Covet (35 page)

But it wasn’t nearly as easy not to look frequently and rather longingly in Ian Gregson’s direction – discreetly, of course, and hopefully without being observed. She loved listening to him speak at these meetings, the deep, cultured tones of his very precise British accent more than enough to make her sigh. There was really nothing, she thought with a small smile, like a man with a really sexy accent. And Ian’s was all that and much, much more – almost hypnotic and most certainly compelling.

When he had the floor, no one else present dared to direct their attention anywhere but on him. There wasn’t a sound in the room when he was speaking, everyone’s eyes fixed attentively on him and focusing on every word that came out of his mouth. He commanded attention with little to no effort, his natural charisma drawing everyone in like moths to a flame. Tessa had yet to witness him raising his voice or losing his temper, and when it was someone else’s turn to speak he paid them full attention.

She didn’t always fully understand the topics that were presented at these meetings, especially when complex matters like profit and loss margins, marketing strategies, and labor negotiations were discussed. But Ian seemed to know everything about everything, and it was evident that he was an extremely intelligent and well educated man. She would, she thought with an inner smile, happily listen to him read entire chapters from the most boring book ever written simply for the pleasure of hearing his voice.

And of course the real pleasure was in sneaking covert little glances at him from time to time, at his handsome, aristocratic features, his intense hazel gaze, his firm, expressive mouth. His hands were large, with long, capable fingers, the nails neatly clipped and meticulously cleaned. He was always so impeccably dressed, his expensive designer suits perfectly pressed and custom tailored to fit his tall, muscular frame. Today’s suit was of a light gray pinstripe, and he’d likely selected it because of the warm, early summer weather. He always wore white shirts, no matter the color of his suit, and they were always pristine, with French cuffs. His cufflinks today were a gleaming silver with a dark blue stone, coordinating with the watch that was undoubtedly exorbitantly expensive. His blue and gray striped silk tie, as usual, was expertly knotted.

He could have been a male model, thought Tessa dreamily, except that he was likely too big and brawny and, well, just too
male
to fit that role. She also couldn’t see someone as thoroughly masculine as Ian Gregson ever consenting to pose for a fashion magazine, or wear clothing that he hadn’t personally selected. He dressed very conservatively, and if Gina and Alicia’s gossip could be believed, he paid a small fortune for his custom made suits and designer ties.

No, he was more like a movie star, or perhaps even the prince or the king of some small European country. He would fit in effortlessly wherever he went, would be at ease in any sort of surrounding or event, and would always be the center of attention whenever he entered a room, no matter who else might be present. Tessa knew that if she was in a crowd of thousands, Ian would always stand out, would be the only one she noticed or had eyes for.

She watched him covertly as he rolled an expensive looking black fountain pen between his fingers, and then wrote something in the leather portfolio he always brought with him to meetings. She fantasized about how those long, elegant fingers would feel against her skin – cupping her cheek, holding her hand, caressing her body. She stifled a tiny whimper, feeling her nipples harden beneath the thin fabric of her blouse, as she imagined his hand fondling her breast, the thumb brushing over the peak. Her eyelids fluttered shut for a brief moment as she wondered how it would feel to nuzzle the side of his neck, breathing in deeply of his clean, masculine scent, or how wonderful it would feel to be held tightly against that broad, powerful chest. She just knew somehow – she whose knowledge about men and sex was almost laughably nonexistent – that Ian Gregson was the sort of man who would be as controlled in the bedroom as he was in the boardroom. And she would willingly allow him to do whatever he liked, would give herself over to him freely and eagerly. There was virtually zero doubt in her mind that he would be an expert at sex, and would know exactly how to drive a woman over the edge every single time.

Tessa gave herself a little mental shake, forcing her eyes open, and returning her focus to the presentation Nathan Atwood was currently giving to the rest of the attendees. She scribbled notes intently, whether they were relevant or not, and resisted the urge to once again glance towards the far end of the room where
he
was seated.

But her self-control buckled before too long, and she dared to steal a furtive peak at the object of her naughtiest fantasies – only to gasp when her gaze met a very perceptive pair of hazel eyes.

He was unsmiling, his firm mouth fixed into something of a frown, and he looked almost angry. Tessa’s cheeks flushed hotly, and she swiftly looked away, mortified at having been caught staring at him that way. She hoped fervently that he wasn’t angry at
her
, at something she’d inadvertently done or said, or even just because their eyes had happened to meet across the room.

It was long minutes later before she risked sneaking another brief glance in his direction, and Tessa breathed a little sigh of relief to notice he seemed entirely focused on the architectural sketches of the new hotel that Nathan was describing in detail for the group.

‘Stop being silly, Tessa,’ she scolded herself. ‘And stop thinking about him, for God’s sake! See, he doesn’t even notice you’re in the room, doesn’t even give you a second’s thought. You’re just a lowly little admin assistant, and that’s all you’ll ever be to a man like him. I’m surprised he even remembered my name earlier. So stop having these ridiculous fantasies about Ian Gregson, because you are so far beneath him it doesn’t even register on the scale. Not to mention the fact,’ she added sternly, ‘that you shouldn’t be having these kinds of thoughts about
any
other man.’

Tessa consoled herself with the thought that she was probably just missing Peter more than usual, and that when he arrived home next week she’d feel lots better. She was going to work up the nerve to reopen the discussion about marital counseling, suggest that maybe he’d feel more at ease talking things over with a therapist if she was there to offer support. It was doubtful that he’d agree, but she was beginning to feel a sort of desperation at times, a feeling that she had to do
something
to try and make her marriage work. And equally desperate to hold on to her husband, to keep their relationship intact, so that she didn’t have to face the reality of being alone.

