Indecent Suggestion by Elizabeth Bevarly Page B

have been too far-gone by the time they were interrupted even to notice the fact. And if Englund didn’t want them smoking in the workplace, she could only imagine how he’d feel about them smoking in the workplace.
    But even after going home that night, she’d still been thinking about Turner. About Turner naked. About Turner naked in manacles while she gave him a blow job, for God’s sake. And then about Turner naked in bed with her. Beside her. And on top of her. And underneath her. And behind her. And in just about every other position the two of them could manage. And some they probably couldn’t manage, at least not outside her delirious fantasies. After a good night’s sleep, though, she’d felt like her old self again. To the point that she’d even forgotten about what had happened until the sight of Turner had reminded her. Graphically. But even then, overpowering her arousal was the fact that she’d been horrified to remember what had happened the evening before.
    She’d tried to tell herself—and Turner, too—that it must have happened because of the nature of the campaign they were working on, that all the racy lingerie had just put ideas into her head.
    But that didn’t make any sense. If anyone was turnedon by the Bluestocking products, it should have been Turner. The items the company had sent as samples weren’t that much different from what Becca wore under her clothing every day of the week. Why would she suddenly be turned on by women’s underwear? That was silly.
    So then she’d tried to tell herself—and Turner, too—that she’d been working too hard lately, that she and Turner were both under a lot of stress right now, feeling the pressure of coming up with a campaign for an account that could potentially result in a big promotion for each of them, not to mention a fat financial bonus they could both use.
    But they’d been under stress and felt the pressure lots of other times, she’d been forced to remind herself, and neither of them had ever resorted to being physically aroused by the other. So that hadn’t really explained her behavior, either.
    So then she’d tried to tell herself—and Turner, too—that it had just been too long since she’d had sex, and that any human being with a Y chromosome would look good to her—though she hadn’t put it that way to Turner. And although that explanation did sort of make sense—she had gone way too long without sex, and she’d definitely been feeling more than a little randy lately—it didn’t account for why her reaction to Turner had come about so suddenly and with such intensity.
    Ultimately, Becca had told herself—and Turner, too—that it must have been a combination of all three factors that resulted in her behavior Wednesday night. What else could it have been? Although certainly Turner was a very attractive man, and yes, they did have a history together, however limited, of succumbing occasionally to a physical response, it hadn’t happened for years, and had only occurred then when they were both between partners and feeling natural, understandable, utterly human urges for physical closeness with the opposite sex.
    That must have been what happened Wednesday, she told herself—and Turner, too. The combination of factors had just overwhelmed her, and she’d looked to him—her best friend in the whole wide world—to help her through a rough patch.
    That was her story and she was sticking to it.
    And Turner, though wary, had ultimately conceded that maybe she was right. Especially after she told him she had no desire to repeat the episode.
    Since Wednesday, there had been no recurrence whatsoever of her aberrant behavior or wayward desires, so her theory—sorta—made sense. Ultimately, Turner thought so, too. Or at least he told her he thought so. At any rate, after talking Thursday morning about what had happened Wednesday evening, both of them had decided it had just been a weird, singular, out-of-character event,