Up Close and Personal (9 page)

And then my conscience rears its ugly head.
What am I doing?
Am I really going to allow him to seduce me, here on this couch? He’s my boss. I’m his employee. Bottom line, he’s paying my salary. Did he hire me so he could do these things to me? “Stop, please stop,” I cry out.

His head jerks up. “What’s wrong?”

I scoot off the couch. Embarrassed to my core, I cover my face with my hands. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—I can’t do this. I just can’t.”

He stands, tall and powerful, to tower over me. “Why not?” His strained voice demands.

How did I get myself in this mess? “I work for you. But this is not part of my duties. At least it shouldn’t be.”

His hand vibrates with repressed tension as it roams up my arm, across my shoulder. Encircling my throat, his thumb pushes up on my chin so I’m forced to look up at him. He may not be able to see me, but I can clearly see the anger in his eyes. “I never required
this
as part of your job. You came willingly, remember?”

My chest pumps air in and out of my lungs. He’s right. I did. “I shouldn’t have. Let me go. Please,” I whisper. Just that one word. Nothing more.

“What are you afraid of, Caitlyn? Of someone finding out? There’s no one here but the two of us. No one would know.” He rests his forehead against mine. He’s trembling with need, with hunger. For me. Something I find hard to understand. I’m nothing special. Why does he want me so?

“I can give so much pleasure. Don’t you want to know what it would be like? The two of us?”

The coward in me replies. “No. I don’t.”

For a couple of seconds, it’s touch and go, as his breathing harshes in and out, but then he drops his hand and steps back. “Very well. Go.”

I don’t wait for him to change his mind, but race to the door, unlock it, and hightail it up the stairs to my room. Once I cross the threshold, I shut the door, collapse against it. As I gasp for breath, my heartbeat drums in my ears. What should I do? Should I pack and leave? How can I? I have nowhere to go. No. That’s not an option. I have my mother’s bills to pay. I need this job. So I have to stay. I’ll just stay away from him.

I lock the door and undress, wash off my makeup, brush my hair. All the usual things I do at the end of the day. But I can still smell him on me. Should I bathe? The wicked girl in me screams ‘No.’ I want to smell him on my skin, on my hair. I want to remember what his kiss felt like. Even if I know it can never happen again.

I’ve been too casual with him, asked too many personal questions, noticed things I shouldn’t have, like how thin he looks, how soft his hair gleams in the light, how full his lips are. And here in the darkness of my room, I’ve wondered what would his kiss feel like. Yeah, I’ve pretty much brought this on myself. I’ve got to manage my reaction to him. He may not be able to see, but he sure as hell knows what I’m thinking, what I’m feeling. I have to reign in my emotions. Stop trembling when he comes near, stop looking at him too long. Stop wondering what it would feel like to have him hold me, kiss me, make love to me. God. I can’t believe I’m this far gone. He’s my boss. I can’t go to bed with him. I just can’t.

I slip under the sheets and pray for oblivion, but it’s early dawn before I finally fall into a troubled sleep.

Chapter 10

______________

Sterling

TOO LATE, my honor comes to the rescue. I shouldn’t have tried to seduce her. She’s my employee after all. But I’d been tempted by her sweetness, her scent, the sheer innocence of her. Somehow, when I’m around her, I stop hurting. She’s like a drug for my pain.

Exhausted by the turn of events, I make my way to the settee and drop into it. I’ve been alone for too long, and the mantle of responsibility had been thrust upon me at way too early an age. At age fifteen, I’d taken on the role of my mother’s caretaker. She hadn’t been able to cope with the death of my father who’d committed suicide after a business deal had gone south. He’d been betrayed by his best friend, who advised him to sink every penny he had in the transaction. Unable to deal with the betrayal and the shame, he’d put paid to his life by putting a bullet into his brain.

Right here in this room.

