Talking Dirty With the Boss: A Talking Dirty Novel (Entangled Indulgence) (15 page)

“Still. You weren’t stupid. You were young. And probably innocent.”

She laughed at that. “Innocent?
Moi
?”

He didn’t smile. “You were eighteen. He took advantage of you. That was wrong.”

That tightness in her chest was back with a vengeance. She didn’t like it, so she looked back down to the half-eaten sandwich that she suddenly didn’t want any more of. “Some of it was my fault, you know. I think a part of me knew what he was doing but I let it happen anyway. He had a tortured-bad-boy thing going on and I thought I could heal him.” She made herself smile. “Eighteen-year-old girl crack, in other words.”

Luke’s face remained unsmiling. “You mentioned getting sidetracked by your mother, too?”

Marisa wrapped her sandwich up, her appetite gone. “Oh, Mum was an ex-beauty queen and got me onto the pageant circuit when I was a teenager. Thought it was good for my confidence and crap. After Dad died it became really important to her so I thought, why not?”

His gaze was like an X-ray, seeing all the way inside her. “I thought you said you wanted to be a glass artist like your father?”

Marisa closed her fingers around her sandwich. “Yeah, I know. But Mum was so upset after his death. The pageant stuff was the only thing that kept her going and it was no skin off my nose to keep doing it. I could go off and be an artist at any time, but you can only do the beauty-queen stuff when you’re young.”

“You didn’t want to do it, though, did you?”

No. She hadn’t.

You and I have the looks in this family, Marisa. Your father is the one with the talent. Don’t waste your time with that.

Her gaze slid away from him, tension gathering inside her. “It was fine. It’s not like I didn’t get anything out of it. I liked the dresses and the makeup and looking pretty. Winning was cool, too.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Marisa bit her lip. She didn’t want to keep going down that path. Because wherever it was going to end up, she had a feeling she wouldn’t like it. “The past is the past, Luke. I made my choices and no, they weren’t good ones, but I can’t change them now.”

He was silent a moment. “So what about your dreams? Of being an artist?”

Relieved he wasn’t going to push, Marisa allowed herself a breath. “I’m getting there. I’m going to pay of all my Alistair debt with the help of your ingenious financial brain and then, one day, I’ll get myself a glass studio.”

A silence fell between them.

“What about you?” she asked finally. “What about your hopes and dreams? Your plans for the future?”

…

Luke shifted, leaning his elbows on his knees as Marisa’s beautiful face turned toward him. He’d almost gotten used to sitting here on the ground like this, but her question made him uncomfortable all over again.

“My plans generally involve my company. Growing McNamara Financial
.
” At least, that’s what he’d always thought whenever the issue of the future came up. Not that he let himself think too hard about the future when managing the day-to-day always took up so much of his time. Compared to her dreams, though, his sounded so…vague. And small.

“That’s it?”

He glanced at her. “What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing but… You don’t have any particular dreams?

Luke glanced away, turning to watch a group of students playing a rowdy game of hacky-sack without a care in the world. Not like him. He’d never been one of those students. Unable to let go and enjoy himself the way they did. He hadn’t been able to. Sometimes it rankled. Hell, not sometimes. It had bothered him
all
the time. But then that’s what he’d been stuck with, wasn’t it? So he had to deal with it.

“Not particularly. I manage McNamara Financial, Marisa. That’s as much of a dream as I can afford right now.”

“Luke,” her voice was soft. “You have to have dreams. How else do you get through the day?”

He didn’t want to meet her eyes. The sympathy in her voice was hard enough to deal with as it was. Because he couldn’t tell her his secret, not after what she’d revealed about her ex and his lies.

What would she say if he confessed his own lie? That he’d deliberately concealed one of the most important things about himself?

She would be hurt, that seemed clear, and God knew, he’d already hurt her enough by being insensitive over the past few weeks. He didn’t want to hurt her again. He’d find another moment to tell her. Some other time.

He looked away. “How do I get through the day? One minute at a time.”

