What in the hell wasthis?
He stopped in his tracks, staring down at his trousers, bemused. Perhaps he had merely needed to work off some of his steam by striding up and down the length of the chamber several dozen times, barreling locomotive style. Yes, that had clearly been the solution.
Decker sighed with relief. And as soon as he had his warm coffee in hand, he could proceed with his day. The ledgers would not balance themselves, and neither would the stack of expenditures which needed to be reviewed and settled. He stalked back toward his desk.
Lady Jo Danvers had nothing to do with the incessantly rigid state of his prick. He was not wallowing in lust that was for her and her alone. It was merely natural. Scientific. His body needed to empty itself of the poison, and now that he had expended some of his energy in pacing, he could happily think about Jo without…
He stilled. His cock had twitched back to life. Merely at the thought of the woman. And he had not allowed himself to think about her kisses or the silken heat of her mouth, the way her tongue had writhed against his, and those delicious sounds she made.
Shite.
He was completely erect again, pulsing with the need for release.
“No, no, no,” he snapped down at his offending cock, which had never been this difficult to control. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
“Sir?”
Decker jumped and bit out another curse as his gaze landed on Macfie. The hulking Scotsman stood on the threshold, bearing a cup of coffee, looking as if he had just realized he had swallowed arsenic and the knowledge of his certain death had walloped him.
Bloody, bloody, fucking, damned, soul-rotting damnation.
His man of affairs had just caught himyellingat his own prick.
Beelzebub on a biscuit.
Decker cleared his throat and straightened. At least the sight of Macfie’s effusive eyebrows was enough to wilt his cock once more. “For once, you have opened the door soundlessly, Macfie. I applaud you. Now, then. Is my coffee warm?”
“Tell me ye werenae having a talk with yer wee—”
“There is nothingweeabout it, Macfie,” he interrupted grimly. “And if you wish to remain employed—hell, if you wish to live to see another day—you will not complete that query.”
Macfie issued a harrumph. “Is it safe for me tae enter, sir? Ye werenae thinking upon my eyebrows, were ye?”
Decker bit out a laugh in spite of himself. “You are indeed fortunate you are invaluable around here, Macfie, or you would find yourself getting the sack for that.”
“Eh, ye like my hungry caterpillars far too much.” Macfie was halfway across Decker’s office with the coffee when he paused, frowning. “Ahem, sir. I didnae mean that in the manner in which it sounded. Ye know I’m not a sod.”
Lord help him.
How could this day get any worse?
“That was never in question, Macfie,” he said on a sigh. “Although, if you were, it would not be any of my concern.”
“Ye’re a fair man, ye are, Mr. Decker,” Macfie praised, settling the fresh coffee upon Decker’s desk at last. “I suppose now would be as good a time as any tae tell ye Lady Josephine Danvers is here, wanting an audience with ye again.”
She washere.
Decker wished he could say that knowledge did not echo inside him with all the distinction of a chorus of angels singing, but that would be a miserable lie. She was beneath the same roof, after three days. Close enough to touch, if he wished.
Heverymuch wished.
Just like that, his cock had twitched back to life. Smothering a curse, he stalked the rest of the way to his desk, hiding himself behind the carved, polished monstrosity topped with all its awaiting work it seemed he would never complete. How to attend to tasks when there was so much delicious distraction determined to ruin all his good intentions?
He sat.
“Send her in, Macfie,” he said, congratulating himself on the remarkable calm in his voice.
“She’s the one, then?” Macfie asked knowingly. “The set of skirts who has ye all sorts of bothered, like a stag in rut?”
