Indecent...Desires (3 page)

He walks a little behind me, so that I can't see him but I can feel his gaze on me as we walk along the corridor. Outside the stationery cupboard, I stop, then select the correct key and push it into the lock. Before I turn it, I glance back over my shoulder at him.

His hands are back in his pockets, his hair falling into his face, and I know this is wrong, I know I should just open the door and let him in, but I don't. ‘I can't believe you were using our computer system to look at porn.'

His gaze slides to the ground, and a faint blush hits his cheeks. ‘I know,' he says. ‘I'm sorry about that. I don't know what came over me.'

I am so irritated that I can feel it growing inside me, taking on a life of its own. I open the cupboard door and usher him inside. But instead of going back to my desk, as I know I should, I go into the cupboard with him. I close the door behind me, and lean back against it. An utterly foolish move, given that the more time I spend in his company, the more likely it is that I'll say something to give myself away. I have to keep reminding myself that as far as he is concerned, we have only just met, and I haven't been watching him through my window for weeks. But if this morning's behaviour is anything to go by, I need to put him in his place, and fast.

‘Mr Brady,' I begin. I fold my arms, find myself almost shaking. Why did it have to be him, invading my place of work, my space? Why did he have to move in across the road from me? Why did he have to enter my life at all? ‘We have certain standards here. A dress code, for starters, as well as a strict computer use policy. And the way you are behaving is really most unacceptable.'

I stop myself then, horrified by how shrill my voice has become. I pause, waiting for the laughter, the comments about my bossy nature, but they don't come. Instead, there's more blushing. More hands tucked in pockets, more staring at the floor, more mumbled apologies. I'm about to let it go at that, when I find myself staring at his crotch again.

My mouth goes dry and for a second I can't hear. There, perfectly outlined against the fabric of his snug-fitting black trousers, is a huge erection. It is so blatant, so obvious, that I can't stop looking at it. I don't want to stop looking at it. There is something shockingly erotic about seeing the shape of his cock under the fabric. His trousers are pinning it in place, and my eyes trace the curved bulge of his testicles, then the wide length of his erection pointing down the left leg of his pants. As if he can feel the weight of my gaze on him, he places a hand over it, as if a hand can hide it.

He's touching himself.
A sound escapes from me, a faint little thing. I look at him, and the wanting almost overwhelms me. ‘Oh, for god's sake,' I snap. And then, before I can do something completely insane, like drop to my knees in front of him and suck his cock until he comes on my tongue, down my throat, I march out of the cupboard, slam the door shut, and lock it firmly behind me.

Chapter Three

I smile politely at Martin Banks as I make it back to my desk, trying to remember what we were talking about. My mind is a complete mess. I've just locked Lucas Brady in the stationery cupboard. I don't know what came over me, other than that he had a hard on and I had to get myself away from him before I did something stupid.

In hindsight locking him in the cupboard probably wasn't the smartest move I've ever made, but I panicked. There's no denying it. My heart is still racing dangerously fast as Martin Banks smiles at me. ‘Did he find what he needed?'

‘Absolutely!' I beam at him. I can still rescue this. I can still appear intelligent and in control and get that invite to dinner.

‘Good, good,' Martin Banks says. ‘He came highly recommended, you know. Seems a little young, but I'm sure you'll keep him in line, Meredith.'

‘Yes,' I say breathlessly. ‘You have no concerns there.'

Here it comes, I think to myself. I prepare myself to smile, to look surprised, to accept graciously.

‘I'd better get to it, then. My first client is due in at ten.' Martin Banks folds up the newspaper he's been studying and moves away down the corridor with a nod. His route takes him past the stationery cupboard, the one I locked Lucas Brady in, and leaves me alone at my desk, wondering how I could have misread things so badly.

