Page 26 of Longing for Liberty
“Look at me,” he said gently.
No.I didn’t want to. My eyes went to the floor on each side of his bare feet, then the wall, to the ceiling, bypassing his body, then down to his eyes. Damn him! Why did he keep looking at me like that?
“I make you nervous,” he observed.
I didn’t need to confirm.
“It’s not…proper, sir. To be in here with you.” But he knew that. He’d help make the rules.
Slowly, he ran a hand through his hair, slicking it back, never breaking eye contact.
“I know you’re a good girl,” he said. The tingles razed my skin like wildfire, my breath catching. “And though I’ve tried to outrun my reputation from my younger years, it seems to have stuck.”
“I’m married,” I said, stupidly, because of course he knew that.
“So am I,” he reminded me. “And would you believe if I told you I’ve never been unfaithful?”
I studied his expression, which was dead serious. Could that be true? I looked to the side at the floor again. I would not, under any circumstances, look at that fucking towel.
A dry, unamused huff of laughter came up from his chest, sounding almost angry. “At some point, I have to wonder why I bother being good when everyone assumes the worst.”
How was I supposed to respond to such personal, inappropriate comments? I was frozen. He had to realize these rules had been pounded into my brain the past six years, harped on every Sunday at church, and I’d watched countless women be marched to the stockades and left for days for something as simple as looking at a married man for too long.
“Liberty.” The sound of my full name in his voice, over and over, it was doing things to me. I wanted to scream. Instead, I clamped my teeth together and forced my eyes to his bright blue ones again. When I did, he took a slow step toward me. I instinctively took a step back, like a dance. Three more steps and my lower back hit his bed’s footboard. I leaned back as he leaned in, placing both hands on either side of me, grasping the footboard by my hips and getting his face within three inches of mine.
My breathing was ragged and shallow, my hands at my sides in loose fists.
The Secretary leaned down beside my face and pressed his cheek to mine, aligning his lips with my ear.
“Do you want me?” he whispered.
Wetness pooled in my panties, and I wanted to whimper with shame.
“I’ve…never cheated,” I whispered back. “I don’t want to do that.”
He pulled back to look me in the eye again. “That wasn’t my question.” He paused. When I didn’t respond, he said, “I wouldn’t be asking if I didn’t sense that you felt the same.”
Oh, God.
Fight or flight. My wings twitched.
“I didn’t mean to make you feel that way, sir.” I tore my gaze abruptly to the side. “Your steak is in the microwave. May I go?”
He removed his hands, uncaging me, and I slipped away. I rushed from his room, grabbing everything from the kitchen, then snatching up my shoes and stockings before running from the penthouse. In the elevator, I furiously yanked on my stockings as fast as I could before I remembered I hadn’t finished making his bed. But I couldn’t go back now.
I chanted calming things to myself as I left the building and hurried straight to the maid’s office, tearing off my apron. My boss was alone.
“Kathy!”
She jerked up from behind the counter when she heard me, and I watched her expression change from worried to stern.
“What is it?” she asked.
I was sweating now, from practically every pore, and felt the beginnings of a stupid fucking panic attack. “I c-can’t do this. You have to switch me.” My whole body physically shook as I leaned against the counter with both hands.
Her jaw set hard, lips pursed. “You can and you will, Libby.”
“No…” Oh, dear God, I was about to cry.
