It's never a good idea to meet your new boss for the first time, wearing a date-night outfit. A halter neck plunging to waist and sequined mini skirt, plus, eh-hem, no underwear. What in the name of all things trampy was I doing in the back of Jay Valentine's quadruple stretch limo without my panties?

The lack of coverage between my thighs was making my inner lips perky. They was still quivering from the cross-country flight and I couldn't put it down to jet lag. It had everything to do with the hot older hunk on the plane and the way he slid into the seat next to me when the lights went down.

Now I'd have to face down his complicit gaze every day, with our dirty little secret hanging between us and our new employer. Talk about blackmail stakes.

Okay I needed to calm down. If I were exposed, there was always the excuse that I'd been on a date with my boyfriend, the start of our farewell weekend, when the text came in from Valentine Winery saying I was required to take the flight that night. One excuse down, only ten more to go. The underwear, the mile high membership, dirty secrets not mine alone, but shared with the gorgeous Frenchie winemaker I was now traveling across the bridge with, on the way to Napa.

The older guy’s discreet smile said he was under the impression I made it a habit to go flying around the country panty-less. He had no clue that my boyfriend Josh had pocketed them with his demonic smile, after disciplining me in the underground wine cellar. My butt cheeks still smarted. But in spite of the sting across my flesh, my walls tugged and ached with the memory of the man I'd gotten too involved with.

I'd have to trust that Frenchie was a gentleman and would keep those scrumptious lips pursed with regard to my disappearing panties. Hey, it worked both ways. If he spilled on me, I always had the ammunition of exposing how he'd slipped into the seat beside me on the plane uninvited and taken my pussy by force. It was more or less true. I had put up a modicum of resistance, hadn't I? When I told him to leave me alone and go back to his seat even as he reached under the blanket and edged my skirt up my thigh. Yeah, that counts as saying no. Eh, hem.

I turtled my head down into the car’s soft Italian leather seat and tried to focus on the work ahead. I had to put on my best professional front during the meeting with Mr Valentine and then get back to business as usual. No more of these crazy adventures, at least not until Josh came out from New York to visit.

I smiled wistfully, thinking about how the man I'd been dating for the last few weeks would find my current situation highly amusing, stimulating even. I'd have to tell him about it some time when we were together again and playing the games he insisted on.

These were acts I'd never imagined myself doing before Josh and now couldn't get enough of. The spankings, the public exposure, performing for strangers. But still- all things I'd never be able to tell my mother about. She'd drummed it into me harder than a heavy metal band member that I was to be a good girl and not let any man take advantage of my body. She wouldn’t understand that I was taking advantage of it for myself, discovering the intense pleasures it could yield.

I was still smiling to myself, knowing I ought to be ashamed of my badness but instead reveling in it, when my phone beeped. While digging around in my purse for it, I caught Monsieur Frenchie's gaze, fixed on my legs. I stared back at him with my sternest schoolmarm look and checked the text that had come in, aware that his eyes were traveling the length of my exposed thigh. Speaking of the demonic- the text was from Josh back in the city.

Today you will do whatever your new master tells you to.

I'll be checking later.

What the-? I didn't know whether to laugh or be pissed. Josh had told me to remember who the master was while I was gone– him. And that he would have instructions for me from the opposite coast. It was our secret game, the way he was going to maintain our relationship while I was on the opposite side of the country, designing the winery's new tasting rooms. He’d play the boss in the bedroom even if I had a new one telling me what to do everywhere else.

I had been picturing a fair amount of Skype sex to keep me entertained in the valley and Josh dominating me virtually. It seemed he had other ideas. Oh well, how bad could it be? I'd already behaved as ravenously as the limits of decorum allowed, on the plane. My new boss would explain what he wanted and I'd get to work.

I entertained a teeny hope that I'd be able to slip into a washroom when we arrived and at least get some panties on, change my skirt. But no, the driver was good to his word when he picked us up, saying Mr Valentine insisted on me being brought to him immediately. He led us straight into the house when we arrived.

I use the term ‘house’ fairly loosely. The place was a freaking chateau of the French Loire variety and I felt like a complete peasant as we rode up the long drive through acre after acre of vineyards with the mansion growing larger all the way.

It was stunningly beautiful, old French style with vines growing around the tall double-doored windows. The atrium was massive, marble lined and flowers arrangements bigger than closets on every table.

We followed Jose, our driver, down the wide walnut hall with light sconces shaped like doves flying from the walls to the double door at the end. He told us to wait while he went in to announce us to our new master. Frenchie stood across from me and met my eye with a conspiratorial smile. My core clenched with the enticing memory of his expert fingers inside me barely two hours ago.

“You may go in,” the chauffeur informed us and closed the doors behind us.

Valentine sat with his back to us behind a desk the size of Kentucky, gazing out on the vista of endless vineyards. The bright emerald leaves stretched away in pin straight rows and in the distance men were at work coaxing the fruit into abundance. As he rotated his chair to face us, I shivered slightly with the strange sensation of being in a James Bond movie when the bad guy turns and his face is a mass of scars and plastic surgery.

Except my premonition was the furthest from reality. Because OhMySweetBethusaleh, Valentine was gorgeous. My racing heart ping-ponged around my chest and I had to force my mouth to remain clamped shut. He was movie star delectable with sculptured features and swept back dark hair and, you know, magnetic presence that makes everything close by tingle. A shivery electro-static charged the air the instant he turned and my skin shivered all over from the ethereal connection.

Jay Valentine's eyebrows raised the tiniest bit as he took in my unorthodox outfit, but he was far too self-controlled to allow the smallest emotion to display across his proud wide jaw. The glinting dark blue eyes scoured across me in appreciation, setting out on their journey at my cleavage, moving down my thighs and back up again, very slowly, to meet mine. I hoped my cheeks weren't glaring as hot as they felt. My inner thighs were positively throbbing under his evaluation. Not good, not professional, not at all business-like, the way the flesh hugging around my entrance dampened so profusely.

“I'm Jay Valentine, I'm so glad you could join us at such short notice, Ms Cannon. I apologize for not being able to send my private jet for you both.”

His voice was gravel on sandpaper and echoed through my core. What the fuck was wrong with me that my inner lips were clenching and tweaking with attraction for my employer?

“Hi, Marc,” he greeted Frenchie, whose name I now finally learned. “Have you two been formally introduced?”

“Hi, pleased to meet, er, sir, yes, er, we have.”

Great going, girlfriend, way to bungle the first meeting. Panty-less and stuttering.

My paramour was at least in control of his tongue and the words rolled off it, Gallic smooth.

“Jay, thank you for inviting me to your exquisite chateau. Yes, I did have the pleasure of Ms Cannon on the flight.” Bastard.

“Very good, and now the pleasure is all mine,” Valentine insisted. Was I imagining the glare of insistence he threw at Chapelle? “I opened an '02,” he continued, “It should have breathed enough by now. Join me, then I'll have Anders show you to your room and we can talk more at dinner.”

I knew how the wine felt and breathed my own huge sigh at the unexpectedly short and easy introduction, over a glass of the most ambrosial liquid I'd ever tasted. When we turned to follow the manager to our rooms however, Valentine wasn't about to let me off so easily.