Hers for the Evening

by Jasmine Haynes

  Rather than a gasp, she took one sharp intake of breath. Her insides melted, her knees weakened, her nipples peaked against her jacket’s lining. Damn. The man was Hunter’s doppelganger.

  More than six feet of gorgeous male, thick black hair, midnight blue eyes, a hint of dark beard on his square jaw, a deep navy suit that made his white dress shirt gleam brighter in the overhead lights.

  “Wait two minutes, then take the hallway on the right,” she instructed. “It’s the last office. The door will be open.” She pointed to the bank of light switches by the front entrance. “Turn off the lights here and the ones in the hall.” She pivoted on her heel, leaving him to catch the door before it slammed. She’d sent Isabel an e-mail describing the courtesan’s role, possible things he could say, all with the intention of pretending that Hunter had walked into her office for a brief chat about some work-related topic. From there, it was up to the stand-in to seduce her. She hurried down the hall, nearly catching a heel in the transition from tile to thick carpet. By the time she reached her office, she was panting. This was crazy, but she had to have it. She’d lost her mind. Hopefully the stand-in would help her get it back. Her heart raced like the first time a man had put his hand on her thigh. She wanted Hunter’s hand on her. Up her skirt. Inside her panties. Sitting down behind her desk, she opened a meaningless folder. Her skin flushed hot. Between her legs, she throbbed.

  He stopped at the door to the outer office, outlined by the hallway light. He flipped it off, leaving only Robert’s desk light on to illuminate the outer office. 105

  The Stand-In

  The beating of the carriage clock filled the silence, matching the rhythm of her heart. He moved like a mountain lion on the prowl, stopping once again at her door, both hands on the jamb. Her heart drowned out the ticktock of the carriage clock.

  Hunter. She could almost smell him.

  “Hey, Devon, got a minute?” he said. His voice, only a fraction off Hunter’s deep resonance, strummed her body. She liked the sound of her name on his lips.

  “Sure, Hunter. What do you need?”

  He paused long enough for her to understand he’d need a lot more than a minute. He sauntered into her office, staying beyond the pool of desk light, then held out a hand. “Closed-door meeting. You mind?” he asked. Her throat was parched, her skin jumpy. “Must be serious.”

  “Oh yeah.” His voice dipped a sexy note. Just as Hunter’s did when he made one of his bawdy comments. He closed the door, leaned slightly against it, and she was almost sure she heard the snick of the lock. As she’d instructed. He was perfect.

  She held out a hand, indicating one of the conference table chairs. “Have a seat.”

  He pulled it to the desk, parted the lapels of his jacket, and sat, his hands idly in his pockets. In the soft lighting, he was enough like Hunter to make her panties slick. Yes, there were differences if she looked closely, his nose longer, more flared, lips thinner, eyes a little closer together, but in the soft light, she could pretend away those differences. Isabel had done a damn good job in her choice.

  “What’s up?”

  His mouth quirked, and he adjusted slightly in his chair. “Something big.”

  She almost laughed. Except that he was a tad too blatant. Hunter wasn’t.

  “The auditors up in arms about something again?”

  He nodded slowly, took his hands out of his pockets, laying them along the armrests. Big, masculine hands. Like Hunter’s. She’d imagined those hands on her so many times.

  “Larry’s got issues with the . . .” He paused as if he couldn’t remember what Larry was supposed to have issues with. When he smiled, she knew he was playing with her. “The reserves,” he said at last. 106

  The Stand-In

  The smile got to her. Hunter had been wearing that sexy grin in the photo she’d given Isabel. The smile was so good, the courtesan might very well have practiced in the mirror.

  “What kind of issues?” she prompted.

  He rose, rounded the desk, the air currents carrying his scent to her. Damn if it wasn’t Hunter’s scent, sexy and male. “Boot up your computer, and I’ll show you.”

  She was actually breathless as she swiveled in her chair to tap the start button on her laptop. He boxed her in against the credenza, tall, all male, powerful.

