I Love My Healed Heart: 4 Book Box Set/Omnibus (Erotic Romance) (5 page)

Especially when he looks on the floor and says, “Oh look, you dropped
something. Let me get it for you.”

I look around, confused. I dropped something? Where? I didn’t drop
anything.

I watch him bend down in front of me. Kneeling on one knee, hidden
from all eyes but mine, he reaches out and touches my ankle, awakening my
senses. Woah. What’s going on here? He lets his fingers lightly trace the skin
up my calf, to my knees where he goes to guide them open, quickly and forcibly
silencing my objections with his gorgeous blue eyes. At first I’m beside
myself, but I hate my fucking job so I do what any red-blooded woman would do
when faced with a man like this… I yield. I quiet my mind and, breathless with
fear and anticipation, I allow my legs to open slightly. I obey him. Aren’t we
going to get caught? The danger of the moment is thrilling me, and I hope he’ll
do what I think he’s about to.

He does. He glides his strong, hand up and under my fabulous new dress.
Maybe it’s the dress that’s making this happen.
Maybe it’s a magic dress
. As his fingers walk themselves up my
inner thigh – oh my God, oh my God, oh my God! – his fingers are like
magnets my super soft skin reaches for. I shiver. He watches, his mouth
slightly smiling, enjoying the surprise he sees in me, feels in me.

Staring at him, stunned, I think again that I know James, but this is
crazy. Hi James. Morning Jess. That sort of thing. So why is his hand up my
skirt, and why are those devilish eyes of his smiling like that? When he
reaches my panties, he strokes me once through the cotton. What are we
doing???!!! I know I should stop him. We could get caught. We could get fired.
He strokes me again. And once more. Please don’t stop.

There I said it, even if just to myself. Please. Don’t. Stop.

This is so much better than working. I wake up to his fingers
exquisitely fondling me right in the middle of the office, out in the open save
for the thin walls of my cubicle. He feels my panties dampening and he smiles.
As he presses up and against where he knows my clit is hiding inside, my breath
catches in my throat. He wiggles that finger ‘round and watches my eyes fill with
need, my long eyelashes fluttering as I lose control, my hand grip onto my desk
without making a sound.

He won’t let me look away. I push down on his hand. I can’t help
myself. I want to rub on it, appease this longing he’s created, end the torture
by giving myself a release.
I can be
quiet. I can keep the secret.
But then, without warning, he pulls out his
hand, gets up and walks away. Speechless, and beyond my mind stunned, all I can
do is watch him leave.

The bastard.

The angel.

The WOW.

I quickly push down my dress to make myself presentable and focus on
my breathing, to slow it down. My mind rummages for a way I can finish what he
started. What the hell was that all about? I did tell The Bitch I’m sick. I
could go to that bathroom that has the lock and take a moment or ten to
pleasure myself.

Don’t be stupid. You’re at work! Think, Jess, think.

I look around my computer, the mouse on my desk, the polished cement
floor. There are no answers anywhere. Oh, I know! I should look around to see
if anyone knew what was going on. You idiot – look around for peat’s
sake! Oh wow – let’s hope no one knows what he was doing to me. I will
never live this down if they do.

Slowly I lift myself up with just the top of my head and eyes showing.
I want to be covert. I scan the room and no one seems to have noticed. They’re
too steeped in their own problems and lives, to look around. I check the door
and see James there, about to leave to go to our other floor, upstairs; the one
he works on. I realize I must look very weird, peeking at him like this. I
should duck down, but I’m still a little stunned. Okay, a
lot
stunned. My body is not doing what I want it to. It wants to look
at James. I don’t blame it, but let’s try to play hard to get a bit, shall
we??? He catches my ridiculous peeping, penetrating stare for an amused moment.
Only the slightest glint in his eyes tells me that yes, what just happened was
real. I slink back down out of sight, as he walks, all confidence out to the
elevator.
 

Okay. So… not gay.

