Divine Assistant, Page 4

  But then, he’d never actually felt like this about anyone before. He had never had sleepless nights, hard-ons during conference calls and lack of concentration because of a pair of legs.

  Forget the legs. What about the eyes? Those eyes, honey-colored and smart…eyes that missed nothing, assessed everything. There was intelligence behind them, dedication and…lust. Yes, Lucy Divine might not like his manners very much, and she might not like his attitude, but she wanted him. And Holden wanted her more than he’d ever wanted any stock or any bond or any option. He wanted her so badly that just this morning, after a little “incident”, he’d been almost willing to make a pact with the devil himself for just one night of—

  “Mother?”

  He froze in the grand foyer of his apartment and stared at the image of his mother, calmly sitting on the living room sofa and sipping tea like a lady, with the delectable Miss Divine sitting across from her. When his eyes landed on Divine, they slammed into deadly slits. So much for his “intelligent”, “dedicated” assistant. Now instead of fucking her, all he wanted was to take a paddle to her behind—and maybe fuck her afterward.

  “Miss Divine?” he queried in a clipped tone.

  Lucy carefully set down her teacup over her plate, notably trying not to be affected by the deadly look in his eyes.

  “Patrick, my darling, let me look at you,” his mother purred, crossing the space between them. She wrapped him in her arms, where he remained as stiff as a sculpture, and kissed his cheek noisily. Pulling back, she eyed him thoroughly, her eyes sparkling with love. “Now, darling, it isn’t Divine’s fault that she didn’t know better. But I had to set her straight. I told him no mother of New York’s most eligible bachelor will be seen at some hotel, five stars or no stars. I’ve already unpacked and Mr. Pipsqueak, that dear, dear man, is taking very good care of me. I promise you won’t have to worry a thing for me. And as for my privacy, don’t worry dear—I don’t mind you at all. You’re hardly home most of the time anyway, and I’ve got the place almost to myself!”

  Holden’s eyes settled back on the calm image of Miss Divine, who was eyeing him warily. Like a pretty little doe. Before it was shot to death. “A word with you, Miss Divine.” He walked toward the hallway and waited impatiently for the whole three seconds it took her to appear.

  “Can you explain to me why my mother is here—in my apartment?” he hissed. Not able to control his fury, he grabbed her shoulders and squeezed harshly.

  “I’m truly sorry Mr. Holden, but she insisted on staying here. I couldn’t possibly—”

  “Spare me the details of your incompetence, Miss Divine. When I issue a request, I prefer it be followed. I will be entertaining Miss MacFadden tonight—you should remember, since you, yourself set it up this morning—and my mother’s presence is very inconvenient to me at this time. I’m sure you can understand why that may be!”

  Lucy felt frantic. She fumbled through her brain and tried to find a thought that would help, something that could make things right. “I’ll make sure she isn’t in your way, Mr. Holden. You have my word. I’ll sit with her and make sure she doesn’t interfere with your business.”

  “By the way,” he added, sticking his hand into the inner pocket of his jacket and smacking something into her palm. “Take this sissy present back to the store and next time, buy me a real jewel—one fit for a man to give a woman—not a tiny little trinket I need a freaking loupe to see.”

  And with that he stalked away, flexing his hands as he did so, as if he’d been struck by a lethal infection just by touching her.

  Lucy shivered, feeling cold all of a sudden. She stared down at the elegant Harry Winston box sitting proudly on her palm and felt her heart drop. She had thought the ruby and diamond earrings she’d selected were simple, elegant and breathtaking. When she’d bought them, she had done so with enthusiasm and a thirst to please, the whole experience of presenting a corporate American Express card at the register and buying her heart away at one of the world’s leading jewelry stores having felt inordinately pleasing. But now, after he had brutally rebuffed her taste in jewelry, she felt defeated, deflated and helpless.

  As if she should care what an overbearing, chauvinistic son-of-the-devil thought!

  “What happened to the woman who wanted to be a hotshot investor?” her brother had asked her over the phone when he’d learned of her new job.

  “I’ll get there soon. In the meantime I’m working for the greatest hotshot investor in America.”

