Intimate Exposure (16 page)

The day-to-day ephemera of her job now bored her intensely, and as she continued to gaze out across the open-plan office, she kept imagining a mischievous, wonderful, provocative presence, and the snap, snap, snapping of a high-end camera. Laughing and grinning, sprinkling a bit of fun and diversion into repetitive office procedures. Doing on a smaller scale for others what he’d done so transformatively for her.

Soon she’d see him again. The thought made her heart bound so hard that out of pure reflex, she clutched her hand to her chest.

True to his word, he’d called her, and her heart had thumped just the same way then. Their conversations had been brief and precious but had not touched on feelings. What she felt for Red was too huge and too complex to convey across distance via the medium of a mobile phone connection. But still just to talk to him had calmed her.

At least now she knew the reason for his hasty departure. Gut instinct had told her she
wasn’t
the reason for it, but fragile with love, she’d still feared so.

But it turned out that an old friend of Red’s, someone close to him from his schooldays, had been in dire trouble after a disastrous business misadventure. The man had been so devastated that he’d attempted to take his own life. He’d failed, but alone, in an ICU somewhere in Southeast Asia, he’d asked for Red…and Red had answered that desperate plea.

Not without a second thought. You wanted to stay, didn’t you?

If Red had the same feelings she did, it would have been a tough, tough decision, but still he’d quashed his own desires after that micropause and done what any right-thinking person would do.

In their brief phone conversations she and Red had talked mainly of inconsequential things. Kept it light. But even those casual words had produced some startling results that made her smile even now. Instances of cause and effect that only confirmed her growing suspicions.

On a chilly evening, Vicki had complained of feeling cold, and a couple of hours later, a delivery service from an exclusive store had brought her a package containing a selection of exquisitely soft and huggable cashmere comforters, a pair of sheepskin bedroom bootees and bottle of twenty-five-year-old Hebridean single malt whisky.

After a sexy inquiry from Red about the state of her bottom, and her admission that it was still a teeny bit sore, another package had arrived. This time from an almost legendary Swiss firm that sold custom-made, hand-mixed cosmetics and beauty preparations. Inside a beautiful Swarovksi crystal jar she’d found a rich and divinely scented skin balm that had luxuriously soothed away the last of her aches. A flagon of matching bath essence had accompanied the luscious ointment…and tucked into the box was a packet of paracetemol.

But it was this morning, in the early hours, just when she was struggling out of sleep, that Red’s words had really set her reeling.

“I’ll be with you today, Vicki. I don’t know what time, but I promise you I’ll see you soon. And then we’ll talk properly.”

Still monitoring the thud, thud, thud of her heart with her fingertips, Vicki took a small sip from the bottle of water on her desk. Were these real palpitations she was feeling? It almost seemed that way. She frowned at the pile of files beside the bottle. How the hell could she concentrate on their contents with all the wild yet somehow increasingly credible-seeming notions that kept surfacing in her mind? She was going crazy, and she knew that even if she opened a file, the figures would dance and muddle up and refuse to make any sense.

Maybe I should feign illness, go home and take the rest of day off? I’m not actually achieving anything here.

But a voice inside her, the one that was privy to the most bizarre of truths, said,
No, stay.

Yes, a coffee would help. Decision made. And at least fetching some would be a distraction. Rising from her chair and smoothing down her skirt, she went out into the main office, heading for the communal coffee-making facilities. But when she reached the table where the kettles, jars and cups stood, she found it surrounded by her colleagues, an ad hoc hub of seething, buzzing excitement.

“What’s going on?” she asked Lisa, who was always at the center of office gossip. A pang of guilt nagged her. When and how much she was going to tell her friend about what had happened with Red Webster? Lisa had been a good pal, and always supportive, so she owed it to her to at least tell her some of the story.

But if Lisa was curious, she seemed to have other concerns for the moment. Her eyes were alight with excitement and she was almost bubbling, like a lot of the mainly female gathering around the coffee.