Plus now I have a new problem. I have to figure out a way to get Lucas out of that cupboard without anyone realising that I locked him in there. I'm very proud of my spotless record at work. I am not about to tarnish it now. I am about to pick up my keys and let him out when a client arrives, and then another, and before I know it Lucas Brady has been locked in that cupboard for over an hour. I can't believe that no one has noticed he is missing, but then I suppose that they all assume he is working in someone else's office. And that I am supervising him, which in a way, I am.

But I can't leave him in there all day. As soon as the next opportunity arrives, I sneak back to the cupboard. I unlock the door and tiptoe away like the coward that I am. Hopefully he heard the key turn and will make his way out. I watch the corridor out of the corner of my eye as I type up a couple of invoices and answer the phone and make more coffee. I can almost convince myself that everything is as it should be.

Except that it isn't.

Fifteen minutes later he still hasn't come out of the cupboard, and panic is starting to get me again. I abandon my desk for the second time, march up to the cupboard and open the door. Lucas Brady is stood exactly where I left him. ‘What are you doing?' I snap at him.

‘Waiting for you to tell me I can come out,' he says.

A shiver of excitement runs through me again, and this time it's a big one. ‘You could have come out on your own,' I tell him sharply, refusing to let him see the infuriating effect he's had on me.

‘I suppose I could,' he says, dropping his gaze to the floor. ‘Can I come out now?'

‘Yes,' I say. ‘For god's sake, yes.'

I step back out into the corridor, wait for him to follow me, then lock the door. I should check that everything is still in place inside, but that will have to wait until later. I'm too wired, too tense to think about it right now. ‘I'd appreciate it if you didn't tell anyone about that,' I say, as we walk together back towards my desk. I walk fast, but he keeps up with me easily.

‘There is nothing to tell,' he says. ‘I misbehaved, and you punished me.'

Why is he saying these things? Why am I reacting to them? Why can't I just be my usual professional self? For one long, awful moment I wonder if he knows that I am the person who has been slipping notes through his letterbox, but then I dismiss that thought. He couldn't possibly know. I've been discreet. I've been careful. And it makes sense that a man who is willing to stand in his window and masturbate would be equally as risqué in other parts of his life. ‘Well, it's done now,' I say. ‘You should get back to work.'

‘Thank you, Ms French.'

With that, he heads back in the direction of the offices, back to the computer he's supposed to have been working on for the past hour. I head back to my desk and my work, back to emails and phone calls and letters and coffee. I tell myself that the situation has been dealt with. He's clearly just a bit over-sexed, that's all. I'd have a word with my boss, but then there's the issue of the stationery cupboard lock-in, so it's probably best to let the matter rest.

But my brain won't let it rest, and by half past five I am completely behind schedule. I am swamped with emails, there are several phone calls I have yet to return and we have run out of biscuits, mostly because I cannot stop eating them. It is a relief to turn off my computer, pick up my handbag and coat and head home, even though I have so much left to do. I will come in early in the morning, I decide, and finish it then.

I say goodbye to the staff as I tidy my desk and pretend that everything is completely under control. It's only a little lie – by tomorrow, I will be on top of everything again. Today has been a peculiar day, that's all. Meeting my neighbour in the flesh has shaken me up more than I am willing to admit, and I need a little time to pull myself together, to calm myself down.

It is only as I am about to leave that I realise that Lucas is still here. I should probably stay behind, make sure he does actually leave at some point, and doesn't steal the computers he's supposed to be working on, but my skin is greasy with exhaustion and I don't think I can hack spending any time alone in the building with him. It feels too dangerous, too detrimental to my already fragile emotional state.

I pull a notepad and pen from my drawer and scribble a quick list of instructions. The cleaners will lock up and set the alarm when they've finished, but I still need to make sure that he knows the procedure for the evening.

I find him in the office at the very end of the corridor. He looks up as I knock briefly and then walk into the room, those dark, dark eyes making my skin tingle. It was OKwhen he was far away, on the other side of the window, nothing more than a fantasy, but he is too close and too real now, and I don't like the things I feel when we are in the same room. I place the note on the desk top and slide it towards him.

‘Everyone has gone home,' I say. ‘I assume you're staying late.'

