“Miss Lear to see you, Mr. Parrish,” he had intoned in his best professional voice.
Matt smiled broadly when he saw Rebecca standing in the waiting room, talking to Ben. By the look of things, he was going to have to roll Ben’s tongue up and stick it back in his mouth. But he could certainly understand his partner’s reaction—Rebecca was wearing a form-fitting pale yellow silk skirt that showed her fabulous legs to their fullest advantage, which, he couldn’t help noticing, were accentuated with the help of a pair of three-inch heels that made her almost as tall as Ben. Her black hair was pulled back in a sleek pony tail, and she had black, Jackie Onassis–type sunglasses on top of her head.
When Matt cleared his throat, she turned toward him, flashed a gorgeous, all white smile that made both Ben and Harold swoon. “Matt!” she exclaimed prettily, oblivious to her admirers. “I’m sorry to bother you, but Harold and I were just wrapping up a little meeting, and it’s the lunch hour, so I was hoping you might have a moment.”
“For you, I have all the time in the world,” he said. “Why don’t you come into my office before they drool all over you?” he suggested, motioning for her to come inside. Rebecca laughed, tapped Harold lightly on the arm with what looked like a rolled-up brochure as she walked by.
“Just like you, Parrish, taking all the fun out of everything,” Ben complained as Matt gave him a jaunty wave and shut the door.
Behind the closed door, Rebecca slipped into his arms and kissed him passionately.
“Hey,” he said, grinning like a lovesick pup, “what a great surprise. I didn’t know you and Harold were meeting.”
“Yep. I went to a candidate forum this morning and had some ideas, so I dropped by. I hope I’m not intruding on any lunch plans.”
“If you were, I’d dump them,” he said truthfully, thinking how much fun it would be to go the usual watering hole with her on his arm.
“Well,” she said, slipping from his arms and walking to the window that overlooked the capitol, “I am famished. I hope you don’t mind,” she said, closing the blinds, “if I have a little lunch on you?”
“Absolutely not. Where would you like to go?”
“Right here,” she said, pointing to his desk. Matt looked at his desk, then at her. She arched a dark brow, pointed to the desk again with the rolled-up brochure, and dropped her handbag on a chair. “Do you remember when you said we could explore all my fantasies?”
Little Matt sprang to instant and rapt attention. Big Matt could only nod as he quietly turned the lock behind his back.
“Well . . . ” She paused and shyly dropped her gaze. “If you wouldn’t mind having a seat at your desk, I have this fantasy where I come in, and . . . you know.”
“You’re kidding,” he said flatly, but he was already moving to his chair.
Rebecca came around to his side of the desk, very gracefully went down on her knees, and slipped in between his legs, and slowly unzipped his pants. “Be very quiet,” she said. “Or Harold will know what’s going on.” With a sly wink, she stunned Matt into silence; he gripped the arms of his chair as she closed her lips around the head of his penis, thought wildly that this could not be happening, that he was a professional, that he did not do this in his office. But then she moved her lips down the shaft, Matt turned to jelly and thought what the hell. His head fell back against the chair, and he was sinking into a vat of pure, unadulterated bliss, sinking and sinking as she began to move on him, licking and sucking and nibbling her way to his climax.
Which came very quickly. Illicit sex in the office had the effect on him. “Wait,” he said hoarsely, not quite able to move yet, as she very carefully cleaned him up. “What about you?”
Rebecca smiled as she came to her feet, leaned over him and kissed him on the lips. I’ll see you later,” she said, and walked around to the other side of his desk, picked up her bag, pausing only to straighten her skirt and sweater before prissing right out of his office like she owned the joint. Damn, if she wanted it, he’d give her the keys, the deed, and the brand-new coffeepot.
There was no denying it—this was definitely love. Still grinning like an idiot, Matt zipped his pants, turned, and planted his elbows on his desk and dragged his hands through his hair in an effort to regain his composure. That was when he noticed the rolled-up flyer Rebecca had been carrying and left on his desk.
Matt picked it up. Russ Erwin, the Man with a Conscience, it said. The tree-huggers anthem—We’re the only ones who care. Socialist Assholes.
He tossed it in the trash can without another thought.
Chapter Thirty
I have come to the conclusion that politics are too serious a matter to be left to the politicians . . .
CHARLES DE GAULLE