Thankfully, Moseley had been the one to find him. He’d kept my mother from the room, so at least she’d been spared that image, but I hadn’t. I’d sneaked into the room. I couldn’t believe my larger than life father had taken the easy way out, leaving us to live in despair and the shame of knowing his financial deal had fleeced thousands out of their hard-earned money. His business partner had fled to a country with no extradition treaty to the United States. He was still there living off his ill-gotten gains.

With little to no money left, except what was in the trust fund he’d created for me, I’d learned a hard lesson in life. What to keep, what to let go. The house was paid for, but the prohibitive taxes were something we couldn’t afford. So I’d rented the mansion and moved my mother and me to a more modest home. Even though I couldn’t pay him a salary, Moseley insisted on coming along.

During high school, I studied the stock market, and invested part of the trust fund. Since I was not of legal age, I had to trust Moseley with the management of the account. The gamble had paid off. By the time I graduated from college, I’d built a small stake, bit enough to start Sterling Industries. Once the business bank account had grown, I’d approached a local bank for a loan. They refused me unless I had a co-signer. Swallowing my pride, I’d approached several of my father’s cronies with my solid plan. Not one of them agreed to co-sign.

I was at my wits’ end and ready to throw in the towel when an acquaintance offered to co-sign the loan for a stake in the new business. With no choice, I agreed. The following five years I continued to work hard and made Sterling Industries the innovative company it is today. I tried to buy back the shares from the trusted friend, but he refused. Even though the shares made him a millionaire, he continues to work for me.

A knock on the door wakes me from my reverie. “Mr. MacKay?”

“Moseley? I was just thinking about you.”

“What about, Sir?”

“How much help you’ve been.”

“I only did what your father would have done. If he’d been alive. If he hadn’t despaired so.”

“Yes. Well.” I clear my throat. “I’m very thankful you’re in my life.”

“Can I get you anything, Sir?”

“No. I think it’s time I turned in.”

“Yes, Sir. About Ms. Bennett.”

So he hadn’t missed our tete a tete. “Yes.”

“She’s a very nice young lady.”

“Yes, she is.”

“I would hate to see her hurt.”

“So would I, Moseley. So would I.” I pat him on the shoulder. “Goodnight old friend.”

With that, I fumble my way to the door while Moseley stands there and allows me to do so. He knows better than to offer his help. I make my way around the corner, up the familiar staircase to my room. I’d ordered my valet to retire early and not wait up for me. After I wrestle with buttons and hooks and belt loops, I slip naked into my bed aching and hurting for Caitlyn Bennett, the one woman I can’t have.

Chapter 11

______________

Caitlyn

THE FOLLOWING MORNING, I wake up sluggish and bleary-eyed. No wonder. I did not get much sleep last night. I kept replaying the scene in the library over and over again. I regret remaining behind. He’d given me the opportunity to leave. If I’d had any sense, I would have, but I was beyond tempted by his voice, his words, his scent. His hunger for me. I’ve never had a man want me that much.

But he’s my boss, my employer. I was hired as his personal assistant, not his plaything. Problem is I liked what he did to me. Those kisses in the dark and the way he touched me, licked me, savored me. It was like he couldn’t get enough of me. I was tempted to do the same to him, even though I’ve never done such a thing before. I could never bring myself to pleasure my ex-boyfriend that way, even though many a time he’d begged. I’m way too intimidated to touch Sterling the same way he touched me. Besides, it’s something that can’t happen again. Not ever. I’ll just have to keep everything on a business level and never get caught with him in the dark again.

It’s Sunday morning which means Belgian waffles and strawberries. Two weeks ago I would have killed for such food, but today I can’t drum up much enthusiasm for breakfast. Because it means I will have to face him. While in the shower, I entertain the idea of hiding all day in my room. I could phone Moseley and ask for my meals to be brought to me. But that would brand me a coward, and that’s something I’m not.

After dressing in a pair of jeans, a blouse and a warm sweater, I drag my feet down the stairs. Because of last night’s party, breakfast is not being served until eleven today. A good thing since I woke up late. But after that, a whole day of nothing awaits me. How will I pass the time? No football today. It’s the break between the playoffs and the Super Bowl. I could always bone up on the finance book Sterling’s VP of Finance recommended. Or maybe I could catch a movie. But it’s beyond freezing out there. The weather forecasters are calling for a wind chill of -5 degrees. The thought of going out leaves me cold in more ways than one.