  “Getting him his donuts, Lucy, is hardly work, and you didn’t need an MBA from Stanford to do that,” he reminded her.

  Lucy pursed her lips and realized that if she wanted to get ahead in this world she needed to move fast, because she knew with certainty that she couldn’t possibly last very long at this job, not when she was half-hating, half-lusting after her boss the way she was.

  She was almost throwing herself at his feet.

  Just this morning, Lucy had suffered a little accident. Actually, it had been his donuts that had suffered most. The double doors to Holden’s office had been wide open as she strode inside, and having to cross the room with his watchful gaze on her person had proved such a strain to her nervous system that suddenly, just like that, the donuts practically slipped from her hands, box and all, and crashed to the floor. Each took its own path and rolled over the floor, determined to get as far away from her as fast as possible.

  In the background, Lucy heard all three Bitches snickering because she hadn’t closed the door behind her before this unfortunate event took place.

  “No!” Lucy had gasped, horrified, as her gaze jumped from one retreating donut to the next. She squatted down on her heels, frantically trying to grab and salvage at least one of them—hopefully one of the glazed that he liked most.

  Holden sprang from behind the desk like a lithe predator, reaching her in less than a second. Lowering to his haunches across from her, he grabbed her hand before she could even catch the quick little donut, squeezing it gently as he bent his face in a way that brought his forehead dizzyingly close to hers. “Leave them.”

  His breath had bathed her face in warmth and his eyes had been so dark and clear. She’d expected him to mock her. After all, what sort of klutz was she? Instead, his eyes had roved over every inch of her features, and he’d suddenly, gently, brushed back a strand of wayward hair from her jaw. The Bitches had shut up then, but he wasn’t even paying attention to them, nor was Lucy.

  “I’m…oh God, your donuts,” Lucy whispered brokenly, staring helplessly into his eyes. The donuts weren’t her only concern. She was greatly concerned that instead of walking into his office like the super-efficient assistant she wanted to be, she’d looked like a total fool.

  He seemed to have other concerns, of a nature Lucy wasn’t quite certain.

  “Why are you doing this to me?”

  He’d sounded so tortured when he spoke, so filled with emotion, that she had no idea what he meant. All she’d been able to do at that moment was look into his eyes and breathe a very stupid, “I’m sorry.”

  He cupped her face, his hands firm and incredibly warm as they cradled her. Lucy held her breath when his eyes fell to her lips and she suddenly found herself wishing…wishing what she didn’t wish…wishing what she’d lately longed for the most.

  The only reason she didn’t just grab him and kiss him was because…well…she wasn’t all that brave. Then she heard whispering behind her and she knew it was those damned Bitches, who were now at the very top of Lucy’s newly created blacklist, all three of them crammed into the number one spot together.

  Staring past her shoulder at the open doorway, at the source of the sounds, Holden dropped his hands to his sides and said, “Take better care next time, Miss Divine.”

  Walking toward the window with his back to her, he added, “Why don’t you invite Miss MacFadden over to my place tonight. I think I’d like to see her.”

  If he could hear the silent screams
inside her, he gave no hint of it, for he didn’t turn to look at her again. Silently, Lucy gathered each of the twelve mean little donuts from the floor and quietly left his office to dial the dreaded number of the suddenly hated Miranda MacFadden.

  Now, standing with the jewelry box in her hands, she told herself she needed to stop thinking of him, needed to stay focused, keep her eye on the prize, her mind on that one single goal. Her career.

  Perhaps tomorrow she should make time to meet with Simon Morris, Holden’s right hand in mergers and acquisitions, and outline her idea for the stock company she had been following during the last couple years. The company was badly managed and had just been unlisted from the Nasdaq, but it had so much potential. If only someone could bring it to Holden’s attention, someone he would listen to—not the assistant who dropped his donuts!

  “Why is my son angry?” she heard an imperious voice say behind her.

  Lucy forced a smile when she turned to Mrs. Holden. Because she didn’t know what to say, she said, “Mrs. Holden, your son is angry all the time, and I’m sure I have no idea why.”

  The woman laughed and smacked Lucy on the shoulder. “Welcome to the club, Divine. Now, how about a game of bridge?”