The Next Morning

Today I am strutting to work, excited to go in for the first time
since I first got hired. Almost dancing, if I must admit. I won’t lie - I look
amazing. I
may
have put a little
extra effort in today. And there
may
be a huge pile of clothes on my bed from all the discards that didn’t make the
cut, as I searched for the perfect blend of sexy and pretty, but not obvious.
And there
may
be some perfume sprayed
in my nether region. These are just possibilities.

Since I couldn’t sleep
and
had risen practically at the crack of dawn, I have enough time to get my
favorite coffee. I jump off the train at 4
^th
street and stroll into
Third Rail Coffee. The coffee here is excellent. The tables are tiny, but I
never sit down, so who cares. I see a lot of people on their computers and I wonder
what I always wonder, do they tip? I hope they tipped if they’re going to take
up a table for this long. I mean, they seem to be in here for hours. They know
everyone. They’ve got nameplates on their tables. Kidding, but seriously.

Whatever. It’s not my business. I order an Americano with almond milk
and walk to wait near the window. As I’m looking out, I see Nicole! I tap like
crazy on the window, but she keeps walking by. We – the people of New
York – put blinders on while walking alone. Stare forward. Avoid eye
contact. Don’t attract the attention of a crazy. There are a lot of crazies.

“Americano with Almond,” they call out just in time. I shoot over,
grab my morning sustenance and almost drop it as I sprint out the door.

“Nicole!”

She whips around, long black hair shiny and flying. I wish I had a
button where I could push “slow motion” because she looked so beautiful just
now. Nicole is the prettiest of our little threesome. She looks a bit like
Kerry Washington, that woman from Scandal, only taller. Her skin tone is the
same and she also straightens her hair, but hers is longer. Sometimes she wears
it wild and curly – and both, I love. Her cheekbones are to die for,
great nose, and the kind of lips that people buy. But her eyes are what make
her truly stand out. They’re the color of caramel. Or scotch. Not bourbon –
no, that’s too dark. Single malt Scotch, light and gold. And she’s tall, 5’9.”
Basically, she’s gorgeous, but she somehow has managed to stay easy going and
not be a stuck up c. u. n.ext t.uesday.

“Jess!” We close the distance, hug and kiss each other’s cheeks. Both
cheeks, like they do in the movies. I’m always really bad at this. But everyone
does it here, so I try my best. “What are you doing in Greenwich?” she asks me.

“I stopped for coffee since I woke up early.”

“
You
woke up early? To go
to work? Did The Bitch quit… or drop dead?”

This makes me laugh. “No. Best not to say that, though.”

“Karma.”

“Right.”

Nicole nods in agreement and we begin walking together in the
direction of the train stop. I don’t have to ask her to come with me. She just
comes. Even though it’s the opposite direction of where she was going.
Girlfriends… they just get it.

“No, I felt like getting ahead of the game. You know… show up. Get
some work done. Impress The Bitch. No big deal.”

“Who is he?” Nicole’s eyebrows are up and her chin is pressed into
her neck like “mmmhmmm, don’t lie to a sister.”
 

I look at the ground and then back at her to reveal, “It’s James.”

“The gay guy?”

“Turns out he’s not gay.”

“No one is that handsome and
not
gay.”

“Brad Pitt. George Clooney. Matt Bomer.

“You win.”

We arrive at the stairs to the subway. I turn and smile at my
gorgeous girl. “I can’t wait to tell you how I know he’s not gay.”

“Tell me now! Don’t you dare pull a ‘Jess’ on me!” Her expression is
telling me I’m about to be slapped.

She’s bluffing. Just in case, I start to ease down the stairs with a
mischievous smile, raising my coffee in salute. “I don’t know what you’re
talking about,” I sing.

“Jess! You will not drop that juicy little morsel, and then walk
away!” She pounds her high-heeled feet in mock-fury.

