By Appointment Only

by Lisa Eugene

  Wanda sighed heavily, her gaze candid. “Girl, you know you wanna go.”

  I snorted loudly from my perch on the crate. My legs were stretched out in front of me, crossed at the ankles.

  “What makes you so sure?”

  She pursed her lips, giving me a thorough once over that made my insides squirm. “You painted your toenails. And I see you’ve shaved your legs. They look ready to give a man’s face a tight hug.”

  I laughed at Wanda’s analysis, not bothering to tell her my painted toenails had nothing to do with Mr. Rutherford. Wanda wouldn’t believe me. My shaved legs on the other hand were a different story.

  “I’m only being honest,” Wanda said pensively. “And you should be, too. Admit it, you’re attracted to him.”

  I sighed heavily, my levity gone. I didn’t want to tell her that I’d awoken the night before in a hot sweat with a pulse pounding for relief between my legs. My dreams had been about Mr. Rutherford. “Okay, I am. But I shouldn’t be. I’m not even sure why he wants to see me again.”

  Her brows jerked up. “Isn’t it obvious?”

  “No, it’s not!” I shook my head adamantly. “The man was completely callous. In fact, he was downright rude. For all I know, he could be planning on serving me with a bill for his car door.”

  Wanda rubbed her forehead, staring at me like I was the village idiot. “He wouldn’t need to invite you back to his office to do that. I think you must have had some effect on him. I say go and enjoy yourself. Be open to anything.”

  I groaned, remembering the trouble Wanda’s advice had gotten me into already. I wasn’t a prude when it came to sex. I’d been around long enough, and knew myself well enough to be okay with sex purely for the sake of physical pleasure. The concepts of love, romance and ever afters were myths, fairy tales that had died an unnatural death a long time ago. Both parties, though, had to share a mutual attraction, and right now I wasn’t sure that was the case. I wasn’t sure of anything when it came to Chase Rutherford.

  Except that I wanted to see that extremely frustrating man again.

  I rose from the crate, avoiding Wanda’s satisfied grin. Suddenly, I turned back to my friend. Worry edged down my back.

  “If Steven shows up—”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll call the cops—after I feed him his balls.”

  “Don’t confront him. He’s out of control. There’s no telling what he’ll do.”

  “I won’t. I promise. Go. Enjoy yourself.”

  I laughed when Wanda approached, and winking, pressed condoms into my palm. “Just in case.”

  I couldn’t help feeling that this wasn’t going to be nearly enough protection from Chase Rutherford.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Miss Prissy greeted me with her usual I-just-licked-a-lemon face, and I was starting to wonder if that expression was reserved solely for me. The receptionist didn’t ask if I had an appointment this time, nor denied her boss was in, instead she immediately led me back to Mr. Rutherford’s office. She didn’t say a word, but the looks she shot my way were layered with vitriol. I couldn’t help feeling judged and condemned by the hostile gazes.

  My mind was still on Miss Prissy when a deep voice cut through the quiet room. I inhaled a shallow breath, startled by the nearness of it. Mr. Rutherford stood off to my right where a sitting area and bar took up a corner of the large office. He was dressed impeccably in another dark suit that showcased his tall body and impressive physique. His hair was pushed back from his face in thick, feathery waves.

  He stood still, waiting. He must’ve asked something and for the life of me, I had no clue what it was. Meeting his eyes, my stomach clenched at the sheer beauty of him. I forced myself to breathe slowly as his brow slid up in question.

  “Drink, Danielle?” he asked smoothly, motioning to the array of bottles on the tray in front of him.

  I startled again, but mostly from hearing his informal address. He’d never called me anything but a terse Ms. Carmichael. Maybe Wanda was right. Maybe there was more to this meeting than discussing reparations for his car. My nerve endings started buzzing with something like excitement, and it hummed through my body. Throat tight, I shook my head and watched as he turned over a short tumbler and poured a few ounces of amber liquid.

