Rules of Negotiation

by Inara Scott

  Stumbling, she allowed him to lead her back through the kitchen. It was an open room almost as big as the restaurant, filled with the odors of garlic, hot oil, and baking bread. Enormous skylights bathed them in bright sunlight. Sam was there, talking to a man who was cleaning a stainless steel countertop that stretched the length of the room.

  “Sam, do you mind if we borrow your office?” Brit asked.

  “Of course not,” Sam replied, the hint of a question in his barely raised eyebrows.

  “We won’t be long.”

  Tori gritted her teeth and resisted the urge to take back her hand and run out of the restaurant. But, damn her cowardly soul, she didn’t have the guts to make a scene, and she had the feeling Brit wouldn’t let her get away so easily. He led her to a private office with an oversized leather armchair in one corner and a tidy desk in another. A light with a beaded shade cast a soft glow in the small space, and a faint odor of incense gave the room an exotic feel. Brit closed the door behind them and turned the lock.

  Tori backed against the desk, immediately pinned by the intensity of Brit’s stare. “So, what—” Her voice trembled and she cleared her throat before beginning again. “What exactly did you want to tell me?”

  “I don’t want to tell you anything. I said we had something we needed to get straight. This is it.”

  Chapter Nine

  Brit did not hesitate before wrapping his arms around Tori and drawing her delicious body into a tight embrace. He’d been wanting to do it since he saw her that morning, and at the moment, he wasn’t particularly interested in butterfly kisses and gentle foreplay. He wanted to drink in her perfume, her scent of roses and jasmine, until he was dizzy with need. He wanted to bury himself between her thighs until she moaned, her voice a husky, strangled whisper, as it had been that night in the car.

  He kissed Tori with all the repressed energy that had come from two weeks of wanting…and frustration. He wasn’t supposed to be the one feeling this way. He slept with models, actresses, women who could make a man’s head spin with one flick of a finger. But it was Tori he could not stop thinking about. Tori, with her halo of honey-blond hair, dark coffee eyes that snapped with intelligence and wit, and small, curvy body that fit inside the crook of his arm.

  He’d been stunned when she turned him down, and shocked that he’d let his own interest in Tori distract him from his reason for taking her out in the first place. Of course he hadn’t pressed her about staying the night—even for Melissa, he wasn’t going to seduce an unwilling woman. But his worries about his sister had only compounded over the past two weeks. He was failing. Failing to protect Melissa and failing in his role as family caretaker.

  Meanwhile, success lay in the arms of Tori Anderson.

  But now that he had her all to himself, he had to admit that last thing he wanted to think about was his sister.

  He noticed with satisfaction that Tori did not hesitate before responding to his kiss. For all her words of protest, she couldn’t subdue her body. The other night he had felt hesitation trembling in her veins, nervousness over what they were about to do. There was none of that now.

  Her hands clutched at his shoulders and she gripped him as tightly as he held her. He nudged her back, against the table, until she rested on the edge, her knees parting to give him room. Ah, it was sweet heaven there, between her legs, the juncture of her thighs creating a perfect home for his hard sex. Her hips arched, bringing them closer together, and he smiled against her neck.

  He pulled back enough to remove her jacket and let his fingers slide across her breasts. Firm nipples moved under his searching hands and she moaned. The sound made his groin tighten. He played gently with the delicate points and as he did she spread her legs wider, her head falling back against her shoulders.

  She was heat and fire, everything he had experienced two weeks ago. But this time, he wasn’t letting her slip away.

  He dropped his fingers lower, letting his mouth caress her neck and the curve of her collarbone as his hand drifted under her skirt to the warmth of her mound. The fabric bunched around her hips as he pushed it higher, and again higher, until he finally had unencumbered access to crinkling hair that tickled his fingers through the smooth silk of her underwear. She bucked against his hand, and he took that for an invitation to go deeper. His slid his fingers under the top of the elastic, tangled for a moment in her wiry curls, and then moved lower. With one finger he parted the soft skin and could not prevent a groan when he felt the slick nub below. She was hot, wet, and ready for him.

