It Started With... Collection - Miranda Lee Mills & Boon e-Book Collections

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a line here, he was about to propel them both into a world from which there was no turning back, a word where lust ruled and love was nothing but a distant memory. She had no conception of the demons in his mind, or the dark desires that had been driving him crazy since Saturday night. She probably thought he loved her.

      Now, that was one transgression he would not be guilty of. Deception. The games he wanted to play with her were sexual, not emotional.

      ‘You do realise I don’t love you,’ he said as he flicked open the buttons on her jacket.

      ‘Yes,’ she surprised him by admitting, though her voice was trembling and her eyes had gone all smoky.

      ‘I will never fall in love with you,’ he added even as his hands slipped inside her jacket to play with her breasts through her bra. God, but her nipples were hard. So incredibly hard.

      And so was he.

      ‘I…I don’t expect you to,’ she replied somewhat breathlessly.

      ‘You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do,’ he told her before his conscience shut down entirely.

      ‘But I want you to,’ she choked out.

      ‘Want me to do what?’ he murmured as he slipped the jacket off her shoulders and let it fall to the carpet.

      ‘Wh…whatever,’ she stammered.

      Justin suspected she was too turned on to know what she was saying. He was rapidly getting to the point of no return himself.

      For a split-second, he almost pulled back and saved her from herself. And from him. But she chose that moment to reach round and unhook her bra herself. Blood roared into his ears as she bared her beautiful breasts to his male gaze. And then she did something even more provocative. She dropped the wisp of a bra on the floor then reached up and rotated her outstretched palms over her rock-like nipples.

      Any hope of salvation fled. He was lost, and so, he realised when he looked down into her dilating pupils, was she.

       CHAPTER ELEVEN

      THE phone was ringing when Rachel arrived home that night around seven. She raced to answer it, thinking—no, hoping—it might be Justin.

      ‘Yes?’ she said as she snatched it up to her ear.

      ‘Rach, I was just about to give up and hang up.’

      ‘Isabel!’ Not Justin. Of course not. Silly Rachel. ‘What…what are you doing, ringing me on your honeymoon?’

      ‘Oh, don’t be silly, Rach. We can’t have sex all the time.’ And she laughed.

      Rachel almost cried.

      ‘Not that we haven’t given it a good try,’ Isabel burbled on. ‘I think I’ve worn him out. The poor darling’s having a nap so I thought I’d use the opportunity to give you a call and find out how things are going at home. I’ve already rung Mum and Dad, so don’t start lecturing me.’

      ‘I never lecture you, Isabel. Not any more. The boot’s on the other foot these days.’

      ‘You could be right there. But you need lecturing sometimes. So tell me, how’s things with your job?’

      ‘Fine,’ she said with pretend lightness.

      ‘You still getting along with grumpy-bumps?’

      ‘Justin is not a grumpy-bumps. He’s just serious.’

      And how, Rachel thought with a shiver, trying not to think about the day she’d spent with him.

      ‘In that case, he’s probably not gay,’ Isabel pronounced. ‘Gay men are never serious.’

      ‘Justin is definitely not gay,’ Rachel said, her tone perhaps a tad too dry.

      ‘Really? Is that first-hand experience speaking there?’ her best friend asked suspiciously.

      Rachel decided that some sarcastically delivered truths would serve her purpose much better than heated denial. Because no way could she ever tell Isabel what was going on between herself and her boss. Isabel would be scandalised. She was pretty scandalised herself!

      ‘Yes, of course. Didn’t I mention it? He can’t keep his hands off me. We’ve been doing it everywhere. On the desk. In the little-men’s room. On the boardroom table. Standing up. Sitting down. Frontwards. Backwards. Haven’t tried it upside-down yet. But give it time.’

      ‘OK, OK,’ Isabel said, sighing exasperatedly. ‘I get the drift.’

      No, you don’t, Rachel thought with an erotically charged shiver. I’m telling you the shocking truth. ‘But let’s not talk about me,’ she went on hastily. ‘Can I know where you went on your honeymoon now?’

      ‘Yes, of course. Hong Kong. And we’re loving it. The clothes shopping is fantastic. I’ve been such a naughty girl. Bought a whole new wardrobe. But you know Rafe. He likes me to dress sexily, and all my clothes at home are a tad on the conservative side.’

      Rachel had never thought Isabel’s wardrobe at all conservative. Just classy.

      ‘You can have them, if you like,’ Isabel offered.

      ‘What? All of them?’

      ‘Everything I left behind. Provided you wear them, of course. That’s the deal. You have to wear them. To work as well. It’s time you bit the bullet and threw out those dreary black suits. I’m sure your boss could cope. It’s not as though any of my old outfits are provocative. You can even have the shoes to go with them. We’re the same shoe size.’

      ‘Yes, I know. But are you sure, Isabel?’ she asked, amazed by her friend’s generosity.

      ‘Positive. Actually, there’s nothing in that place that you can’t have. Take the lot. Handbags. Jewellery. Make-up. Beauty products. Whatever you can find. I won’t be needing any of it.’

      ‘You can’t mean that, Isabel. You used to spend a small fortune on all your accessories. As for cosmetics and skin products, both bathrooms here are chock-full of them.’

      ‘And I don’t need any of it. Look, I brought everything I really like with me, and that includes my best jewellery. The stuff I left behind is just costume jewellery, bought to go with the clothes I’ve just given you. You’re welcome to whatever you can find. If you don’t use them they’ll only go to waste. I have a new look now, from top to toe. Speaking of new looks, I’ve also bought some great maternity clothes for when I begin to sprout. Oh, I can’t wait to get home and show everything to you.’

      ‘So when exactly will you be home?’

      ‘Next Saturday week. The flight gets in around midday. I’ll ring you when we arrive home at Rafe’s place and you can come over that evening for dinner.’

      ‘But you won’t want to cook after travelling.’

      ‘Who said anything about cooking? We’ll order something in. Is that all right by you?’

      ‘Perfect.’ There was no worry that she’d be spending any time with Justin on a Saturday. That was one of the many stipulations he’d made during their marathon afternoon of sex and sin. He wasn’t offering her a real relationship. He didn’t think it was fair to her to build her hopes up in that regard. Meeting each other’s sexual needs was what they were doing. But dating was out. So was going to each other’s places. Sex was to be confined to the office, but not till after five in future. Today was an exception.

      She’d agreed to stay behind after work for a while every day till they were both satisfied. She’d agreed that he would not take her out to dinner afterwards, or take her home. She’d agreed that they wouldn’t see each other at weekends.

      In hindsight, Rachel

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