by Lisa Childs
Knowing that she was probably the mole, no, he shouldn’t want her to work at Street Legal a second longer. But he would be careful to keep her away from all the case files.
He had other plans for keeping her busy. His body throbbed as some of the images he intended to act out flashed through his mind. Her on her knees, sucking on his cock.
Her sexy bare ass bent over his desk as he drove himself inside her...
Sweat broke out on his lip as tension gripped his body. He intended to sensually torment and seduce her into revealing her betrayal. But all of the thoughts of how he would do that were torturing him.
“Oh, I intend to work you,” he warned her as he stepped closer to her. His chest bumped against her breasts, which rose with her pants for breath so much that they nearly spilled over the top of the bustier. “Long and hard...”
And that was just him.
She gasped again, and her dark eyes widened even more with shock. And that desire she kept denying. “You can’t make me do anything but work,” she insisted, her voice husky and breathless.
He nodded but a grin tugged at his lips. “We’ll see...”
She had no idea how persuasive he could be. He had never turned his charm on her before. But he fully intended to do that now.
He was going to seduce the office mole. He was going to con the con until she revealed all her secrets and begged to stay with him—in the office and in bed.
* * *
It was just a dream. That was all it had been. It couldn’t have actually happened last Friday night. Simon Kramer couldn’t have really hit on her.
On Bette Monroe.
He hadn’t kissed her, hadn’t touched her...hadn’t hinted at wanting to do even more to her.
No. It was just a dream. And convincing herself of that was the only way she’d managed to come in to the office on Monday morning. That and that damn contract she’d signed. She had no doubt that he would enforce it had she decided to not work out her two-week notice.
The elevator bell dinged as the car reached the top floor. When the doors slid open, she sucked in a deep breath—bracing herself before she stepped out onto the floor for the Street Legal law practice. It was just two weeks. She’d lasted two years working for Simon Kramer, which—by his own admission—was longer than most of his previous assistants had.
Two weeks was nothing.
She lifted her chin and forced a smile for the receptionist as she walked past him on her way to her office. Miguel nodded in return. The former gang member looked more like a bouncer than a receptionist, which was appropriate since he often had to act more like a bouncer than a receptionist. His voice was like deep velvet, though, when he answered the phone. “Street Legal, how may I help you?”
Would he help her if she asked? Not if she needed help with Simon Kramer. Miguel was fiercely loyal to the managing partner of Street Legal. But she wouldn’t need help. Simon wasn’t going to attack her. Even if what had happened Friday night hadn’t been a dream, he hadn’t attacked.
He had seduced, which was far more dangerous. An attack she could have fought off. Even before moving to New York City six years ago, she had taken self-defense classes. She also carried Mace in her purse. She was prepared for an attack. She was not prepared for Simon Kramer’s charm.
She couldn’t believe she’d managed to walk away from him Friday night, that she hadn’t been tempted to stay and find out if he was as good as all his ex-lovers had claimed. If he was the best...
She shivered and shook her head. No. He didn’t tempt her. Not at all.
Liar, she called herself like he had called her that night.
The minute she stepped into her office, he turned that charm on her, grinning at her from where he reclined in her chair, his feet up on her desk. That grin stole away the breath she’d drawn. He was so damn good-looking. The grin didn’t just curve his sensual lips and show his perfectly straight white teeth; it made his blue eyes sparkle, highlighting the glint of mischief in them.
As if she’d looked directly at the sun, she squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. But when she opened them again, he was still there. Ignoring her pounding pulse and heart, she narrowed her eyes and focused on him. Sure, his masculine beauty would probably burn her retinas, but she risked it to study him. Despite the grin and the relaxed posture, he had tension in his broad shoulders and the rigid line of his jaw.
Something was bothering him. She doubted he was that upset about her resignation. Sure, hiring a new assistant would be an inconvenience, but he’d barely noticed let alone appreciated her these past two years.
His grin widened, and he greeted her with a “Good morning, sunshine.”
The greeting was more apt for him. With his golden-blond hair and sparkling smile, he was the sun. With her dark hair and eyes, she felt more like a dark cloud, especially after her sleepless nights since Friday. How could she have just dreamed that kiss when she hadn’t slept at all?
And from the way he was looking at her, his gaze moving like a caress up and down her body, she knew it had happened. He hadn’t just kissed her, though. He’d touched her.
Even though he hadn’t moved from her chair, she felt his touch again. Felt his fingertips gliding over her skin...
And another shiver chased down her spine, making her skin tingle.
His grin widened.
She glared at him. “Apparently, you’ve already filled my position,” she said. “So it’s not necessary for me to work out my notice.”
He laughed now, a deep chuckle that affected her nearly as much as his kiss and his touch had. It was so damn sexy. Just like he was.
She turned on the pointy heel of her pump and headed toward the door of her office. Her space was so much smaller than his, with just a few feet between her desk and the door. But she didn’t make it before a strong hand closed around her arm and jerked her to a halt.
“You’re not going anywhere,” he told her.