“Come with me to work and I’ll tell you.” I would love company on the
train. That way I don’t have to pretend to be reading, so no weirdoes bother
me.

“I can’t. I have a meeting with a dealer. Jerk.” Nicole is a painter,
and a good one.

“He’s a jerk?” I ask, looking innocent, as people are passing me,
annoyed that I’m halfway down, not moving, and blocking their way.

“
You’re
a jerk! And I love
you. Let’s get together tonight. Hey!” That last part she said to a douche-bag
who nearly ran her over trying to make the train. I contemplate tripping him.

“I should’ve tripped you!” I call to his departing backside as he
races past me. He throws up his middle finger without looking back. Dick. I
turn back to Nicole and say, “Sounds good. I’ll call Amber.”

“Wonderful. See you tonight!” We blow kisses to each other. I grin
and she looks at me like I am lucky I’m halfway down the stairs, before she
turns and walks out of sight.

When I finally arrive to work and walk into the office, I’m still
very early. This is a first, except for my first month on the job. I was a
better employee then. Oh man, is The Bitch going to be impressed with me today!

There are some ass-kissers already at their desks, but from the lack
of light in The Bitch’s office, I can see she’s not arrived yet. Although… she
may have just sucked the light out of it and is sitting alone in the dark,
comfortable in the black vortex she has created. I giggle to myself, wave
across the room to Amy– co-worker, early twenties, kind of plain, but
holding it together with a great outfit and pixie haircut – as I go to my
desk.

As I turn to round the corner of my cube, I see a note on my
keyboard. Odd. I quicken the pace, pick it up and unfold it to read, “Take off
your panties.”

My jaw drops and, still standing, I go on my tiptoes and look around
the room for James. He works upstairs, so I don’t know if he left this last
night or this morning. If he left it last night, that took some balls. If he
left it this morning, still a big deal, but the cleaning crew or anyone staying
late (which means everyone, but me), could have easily picked this up and been
in for a shock. I read the note again, and for good measure look around once
more. Amy is side-eyeballing me with an odd expression. Does she know, I
wonder? No. She is just wondering why I’m acting like a wacko. I smile, wave
and call out, “I was just marveling at your outfit. So cute!” She grins and
thanks me. I plop out of site and onto my chair. Nicely done.

Take off my panties. Hmm…oh, what the hell? I reach under my skirt
and quietly slide them off, hastily shoving them into the bottom of my bag.
Just as I zip it closed, Steve, an out-of-the-closet co-worker passes and says,

“Mornin’ Jess.”

My heart pounds and sweat sprints out of my forehead. I silently
swear at myself for not going to the bathroom to take my panties off
in private
. Idiot.

“Hey Steve,” I throw out, lamely. He’s long gone.

I wore an Aztec print mini-skirt - so hot right now - with a
dominating red print to pick up the red of my hair and bring it all together.
To look like I didn’t try too hard, I chose a simple flowing black blouse made
of t-shirt material, dressed up with super high heels, and a long necklace that
hangs to my stomach. My hair is down and wavy.

And now… I’m wearing no panties. Awesome.

I turn on the computer and pull up our email server. As I’m typing, I
hear the door open to the office, over and over as my co-workers file in like
little ants reporting to duty, ready to serve their queen. And for some reason
all of this feels like fun. Oh Yeah.
Because
I have no panties on
. Everything feels new!

James has not come in yet and all of a sudden it occurs to me that
maybe it wasn’t him that left me the note. Maybe it’s a trick from the janitor,
a janitor with perfect timing who knew that yesterday one of my co-workers
touched me through my panties. I’m being paranoid, so I shake my head to remove
this feeling and hit send on an email asking security once again to confirm
they got my staff list. Fashion Week is on Monday (I can’t believe it’s already
almost September!) and they still haven’t responded. But they’re not in fashion
so they don’t understand the importance, like we all do. They pretend like they
get it, but they don’t get it. I look at my to-do list and it’s pretty much
done. I can’t believe it. Well, look at that. I’m proud of myself. Huh.

