Beyond Temptation (13 page)

And, of course, if the experience of being Harold’s confidante upset her too much, Sheridan knew she could always release her tensions on the hapless fool who was probably now standing beside her car in the orange zone. The prospect of Wayne’s potential suffering made her smile glint cruelly.

‘Jesus Christ!’ Harold exclaimed as she stepped into his office. ‘Are you here to work? Or have you taken up prostitution?’

She fixed him with a wry smile and, after closing the door behind herself, placed her hands on her hips. ‘You don’t usually complain about the way I dress.’ A mocking smile stretched across her lips. ‘Don’t you like me in this outfit?’

His lecherous glance went from the deep cleft of her cleavage to the tanned tops of her thighs. With one quick flick of his steel-grey eyes, he managed to take in her entire outfit. His grin inched wider with approval.

‘You look too good for this place,’ he said gruffly.

She walked over to his side and placed a chaste kiss on his cheek. ‘You say the sweetest things, darling. Robyn doesn’t know how lucky she is to have a man as wonderful as you.’

The words were a carefully calculated gambit.

‘My mood’s bad enough. Don’t worsen it by reminding me I’m married to that awkward bitch.’

Sheridan pretended to be shocked. ‘She hasn’t upset you again, has she?’ A solemn frown dimpled her smooth brow as she asked, ‘Those rumours about what she was doing at the party weren’t true, were they?’

‘What rumours?’ Harold demanded.

The office was orderly and well structured, like everything else in Harold’s life. The walls were decorated with a handful of framed awards and his favourite covers from various issues of
Art
. The one original painting he had chosen to incorporate into this collection was a portrait of himself and Robyn from the early days of their marriage. Capturing them in the style of Gainsborough’s
Mr and Mrs Andrews
, the artist had set them against the romanticised background of a verdant English field. Harold’s physique had a commanding magnificence that the man lacked in real life. With Robyn, the artist had simply paid homage to the natural charm of her easy smile and the physical perfection of her beauty. Harold glared at his wife’s face in this painting as he repeated the question.

‘What rumours?’

‘Nothing,’ Sheridan said quickly. She had never seen Harold so angry and the thought excited her. There was something rewarding about being the instigator of such potential fury. The thought brought a spreading warmth to the lips of her pussy. It made the inner muscles of her sex clench with greedy anticipation. ‘I was speaking out of turn. I’m sorry.’

‘Tell me what the bloody rumours were,’ he bellowed. The telephone on his desk began to ring and he glared at it ferociously. Then he snatched it from the desk, hurled it across the office and the ringing cut off abruptly.

Sheridan couldn’t decide if it was a lucky throw or a sign of his mounting anger. The telephone crashed into the portrait, starring the glass over Robyn’s face and giving her image the appearance of an assassin’s victim. Thinking cynically about the situation, Sheridan supposed that was quite an appropriate analogy. She put a hand to her mouth, opening her eyes wide as she stared at him. It was a difficult test of her acting abilities but she managed to tremble a little as she studied him, feigning shock at his violent display.

‘Tell me what the rumours were, Sheridan,’ he insisted. He spat the words through a tightly set jaw. ‘I want to know what’s been said. I have a right to know what’s been said.’

‘People are talking about her and Dominic,’ Sheridan lied quickly. She glanced downwards, unable to meet the fury of his outrage as she elaborated on her theme. ‘It’s the talk of the office.’ For an instant she berated herself for using this line. It was barely ten o’clock in the morning and she hadn’t yet had the chance to find out what the talk of the office might be. Harold knew her habits where punctuality was concerned and he was well aware that this was an early start for her.

But his anger helped him overlook this fact. He glared sullenly at the shattered portrait, his menacing expression saying that he would like to do a damned sight more than merely damage a picture of his wife.

‘You shouldn’t let her treat you like this, darling,’ Sheridan whispered. She moved closer to him, hoping he caught the scent of her perfume. ‘This situation is getting you all upset and miserable.’

‘I have no intention of letting her continue,’ Harold said firmly. ‘I gave her an ultimatum after the party.’

Sheridan brightened, excited by the news. She took another grateful breath and thanked Harold’s bad mood for blinding him to the clumsier elements of her machinations. ‘What did you say?’

