P.A. Partner Read online

  Evernight Publishing

  www.evernightpublishing.com

  Copyright© 2014 Raven McAllan

  ISBN: 978-1-77130-856-4

  Cover Artist: Sour Cherry Designs

  Editor: JC Chute

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  DEDICATION

  To each and every one of you who have helped me follow my dream.

  Thank you. Your support means everything.

  P.A. PARTNER

  The Jensens, 1

  Raven McAllan

  Copyright © 2014

  Chapter One

  "Did you get that, Martin?"

  Martin Monaghan grinned, as the long-limbed man prowled—there was no other way to describe his movements—around the office. He more than got it. Byron Francis might be a hard nut to crack, business-wise, but in matters of the heart he was a softy. Unfortunately, not toward Martin. There he was all cool, calm and polite professional, boss to employee.

  Damn it.

  Martin had lost count of the number of times he'd had to send the ‘Dear John’ letter, along with a suitable gift, of course. It looked like the latest love interest was no more.

  I wish he'd think of me that way.

  "Oh yeah, sir. One set of gold cufflinks and letter number five."

  I don't want the cufflinks. Just your body. Martin willed his unruly prick to behave and refrain from trying to peer over the top of his waistband. Sometimes he thought the view that men's dicks had a mind of their own was true. As ever, when Byron was around, Martin accepted the fact his body reacted like a horny school kid. It was a pity Byron's body didn't reciprocate.

  "Hmm, yes." Byron Jensen tilted his head to one side as he considered. The gesture was unconscious and automatic, but it did strange things to Martin's insides.

  Fuck a duck… I've got it bad. I need to grow up.

  "Yeees, that sounds about right. Dammit, Mart, I really thought I'd got it spot on this time. Arthur was fun, articulate…" Byron stopped, sighed, and shook his head. "And after my bloody money. It's a shame, because he was damned good in the sack." He pushed himself off the edge of Martin's desk, where he'd been leaning as he discussed the demise of his latest liaison. The action tightened the fine material of his trousers over his toned thighs.

  Damn, why does he wear suits which fit so well? Why not a pair of baggy chinos or combats? Anything to stop me reacting like this. Talk about one-sided lust. Down, boy. He'll never think of you like that. But…if only I could try and find out.

  "Too much information, Mart? Sorry, man, but you know you're the only person I can confide in and know my confessions stop at the confessional."

  Martin nodded. However, not for the first time, he rued the ‘no fraternization’ rule between staff. Having to watch Byron in his made-to-measure suits—a good suit so enhanced a fit man—was enough for Martin to worry he'd split his own clothes. Every time Byron stretched after sitting over the computer for too long, or leaned back as he spoke on the phone, Martin's cock also admired the view. Those fine silks and linens outlined and caressed Byron's prick in every loving detail. At this rate he'd have to go up a size in trousers, or wear ones that had a full-pleated front.

  Anything to hide his hard-on.

  "But a good set of balls and a cock that knows how to play isn't enough," Byron said as he pulled off the strip of leather that held his long blond hair off his face. "I need at least a modicum of interest in me, and not just my wallet." He ran his hand through the strands and tugged on a tangle. Martin almost salivated. He'd fantasized about doing that. A thick plait, and an Armani suit. What more could a man ask for? Well, apart from his hands unthreading the plait and the suit slowly being discarded.

  "True enough." Argh––lame or what?

  "Anyway," Byron did his stretch and shake routine, the one that gave Martin blue balls and the need to rush to the gents’ and relieve them of their tension. Especially when, as now, Byron's shirt came adrift from the waistband of his trousers, and a strip of tanned and toned skin showed.

  He turned and looked Martin in the eyes. It was a bit like being under a microscope. Byron's gaze was so direct Martin decided it could see into his soul.

  "Enough of me. How's what's his name? Clint? Clem?"

