Tempting the Corporate Spy(8)

So yeah, she had a plan. A plan to never end up like her own lovely, damaged, destructive mother.

“Is something wrong?”

She glanced at Jon, who was watching her, sitting up straighter in his chair.

“No. Of course not. What could be wrong?”

And there wasn’t.

“I don’t know. You got a funny look on your face right then. Sorry. Maybe I read into things too much. An occupational hazard.” He got up and wandered over to the coffee stand, picking up the pot and swirling around the mud that passed for drinkable when Cecily was making it. “How about I freshen this up? As in, dump it out and make us another pot.”

“Sure. Thanks.”

She watched as he poured the sludge down the drain, emptied the grounds, put in a new filter and measured out what looked to be the proper amount. When the stream of hot brew started up, he turned to her expectantly. “So your job involves computers, correct?”

“Yes. It has to do with computer programming and some other things.”

“Computers aren’t my thing, but I type pretty fast if you want me to do up your project notes or anything. Lawyers dictate a lot.”

“I don’t.”

“Any filing you need done?”

“I keep them electronically. Paper is…”

“Passé?”

“For the most part.”

“So just the phones then?”

She nodded, wondering whether it was too early to issue that “don’t give me any phone messages” instruction.

He poured her a cup of the newly made coffee. “Cream or sugar?”

“Just some of the nondairy creamer. Thanks.”

He added a spoonful and handed it to her. “Well, this is certainly going to make a fascinating case study.”

“Glad to help, I guess.”

“You call me if you need anything, and I’ll get started out here.”

She blew on the steaming surface of her drink, figuring that was her cue to get back to work. “Sure.” She took a sip as she went back into her office. “Delicious,” she called to him as she shut the door. She could think of about a dozen things she might need from Jon Foster and none of them were office tasks.

She sighed, putting the coffee on her desk, and sat back at her computer.

As it usually was with her, interesting new consultants notwithstanding, she lost herself in her current project and only came up for air hours later. Hitting save, she got up from her desk, stretched, and went to open her office door.

“Hi,” Jon said, standing up quickly and then leaning down to put something in his bottom desk drawer and lock it. He straightened and turned to face her. “You weren’t kidding about not needing much attention, were you?”

“I guess not.” She automatically continued her usual stretch to work out the stiffness from sitting at a computer screen all day, then froze when she realized he was watching. “Sorry. Force of habit.”

He came up behind her, jolting her by placing his hands on her shoulders.

What the—?

Before she could jump out of reach, her first instinct, he dug his strong fingers into the tight muscles at the base of her neck, massaging the tension out of them. “I can at least do this for you,” he said in a soft voice.

She practically melted at the soothing effect. He was hitting all the right spots. Some of the more hip companies that recruited at MIT had boasted an on-location masseuse, and now she knew why. She wasn’t sure how this stacked up in Jen’s book of proper HR policies and procedures, but she was almost about to purr here.

“Come on. It’s better leverage if you sit down. You’re pretty tall.” He urged her into his chair and bent over her to work.

“Five foot ten,” she automatically murmured, feeling her eyelids droop under the steady pleasure of his neck massage. “But you’re a lot taller.” He didn’t answer her unspoken question and she asked, maybe to stop herself from moaning at how good his hands felt on her, “How tall are you?”

“I don’t know. Six two, six three.”

“You’d be surprised how many guys I tower over.” She should really stop talking. It wasn’t helping, since it came out in the nearest approximation of a bedroom voice she had, way huskier than it usually was. It was so damn good, that steady pressure, his thumbs digging into her muscles as his fingers kneaded.

“You’re just the right height for somebody like me.” His voice was at her ear, and his breath brushed against her cheek as he leaned over her to speak.

At his words, the pleasure wandered lower in her body. Like right between her legs. How hard up was a girl that getting a massage from the neck up was coming dangerously close to giving her the first orgasm she’d had in months, even counting the self-induced ones?