She tugged, but his fingers were locked around her arm, his grasp too strong for her to break. Even though she wore one of her long-sleeved cardigans, she could feel the warmth of his skin through the fabric, and goose bumps of awareness rose on her skin.
“I am leaving,” she said.
“Not for two weeks.” Using his hand on her arm, he spun her around as if they were on a dance floor.
But Bette was not graceful, especially in heels. She stumbled and fell against him. Her breath escaped her lungs in a gasp as her breasts pressed against his chest. Her hips pressed against his, and she felt his reaction to her closeness.
Instead of being embarrassed or apologetic, he chuckled. “I fully intend to enjoy every minute of these two weeks,” he told her as he pushed his hips more firmly against hers. “And I’ll make sure you enjoy them, too.”
Heat rushed through her from her nipples, which had tightened against the silk cups of her bra, down to her clit, which pulsed with desire for him. Damn him...
“If I’d enjoyed working for you, I wouldn’t have given my notice,” she said as she stepped back. She needed space between them. But with his hand on her arm, she could only get inches and couldn’t escape the heat of his body.
She needed feet. No, she needed miles. Miles between them would be good. Then she might not feel him, might not want him.
He lifted his free hand toward her face and ran his fingertips along her cheek. “That was because I wasn’t making sure you enjoyed it,” he said. He stepped closer and lowered his head. His lips were just a breath away from hers when he added, “You will enjoy working for me now, Bette. You’ll enjoy it so much that you will never want to stop.”
With the heat of his breath against her lips, she could smell a trace of mint and coffee and could almost taste him. Not the mint and coffee but him...
How he’d tasted Friday night. Dark and rich and hot.
&n
bsp; That desire pulsing in her core had Bette leaning toward him. She wanted his lips against hers again. She wanted to make sure that the kiss—his kiss—hadn’t been a dream or, worse yet, just a manifestation of two years of longing. Longing for his kiss, his touch.
When her lips touched his, a jolt of sexual awareness shot so violently through her that she jerked back, fast and strongly enough that she pulled free of him. But it didn’t matter that he was no longer touching her. He still had a hold on her—with his charm, with his aura.
And he knew it. The knowledge was in his grin and the sparkle in his blue eyes. She had no doubt he would use the power of that attraction over her.
For what? To convince her to stay?
She was not going to change her mind. Street Legal was never where she’d wanted to be. Law was not her passion. And Simon Kramer would not sway her with his charm and his good looks.
“Oh, Bette,” he murmured with an ever-widening grin, “you and I are finally going to have some fun.”
Fun? That she doubted, just like she’d doubted her earlier pep talk to herself.
Two weeks wasn’t nothing. If he kept turning on the charm like this, it would be a lifetime. And because of that damn employment contract he’d had her sign, she wouldn’t be able to cut that time. But he could. He was the only one who could waive the requirement for her to work out the two-week notice.
What would it take for him to get rid of her right away? Then she remembered what he’d asked her Friday night when he’d caught her leaving the resignation letter on his desk—the reason he’d thought she was leaving. That she was in love with him...
What if she hadn’t laughed? What if she’d answered yes? Would he have shown her the door right then and taken away her key? Was that why she’d sent flowers to so many women for him over the past two years?
Because they’d fallen in love with him and had gotten clingy and desperate and he’d wanted nothing to do with them? From their calls pleading with her to let them talk to him, to see him...just one more time.
Yes. She knew what it would take to make him want to get rid of her right away. She would have to convince him that she’d fallen for him.
Chapter Three
SIMON DID NOT miss the sudden sparkle in her eyes and the slight curve of her lips. Bette Monroe was up to something. And he had a feeling he wasn’t going to like it. It wouldn’t be the first thing she’d done that he didn’t like. He didn’t like her giving notice. If she was the mole, he sure as hell didn’t like that she’d sold secrets from their case files. And if she was the mole, he would make damn certain she paid dearly for her betrayal.
As if she’d read his mind, her smile slid away, the brightness of her dark eyes dimmed and she shivered. She couldn’t be cold, not with another damn sweater buttoned up to her neck like it was. What was she wearing beneath that? More lace and silk like on Friday night? Or had she only worn that because she’d been meeting someone after she’d left him?
He wanted to find out what she was wearing beneath her conservative skirt and sweater. He fully intended to find out. But he’d have to be patient for now as the phone on her desk began to ring.
A shaky sigh slipped through her lips as if she was relieved for the interruption, and she reached for the phone. But before she could pick it up, he caught her wrist in his hand.
“Before you answer that,” he said, “we need to go over our schedule for the day.” He stroked his thumb over the silky skin of her delicate wrist, and her pulse leaped beneath his touch. “And the night.”
Her throat moved as if she had to swallow before asking, “Night?”
He grinned. “Yes, we’re going to be working late.”
“H-how late?” she stammered.
“Quite late,” he warned her. “Tonight and every night for the next two weeks. At least...”
She drew in a shaky breath now. “Two weeks,” she said. “Just two weeks.” And she reached for the phone with her other hand, lifting it to her flushed face.
