Never Let You Go

NEVER LET YOU GO

Desmond Haas

Erotic Romance

NEVER LET YOU GO

Copyright © 2011 by Desmond Haas

First E-book Publication: March 2011

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED:
This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.

All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

PUBLISHER

The Romance Publishing Network

Dedication

For my mother, who always encouraged my creativity and gave me the love of books. For my sister and brother, who supported me through the bad times and the good. And for my wife, whose quiet strength allows me to always breathe easier.

Table of Contents

A Flush of Passion

It was my first day on a new job and I had to commute forty-five minutes by the Underground to the office near Waterloo Station. I had broken up with my long-time boyfriend, Archie, and spent my time moping around my East End flat. Archie and I had become stale. He’d come to my flat and watch the telly or he’d go out with his mates. I’d wanted new experiences, so I’d applied for positions in the city. I was hired by a new company owned by a corporation in America, I thought it exciting that I might get to work with an American.

The short walk from the tube to the office brought me to the front door. I took a deep breath and walked in. David, the Managing Director, met me as I went through and saw my desk.

Once settled and freshened, he showed me the remaining offices, introducing me to the other employees—all men, all Brits, and all very nice. I had hoped for something different. Of the five men, three were married, one obviously gay—he talked to me about his boyfriend—and the last one sullen. He hardly spoke to me at all.

“That’s the lot of them,” David said. “There is only one more, but he’s our liaison from the States.” David opened the door to another office where a man sat at a desk, with his back to us. He was on the telephone, but looked around and held up one finger to tell us he’d be but a minute.

While we waited, David quietly told me the man was there to train the staff and expected to have everything completed within a few weeks. The telephone hung up, and I looked past David to the American as he stood up and came towards us. He had his suit coat off, but I could see his perfectly tailored pinstriped trousers coordinated with a white shirt and a silk tie. He was average height with broad shoulders and brown, straight hair.

David said, “This is Sam Anderson. Sam, this is Marisa Seaforth, the administrative assistant I hired to help us.”

Sam held out his hand. I took it, feeling the warmth and smoothness of his skin. He looked to be in his late-twenties, which was just a little older than me, and also about a head taller.

“Hi, Marisa,” he said. “I believe we will be working closely together over the next few weeks.”

I couldn’t break my stare from his large, chocolate brown eyes and noted he had exceptionally long lashes. His gaze held me by looking directly into my eyes…and it didn’t waver. Usually, when I meet men, their eyes scan my body first and then catch my eyes. Not so with Sam. His eyes looked into mine from the moment we were introduced.

Since Sam was from the main office in the States, we worked together daily, with him teaching me the paperwork and systems provided by the company. In between tasks, we had some time to chat. I wanted to know more about the States, he more about the UK, and us about each other. After a few days, I felt quite comfortable around him and noticed an ease in the way we accomplished the myriad of details needed to set up the new office.

At the end of the first week, Sam took me to an elegant restaurant for lunch. He said it was to thank me for making his job easier and be where we could talk without interruption.

Over the next couple of weeks, I found excuses to visit Sam in his office. I fancied him, but never saw any indication he felt the same, other than the ease we had working together. Late one Friday, before I left to catch my train, I stopped by to chat. We checked his appointment schedule and to do list, making certain he had nothing outstanding.

“Well,” he said, stuffing his hands in his pockets, “I haven’t really seen that much since I arrived. After work, I usually get something to eat and then go back to my flat and do more work, watch television or read, and go to bed.”

“What are you planning on doing this weekend?”

“Probably hang out in my flat and maybe do some food shopping.”

Before I could think about what I was saying, I asked, “If you would like, I could come by tomorrow, give you a personal tour, and show you some of the sights. You can play the tourist.”

Sam thought about it for a few seconds, although it felt like hours to me, and he said, “I’d like that.”

“What time would you like me to stop by?” I asked.

“Whenever is convenient for you. I won’t go anywhere until I hear from you.” Sam took some paper and wrote quickly. “Here’s the address of my flat. When you get there, ring this number from the lobby, and I’ll buzz you in. I’m number eight-thirty-six.”

My thoughts were on him during the entire train ride back to East End, hoping we could enjoy being together for the short time he would be in London. I could hardly sleep that night, knowing I was going to spend the next day with him.