  Damn it. He suppressed another groan, this one of frustration. He hadn’t put a condom in his wallet that morning.

  Grimly, he swallowed his own aching desire and focused on Tori. He let his fingers slide in a circle around her clit, noting the spots that made her jump, arch, and push harder against him. He teased her until her hips began to move rhythmically against him.

  “Brit, we shouldn’t…” a garbled whisper came from Tori.

  “Lean back,” he urged. “Let me take care of you.” A moment later, she put her hands behind her on the desk and opened her legs farther, her skirt now around her waist, her position one of perfect abandon. He got down on his knees and gently pulled down the tiny silk thong, leaving a path of kisses on her inner thighs and calves. He slipped off her shoes and gently massaged the arch of each foot. She had soft pink toenails. They were perfectly Tori—professional, yet feminine. He kissed each toe.

  “What about—”

  “Tori.” He kissed her ankle. “Shut.” He kissed the back of her knee. “Up.”

  He brought one hand back up her inner thigh. He allowed one finger to slide over the wet nub and then gently penetrate her.

  She gasped with pleasure. He moved his finger in and then out, imagining as he did that it was his cock and not his finger that was swallowed by her heat. Her hips began to move faster and he pulled out.

  “Not yet,” he murmured. If he wasn’t going to have his own release, then by God he was going to enjoy hers. He put one hand on either side of her nether lips, spreading her before him like a red canna from a Georgia O’Keeffe painting. Then, with a deep sigh of pleasure, he leaned forward.

  Her deep, musky fragrance reached him first, shooting straight from his nose to his groin. Then her taste rolled over his tongue. She was like an aged cabernet, rich and sweet, blackberries and espresso mixing with the raw hunger of sexual need.

  Each exhalation came on a moan, her thighs tightening spasmodically around him. He drank deeply of her wine, inhaling her even as she thrust harder against him. He nibbled at her, tickling the nub of her desire as he did, then slid his tongue along her.

  With one trembling hand, she pushed his head firmly against her. “Please,” she urged. “Please, I can’t take any more.”

  With two fingers, he traced the path his cock was so desperate to take, and at the same time, sucked hard. She came in a burst, a cry of pure pleasure filling the room as she jerked against him. He kept moving, sucking, until the shaking stopped, and her body went limp in his arms.

  …

  When the world stopped spinning, Tori lifted her head and opened her eyes. Brit was on his knees, watching her with a steady, glowing hunger. It took her a moment to recall that her legs were spread wide, and her panties lay in a discarded heap on the floor.

  What was he doing to her? She snapped her legs together and pushed herself off the edge of the desk, peeking behind as a hot blush crawled across her cheeks. Had she left a stain on the desk?

  “No, my transparent beauty, you don’t have to worry. The desk is fine.” Brit slowly rose to his feet, watching her with that deep, measuring gaze.

  Tori pushed her skirt back to her knees, barely able to believe the desire still running through her body. She wanted him again. Now. In a bed or on the desk, it didn’t matter. She wet her lips.

  Lord, what had she done? What was he doing to her?

  He picked up her thong and handed it to her. “Someda
y you’ll have to explain to me why women wear these things. Other than to torment men, that is.”

  Tori snatched the offending garment from his hand, her face burning hotter than before. “I haven’t done laundry for a while,” she said.

  He jumped to his feet and caught her in a rough embrace. The length of his erection pressed against her thigh and she had to suppress an urge to open her legs and give him room. “Tori, I don’t understand why you’re fighting this. We’re good together.”

  “I don’t have time for this, Brit. My life is…complicated.”

  And, if we’re being honest, you scare the crap out of me. All right?

  “Tori, I want a weekend with you. That’s it. No pressure.”

  She dropped her head against his chest, unable to face the knowing look she’d see in his eyes. Why was she fighting so hard? She had Brit Bencher between her thighs, for goodness sakes. He offered pleasure with no strings attached. No hard feelings when they rolled out of bed the next day and went their separate ways.