“You won’t believe this, but Shanley’s coming!” She grabbed Vicki by the arm, almost jumping up and down. “It’s the man himself, the Lord High Almighty F. W. Shanley III. He
never
visits his new acquisitions in person—never ever—but young Mr. Wickham’s secretary just buzzed down to Belinda and told her his limousine is expected any minute. Come on!” She began to pull Vicki towards the door to the landing that overlooked the building’s spacious inner atrium-cum-entrance hall, a couple of floors down. “We’ll have a perfect view of him arriving from here.”

Vicki clutched at her heart again, expecting to feel the rocking of the carousel whirling inside her chest.

“You okay, Vick?” Lisa’s eyes narrowed, her excitement momentarily forgotten. “Not getting collywobbles at thought of seeing our new celebrity boss?”

I’ll be with you today, Vicki…

“Something like that.” She attempted a bright smile and, overtaking Lisa, almost ran to the balcony, not caring what anyone thought of her.

Down below, the company’s directors and bigwigs had all gathered like a greeting party for the royal visit, and there was much tie straightening and fidgeting going on. Almost unconsciously, Vicki tugged her suit jacket straight and smoothed down her skirt, then she pressed up close to the wooden rail, half leaning over, straining, straining, straining to see.

There was a thud as the outer doors were thrown open by the commissionaire, then the inner doors swung open too. A tall, dark-clad figure strode through the doorway followed by an extended retinue of assistants and flunkeys laden with smart phones, attaché cases and document
folders. Time seemed to warp and flow, and what normally would have taken only moments seemed to stretch out in a slow almost balletic way that allowed Vicki to see it all in perfect detail.

F. W. Shanley III, lord of all he surveyed, was a tall man, vigorous and powerful, clean-shaven and with short, crisply cut black hair. He walked like a god, his long dark overcoat swirling around him and open to reveal what, even from two floors above, appeared to be a breathtakingly superb suit. His eyes were concealed behind dark glasses and, even though he nodded and smiled and exchanged a few fleeting handshakes and words of greeting with the reception party, he didn’t once break stride as he crossed the atrium, then disappeared out of view in the direction of the bank of elevators.

“You know…I could swear he looks familiar,” said Lisa, her brow puckered. “Don’t you think so?”

Vicki couldn’t answer. Even though she’d prepared herself for this, having her deductions physically confirmed had knocked her sideways. She gasped in air, her hand across her chest again, still trying to calm the pounding in her heart.

“Are you sure you’re okay, Vick?” Lisa had momentarily forgotten the new arrival, who even now would be ascending in the elevator. “You’re as white as a sheet. Do you want to sit down? Why don’t you go back to your office and I’ll bring you a cup of tea or a strong coffee. With a bit of sugar.” She glanced towards the elevator at the end of the landing. The mechanism was clanking into place.

“No. I’m fine. I’m staying here.”

I’m not hiding. No way. I’m going to be right here waiting when those doors open.

As if thought created action, the dark polished doors sprang apart, and the newly arrived owner of Wickham-Drake strode out, leaving his followers dithering and frowning in his wake. From behind his shades, he surveyed the landing like hawk and spotted Vicki straight away.

You bastard! Why do you have to be so magnificent? It’s just not fair.

Fate itself was bearing down on her, and it took a supreme effort to stiffen her spine, lift her chin proudly and meet the still-hidden eyes of the man who approached.

He stopped a couple of paces away from her, and suddenly, he didn’t look quite so all-conquering.

Are you nervous? Just like me?
Astonishingly, for a moment, she wasn’t the only one with a hand pressed to their chest to apparently still a beating heart.

Then F. W. Shanley III pulled off his shades, and Red Webster met her gaze.

“Well, I said I’d be here today, didn’t I? I’ve come straight from the airport. I couldn’t wait any longer.”

The expression on his oh so familiar yet different-looking face was complex. There was that slight, teasing smile that perplexed her so. But at the same time, his remarkable eyes held a look of apprehension.

You might well look worried, stringing me along like this, you pig.