  He leaned close and whispered, “I’ll cover my eyes while you type in your password.” His minty breath bathed her ear.

  She glanced at him. His eyes were indeed closed, his face in shadow, reminiscent of Hunter. But not. She looked away quickly, chiding herself. She would not spoil this by harping on the subtle differences. Watching him once again, noticing his long lashes, she tapped out the keystrokes. “Okay, we’re in.”

  “Get into the Internet,” he said.

  Directing her mouse, she clicked on the appropriate icon. She utilized only a small ergonomic secretarial chair, which was easier on her back than a desk model, and he moved behind her, bracketing her with his arms. His big body surrounded her and set her temperature soaring. He logged in to a Google account called StallionHunter. She laughed, knowing Isabel had put him up to it after their talk about Catherine the Great’s stallion. The e-mail he opened came with a photo attachment.

  “This is what I want to show you, Devon,” he murmured, as he bent low against her, his chin right down at the crook of her neck. He clicked on the attachment entitled, “What I want to do to you.”

  The graphic photo bloomed across the screen. She sucked in a breath, pushed back, her head against his shoulder.

  A man, a woman, no faces, just bodies. Beautiful, trim, muscular bodies entwined. It could have been her. It could have been Hunter. He’d crawled down between her legs, his dark head nestled there, his mouth against her pussy. The stand-in seduced her with words and explicit pictures. “I could never tell you, Devon, I had to show you.” He pointed, leaning close to whisper in her ear. 107

  The Stand-In

  “This is what I imagine every evening as I drive home, every night as I lay in bed with my cock in my hand.”

  She could almost feel his tongue on her clit. Hunter’s tongue. He was Hunter in this moment.

  “We work together,” she whispered. “We shouldn’t do this.”

  “I’m gonna go fucking crazy if we don’t.” He beguiled her with the need threading through his voice. “It consumes me. It’s what I imagine, feel, smell, and taste every time I close my eyes.” He blew warm breath on her nape. “When I come, you’re all I see.”

  Oh God. She was the one going fucking crazy.

  “Just once, Devon.” He nipped her earlobe. “We’ll never talk about it again.”

  He swiveled her in the chair so they faced each other, the computer in her periphery. “One taste, Devon.” He laid a finger on the screen right over the image of his head between her legs. “One orgasm,” he murmured.

  “Hunter—”

  He cut her off with a finger against her lips. “Christ, it makes me hot the way you say my name. I’ve wanted you fucking forever.” His eyes blazed a deep ocean blue the exact color of Hunter’s when he took on Myron. Probably contact lenses, but who the hell cared. He said the right things. That hadn’t been in her e-mail to Isabel, yet he anticipated what she needed to hear.

  “Say you want me, too,” he begged. “I need to hear that you want me as badly as I need you.”

  He was so damn good. Worth every penny she’d pay for the performance. No woman could withstand him, especially not when he was her fantasy. She let him take her over. “Yes, Hunter, I want you.” It felt so good to finally say it aloud.

  “Tell me what you want me to do to you.” He held her chin in his big hand, so close his face was slightly blurred, turning him completely into Hunter. “I need to hear the words.”

  “Kiss me, you fool.”

  He laughed. Not quite Hunter’s laugh. She had to stop those thoughts. He was Hunter. Go with the fantasy, Devon.

  He cupped both cheeks in his palms. �
�I thought you’d never fucking ask.”

  Hunter didn’t curse. She loved that he did it now. His lips were smooth, warm, his mouth tasting of sweet mouthwash. She 108

  The Stand-In

  opened to him, gave him her tongue. Oh Lord, the man could kiss, not a wet slobber, but a melding, a foray, backing off to angle his kiss the other way. Tasting, savoring, getting his fill of her, as if he’d dreamed of this moment for months.

  The way she’d dreamed of it. Devon sank her fingers into his forearms and held on. The ride was exquisite. With her eyes closed, he was all Hunter. He kissed her breathless, mindless, whispering sweet nothings to her every time he lifted his lips. Sweet nothings, dirty nothings, hot and sexy nothings. She was drowning in his taste, steeped in his scent, mesmerized by his voice.