“No.” This time it was she who put her hand over his. And he felt the warmth of it deep inside him, touching a place he didn’t think was vulnerable. “There should be more than that.”

Of course there was more. Dreams of a wife, a child. Dreams of a family. Dreams of a normal life without the OCD. A life he couldn’t have, therefore never allowed himself to think about or admit to wanting.

But now you have her. Now you have the baby. That’s most of the dream already.

It was. Yet something was missing. He didn’t know what that thing was, only that it made him ache. An ache that only got more intense when she was near.

“There is no more.” He let out a breath and took his hand out from under hers on the pretense of looking at his watch. “It’s time for us to go.”

“Luke.”

“What?”

“Don’t you ever wish…” She hesitated, and the expression on her face made that ache spread out in his chest like a creeping frost. “Don’t you ever wish things were different?”

At last. A question he could give a truthful answer to. “Every day, Marisa. I wish things were different every single day.”

She turned abruptly away, but not before he saw the gleam of liquid in her eyes. “Yeah,” she murmured, her voice husky. “So do I.”

Tension filled the silence for one unbearable minute.

“Come on, then,” she said. “Let’s go.”

She got to her feet and handed him his jacket, and he brushed the dirt off and folded it over his arm. Pulled his cuffs down. His tie was a little loose, but before he could do anything about it, she’d reached up and tightened it for him. Even making sure the knot was sitting where he liked it, dead center.

He couldn’t take his eyes off her. “Why did you do that?”

She blinked as if she hadn’t been aware of what she’d been doing. “Uh…because you like it that way.”

“Thank you,” he said softly.

She blushed and he couldn’t help himself. His fingers caught her beneath the chin, tilting her head back. Then he bent and kissed her. And it was sweet. Different from the hungry kisses they exchanged at night in bed together.

A kiss that intensified the ache into a pain that went deep into his heart.

Dangerous.

Marisa pulled away from him. “Come on, McNamara,” she said, sounding a little unsteady. “You don’t want to be late, do you?”

They weren’t late.

Yet much later that day, Luke found himself walking back and forth in front of his office windows, hands behind his back, thinking furiously. Turning the conversation about dreams over and over in his head. In fact he’d been so distracted, some of the work he’d intended to spend the afternoon doing hadn’t gotten done, so he’d had to stay later at the office—something he hated if he hadn’t planned on it. The disruption to his routine always unsettled him.

But Marisa unsettled him more.

She’d seemed more like a princess than ever in her white dress, golden curls clustering around her face. One who shouldn’t be sitting on the ground, and offering her his jacket to sit on had been simply a matter of course.

Then she’d spoken about her father. About her dreams of being an artist. About the bastard who’d broken her heart. And about her mother. Somehow, somewhere along the line, Marisa had put her dreams aside. Dreams that had been important to her.

Which meant he had to do something. He couldn’t tell her the truth about himself—at least not yet—but he could help her achieve those dreams in some way. Take away the shadow in her blue eyes. That shadow offended his sense of order. Princesses should be happy, not tragic.

Your sense of order, eh? Keep telling yourself that.

Luke halted by his desk, moved a pen. Of course it wasn’t only about his sense of order. She was the mother of his child. His responsibility. That meant taking care of her, making sure she was happy. And the happier she was, the more likely she’d stay with him. And she had to stay with him.

Whatever happened with the OCD, her moving out once their “trial period” was over wasn’t going to happen, not if he could help it. She was his and so was the baby, a little piece of his dream right there.

So what would make her happy?

Helping her achieve her dreams of being artist. That’s what she wanted most.

He thought back over the various conversations they’d had about it, about her wanting her own glass studio. Perhaps her art was like his obsession with cars? Perhaps she needed the studio to channel her creativity into? In which case, he’d provide one for her. He had the money to build it, which meant she wouldn’t have to put her dreams off any longer.

The idea was intensely satisfying to him.

Pleased with himself, he stopped pacing and rounded the desk. Sat down in his chair.

And began to do some research.

Chapter Ten

Marisa looked at the time on her phone and scowled. The university dean was running late, which meant he was going to be late to their meeting.

