That Man 2

by Nelle L’Amour

  THAT MAN 2

  NELLE L’AMOUR

  That Man 2

  Copyright © 2014 by Nelle L’Amour

  Smashwords Edition

  All rights reserved worldwide.

  First Edition: March 2014

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to events, locales, business establishments, or actual persons—living or dead—is purely coincidental.

  No part of this ebook may be reproduced, uploaded to the Internet, or copied without the author’s permission. The author respectfully asks that you please support artistic expression and help promote anti-piracy efforts by purchasing a copy of this ebook at the authorized online outlets.

  Nelle L’Amour thanks you for your understanding and support. To join her mailing list for new releases, please sign up here:

  http://eepurl.com/N3AXb

  Cover by Arijana Karcic, Cover It! Designs

  Proofreading by Karen Lawson

  Formatting by BB eBooks

  Dedication

  To my A-list—Adriane, Arianne, and Artemis. And my readers. I love you dearly.

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  That Man 3: Available April 2014

  Note from the Author and Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Books by Nelle L’Amour

  Chapter 1

  Blake

  I was playing with one of the snow globes my mother designed every Christmas—her special gift to all her friends as well as my father’s. I had a collection of them on the credenza behind my desk. The one in my hand had a tiny angel inside. I shook it, and glittering snowflakes fluttered over the delicate sculpture. My mind jumped to another angel. A real life one. Jennifer McCoy. Her angelic face with those liquid green eyes and turned-up rosebud lips filled my head. I couldn’t stop thinking about her.

  It was almost eight o’clock. I set the whimsical sphere back down on my credenza and glanced out of my corner office window. The mid-December sky was dark and eerie with the full moon shrouded by a cloud. The taping of Wheel of Pain would be over soon. I wondered how Jennifer had fared. It was her first time overseeing one of SIN-TV’s adult game shows. Producer Don Springer was a fucking lowlife prick, but he knew the rules. Never to fuck with network personnel. But I was worried. Jen was a nice girl, and she’d probably never dealt with his type before. In retrospect, I should have never asked her to do the job. Guilt and apprehension ate away at me. Shutting down my computer, I decided to head over to the set. To make sure she was okay. To be honest, I just plain and simple wanted to see her.

  All afternoon, I couldn’t focus on my work. My cock was twitchy. I kept thinking about my lunch with my bud, Jaime Zander, and his twins. Jennifer had joined us, and she was so damn cute with those babies. There I was contem­plating fatherhood, and I’d never even considered myself boyfriend material. Yeah, I wanted to fuck her. But I also wanted to cuddle her. And talk to her. Why did I always have so much fun with her? I never spent any quality time with my hook-ups. They were just good fucks. I bedded them at my fuck pad and bid them good-bye. I felt different about Jennifer. She was special. Feisty. Smart. Ambitious. And funny too. So different from all the women I’d been with, even physically. My usual type was a blond supermodel; Jen was petite and brunette. Yet, I was insanely attracted to her. There was a chemistry between us that made me snap, crackle, and pop. I found myself eager to go to work just to see her, and when she was away from me, I missed her. Though I’d known her for only a week, we’d shared so much—including one unbeknownst kiss of epic proportions. The memory of that blindfolded kiss made my blood race and brought a smile to my face. The smile was fleeting. There was one major problem. She was engaged. To Bradley Wick, DDS. Code name: Dickwick. Alpha me had no idea how to defeat the enemy. And he was such a dweeb. Frustration gnawed at me as I packed up to leave.

  I could have walked over to the studio, but it was late so I decided to drive. I’d probably split directly from the set and go straight home. Lately, I had no interest in going to my club and bedding my hook-up du jour; my coterie of regulars was not too pleased. Hopping into my car, it took me no time to get there. I pulled into the vacant spot reserved for me outside the building.

  After parking my Porsche, I headed into the vast hangar-like structure. The paunchy security guard was dozing. When he heard my footsteps, he bolted to attention. Mental note: You snooze; you lose. Time for an early retirement.

  Slightly flustered, he bid me good evening.

  “Is everything all right?” I asked.

  “As far as I can tell,” he replied with a nervous smile. “Have a good evening, Mr. Burns.”

  With a nod, I passed through the entrance to a long hallway that led to the Wheel of Pain soundstage. As I neared it, a woman’s shrieks sounded in my ears. They were clearly not coming from a contestant desperate to climax but rather from someone desperate and frightened.

  “Stop it!” she screamed out and, in an instant, I recognized the terrified voice. Jennifer’s. My heart thudded. I raced down the corridor. Fuck. Something was wrong. Very wrong. Another scream pierced the air followed by a loud wail.

  Breathing heavily, I yanked open the door to the studio. My eyes grew wide and my pulse went into overdrive. Springer had her pinned down on the spinning Wheel of Pain and was devouring her. He pressed his husky body against her slight one, pawing and gnawing her like a fucking wild animal. Bees were swarming above them.

  “Let go of me. Please!” she cried out.

  Unaware of my presence, the monster sprung his shit-ass ugly cock from his pants and told her what he wanted to do to her.

