Indecent Suggestion - By Elizabeth Bevarly Page 0,35

you know, you don’t always know everything, you know. You know?”

Englund’s snowy eyebrows shot up nearly to his hairline at that, but he said nothing. Probably, Turner thought, he was too busy composing Becca’s letter of dismissal in his head to be bothered with something so mundane as a reply to her suicidal comments.

She really wasn’t long for this world, never mind this job, if she didn’t shut up. So, not wanting her to risk her career any more than she already had—since, hey, it would be much better if he risked both their careers, right?— Turner murmured a hasty, “Excuse us for a minute,” grabbed Becca by the hand and hurried them both out of the boardroom.

Not surprisingly, she followed him willingly, but Turner didn’t want to take any chances, so he dragged her along as quickly as he could in an effort to put them into safer waters. Or, at least, into the corridor outside the main entrance to Englund Advertising, which was close enough. No sooner had the door closed behind them, though, than Becca dug in her heels and snapped to a halt. She yanked with all her might on Turner’s hand, something that gave him no choice but to stumble backward, right into her. And then, faster than he could say, “What the hell is going on back there?” she had him pinned against the wall, was crowding her entire body into his and was covering his mouth with her own. And for one scant, scintillating second, Turner forgot all about—

Um, what was he supposed to be doing? He’d been so certain a second ago. It was right there at the very edge of his consciousness what he was sure he was supposed to be doing….

But then his consciousness went belly-up, shamelessly threatening to surrender, and Turner, even more shamelessly, let it. Because the sensation of Becca’s tongue stabbing between his teeth and reaching for the back of his throat was simply too delicious to ignore. As was the press of her breasts against his chest, and the twining of her fingers in his hair, and the panting of her—

Oh, no, wait. The panting was coming from Turner. But it was no wonder, since she’d removed one hand from his hair to score it down his back and chest and ribs, then to cover his ass, giving it a good hard squeeze that ground his pelvis into hers, something that made Mr. Happy feel very happy indeed.

And that was when Turner remembered that their employer was anything but Mr. Happy right now, and that he or any number of other people might come striding through the door right next to them any minute, see them groping each other so enthusiastically, and conclude that their victory high five gave a whole ’nother meaning to that celebratory end-zone dance thing.

Turner tore his mouth away from hers, gasped for breath and said, “We can’t do this here, Becca.”

Hell, according to what she’d told him two mornings ago, they couldn’t do it anywhere. But even Turner had to agree that the hallway outside the workplace probably wasn’t a great venue for raw, unmitigated sex, regardless of…well, anything.

Becca didn’t seem to share his opinion, however, because she launched herself up on tiptoe and tried to capture his mouth with hers again. But Turner was ready for her this time—well, okay, maybe not, but he wanted to delude himself into thinking he was—and managed to pull his head back, out of her reach, just in time. Unfortunately, that made him bang his head against the wall—hard—something that brought stars to his eyes and a frown to Mr. Happy.

Becca, too, pouted prettily in reply. “We can do this anywhere, Turner,” she told him, her hands still roving freely over every inch of him she could reach. “That’s the beauty of it. Our closet is right up the hall. No one will miss us.”

“Becca, they’ve already missed us,” he pointed out. “And if we don’t get back in there soon, they’re going to come looking for us.”

She smiled seductively. “They won’t be the only ones who are going to come.”

“Becca,” he interrupted as Mr. Happy began to smile again. Mostly because Turner knew that if she started talking to him like that, then Mr. Happy would get really, really happy, and neither Turner nor Becca was likely to go back into that room, and Mr. Happy was likely to go somewhere he shouldn’t go, not when all three of them were standing—some more