The next morning, I got up early and caught the train into London a little after nine. Shortly after ten, I arrived at Sam’s building, walked into the lobby as he’d directed, and picked up the telephone. My stomach fluttered, and my palms felt sweaty. I put the phone back on the hook and walked to the other side of the lobby. I knew it was folly to feel the way I did, until in my head, I heard my dad saying, ‘Treat each day as a blessing and make it the best day of your life.’ I calmed myself and took a deep breath. Feeling almost in control, I picked up the phone and dialed the number.

The phone rang three times. I started to think he’d forgotten our arrangement and gone out, until I heard the click and his voice. “Marisa, is that you?”

“Yes, am I too early?”

“No, not at all. Hang up and I’ll press the buzzer. When you hear it, pull open the door and get in the elevator—the lift—and come to eighth floor. I’ll leave the door open; just come on in.”

The lift seemed to take forever to get there, but when it stopped, I found eight-thirty-six straight away. The door was slightly ajar, and I pushed it open, walked in, and closed it behind me. He had a nice flat with large windows across from the front door that overlooked the Thames. I walked over and took in the view.

“Marisa, thanks for coming by,” Sam said, coming from another room. “Please, sit down.” He motioned towards the small couch. “Can I get you anything? A coffee?”

“Some water, if you don’t mind.”

The kitchen was but a small alcove with a half-size fridge, a two-burner cook-top, and a sink for washing up. Sam took a glass out of the cupboard and ran the water. He had on slacks, but no shoes, and a pullover black shirt, which was not tucked in. Not wearing a suit, he looked wonderfully relaxed. I felt over-dressed with a short, green skirt and white blouse.

“Do you mind if I take off my shoes?” I asked.

Sam lifted one of his legs, showing me his bare foot, and wiggling his toes. “Make yourself as comfortable as you want.”

He looked at my shoes as I took them off and said, “I can’t believe you walked from the tube station wearing those. Don’t your feet hurt?”

“Not so bad but it feels even better now that they are off.”

He brought the water and sat down near me on the couch. We spent nearly an hour chatting. I studied his eyelashes and the way his mouth moved. In my infatuation, he said something I missed, so asked him to repeat it. When Sam turned towards me, I put my hand on the side of his face to hold his gaze.

I don’t think he expected it, but he didn’t move. I kissed him. I
needed
to. When I moved closer and pressed my lips against his, there was an immediate connection. Not a passionate kiss—just the two sets of lips touching for a few seconds, not moving…but I held it past an insincere peck. I kissed him and felt a tingle, but when we parted, my first thought was that I had ruined the day. He might be married or have a girlfriend. Maybe he thought I was too forward. I didn’t know, and I didn’t care. I’d just needed to kiss him, and whatever came of it would be.

When we broke the kiss, I withdrew my hand, but kept eye contact.

“That was nice,” he said. “But you caught me unprepared. May we do it again?”

My heart started beating like the wings of a hummingbird. I didn’t say anything, but leaned in and kissed him again, relishing his supple lips and spreading warmth. Archie and I had kissed, but nothing had the effect of Sam’s kiss. Nothing had ever made me feel as good. The way he kissed, it was obvious that he felt the same connection I did.

Sam scooted closer, took me in his arms, and we leaned against the back of the couch, kissing some more. When he touched his tongue to my lips, I gladly welcomed him.

Sam and I played with each other’s tongues for quite a while, holding each other, and making small talk. To be in his arms and to be that intimate after all the hours at work meant so much to me. Along with the warmth and comfort I had in Sam’s arms, I had a sense of calm and, for some reason, I felt safe. I was also quite aroused.

Our kisses grew in intensity to where I went quite wet and desperate in wanting him to know what he was doing to me. Sam put his hand on my thigh, right above my knee, and lightly massaged my skin, but he made no attempt to move any higher. I would have gladly let him. I held him around his neck, and when we broke apart to catch our breath, he looked deep into my eyes. It seemed as if he could see inside me, and I couldn’t move my gaze from his. My skin was hot, every bit of it craved attention, and wherever he touched me, he set off signals between my legs. I knew I wanted him. I wanted his body, and I wanted to give him mine.