  Not a chance in hell. I sprinted to the wheel, and with all my body strength, I stopped it. Brought it to a sudden halt at my feet.

  “You fucking bastard!” I yanked Springer off Jennifer and sent him sprawling onto the floor.

  Daggers shot from my eyes. “God fucking damn it, Springer. You know the rules.”

  Red as a beet, he tucked his skank cock back into his pants and staggered to his feet. He sneered at me. “The bitch led me on. This was her idea.”

  I tightened my fists so I wouldn’t beat the shit out of him or strangle him. “Don’t fuck with me. This is not the first time. Springer, you’re fired.”

  “Fuck you, Burns. There’s no show without me.”

  “No problem. No show. It’s cancelled. Get the hell out of here.”

  “You’re gonna fucking pay for this, you fucking piece of shit.” Zipping up his fly, he stormed off.

  I immediately lifted sobbing Jennifer from the wheel into my arms and away from the angry bees. Her tearful gaze met mine. It was an unblinking combination of shock and relief. With her arms wrapped around my neck, she rested her head against my chest.

  “Talk to me, ba—” I stopped myself before I called her baby. It felt so natural to call her that, especially cradled in my arms. Her mouth parted, but no words came out. I grew more anxious. Almost panicky.

  “Jen, are you okay?”

  Whimpering, she nodded. Her lips trembled and tears rolled down her face.

  “Fuck. You’re not okay. Did he r—
?”

  “No,” she choked, cutting me off. She was shaking all over. Shivering. The bastard had ripped her blouse off. She was in my arms in just her bra—surprisingly a white lacy one. I took in an eyeful of her breasts. They were beautiful. Perfectly formed. Not too big, not too small. The size of champagne saucers. They quivered in the delicate fabric that encased them. I glanced down at her blouse, crumpled on the floor. It was clearly unwearable. Torn off pearl buttons were scattered around it, and I could detect a large tear by the collar. Her teeth chattered. The sound chewed at my heart, ripping it to pieces.

  “You’re cold.”

  Still trembling, she nodded again. I gently set her down and shrugged off my cashmere jacket. “Here, put this on. It’ll keep you warm.”

  A faint smile ghosted on her face as I helped her with it. My fingers brushed her shoulder blades and skimmed her soft flesh. There was something so sexy about her wearing my jacket that was four sizes too big. She looked deliciously lost in it and so vulnerable. I badly wanted to take her back into my arms and hold her against me.

  “Thanks,” she sniffled. Her watering eyes met mine. “I’m sorry.”

  My eyes stayed fixed on her murky pools of green. “There’s nothing to be sorry about. It’s not your fault. It’s mine. He’s an asshole. Always has been. I should have never let you come here by yourself.” I lowered my eyes in shame.

  Her eyes reached out to mine. Something so raw and pure struck me somewhere deep in my soul as we stared at each other, our eyes half-mast.

  “Am I fired?”

  I let out a little laugh. “Yeah. Someone’s fired.”

  She sniffled. It was the sweetest sniffle I’d ever heard. So soft and sensual.

  “I understand. I’ll pack up my office tomorrow.”

  I tilted up her chin and gazed into those oh so sexy sad green eyes. “Not you, tiger. Springer. It’s been a long time coming. And I’m glad that piece of crap show is off my schedule.”

  She took a deep breath and quirked another little dimpled smile. “I guess I should be heading home.”

  Tears were still trickling down her face. I brushed them away; I couldn’t help myself. The warmth of them heated my fingertips. I had the burning urge to lick them off as they streamed down her cheeks. Taste her on my tongue.

  “You’re in no condition to drive. Let me take you home.”

  “Are you sure?” She gazed up at me with those glazed green eyes, blinking back tears. God, she was beautiful.

  My lips were ready with a kiss, but instead, I brushed a few silky strands of hair out of her eye. The fucker had pulled her ponytail out of its elastic. I noticed she was missing something else.

  “Where’s your purse and briefcase?”

  “I left them in the control room. I’ll go—”

  “No, wait here. Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”

  I dashed up the stairs to the booth and, in a flash, returned with her belongings. I helped her sling her purse over her shoulder but held on to the briefcase.

  “Thanks,” she whispered.

  “C’mon.” Without another word, I wrapped my free arm around her shoulders. To my surprise, she didn’t resist. Silently, I led her out of the studio, leaving the Wheel of Pain behind.

  Chapter 2

  Jennifer

  The drive to my house was steeped in silence. My sobbing had subsided, but I was still shaking and felt sick to my stomach. Don Springer’s sexual assault had unleashed bitter memories I’d suppressed. Left behind in college. Memories of being almost raped. They’d never caught my assailant, and maybe that’s why there could never be any closure.

  I stole glances at Blake. He steered the sports car with precision, one hand on the wheel, the other on the gearshift. I admired his handsome profile and noticed the length and beauty of his curled fingers. Though the convertible top was up, a shiver skittered through me, and I hugged his oversized cashmere blazer tightly around me like a blanket. Inhaling his intoxicating manly scent that permeated the soft fabric, I felt like I was wrapped up in him. I felt safe.