‘I said the next time she climbs into bed with a man, it’ll be a divorce for us.’

Sheridan frowned. Her shoulders slumped.

‘You said that the last time.’

He shook his head. ‘No. I said that to you last time. I didn’t tell Robyn.’ His eyes sparkled with a shine that she recognised as an attempt to appease. ‘But now she knows I’m unhappy with the situation –’

‘This isn’t fair, Harold,’ Sheridan broke in. ‘You told me, if she climbed into bed with another man, you’d divorce her. You promised me.’

He quivered as he glanced at her. She met the steel of his eyes for a moment and realised he was studying her cleavage again. The lecherous old bastard was distracted by the sight like a small child in a sweetshop. Cursing inwardly, Sheridan suddenly despised his interest in her body. She wasn’t particularly keen on the man’s company. His lust was honest but he would have needed to be much younger for her to find it flattering. Remembering that there was a goal to her relationship with him, she forced herself to calm down. Staring petulantly at Harold, she said, ‘If you got a divorce, it would leave us free to become friends.’

His face crumbled when she said the words. The angry set of his jaw slackened and he stared at her with beseeching eyes. ‘Aren’t we friends already?’ With an obvious attempt to shake off his anger he pressed close to her and asked again, ‘Aren’t we friends?’

She shrugged and tried to look indifferent. ‘I guess so.’

‘Aren’t we close friends?’ he insisted, moving behind her. His hands circled her waist and the pressure of his hard cock thrust at her backside. His length was contained within his trousers but she could feel the pressure as he rubbed against her. It was a decent size, and she could understand one of the reasons why Robyn tolerated the lecherous old bastard in her life. Harold may have had many faults but the man was hung.

Sheridan nodded hesitant agreement to Harold’s question.

‘I suppose we’re friends. But I want us to be more than that.’

She turned to face him. Her lips were close to his and without a thought she kissed him. She could sense his eagerness by the way he plunged his tongue into her mouth. His hands fled from her hips as though they were suddenly aflame. His fingers had gone to the front of her jacket and she felt him tugging the zipper slowly downwards. She allowed him to do it for a moment, content to let him see a little more of her breasts than she had already revealed. Such titillation could only add to his need for her, she thought wickedly. And, in turn, that could only lead to him giving her exactly what she wanted.

‘You excite me so much,’ she told him.

His breathing was laboured. ‘You have the same effect on me,’ he replied.

‘You make me hot, here.’ She guided his hand away from her breasts. Slowly, she moved his fingers so that they were brushing the flesh of her inner thighs. She felt him trace the tip of his index finger against the PVC gusset of her panties.

Sheridan surprised herself by shivering.

His touch had been disturbingly exciting and, even though she was contriving the situation to make him want her more, she was surprised by the sting of arousal that had touched her with Harold’s caress. She supposed it was only natural to feel excited in such an intimate situation but she knew a large part of her thrill came from the idea that she was manipulating Harold.

‘I’m really hot here.’ She breathed the words in a husky whisper. ‘I’m really hot for
you
.’ She emphasised the last word, making sure there was no misunderstanding.

He swallowed thickly.

He stared at her with an inane smile that came close to spoiling her arousal. It was only because she saw such potential for exploitation that Sheridan allowed him to continue stroking the warm film of plastic that protected her pussy lips.

‘I want you too,’ he said earnestly.

‘I know.’ With gentle fingers, she stroked the bulge at the front of his pants. Her fingers traced the outline of his large stiff cock, teasing the shape with her subtle caress. ‘You feel so hard it’s almost as though I’m punishing you,’ she observed, suppressing a giggle.

He made a harsh sound and stepped away from her. His face was flushed and he looked in danger of losing his composure. Angrily he shrugged the corner of his jacket so it concealed the shape of his erection.

‘You have principles,’ he barked. He glared at the portrait of Robyn and said, ‘I only wish I’d married a woman with principles, instead of a slut.’

Sheridan made a wordless sound of sympathy and placed her hands on his shoulders. Lightly massaging him, she said, ‘Will you consider remarrying, should you get a divorce?’

‘Are you proposing?’

