Talking Dirty With the Boss: A Talking Dirty Novel (Entangled Indulgence) (14 page)

Marisa blushed like an idiot. That morning she’d dressed in his bedroom while he’d been busy shaving in the en suite bathroom. She’d put on the matching bra but didn’t like the way the lace scratched so had put on a white cotton one instead. Her comfortable go-to bra. She hadn’t thought he’d noticed.

Oh God, you noticed that? Well, there goes my sexy image.

After a second, she got his response.

You’re more than sexy lingerie, Marisa. I’ll come by at one.

A warm feeling went through her. A dangerously warm feeling.

Marisa gave it a mental kick as she decisively closed the program and tried to get on with her work.

Warm feelings about Luke McNamara were not allowed. Yes, he was the father of her child and yes, she was sleeping with him.

She’d take the hot sex, but that’s all it had to stay.

She’d fallen once before and fallen hard. But she wouldn’t be falling again.

…

Luke glanced at his watch again. He couldn’t remember how many times he’d done it already during the meeting, but it was a lot. Probably because the HR manager, who was always a talker, kept going off topic and relating completely uninteresting anecdotes instead of sticking to the point.

Dammit, he wanted to be finished by one so he could meet Marisa for lunch. He’d told her he would and so he would.

“George,” Luke snapped, unable to help himself as the HR manager launched into yet another tedious story, “do you have anything more to add about filling the taxation consultant position or are we done?”

George, knowing his boss well, quickly finished up his presentation and left with a minute to spare, much to Luke’s relief.

Because he could use that minute. Mainly to calm the hell down and try to figure out what was bloody wrong with him. He felt restless, unable to sit still—like Joseph, come to think of it. And it was connected somehow with Marisa, to seeing her.

Possibly it was due to the fact that for the past week, he’d been breaking the rules regarding workplace relationships and it was making him extremely uncomfortable. Not the sex part, no, that was good. It was the keeping secret part of it he hated.

But then he didn’t have any other option. He couldn’t be seen not following his own regulations, and to change them to suit himself was downright wrong.

You could just stop sleeping with her.

No, and that was the most urgent problem. He…couldn’t. His need to touch her, kiss her, hold her, have her in his bed, overrode everything else. And the nights they spent together only made him want her more.

She was so amazingly sexy, and yet it wasn’t only the sex that made him want her. She’d kept the majority of her chaos to her room. There had been one or two issues with keeping the kitchen in order and several times he’d found her hairbrush and one or two other female implements in his room but on the whole, she’d been fantastic. Certainly while she was around, that itching, prickly sensation that made him have to keep checking on her was gone. In fact, having her around made the OCD more manageable than it had been in years.

Except for now, when he hadn’t seen her since that morning. And the good feeling he’d had at the start of the day was fraying. Stretching out. It was almost as if he…missed her.

Lunch. It was only lunch. And he’d thought to ask her because as he was shaving this morning, he’d happened to catch a glimpse of her in the mirror. She was standing in nothing but that pretty silver-and-black lingerie and pulling a face. And as he watched, she suddenly tugged off the lovely bra and picked up another one that had been lying on the bed. A much plainer, more practical white one. Then she’d put it on and, he had to admit, he’d been disappointed because he’d been enjoying the view of her beautiful breasts. She’d carefully adjusted the straps over her shoulders and around the sides, short, sharp movements that he knew were little routines, and began to dress in the rest of her clothes.

And it came to him then that although he knew the sexy, beautiful Marisa in her red lace thong, or naked on the bonnet of his car, he didn’t really know the Marisa who wore bunny panties, who sometimes preferred her plain white bra to her sexy, lacy one. Marisa who’d cried into his handkerchief. Who’d given him a hug.

This seemed wrong. A dance only half-completed. A routine only half-done. He couldn’t only know half of her. He had to know all of her. A logical step, given they would be raising a child together.

Except what if she wants to know about you?

That was a problem. Because she couldn’t know all of him, could she? Not while he kept the thing that ruled his life such a secret. Unless, of course, he told her about it. But then what would she say? Would she think he was crazy as everyone else in his life had?