  Noticing I was no longer heaving, Blake broke the silence. “Jen, if you’re up for it, tell me more about what happened.”

  I told him about the stunt with the stinging bees. How the poor naked contestants were in horrific pain and how I’d asked Springer to shut down production.

  His face tensed up. “You made the right call.” He turned to look at me. “Did you get stung?”

  “Just on my hand.”

  “Let me see it.”

  I showed him my swollen left hand. The bee sting still smarted and was a painful reminder of my assault.

  “Fuck. It’s puffy. Are you allergic to bees?” There was deep concern in his voice.

  “No.”

  He breathed a sigh of relief and refocused his eyes on the road.

  As we neared the little Spanish cottage I shared with my best friend Libby, I apologized again. “I’m really sorry about tonight.” My voice quivered.

  “Stop it. I’m the one who should be apologizing. I should have gone to the taping, not you.” He paused, his lips pressed tight with remorse.

  I placed the palm of my bee-stung hand over his hand clutching the shift. “You came to my rescue,” I said softly. “Thank you.”

  He twitched a small but appreciative smile. “Do you want to press charges?”

  I wearily shook my head. “I just want to move on and forget it happened.”

  “Are you sure?”

  I nodded. “Yes, I’m sure.”

  “Well, I’m going to make sure that prick never works in this town again.”

  We shared another stretch of silence and then I inhaled. On the exhale: “Blake, I don’t think I’m cut out for this job.”

  He turned to look at me. “Bullshit. You’re doing a great job. You made a tough decision tonight, but the right one. And everyone’s excited about the programming you’re developing for the daytime.”

  “Really?” It was the first time he’d ever given me a compliment. Well, at least about my work.

  He winked at me and shot me a sexy lopsided smile. “Yeah, really.” He turned his eyes back onto the road.

  A tingly warmth radiated through me. It stemmed from more than the compliment because I knew from our lunch with Jaime Zander that my boss still wasn’t in my corner when it came to my idea for a block of erotic romances targeted at women. It was more the way he looked at me. Those sexy blue eyes, that cocky smile, those cute little dimples. My eyes stayed on him as he turned onto my street. He knew where I lived, having driven me home from the beach over the weekend. My house with its rooster mailbox was the last one on the block sandwiched between an empty foreclosure and a deserted parking lot.

  He pulled up in front of it and parked the car. “Let me walk you to the door.”

  “No, it’s okay,” I said, unbuckling my seat belt. “I’m fine. The lights are on. My roommate’s home.”

  “No, I insist.” My gallant hero hopped out of the Porsche. He circled around it and opened my door before I could crank the handle. I stepped out of the car as gracefully as I could, and together, we walked side by side to my front door.

  I dug my hand into my purse and fumbled for my house keys. I suppose I could have knocked and had Libby open the door for me, but I didn’t want her to see me with Blake.

  I found the keys and found myself facing Blake. He was so close I could feel his breath heat my cheeks.

  “Here’s your jacket back,” I murmured, awkwardly trying to shuck it off.

  Placing his strong hands on my shoulders, he stopped me. “Don’t worry about it. You can give it back to me tomorrow.”

  “All right,” I conceded softly. The truth was, I didn’t want to take it off. I wanted to stay blanketed in it as long as I could.

  Leaving one hand on my shoulder, he tilted up my chin with the other. Little sparks coursed through my body as my eyes met his. I felt my heartbeat accelerate. My lips involuntarily parted as if they
were begging for a kiss.

  “Do you need a lift tomorrow morning? I can pick you up.”

  In my mind’s eye, I fantasized running out of my house, jumping into his Porsche, the top down, and cruising down La Cienega to our office as the wind ruffled his dark silky hair.

  “Thanks, but no thanks,” I forced myself to say. “My roommate works at Conquest Broadcasting too. She can give me a ride.”

  His brows lifted. “Who’s your roommate?”

  “Libby Clearfield”

  “Ah, the researcher.”

  “Yeah.” The inevitability of being interrogated by Libby shortly was nothing to look forward to.

  A resigned expression fell onto his face. “Then, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  With a flick of my chin, he jogged back to his Porsche. Once inside, he put the top down. As I was about to unlock my front door, he called out to me.

  “Don’t get into any more trouble, Jennifer. I need you around.” As he peeled off the curb, I let out a sigh.

  Chapter 3

  Jennifer

  “What the fuck happened to you? And whose jacket is that?”

  Bad luck. I hadn’t managed to sneak into the house without avoiding Libby. That was hard to do when you stepped immediately into the living room—our hangout—as soon as you opened the front door. 1920s California cottages didn’t come with grand entryways.

  My redheaded roommate was curled up on the couch she’d scored at a flea market, drinking a glass of red wine. Her computer was on the coffee table next to the bottle and several scattered files. She must have been catching up on some work.

  I slogged over to her, unsure of what I was going to say. I sunk into the couch and took a glug of the wine right out of the bottle.

  “Did anyone call?” I asked wearily, eschewing her inquiry.

  “Just Bradley to let you know that he was working late.”

  I sighed. Lately, my fiancé was always working long hours.