Page 70 of Tempt

I swear under my breath, because that’s so hot and how does she still surprise me? Endlessly. “Yes,” I say hoarsely. “How does Saturday sound?”

23

Hazel

Before Sam leavesfor the office on Saturday morning, he puts me in a harness. I’ll wear it under my clothes this time. I stand in front of him in a bra and panties, the same scraps-of-nothing set he liked so much on New Year’s Eve. He binds me in a new rope he ordered, one that’s thin enough not to be noticed by random people.

His office should be empty, he says, but you never know.

I like that idea a lot.

After he leaves, I get dressed in an outfit I bought yesterday. Tight skirt. Not short. All the way to the knees, but if Sam wants to rip it, that’s fine. I’m packing yoga pants I can change into for the trip home.

A white blouse and a grey cardigan complete the outfit.

I take the streetcar to Bay, just like a temp worker would. When I arrive at his building, I follow his instructions precisely, using the pass card he left for me to get into the elevator. His firm occupies the twenty-second floor, and when I step out of the elevator, the office is quiet, but the lights are on.

This is where his instructions end.

I’m not sure where I’m going next, so I head to the right. Looking for a corner office, maybe. I don’t find Sam, so I turn around—and he’s standing at the end of the hallway.

“Can I help you?”

“I’m here from the temp agency,” I say demurely. “Hazel McLaughlin.”

He gestures for me to come closer. “I’m one of the partners here. I called for a temp an hour ago. You’re late.”

“I’m sorry, sir.”

“It’s fine, but I have a conference call in ten minutes. Come along.”

When he turns and stalks off, I trundle after him. How realistic and fun!

“We’re in here,” he says, stopping at a boardroom. A plaque says that on the door, anyway. Unlike the rest of the office, which is nothing but glass walls, this room has no windows looking in from the hallway.

He swings the door open and gestures for me to step inside. “Do you know how to take minutes, Ms. McLaughlin?”

“Yes, sir.”

There’s a pad of paper on the long, polished wood table, and he stops beside it for a moment, tapping his fingers on the surface. Then he nods. “Good.”

He says it brusquely, and I like that.

Except I don’t know how to take minutes, which isn’t a big deal, except I realize there is a screen on the wall, and there is an actual person there. He’s actuallyholding a meeting.

“Sam,” I whisper, and he shoots me a look. It’s hot and bossy and suggests I better not question him, so I grab the pad of paper and sit down.

As he starts talking to his client, I can’t keep up with the back and forth, and it’s all Sam’s fault.

He’s not paying me any attention at all, but somehow he’s still riling me up. He’s extra-big in his suit, his jaw is extra hard, and set at aWe’ll-talk-about-this-laterangle that makes my thighs shake.

I find myself scribbling erotic story ideas instead of taking notes. The ideas are flying through my mind a mile a minute.

I try to focus. I try to be good.

I fail miserably.

Especially when he takes off his jacket and gets comfortable, rocking back in his chair. I can’t see his legs under the table, but I imagine they’re spread wide, his solid thighs flexing. His cock thick and heavy, right there. Out of reach, for now.

---