After Hours

Her eyes heavy lidded, swaying a bit on her feet, Angie managed a weak smile. “Good night, June. Thank you.” She turned her smile to Rhys when he took her arm in a steadying grip. Leaning trustingly against him, she rested her head for a moment against his forearm. “I’m really tired, Rhys,” she murmured. “And I feel like an idiot. Take me home, please.”

“Don’t worry about it, Boston,” he replied bracingly, slipping an arm around her waist to steady her. “You didn’t know what was going on. Where’s your purse?”

“Here it is.” Rhys almost winced at the speculative look in his secretary’s eyes when she held out the leather bag. And then she smiled brightly in what he could only assume was approval. “You take good care of her, now.”

“Good night, June.”

“Good night, Mr. Wakefield.”

RHYS HELPED ANGIE into his car and buckled her in, trying to keep his touch impersonal as he leaned across her, his cheek only inches from her breasts. Clearing his throat, he straightened, shut her door and walked around the front of the car, wondering how long he could continue to be so damned noble. Climbing behind the wheel, he tried to think of something innocuous to say as he started the car and backed out of the parking space. He needn’t have bothered. By the time he’d left the company parking lot, Angie had snuggled into the soft leather upholstery and fallen sound asleep.

Casting speculative sideways glances as he drove, Rhys noticed for the first time that she seemed to have lost weight in the past few weeks. By her own admission, she hadn’t been eating well. And she was sleeping so soundly now, despite the movement of the car and her uncomfortable position. Could it be that she had been sleeping no better than he had lately? Had her nights been disturbed by memories of the kiss they’d shared, by fantasies of carrying that embrace to its natural conclusion? Or was he indulging in wistful thinking?

He drove past the turnoff to her house without even slowing down. He supposed he should take her home, but he had no intention of leaving her alone like this.

She hardly stirred when he lifted her out of the car and carried her into his house. She was so small, he mused, taking her upstairs with very little effort. Snuggled into his shoulder, her hand curled trustingly on his chest, she seemed very fragile, very delicate. Some strong, rather primitive emotion surged through him. Laying her carefully on his bed, he attempted to analyse it. Protectiveness, he decided at length, smoothing her silky hair away from her pale, still face. It wasn’t an emotion he quite knew how to handle, wasn’t one she’d appreciate, independent young woman that she was. But still, that’s what he felt as he stood looking down at her. Almost as if she were his to protect.

He slipped her shoes off, then hesitated before covering her. The pastel dress, lovely as it was, hardly looked like comfortable sleepwear. As if in confirmation of that thought, she stirred against the pillow, her forehead creasing into the slightest hint of a frown before smoothing again in sleep. Steeling himself, Rhys lifted her enough to grasp her zipper and ease it downward. He held his breath as he slipped the dress down her arms and off her hips. She stirred again, but didn’t protest. He wasn’t quite as gentle when he stripped away her panty hose, his control rapidly dissipating. Nobility didn’t suit him very well, he thought rather grimly.

He couldn’t resist taking one long look at her before covering her with the crisp blue sheet. She was exquisite. Her skin was creamy, flawless, her legs long, smooth. She would burn easily, he mused, noting her fairness, but then a tan would be nothing short of criminal on such porcelain perfection. The two scraps of pink lace she wore for underwear hid very little from his hungry eyes, but it wasn’t hard to imagine the beauty they concealed. His imagination was proving quite inconvenient at the moment, urging his body into an arousal that was nothing short of painful. Biting off a groan, he pulled up the sheet, leaning over her to tuck in the other side.

She murmured something and then her heavy lashes lifted, her eyes a bit glazed as they stared into his from only scant inches away. The last time they’d been in this position it had been he in this bed, he remembered, and she leaning over him. He’d wanted to kiss her then. He ached to kiss her now.

“What are you doing?” she asked, the words rather slurred.

“Tucking you in,” he answered roughly. “Go back to sleep, Angelique.”

But he didn’t straighten immediately, and she looked at his mouth for a moment before raising her eyes slowly back to his. “Are you going to kiss me goodnight?”

Desire slammed through him so violently it nearly brought him to his knees. He cleared his throat. “I was thinking about it.”

“Oh.” She seemed to consider it for a moment, then smiled and lifted her face in invitation. “What’s taking you so long?”

He stopped himself only a breath away from her parted lips. “This is a really bad idea.”

“No. You kiss spectacularly, Rhys. Has anyone ever told you that?”

His mouth went dry. “Not lately.”

Her hand slipped behind his head, tugging lightly. “Kiss me, Rhys.”

“If you remember this in the morning, you’ll probably go for my throat,” he muttered, resisting for a moment longer.

She looked puzzled. “But I’m asking you to,” she pointed out.

“Mmm. Something tells me that’s not going to make a hell of a lot of difference.”

She sighed wearily. “We’ll worry about that tomorrow. Kiss me, Rhys.”

Nobility was abruptly abandoned. It hadn’t really been his style, anyway, he thought just before his mouth closed over hers and his mind shut down completely. Almost without knowing how he’d accomplished it, he was beside her in the bed, their legs tangled with the sheet that separated them, arms interlaced, tongues feverishly entwined.

The kiss they’d shared before had been powerful, even with Angie holding back, resisting the temptation to participate fully. But her inhibitions were down now, weakened by alcohol and exhaustion. And they were in the intimacy of his bedroom rather than the more repressive surroundings of his office. This kiss almost made him whimper.

He’d known it would be like this. Somehow he’d known from the moment he’d looked up to find her sitting in front of his desk, her violet eyes wary as she’d waited for him to reject her application, her stubborn chin squared in rebellion against the anticipated rebuff. For six months he’d tried to remind himself of all the reasons this couldn’t happen. For six months he’d tried to interest himself in other women, only to find his thoughts turning again and again to Angelique. For six long, frustrating months he’d wanted her, even as he’d told himself he couldn’t have her.

And now she was in his arms, warm, willing, pliant. His for the taking. Triumph surged hotly through him, settling in the throbbing, feverish vicinity of his loins. Tonight he’d have her. Tonight he could stop torturing himself with fantasies, stop driving himself mad wondering if their joining would be as sensational as he imagined. Tonight he’d find out. Maybe—just maybe—he’d be able to let her walk away tomorrow, after he’d satisfied himself with her tonight. Maybe taking her would free him from his obsession with her.

His mouth moved avidly from her moist, trembling lips to her throat, sliding inexorably downward. She murmured her approval, holding him more tightly as she tilted her head back to better accommodate him. “Rhys,” she whispered huskily. “Oh, Rhys.”