Nymph In Nylons by Amanda Moore - Chapter 01

1966 Genre: Vintage Sleaze / Office Secretary

Diana knew she had not been asked to attend the out-of-town convention just to take dictation and type letters but she hadn't expected the kind of special services her boss demanded of her.

CHAPTER ONE

Diana Talbott bent over the side desk to reach for the file folder at the far edge. She knew at once she had made a mistake. Her short, black wool skirt rode up to her thighs.

Her new boss, standing behind her, was getting a good view. Diana blushed, grabbed the file, and stood straight. She yanked down her skirt and turned to hand the file to Mike Russell.

By the gleam in his dark brown eyes, she knew he hadn't missed a thing. He accepted the file, and her hand also, holding tight as she tried to pull away.

“What are you doing tonight?" he asked.

“I'm busy," she said curtly. She no longer bothered to find excuses for refusing him. In the two months he had been at Glanville Appliances, Mike Russell had earned his advance reputation as a wolf. He was a wary young bachelor who liked girls, all girls, too much to settle down with one.

"You don't like me," he reproached gaily.

"Please let go," she said, her chin high. "I have several things to finish before the party."

He grimaced, a shadow passing over his usually cheerful face. "The wake, you mean," he said. "I think Fred doesn't want to go to the party any more than we do."

She liked him for the anger in his tone. He was a decent thoughtful man, in spite of his many casual affairs, she thought. Fred Huber's enforced retirement was bad enough, they all thought. But to give a party for him, present him with a farewell gift, when the fifty-nine-year-old man obviously resented being retired, seemed too much to Diana.

"If he could only have been allowed to stay," she burst out. "The poor man—he had the heart attack, and now he's out cold."

"They're giving him a pension." Mike drew her closer to him, and slid one arm easily around her waist. "Now—uh—if you keep fighting me like this, I'm liable to have a heart attack—"

Diana hated to admit she liked his touch. She scowled at him, and pulled at his arm. The tall, lean body so close to hers had a vital magnetic quality. He was so alive, so masculine, so attractive, she thought. Darn him!

"You'll tear my dress," she finally complained, when he would not let her go. "Quit that! Play around with girls who want your attentions!"

That seemed to hit home. He let her go, his face reddening.

"All right, all right," he muttered. "But I'll get through that tough shell of yours sometime!"

His laughing threat lingered in her ears as she sat later in the company dining room. Maybe Mike could get through the shell. She hoped not. It had taken her a year to build the shell, after her near disastrous affair of several years with Alex Larsen. Diana had forced herself to quit her job, leave town, go two hundred miles away, and take a new job with another appliance firm, just to end the affair with Alex. She was determined not to let another man involve her in an affair. No more for her.

The party for Fred Huber on his retirement had an enforced air of gaiety that deceived no one. Fred did not want to retire. His resentment was plain. He could not force a smile for Mr. Glanville's speech. Robert Glanville, Senior, was Fred's contemporary. It must be hard for him, thought Diana, to look at Fred's sullen face and say the usual words to express regret about losing a valued employee.

Diana herself could not look at her former boss. Mr. Huber's face was grey from his long illness. His hair was grey, and his eyes seemed old and lifeless. Diana stared at the table decoration, a round calendar marking thirty-four years of service, surrounded by red and white carnations.

'When Fred and I started working here, more than thirty years ago, my father was just beginning to manufacture Glanville mixers," Mr. Glanville was saying.

"Now we make more than one thousand products, and have diversified to an extent that would have amazed—uh—well—" He flushed, coughed, and skipped over that part of the speech.

Diana's hand under the table clenched painfully on her knee. Poor Mr. Huber. He had fought diversification, and been overruled and proved wrong. He had slipped mentally the past few years. The heart attack had been the excuse the company wanted to retire him. He was a drag. But the poor man, she thought. He had worked all his life. What would he do now? He was a bachelor. His life was his work.

Bob Glanville, Junior, followed his father to the stand, and relieved the tension with a few gay quips about his early days on the job. Diana glanced at Fred Huber. He was not laughing. He was pleating a napkin slowly, precisely, with his thin white fingers.

Bob presented Fred Huber with a box, and they watched him open it. Diana knew it was a gold wristwatch.

Fred Huber stared at it. Finally he thanked them, his voice trembling with emotion.

Diana slipped out a side door and went back to the office. She was standing at her desk wiping her eyes and blowing her nose, when Mike Russell came in.

She glared at him, ashamed of being caught in a weak moment.

He flung up his hands. "I know how you feel. I said it would be a wake. Why did they have to have a party?"