Which meant she would be late returning to work. Goddammit.

She shook out the women’s magazine she was reading and tried to pay attention to the article on some actress or other’s post-baby workout—which was more like her idea of torture—but her attention kept wandering.

If the dean was late and her meeting was late, being back to work late wasn’t the only problem. She’d be late for her lunch date with Luke.

They’d been stealing secret lunch dates for over a week now, arranging to meet at their “spot” in Albert Park each day at one o’clock. Luke’s idea. All part of his “get to know you” plan.

And each day, before one, she’d find her heart beating a little faster, anticipation coiling tight in her stomach. Anticipation that would dissolve into a burst of excitement the moment she saw him waiting for her. Because she enjoyed having lunch with him. He was so uptight normally, and yet at lunch he seemed to relax. He’d loosen his tie and they’d talk about stuff. Or not talk if they didn’t feel like it. Which wasn’t uncomfortable, just companionable.

She didn’t want to miss lunch today. She didn’t want to miss it at all. Especially because he would be expecting her and when she didn’t turn up… Well, the thought hurt in a way she wasn’t expecting.

Why should you care?

That was the thing. After she’d seen the bleakness in his eyes that day at lunch, when they talked about dreams, and he’d told her he got through his day minute by minute.

I wish things were different every single day.

Even now thinking about it made her want to cry. And God knew she was already prone to waterworks because of the damn pregnancy. There was something wrong in his life, something he wasn’t telling her.

Which was a worry. It reminded her too much of Alistair’s big secret, and she knew she should ask him about it but she was afraid. Afraid of what the answer might be, and that too was a worry. Because if she was afraid, it meant she cared. About him. And God knew she didn’t want to care. Didn’t want to have all these feelings for him at all, and yet she couldn’t seem to brush them aside.

Which
really
frightened her.
He
frightened her. He had the power to make her care deeply, and she didn’t want to go down that path with him. She’d been down it once before with Alistair and had been scratched by the brambles, then fell in the huge muddy puddle at the end of it.

Feelings sucked. Especially feelings for guys who only wanted “two-week girlfriends” and not relationships.

She hit the message app on her phone and texted him a quick message.

Sorry. I’m not sure I can make lunch today. Have a meeting that’s running late.

Almost as soon as she sent the text, her phone rang. No surprises as to who that was. “Hi, Luke.”

“Why will you be late?” he demanded without preamble. “Where are you?”

A small jab of annoyance poked at her, joining the guilt that already sat heavy in the pit of her stomach. “Hey, take it easy. I’m at the university meeting with the fine arts dean. I want to know whether I’m eligible for that degree before applying. But the guy’s running late and—”

“We have lunch together at one.”

She swallowed. “I know. I’m sorry.”

There was a pause down the end of the phone. “I need you here for lunch, Marisa.”

A strange kind of hurt turned sharp inside her. “No you don’t. Not really. It’s…a routine we’ve gotten into.”

“You’re not a routine, Marisa.”

“Every day we buy the same sandwiches from the same shop and we always sit in the same place at the same time. How is that not a routine?”

There was silence down the end of the phone for a moment. “I have lunch with you because I also like talking to you.”

She swallowed, a little bubble of longing bursting in her chest. “Do you?” she asked, before she could help it. “Do you really?”

Do you really?
God, how desperate did she sound? Marisa sat back in the chair, hating her vulnerability.

“Of course I do,” Luke said, sounding impatient.

Oh sure, that was convincing. “I’m sorry, I probably won’t be able to make it to the park on time. We could have coffee at the café next to the office instead if you like.”

“We can’t meet near the office, you know that.”

No, of course they couldn’t. Because they might be discovered. Because of his precious rules. “It’s one coffee, Luke. No one’s going to suddenly think we’re in a relationship because they saw us having coffee together.”

“They saw us having lunch last week,” he said flatly. “Another date will cause people to talk.”