  The silence stretched with my elastic thoughts, my imagination reaching in every direction only to spring back to the impossible. He raised the glass and took a sip, keeping his gaze trained magnetically on me. Was he toying with me? I looked for that wry amusement I sometimes saw in his eyes and found none. His intense stare was unsettling. Despite Wanda’s protests, I’d worn blue jeans and a pale yellow shirt. My hair was back in a simple ponytail. I’d dressed up for him once, and it hadn’t made a difference. I’d decided not to make the same mistake again. I was afraid to make assumptions about this evening. It could only end in further disappointment, and maybe a deeper humiliation. I hated feeling so anxious. I wasn’t used to being this uncertain, this edgy. Anger was an easier emotion to wield.

  “I—I almost didn’t come,” I admitted.

  He took another slow sip, eyes teasing. “I knew you would.”

  There it was. The flicker of humor. Cocky bastard! My eyes flared at his confidence, but I realized it would be fitting for him to assume so. He was a man used to getting what he wanted. He said jump and, without question, people asked for directions to the nearest bridge.

  “Have a seat.” He motioned to the couch in the sitting area.

  “I’d rather stand, thanks.”

  The corner of his lips twitched. He was even more devastating without the stern look he always wore.

  “Are you ever agreeable, Danielle?”

  I had to admit I loved the way he said my name. His tongue wrapped around the appellation like it was a lollypop. I gave his question some thought.

  “Rarely.”

  The smile finally reached and settled in his gorgeous blue eyes and I had to look away, my heart beating far too rapidly.

  He crossed the room to his desk in long-legged strides. There was noticeable definition to his legs even beneath the fabric of his tailored slacks. He pressed an intercom and dismissed Miss Prissy for the evening. I couldn’t help imagining what her face must look like now. The meaning of his actions didn’t fully register until he walked to the wall of windows, and with the press of a button, dropped the shades on all but one slender glass panel.

  The room instantly darkened. Natural evening light filtered through the remaining window, blanketing the room with hazy shadows. Instinct alone should’ve made me bolt, but for some reason I wasn’t afraid for my safety. It was a different fear altogether, like when you’re suspended at the top of the first steep drop of a roller coaster about to take the plunge. Terrified and exhilarated at once.

  I swallowed hard, butterflies taking flight in my stomach.

  Still rooted in the same spot, my fingers twisted nervously. Not sure what to do or what to think, I started talking. Fast.

  “So . . . um . . . you’d said we needed to talk about certain matters. You . . . um . . . mentioned the car door. How did you know?”

  He glided the few steps to me, close enough I could smell the subtle spice of aftershave. His tall frame dwarfed me and his broad shoulders blocked the light, casting me almost completely in shadow.

  “Um . . . I mean there was no one in the lot. How can you be so sure . . .”

  “Cameras,” he answered simply.

  I nodded once. I should’ve known. I swallowed hard and dragged in a shaky breath when he stepped even closer. The urge to take a step back—to flee—was overwhelming, but I couldn’t seem to move a muscle. He was right on top of me, his warm breath fanning my forehead, his maleness crowding me in. Still, he wasn’t touching me.

  My breath raced, my focus now squarely on the center of his chest, on his white shirt and russet tie.

  “Are you nervous, Danielle?” he asked softly.

  “No . . .” I whispered.

 
A throaty chuckle. “Liar.”

  I took in another deep breath, trying to stay focused as I kept talking. “It was a stupid thing to do. I admit it. It was impulsive. I hadn’t meant to damage your car . . . honestly. I was upset. I assume total—”

  “Take off your shirt, Danielle.”

  I opened my mouth to continue, and then snapped it shut. It was hard to pretend this meeting was about his car in the face of such a bold request.

  He took a step back, a large silhouette whose stare was locked on my face. I could feel the steady sting of it.

  “Take off your shirt. I want to see you again.” This time, it was a command, not a request. What surprised me was his tone. It still held the same clinical indifference, like he was asking me to show him my driver’s license and not my body. I stood unmoving for a moment, fighting an internal battle.

  But tired of always fighting, always needing to put up resistance, I surrendered.

