by Eve Black
Fuck. That is what Diana had reduced him to: jerking off every chance he got, all because she had infiltrated his thoughts, stolen his wits, and turned his body against him.
With her gone from the restaurant, Rick and David returned to their seats, their conversation turning to the menu, the envelope with the documents for the settlement temporarily forgotten.
And as conversation between them flowed—David telling Rick about his recent travels, and Rick sharing about his upcoming partner anniversary party—David’s thoughts returned to the woman who couldn’t possibly have missed the connection between David and her employer that night they’d torn the sheets from the bed.
So, the beautiful temptress from the Incantata was his attorney’s paralegal; she worked for his dearest friend.
She’d known who he was before she accepted his invitation to a thorough fucking. Was she plotting something, something he’d have to reveal to Rick? Was the beauteous Diana, even now scrambling to put the rest of her plan in place?
But what, and for what purpose? Well, money, obviously. What else could a woman want other than regular orgasms, loads of money, and flattery? There was just too much of a coincidence. One didn’t run into a gorgeous woman on the way of out your lawyer’s offices and then meet the same woman, a woman who had access to all of your financial and legal information through her employer, at a bar frequented by known one-night standers.
His gut roiled, the tension from earlier returning a hundred-fold.
He didn’t believe in coincidence.
Oh, no, darling Diana. You can run. But you cannot hide. And once I catch you, I will get the truth from you, no matter how many times I have to fuck you to do it.
Chapter 8
For Diana, that morning had started off with a kick in the gut—at least that’s how it felt. Like a belligerent donkey got free from its pen and took offense at something she’d said.
The night before, she went to bed a little earlier than usual because she hadn’t felt her usual self. The lasagna her mother had made looked delicious, but the idea of consuming it made Diana shudder. That was a crime, a down right travesty. Her mom’s lasagna was better than sex…and now that she knew just good sex could be, she had to disagree. Not that she’d tell her mother that. Heading upstairs, she’d shucked her clothes, took a hot shower, and crawled into bed after downing three Advil. She’d slept fitfully, not able to stay in dreamland longer than an hour at a time, and when she finally slapped her alarm clock at 5:45 the next morning, she felt like a lump, rolled in shit, and then served with a glass of piss. And it wasn’t just the ickiness that kept her from sleeping restfully, it was the naughty, filthy, downright unholy fantasies. Dreams of a man who stole her breath, took her virginity, and gave her memories she had serious doubts would ever be replaced by a romp in another man’s bed. They’d had sex twice, not counting the times he’d made her come with just his fingers and tongue. She’d come five times that night. Five times she lost her damn mind, screaming and panting, her whole body given over to him.
And then she left him like a thief in the night. She’d woken up, hung over from vodka cocktails, and slipped from the bed. She might have been a novice at the one-night stand thing, but she knew enough that sticking around would only lead to awkwardness and probably humiliation. Once a sober David got a look at her in the bright, revealing light of day, he’d sneer at her, disgusted. She had no doubt he’d been a little drunk that night—why else would he seek her out, pull out all his charms, and then actually strip her naked, touch her with unexpected reverence… It had been a fluke, a drink-induced mistake. Right?
Yup.
Honestly, she had enough confidence in herself to do whatever she damn well pleased, but she was also a realist. When was the last time a wealthy, gorgeous man gave a second glance to a woman who wore a size sixteen? Yeah, she was pretty enough, she knew that, but what did she have compared to woman like Christina Hendricks, who had curves, gorgeous looks, and all that sexy attitude to go with it? And then there were the women she’d seen at the law practice’s monthly clients party. Those women were statuesque, brilliantly beautiful, dripping in diamonds, and easily capable of catching the eye of men like David Brenner.
And he’d taken her to bed. Her.
She was more than a little confused about it, but she didn’t have the time nor desire to dwell on it. It happened, it changed her life, and now it was time to move forward.
