by Lisa Childs
“So if it’s not a woman,” Trevor said, “what’s bothering you?”
He shrugged, but the tension remained in his shoulders and neck and lower in his body, where his groin swelled with the need to experience that beyond-pleasure release again. “Just had a busy day yesterday. Back-to-back meetings with clients or potential clients all day.” And at night...
He had Bette. Or did she have him?
“Yeah,” Stone said. “You worked really late last night.”
Simon glanced up, and across the table he met his friend’s intense gaze. The knowledge was in Stone’s dark gray eyes. He knew...
“You were here?” Simon asked uneasily. He’d thought everyone was gone and that he and Bette had been alone in the office last night. Obviously, he’d thought wrong.
“I have to make sure my defense is ready before the trial begins,” Stone said. His gaze increased in intensity. “And I have to make sure none of my defense plan leaks to the prosecution.”
“Hillary Bellows,” Trevor murmured with a lustful sigh. “I wouldn’t mind going toe-to-toe with her.”
Stone glared at him. “Yeah, you’re an idiot, then. She’s a pain in the ass.”
“Because she’s good,” Trev goaded him.
“I’m better,” Stone said. And it wasn’t just his ego talking. All his past victories against her proved it true. “I will win this case as long as there are no surprises like there were in Trev’s trial.” He was staring at Simon again.
He nodded. “There will not be any surprises. Nobody’s going to get into our files again.” He would keep Bette too busy with work and sex to sell any more secrets.
“So you got it handled?” Trev asked. “You found out who got their hands on that report from my case files?”
He wasn’t ready yet to share his suspicions about Bette. First, he had no proof. Second, if his partners knew he suspected her, they would want him to toss her out of the office immediately. And he wasn’t ready to let her go just yet.
At least not until he had proof...
Then he would.
She hadn’t given him much of a choice last night. She’d run off before he’d finished cleaning up. He’d come so much—because of her.
“I’m working on it,” he said. His voice sounded gruff, so he had to clear it before continuing. “But now that we’re aware of what happened, we’re all more vigilant. Nobody’s going to pull anything on us again.”
Least of all Bette Monroe. She would not seduce him again. That was not going to happen.
He slapped his palms onto the tabletop so forcefully that he had coffee spilling over the rim of his mug. “Anything else we need to discuss this morning?” And he gave Stone a pointed look, so that he wouldn’t bring up what he knew about the night before—about Simon’s late night with Bette.
Ronan, who was always full of energy, jumped up from his chair. “No. We’re good. I trust that you’ve got everything handled. It’s not like we could actually have a mole in our office anyway, not with you doing all the hiring.”
Heat rushed to his face now from where it had pooled in his groin with thoughts of Bette. How had she fooled him so completely? She was nothing like what he’d thought she was the past two years.
If he’d only known how damn hot she was...
How responsive. She’d come so easily and so many times. He was good. But he wasn’t that good. He hadn’t even given her his best effort because he’d lost control. That damn tension had wound up so tightly inside him that he’d snapped completely.
Trev stood up, as well. “I’m the one with back-to-back appointments with potential clients all day today,” he said and sighed. “The burden of being a winner. Everybody wants you.”
Simon wriggled his eyebrows and grinned. “Everybody’s always wanted me.”
Apparently, even Bette...
But she’d never given him that impression before. Did she know that he was onto her? The thought of her distracted him again, so that he barely noticed that Ronan and Trevor had left his office.
Stone had remained, though, sitting across from him, his eyes narrowed as he studied Simon’s face. “What the hell are you thinking?”
“Right now?” Simon asked. “I’m not sure you’d want to know.” Unless Stone had a thing for Bette Monroe, too, because Simon couldn’t stop thinking about her and that damn lacy lingerie she’d been wearing the night before. What would she be wearing today? He couldn’t wait to find out.
“Last night,” Stone said. “What the hell were you thinking?”
“What are you talking about?” Simon asked. He could probably guess, but he’d learned it was smarter not to make any assumptions. Maybe Stone didn’t know who’d been in the office with Simon.
“I was here,” Stone reminded him. “I heard Bruno wheel in the cart for your romantic dinner.” His brow furrowed with either confusion or concern. “With your assistant.”
Simon chuckled. “So—we were working late.”
“You weren’t working,” Stone said. “Your office isn’t soundproof and that wasn’t dictation I overheard as I was leaving.”
Heat rushed to Simon’s face, but he chuckled again and teased, “Jealous?”
Stone shook his head. “Concerned that you’re exposing Street Legal to a potential lawsuit. She’s an employee.”
“Not for much longer,” Simon admitted.
Stone groaned. “You’re firing her? That makes it even worse.”
“No,” Simon said. “She already gave her notice.”
“Oh...” Stone nodded as if he suddenly understood.
But what could he understand? Simon hadn’t told him that Bette could potentially be the mole. Again, he hesitated about revealing that information. It was smarter to keep his suspicions to himself until he had proof.