I enter the dining room fully expecting to see him at the head of the table, his usual spot. Except he’s not. Maybe he’s having his breakfast served in his room. From something Moseley said, it’s something he used to do before I worked for him.

“Good morning, Ms. Bennett.” Moseley, polite as always, greets me.

I dredge up a simple, “Morning,” with no enthusiasm to my voice. Why am I disappointed Sterling’s not here when I dread seeing him again? It makes no sense. And yet, there it is.

Silently, he fills my glass with what appears to be orange juice, except the glass is a flute so it’s probably mimosa—orange juice and champagne.

“Hair of the dog?” I ask.

“Mr. MacKay likes to drink mimosas the morning after a dinner party. Would you like something else?”

“This is fine. But if I could also have coffee and water, that would be great.” The caffeine will chase away the cobwebs and the H2O would hydrate me. Last night I drank too much wine. Maybe I should use that as the reason for my lapse in judgment.

“Of course.”

I gulp half the mimosa, but the bubbly concoction fails to lift my spirits.

Sure steps sound behind me. I turn to see Sterling, looking as dapper as ever in gray slacks, a button down shirt, and a v-neck sweater, walking toward me. The color accentuates the silver in his eyes. Taking his seat, he greets me in his usual voice. As if nothing happened last night. “Good morning, Ms. Bennett.”

I mumble back my response, “Good morning.”

As usual, he snaps his napkin to the side. “Did you enjoy the evening?”

I choke on the mimosa and dribble some down my chin. “Yes.” I croak out and wipe away the mess.

“Good.” With no hint of resentment, anger or anything else, he beams at me. It’s like our interlude in the library didn’t happen. And here I am tying myself in knots. During the meal, he discusses only inconsequential things—an audiobook mystery he’s listening to, a new TV show recommended to him.

Very well, two can play at this game. In great detail, I discuss the weather, the Arctic blast from the North, the wind chill, the promise of snow.

“Good thing you don’t need to go anywhere today then.”

Even though he can’t see me, I smile at him. With any luck, he’ll hear the false brightness in my voice. “Yes, I thought I’d curl up with a book.” The Valuation book. Might as well do something useful today.

“No football?” he asks, buttering his bread. He turned down the waffles and strawberries, opting for scrambled eggs, bacon and wheat toast instead. Maybe that’s his
après
party food.

“Not today.” I rise. “Excuse me. I better get on with my reading.”

“Enjoy the book.” He smiles that devastating grin of his.

Gritting my teeth, I stroll away without saying another word, resenting the fact last night’s
tête–à–tête
meant nothing to him.

Chapter 12

______________

Caitlyn

UNFORTUNATELY, the finance book’s not enough to hold my interest. After my restless night, I end up falling asleep less than one chapter into it. When a knock sounds on my door, I scramble out of bed. Could it be him? No, it can’t be. He’d send someone to fetch me, not walk right up to my door. Sure enough, it’s a maid with a tray.

“Mr. Moseley thought you might be hungry.”

Confused, I ask, “What time is it?”

“Seven.”

Good lord, I’ve slept the day away. Whatever’s in the tray smells delicious.

“It’s pot roast and potatoes, Miss,” the maid says.

She deposits the tray, which includes a glass of wine and a slice of apple pie a la mode, on a side table next to which a chair abuts. When she leaves, I fall upon the food like I haven’t eaten for days. Once I’m finished, I carry the tray back to the kitchen. I’d hate for the maid to make another trip. What remains of the evening, I spend watching a movie about a boy and his dog, the news, an exercise infomercial. Two o’clock rolls around, and I’m still wide awake. No wonder, after that monster nap of mine. I decide to go down to the kitchen and get a glass of milk. Maybe that will help me sleep.