  Pushing away the strangeness of the moment, I dropped my purse to the floor and started unbuttoning my shirt. The voices in my head questioning my sanity were adamantly ignored, smothered to a muffled silence. Instead, I acknowledged the fiery thrill that had coursed through my veins at his crisp order.

  The almost hypnotic lure of his voice seemed to free me from the squeeze of the fist always surrounding me. I exhaled a deep breath and gave up the struggle, the control I felt I always needed to have. I closed my eyes, and reached out with my senses, allowing myself to exist in this moment, only this utterly surreal moment.

  Despite his outward detachment, he wanted to see me.

  “Slowly, Danielle. No rush,” he whispered, taking a step sideways so I was doused by a stream of hazy light coming through the window.

  Focusing somewhere in the distance, I removed my shirt, letting it swish to the floor in a puddle. I unhooked my bra. My breasts fell forward, swaying slightly when I shrugged the straps off my shoulders.

  I heard his sudden intake of breath and felt a swell of satisfaction. He wasn’t completely immune to me after all. He wanted me. And I couldn’t deny I wanted him, my desire rising from a long, dormant sleep.

  Why had I come here? Was it for this? This feeling he aroused in me? The need to let myself go and feel something besides the perpetual swings and hardships that constantly visited my life.

  “The rest . . .” His voice grew thicker, pulling me from my thoughts.

  With the slightest hesitation, I unbuttoned my jeans and shimmied them down my hips. I tried to do it slowly as he’d asked, but anticipation rushed my fingers. This man was so compelling, so intense that each movement needed its own internal set of directions. My skin tingled with awareness of him, my nipples puckered tight, and arousal pulsed hard between my thighs.

  I wanted to see him, to touch him, to feel his body against mine. I hadn’t felt this way about any man in a very long time. The fact that he was practically a stranger made this even more baffling. There was a strange eroticism to this undressing that turned me on, but it was the most peculiar prelude to intercourse I’d ever had. From what I recalled from previous experiences, clothes were practically ripped off, body parts aligned, and the business of fucking dealt with promptly.

  “Panties, too, please . . .” he requested politely when I stood in just cotton briefs.

  I gritted my teeth, wishing I’d worn nicer underwear. Wanda’s singsong I told you so sang in my head. Unusually compliant, I hooked my thumbs in the waistband and peeled the underwear down my legs.

  The thud of my heart was deafening. I was still in the same spot, completely naked, bared to his probing gaze. I couldn’t make out his expression in the fading light, but could hear the increased cadence of his breath and feel the pull and push of it from his lungs. It didn’t escape me that he was still fully dressed, properly formal in his expensive suit.

  Slowly, he circled me, his gaze bold. I cringed, hating his visual interrogation. He seemed completely absorbed, almost transfixed. A part of me wanted to take offense at the fact that he inspected me as though I was cattle on an auction block, but I was too turned on to mount proper displeasure. He stopped behind me and I bit into my lip. Hard. I’d always hated my rear end, and wasn’t as proud of my bottom half as I was my top. My hips flared wide, rounding out in an ample, full bottom.

  I knew my ass and thighs were dimpled, my belly slightly rounded, a leftover from childbirth. I hoped these imperfections would get lost in the shadows. He was quiet, thoughtful, giving no clue as to what he was thinking. Aching for his touch, I stood very still, anticipation prickling my skin and humming through my limbs. My folds grew so wet that the slickness glazed the top of my thighs.

  Finally, he came around and stood in front of me, again temptingly close, but not touching. I inhaled deeply, wanting to draw him inside. Intuitively, I swayed toward him.

  “God, you’re beautiful, Danielle. Magnificent . . .” It was a mere whisper in the darkness. The fervor in his tone alone made me groan out loud. My channel clenched with need.

  I was ready to rip the damn suit off of him, to feast on his kissable mouth, and to straddle the hard body I knew was beneath his clothes. I shook my head, marveling that just two weeks ago I couldn’t stand him, now I couldn’t wait to have him inside me. Lust seldom made sense, especially when it was the flesh and not the brain writing the rules. He must’ve sensed the fragility of my taut desire. With an uneven breath, he took a smooth step back.

  “Get dressed.”

