3 (25 page)

“Is it possible that Peter Dell overheard these jokes?”

“I suppose…” She glared again. The look in her eyes almost made him squirm, but he refused to be intimidated, his own irritation rising at her aggressive manner.

He gestured at her. “What about your clothing. I see today you’re wearing a long-sleeved shirt and pants. Do you ever wear a skirt?”

“Of course.”

“What type?”

The corner of her mouth curved. “You really want to discuss fashion, Mr. Wilkinson?”

Her smart comment didn’t amuse him. He didn’t smile, but merely raised an eyebrow. “Do you ever wear short skirts?”

She met his gaze for a moment. He could see that she wanted to lie, but that she also knew he’d know if she was. “Occasionally,” she said eventually. “They’re not
short
short, only an inch or so above the knee.”

“And what about your tops? Do you always wear shirts?”

“Not all the time.” Her eyes were like icicles, her speech clipped and sharp.

Unusually, he lost his temper. He was trying to solve this case—a case that he hadn’t wanted to take on in the first place and that he was wishing he’d refused—and instead of helping him understand what had happened, she was insinuating that his questions were unfair, and casting him in the same mould as Peter Dell, which lit his fuse.

He leaned forward, a movement that he knew she’d interpret as confrontational, especially considering he was taller and bigger than she. “The urge to draw the attention of the opposite sex occurs on a biological level, not a conscious one. It’s part of human nature. The fact is that women often dress to attract attention—by wearing low-cut tops, undoing an extra button and buying fabrics that are vaguely transparent. Don’t you agree?”

Coco lifted her head and stared at him.

Sasha stiffened and froze. Then she stood, very slowly, every bone in her body showing her indignation. “I could come to work naked, Mr. Wilkinson, and I still wouldn’t be ‘asking for it’, as Mr. Dell so politely put it. I’m insulted and appalled that you are intimating that anything I’ve done or worn could have justified the way Mr. Dell touched me. I did not court his attention, nor did I want it, hence my complaint.”

And she walked out of the room.

Chapter Thirty

“Nice,” Coco said wryly.

Felix put his head in his hands and said, “Fuck.”

Rob cleared his throat. “I’ll just go and make sure she’s okay.” He left the room.

Coco sat silently and watched Felix. She sensed he was unused to losing his temper. For some reason, Sasha had pushed all his buttons. Was that because Coco was in the room? Or just that the case had just touched a nerve since their relationship began?

Eventually he lifted his head and ran his hands through his hair, sat back in his chair and looked at her.

“Sorry,” he said.

She raised an eyebrow. “I don’t think it’s me you should be apologising to.”

He looked out of the window mutely. Suddenly he looked very young and unsure of himself, his hair sticking up at the front, and she felt a wave of affection for him, in spite of her initial anger at his insensitive words. Obviously he thought of himself as a champion for everyone regardless of their gender, race or colour. He’d shocked himself with his comments to Sasha, and she supposed he felt even worse knowing Coco had overhead it.

She ran her gaze down him, unable to stop herself remembering how he’d been in the limo—dressed to kill in his tux, so commanding and possessive, knowing exactly what she wanted. And yet he’d held her so tenderly afterward, asking her if she was okay, making sure he hadn’t hurt her. He’d stroked her hair, kissed her and murmured endearments until they eventually arrived at her house. And then he’d let her go reluctantly, telling her what a wonderful time he’d had. She’d hardly had a wink of sleep and she guessed he hadn’t either.

But she mustn’t let her affection for him stand in the way of the fact that he’d just been incredibly insensitive and rude to poor Sasha, who was already suffering from the stress of the situation. She didn’t know Sasha well, but the very fact that the girl had asked her to be there proved to Coco that Sasha had been nervous, even though she often came across as hostile and devil-may-care.

“Do you really think she was ‘asking for it’ because she occasionally wore a skirt above her knees?” she asked, curious as to whether he’d given the notion even a fraction of a thought.

