A Very Personal Assistant

Miranda Austin’s personal assistant, Patrick Dove, knows just how to please her—professionally and personally. After a particularly stressful meeting, Patrick offers to whisk her away for an erotic break…and to relieve her from being in control. She may be in charge in the business world, but in the bedroom
he’s
the one calling the shots…

A Very Personal
Assistant

Portia Da Costa

www.spice-books.co.uk

Contents

A Very Personal Assistant

Copyright

“Thank God that’s over!”

Miranda Austin tossed her leather document binder onto her
blotter, threw herself down into her chair and kicked off her shoes beneath her
broad leathertopped desk. How was it that sometimes after these high-level
meetings, she felt as if she’d been put through a mangle when she returned from
the boardroom? Closing her eyes, she tried to claw back her usual calm and poise
and center herself.

“Tough gig?” enquired her personal assistant, Patrick Dove, as
he crossed the office toward her.

“I’ll say…” She breathed in deep, finding it hard to settle.
“But I got my way in the end, even though it took some doing with those idiots
from Overseas Assets.”

“You always get your way.” Patrick’s tone was smooth and
quiet—not false praise, but a simple observation. “Would you like some coffee,
boss?”

Patrick made perfect coffee, but right now, Miranda felt too
wired and too wound up to appreciate it. Eyes still closed, she shook her
head.

“Is there something else I can do for you?” He paused, and the
room seemed unnaturally quiet, almost as if neither of them were even breathing.
“Some other way I can help you instead?”

Patrick said words like that a hundred times a week at least.
Both to her and to the many clients and colleagues he had to deal with on her
behalf. But this time Miranda knew he really meant them. Not that he didn’t mean
them when he was answering her calls, of course. It was just that today his
soft, suave, charming voice sounded different somehow, weighted and full of
strange intent as if he were trying to manipulate her in a benign yet subtle
manner.

Miranda’s eyes snapped open. She frowned. Was she imagining
things? Probably. She was just tired, a bit burnt out and weary of deals and
wrangling. She loved that she was the highest-ranked woman in the company, and
generally she relished even the most confrontational meetings, but sometimes,
like now, it all drained her. What she needed was a lift, a boost, and seeing
Patrick studying her so intently with those beautiful, sexy, compassionate eyes
of his, she suddenly found herself saying, “I don’t know…. But I do need
something
…. Maybe you should whisk me off my feet and
take me away from all this?”

“Okay then. I will.” His voice sounded different in a new way
now. Brisk. Decisive. In charge. His gentle eyes somehow weren’t quite as gentle
anymore, either, but they twinkled with a light of daring and challenge. “You
don’t have any meetings this afternoon. Let’s go for a drive, get out of town,
play hooky for a few hours.”

Heart shuddering inside her, she felt nervous, excited. As if
something wonderful were about to happen, but she didn’t quite know what.
Leaving the office for the afternoon was absurd, out of the question. She had
little enough time to catch up these days. But something in Patrick’s smile, and
the almost cocky way he was studying her, made her think of a box of chocolates
or a heady, potent cocktail. A treat, indulgent but irresistible. And when he
flicked his tongue over his lower lip, her body surged, rousing suddenly and
hard.

“I’ve got too much work to do.” Her voice sounded odd, too,
light and feathery when usually she was so cool, contained and on top of
everything.

“Well, you said you wanted to get away from it all.” His eyes
narrowed, still teasing, still tempting.

“No, I didn’t, not really…you know I didn’t mean it.”

“Ah, but I’m psychic. I can tell you really
did
mean it.”

Was he arguing with her? He didn’t usually do that, but this
time it seemed he was, and as his challenging smile broadened, the mad, insane,
totally inappropriate fluttering in her nether regions intensified. She’d always
mildly fancied Patrick in a rather disciplined, disconnected way, but her
feelings never broken through or taken control like this.

“No, you’re not psychic. There’re no such thing as psychic
powers. You’re just an uncannily efficient personal assistant who mostly
anticipates his boss’s needs, but who’s way off in this case.”

“So you say.” He tilted his head to one side, his sandy blond
hair glinting beneath the strip lighting. It was a bit curly and wayward, giving
him the look of an angel from a painting or a fresco. A very naughty, playful
angel, with all the earthy foibles of a man. “But I still think a few hours out
of the office would do you good.” He winked at her, no angel now, but more like
the very devil. “Give you what you need.”

