The Boss's Forbidden Secretary. Lee Wilkinson

      Warning herself that she mustn’t get carried away, she pulled on her robe, tied the belt and, picking up her pile of clothes, returned to the bedroom.

      Just the sight of him made her heart leap.

      He was sitting staring into the fire as though lost in thought, the ruddy glow turning his face into the mask of an Inca god.

      Putting her clothes beside her bag, she took a deep breath and told him, ‘Your turn now.’

      He rose, his glance running over her slender figure in the clinging ivory satin. She saw his grey eyes darken to charcoal, then saw the little lick of flame that had nothing to do with the firelight.

      For a moment they gazed into each other’s eyes, before, turning on his heel abruptly, Ross made his way into the bathroom, and a moment or two later she heard the shower running.

      Finding her knees were trembling, she sank down in the chair she had occupied previously, while her thoughts tumbled over one another in a joyous confusion as she went over the events of the evening spent with Ross.

      Some kind of magic had taken place, as though they had both been caught in a spell. He felt it, too, she was certain.

      Then, like a dark cloud, came the doubts. Perhaps she was wrong, mistaken. She had been mistaken about Neil, about his feelings. After that fiasco, could she—dared she—trust her own judgement?

      But she was quite a few years older now, and much less naive. And Ross was nothing at all like Neil. Apart from the physical attraction she felt, there was so much about him that drew her—a warmth, a sensitivity, a quiet inner strength, a reliability.

      She didn’t hear him return, but some sixth sense made her glance up to find he was standing only a few feet away quietly watching her.

      He was freshly shaven, his corn-coloured hair was still slightly damp and trying to curl, and he was wearing one of the navy-blue towelling robes that had been hanging behind the bathroom door.

      ‘Are you sure you’re happy about a perfect stranger sharing your suite?’ he asked.

      Looking up at him, she spoke the exact truth. ‘You don’t seem like a stranger. I know it sounds incredible, but I feel as if I’ve always known you.’

      He took a step forward, and stooped to brush a strand of hair back from her cheek.

      She caught her breath.

      His hands closing lightly around her upper arms, he lifted her to her feet. Gazing down at her, he said softly, ‘Yes, I was sure you felt the same rapport, the same sense of closeness. It was there when I looked in your eyes.

      ‘But though I’m certain we have something special going for us, it’s early days yet, so if you want me to use one of bunk beds…?’

      She didn’t. But, too shy to say so outright, she bent her head and mumbled, ‘What do you want?’

      He lifted her chin and studied her face.

      A couple of hours in her company had confirmed his first impression that she was the loveliest thing he’d ever seen.

      There was no trace of hardness or worldliness about her; instead mingled with a faint aura of sadness was a certain innocence, a sweetness, a vulnerability that touched his heart.

      His voice a little husky, he said, ‘You can’t possibly not know. I want to hold you, to kiss you, to feel your naked body against mine. I want to take you to bed and make love to you until we’re both up there with the stars, then I want to sleep with you in my arms.’

      All her life she’d been cautious, inhibited, and after her disastrous relationship with Neil she’d felt frozen through and through, certain she’d never feel the warmth of true love, the pleasure of being held in caring arms.

      Now, however, her inhibitions gone—driven away by the unaccustomed whisky, perhaps?—she longed to reach out and take the happiness that this man seemed to be offering.

      But suppose she was frigid, as Neil had charged?

      Ross had been watching her face, the changing expressions, and now, with a slight sigh, he released her arms and stepped back.

      His voice level, he told her, ‘Don’t worry, I’ll take the couch…’

      He was turning to walk away when she whispered, ‘Don’t go. Please, don’t go.’

      ‘I think I’d better.’ Wryly he added, ‘It might prove too much of a temptation if I slept on one of the bunks.’

      ‘But I don’t want you to sleep in the other room.’

      ‘Are you sure? A moment ago you looked seriously worried at the thought of me sharing your bed.’

      ‘No, no… It wasn’t that,’ she said. ‘But I…I don’t usually behave like this.’

      ‘I never thought you did. But, as I said, it’s early days yet, so if you’re not happy…’

      ‘I am happy,’ she assured him. ‘Please stay.’

      With a little inarticulate murmur he rested his forehead against hers, melting her heart with the tenderness of the gesture, and bringing unexpected tears to her eyes.

      As he lifted his head, twin teardrops escaped and trickled down her cheeks.

      He kissed them away softly, before touching his lips to hers.

      She was still trembling from the delight of that kiss when he drew her close and kissed her again.

      Contact with his firm, muscular body turned her very bones to jelly, and she melted against him, her lips parting helplessly beneath the light, yet masterful pressure of his.

      With a little murmur of satisfaction he deepened the kiss while he unfastened her robe and slipped it off her shoulders, letting it puddle at her feet.

      As he kissed her, his hands moved over her seductively, tracing her slender hips and buttocks through the thin satin of her nightdress before moving up again to the soft curve of her breasts.

      Feeling her body’s instinctive response, he cupped the weight of one breast in the palm of his hand and rubbed his thumb over the firming nipple.

      He heard her soft gasp, and, slipping the satin straps from her shoulders, he sent the nightdress to join the robe at their feet. Then, taking one pink, velvety nipple in his mouth, he teased its fellow between his finger and thumb.

      For a while, with a skill and delicacy that Neil had totally lacked, he pleasured her, before pulling back the covers and lifting her onto the bed.

      He was standing looking down at her, admiring her flawless skin, the firm, beautifully shaped breasts, the enticing flare of her hips, and the long, slender legs, when she opened dazed eyes.

      Smiling down at her, he discarded the towelling robe, switched off the bedside lamp, and, stretching out beside her, with hands and mouth he explored her body, finding every erogenous zone and producing the most exquisite sensations, the kind of singing pleasure she had never known before.

      He whispered softly how beautiful she was, how desirable, how much her body delighted him, while he brought her to a fever pitch of wanting.

      Just for an instant when he moved over her she felt a touch of panic. Suppose she couldn’t respond? Suppose he was disappointed?

      But as though sensing her fear, he kissed her gently, reassuringly, and the panic died.

      Then in the flickering firelight, while the blizzard beat at the window panes with frozen fingers, he made love to her, tenderly, passionately, so that she was caught up and carried along by the wonder of it.

      Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined love could be like this, and after a climax of such intensity that she thought she might die, she slowly drifted back to earth to lie in a blissful haze.

      After a while, her