Tempting Tanya (NSFW Book 3)

by C. C. Wood

  I nodded to the receptionist as I entered the building. She smiled politely and rose from behind the desk to lead me to the conference room.

  “Mr. Hawke asked me to bring you straight back when you arrived,” she stated. “Both clients are already here.”

  I winced internally when I saw them through the glass walls of the conference room. Even ten feet away, I could see the tension in Mrs. Browning’s body and the bitter anger in her face. I could also see the self-satisfied smirk on her soon-to-be-ex-husband’s face. I had no doubt he’d just said something nasty.

  Double shit.

  “Thank you,” I said to the receptionist as I opened the door to the room.

  I’d been so distracted by my client’s obvious distress that I hadn’t noticed the other man in the room. How his initial presence had gone unnoticed eluded me when he caught my gaze the first time.

  He was tall and lean, his body highlighted by the expensive fabric and cut of the suit that was clearly tailored specifically for him. His slightly wavy black hair was swept back from his face, showcasing his incredible bone structure. Every line, every bone in his face, was clean and sharp. His mouth was thin, but somehow it did nothing to detract from his beauty. Despite all the attributes that made him so arresting, it was his eyes that held my rapt attention. They were icy blue, the color of frigid oceans and winter skies, and they studied me with a brilliant intensity that made me believe he could see straight into my soul.

  Physically, he wasn’t my usual type, but those eyes made it impossible for me to look away. I was pierced and pinned, like a butterfly to a mounting board.

  I realized I’d entered the room nearly ten seconds ago without speaking and jumped. “I’m so sorry I’m late. With the weather being so nasty, the traffic was horrible.”

  Despite my coat and umbrella, my hair had gotten a good dose of rain and my legs were still wet from my dash into the building.

  “I’m glad you could grace us with your presence,” Mr. Browning sneered, incurring my immediate dislike. While it wasn’t professional for me to be so tardy, his rude, sarcastic remark was unnecessary.

  The man, who’d yet to introduce himself, glanced over at his client. Though he didn’t speak aloud, his eyes conveyed more than enough. Mr. Browning didn’t speak another word.

  “I’m Tanya Blake, Mrs. Browning’s attorney,” I said, offering my hand. I always shook hands with the men and women I met. It was an excellent way to take someone’s measure.

  “Jordan Hawke, Mr. Browning’s representation.”

  At the rich, accented sound of his voice and the touch of his warm palm against mine, I experienced an insane sensation—light-headed, hot, and vaguely turned on. I was moments away from a fit of the vapours, like some prim Victorian miss. Which would be fitting, since his accent was decidedly British.

  “Again, I’m sorry I’m late,” I repeated. When he didn’t seem inclined to release my hand, I gently tugged it free from his grasp. I realized then I had no recollection of his handshake. I’d been so distracted by my own reaction to his touch that I’d completely forgotten my usual assessment.

  “I’ll have my assistant get you a towel and some coffee,” he offered.

  I heard Mr. Browning’s heavy sigh and smiled. “That would be lovely, but why don’t we go ahead and get started?”

  Jordan nodded his head and moved toward the door. He spoke with his assistant while I removed my coat and took my things out of my bag. By the time he returned to the table, I’d managed to gather my composure.

  Mr. Browning’s temperament didn’t improve during the meeting. Though I’d had a lot of experience with people like him during the last six years, my patience wasn’t at its peak after listening to my sister cry over a jackass breaking her heart. Especially since he’d essentially done the same thing to his wife. By the end of the meeting, I had to fight the urge to kick his shin every time he opened his mouth.

  Jordan walked Mr. Browning out of the room after it was clear that nothing would be resolved that afternoon and I looked at Jeanette Browning. “I’m sorry you were here alone with him earlier. I won’t be late again.”

  She smiled wanly. It was clear that his betrayal and subsequent ill behavior had affected her deeply. “I know it wasn’t your fault,” she replied softly. “But I appreciate it.” Her eyes filled with tears. “Excuse me.”