Marisa’s fingers tightened on her phone as the hurt slid deeper. Digging in more. So, once again, she’d become a man’s dirty little secret. Yay, her. “Who cares if they talk?” She tried to make her voice sound casual but it didn’t come out that way. “I mean really, who gives a crap if I’m seen with you?”

“
I
give a crap. The rules against workplace relationships are in place for a reason, Marisa. I can’t ignore them when it suits me. I’m the CEO. It’s not a good look.”

“Yeah, you’re the CEO. You were the one who made those stupid rules in the first place.”

“Which means I’m the one who can change them, presumably?” He made it sound like she wanted him to go murder a puppy or something.

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

“Then what are you saying?”

The hurt mixed with the anger, creating a giant ball of acid that sat painfully in her gut. “I’m saying that I’m sick of being a secret, Luke. I’ve been there before and it sucks.”

There was a silence on the other end of the phone. Then he said, “I’ll try to think of a work-around.”

“That’s…” She stopped, took a breath. “A work-around isn’t actually the point.”

“Then what is the point?”

She wanted him to understand her, she realized. She wanted him to know without having to explain. But of course he wouldn’t. “The point is that you won’t bend the rules. Not even a little. Not even for me. I thought…I thought I mattered.”

He said nothing for a long time and she wondered if he’d hung up on her. But then, at last, his voice, quiet and cool. “You do matter, but I can’t bend the rules, Marisa. You know that. Not even for you.” Another silence. “We’ll talk about this tonight.”

Which meant the conversation was over.

“Sure,” she replied, trying to be casual. Trying not to care. “Tonight.”
Yeah, right.

After he’d hung up, she stuffed her phone back in her purse, her throat tight, her eyes prickling. As if she was upset. Which was dumb because she wasn’t upset. Or disappointed.

It was only a stupid lunch date. That’s all it was. But maybe it was time to have a little distance. Have some space away from each other. It wouldn’t hurt, would it?

Yeah, that’s what she’d do. A night away from Luke’s intense, consuming presence was what she needed.

…

Luke pulled his car into the garage and got out, shutting the door and locking it. He was early, and because he was early, he was antsy and out of sorts. The way he’d been ever since Marisa hadn’t turned up for lunch.

He knew he shouldn’t be angry about that and yet he was. Stupidly angry. She hadn’t arrived at all and it had ruined his entire day. He’d had to cancel meetings because he knew he wouldn’t be able to concentrate, and now he’d have to reschedule his entire week.

Goddammit. He’d had to come home early so he could have it out with her. So he could stop her from taking up valuable headspace in his brain.

Fool. It’s not only about your schedule.

Which was pretty much his problem because no, it wasn’t. He’d also been disappointed because he’d been looking forward to seeing her. Somehow lunch with her had become a bright spot in his day. A chance to talk about things he didn’t normally talk about—their friends, books, movies, music. They were both so different and yet they’d discovered a shared love of mysteries and the joys of a good action movie. She sometimes teased him and he found he liked it. Had begun some experimental teasing in return.

While they were in public, all they could do was talk, so the chemistry between them hummed away in the background, allowing him to get to know her as a person. And she was quite a person. Witty, with a sense of humor that he didn’t quite understand but appreciated all the same. Loyal to a fault and extremely generous. Caring.

He was beginning to like her. Very much.

Maybe she was partly a routine. But she was also someone he wanted to spend time with and he was pissed off at her for not being there. And for not understanding when it came to the rules.

Yes, her past must make it difficult for her when it came to hiding their affair at work, but he couldn’t bend those rules. He couldn’t afford to, not if he wanted to remain in control of his OCD. Not even for her.

Striding up the stairs, he paused to put his briefcase down on the desk in his study where he always put it. Then fought a brief battle to resist his usual procedure of taking off his work clothes and hanging them up systematically in his wardrobe. Impatience won as he stalked through the house trying to find her.

Marisa was in her room, the one she didn’t sleep in anymore. There was an open suitcase on the bed and she was in the process of packing. Or rather, stuffing things into it.

He stood in the doorway a moment, trying to figure out what was going on. Because it really seemed as though she was leaving.

