please,’ Rachel said eagerly as relief overwhelmed her.
Justin smiled his own pleasure at the change of plan. ‘We’ll order a bottle of wine with our dinner,’ he suggested on picking up the menu. ‘And then we might have a dance or two. That dress has dancing written all over it.’
Rachel’s heart jolted. She hadn’t danced in years. The last time had been with Eric, the week before he’d broken off with her, and the day before she found out the awful news about Lettie. They’d been to a Christmas party and she’d got very tipsy on the punch. He’d whispered hot words of love and desire in her ears whilst he danced with her, holding her very close, making her want him to put his words into action. When she’d been beyond resisting him he’d whisked her into the bathroom and made love to her up against the door.
Or so she’d thought at the time. Now she knew he hadn’t been making love at all. He’d just been having sex. Because he’d never really loved her.
‘I…I haven’t danced in years,’ she said, her voice shaking a little at the memory. As much as she no longer loved Eric, the damage he’d perpetrated on her female psyche was still there.
‘You didn’t dance at your friend’s wedding?’ Justin asked on a note of surprise.
‘No.’
‘Why not? I’ll bet you were asked in that dress.’
‘Yes, I was.’
‘Why did you say no?’
‘I…I just didn’t want to.’ In truth, she’d felt far too emotionally fragile at the time to do something as potentially destructive as dance with a man. When she’d watched the bride and groom dance their first dance together she’d been consumed with a pain so sharp, and a misery so deep, she’d fled into a powder room—one of her favourite escapes—and cried for ages.
Justin frowned. ‘This has something to do with Eric the Mongrel, hasn’t it?’
Her smile was sad. ‘How did you guess?’
‘You told him in the lift you’d moved on, Rachel. And you told me just now he no longer mattered to you. I think it’s time you put your feet where your mouth is. You’re going to dance with me tonight and I don’t want to hear another word about it. I won’t take no for an answer.’
‘Yes, boss,’ she said, rather amused by his tough-guy attitude. It was so un-Justin. Same as with his earlier pretending to be a sleazebag boss.
‘That’s a very good phrase,’ he pronounced firmly. ‘Practise saying it.’
‘Yes, boss.’
‘Again.’
She laughed. ‘Yes, boss.’
He grinned. ‘By George, she’s got it!’
JUSTIN sat there, watching Rachel really enjoy herself, possibly for the first time in years. She’d relished the food, despite the meal being a simple one, and she’d certainly swigged back her fair share of the wine. Now she was looking totally relaxed, leaning back and peering up at the stars.
He’d just ordered their after-dinner coffee but it probably wouldn’t arrive for a while. Whilst the setting and ambience of the bar was great, the service was slow. The place was clearly understaffed, especially for a Saturday night. Management were probably cutting costs to make their profit margin look better, a common strategy when a business was for sale.
Time to ask Rachel to dance, Justin decided. The music coming from inside the bar was nice and slow, the rhythm easy to follow.
He rose to his feet, walked round her side of the table and held out his hand towards her. ‘Shall we take a turn around the terrace, Ms Witherspoon?’ he asked with feigned old-fashioned formality.
She smiled up at him. Such a lovely smile she had. Pity she didn’t use it more often. Still, maybe she would after tonight.
‘Why, thank you, Mr Darcy. Oops. Mr McCarthy, I mean.’ When she stood up she swayed back dangerously on her high heels. He grabbed her upper arms and pulled her hard against him.
‘Oh,’ she gasped, her eyes startled as they jerked up to meet his.
‘Methinks you’ve had too much to drink, Ms Witherspoon,’ he chided gently. ‘Just as well you find yourself in a gentleman’s company this evening, or you might be in a spot of bother.’
‘Yes. Just as well,’ she murmured even whilst her eyes remained locked to his and her woman’s body stayed pressed up against him.
Justin could not believe it when his own male body suddenly stirred to life. Neither could Rachel, by the look on her face.
Nevertheless, she didn’t move. Or say a word. Just stared up at him with those lovely eyes of hers, her lips still parted. Yet for all that, she didn’t look disgusted, or repelled by his arousal. Neither did she attempt to push him away, not even when his arms developed a devilish mind of their own and stole around her waist, one hand settling in the small of her back, the other sliding down to play over the soft swell of her buttocks. Instead of wrenching away from him in outrage, her own arms actually slipped up around his neck, and she sank even more closely against him.
‘Rachel,’ he breathed warningly.
‘Yes, boss?’ she said in a low, husky voice, her hazel eyes having gone all smoky.
‘You’re drunk.’
‘Yes, boss.’
‘Maybe dancing together isn’t such a good idea.’
‘Just shut up, boss, and move your feet.’
Her uncharacteristic assertiveness surprised him, but he shut up and moved his feet. Still, he’d been right. It wasn’t a good idea. The slow, sensual rhythm of the music got further into his blood, as did the scent—and softness—of the woman in his arms. Of course, it didn’t help that her fingertips started stroking the back of his neck in a highly provocative fashion, or that she kept gazing up at him with eyes full of erotic promise. By the time the music stopped he was in agony, his erection straining against the fly of his suit trousers.
At least he had a jacket on.
‘I need to go to the gents’,’ he ground out after depositing her back in her chair. Fortunately, their coffee had finally arrived. A potful, as ordered. Hopefully, after a couple of strong cups Rachel might sober up and stop trying to seduce him.
His normally very proper PA was going to hate herself in the morning, Justin thought ruefully as he strode back inside the bar and over to the gents’. Alcohol could make even the most sensible woman behave a bit stupidly. Add her tipsy state to all that had happened earlier this evening, and he had a very different Rachel on his hands tonight.
Of course, he had to shelve some of the blame himself. He hadn’t realised when he’d encouraged her to