  I watched as she left the room and walked quickly to the restroom across the hall. It was difficult to watch a person experience that much pain. Never again would I allow someone close enough to hurt me like that. It wasn’t worth it.

  I was packing up my laptop and notebook when Jordan returned to the conference room. Jeanette was still in the restroom and likely would be for a while.

  “Have a drink with me tonight.” It wasn’t a question, nor was it a command. More like a declarative statement.

  I looked up, taking the time to study him. The same heat I’d experienced earlier returned and I knew that I wanted to do more than have a drink and an hour long conversation with this man.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I heard myself reply. My hormones screamed in protest, but I ignored them.

  He stared at me for a moment, his gaze growing sharper. “Why is it a bad idea?” he asked.

  Since the question seemed sincere, I answered, “I don’t date.”

  His brows lifted. “Ever?”

  I shook my head and zipped my bag.

  “What about sex?” he asked.

  I found myself smiling at his bluntness. “Sex isn’t dating.”

  He grinned back at me. “You prefer to keep things simple, is that it?”

  “When it comes to relationships, yes,” I replied with a shrug. “I’m not interested in the effort it takes to maintain a relationship, especially with my work schedule, but I like sex.”

  Jordan moved closer. “And if I tell you that I’m not interested in anything more than something casual?”

  My mournful hormones perked up at his words, eager to get a piece of him. “Then I’ll reconsider my answer.”

  “Would you like to come to my place for a drink tonight?” he queried, moving so close the soft fabric of his pants brushed my knee.

  In my three-inch heels, I was nearly eye-to-eye with him. At this distance, his eyes were a unique blend of light blue and pale green. The pull was just as strong as it had been the moment we met. No, it was stronger. Those eyes were magnetic, drawing me in despite my better judgment.

  “Give me your address.”

  Chapter Three

  Present Day

  This was it. This was how I would finally lose what was left of my sanity.

  Jordan Hawke was going to push me over the edge.

  I’m sure many people would say it was my own damn fault because I didn’t talk to him. They’d probably be right, but my pride wouldn’t listen anyway.

  Rejection was a harsh bedfellow and I didn’t want to sleep with that bitter taste on my tongue. I’d had enough of that particular flavor when Jordan left two years ago. Still, that didn’t mean that seeing him on a daily basis didn’t dredge up all the feelings I thought I’d left behind.

  Especially since every available woman at the firm, and even some of the married ones, seemed determined to flirt with him. In the staff kitchen. In the hall. In the goddamn elevator.

  Women flirting with Jordan was something I’d grown accustomed to in the past, but it was the fact that he now returned their attentions that slid under my skin and stayed there.

  He might not be mine and I might be (mostly) over him, but my heart still didn’t like it.

  As for how Jordan treated me…well, he treated me with perfect professional courtesy. It shouldn’t have set my teeth on edge. It should have made me happy, thrilled even, that our past affair wouldn’t affect our working relationship now.

  Instead, every time he said good-morning in that formal, accented tone, I wanted to scream. Why wasn’t he as affected by me as I was by him? Wh
y didn’t he seem the least bit uncomfortable when we were forced to stand inches apart in the elevator but pretend to be nothing but friendly colleagues?

  I didn’t know how much longer I could take it. For the first time since I’d accepted a position at Platt, Cairns, and Buck, I was giving serious thought to turning in my resignation.

  Tonight was by far the worst. Milton Buck had finally, officially retired. In the two months since the announcement that Jordan had joined the firm, he’d been delegating and handing over responsibilities.

  His wife insisted on celebrating her husband’s retirement with a huge party. Though Lucille liked parties, she had truly outdone herself with this one.

  Their palatial home was crowded with employees from the law firm, friends of Milton, judges, and quite a few well-known Dallas socialites. I had ridden with Cynthia in the hopes that we could sneak out early. While she had the valid excuse of a college course the next morning, my only motive was to avoid spending too much time around Jordan Hawke.