And yet he was compelled to ask his friend, “What does that mean?”
“I’ve seen the way you looked at her the past couple of years,” Stone said. “So I get you going all out since she’s no longer off-limits.”
Hell, if she was the mole, she’d be more off-limits than she was as an active employee.
“All out?”
“The fancy dinner, the seduction...”
He was responsible for the fancy dinner, but the seduction had been more her than him. He shrugged. “What can I say?”
Stone sighed. “I just hope you know what you’re doing,” he murmured as he stood up and headed toward the door.
Simon got up and followed him out. He hoped he knew what the hell he was doing, too. The first thing he did was head to Bette’s office. But it was dark and empty. As he turned around in the doorway, Miguel waved him over to the reception desk in the lobby and informed him. “She called in sick.”
Yeah, right...
She wasn’t sick. She was scared, scared that he was going to find out what she was up to. And she was damn right to be scared because he was more determined than ever to get the truth out of Bette Monroe.
Unfortunately—after last night—that wasn’t all he wanted from her.
* * *
Bette twirled in front of the oval mirror in her walk-in closet. She admired the flow of the green silk negligee against her body, but she couldn’t look at her face. She was too disgusted with herself.
About last night...
About sleeping with Simon Kramer. What had she been thinking? Sure, she’d spent the past two years wondering what it would be like. But it would have been safer to just keep wondering.
Because being with him...
That had been a lot more powerful than she’d ever imagined it could be. The man was incredible. His body, the way he’d touched her, the way he’d moved inside her.
She shivered. But she wasn’t really cold. Heat suffused her body, as it had every time she’d thought of the night before, of
what she and Simon Kramer had done in his office, on his couch.
How many other women had he taken against the supple black leather? She hadn’t thought about that in the incredible heat of the moment. But she’d been thinking about it ever since...
Not that she wanted to be anything special to him. She didn’t want to be anything to him. She didn’t even want to see him again.
That was partially why she’d called in sick, which was another reason she couldn’t look at her face in the mirror. She was disgusted with herself for lying and for being a coward. She was tougher than that; if she wasn’t, she wouldn’t have made it on her own all these years in New York.
Maybe it was better that she didn’t go into the office because then she wouldn’t have to endure the humiliation of being walked out with her box of belongings. And she had no doubt that Simon would walk her to the door. He had no use for her anymore, not after last night.
Her doorbell rang, and she tensed. Who could that be? Hardly anyone had her new address yet. She still hadn’t unpacked all her boxes, which was another reason she’d decided not to go into the office today. She had too much to do. But the box of lingerie samples had distracted her, and she’d found herself trying on some of the things. She’d wanted inspiration for more designs but all she could think about was Simon and last night.
The doorbell rang again, insistently, as if someone had her or his finger pressed against it. How had the visitor even gotten past the doorman? This wasn’t like her old building in Queens that had a broken lock on the door to the lobby, so there had been absolutely no security but for her overprotective neighbors and the two roommates with whom she’d shared the two-bedroom apartment.
Thank goodness for them.
Maybe she hadn’t survived entirely on her own in the city. But this building, in the Garment District, was supposed to have high security, at least that was what the property manager had claimed. So maybe it was a new neighbor introducing her or himself, which would be nice since no one had been particularly friendly or warm yet.
At least she had one friend in the building, the one who’d recommended the place to her. But Muriel was out of town on a photo shoot. If Bette hadn’t had to work out these two weeks, she could have gone with her.
Damn Simon Kramer and his employment contract. No matter that Bette was doing better financially than she ever had, she still couldn’t afford a lawsuit that she was certain to lose.
She grabbed a long fleece robe from a hook on the closet wall before heading through her bedroom, with the sheets tangled on the unmade bed, to the living room. The sun shone through the tall windows in the brick walls, casting a warm glow on the dark-stained hardwood floor. She loved this place. But she wasn’t entirely convinced it was as safe as the property manager and Muriel had claimed.
How had someone found out where she lived? Unless Muriel had sent congratulatory flowers for Bette quitting Street Legal. Or had Simon sent the kiss-off flowers he’d sent to every other lover he’d tired of?
But Simon didn’t know where she lived.
To be safe, Bette paused before opening the door. She rose up on tiptoe and peered through the peephole. And her breath caught in her lungs as fear filled her.
No...
How the hell had he found out where she lived? And how had he gotten inside the building? But then she knew. He had somehow charmed his way inside, just like he’d charmed his way inside her the night before.
Abandoning the button for the bell, he pounded on the door instead. “Bette, I know you’re inside, and I’m not leaving until you let me in.”
She didn’t doubt that he would keep ringing her bell and pounding on the door until she did. And if she ever wanted the neighbors to warm up to her, she shouldn’t risk alienating any of them with a noise disturbance.
With a sigh, she turned the dead bolt and opened the door. “What are you doing here?” she asked as she leaned against the jamb, blocking his way inside.
