Page 69 of The Grand Duel

Me?

Us?

The two of us together?

I rock forward, my middle finger sinking into my heat.

I’m wet.

My mouth drops open as I think about my boss, shame still there but buried beneath a veil of arousal. His face is all I can see, even if I didn’t want it to be it would still be him right now. His hands. His stubble which I can’t help but love. His eyes.

When I come, it’s his face I see.

FIFTEEN

Lissie

I’m more than a little bit grateful to find Charles, laptop on lap and head in a file, when I climb into the Land Rover the next morning. I smile at Scott and quietly get situated in my seat.

I came to the conclusion late last night, whilst coming to the conclusion that I wouldn’t be getting any sleep with the guilt ofcomingat the fantasy of my boss, that I need to try dating.

If I have to work with beautiful men day and night and not be able to sleep with any of them, I need to get my fill somehow.

I pull out my laptop and mirror my boss, placing it on my thighs. Opening the email from Jove, I scan the page and then click the link to the dating site.

I peer across at Mr Aldridge’s screen as I wait for it to load, squinting to get a look at what seems to be a list.

What’s he always working on when we’re on the road? It’s not even the laptop he uses in meetings. It seems like a personal one.

He must see me peeking and shifts a little. I look up at him to find him glaring at me.

My face is instantly on fire.

“You’re looking awfully happy this morning, Mr Aldridge,” I say sarcastically.

He sighs and continues his typing.

“Would you mind if I check my personal emails whilst we travel? I don’t have anything in my inbox to reply to.”

He nods, choosing to remain mute.

I smile. After losing a little part of myself to the man’s face last night, I’ve never been more thankful for his silence.

I look back at my screen and click the sign-up button, eyeing the first question.

First Name:Lissie

Last Name:…

“Crap.” I chew on my lip as I consider what to go with. There’s not many Eltons in London, and if I throw up a picture of my face, there’s a chance someone might recognise me and put two and two together.

Charles did.

I’m not famous. But I am unfortunately an Elton.

I look across at the man next to me, noticing his typing has stopped, his long fingers capturing my attention.

He has such big heavy hands.