  It seemed that my best intentions were blown to hell because I’d never made it more than five feet away from the man the entire night. Several times we’d been forced together by the crush of the crowd, our bodies pressed together from shoulder to thigh.

  Two hours into the evening, I was more than ready to leave. It was after ten and Cynthia had mentioned wanting to go home since her class began at nine the next morning.

  I moved through the crowd, searching for my assistant’s mane of sleek blonde hair. When I couldn’t find her in the front rooms, I began to work my way toward the back of the house. There were a few smokers loitering on the large patio in the rear of the house. Though Cynthia claimed she didn’t smoke, I knew she occasionally indulged when groups of us from the office met for happy hour.

  As I walked down the hall, I realized that my head was pounding from the noise and wine I’d consumed. The cold air that greeted me when I stepped onto the patio only made it worse. I glanced around and didn’t see my assistant, so I went back inside. I decided to take a few moments in a quiet room before I continued my search.

  I wandered down a hallway until I found an open door to what appeared to be a sitting room. A lamp on a side table gave the room a soft, comforting glow, so I didn’t bother with the light. I sank onto the couch, closed my eyes, and leaned my head back, focusing on breathing slow and deep. I lost track of time, but the ache in my head and neck eased as I gradually relaxed.

  Suddenly, the air seemed to change. I knew without looking that someone had entered the room. When the door clicked shut, I lifted my head and looked toward the sound. All the tension that had drained out of my body returned immediately when I saw Jordan standing just inside the room.

  “Are you okay?” he asked softly.

  I nodded stiffly, getting to my feet. “I’m fine. Thank you.”

  Jordan tucked his hands into his pants pockets, still standing in front of the door. “I’ve been trying to find a moment to talk to you since I came back.” The corner of his mouth lifted up in a crooked half-smile. As I had two years before, I felt that smile in my chest.

  “Really?” I asked, relieved that my voice sounded cool, nearly distant. “Why is that?”

  His head tilted and the smile on his face disappeared completely. “So you fully intend to continue treating me as someone you barely know?”

  Before I could reconsider my words, I replied, “You are someone I barely know.”

  Jordan’s voice was low, almost pleasant when he asked, “Pardon?”

  I licked my suddenly dry lips. The atmosphere in the room had shifted, the air growing heavier and thicker as though it were weighted down by emotion. It was a sensation I’d never experienced around Jordan before. During the short time we spent together, he kept his emotions locked down tightly. I never knew what he was thinking or feeling unless he chose to share it with me.

  “Jordan, we had a casual affair two years ago. We didn’t exactly share our deepest secrets and dreams.” It was the truth. While we did talk, it was always focused on the present or future, never the past. I knew nothing about his childhood or his parents and I hadn’t shared much of my own history.

  I walked toward the door, eager to put an end to this conversation because it hurt. Since his return two months ago, he’d barely spoken more than a politely professional word to me. Now he was asking me if I intended to continue treating him as a stranger? I had no experience with this sort of situation, but I had a strong suspicion this wasn’t the best way to handle it.

  When I was within arm’s reach, Jordan closed in on me. He maneuvered me against the wall by the door without laying a single finger on me. Though our bodies were close enough for me to feel the heat emanating from his, we didn’t touch. As I drew in a shaky breath, I feared what my reaction would be if we did.

  Unfortunately, I didn’t have a chance to say anything before his fingers lightly caressed my cheek. At the unexpected contact, my breath trembled out on a quick exhalation.

  “That doesn’t sound casual,” Jordan stated idly. His eyes followed the gentle movement of his fingers across my cheek to my bottom lip.

  Our faces were only inches apart. In my heels, I nearly matched him in height. I watched, unable to speak, as he closed the small distance between us. Our lips barely touched, but the shiver that wracked my body was nearly violent in its intensity.

