Perfect Slave Read Online Free Page B

briefest of meetings - indeed it could hardly be called a meeting at all - had produced such an extraordinary response in her, but there was no denying that it had. Now it appeared that this briefest of glimpses had also made an impact on him.
    â€˜Yes. Please tell me Hawksworth I will be delighted to dine with him on Saturday.’
    â€˜Very good, Ms. I’ll pick you up at seven.’
    â€˜Are we going to a restaurant?’
    â€˜Sorry, Ms, I don’t know Mr Hawksworth’s plans.’ For some reason Andrea didn’t believe him, though she had no idea why.
    The chauffeur went back to the door. He put on his cap and let himself out without another word.
    Andrea went to her fridge, took out a bottle of white wine and poured herself a glass. She needed it. She slumped down on her sofa, sipped the wine and re-read the note. I think you know why. What did that mean? The only thing that had happened between them had been an exchange of looks. But she had the feeling that Hawksworth had learnt her deepest secret, that he knew what she had been imagining over the last three days. And she was sure no one at Silverton could have given him that information. Even Pam, her closest friend in the company, knew nothing about her sexual fantasies. So how had Hawksworth found out? Perhaps that was not what the phrase meant at all; perhaps it merely referred to a mutual attraction which was clear from the way Andrea had looked at him. He was an attractive man after all, and was probably used to women staring at him with thinly disguised lust. That’s what it must be.
    The noise of the doorbell startled her. She looked at her watch. She realised she had been sitting on the sofa daydreaming about Charles Hawksworth for half an hour, and now Greg was outside waiting to pick her up.
    Quickly she stuffed the note into the pocket of her tracksuit, ran to the door and picked up the answer-phone. Greg usually waited at the front door of the building for her to come downstairs.
    â€˜Greg, sorry I’m running late. Can you come up?’
    â€˜Sure,’ his heavily distorted voice said cheerily.
    Two minutes later he was sitting on the sofa with a glass of white wine in his hand and the bottle in front of him on the occasional table.
    â€˜Sorry about this. It won’t take me long to get changed.’
    â€˜No hurry. I thought we’d go to that Thai place. No need to book.’ Greg was not tall and a little bit on the chubby side, with a pleasant rather round face and mousy coloured straight hair.
    â€˜Fine. Just let me throw some clothes on.’
    She waltzed into the bedroom. She had already taken a bath, put on her make-up and laid out a blouse and skirt on the bed. Carefully she pulled the slightly crumpled note from her pocket and put it away in her bedside table, then quickly stripped off the tracksuit. She was naked underneath. She glimpsed herself in the tall mirror. The thought of Charles Hawksworth had stiffened her nipples and she was sure she could feel a slick of wetness on her labia. Experimentally she ran her hand down between her legs. Her sex wasn’t just wet. It was soaking. As her finger glided into her labia her clitoris throbbed strongly as if trying to draw attention to itself.
    She went to the chest of drawers and took out a pair of white satin panties and a matching bra. She drew the panties up over her thighs, and as they brushed against her sex her clitoris reacted sharply again. She tried to calm it by running her hand down over the silky material and pressing it into her labia, but this only made matters worse. The touch of the cool satin of her bra against her breasts also made her nipples tingle. As she adjusted her breasts, lifting them slightly to allow them to sit more comfortably in the cups, this too produced strong waves of feeling.
    The thought of going out to dinner was not appealing. In fact it was the last thing she wanted to do. She glanced into the mirror