“What are you doing?” he bit out.

She tossed something filmy and lacy into the suitcase. “You’re early.”

“Yes.”

“You’re never early.”

“I told you on the phone I wanted to talk to you.”

Her blue eyes flicked over him. “And you’re in your work clothes.”

Already restless with not having completed his post-work routines, he didn’t appreciate the reminder. Shoving away from the doorway, he went over to the bed, looking down at the case. “What are you doing?”

Her chin jerked up. “I thought I’d go back home for the night.”

Cold trickled down his spine. “Why the hell would you want to do that?”

“Because I thought we could both do with some space.”

“Space?”

“Yeah, you know. A large area with no one in it. My own room, with my own things, for example. Where some guy isn’t always checking up on me and I don’t have to lie to anyone about going out to lunch every day with my boss.”

The simmering anger licked up inside him. “I don’t want you to go.”

Her mouth opened. Then shut. Then she put her hands on her hips. She was wearing another pencil-skirt-and-blouse combo, with the most shockingly high stiletto sandals. Her hair was loose today, tumbling over her shoulders in a glorious golden fall. The princess turned businesswoman. Beautiful.

“I’m sorry, Luke, but whether you want me to or not, I’m going.”

Luke couldn’t keep still. He rounded the bed, wanting to close the distance opening up between them. “This is because of lunch, isn’t it? Because of the rules?”

“What if it is?” She reached for the hairbrush that sat on the dresser. “Like I told you on the phone. I’m not one of your routines and I sure as hell don’t want to be your dirty little secret. It’s not good for you and it isn’t good for me.”

The anger licked higher. “Those rules are important to me. I’m the CEO, I can’t bend them. I thought you understood.”

“Sure, I understand. It’s about control, isn’t it? Control over your damn company.”

“I can’t afford a slip, Marisa.”

“Why not? “ She waved the hairbrush at him. “You’re the boss, Luke. You made the rules. Which means you can break them, too.”

Of course she wouldn’t understand.

Because you haven’t told her.

His hands were in fists, tension gripping his muscles tight. He knew he had to tell her. But now was not the time. Not when she was so angry. Not when she was on the point of leaving.

Yet he had to say something. “I can’t break them,” he said curtly. “I’ve already bent them by continuing to sleep with you and I can’t bend them any further. There’s a reason my company is so successful, Marisa, and you’re right, it’s because I’m in complete control. Because I’m rigid. It’s a formula and it works for me. I don’t want to mess with it.”

A long silence fell.

Marisa sighed, the anger dying out of her eyes. “I can understand that.” She fiddled with the hairbrush in her hands. “I just don’t like being your secret. It’s like being Alistair’s mistress all over again. Like…” She stopped.

“Like what?”

Her gaze met his. Then she said, her voice cracked. “Like I’m not important.”

The expression in her eyes broke the paralysis that had been gripping him and he moved. Closed the distance between them, pulled the hairbrush out of her hand, and tossed it on the bed, not bothering to check where it landed. Then he reached out and took her lovely face between his palms, looked down into her blue eyes. “If you weren’t important, Marisa Clair, I wouldn’t have broken those rules in the first place.”

“Oh sure.” Her gaze flickered. “But now I’ve become merely a routine to you. I mean, that’s why you were angry at me for being late, right?”

“No. the reason I was angry was because I was looking forward to seeing you and I was disappointed you weren’t there.”

…

Believing him was hard. As though she was conceding something she didn’t want to. Allowing him a piece of her she didn’t want to give up. It was easier and far less threatening to believe she wasn’t important to him.

His hands were warm against her face, his gaze intense, focused. He wanted her to believe him. But she couldn’t let herself. Because then she’d have to admit her own feelings. The frightening ones.

“Really?” she said, unable to keep the sarcasm from leaking out. “It’s really me you wanted to see?”

“Why is that so hard for you to accept?”

“Why would I accept it? We’ve both acknowledged we don’t like each other, that the only reason we’re here living together is for the baby’s sake, and because we can’t seem to get our hands off each other.”