“Bette Monroe, assistant to Simon Kramer, how may I help you?” she asked the caller.
She could tell Simon the damn truth. But he didn’t expect her to freely divulge her secrets. Few people were honest about everything, and some, like his old man, were never honest about anything. He wasn’t certain into which category Bette Monroe would fall. But just like he intended to find out what lingerie—if any—she was wearing, he fully intended to find that out, too.
He would execute the plan he’d concocted Friday night and seduce the truth out of his sexy executive assistant. He just hadn’t realized how damn much he was going to enjoy the seduction. For the first time in a long time, he might actually have found a challenge. Ironically enough, it—she—had been right under his nose for the past two years.
While he had noticed Bette’s ass and hips and the swell of her breasts beneath those sweaters, he’d never thought she could possibly be nearly as big a con as he was. He’d have to be careful that she didn’t get access to any more case files and that she didn’t get to him any more than she had already started to.
Just that faint brush of her lips across his had his pulse leaping like hers did beneath the pressure of his thumb. Just seeing her had his dick swelling behind the fly of his suit pants.
Damn. He wanted her. Seducing the truth out of her wouldn’t be a hardship for him. Well, especially once he got a release from the tension building inside him.
He watched her lips move as she spoke to whoever had called. The dimple in the full bottom one seemed to wink at him, tempting him to take her mouth again—to kiss her like he had Friday night. It had been one damn long weekend waiting for Monday, waiting to see her again, to touch her again, to kiss her...
But she had work to do. And so did he. He had to plan his next move in the seduction of his sexy little office mole.
* * *
Just one week and four days left...
That was what Bette told herself as lights began to shut off on the floor for the Street Legal law practice. Miguel had left for the night along with most of the rest of the office staff. Actually, she wasn’t certain if there was anyone else on the floor but her.
Simon hadn’t lied about working late. Fortunately, working was pretty much all he’d been doing—meeting with clients in and out of the office throughout the day. Of course every time he’d had a free minute, he had either stopped by her desk or called her into his office. And every time, he had treated her to another strong dose of his sexiness until she’d gotten drunk on it.
Maybe that was why she felt so light-headed now. Or maybe it was because she’d been so busy herself that she’d had to skip lunch. She would not survive nine more days like today, not with her sanity intact. She had to make him cut the two weeks short.
Very short.
Like she wished this day would have been. Would it ever end? Simon had left a while ago for his last appointment, but he’d given her orders—with a wink and a grin—for her to stay until he returned. And the way he’d looked at her...like he was already undressing her.
Her face had flushed and her body had heated and she’d tried to stammer out a protest. But he’d only laughed and claimed he would have notes for her that wouldn’t wait until morning. He was enjoying this...enjoying how rattled she got when he turned his notorious charm on her.
She could not let it affect her anymore. In order to get him to cut short the two weeks, she would have to rattle him instead. And she knew just how to do that—act like she was in love with him.
She didn’t have any experience in the theater, though. Unlike so many other women, she hadn’t come to New York to be an actress. She had come to be a fashion designer. But apparently, she had acted her ass off the past two years as an executive assistant in a law firm.
She could do this. She had to do this.
The elevator dinged.
Here was her curtain call.
She drew in a deep breath and forced a bright smile. But she didn’t hear the quick taps of Simon’s shoes against the hardwood floor. Instead, she heard the creak and whine of metal wheels rolling over the wood.
“What the hell...?” she murmured. And she stood to peer into the reception area just as a chef, complete with tall hat, white uniform and apron, rolled in the metal cart she’d heard.
He paused in her doorway. “You—Miss Monroe?” he asked, his accent thick and impossible to place—at least for Bette.
Despite six years of living in the melting pot of New York City, the only accents she could readily place were ones like her own: Midwestern. This man could have been French, Belgian, Swiss, Austrian or faking it. There were a lot of people in this city who pretended to be from someplace they were not. Who pretended to be what they were not.
So she should be able to pretend with Simon.
This man she answered honestly, “Yes, I’m Bette Monroe.”
The chef’s beady-eyed gaze traveled from her hair, drawn into that tight bun, down to the closed toes of her pumps and back. His brow furrowed as if he doubted her. Would she have to show her license?
She hoped not because whatever he had on that cart, simmering in chafing dishes with burners beneath them, smelled like heaven—if heaven smelled like savory spices and beef and potatoes.
Her stomach growled, and her mouth began to water.
The guy made a noise, too, in his throat. It was either a groan of disgust or exasperation. “Mr. Kramer said you would be expecting me.”
She glanced at her computer, which was open to her email, then down at her phone, which had no new texts. “Mr. Kramer didn’t mention you to me yet.”
What was this? Along with the chafing dishes were two plates, cloth napkins and a couple of candles ready to light. A romantic dinner for two? Who was Simon meeting here?
The elevator dinged again and she realized she was about to find out. But the taps were Simon’s quick footsteps, not the clicks of a woman’s heels. At least he had arrived before his date.