She was sure David Brenner already had. She’d seen pictures of him during his trip to Asia; gorgeous exotic-looking stunners who looked at him like he was a caramel apple dipped in gold. Delicious but also rich.
When she’d come down stairs that morning, Diana’s mother was in the kitchen, cooking her sister a breakfast of scrambled eggs, fried potatoes, and toast. The smells made her mouth water, but her stomach screamed “Hell No!”
Bypassing the kitchen on her way out the door, her mother, ever the perceptive woman, stopped her, her clear blue eyes scouring Diana’s face. She noticed something was askew. It didn’t help that Diana was as pale as death and no amount of Cover Girl was going to make the circles under her eyes disappear.
“Di, honey, is something wrong?” Betty Bluth asked, rushing to Diana and placing the back of her hand against Diana’s forehead. “You don’t have a fever.”
Diana shook her head, offering her mother a weak smile. “I’m just feeling the effects of the stress, that’s all.” She’d been working so many hours over the last several months, she felt like she should be living in the office. Ayers was more than willing to push her out of the office every night at 5PM, but the extra hours meant extra money, and her family needed the money. Mortgage, car payments, and tuition payments for Deirdre, who was attending Rutgers to earn a bachelor’s in finance. There was too much riding on Diana’s shoulders, and she refused to be conquered by it.
Diana Bluth, Paralegal Warrior, and Part-Time Glutton for Punishment.
So, to appease her mother, she promised to make an appointment with Dr. Mellon for that afternoon. She had grabbed her purse to leave the office for the appointment six blocks away when Mr. Ayers had called asking her to bring him some documents from his desk.
It was unlike Mr. Ayers to forget anything, so when he’d called and asked, she was more than willing to do so. The restaurant, La Petite, was on the way to her doctor’s office so she saw no reason to not just stop by and give him what he needed.
Hopping from the taxi, she asked the driver to wait a tick so she could run in really quick, and then she headed inside. La Petite was a posh lunch spot where the crème de la crème of Manhattan business had their midafternoon power lunches. She’d never had lunch there but, then again, she couldn’t afford a drink there, let alone an actual meal. She’d seen the cost of the food when the courier dropped off Mr. Ayers’s lunch on several occasions. She’d scoffed, ignored the rumble in her stomach from the delectable smells rising from the fancy looking take-out bag, and then turned to force down her lunch of homemade chicken Caesar salad, with a side of envy.
The cool interior of the restaurant made her shiver, and as she caught sight of Mr. Ayers in the dining room, her gaze was immediately snatched by the man sitting across from him. There was a set to his broad shoulders she found strikingly familiar, and his black hair—hair as black as night and as soft under her fingers as silk, brushed against the pristine white color of his shirt, in direct contrast to the deep navy suit coat the stretched across the muscles of his back.
She knew that man. Her body recognized him. Her breath caught in her throat, making her choke on her own saliva.
David Brenner. Was there. With her boss.
Holy shit! You knew there was a possibility you would see him again! Especially since he’s besties with your boss! She did, but she’d refused to acknowledge it, because…well…she was a goddamn idiot.
Did Mr. Ayers know about that night at the Incantata? She nearly choked again—that thought was ludicrous; David—for all hi
s high profile living—was actually a private man. After her night with him (which she hadn’t told anyone about, by the way) she did her due diligence, stalking him online. Certainly, there were pictures of him with a model or actress on his arm, but those sites rarely spoke of his relationships. Save one. Rinna Masterson. High-society bombshell, lover of all things sparkly, and David’s ex-fiancée. She was also the woman being raked across the coals for her attempt to take some of his billions for herself. The New York Times broke the news of his recent defamation suit, the one Mr. Ayers had taken on. The one David Brenner had been in the office that day, two weeks ago, to speak with Mr. Ayers about. The day when they’d collided by the elevators.
He stood up from the table and her shivers disappeared, replaced by a thrumming, stomach curling tension.