He’d thought about it all morning and he knew he couldn’t go on with the rest of his day until he’d talked to her. Lunch. They’d have lunch and they’d talk. Get to know each other better and then maybe… Maybe he could say something.

It was either that or he ended it between them. Made her one of his “two-week girlfriends.” And she didn’t deserve that. She really didn’t.

Luke gave his tie one last tiny adjustment. Checked his watch one last time. And took a deep breath.

Whatever happened, it wasn’t going to end well, that was for sure.

…

At five minutes to one, Marisa found herself checking her hair and makeup in the mirror of her compact. Seemed a silly thing to do. Like something you’d do before a date. And this wasn’t really a date, was it? But that didn’t stop her from touching up her lipstick and fiddling with the loose curls around her face.

“Hot lunch date?” Ben asked as he passed by her desk.

“No date.” Marisa shut her compact with a snap. “Just lunch.”

Ben gave her a skeptical glance. “Never seen you touch up your lipstick for ‘just lunch.’”

“Hey, I have an image to maintain.”

“With the big boss?”

Marisa frowned at him. “How did you know?”

“Rumors.”

Oh hell. “Okay, so I’m having lunch with Luke. It’s…personal.”

“Personal?” Ben’s eyebrows shot up into his hairline.

“We’re friends. No big deal.”

Clearly this was difficult for Ben. He narrowed his gaze at her for a long moment, then at last said, “Right. Well, don’t be late.”

As if Luke would ever let that happen.

Sure enough, he arrived perfectly on time and Marisa tried to ignore the interested glances from the rest of her colleagues as she walked with him out of the
Total Tech
offices.

“What are they looking at?” Luke said, scowling. “You haven’t told anyone, have you?”

“No, of course not.” A small lie considering she’d told Christie. But then Christie’s knowing didn’t count. “I told them we’re friends.”

“I don’t like it.”

“Friends are allowed to have lunch together, Luke.”

He didn’t say anything to that, only commenting, “I thought you could choose where we went.”

The offer surprised her considering how much control he liked to exert over what he did. “Okay. Well, what do you think about lunch in Albert Park?”

“But there aren’t any cafes in Albert Park.”

“I’m not talking about a café. We could buy some sandwiches and sit on the grass.”

Luke blinked. “Sit? On the grass?”

No wonder he seemed horrified. Lolling around on the grass catching a few rays wasn’t exactly Luke’s style. Marisa grinned, then threaded her arm through his. She was being naughty, but then sometimes Luke could use a little naughty. “Yeah, come on. You’re not scared of a little grass, are you?”

Luke frowned. “Certainly not.”

They bought sandwiches and hot chocolates to go at a nearby sandwich bar, then made their way up to Albert Park, a large green space in the middle of city. It was dotted with huge old pohutukawa trees, fountains, and artworks, and due to its proximity to both the university and the central business district, it tended to be full of a mix of students and businesspeople, sitting on benches or lying on the grass.

Marisa found her and Luke a nice spot near one of the trees, and was about to flop down on the ground when Luke said, “Wait. What about a bench?”

“I thought you weren’t scared of a bit of grass.”

“I’m not. But you’ll get stains on your pretty dress.”

She glanced down at herself and the white cotton sundress she’d put on that morning. It was true: white didn’t really mix well with sitting on the ground. Touched that he’d thought about her and also that he liked her dress, she said, “I guess we could find a bench.”

“No, you wanted the grass.” He stood for a minute, brow creased. Then abruptly he took off his suit jacket and spread it out on the ground. “There. You can sit on that.”

She stared at him. Surely he didn’t mean that? She knew how important having his jacket all in order was to him, because every day when he came home from work, the first thing he did was take off his suit and hang it up so it remained perfectly pressed. He was a tidy kind of guy and she respected that, even if she didn’t understand it.

“But…it’ll get dirty.”

“I’ll get it dry-cleaned afterward.” And when she hesitated, he gestured toward it again. “Go on, sit.”

So she did, tucking up her dress around her, watching from underneath her lashes as Luke, after hesitating, pulled at his trousers and sat next to her, legs outstretched in front of him.

Strange man. He could be so detached sometimes and yet he was capable of caring. And of being quite romantic.