  What was she so afraid of, anyway? She wasn’t a helpless lamb being led to the slaughter. She was an adult, with a raging sensuality that had been locked up for far too long.

  She had a sudden, irrational urge to call Betsy and ask what she should do. But she knew what Betsy would say. Are you kidding? Have some fun for once, her bubbly secretary would cry, throwing her hands up in despair. He’s offering you the chance of a lifetime. Take it!

  Unbidden, she heard her voice as if it was coming from a distance. “I suppose I could stay the night. But just the night. I’ve got work waiting for me at home.”

  With one large hand, he guided her face to his. “It’s Friday. You’ll stay the weekend. You can go back Monday.”

  “I’ll leave early Sunday morning,” she said stubbornly, looking at his shoulder.

  He chuckled. “You’ve always got to have the last word, don’t you?”

  She pursed her lips and looked him directly in the eyes for the first time, a weight lifting from her shoulders when she saw the pleasure reflected there. No knowing look, no smug grin. Honest pleasure.

  He was right. Why not stay? Why not give in to this unexpected and overwhelming desire? She’d be back to work soon enough, and Brit Bencher would be nothing more than a pleasant memory.

  An answering smile reluctantly formed at the corner of her mouth. “It’s one of my many personality flaws. I’m also moody and argumentative. At least, that’s what my friends tell me.”

  “With friends like that, it’s no wonder you need a weekend away. Sunday it is. But while you’re here, no more pretending you don’t want this as much as I do.” He guided her hand down his chest to the erection that still lay heavy against her leg.

  Unbidden, her fingers closed gently around him. She stroked him with a light touch, feeling herself throb with renewed pleasure when he closed his eyes and leaned against her. Her other hand settled on his shoulder, and she could feel the cords of muscles in his neck tighten as she gave in to the desire to rub her hips against him.

  “I think we’ll need to make a slight change of plans,” he said a moment later, his voice tight. “I forgot something at home. We’ll have to drop by my penthouse. I hope you don’t mind.”

  Tori barely heard him, as she brought her other hand up to his shoulders and gently pushed him against the leather chair. “I don’t think that will be necessary.” She shoved hard and he fell into the seat. She grabbed her purse and pulled a fresh condom from the secret pocket in the back.

  A good attorney is always prepared. Tori’s Rules of Negotiation Number Four.

  She’d refilled her stash the night after she returned home. Not because of Brit, of course. Because a woman had to be prepared.

  When he saw what she had retrieved, he closed his eyes and sighed with pleasure. “How did you guess?”

  She unbuttoned his pants with fingers that had suddenly become nimble with need. Later, she wanted to linger over his body, feel him slowly enter and fill her. But now she wanted it fast and hard. She wanted to forget everything about herself. Her job. The partnership. Long days and lonely nights.

  After a few, impatient minutes, she had straddled him, her knees finding purchase in the smooth leather. She covered his mouth with a deep, searching kiss and tasted her own juices still lingering on his tongue.

  How long had it been since she’d done this?

  You’ve never done this.

  “I can’t wait,” he said against her mouth.

  “Don’t try.”

  He tangled his fingers in her hair and kissed her hard, their teeth bumping in a tempest of passion. It was quick and hard. He drove into her with a fierce, needy rhythm, and she matched his every move. Though she had not though it possible, she felt her own pleasure rising and building. When she leaned back and arched her hips, he touched a place inside her that no man had ever reached, and it sent her reeling into space. Faster and faster they moved, until he groaned against her neck, his body tensing. When she felt him explode inside her, she let herself go as well. His relief was sudden and violent, and she shattered along with him, their bodies moving in unison. He shook with his release, his arms locking around her as he buried a cry of pleasure against her mouth.

  They lay together, panting, until Tori’s legs began to cramp. Reluctantly, she peeled herself off and stood on shaky legs. The embarrassment she had felt earlier disappeared, replaced by a flood of pure satisfaction.