Just as he caught her gaze, she forced a coolness into her expression. Oh, yeah, she was about to lose her mind, but she refused to let him see that, to see how much he affected her.
She was aware that Mr. Ayers introduced them, and she remember putting her hand out for David to shake, but after that, all she could focus on was getting the hell out of there. Her cheeks were about ready to combust, and she knew her eyes would eventually give away the turmoil rising within her.
Confusion. Anxiety. Lust. Regret. She was running the emotional gamut, which wasn’t helping the ickiness she was still feeling.
David’s gaze never left her, though he did spend a few moments running said gaze over her body. Heat followed him, small fires immolating her skin where he’d inspected her. Was he wondering why he’d ever found her attractive enough to have sex with?
Well, she was wondering the same damn thing.
Struck by the pitifulness of her own thoughts, she finished what she’d gone there to do and made a hasty retreat. It had nothing to do with David being there, or him being there with her boss and the possible implications of job loss, and everything to do with the appointment she didn’t want to be late to.
Sliding back into the taxi, she directed the driver to Dr. Mellon’s office, which was in a steel and glass building boasting a comfortable lobby, two elevator bays, and a reception desk manned by a woman with a top knot so tight, Diana wondered if she could even blink.
Rushing inside, she checked in and took a seat. She still had fifteen minutes before her scheduled appointment, and that was fifteen minutes of empty time during which she could think about David Brenner.
She was a fool to believe she’d never see him again. That after their encounter they would go their separate ways, their worlds never crossing again. What a dumbass thing to think. The man was a client of her boss, and not just a client. He was also old college friends with Richard Ayers, which meant that chances of her running into David in the office or at Ayers’s functions were higher than she’d first anticipated.
Why didn’t you think any of this through? Because she’d been drunk on vodka and desire, that’s why.
Groaning, she leaned her head back against the surprisingly comfortable waiting room chair, closing her eyes. Immediately, she pictured David as he’d been at La Petite. He’d recognized her, she could tell that much from the flash in his eyes, but that was as far as it went. He was polite, going along with Mr. Ayers’s introductions, but that was where it ended.
But…what about that other flash in his eyes? The one that, for the briefest moment, blazed with heat? A heat answered by the one in her belly, fanning out into her limbs. She’d forced back a full body tremble, but she knew he could see her hands shaking.
Forty minutes later: “Diana Bluth,” the physician’s assistant called from the white door leading back into the exam rooms.
Startled, Diana shot to her feet, annoyed that she’d allowed herself to fall into the trap of thoughts of David, and nodded to the brightly smiling woman with deep red hair.
“This way, Miss Bluth,” she said, turning to indicate Diana walk through the door first. “Second door on the left, please.”
Diana went as she was bid, and undressed as she was told do to. Then she was weighed, asked a shitload of personal medical history questions, and then left on the cold, crinkly-papered exam table to wait for the doctor.
About forty-five minutes later (hopefully, Mr. Ayers would be lenient on the long break from work), she was dressed and headed back through the lobby. The cotton ball and medical tape on her arm was itchy; they’d taken her blood—several vials of it for tests—and so she had a battle wound with which to prove to her mother that she’d actually visited with a doctor as ordered.
A virus, was what the doctor surmised—probably the catch-all diagnosis he gave so that patients wouldn’t leave with too many questions. A simple bug she’d get over in a week or less, if she took care of herself properly. Fluids, rest, and anti-virals, which she’d pick up on her way home that night.
Adjusting her purse strap over her shoulder as she exited the building, she almost missed the sight of the gleaming black Escalade parked against the curb right outside the building. She didn’t bother stopping, those cars were a dime a dozen in Manhattan. She continued on a few strides until the back of her neck began to burn. Gasping, she halted, turning just her head to look over her shoulder.
