Shayla Black: Their Virgin Secretary

Belle frowned. “It’s hard to say no to Kinley. And it’s not like I have a crazy, full life. Maybe I should think about a pet.”

She didn’t need to think about anything except that she’d soon have three lovers who would require most of her attention. He fully intended to have her moved into the house he shared with Tate within the week—hopefully minus a rambunctious critter. “Later, maybe. Right now, you need to think about something more important.”

Her gorgeous dark eyes widened. “Like what?”

Eric drew in a bracing breath. It was time to see if he could lead the witness where he wanted her to go. “It means you should think about your future, Belle. What do you really want out of life?”

Even as she moved against him, he could see her contemplating his words. “I’ve been giving this some thought, actually.”

That encouraged him. “Yeah?”

“Well, since you’ve read my resume, you know I went to the Pratt Institute in Brooklyn for interior design. Lately, I’ve been thinking about using what I know.”

Her words threw him for a loop. What did design have to do with her love life? “You’re talking about decorating?”

Yes, he’d known from the minute she walked into the offices of Baxter, Cohen, and Kent that she wouldn’t be happy as their administrative assistant forever, but he’d thought she would stay a little longer. And he’d definitely thought that tonight, after the wedding—even if it was a doggie union—that she’d have romance on her mind.

“Yes. I’ve always loved designing homes especially. Even when I was a kid and we were living in a two-bedroom apartment, just my mom and me, I thought about all the ways I could make it pretty. People are happier when their surroundings are efficient and lovely. I really enjoy listening to the client’s problems with a space, then making it both more functional and elegant.”

He’d known she’d gone to the Pratt Institute and gotten a bachelor of arts, but he’d never asked what her concentration was in. He’d been too busy looking at her boobs to ask. Now that burned him. She was gorgeous and so genuine it hurt sometimes. He should know more about her—wants, past, dreams, and desires. He would bet Tate knew everything down to the last detail. “How old were you when your dad died?”

Her expression didn’t change at all. “Eleven. I wish I remembered more about him. My mom was the housekeeper for the Kohl family.”

Kinley’s parents. He’d known that Annabelle had grown up with the Kohl family in their brownstone on the Upper East Side of Manhattan. She’d seen the good life, but hadn’t really been a part of it because she’d lived in the servant quarters. “Is that how you became such good friends?”

It was obvious, but he would ask any question if it kept her in his arms.

She nodded. “We grew up together. Despite her family’s money, they sent her to public school, too. We often had the same classes, but no one could keep us apart after school. My mom would make us both snacks while we did our homework together.”

She wore such a wistful expression.

“Why did you leave New York?” He frowned.

“I got a job at a design firm here in Chicago, but it went under a month after I hired on. I was stranded without any money. I could barely afford my crap apartment and I had a hundred thousand dollars in college loans to repay. I thought about moving back to Manhattan, but I just couldn’t go back a failure. So I started looking for other jobs. I was the assistant to a CEO for a while and learned the administrative function before I had to leave.”

Yes, he’d wondered about the very short assignment listed on her resume. He had his suspicions about how it had ended. “Had to leave? Why?”

“My boss decided that my job should be more…intimate.”

Was she saying what he thought she was? “Come again.”

Annabelle sighed. “He chased me around his desk and told me I should do more of my job on my back with my legs spread.”

So the asshat had sexually harassed her, just as he’d suspected. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Anger raged through Eric. Yet wasn’t that pretty much what he’d been planning on asking of Belle? Though he hadn’t imagined having to chase her. He’d hoped she would simply want to spread her legs for him.

Well, hell. Now what?

“That’s a scary look.” But Belle didn’t appear even a bit afraid as she searched his face. Then her lips curved up in a smile. “Wow, it’s always the quiet ones.”

Eric recoiled. Had she guessed what he was thinking? “I’m not the quiet one.”

Sometimes he was the only guy in the office who would talk. When Tate got obsessive and Kellan started to brood, Eric had to find the right welcoming or soothing words for their clients.

“Sure you are. Oh, you might be talkative and social, but you hide more. Kellan growls at the world, and while the lion won’t tell me how he got that thorn in his paw, it’s obvious he’s wounded. And without any sort of filter, Tate doesn’t have the faintest clue how to hide what he’s feeling. But you…” She studied him, wearing an almost quizzical expression. “You’re the one I can’t quite pin down.”

Tate was better at hiding his feelings than she gave him credit for since she hadn’t yet figured out how crazy he was about her. Eric hoped she didn’t before she was in too deep to be freaked out by Tate’s personal brand of interest. “I’m an open book, sweetheart.”

“Really? Then why did you just go all caveman on me?”

“Caveman? I’m dancing like Astaire. I didn’t grunt or growl a word.”

“Maybe not, but you looked ready to kill someone. I’ve never seen you like that. You’re usually smooth as silk, even when you’re angry.”

Because he’d been very careful around her. “I didn’t like the thought of some old letch trying to use his position to get you into bed.”

Kellan had a million and one reasons of his own and Tate wouldn’t know how to verbally seduce even a hooker out of her clothes, but Eric was nervous about the whole “boss” thing. He’d never admitted it, but that was one reason he hadn’t made a move, along with the Tate factor…and what she’d likely see as a “ménage surprise.” Despite those multitude of reasons not to go after her, Eric saw only one real reason he should—because he couldn’t stand the thought of never knowing what it meant to make love to her.

“Well, I found you guys, and now I don’t have anything to worry about. You don’t need to bang the secretary. You’ve already worked your way through half of Chicago’s female population.”

Was that bitterness he detected? She’d had a couple of glasses of wine. Belle was always in control, so polished and smooth.

Eric managed to chuckle. “Certainly, it’s not anywhere close to half.”

She shrugged with a little roll of her eyes. “It doesn’t matter. When did you and Tate start sharing your girlfriends?”

It was the first time she’d acknowledged that she knew they took women together. Maybe the ménage wouldn’t be a surprise after all. Had she guessed…or paid attention? Eric wasn’t sure. Belle had asked the question without a hint of disdain, sounding simply like one friend asking another about a curiosity.

Hope started to thrum through his system. He was good at reading body language, seeing past simple words to the hidden meaning beneath. Unlike Tate, most human beings didn’t just throw themselves out there. They talked their way around a problem. They asked questions—just like Belle did. “We were in high school.”

“Are you serious? Gosh, in high school I was worrying about finals and whether or not I would get asked to the prom.”

He wondered if he would have been smart enough to have seen her back then. Probably not. He’d been pretty damn dumb. He hadn’t cared past the next game, the next party, the next lay. “Well, I didn’t worry enough about finals, which is why I ended up meeting Tate.”