Free Disrobed (The Billionaire's Secretary) by Amy Malone

 
     
     
    Disrobed
    Copyright 2013
    Amy Malone
     
    Chapter One
    Tracey Gordon had a problem. He stood at his window, his deep green eyes staring out of his penthouse apartment. His eyes rested on the New York skyline, but it wasn’t the mosaic of buildings and asphalt he saw. It was the stark and thrilling image of Felicia’s bare brown skin, completely exposed.
    It had been the night of the gala , an important social event Felicia and he were going to. They had just gotten done with a tiring ten-hour all-nighter as Tracey was setting up a new international business consulting firm, and requisite documents were coming due. To save time they had decided to change in the office.
    Ever the c onsummate gentleman, Tracey offered his private bathroom for Felicia to ready herself (rather than having to use the one open to all employees on that floor). He planned to dress in his office, reviewing documents as he did so. Tracey was an expert multi-tasker, and was so consumed in their last minute business that he’d missed Felicia going to her car to pick up their outfits for the evening.
    Returning from her car, Felicia slung Tracey’s suit over his chair and smiled. She headed to the bathroom behind his desk with her dress over one arm and a blue container contact container in the other. She wore contacts to events like the one they were going to that evening but, if the truth were told, Tracey preferred her in glasses. The phone rang.
    Tracey undid his tie and unbuttoned his shirt as he pic ked up the receiver. Without Felicia manning the phones he wouldn’t have bothered, normally. However, they were cutting things close to the wire and he didn’t want any surprises.
    “This is Tracey Gordon,” he said curtly, but not unkindly. Putting the phone on speaker, he took off his shirt and unbuckled his belt. He was a tall man, and disciplined days and nights of exercise and recreational sports had given him the toned body of an athlete.
    The person on the other end spoke about some minor matter that was not particularly urgent. Tracey was about to tell him to call back when he caught a sliver of yellow light out of the corner of his eye. It was coming from his private bathroom, and it stunned him into silence.
    Out of a desire to avoid making noise, or because the door was broken, or just by pure accident, the door was open a crack. Tracey tried to look away or say something, but couldn’t. He was transfixed. Busy in the bathroom, completely unaware of him as she changed out of her clothes, was Felicia. She was wearing light pink satin boyshorts and a matching bra. The color complemented her deep brown skin well and Tracey noticed, for the first time, that she was gorgeous.
    Felicia was putting her second contact in, and she was leaned over the sink into the mirror, her pert bottom sticking out nonchalantly. Blinking it into place, she unbuttoned her bra and placed it on the marble counter next to the sink. Tracey’s pulsing hard-on raged for mercy underneath his boxer-briefs. What happened next seemed to happen almost in slow motion. She slid her pink underwear down slowly, stepping out of it one leg at a time. As she reached for what must have been a different pair she turned around, and their eyes met.
    Earlier that day, as the last of the doc uments was copied and filed; she had gone down to her car, tired. Felicia loved her work at the company, and she and Tracey worked well together as professional colleagues and as friends. It was one of the things she appreciated so much about the job. Past employers and colleagues had hit on her constantly (and poorly, at that), and she had found that she had had to always be careful about drawing a very clear line between her personal and professional life.
    In the elevator o n her way back up to the office, Felicia looked into the fluorescent light, letting her mind wander. Tonight would be another long evening of making nice with rich socialites and eccentric entrepreneurs. Tracey