  "Clive. Gone." Martin shrugged. It hadn't been a big deal. Both he and Clive knew it wasn't working and called it a day with no hard feelings, and no sex. If he ever got the chance to make love again, Martin hoped fervently he'd remember what to do.

  I would with Byron.

  Byron never remembered names. Martin wondered if he just called all of his lovers pet, or sweetie, or something equally ambiguous as a means of not shouting out the wrong name in the throes of passion.

  Now Byron's expression was somber and full of sympathy. His eyes were dark, and worry lines furrowed his brow. "Ouch. Commiserations. Why?"

  Martin shrugged. He couldn't really say, 'Because every time I went to fuck him I saw you instead and when I realized it wasn't you, my cock deflated as fast as an air balloon on the ground'. "No spark, I guess."

  "Seriously, Mart," Byron shook his head, and waggled his finger in the air. "You change men like others change their boxers."

  Martin raised one linen-covered shoulder. No way was he going to admit most of his so-called lovers had been just that: So-called, and not in reality. He had friends. Lots of friends, but rarely were they ‘with benefits’. Unless a crack squash opponent or rowing partner counted as a benefit. He rarely spent an evening without company. He rarely spent a night with company. His stupid, no-chance yearning for Byron put an end to anything else. His cock just didn't perk up at the thought of sex for relief and not for love.

  "Anyway, enough of men." Byron stared at Martin's suit-clad body. For one second, Martin thought he'd seen a flash of arousal in his boss' eyes. But if he had, it was so brief, and the blue eyes were back to their normal clear state so quickly, that he couldn't be sure.

  "Meant to say, sharp suit, Mart. Very nice."

  A suit and tie was Martin's usual attire, by choice, not by management decree. Byron's only demand with regard to work attire, was no football tops, no flip-flops, and all clothes to be clean and in good repair.

  It was a standing joke between Martin and Byron, that Martin's choice of work wear often caused people to think he was the CEO and not Byron, who usually favored denims and t-shirts. Even then, Martin's body was usually as tight as a drum. Byron's denims were well worn, incredibly formfitting, and made him as sexy as hell. Today’s suit, it seemed was no different. Byron could wear a floor-length raincoat two sizes too big, and Martin reckoned he would still be turned on.

  Byron tucked his shirt back into his trousers. "Before you think I've turned over a new leaf, or had a personality change or something, I'm dressed like this for a reason. Lunch with Mum at Raimondo's... And you're coming."

  Now that is true and soon, but not in the way you think. I'll be coming by my own hand in the john as soon as you shoot off. Argh… shit not shoot, not at the moment. Oh, Byron, just go, will you? Then his fuzzy brain filtered the rest of Byron's comments.

  "Pardon?"

  "Coming to lunch. Mum wants me to bring a partner. She's desperate for me to settle down with a nice young man. I haven't got one and nor do you. Handy, really, in the circumstances… I wouldn't have poached if Charles…" />
  "Clive."

  "Yeah, him…if he was still in the picture. Mind you I'm glad he's not, he was a bit of a plonker, if you ask me. So for the next few hours, you're the one who made me break the no fraternization rule. Please?"

  It was the please, along with the pleading panic in Byron's eyes, that did it. That wasn't an expression Martin saw often. He nodded, and Byron let his breath out in a whoosh. The relieved smile was all Martin could hope for.

  "Okay," Martin said. "From PA to, well, partner, eh?"

  "Yeah." Byron said. "Thanks." He bent forward across the desk and planted his lips onto Martin's. Martin's skin tingled and he opened his mouth in amazement. Wha…

  Byron made a noise somewhere between a groan and a moan, and slid his tongue inside Martin's mouth. Martin welcomed it, nipped the end and used his own tongue to tease and engage with Byron. Heat filled him, and he wished the desk wasn't a barrier between them. He began to stand up, ready to walk around the desk and grab Byron, but before he had a chance to move Byron ended the lip lock and stood upright. He smiled and ran his tongue over his lips. It was a gesture he often made when he was deep in thought. Martin wondered what the hell he was thinking.