But she didn’t deter him. He put his hands on her shoulders and moved her aside so he could enter. “Simon!” She gasped. But she closed the door behind him.
“Don’t you mean how?” he asked. “You didn’t change your address with HR.”
HR was a couple of women who handled payroll and benefits. He was really Human Resources, the one who personally interviewed and hired all applicants. Her face flushed at the thought of him asking those gossipy women where she lived.
“Then how?” she asked.
“One of your former roommates gave me your good news.”
She tensed. What roommate? And what exactly had he told him? She was afraid to ask so she returned to her original question. “Why?”
He grinned. “John Paul couldn’t resist my charm.”
John Paul. He had probably fallen in love with Simon at first sight. But JP loved her, too, so he wouldn’t have revealed too much information. He’d probably only told Simon where she was because the guy was a hopeless romantic.
Bette was too practical for romance. Or at least that was what she’d always thought until last night and that romantic candlelit dinner Simon had catered for them.
“Why are you here?” she asked. That was the question she really wanted him to answer. Did he want more the way she did?
“I should have tracked you down last night,” he said, “after you ran out the way you did.”
Her face heated with embarrassment. She had acted like a fool, thinking she could act. That had been stupid. “It was late,” she said. “And I was too drunk to work.” Maybe he would think that was why she’d done what she had, undressing for him.
“I’m here to bring you to work,” he said. “You still have nine days to go on your two-week notice—if you still want to leave.”
Her already racing pulse quickened even more with surprise. “You still want me there?”
He stared down at her, and his blue eyes darkened. Then his gaze skimmed down her body, over her fleece robe, as if he could see right through it.
Her nipples tightened in reaction, and heat rushed to her core. She’d never wanted anyone the way she wanted him. And that had been before she’d even known how he felt inside her and how much pleasure he could give her.
“I definitely still want you,” he said, and there was no mistaking the intent in his deep, sensual voice.
“But—but that’s not your usual MO,” she protested.
“Usual MO?” he asked as he arched a dark blond brow. “What is my usual MO?”
Maybe she was still a little buzzed from the wine the night before or the sex, because her filter was off again. She answered him honestly, “You’re notorious for being the king of one-night stands.”
He didn’t deny it; he just chuckled. “Is that why you ran out the way you did last night?”
She nodded. “And since we had one night...”
“You thought that was all I would want?”
Realizing she should have used more tact, she sank her teeth into her bottom lip and just nodded her head.
He stepped closer, until his body pressed against hers. And dropping his voice to a low, sexy whisper, he murmured, “One night with you would never be enough.”
She gasped as her core began to throb with desire for him. And he took her mouth, kissing her deeply. His tongue slid between her lips, like his cock had slid inside her last night. His hands moved to her shoulders again, but he didn’t move her aside this time. He pulled her closer.
Her breasts crushed against his chest; her heart pounded madly—in perfect rhythm with his. Just like they’d been last night...
That rhythm had been fast and frantic, though, as they’d both lost control. She couldn’t lose control again the way she had before. She had to remember who and what he was: Simon Kramer, heartbreaking charmer and ruthless attorney.
Chapter Six
SIMON LIFTED HIS head from hers and tried to clear it. He needed to focus on anything other than her beautiful face. She wasn’t wearing her glasses today. She probably wore no makeup, either, but her pale skin was flawless, her lashes long and thick and as deep a brown as her hair. She didn’t need makeup, not with her natural beauty.
Apparently, she didn’t need her glasses, either. At least not all the time. But until last night he’d never seen her without them. Were they necessary? Or just part of her disguise?
He felt like she’d been wearing one the past two years. Like she’d deliberately been trying to mislead him about who she really was.
Because he’d had no idea how hot she was, how wet and responsive...
He suppressed a groan that burned the back of his throat, like she’d burned him up the night before with her passion. Who the hell was Bette Monroe really?
Her hair was down, too, falling in long, rich, brown waves around her slender shoulders. Even with the long fleece robe covering up her substantial curves, she was damn sexy. Then the sash of that robe slipped out of its loose knot, and the fleece parted to reveal dark green silk and lace.
His breath escaped in a gasp, like he’d been sucker punched. Not that he knew what that felt like. Nobody had ever sucker punched him before. He was always too aware, too prepared, to get suckered.
Until now.
Until Bette Monroe.
“What the hell are you wearing?” he asked, his voice gruff with desire.
Her face flushed with embarrassment, and her fingers trembled as she fumbled with the sash, trying to retie the fleece robe.
He caught her fingers in his and tugged the sash free of the loops. Then he pushed the robe from her shoulders. Her bare shoulders...
He wasn’t certain how the hell the negligee wasn’t slipping right off her body. Then he noticed another bow on her back, tied between her shoulder blades. If he undid that bow, the negligee would drop to her feet. His fingers twitched. He wanted to untie that bow so badly.