Breaking the Boss's Rules

Joe followed her through the doors into the spacious shop and nearly crashed straight into her back as Imogen came to an abrupt halt. Moving next to her, he glanced down at her and saw her eyes widen, but before he could say anything a shop assistant crossed the floor.

In his forties, the man had a discreet charming smile, dark blond hair and an urbane manner. ‘Bonjour,’ he said courteously. ‘Anglais?’

Joe nodded. ‘Oui, monsieur. Je parle français, mais—’ He broke off. Maybe Imogen did speak French. ‘Do you speak French?’ he asked.

A shake of her head served as her answer; evidently the merchandise was still rendering her speechless.

The man smiled. ‘It is not a problem,’ he said. ‘I speak English. My name is Jean and I am here to help. Is there anything in particular the two of you are looking for? Something to spice up—?’

Imogen’s head snapped round. ‘We aren’t together.’

‘Apologies. You just have the look of—’

‘Colleagues,’ Imogen intercepted. ‘We are here to … research … for a friend … who is … um … writing a book on erotica.’

Jean swept his gaze over them. ‘I comprehend completely,’ he said, his voice smooth. ‘You are enquiring for a friend. Many people do that. So, you must let me show you around to make sure your … friend … gets a proper overview of passion. I shall show you items that can enhance pleasure.’

Joe felt a shudder run through Imogen’s body and wondered what she was thinking. Was she imagining herself in the throes of passion—? Oh, hell—her thoughts weren’t the problem here. His, however, were. Images branded his retina. His body wasn’t interested in anything that this shop could offer—his body knew that all it needed was Imogen’s touch. In fact any enhancement and he’d probably go up in flames.

So perhaps a guided tour was preferable to walking round just with Imogen.

‘Merci, Jean. Much appreciated.’

‘This way.’ Jean stepped forward.

‘Why did you agree?’ Imogen whispered.

‘Why did you say we were researching for a friend? If that were true we would want a tour.’

No way was he explaining his need for a chaperon.

‘Now, here we have the lingerie. Come closer—touch … feel.’

Jean motioned to Imogen and after a second’s hesitation she stepped forward and fingered the deep midnight-black confection. ‘Oh …’

Joe bit back a groan at her reaction. Her gasp was soft, yet so appreciative as her slender fingers stroked the material.

‘It’s so sensual,’ she murmured. ‘Is it pure silk or … or a mixture?’

For a second Jean looked surprised, and then his face cleared. ‘Ah, you are a woman who likes texture and feel. This is a blend of silk and satin, but we also have other fabrics. Cashmere … soft suede. Perhaps for you the blindfold would be a good thing?’

Imogen dropped the lingerie and jumped backwards. ‘Um … I’m not sure …’

But Jean was in full swing as he led them inexorably over to a section that was devoted to an extensive range of blindfolds. ‘You see, to be deprived of sight lifts the anticipation and allows the other senses to come into play.’

The audible hitch of her breath, the flush that tinged her high cheekbones, told Joe all he needed to know. Imogen was wondering exactly what it would be like to be blindfolded—and, heaven help him, he wanted to be there when she explored that particular fantasy.

‘I am sure,’ Jean said smoothly, ‘that your friend would be interested in this.’

‘Friend?’ Imogen flushed even redder and then nodded. ‘Yes, absolutely. This is all very helpful. Isn’t it, Joe?’

There was a certain part of his anatomy that would undoubtedly disagree.

Her elbow in his ribs prompted his vocal cords and demonstrated exactly how close they were standing. ‘Yup. Our friend will be very interested in all this.’

Jean beamed. ‘Then let’s keep going. Down here is the costume aisle. You have the nurse costumes, the superhero, the …’

Aisle followed aisle, until finally Jean came to a halt.