  About me? About us?

  "Hi, partner. I, er, enjoyed that." Byron swallowed and winked, before he sketched a wave. He didn't look his normal cool, calm and collected self. "We'll definitely have to do that again. Practice makes perfect. See you later."

  He left the office.

  Martin stared after him. Enjoyed how? What did he mean about practice? Was it just to fool his mother? Surely not. The heat that flared between them was swift but undeniable.

  If only it was for real.

  ****

  Byron hadn't realized how much he wanted Martin to agree to be his partner, even if it was only during one measly lunch. It was Byron's own fault, and he knew that. He was the one who instigated the no fraternization rule. A rule he knew fine well was broken on many an occasion, but as long as people were discrete, and it wasn't shoved in his face, he ignored it. For others.

  There had been a good reason originally for the diktat. A female P.A. who stalked him and one of his fellow Directors, who was also gay, had caused more trouble than you'd think possible. It had been a bad few months until they'd been able to dismiss her without fear of legal comeback. Now, even though in reality the rule was relaxed somewhat, as the boss, Byron accepted he couldn't afford to be caught breaking his own rule. Horny and lustful or not. At that moment he could have seen his ethics thrown in the bin and disregarded.

  Boy, was he both horny and lusting after Martin. Even before he knew for sure his new PA was gay, he lusted after him. Jerked off to the most erotic thoughts of Martin and himself in all sorts of interesting positions and places. A natural hot water creek in New Zealand was one of his favorites, as was the office desk. He even caught himself eyeing up the photocopier, for goodness sake. Byron admitted he'd chosen his new desk and chair with all sorts of arousing thoughts of himself and Martin in his head.

  Why on earth had he decided to ask Martin to be his lunch companion?

  Because I'm a glutton for punishment?

  Now he was going to have to pretend to his mum, that Martin was the love of his life, and make Martin think it was all a pretense. It was no use wishing for the moon, and thinking just because Martin had agreed—or had been coerced—into lunch, that he'd fall into his arms next.

  Oh, what a tangled web and all that. Byron mentally shook his head, and went back into his office, to adjust his cock and answer his ever-growing list of work that needed immediate attention. The work was easier to sort out than his prick.

  The rest of the morning went as smoothly as ever, due in no small part to Martin's ‘take no prisoners, don't fuck with my boss' attitude. More than once Byron felt Martin's gaze on him, and often it was accompanied by a quizzical and thoughtful expression. Several times he almost decided the expression was lustful or wanting, but a query as to what was wrong was always met with a 'nothing, boss', or a mundane and irrelevant question regarding work.

  By lunchtime, Byron had a permanent itch between his shoulders and a raging hard-on, one that he suspected not even cold showers or hot hand jobs could diminish. If it hadn't been so important that his mum was happy, he'd have told Martin the meal was off. He didn't, but couldn't help but wonder how the hell he was going to get through the next few hours.

  Just after noon, he shut down his computer and grabbed his suit jacket.

  "Five-minute warning, Mart. We're meeting Mum at one."

  Martin looked up from his own computer and grunted.

  "Two secs, hold on. I want to nail this. The bastard…in his dreams. There." Marin pressed a few keys and grinned. "Gotcha. Fucking Conlan, thinks he's God's gift to his customers. In his bloody dreams. In reality, he's God's gift to no one."

  Byron nodded. Conlan was one of those slippery, slimy individuals who set your teeth on edge. More than once he'd tried to pull a fast one over on them, and due to Byron's team's diligence, never succeeded. "All so true. He's an ass, and I reckon that was his third strike and now, out. Okay, enough of assholes." He mentally cringed at his words. It was a pity he couldn't really qualify that statement with 'except yours'. "Ready?"

  "Yeah." Martin shrugged into his jacket and pulled a tie out of a drawer. "Yes?" He waved the tie in the air.

  Damned if I can't think of better things to do with that instead of wearing it around your neck.

