Free Cherie's Silk by Dena Garson

Chapter One
     
    “Cherie, are you hiding from someone or is there something
of interest in that collection of fake plants I hadn’t thought of before?”
    Mason Andrews. Goose bumps shot down all my extremities at
the sound of his voice. For some reason the man possessed the ability to turn
my insides to mush just by speaking. For the last two years I have tried to
understand why I had a physical reaction whenever I heard him speak.
    Every time I heard his voice drop to those lower, more
intimate octaves, it didn’t matter if we were in the middle of a meeting with
twenty other people in the room, I lost the ability to think of anything except
licking him from his bellybutton to his Adam’s apple. With or without whipped
cream.
    Thank God he never discovered the power his voice held over
me. At least I don’t think he ever figured it out. As I thought about it more I
realized he’d used that tone more often than I was comfortable with.
    Maybe that’s why I couldn’t help but play devil’s advocate
whenever he was around. Mason was always an excellent verbal sparring partner
and seemed to relish the challenges I brought to our meetings.
    When I bumped into him at the conference registration table
he seemed as surprised to see me as I felt seeing him. I was both relieved and
disappointed when I lost track of him in the crowd. It would have been
distracting to sit next to him all day when I was supposed to be listening to
some of the business world’s greatest motivational speakers.
    Then somehow, in a crowd of thousands, he managed to find me
again. And at a most inopportune time too.
    “I, uh, needed to make a call.” Sounded like a good reason
to hide behind a cluster of plants. I certainly wasn’t going to tell him the
truth.
    “You know you get better reception near the windows.” He
pointed in the direction of the wall of glass about forty yards away.
    “Yes, well,” I stammered, “I needed to make that call in
private.”
    “I’ll leave you to it then.” He turned to walk away.
    “Hey, Mason,” I called after him hesitantly.
    He stopped and turned back in my direction, his eyebrow
raised in question.
    “I, uh… I don’t suppose you have a safety pin on you, do
you?”
    “No. Sorry.” He took a couple of steps closer. “Why do you
ask?”
    “Oh, just wondering,” I said with false cheeriness. “Thanks
anyway.”
    He looked up and down the hallway then stepped behind the
fake plants. “What do you need a pin for, Cherie?”
    “Nothing, it’s fine.” I felt myself turn pink. “I’ll figure
something out. Go on back to the conference.”
    “Did something tear on your dress?” he asked as he looked me
over from head to toe.
    “No, no. Nothing like that. Go on, really, it’ll be fine.” I
tried to persuade him.
    “Okay look. I grew up with three sisters and a thrifty
mother. I’ve heard them talk about dozens of emergency repairs. What’s the
problem?”
    “I—” My voice failed me. I simply couldn’t bring myself to
tell him. Mason was my favorite opponent at work. We constantly challenged each
other, pushed each other to do more, to do better. And the company benefited
from the results.
    It didn’t matter that I secretly lusted after him. But it
would never do for him to find that out. And it certainly wouldn’t do for him
to see my secret obsession.
    Unfortunately that obsession had me in a bit of a bind right
now.
    I loved frilly underwear. The skimpier the better. It made
me feel sexy and confident and gave me a sense of power. Even if no one else
knew about it.
    Most people would think it was no big deal. But at the
office everyone thought of me as a mousy girl next door who was really good
with numbers. I simply couldn’t let Mason catch even a glimpse of what I was
wearing under my suit.
    “I don’t see anything wrong with your skirt or jacket. Did
the elastic snap in your hose? Did you break a bra strap? What?” he asked,
sounding a bit exasperated. “And why are