  I inhaled. Sharply.

  What the fuck?

  My mouth fell open, shock snuffing out some of my desire. Confusion and anger ballooned inside me. I watched, stunned, as he walked toward his desk and flipped a switch. The room flooded with light. My arms wrapped protectively around my naked body, a shield for the shame heating my skin.

  Did I do something to upset him? Had I been wrong about his interest? He’d said I was beautiful. What the hell just happened?

  What kind of games was this man playing? Did he get off on yanking my chain? My brain flooded with questions I had no answers to. I didn’t understand him. At. All.

  With a loud oath, I grabbed my jeans off the floor and pushed my legs through, not bothering to pull on my underwear.

  “What is your problem, Rutherfucker?” I yelled angrily across the room.

  He straightened from whatever he was writing on his desk, looking more amused than offended.

  “I prefer Chase.” His voice was gently scolding. “Please, call me Chase.”

  I rolled my eyes, snatching my shirt off the floor. “You are the most insufferable man I’ve ever met! Totally off the charts! What the hell was that all about?”

  I wanted to scream my frustration. One thing I wasn’t going to do was beg him to fuck me. I had more pride than that. And I wasn’t going to be party to his twisted, mind-fuck games. I yanked on my shirt and furiously worked the yellow buttons, cursing when one popped and bounced away on the marble floor.

  He walked toward me, a slight furrow in his brow as if he couldn’t comprehend why I was upset. Stopping directly in front of me, he held out something. I froze and looked down.

  Another appointment card. I read the slanted script indicating next Wednesday’s date and the same 6:00 p.m. time.

  My head jerked up and I looked into his expectant eyes.

  “You’re kidding me, right?”

  “I assure you, I’m not. I’d like to see you again.” He’d said the words so emphatically my jaw almost banged the floor.

  “Ugh!” I scrubbed my palms over my face, trying to wrap my brain around this bizarre situation. I felt like an unwitting party to someone’s weird idea of a joke. Maybe I was the punch line, but the way my body still throbbed was no laughing matter. “I just don’t understand,” I droned eventually.

  What I wanted to say was: Why didn’t you touch me? Why didn’t you have sex with me? The questions hung on the tip of my tongue, but in my head they sounded so needy, I couldn’t let them loose.

&
nbsp; “There’s nothing to understand. I’d like to see you again. Next week.”

  I stared at the card like he was offering me a bus ticket to hell.

  “Please . . .” he added softly.

  I looked at his face. He was biting half his lip, the edge of his white teeth gathering the soft flesh. I wanted to groan at how ridiculously sexy he looked. His expression was open and honest, and there was something in his eyes. Emotion. The kind that simmered at the bottom of some deep well. Raw. Pure. So intense it left me wondering if I’d imagined it. He’d briefly let his guard down and I’d finally gotten a peak at the man beneath his cool exterior, a man who wanted me to come back.

  “Please . . .” he said again, and the desperation straining his voice did me in.

  With a deep sigh, I took the card, my thoughts balanced on the precarious edge of reason.

  “I—I can’t do Wednesday at six,” I informed briskly. “I have no babysitter.”

  “Then come earlier when Emily is in school.”

  I shook my head. “Next Wednesday I have a job interview. I can’t miss it.”

  “Thursday.”

  “No.”

  “Friday.”

  “No.”

  He stopped to think for a moment, then one corner of his lips twitched. I could tell he thought I was just being difficult. Angling my head, I regarded him, puzzled. If I didn’t know better, I’d think this was very important to him. Ridiculous! He could have his pick of women.

  “What works for you?” he asked.

  I shrugged. “Tuesday. My mom takes Emmy.”

  He nodded. “Tuesday, then. Should I change it on the card?”

  I rolled my eyes when I saw amusement crinkle the corner of his eyes.

  “No, but there is one thing you can do.”

  His brows pulled up, arched as he waited.

  “Miss Prissy.”

  “Who?”

  “Your receptionist. I really don’t want to run into her. She doesn’t like me.”

  Anger moved across his face, so swift it surprised me. “Did she say something to you?”