  “I’ll play if you show me how. And what do you think about an early dinner in the privacy of your room?” Lucy countered.

  “Puuurfect, Miss Divine. You seem to read my mind now that you’re starting to know me.”

  Lucy smiled and followed Mrs. Holden to her bedroom, where she kept and entertained her during the rest of the evening, so as not to distract His Mighty Royal Pain in the Butt from his night of sex with the holy, reverent, magnificent Miranda MacFadden. Lucy inwardly hoped his precious Miss MacFadden—who’d sounded like a real bitch on the phone—had a very contagious, very serious sexual infection so he would get what he deserved for being so domineering and selfish.

  He was so not worth it, she wouldn’t even think about him anymore. Let him have all his fun with the MacFadden hussy, Lucy couldn’t care less. Besides, they were made for each other because Patrick Holden was an ass.

  When finally Mrs. Holden took to her bed and Lucy walked down the hallway, wanting nothing more than to get home, she heard voices out in the living room. His-and-her voices. She slowed her pace, careful not to make a sound, and paused at the end of the hallway, realizing she would have to cross the living room to get to the elevators, and fearing what Holden would say for the interruption.

  “I was so surprised when I got the call from your secretary. I never thought you’d even noticed me. And I reeeeally admire you, Patrick. Your charisma, your charm…” said the female voice.

  Your millions, Lucy mentally filled in. She stifled a laugh and wrinkled her nose. The woman sounded false and plastic.

  “I can’t blame you, Miranda,” came his deeper, achingly sensual voice. “If I were a woman, I’d admire a man like me, too.”

  Lucy’s mouth dropped open. My God, the man was so full of himself! That conceited, self-centered, arrogant—

  “Oh Patrick, kiss me,” she breathed, then came a small little whimper, and then an unbearable silence, disturbed only seconds afterward by a sensual cat-like purr.

  Lucy’s stomach clenched because, although she couldn’t see them, her brain imagined them—him mostly. It was hell to imagine those hands, the same ones she’d seen wrapped around his cell phone so many times, the ones that had gently held her own face this morning, now holding that woman’s face while he kissed her.

  God, she suddenly became extremely, potently aware of the fact that she hated him. Damn that son of a—!

  No, she wasn’t going to insult Mrs. Holden. But…ugh! Why did she even care if he was kissing that gold digger?

  But for some strange reason, she did care, very much, because her insides felt like something she was sure could only compare to the utter chaos and confusion during a massive world war.

  Lucy unwittingly made a little sound, one that tore from deep in her throat and which she tried to muffle but couldn’t. Her heart stopped beating when she feared she might have been heard, and quickly her fingers pressed to her lips to stifle any more unwanted noises.

  “What’s wrong?” said the soft, feminine voice from the living room.

  There was a deadly silence before Holden replied, and Lucy felt frantic, desperately wanting to hide. If he caught her eavesdropping it would surely be the end of her career, and she’d already put so much of her heart into this for it to amount to nothing. She glanced around and slowly tiptoed toward the closet in the hall, sliding the wooden pocket door open silently.

  “I’m sorry, Miranda, but I think we’re going to have to call it a night, reschedule some other time,” she heard him say.

  Lucy didn’t even wait to hear the woman’s reply. Instead, she briskly snuck into the darkened closet and carefully slid the door shut.

  She remained there for what seemed like an eternity, feeling the room grow unbearably hot, and although it should have been impossible it seemed to shrink in size. Suddenly she became aware of a life-threatening lack of oxygen. And then, as if by magic, the door slowly began to roll open.

  “Hello, Miss Divine.”

  She cleared her throat, which had suddenly run dry. “Mr. Holden.”

  “Dusting the closet?” he asked nonchalantly.

  “I, ah, well, I…”

  Uninvited, he stepped into the darkness of the closet. “I don’t like being spied on, Miss Divine.” His voice was a gruff whisper and his breath was unbearably close to her face.

  “I wasn’t spying.” She was surprised she could even speak.

  “Yes, you were.” He framed her face with his hands and splayed his fingers on the back of her neck, pulling her closer. “Now what do you propose I do with you?”