  "Why not? I warn you, though. Mum will give us both the third degree. She keeps saying she's bought a hat for my wedding, and when is she going to get to wear it?" Byron laughed as they walked along the corridor to the stairs. "And last time she came to the office she said you were ever so cute." He sniggered. "Cute, eh? Ohh, duckie." He slowed his steps to match Martin, who for some reason had tempered his step. The office was only one floor up, so neither of them ever used the lifts.

  Martin knotted his tie as they walked. As Martin's fingers moved and smoothed the silk, it seemed like a caress. It was enough to make Byron's cock rigid. Bugger, if only it was my skin he caressed like that.

  "Your mum, and a hat?"

  Byron jumped. He'd been so immersed in thoughts of Martin touching him that he'd lost the thread of their conversation. He stood back to let Martin precede him down the stairs. Byron followed him, and admired the sway of the other man's ass as he walked in front. He stuck his hands in his pockets, to stop himself reaching forward and caressing Martin's rear. As far as Byron was concerned, the globes were perfect for grabbing a handful.

  Answer him, and stop fantasizing. It isn't going to happen.

  "Oh yes. It's a running joke between us. She never wears hats and she's determined to do so, just once. She's the original aged hippie. I swear she has no intention of growing old gracefully, and why should she? I love her just as she is. She rarely comes up to town, and lives happily on her smallholding. I'm convinced every hen has a name, and they just about talk to her." He shook his head and laughed. "Bless her. She does talks and educational visits for the local schools, and lets the kids 'adopt' an animal. Not only that, she writes very saucy books, and gets them published, and has friends of all ages dotted all over the place. However, she says, and I quote, she worries about me, and my bad choice of partners. If I say ‘pot, kettle and black’ she goes on about Plum, her mum. Who at the last conversation was in some unpronounceable place in Australia, living in a Yurt or something with two guys… and I'm not even thinking about that. Both Plum and Mum keep asking me, why can't I find some nice normal man to settle down with? Well, evidently I can't, but I'll offer you up to her instead."

  Oh, how I wish I could. Bloody rules.

  Byron wondered if he hadn't made the no-fraternization rule, whether it would make a difference anyway? Maybe he was indulging in a massive case of wishful thinking.

  "Thanks, boss. I'm now a human sacrifice. So gran is Plum? Really?"

  Byron rolled his eyes. "Who knows?"
/>
  Martin laughed. "What's my reward in wherever we go today? Do I get to choose?"

  "Hmm. Why not? If I say, decide on your reward, what would it be?"

  Martin stopped just before he reached the bottom of the stairs, and turned to look up at Byron. His expression was thoughtful. Byron decided he must have misread the brief flash of desire he thought he saw there.

  "Did you enjoy the kiss you gave me before, in the office?" Martin asked him.

  Why was Martin asking that? Did it mean he couldn't tell he had? Or worse, did it mean that Martin hadn't? A wave of worry, akin to a tidal surge, rushed through Byron.

  "Of course I did. If we hadn't have been in the office and had the desk between us, God knows what might have happened."

  Now Byron worried if he'd said the wrong thing. It was one thing to beg your P. A. to help you and give a kiss that could be accepted as a thank you—if you preferred to look at it that way. Something else if you thought it could be construed as sexual harassment.

  "Was I out of order, Mart?" He had to know.

  Martin shook his head. "Oh no. Not at all. In fact..." he stopped speaking and tugged Byron down a stair, before pressing a hot, hard and much too brief kiss on Byron's mouth.

  As before, Byron's body went from semi-relaxed to high alert in one second flat. He forced himself to remain calm so he could hear what Martin said.

  "It makes me think my reward is going to be oh so good," Martin went on. "You see, I've decided what I want for my reward." He paused and touched Byron's cheek. "I want you. A night of hot, unbridled sex with you."

  Chapter Two

  Martin held his breath. He meant what he said, even if he thought there was as much chance of it happening as of him playing center forward for Manchester United. And he had two left feet.