  “Now that we’ve got that settled…” She pulled the remaining pins from her hair and let it settle around her shoulders. “We should probably give Sam back his office.”

  “I should probably buy him a new chair,” Brit said, crinkling his nose.

  Tori laughed. Who knew sex could be so damn fun? After worrying all day about what to do with her overwhelming attraction, she now felt light, carefree.

  Staring at the hard contours of Brit’s face, Tori made a resolution. She would give herself this weekend—at least, until Sunday—to enjoy this reckless, impossible passion. Her work, Karl Bulcher, and her mother would all be waiting when she went back home. For now she’d forget it all.

  It was no strings, no looking back, and no regrets.

  …

  They went to the museum first, but neither Tori nor Brit had the attention span to gaze solemnly at works of art. So they headed for Central Park instead, and spent hours walking around aimlessly in the warm sunshine. It seemed only natural that Brit would reach out and take her hand as he pulled her out of the path of a particularly unstable inline skater, and not let her go as they threaded their way around the groups of people enjoying the early summer warmth. They talked about nothing of importance. Books, plays, music they liked. When they reached the edge of Turtle Pond—one of the few places Tori remembered from her time in the city—Brit gallantly threw down his jacket and motioned for her sit on it.

  “Are you sure?” Tori asked. She directed her gaze at the Armani tag.

  Brit bowed. “What gentleman would not lay down his coat for a lady?”

  Tori pulled off her own jacket and laid it beside his. “Ann Taylor,” she said as she dropped on top of it. “Not nearly as much of a loss.”

  Brit gave her a mock frown as he settled next to her. “You can’t subject everything to a financial risk analysis, you know. Sometimes you have to let a gentleman make a grand gesture.”

  Tori laughed. “I’ll let you make the grand gesture when it matters. Like when we’re on the helicopter.”

  He shuddered. “Goodness, that’s morbid. I certainly hope I’m not required to make any sort of gesture, grand or otherwise, while we’re a thousand feet in the air.”

  “I like to plan ahead.” She leaned back on her arms. A small group of children threw sticks and pebbles into the water as their anxious mothers hovered behind. To their right, a group of boys played football in a grassy stretch at the edge of the Great Lawn. Their game seemed to center around tackling, as no one had much luck throwing or catching
.

  “I gathered that. You’re a bit young to be handling transactions like this on your own, aren’t you?” he said.

  “Technix is my client,” she said simply. “I’m not sure how they could stop me. And, I must admit, they make me run everything past one of the senior partners. Drives me crazy.”

  “That sounds like the story of your life,” he observed. “I believe you’re what some might call an overachiever.”

  Tori looked up, half-expecting to see disapproval, but only amusement radiated from his clear blue gaze. She pulled a clover from the grass and twirled it. “So I’ve heard.”

  “But no husband, no kids. Aren’t you falling behind there?”

  “What are you, the U.S. Census?”

  “You’re a beautiful, sexy woman. I’m simply noting that it’s surprising some man hasn’t tied you to his bed long before now.”

  “Hmm.” She thought for a moment about being tied to Brit’s bed. It was a nice thought. She shook her head to clear her mind. “Nope. I was engaged once, right out of law school, but he didn’t seem to have any trouble giving me the boot. It was for the best. I really don’t have time for a relationship. I’m going to apply for partner in a couple of years, and they’ll be looking hard at my numbers. I can’t afford to get lazy.”

  “Somehow, I doubt that will be a problem.” He trailed one hand along the side of her calf. “I assume that means you aren’t dating anyone?”

  “Ha!” She found another clover and pulled off its lobes, one after another, studiously ignoring the delicious tickle of his fingers. “I don’t even remember what that means. It’s a relief, really. No one expects anything from me, or gets frustrated when I forget to come home for dinner.” She gestured toward his hand. “But you must agree. I don’t see a ring on your finger.”

  “I’ve got more family than I know what to do with,” Brit said. “Two brothers, a sister, and countless nieces and nephews. The last thing I need is more family.”