The back door of the car opened and David Brenner stepped out into the afternoon sun. His raven hair glinting like jet, and the lenses of his designer sunglasses reflecting the world around him. A world beneath him—if his haughty, arrogant demeanor was any indication.
What the hell was he doing there? Doing her best to ignore him, she made to wave down a passing taxi, but David’s voice stopped her.
“Miss Bluth… Diana… In need of a ride?” his deep voice carried over the din of the city, settling into her chest where it sprouted butterfly wings. And why did the word “ride” sound so…naughty?
Just your wild imagination, Di! Geez. Get over yourself. There’s no way he’s flirting with you, especially out where everyone can see and hear. That’s when the self-hatred reared its ugly head. What was wrong with her? Why couldn’t she have the attention of a man like David Brenner? Wasn’t she woman enough? While he’d given here five orgasms, hadn’t she also given him pleasure? Those grunts and growls he’d made as he’d emptied himself into her hadn’t been her imagination, he’d enjoyed their night together the same as she had. So why couldn’t he be there to see her because he actually wanted her?
Because you’re a broke paralegal, who still lives at home with her mother, and has nothing to offer a man who has everything. Besides that, he can have any woman he wants.
Why you?
No. He wasn’t there for a pleasure call, but he was there for something. Either way, though, he wasn’t getting it from her.
Sucking in a fortifying breath, she turned to him fully, doing her best not to walk back toward him. The pull was strong, making her yearn to give in to the draw. Her whole being seemed to hold its breath, waiting for what she would decide.
Offering David a sharp smile, she replied, “No, thank you.” Before she could turn to move farther away from him, he removed his sunglasses, pinning her with his gaze. There was a stillness to him, a strength and sensuality that called to her. She wasn’t the only one who noticed it, either. A group of women exited the building behind them, their attentions immediately captured by David Brenner. Did they know who he was, or was it just how ridiculously beautiful he was?
“Come now, Diana. Surely you wouldn’t turn down a ride with an old friend?” Was that a challenge in his voice? Well, fuck that. Challenge or no, she wasn’t going to risk getting her ass in trouble by getting into that car with him.
Steeling herself, she answered him without words, raising her arm to hail a cab that was slowing to let out another passenger. She hurried to the passenger door, waited for the woman inside to disembark, and then, holding the door, Diana glanced back at David.
“Have a good day, Mr. Brenner,” she drawled, her smile a mix of saccharine and acid.
She climbed into the back s
eat, shut the door, and let out a loud breath.
She gave the cabbie the address of the office and, when he pulled out into traffic, she couldn’t help but turn around and stare out the back window.
David Brenner was still standing there, his hands in his pockets, his expression inscrutable.
Once the traffic obscured her view of him, she faced forward and closed her eyes, rubbing the bridge of her nose. What the hell was she supposed to do now? For some reason, David had followed her to her doctor’s office—the fact that he knew where to find her doctor’s office was not lost on her. Had he wanted to discuss something to do with his case? No, that couldn’t be it. She wasn’t the paralegal assigned to that case, though she’d been the gofer for the documents that afternoon. She only knew as much as about it as people who watched the news. So, if he hadn’t been there to discuss his case, what other purpose could there have been for his ambushing her?
Sliding down into the seat, she leaned back. She wouldn’t figure it out in the back of a taxi, not that she really wanted to bother with it. Right? She didn’t need her connection to David to see the light of day, not if she wanted to keep her job. That’s right; fucking a client was a big no-no, but she’d allowed herself that one night of forgetting it all and just letting herself feel. She both regretted and enjoyed that decision, and now she was left with the aftermath—the worry and the uncertainty.
Best to go on as if nothing happened. Put David Brenner out of her mind. After her rebuff at the curb, he’d leave her alone. Men like him didn’t pursue when they didn’t really want what they were aiming for. To him, she was a curiosity, the plushy that banged him and then left without telling him her name. Perhaps the reason he’d even put forth the effort to find her that afternoon was simply because he’d never been ditched before.