"It's always done." She sniffed and took out a fresh handkerchief from her purse. "But Fred—he doesn't want to retire—"

"I feel like a heel to be taking his place. He makes me feel I've betrayed him. Gosh, I never even met him till I came two months ago." Mike sat on the edge of Diana's desk and swung his long legs. "How long did you say you had worked here?"

"A year."

"Someone else was doing his work already. It isn't as though he had been working hard right up to the day of his heart attack."

"No. In fact—he seems to have done more work this past month—" Diana frowned in puzzled thought. Her voice trailed off. For a year she had been technically Fred Huber's secretary. She knew better than anyone how little work he had done.

Fred had come in at eleven and left at one for months at a time. He had taken long vacation trips and useless business trips. Bob Glanville, Junior, had done the work of the sales manager, dashing between his own office and Diana's, keeping up the polite fiction that Huber was really the manager.

Then Mike Russell had been brought in as the new sales manager, and the fiction was over. He had been installed in the office, briefed on the appliances, given materials and lectures.

"He did go all out to help with the regional convention stuff," Mike said.

"Yes. He did." Diana was staring unseeingly at the papers on her desk. Fred Huber had worked long hours as soon as he was out of the hospital. He had worked even a couple nights, as Diana knew from the night watchman.

Why? she wondered. Had Fred suddenly realized how little he was doing, and wanted to make up for the past?

He did not seem grateful for the company pension, and their tactful manner in easing him out.

'Well, I'm a lucky guy." Mike had stood up, and had walked casually around her desk. He stood behind her, and put his hands on her shoulders. "I inherited the prettiest secretary in the place."

Diana stiffened. This guy never stopped trying! She had to be on her guard all the time.

"Mike—please! I have a dozen letters to finish—"

"I could forget letters," he said, his mouth close to her ear. His words made little puffs of air on her ear, and she shivered at the sensuous feel of his nearness. His hands gently caressed the black wool material over her shoulders and arms. Then his big hands slid forward. She watched his long fingers close easily around the firm supple mounds of her breasts. A warning thrill shot through her as he squeezed.

Sometimes she was so hungry for the touch of a man's hands she felt like giving in to Mike. But she must not, she warned herself, because a man could not be trusted.

She sat rigidly in her chair as he drew her back by the pressure of his hands on her breasts. She looked down at the long fingers caressing her, at the black hairs on his fingers and wrists under the white cuffs of his shirt.

He was close behind her. Only the wooden back of the chair was between their bodies. She closed her eyes. If she gave in now, he would take her home to his apartment.

The big sure hands would strip off her clothes.

Then, in his bed, she would know the mindless ecstasy, the deep marvelous relief of sex—with a man who knew just how to rouse and excite her. He was doing it now, exciting her with his hands, with his kisses on the side of her neck, with his teasing whispers.

"You're so pretty—and so soft," he muttered against her flesh. "Are you this pretty—all over? I bet you are. So lovely—and silky—and white—and perfumed. Um. I like that. I like the taste of you." He was nibbling at her shoulder, pushing the cloth away with his lips and chin.

She felt even more weak and helpless. Her hands had clasped his, as though to pull them away, but she didn't have the strength to yank his hands away from her breasts.

"You're softening," Mike whispered. "You're getting to like me. You want me. I can feel it—here. You want me."

Under the cloth, her breasts were burgeoning with desire.

The nipples had hardened to peaks, and he must be able to feel them.

"I—don't—" she lied feebly. She wriggled on the chair.

"Let me go, Mike. Let me go."

He laughed softly, and one hand slid down to caress her belly. With a shock, she realized she did want him, badly, right now. They could go in his office, and shut the door, and make love, just as she and Alex used to, in his office. The thought of Alex was a dash of cold water. Alex, who had said he loved her—but not enough to marry her. He had not loved her enough to divorce his wealthy wife, the daughter of his boss, and marry his secretary.

"Let me go!" She began to struggle in earnest, the thought of her affair with Alex a goad. She had trusted Alex, loved him for years—all for nothing.

She fought Mike in earnest, her body writhing and twisting to be free, her hands clawing.

"Hey—why—" He was off guard, surprised at the change, in her. She grabbed his hand, the one on her stomach; she yanked it away from her. "What's with you?"

"I don't want you!" she panted. "Now, get away or I'll scream!"

He let her go promptly. She jumped up and faced him, glaring at him. His face was flushing dark red.

"I don't rape girls," he said grimly. "It isn't necessary."

He went in his office and slammed the door. She sat down and after she had stopped shaking she typed the letters. At five o'clock, she took the letters in for his signature.

He was coldly polite, still angry, she thought.

Well, let him be angry, Diana decided. He could chase other girls around his desk, and capture them also, for all she cared. She did not intend to get involved with a man again. No more hurt like that, thought Diana. No more pain like that.

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