But deep down Tessa knew that the days of her marriage to Peter were numbered, and that like it or not eventually she was going to have to come to grips with that hard fact.

“More wine?”

Rebecca Mellor shook her sleek, dark head at the question her very handsome dining companion had asked. “God, no. I’ve got an early morning meeting, and I’m already halfway to being tipsy. In fact, I hate to be a party pooper, Ian, but do you mind if we duck out soon?”

Ian grinned. “I was hoping you’d ask that question, actually. Considering I’m still dealing with jet lag from my latest trip, I wouldn’t mind an early evening myself. Come, let’s say our good-nights and then head out. I’ll text Simon to meet us downstairs in five minutes.”

He held Rebecca’s chair as she got to her feet, then placed a hand lightly on the small of her back as they made their farewells. She had been his guest this evening at a dinner and auction to benefit the San Francisco Ballet, one of the numerous organizations he patronized and supported. Ian and Rebecca had met well over a year ago at another of these events, and struck up a friendship. He had since escorted her to any number of social occasions, and while he enjoyed her company very much he had known from the start that they would only ever be friends. And it wasn’t just his continued obsession with a certain married blonde employee that precluded him from deepening his relationship with Rebecca. It was also due to her own long-standing, clandestine love affair with another man that she and Ian remained strictly friends.

“I know I’m all kinds of a fool,” she’d confided to him tearfully not long after they’d met. “Believe me, I’ve heard that and worse for the past twelve years from my sisters and best friend, and the handful of other people who know about Rand. They tell me constantly that I’m wasting my time, using up my best years on a man I can never be with openly, and that he’s using me. But none of that matters, Ian. I fell in love with him the moment we met, knew that he would be the only man for me immediately, and try as I might I can’t forget him. Oh, and don’t think I haven’t tried. In the first few years of our relationship, I must have broken things off with him six or seven times, dated other men, tried my hardest to forget him. But each and every time I came running back. Because I finally realized that the thought of never seeing him again was agonizing, more than I could bear, and that I’d much rather have a stolen night with him every other month than nothing at all. And that no matter how hard a person might try, there’s really no successful way of turning off your feelings. Not when they’re this strong. So I might be twenty different kinds of an idiot, and will probably burn in hell someday, but, well, you know the old saying – the heart wants what the heart wants. And my heart wants Randolph Harrington – no matter what the circumstances
.”

Randolph Harrington was a multi-term United States Senator from a conservative Midwestern state, who was also a married father of three. He had been carrying on a very secret affair with Rebecca for more than a dozen years now, but had promised her more than once that as soon as he retired from politics he would divorce his wife so that the two of them could finally be together. Ian privately had his doubts that Senator Harrington would ever actually follow through with such a promise, but he had tactfully chosen not to mention this to Rebecca. He thought it a waste that a woman as attractive, intelligent, and successful as Rebecca was wasting the best years of her life on a man she could never be seen with in public. Then again, he told himself ruefully, wasn’t he in a similar sort of hopeless situation?

As soon as Ian helped Rebecca inside the back seat of the Town Car, she wasted little time in retrieving her phone and scrolling through it for messages. She smiled as she paused to re-read one particular message before quickly tapping out a reply.

“Sorry,” she told Ian with a small shrug. “It was a text from Rand. I didn’t mean to be rude.”

“It’s all right,” he assured her gently. “I do understand your situation, after all. I don’t necessarily approve of it, but I can empathize.”

Rebecca sighed. “I know it’s wrong, Ian. Believe me, I’ve had every lecture on morality thrown at me over the years. And I appreciate that you’ve never once preached to me about what a sin it is to lust after a married man, how I’m wrecking his marriage, all that stuff. Trust me, Rand’s marriage was wrecked long before I met him. He and his wife haven’t been together since she got pregnant with their third child. And that was sixteen years ago.”

“It’s not my place to lecture you,” he replied. “Especially since I find myself in a similar situation.”

She gave his hand a reassuring little squeeze. “Except that you’re a better person than I am and haven’t given in to temptation. She still has no idea?”

“No.” Ian gave a firm shake of his head. “And she never will, not so long as she’s still a married woman. As far as the lady is concerned, I barely know she exists. It’s better that way, Rebecca. For both of us.”

Rebecca emitted a sad little laugh. “Look at the pair of us, would you? Me obsessed with a man who may or may not ever divorce his wife for me. Meanwhile, I’m going to be forty years old soon, have never been married, and will most likely never have children. My sister is exactly right – I’ve thrown my life away on Rand, wasted the best years of my life. But you know what? Given the choice, I’d probably do it all over again. Because he’s still been the best part of my life, even with all the complications that have gone along with it. As for you, my friend – well, it’s definitely not too late for you. You can still find the right woman, settle down, have a family.”

Ian stared out the back window as the big car traveled through the darkened city streets towards Rebecca’s condo. “I
have
found the right woman,” he murmured quietly. “The problem is that someone else found her first. And try as I might, even more than a year after I first met her, there’s no one else who even begins to compare.”

A few minutes later Simon had pulled up in front of Rebecca’s very posh condo complex, waiting at the curb as Ian escorted her to the front door.

“I’ll see you upstairs,” he declared as she began to key in the security code to gain access to the lobby.

Rebecca shook her dark head, her hair styled into a sleek, stylish, chin-length bob. “Don’t be silly, Ian. This is probably the most secure building in San Francisco, and I can already see the night doorman heading this way to escort me in. He’s a little overprotective of me, treats me like I’m his daughter or something.”