He reaches out, touches the tips of his fingers to the edge of the note and pulls it closer, then glances down at it. His hair is messed where I assume he's been running his hands through it, and he's unfastened another button on his shirt, revealing more of that beautiful tanned skin.

‘Not too late,' he says, lifting his gaze back to me. His eyes fix onto mine and the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. ‘I have to be home by nine.'

‘Why nine?' I hear myself ask. I hear the tremor in my voice, too. He always performs for me at nine.

‘I have something to do,' he says. His voice is low, and there is something odd about the way he is watching me, as if he's looking for something. ‘You see, there's this woman lives in the flat opposite mine. She sent me a note this morning, asking me to do something for her, and I don't want to disappoint.'

‘Oh,' I say, my voice barely a whisper. He can't possibly know that it's me. I've been so careful. He doesn't know. He can't. ‘Well, you better crack on then.'

‘Don't you want to know what she asked me to do?'

‘No.' I shake my head. ‘It's none of my business.'

‘It's something very wicked,' he says. ‘Completely indecent.'

My hands are shaking. My heart is about ready to kick its way out of my chest, and my nipples are tight, hard knots inside my bra. ‘Stop it,' I tell him. ‘Stop it right now.'

‘Whatever you say.' He picks up the note, looks at it again. ‘You're in charge. But I guess you already know that.'

I don't feel in charge. I feel dangerously close to being completely out of control, to ordering him to bend me over the desk and fuck me deep and hard until the hot ache between my thighs is satisfied.

‘It's my job,' I tell him. ‘Turn off the light when you leave.'

And with that, I turn on my heel and march out of the room, before he makes me say something I'll regret.

Later that evening, I sit on the edge of my bed in the dark, waiting for him to appear. I don't know if I want him to or not. Today frightened me. Seeing him in my office, talking to him, being so close to him was terrifying, and those things he said to me as I was leaving… It feels like I have been given a warning.
It's been a fun ride, Meredith, but it's time to get off.
He could have been saying those things because he knew it was me, but then again, he could have been saying them to make me squirm, to get his own back because I locked him in the stationery cupboard and left him there for over an hour.

I don't know if I have the nerve to watch him again, not after today. But if he doesn't appear, that might mean that he knows it is me, and if that's the case, I need to know. Time ticks on, past nine p.m. and closer to ten, and my anxiety rises and the urge to go over there and ask him exactly what the hell he's playing at becomes almost unbearable. And then, at half past ten, the lights go on in his flat. He moves into the middle of his bedroom, rubs his hands through his hair, making what was already less than tame into a dark, wild mess. Then he moves over to the window. He rests an arm against the frame, leaning forwards, looking down at the street. Then he straightens up, snaps his gaze to my window and starts to undress.

The jumper goes first, then the shirt, each button worked free with an infuriating lack of haste. He stands there for a moment, letting me drink in his shape, his perfect lines, his small dark nipples and the ripple of muscle in his belly.

Then his hands move to his trousers, work the belt, work the zip. He eases them down over his hips, then slowly pushes his boxers down to meet them.

I am at my window before I've even realised that I've moved, my hands pressed to the cold barrier of glass as he stands there and simply lets me look. His cock is hard but he makes no move to touch himself, to give me the satisfaction I crave.

He stares at me for a long, terrifying moment. And then he yanks the curtains closed.

Chapter Four

The next morning he doesn't turn up until half past nine, despite his allotted start time of eight-thirty, and by the time he wanders in, this time in a white shirt and navy blue sleeveless jumper, I am no longer Meredith the Unflappable.

I am Meredith the Anxious. More correctly, I am Meredith the Nervous Wreck. My head is full of confused thoughts about yesterday and last night, and the fact that he has the nerve to stroll in an hour late looking cool and beautiful almost pushes me over the edge. When I stood in my window last night, he saw me. I know he did. And then he closed the curtains, which can only mean one thing. Lucas knows that I am the one who has been sending him the notes, and he is disgusted by it.