Free Restraining the Receptionist: ... the Receptionist, Book 2 by Juniper Bell Page B

started wandering in weird circles across the page. The word “equipment” separated itself into three words, with “quip” turning a back flip over “ment”, while “e” tagged along behind like a balloon on a string. I watched the words with fascination until they all faded away.
    Little gray dots appeared first, then rust-red droplets that slowly formed themselves into fabric, which then built itself into a couch. Right, I remembered. The suite with the fabulous furniture and the wonderfully kind Woodfield Group. Simon and I had followed them up here, and I’d dozed off while reading a magazine. I smiled at the pure joy of being in the same room with those handsome men from that glamorous bar. Happiness shimmered through me.
    Things in the room were not quite how I remembered, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except that I was alive and here with these beautiful people. They’d gathered around the living room. One sat with his ankle over his knee, a notepad on his thigh. Another rested his stocking feet on the coffee table. The other two hunched over, elbows on knees, staring at me.
    “I think she’s awake,” said one.
    The man in charge looked up. “Ms. Arthur? Are you with us?”
    “Mmmm.” The sound vibrated across my lips and created a pleasant hum that traveled like honey through my body. I was highly aroused. With one part of my mind, I knew they must have given me something. The rest of me didn’t care what had caused this high. “Simon?”
    “He’s taking a snooze. I think we wore him out today.” I followed his glance. Simon sprawled face down on the bed. A flutter of concern made me frown. “Don’t worry about him. He’s fine.”
    Immediately my smile reappeared. Maybe I was in a dream. Everything looked hazy. Light pulsed around the men. I’d thought they were cute before, but now they looked positively angelic. I hadn’t bothered to distinguish one from another, but now I did. One man looked Asian, another had gorgeous soulful chocolaty eyes, and a third had hair that was just starting to turn gray around the edges.
    “We’ve heard rumors about Cowell and Dirk,” said the leader, a devastatingly handsome man with piercing black eyes and lots of dark stubble. You know how sometimes you see photos of suspected terrorists and think, if he weren’t a brutal killer, if he shaved a bit more and lost the red checkered bandanna, he’d be kind of hot… Okay, maybe it’s just me, but this guy was that kind of sexy. Bad boy, time bomb, powder keg, potential terrorist sexy. “We decided to find out for ourselves.”
    “Rumors?” The word rolled off my tongue like notes in a song.
    “We hear they have some unconventional uses for their support staff.”
    A couple of the men snickered. “Support staff,” echoed one.
    I agreed that it was utterly hilarious, and lost myself in a laughing fit. The leader of the pack waited me out, then finally said, “That’s enough,” in a way that made me swallow my last giggle without question.
    “Just what do you do for Simon and Ethan?” One of the younger men spoke.
    “A receptionist answers phones and greets clients. She represents the company to visitors. She takes on other duties as required by her employers.” I sounded like a training manual.
    “It’s those other duties I’m curious about,” asked the leader. “Are you usually clothed when you perform them?”
    I wanted to tell him it was none of his business, but that’s not what came out of my mouth. “I wear whatever they want me to wear.”
    Electricity seared around the room. I found myself the sole focus of their undivided attention. “What might they want you to wear?”
    What was this, an interrogation? My happiness began to fray at the edges. I spotted my margarita on the coffee table and leaned forward to pick it up. I took a long sip then sat back with a sigh. Much better. I gathered my high around me like a baby’s blankie. But I couldn’t remember the