  Jordan didn’t move, though he didn’t continue the kiss. Our eyes were open and locked on each other. “That certainly didn’t feel casual,” he declared quietly, his mouth brushing mine as his lips moved.

  “What are you doing?” I asked, my voice barely audible.

  “I’ve no idea,” he murmured, his eyes moving over my face.

  I lifted my hand and placed it on his shoulder, pushing against his weight. “Then you should stop.”

  “I can’t.” His low voice was harsh, his accent thickening.

  I knew that he had been born in England and spent many years there as a child, but his accent was usually faint. Unless we were in bed. Knowing what that meant, I pushed harder, trying to establish distance between us. I felt giddy and uncontrolled, not only from the alcohol I’d consumed but his proximity.

  Suddenly, both of my hands were gripped in his and pinned beside my head, our fingers laced tightly. Our bodies were welded together from chest to thigh and for the first time in two years, I no longer felt cold. Or empty.

  No, I was hot, burning up. Filled with the familiar heat he evoked.

  Jordan stared into my eyes, his expression unreadable. Then his mouth was on mine again. Light, so light. Almost tender.

  At the touch of his lips, my body grew tight and my heart stopped beating for a long moment before it began a furious, fast rhythm. The tip of his tongue skimmed my upper lip. I gasped at the contact and he slid inside.

  There had been no one since him. Not in two long years. I’d kept myself so busy with work, so closed off, that I barely dated. The first time another man kissed me, all I could think was that he didn’t feel right or taste right. Because he wasn’t Jordan.

  Now, tasting him again, feeling him again, I was beyond resisting. Beyond thinking. Beyond fear. For far too long, I’d thought I would never see or touch him again.

  I leaned into his kiss, our tongues tangling. He groaned into my mouth, giving me more of his weight until I was plastered against him, my back flat against the wall. Tugging at my hands until he released them, I wrapped one arm around his neck, holding him closer, and slid my other palm inside his open suit jacket, running my fingers around him until they fisted in the back of his shirt at his waist.

  With his hands free, Jordan wrapped one around the back of my head, his fingertips scraping gently over my scalp. His other hand traced the skin bared by the scoop neck of my sweater before he cupped my breast, his thumb brushing my nipple with unerring accuracy.

  I arched into his touch, moaning softly at the contact.

  After that, there was no hesitation, no ligh
tness. Only need and desperation.

  He released my breast, moving his hand to the hem of my skirt. I reached down to help him tug the material up over my hips, eager for his touch where I needed it most.

  Jordan cupped my leg, his fingers branding the skin bared by the thigh highs I wore beneath my skirt. Then he hooked his thumbs into the waist of my panties, tugging them down my hips until they reached my knees and dropped to the ground. He grabbed my hand, pressing it against the front of his pants, and I wrapped my fingers around him through the material. As I touched him, his index finger danced over my clit, moving straight to my pussy and deep inside.

  Whimpering, I unbuckled his belt and unzipped his pants, sliding my hands down his hips and taking his briefs down with the slacks. He groaned again when my fingers curled around the rigid length of his cock, stroking his heated skin.

  His finger left me and I heard the soft sound of a packet tearing, then his hands knocked mine away as he rolled the condom over his cock. I watched with fevered impatience, entranced by the sight as though I could watch him for hours, but I was too eager to feel him inside me.

  He grabbed my thigh, lifted my leg high, and guided his cock to my entrance. Then he slid inside me, one smooth thrust that made my head fall back against the wall with a thump.

  “Jordan,” I whispered, my eyes closing as he began to move, slow and deep.

  He fisted a hand in my hair tightly, tugging hard enough to elicit a delicious pain racing across my scalp. It was yet another trait of his I’d missed. He looked lean and sophisticated, but when he reached the edge of his control, he lost the polished sheen and became raw and demanding.

  “Look at me,” he directed in a low voice.

  I opened my eyes and once again his light blue-green eyes snared me. Just like they always did. Those eyes could be cold and distant, warm and amused, or as hot as blue flame.