The fluttering turned to a pounding, and enveloped her entire
body. Heart, brain, sex. She felt as if she were standing on a precipice, or
before a secret door, or at the edge of some narrow rickety bridge,
leading…leading somewhere.

“All right then. But just an hour or so, no more. I’ll order
the car.” Shoving her feet back into her shoes, she sat up and reached out
toward the keypad on her phone. “Where shall we go?”

Before she could actually depress the button, a warm hand
fastened about her wrist, immobilizing her. Normally she would have shaken off
the unsolicited grip of any man, even Patrick, but a delicious honeyed sensation
made her yield. Dear God, he was actually making her feel weak!

“No need for a car. I’ll drive.” His voice was quiet but
powerful. “Just do what you need to do and then meet me down in the car
park.”

His hand tightened on her wrist, just for one moment, then he
released her, winked again, and strode purposefully from the room.

* * *

This is crazy. I’m his boss and
he’s my personal assistant, for heaven’s sake. We shouldn’t be doing
this.

Well, if that were the case, why had she primped and preened
and fluttered in the cloakroom? Why was she smelling rather more than usual of
Shalimar?

Her rational self told her it was just an hour or two out of
the office, a change of scene, maybe a drink or a coffee somewhere. Patrick was
a good conversationalist, with smart opinions on politics, current affairs and
the media. It was always fun and mentally stimulating to chat with him, however
briefly.

But her irrational self said this jaunt was all about sex.

Score one for my irrational
self
.

Especially when she turned the corner, reaching the car park,
and her pussy literally rippled at the sight of Patrick.

He didn’t look all that different, leaning against his
powder-blue vintage Citroën in the sunlight. In fact he looked exactly the same
as he usually did, in his sharp, but very traditional three-piece suit that fit
his body so beautifully. The only perceptible change was the absence of his tie,
and the opening of his collar—but in other ways, it was if a magic prince had
suddenly appeared and the relaxed energy in his lithe, athletic body seemed to
promise that anything, in fact
everything
, was
possible.

“Er…hi!” The slight squeak in her voice when she called out
made her sound like a nervous teenage girl on her first date rather than a
confident, powerful woman in her thirties and a senior partner in the firm.

“Hi, yourself,” replied Patrick, pushing himself off the car
with a smooth powerful shove, then opening the door for her.

The Citroën was low, and Miranda was acutely conscious of the
frisky slide of her skirt as she half flung herself into the passenger seat.
Patrick’s smile broadened and seemed to twinkle as if it’d been animated by
Pixar, while their eyes acknowledged the wedge of dark lace stocking top she’d
just flashed at him. “Nice,” he murmured, leaving her so flabbergasted at his
cheek that she couldn’t answer.

Clipping the buckle of her seat belt, she expected him to ask,
Where to?
But instead, he just set the car in
motion, drove out of the car park and headed off confidently without reference
to her or her preferences.

“Where are we going?”

Miranda swallowed, nerves and maniac butterflies fluttering in
her chest. She’d been in cars with Patrick before, en route to away meetings and
functions, but even though they’d been just as physically close in these
instances as they were now, it’d never seemed so intimate, so intense. Senses
she couldn’t quantify were seeing him in perfect detail even while she affected
a nonchalant interest in where they were heading.

“Oh, nowhere you know…just a little place. Off the beaten
track. You’ll like it.”

“But where is it?”

Waiting at a set of lights, he was able to turn to her. His
expression was arch, amused, completely in charge. Miranda felt as if the
Citroën had become a parallel world where Patrick was the boss, and she the
subordinate. And yet even as she thought that, she realized that she’d only ever
been his superior in a nominal sense. Even when she’d been giving him
instructions and doling out tasks, on some level he’d been oh-so subtly
controlling her instead.

Oh, God…what am I into here? What are
we
into?

“It’s a secret. Why spoil the fun?” he said mildly, putting his
foot down as the lights changed. They were taking a road out of town, and
already greenery and sunlight were all around them. “You asked me to take you
away from it all, and that’s what I’m doing…. I’m taking you away from being in
charge.”