Not that she wanted romance, of course. She had sex, and that was enough. She didn’t need romance, too.

“So,” she said, getting out her lettuce and tomato sandwich. “What’s with the lunch thing?”

“I thought we should talk.” Luke fastidiously folded the paper bag around his ham roll.

“Uh-huh. About what? The baby?”

“Actually I thought we should talk about ourselves. Get to know each other a little better. We’re going to be bringing up a child together and yet we know next to nothing about each other.”

“Au contraire. I know you don’t like Volvos, you enjoy having sex on car bonnets, and you like driving fast. How am I doing so far?”

His dark brows drew together. “I don’t mean those kinds of things. I mean your hopes and your dreams. What you want for the future.”

“Sounds like a job interview. Shall I tell you what my biggest weaknesses are and where I see myself in ten years’ time, too?”

Luke regarded her for a long moment. “Why do you do that all the time? Make things into a joke?”

Oh hell. Marisa looked away, uncomfortable. He always seemed to notice when she tried to deflect things and he always called her on it. “I don’t mean to. I…” She stopped, trying to figure out why she was so uneasy. “Is this because you want to know about me or only because I happen to be the mother of your child and it seems appropriate?”

The frown on his face didn’t lift, and he was obviously giving her question consideration. “Both, I think.”

Why it should matter to her she didn’t know, but something relaxed inside her. “Okay then. What do you want to know?”

Reaching out, Luke touched the blue bead around her neck, his fingers grazing the skin at her throat, sparks from his touch scattering everywhere. She tried not to shiver.

“This,” he said softly. “The bead is all misshapen and not quite round, yet you wear it all the time. It’s got some significance, doesn’t it? Tell me about that.”

Automatically, her hand reached for the smooth glass. “It’s the first piece of glass I ever made. My dad helped me make it and then put a hole in it and strung it on a necklace for me.” Gently, she rubbed the bead with her thumb.

“Your father made glass?”

“Yeah. We had a studio in our back garden and I used to love going and watching him create stuff. Vases and sculptures and bowls. All kinds of things. It was amazing. Glass is such a fragile medium and temperamental, but dad could do the most incredible things with it.” She paused, because the next bit was always hard. “He passed away when I was sixteen. And that’s when I decided I wanted to be an artist like him.”

Unexpectedly something warm covered her hand where it rested on the grass. Luke’s hand over hers. Something locked tight in her chest and when she met his eyes, she saw sympathy there.

“So what happened?” he asked.

“Good question.” Marisa moved her hand away, trying to ignore the constriction in her chest. She picked up her hot chocolate instead, which really wasn’t what she wanted but had patiently let Luke order for her anyway, and took a sip. “I’m not exactly living my dream, am I? If you must know, I kind of got sidetracked. First by my mother, then by Alistair.”

Luke was scowling now. “Who’s Alistair?”

“That guy I told you about. My ex. A photographer I met during a modeling shoot when I was eighteen. I’d won a fairly major beauty pageant and he told me he could make my career take off and I… Well, he was handsome and charming, and I was an idiot and let him sweep me off my feet.”

Luke was silent a long moment. Then he said, “This was the guy who was married and bad-mouthed you everywhere?”

“Yeah, that’s him. He…liked spending, liked a certain lifestyle, and used to get me to pay for stuff when we were together. And I did because I loved him. I thought he needed me. Then I found out about his wife and that he’d been getting me to pay for things so she wouldn’t notice all his expenses. That’s why I was left with a whole lot of debt.” She let out a breath. Years ago, yet the memories remained painful ones. “But you know that wasn’t the worst part. The worst part was how he lied to me. The whole damn time we were together. And I felt so stupid when it all blew up in my face. How dumb not to see any of the signs or pay attention to the rumors. People warned me about him but I didn’t listen. He lied to me and I was too infatuated, too young, and too stupid to see it.”

The expression in Luke’s eyes flickered. He glanced away. “You weren’t stupid, Marisa.”

She realized she’d picked up a daisy and had pulled it to bits, the petals all over her skirt. Carefully she brushed her skirt off. “It’s okay, Luke. It was a long time ago.”