She felt his muscles stiffen as he asked the question and she sensed it was because he was seriously contemplating the situation. Trying to make her voice sound innocent, she said, ‘We’re friends. And, once Robyn is out of the picture, our friendship will have a chance to develop.’ She moved her hands over his chest, giving definite meaning to the words.

‘Divorces take a long time,’ he said sourly.

She shook her head and smiled reassuringly into his face. ‘Once the wheels are in motion, you’ll be surprised by how quickly things move. You and I could become close a lot sooner than you think.’ She saw the sparkle of hope light his eye and knew she had him exactly where she wanted.

‘Do we have to wait for my divorce for you and me to become close?’ he asked.

‘You know how I feel about being intimate with married men.’

He nodded. The hope in his eyes faded.

‘But perhaps,’ she began with sudden brightness, ‘perhaps we could give one another a token of our intent?’

There was no suspicion in his expression. She could only see the dull glow of his need for her. It amazed her that a man shrewd enough to run a successful magazine could be so naïve about being manipulated.

‘A token?’ he asked quickly. ‘I’d give you anything I owned to show how I feel for you, Sherrie.’

She struggled against the knee-jerk antipathy that the pet name always inspired and continued to smile benignly at him. ‘I don’t think you’d give me
anything.
’

He frowned, seeming troubled that she dared to doubt his sincerity. ‘I mean it, Sherrie,’ he insisted. ‘Anything.’

Despite her best efforts, Sheridan winced.

‘Anything. Whatever I have, it’s yours if you want it, as a token of how I feel about you.’

She shook her head. ‘This is just silly talk. What if I said something big and expensive, like a car?’

He blinked, his expression remaining stoical. ‘Then I’d buy you one.’

She shook her head and feigned a girlish giggle. ‘What if I wanted an expensive car? A Lotus or a Porsche or a Rolls Royce?’

‘If that was what you wanted, then I’d buy it for you. What do you want? Just tell me.’

She held her breath for a second, wondering if she was going for her goal too quickly. The opportunity was there for the taking and she knew it would be a long time before she was presented with another chance like this.

But nervousness held her for a second.

Sheridan realised that, if she made a mistake now, all her weeks of hard work would be ruined. It had been her intention to force him into this situation when she set off for the office this morning. But now it was here she felt plagued by doubt. Knowing that she had to try, Sheridan asked softly, ‘What if I wanted a house?’

Again, he simply shrugged. ‘I said, whatever you want, and I meant it. If you want a house, then I’ll buy you one.’

She shook her head. ‘You wouldn’t have to buy the one I’m thinking of,’ she told him. ‘Remember that Scottish manor house you were telling me you owned. What if I said I wanted that?’

Suddenly, he was shaking his head from side to side. There was a condescending smile on his lips. ‘That’s a worthless pile of bricks,’ he assured her. ‘Holbert Manor is in the middle of bloody nowhere and I’d be surprised if it’s still standing. What you want is something closer to these offices. I could set you up with a delightful maisonette in the heart of the city.’

Sheridan frowned, trying to steer the conversation back to Holbert Manor. ‘I already have a flat in the city,’ she reminded him. Her hands moved down the front of his chest to the belt of his pants. She rested her fingers there deliberately. ‘If you’re going to give me a token, that’s what I want.’

His expression was perplexed and she wondered if she had asked for too much. As love tokens went, a seventeenth-century manor house seemed like a lot to ask. But she didn’t think that was what troubled him. It was almost as though he wanted to give her something more than just that.

‘What about jewellery?’ he suggested suddenly. ‘There are a couple of shops on Bond Street and they have …’

She turned away from him, forcing a sob from her throat. ‘I knew you were just after my body,’ she hissed. ‘You didn’t really want to give me anything worth having. You just wanted to buy me like a cheap whore.’ She supposed that the speech was rather strong. No woman who put a price ticket on her sex equivalent to the ownership of a Scottish manor house could truly describe herself as a
cheap
whore. But the sentiment was only expressed to gain his sympathy.

His hands fell to her shoulders and she allowed him to turn her around.

‘I can’t give that to you,’ he told her quietly. ‘Robyn and I have joint ownership of the building.’