Oh, God…oh, God…

Miranda trembled. The phrase “a whole new ball game” had never
really meant a lot to her, but now, she understood it completely. The door into
the new world slammed shut behind her, the thud of it rushing through her body
like a hot tsunami that crested deliciously in the pit of her belly and her
sex.

As if he’d observed the phenomenon with X-ray vision, Patrick
flashed her a quick glance. He barely took his eyes off the road for a second,
and yet Miranda knew he’d seen everything, both hidden and unhidden.

“Let’s play a game.” He waggled his expressive blond
eyebrows.

“What kind of a game?”

“Oh, just a little something to loosen you up. To relax
you.”

Strangely, despite the pounding of sexual excitement, Miranda
realized she did feel relaxed. And safe, in an odd way. Which didn’t make sense
because she also knew, finally and with certainty, that Patrick was dangerous.
Very dangerous.

She shook her head and tried to order the mismatched
thoughts.

“Okay?” he said immediately.

“Yes…fine. I think.”

“Well, in that case, take off your knickers and give them to
me.”

Miranda’s jaw dropped, the breath knocked out of her. It wasn’t
as if she wasn’t partly expecting something like this, but to hear it, in
Patrick’s soft, mellifluous tones, was like being tackled from the side by a
twenty-stone wrestler.

“I beg your pardon?”

Again, that sly, mischievous look from the corner of his eye.
“Oh, go on…it’s just a bit of fun. Something different to take you out of
yourself.” His wicked pink tongue peeped out again. “Just for the hell of
it.”

She was about to protest, but the crazy friskiness of the idea
was so seductive. What would they think at the firm, eh? If they knew…
No-nonsense, corporate high-flyer Miranda Austin playing silly sex games with
her discreetly urbane personal assistant. Her
very
personal assistant, right at this moment.

“All right then! Just for the hell of it!” She snorted with
laughter, and beside her, Patrick’s smile broadened, and became creamy and smug
in a sweet, boyish way. He didn’t take his eyes off the road, but she could feel
his elation and triumph.

And strangely, it didn’t annoy her one bit.

Hitching herself about in the seat, she managed to get a hand
up her skirt and snag her knickers without flashing him. He’d asked her to take
her panties off, but she was still in charge, in a little way. She wasn’t giving
him extras, at least not yet. With a lot of wriggling and tugging and wrangling
with her skirt, her underwear and even the seat belt, she eventually achieved
her goal and hauled her cream lace trimmed knickers down to her ankles.

Blood rushed into her face. She was blushing a little already,
but when she caught sight of her panties, she felt a huge rush of heat. The
crotch of them was drenched and sticky. She’d known she was aroused, turned on
by this new, risqué Patrick, but as swimmingly as this? Good God! And she was
odorous, too. A rich waft of woman-smell rose from the pale fabric, the perfume
of her desire, haunting yet pungent.

“Now what?” she demanded, wadding them into a ball, trying to
hide the incriminating evidence, but knowing that even as she did, he was
probably fully aware of her state. After all, it was exactly what he’d been
hoping to induce, she supposed.

“Throw them out of the window.”

“What? Are you mad?” Her heart thudded. She almost wanted to do
it, but they were still on a fairly busy road. “There are other cars…and also,
they’re part of a fairly expensive set that I happen to be rather fond of.”

Patrick chuckled and, feeling goaded, Miranda reached for the
window button.

“No! Don’t do that. On second thought, it’d be a shame to lose
them. They’re very pretty—” he paused, as if for effect “—and they
smell
amazing!”

Miranda gasped. She couldn’t help herself. The heat in her face
blossomed, and much the same thing happened between her legs, in her pussy.
Which felt all the more breathtaking for her precarious lack of underwear.

“So, why don’t you slip them into my pocket, for safe keeping?”
he asked, his voice light, deceptively casual.

Why not indeed? Men and their quirks. Somehow she’d not thought
of Patrick in those terms…well, not consciously. But he was a man, all the same.
Very, very much so. As she reached across, and rather clumsily stuffed the
panties into the pocket of his suit jacket, the cloth slipped to one side,
giving her a clearer view of his hips and thighs and crotch.

It didn’t surprise her that he had a very pronounced and
respectably sized erection. He winked again when she glanced back up again. The
devil. He’d observed her checking him out, the smug bastard!