  “I-I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” she stammered, absolutely certain of one thing, and that was that she absolutely knew nothing anymore, only that this was definitely not good for her career.

  “Oh no?” His coal-black eyes glimmered in the darkness. Slowly he moved forward, his hands firm on her face, and an innate survival instinct prompted her to take a step backward. Undeterred, he inched closer until the tips of her breasts brushed against his wide chest and her buttocks flattened against the wall behind her. “So. Tell me. Did you intend to eavesdrop on me and Miss MacFadden?”

  He leaned his weight into her…fully…the hardness of his chest crushing her breasts, the strength of his big, hard body suddenly making her feel tiny and vulnerable. Lucy’s breath caught in her throat at the feel of a monstrous bulge pressed snugly between her hips. He was extremely, potently, unquestionably hard. It took every ounce of her willpower to keep from melting to the floor. “Were you going to watch us, Miss Divine?”

  His deep, husky voice vibrated against her skin like a caress, making her shiver. “Of course not, how can you even think that?” she whispered, feeling extremely breathless and agitated, as if she’d run a hundred miles.

  Either he, or Miranda MacFadden, had undone the two top buttons of his shirt, and she could see a smooth expanse of chest. It rose and fell with each breath, and he, too, sounded agitated…as if he’d run even more miles than she had. His chest was muscled and deeply tanned and proved to be a definite turn-on—as if she needed any sort of encouragement at this point. She was literally, physically hot and aching.

  Then it happened. Her wish. Oh dear—it was a miracle.

  His lips brushed over hers, the fleeting touch sending sizzling jolts of awareness to every nerve ending in her body. Slowly his hands slid from her face, down her arms and toward her buttocks. “Or did you want this for yourself?”

  None too gently, he cupped and squeezed her rump, pulling her forward as he rammed his hardness against her pelvis. Thick cords strained in his neck as he clutched her tightly to his huge muscled body, and Lucy exerted her own supreme efforts and bit back a string of whimpers, knowing she would surely die from sheer, utter desire. As if on c
ue her apex flooded with hot, wanton juices, and she worried that any minute now he’d be able to actually see the steam coming out of her pussy.

  She needn’t have worried, for he was completely engrossed with her face. “God, I want you,” he breathed hotly.

  Before his words even registered, he crushed his lips to hers and groaned deep in his throat at the contact. Taking her needy moan as an invitation, he thrust his tongue inside her mouth. Wine. He tasted like spicy red wine, and Lucy found that she craved him, craved more, craved to get leg-wobbly, irresponsibly drunk with his taste. Hot, powerful hands rubbed her back, pressing her closer to a body as perfect and hard as a marble sculpture, but far, far warmer.

  When his tongue retreated from her mouth, she moaned her disagreement and followed it into his. For her troubles, he gifted her with a rumbling groan of pleasure that reverberated all the way down to her pussy.

  His mouth seared her, his wet, powerful tongue sparring with hers, awakening emotions both fierce and debilitating that she never even knew she possessed. She felt as though she were falling down the edge of a precipice and was powerless to do anything but hold on for dear life.

  And as if he were life itself, she wrapped her arms around his neck, held on tightly and kissed him back like a hussy, like a hot, wet, horny little slut. Which she had never, ever in her life been—until now. Oh yes, now all she wanted was to kiss him, touch him. Damn her career, damn everything—everything except this. Patrick Holden kissing her. Patrick Holden’s rock-hard cock so very near her sex. It could drive a girl crazy. It did drive her crazy.

  Muffling a soft, decadent sound of passion that came from deep within him, he slanted his lips to get better access to her mouth while his hands skimmed back to her buttocks, slowly inching the length of her skirt upward, higher, higher, until she felt the air caress her bare legs and her scantily clad rump.

  Lucy gasped when he cupped her legs where they met her bottom and lifted her. He did it so easily, as if she weighed no more than a feather, and with equal ease she locked her legs around his hips, her arms still tightly wrapped around his neck. The feel of his hot, rough palms on the tender skin of her buttocks and his all-powerful tongue mercilessly thrusting into her mouth drove her insides into a frenzy. Whatever madness this was she didn’t want it to end, because he felt glorious, wonderful, amazing.