“Of course not.” He stood and walked over to the window, hands behind his back. “I was just trying to establish whether Dell might have thought she was dressing provocatively for him.” He turned to look at her, frustration showing in his frown and the pained look in his eyes. “It’s hard sometimes, Coco, to know. Beneath our attempt at civilisation, we’re all chemicals and hormones and electrical impulses, governed by our biological urge to reproduce.”

She remembered the way he’d reacted before, when he’d suddenly realised he’d pushed her in a way that he’d obviously thought Dell might have pushed Sasha. She understood, but that still didn’t excuse what Dell had done. “I know what you’re saying, but nowadays we’re supposed to have the ability to control our base feelings, aren’t we? Isn’t that what being civilised is all about?”

“Yes, but it’s not that easy.” He gestured to her clothing. “For instance, I know you’re wearing stockings and that you have a white lacy bra on beneath your blouse.” She felt her cheeks grow warm—how had he known that? “You paint your lips red and you spray on perfume.” She opened her mouth to protest, but he held up a hand. “I know you do this for yourself as much as anything. But I defy anyone to say they take care over their appearance and don’t get a kick from the attention it draws from the opposite sex. Men too—I’m including myself in this. I wear nice suits and use product in my hair and splash on cologne because I know I look smart, and I feel good when women look at me with admiration. It may be shallow, but at least I admit it.”

“Maybe you’re right,” she admitted. “We all like to be admired. But that’s not really the issue here.”

“I know. Just because I want to look good doesn’t give permission for any woman to march up and run her hands through my hair—I get that.” He paced the room, frowning. “I do understand Sasha’s comment, that even if she walked in naked, she wouldn’t be ‘asking for it’. But equally, if a woman flirts with a man, wears a low-cut top and bends forward to give him a view down her cleavage, crosses her legs, flutters her eyelashes, moistens her lips, blushes, gives him all the signs that we
have
to look for if we have any hope of finding a partner to share our lives with… If she does all that, the man is going to make a move. It’s in our nature. And it seems incredibly unfair for the woman to then act outraged.” He ended breathless, stiff and indignant.

Coco thought about it, trying to imagine how she would feel if she were in a man’s shoes. “I happen to agree. It’s true that even in this day and age, the man is usually the one to make the first move. And I can only guess how nerve-racking that must be. It’s a fine line for both sexes, I think. As you say, we all dress to attract attention because it makes us feel good to be admired, and it’s unfair to then protest when we receive that attention.”

Then she thought about Peter, about what had happened all those years ago. “But that’s not the same as ‘asking for it’. I concur that if Sasha flirted with Peter, if she did all those things you mention, then it would be hypocritical for her to cry that he’d assaulted her. But I guess the point here is: did she send him those signs? Does she occasionally wear short skirts? Yes. Does she wear lipstick, style her hair, wear perfume and try to dress nicely? Yes. But does she unbutton her shirt every time he passes by? Does she make sexual innuendo, flirt, moisten her lips, giggle, and generally encourage him? No, I don’t believe she does, and I’m sure when you get around to talking to other members of staff, they’ll say she doesn’t either. And if you come to the conclusion that she doesn’t do that, and has never done that where Dell is concerned, I’m sure you’ll understand just why she feels so incensed at your semi-accusation that she ‘asked for it’.”

Felix studied her, his face expressionless, for a while, blinking occasionally. What was he thinking? Was he about to shout at her for being so confrontational? For disagreeing with him?

Then, to her surprise, his lips slowly curved and he came forward to sit opposite her. “Thank you,” he said, tipping his head and fixing his warm brown eyes on her.

She raised her eyebrows. “What for?”

“For being honest with me. For fronting up to me. I’m glad you challenge me. I do my best, but sometimes it’s hard to see things from the other side.”

She shrugged self-consciously under his admiring gaze. “I haven’t always been so brave.” And maybe if she had, Sasha wouldn’t be in this position, she thought sadly. “It’s something I’ve had to work on.”