Vicki wanted to be cross. She knew she had a right to be. But seeing him, and smelling a hint of his beautiful cologne, and feeling her senses reach out invisibly and mesh with his seemed to obliterate all her negative emotions. She could only feel joy, exquisite joy at having him back again. It had only been a few days since he’d left her in the bedroom at the Ivory Pavilion, but it felt like a dozen lifetimes since they’d been together.

“Hello, Mr. Shanley, how very nice to meet you,” she said, extending her hand and fighting a losing battle against smiling back at him.

He took her hand, raised it to his lips and kissed it. Still clutching her fingers, he stood and stared at her, grin broadening. He tilted his head, as if getting the measure of her reaction and formulating one of his many game plans, and lifted his free hand, ready to stroke his absent beard.

Laughing, he shook his head. “Uh-oh, I forgot it wasn’t there.” He rubbed slowly at the strong, firm jawline, newly revealed.

And still he held her hand, his fingers warm and possessive as invisible electricity passed between their two bodies. The entire world of Wickham-Drake receded away around them, and they were back at the hotel, alone, about to play.

“Look, do you think we could possibly go to your office for a bit of privacy? We seem to have gathered quite an audience.”

Vicki managed to drag her gaze away from his face and glance round at the astonishing sight of the entire workforce of her floor gathered around them. In the vanguard were the directors and senior partners of the firm, all gaping nonplussed at their new employer and apparently completely unable to speak to him.

“Certainly. This way.” She paused and gave him a defiant look. “But of course you know that, having
worked
here.”

Spinning, she strode off, forcing him to match her steps as he seemed determined not to let go of her hand.

“Gentlemen, why don’t you go up to the boardroom and wait for me?” he called over his shoulder. “I’ll be up later…or this afternoon…or perhaps tomorrow.”

There was a slight commotion and a few halfhearted protests, but Vicki barely heard them and Red seemed set on ignoring everything but her now. The great and the good of Wickham-Drake might as well have been on another planet.

Once he’d kicked her office door closed behind them, she turned to him and with some reluctance prized her fingers out of his.

“So…what do I call you? F. W. the third? Sir? Your majesty?” She gave him a long, level look. “Or perhaps just master?”

Those beloved eyes narrowed, as if to say
Don’t tempt me…

“My name is Frederick Webster Shanley. But my friends and the people I love all call me Red.” He blinked, once and slowly. “For obvious reasons.”

The people I love?

He was asking her to acknowledge that she knew he loved her. Asking her to confirm what he knew too. That she loved him. It was all so clear, and yet also crazy. The most bizarre, astonishing situation.

Part of her wanted to give him a piece of her mind. Part of her wanted to just throw herself into his arms and ignore any and all complications. A part of her—a deep, thrilled, trembling part of her—wanted to fall to her knees in awe and worship of her master.

For he surely did look magnificent in his long flowing coat and his perfect suit, with his grooming so immaculate and elegant. He had all Red’s familiar power, only magnified and rarefied to the nth degree.

It would have been all too easy to fall down and adore him, but a stubborn core inside her wasn’t giving in without at least a protest.

“You really are the limit, you know,” she said, her chin coming up as she met his fiery eyes with a fire of her own. “You deceive me…you deceive everybody…and then you come swanning in here like the King of the Universe, as if nothing matters.” His smile was slow and
teasing, and for just a moment
she
wanted to be the one doing the punishing. An image of him on his knees, kissing her feet, made her blink. “Oh, I know you’re my boss and you can sack me in a heartbeat, but still, what’s it all about, this charade of masquerading as your own employee and spying on everybody?”

“I like to know what’s going on in a firm. To know the people. Really know them.” Red shrugged, his broad shoulders lifting beneath somber cashmere. “Because you never really get a true picture of a workplace or the people in it when you’re cloistered away up in the executive suite. And nobody acts naturally when you come down to inspect the troops.”

Plausible enough.

“Oh, so it’s not just a way to pick up women to play your kinky games with?”

“Well, it’s that too.” He showed his white teeth in a wide, devilish smile, and Vicki melted inside. Heart. Loins. Any shred of resistance she might have ever had against his charms.

“So what happens now? Do we go on playing? What am I to you? Girlfriend? Employee? Submissive? What?”