A Very Personal Assistant Read Online Free PDF Page B

cottage. And she’d been stunned how much of a turn-on
that had been. She’d immediately wanted him again, and got him, even though time
had been short.
    But now time wasn’t short. She had no meetings for the rest of
the day.
    * * *
    They passed the rest of the journey in silence, each
mulling over their thoughts. At least Miranda was. For all his amiability and
his sensitivity to her needs, Patrick was still very much an enigma. Were her
needs his needs, too? Who could tell? She still knew virtually nothing about him
outside of work and their time together at the cottage.
    As he let her into the small holiday home, he took her bag from
her and set it on the sideboard by the door. With a touch to the small of her
back, he propelled her into the center of the room, then circled around until he
was standing facing her, his eyes fixed on hers.
    “You need to let go, Miranda.” His hand settled on her cheek,
long fingers curving and inviting her to turn her face and kiss his palm.
“Remember what you said…just be .”
    A delicious lightness of spirit sluiced through her body,
washing away stress and angst. Her concerns about work, her life, even her
occasional wistful ponderings about Patrick himself and what she really meant to
him. His touch seemed to cleanse her of all that. Especially when he leaned
forward and kissed her lips lightly.
    “Now remove your clothes.”
    Clamor in her chest, wild excitement, something new, something
new. Immediately, between her legs, she felt hot and wet, silky with desire. An
urge to move her hips, rub her thighs together, touch herself even, was like a
crackling wildfire surging in her belly.
    But Patrick’s level blue gaze forbade those things
completely.
    Dragging in a breath, Miranda shrugged out of her jacket. For a
moment, she was at a loss what to do with it, but Patrick took it from her and
laid it quite neatly over the back of a chair. Next, her simple silk shell top.
She unfastened the little button at the back of the neck, then wriggled out of
it, pulling it off over her head. Patrick reached for that, too, but not before
smoothing her hair back into place. Then he set her top with her jacket, and
returned his gaze to her, appraisingly.
    Her bra was white lace, very luxe and pretty. She’d taken to
wearing her nicer undies to work—La Perla, Janet Reger, other upscale
brands—simply on the off chance that it might be a day when she and Patrick fled
the rat race to the cottage. More often than not, her silk-and-lace finery went
unseen and unappreciated by his gaze, but there was always a frisson of
excitement in wearing it anyway, fantasizing about moments like this. Moments
when he smiled archly, his eyes zeroing in on her nipples that showed so darkly
through the pale lace and protruded like ripe, tempting berries. Nodding
infinitesimally, he swept his tongue over his lips as if anticipating the taste
of such luscious fruit.
    Her fingers fumbling with the hooks and eyes, Miranda struggled
to free herself. The tiny fastenings defied her, turned into impenetrable
micropuzzles by her lust and frustration, but just as she was on the point of
ripping and tearing like a madwoman, Patrick stepped forward, reached around her
and unhooked her in a smooth easy action. For a moment, he left the bra hanging
loose, via its straps, then he slid his two hands around to the front of her
body and cupped her breasts. A second later, after just a little squeeze, he
lifted away the white lace and bared her. The brassiere went with her jacket and
blouse across the back of the hard chair.
    Bare from the waist up, Miranda experienced an irrational urge
to cover herself. Her sense of vulnerability was a sweet taste upon her tongue,
a nectar in her blood. Light-headed, she pushed back her shoulders, acting
completely on instinct. The nakedness of her breasts was Patrick’s by right, she
must offer herself. Not resist, or fight, just be his.
    “You’re very beautiful…very, very beautiful.