His gaze flicked over to the door before coming back to rest on her. “Obviously, after last night’s escapades, tonight we need a good night’s sleep.” He winked, and chuckled as she looked down, embarrassed. “But tomorrow, would you like to do something again? Maybe fulfil another of your exotic fantasies?” His eyes gleamed.

She hesitated. She should say no. She’d had her fun, and indulging repeatedly was never going to end well.

But he was so gorgeous, and she couldn’t shake the memory of him turning her over, whispering erotic things in her ear as he thrust in and out of her so forcefully. He was like a drug, and she was very quickly becoming addicted to him.

“I shouldn’t,” she said.

“I know.” The look in his eyes told her he understood and felt the same. He knew this was a bad idea—that they were getting hooked, but he felt as compelled to see her again as she did him, and that finally convinced her.

“Okay,” she whispered.

A look of relief crossed his face. “Thanks, treacle,” he said.

“Treacle?”

“Sorry. Treacle tart—sweetheart.” He winked at her, his good humour restored, and turned back to his iPad, but his gaze burned into her butt as she left the room.

She thought about his look of relief a lot over the next two days, while he continued his interviews of the partners and other lawyers. Sasha had gone home after the interview and then phoned in sick the next day, and Felix had left her alone, saying it was easier to carry out the investigation without her there anyway and he’d speak to her later in the week once he had a clearer picture of events.

Coco had never given much thought before to how men felt about asking women out. Of course nowadays it was considered perfectly acceptable for a woman to ask a guy out on a date, but she couldn’t ever imagine doing so herself. How scary would that be, though? Trying to work out if the guy in question was actually interested? Plucking up the courage to make the move, knowing she would have to act all nonchalant if he turned her down? Having to face him after that, knowing he knew she thought he was attractive?

The strange dance the sexes carried out was complex and confusing, and it was no surprise the occasional problem like the one with Sasha occurred. But still, Coco wasn’t convinced that was actually the case here. Knowing what she knew about Peter Dell suggested to her that Sasha probably hadn’t given him any signs at all—he’d taken a liking to her and decided he would try to seduce her, maybe sure she wouldn’t dare turn down a senior partner, possibly hoping to make her an offer of promotion or something to persuade her to accept his advances. He disgusted her, and she was disgusted with herself for not being able to tell Felix the truth about what had happened to herself in the past.

But she couldn’t, and there was no point in torturing herself over what was done. She had to move on and hope that Felix was smart enough to understand the truth and make the right decision.

She didn’t see much of him for the rest of Monday or Tuesday. He remained confined to his office with the door shut most of the time as he and Rob interviewed the partners and associates, and she purposely kept out of the way. Luckily, she was busy, and the time went quickly.

Monday evening proved hard work, with Eleanor giving her yet another lecture about her private life and trying to convince Coco that moving into a home was a positive thing. It was like a war of attrition, as if her mother was trying to wear her down gradually, eroding her love and patience like the sea erodes rock. The same thing happened Tuesday when she got home from work. She told Eleanor she was going out with Felix again, and Eleanor became so gleeful that Coco nearly told her she wasn’t going.

“I knew you’d see sense eventually,” Eleanor said, rubbing her hands together.

Coco stood up and smacked the paper she’d been reading on the table. “Stop it. This is nothing, Mum, just a brief distraction. It doesn’t mean anything. Stop acting as if I’ve found the love of my life and I’m getting married in the morning.”

“It’s not just a dalliance,” Eleanor said, her face glowing with more colour than Coco had seen it in decades. “I know you, sweetheart. There’s more to this than a quick fling.”

Hot tears scalded Coco’s eyes, but she blinked them away and glared at her mother. “Felix is here for precisely six more days, then he moves to the other end of the island.”

“You could always move with him.” Eleanor winked and giggled like a teenage girl.

Coco left the room. She hated doing that—walking away, because it seemed unfair when Eleanor’s mobility was so strictly limited, but sometimes she needed the space and it was actually a relief that Eleanor couldn’t follow her.