The Bedroom Business. Sandra Marton

differently so that she had to tilt her head back as he slipped the tip of his tongue between her lips—what he was doing was—it was—

      Oh, it was wonderful.

      The feel of his arms around her. The hardness of his body against hers. The taste of his mouth. His hot mouth. His tongue. The glorious, mind-bending, mind-blowing heat and, yes, the wetness of his kiss…

      Emily moaned. She curled her fingers into Jake’s shirt, rose on her toes and pressed herself against him.

      Was this what a kiss, a real kiss, was like? Was a man supposed to be able to turn a woman into a mindless, breathless, boneless creature with a kiss? Or did Jake know something other men didn’t?

      Not that Emily cared about any of the answers. She only knew that she wanted this feeling to go on forever.

      Jake did, too.

      It was crazy, to get so turned on by a kiss. But turned on, turned up, turned inside out was what he was, all right, and he was aching for more.

      Emily wasn’t just kissing him back, she was making the soft little noises a woman made when she wanted more. Her sweet body was pressing against his—grinding against his. Yes, indeed; there were curves under that boxy tweed jacket and bulky skirt, curves and warm, eager flesh.

      And then she moved, and moaned, and Jake gave up thinking. He slid one hand down her spine, cupped her bottom, lifted her into the hardness of his arousal, knotted his hand in her skirt, pushed it up, stroked his hand along her thigh, her hot, silken thigh…

      Told you, Archer’s voice whispered smugly, way, way in the back of Jake’s mind. Didn’t I say still waters run deep?

      Jake shoved Emily’s skirt down, clasped her arms, tore his mouth from hers and stepped back. She swayed unsteadily, her eyes still shut, her lips rosy and parted.

      Desire burned hot in his blood.

      She wanted him, desired him, as much as he wanted her. And he wanted to assuage that desire. He wanted to reach out for her again, drag her back into his arms, carry her into his office, kick the door shut and rip away the tweed that hid her from his mouth and from his eyes…

      But sanity prevailed. The last thing he wanted was an affair with his P.A. Uh, with his E.A. Hell, the last thing, absolutely the last thing, he wanted was an affair with a little brown sparrow who’d undoubtedly confuse sex with love.

      Jake tried to speak, cleared his throat and tried again.

      “You see?”

      Emily blinked and opened her eyes. They were dark with passion and he felt himself teeter on the brink of that upside-down, inside-out feeling all over again.

      He took another step back, shoved his hands into his trouser pockets and knotted them so he wouldn’t be an idiot and reach for her.

      “See what?” she croaked.

      Jake tried for a nonchalant shrug. “I was just showing you that you don’t have anything to worry about. I can teach you everything you need to know. It’s not a problem.”

      Emily touched her fingers to her mouth. The simple action almost brought him to his knees.

      “Not a problem at all,” he said, and before she could respond, he went back into his office, fixed his tie and shirt, put on his jacket and coat, strode past her and headed out into the snowstorm for his lunch at the Oak Room…

      And tried not to think about the kiss, or the fact that she’d been busy at her desk, fingers flying industriously over the keyboard as if the whole thing had never happened, as he went out the door.

      Emily paused in her typing when Jake got back.

      She looked up, greeted him politely and told him he’d find some faxes on his desk.

      “Thank you,” he said, and went straight into his office.

      The door swung shut, and she almost collapsed with relief.

      He wasn’t going to mention what had happened. Thank God for that.

      She’d worried that the kiss would affect their relationship. Foolish her. She should have known that it wouldn’t. The kiss had meant nothing. Jake had, as he’d explained, been establishing his credentials, that was all.

      Evidently, that was the way he always kissed a woman.

      No wonder the twit wanted to keep him.

      Any woman would. Well, not any woman. She wouldn’t. Jake McBride wasn’t her type at all, no more than she was his, and a kiss wouldn’t change that. Not that he’d kissed her for that reason. To change her mind. To get her interested in him. No, it wasn’t like that and a good thing, too, because she wasn’t interested.

      Emily looked at her computer screen. Her fingers had been busy but she’d been typing gibberish.

      She took a breath, put her hands in her lap and folded them.

      Okay. That was it. Enough. This was ridiculous, every bit of it, starting with Jake’s nonsensical idea of introducing her to eligible men. Eligible for what? Was he going to run a Date My Assistant bureau?

      All she’d wanted was to know what it was like to look forward to an occasional date but using your employer as a dating service was totally unacceptable. In the seven years since she’d come to New York, she’d heard of some strange employer-employee arrangements. She knew a secretary who baby-sat for her boss’s golden retrievers on weekends, another who read all the books on the New York Times list, then wrote up one paragraph synopses for the man she worked for so he could sound as if he were well-read. She’d once met a P.A. whose boss baked him cookies. Awful cookies, but the poor guy had never worked up the courage to tell her so.

      But a boss who got you dates?

      No way.

      That was what she’d tell Jake, if he brought up the subject again. There wasn’t a way in the world she was going to let her boss play matchmaker for…

      “Emily?”

      She looked up. Definitely, the kiss had meant nothing. Jake stood in the doorway between his office and hers. He looked the way he always did. Intense. Focused. Just a little bit forbidding.

      The wings of hope fluttered in Emily’s breast. Maybe she wouldn’t have to tell him she was declining his offer. With luck, he might say it first.

      “Yes, Mr. McBride?”

      “Emily, I’ve given this some thought.”

      “Yes?”

      “And I’ve decided you should leave.”

      The wings of hope faltered, folded and were still. “Leave?”