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Don’t look at his eyes…
Trisha quickly glanced to her boss’s hair – those dark, wavy curls that she’d threaded her fingers through on a number of imaginary occasions.
Hair, bad.
She shot her gaze down to his chest.
Oh no, not the chest.
His ear. She could focus on his ear, she thought, before remembering she’d nibbled on it in cyberspace last Tuesday.
As her eyes scanned Logan’s fine features like a pinball darting from one cushioned side to another, she realised she was sinking fast with no net.
She focused on the bronze Remington statue on the credenza behind him. How fitting. A team of wild horses. ’Cause it would take a team of wild horses to jolt the lust from my brain.
LORI BORRILL,
an oregon native, moved to the bay Area just out of high school and has been a transplant californian ever since. Her weekdays are spent at the insurance company where she’s been employed for over twenty years, and she credits her writing career to the unending help and support she receives from her husband and real-life hero. When not sitting in front of a computer, she can usually be found at the baseball fields playing proud parent to their son. She’d love to hear from readers and can be reached through her website at www.LoriBorrill.com.
Dear Reader,
That you’re holding this book in your hand is a dream come true for me. It’s my very first published novel, and hopefully the first of many more to come.
It’s a pleasure to be able to share the story of Trisha and Logan. The idea came to me as I was reading a piece about an anonymous cybersex affair. I couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if a person unwittingly spilled their darkest fantasies to someone they ended up knowing. Someone horrible, like a next-door neighbour, or worse – their boss!
Needless to say, I’d barely dropped the article on the coffee table before the plot for Private Confessions had completely unfolded in my mind, and I have to say, writing it was truly a blast.
I hope you enjoy the drama, the surprises, the laughs and yes, the romance. Please drop me a note and tell me what you think of it.
Happy reading!
Lori Borrill
PRIVATE CONFESSIONS
BY
LORI BORRILL
MILLS & BOON
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To Leeanne Kenedy, Samantha Hunter and
Kira Bazzel, writers whose wisdom and
friendship are the foundation on which I write.
To Trisha for supporting me from that first day I
skipped into the office and declared,
“I’m writing a romance novel!”
And for Al and Tommy,
you believed in me from the start, and offered
the support I needed to make this dream come
true. I love you more than words can say.
1
“YOU’RE WEARING a navy-blue skirt. It’s tasteful. The hem stops just above the knee. Very professional on the outside, but I know you’re naked underneath. You enjoy the silky feel of the fabric against your skin, don’t you, Scorpio?”
Trisha Bain gulped as she read the words on her computer screen.
“I do,” she typed, then hit Send.
“You step into my office and close the door behind you. Those gorgeous lips curve into a smile that makes everything else disappear. You lean against the door and look at me with those big blue eyes, eyes that reveal your innermost thoughts. Today, your eyes tell me you want me.
“Do you want me, Scorpio?”
“Yes,” she typed. Oh, yes.
“I want you, too, baby. I’ve always wanted you.”
She shivered.
“I pat my hand on the desk and you stroll over, swaying those hips that have been driving me crazy since the day we met. You’re taking your time, teasing me, making me wait.
“You prop up on my desk and lift your feet to the arms of my chair, spreading those long, sexy legs for me. So many times, I’ve wanted to reach out and touch them. Can I touch them, Scorpio?”
“Please,” she typed.
“I place my hands on your ankles and slide my fingers up to your thighs. Your skin is smooth. I always knew it would be. I’ve been waiting for you. All day, I’ve been waiting for our meeting, watching the hours tick by. I can feel you trembling. You’ve been waiting, too, haven’t you?”
“Yes,” she typed, noticing how even the word looked breathy on the screen.
“I brush my fingers through your curls and groan when I feel the heat between your legs. You’re wet. You’ve been thinking about me. Your scent is driving me to the edge and I can’t resist a taste.”
Oh, my.
“I slide my tongue over you and glide it around in circles. You like that, don’t you, Scorpio?”
A bead of sweat moistened her upper lip and she squirmed as the sensation tingled in her most sensitive spot.
“Yes,” she typed.
“You’re so slick, so ready. Your breath goes heavy and you tilt your head back, thrusting