“Hey.”

My heads jerks up to see James standing in the same position he was
in yesterday – arm on the wall of my cubicle, confidently leaning on it,
looking hot hot
hot
in a suit that
fits him snugly and his hair slicked back a bit without looking wet. He looks
like he slept fine, unlike myself. I was too excited. Or freaked out. I’m not
sure which.

I get to be a little smoother today. Less of a dork. I prepared for
this moment. “Hey,” I smile.

“Get my note?”
 
he asks,
crinkling his forehead.

“Oh… I got a note. Not sure if it was from you. Hoping it was,
because otherwise, that’d be weird. Um…yeah. I’ll be quiet now.”

I’m still a dork.

“Did you obey?” His blue eyes lock onto my skirt. All of a sudden I
feel heat flame up inside me, and I want to raise my dress up. I want to raise
it up and let him look.

I touch the hem, play with it, point the toes of my right foot out
seductively and say, “I did.” My awakened sexuality has turned me into a James
Bond character. I am suddenly slick and sophisticated. But then I hear it. And
by it, I mean my boss. The Bitch has arrived to work.

He looks over and whispers, “Here comes –”

“Yeah… I hear the Jaws theme.”

 
“Meet me in the bathroom
downstairs,” James whisper-commands.

“What? How am I going to?

“Do it.” He
 
winks and leaves.

I look at the computer screen and wonder how the hell am I going to
get away when she just got here. No doubt she’ll have a shit load of stuff for
me to do.

Oh. Wait.

“Jessica! You’re here early. Did the wolves let you out of the cave
ahead of schedule?” She looks at me like she’s just said the funniest thing
ever said by anybody. I want to punch her, but I do the smart thing and… laugh.

“Ha! That’s funny. They did. Yes.” I look down to avoid killing her
with my death-beam laser eyes.

“What did James want?” she demands.

“Oh… uh…nothing. He was being annoying. I’m supposed to get my tax
documentation up to date with H.R. Blah blah. You know how they are.”

She buys this and starts to rattle off, “I need you to email Connie
–
 
”

I cut her off with, “I did. She already got back to me. She has a
4:30 p.m. open for you,” I wait and watch her take this in.

“Well that’s no good because – ”

“Yeah, because you’re getting your nails done in the Upper East Side
at 3:30 p.m. So I made her change it 5:30 p.m. She said that would not be a
problem.”

Her overly-severe ponytail threatens to burst. She is beside herself.
Doesn’t know where to turn. Then she announces triumphantly, “Don’t forget to
email Event Security and tell them to – ”

Just then an email alert beeps through.

We both look at my computer and I say, “That’s them now. One moment,
please.” I open it and rea,d “Looks like they’ve got everyone on the list. Oh,
and they’ve given us a number to call, in case there’re any problems, day of.”

I swivel back to her, waiting innocently.

“I’ll think of more,” she says diabolically, about to leave. But I
stop her.

“Oh – one more thing,” As she turns, infuriated by my
competence, I see her ponytail whip around and hit her in the face. I feel my
own heart beat faster, because I know that what I’m about to say is going to
send her clear into
what-the-f-just-happened-ville.

“What?!” she demands, aggravated.

“Stella McCartney is sending her perfume. It will arrive by courier,
this afternoon. And I’ve emailed the minions to make sure that the moment it arrives,
they stop everything and put it in the goody bags. Priority number one.”

This punches her in her proverbial face. Her eyes are the size of
saucers, as is her mouth. She shuts it, gulps, and stands there speechless,
staring at me. She doesn’t know whether to slap me or give me a raise. The
former, from the look on her face. She has the gall to announce, “Well, of
course, she’s sending it! I never doubted it for a second.” She flips around
and stomps away.
 

I call after her departing figure, “I’m not feeling well, again. I
prefer the bathroom downstairs, so…”