  “Come here.” Hands at her rib cage, he lifted her from the chair, setting her on her feet. “I want to feel all of you against all of me.” He crushed her to him, his tongue sweeping into her mouth. She wrapped her arms around his neck and hung on. He was big, muscled, and hard against her belly. All that cock wanting her.

  “Hunter, I need . . .” She stopped, drew in a breath.

  “What do you need, baby? I’ll give it to you.”

  “Take off your jacket.” She’d fantasized slipping the knot of his tie, undoing his shirt, slipping her fingers inside. Would he be hairy or smooth? She’d never seen Hunter without a shirt.

  “Whatever you want, baby.” He undid the button, and she shoved the jacket off his shoulders and down his arms. He tossed it into the darker recesses of the office. “What now?”

  He didn’t overwhelm, letting her set the pace. “Your tie,” she said. Reaching up to pull the knot, she loosened the tie and tossed it on the desk. “Now your shirt.”

  He hadn’t worn an undershirt, and she found bare flesh as she popped each button. He shivered when her fingers touched warm skin. Devon met his blue eyes. “Are you acting?”

  Damn. Of course he was. It was all an illusion. He grabbed her hand, squeezed. “Say my name, Devon.”

  “Hunter,” she whispered.

  He sighed with satisfaction, then pulled her hand down to the front of his slacks. “Does this feel like acting, Devon?” He rubbed his cock with her palm. Good Lord, he was large. “That’s all for you. I’ve known you for ten years, and I’ve lusted after you from day one, but we were both married then.” He 109

  The Stand-In

  massaged his cock with her hand, pulsing, throbbing under the pressure. “When you made this job offer, I truly thought about turning it down so I could have you in my bed. During the four years since I’ve worked for you, there’s not a day gone by that I haven’t wondered how your pussy tastes, how your mouth will feel wrapped around my cock, how tight you are, how damn fucking good it’ll be buried balls deep inside you.”

  She moaned, closed her eyes. “Oh God, yes, Hunter.”

  “Finish undoing my shirt and lick my nipples, pinch them.” He gritted his teeth. “Because I like it.”

  Her hands trembled, she shook inside, and when his shirt hung open, she wanted to lick and suck all that smooth flesh. Hairless except for a few strands right around the nipples. She took one flat rosy nub in her mouth and sucked hard. Her fingers dallied with the other, rolling the peak between her thumb and forefinger. She pinched, hard. Hunter hissed in a breath and groaned. Yes, Hunter. He said all the right things, and to her, he was Hunter.

  “I told myself it was only the last few months that I’ve wanted you.” She raised her eyes as he cupped her cheek.

  “It’s been longer than that, hasn’t it?”

  “Since forever,” she whispered, feeling the dawning of truth. “Even when I was married.” Even when her husband had been making love to her, she realized that Hunter had somehow crept in. It was probably why his face came to her first when she needed a new CFO.

  He unzipped her blazer, but held the lapels closed. “You’ve imagined me undressing you.” It wasn’t a question.

  “Yes.” The word was a mere breath. Oh yes, the times she’d imagined him, slowly, seductively, or quick and dirty, popping buttons, tearing fabric. Pulling the blazer apart, he revealed the camisole she wore, underwire to cup and mold her breasts, but sheer to reveal the deep color of her areoles. The lingerie fit tightly over her belly and hips, ending in ribbons with garter snaps, but he wouldn’t figure it out until he raised her skirt. She’d wanted to appear businesslike on the outside but sexy as all get-out on the inside, like white chocolate filled with raspberry liqueur.

  “Christ, your breasts are beautiful.” His voice dripped with awe and reverence. Slowly, so slowly, he raised one hand and stroked the bud of a nipple with his index finger. She immediately peaked. 110

  The Stand-In

  He lifted his gaze. “What else have you fantasized?”

  Her pussy was wet and throbbing. “You, Hunter, going down on me on the couch.” She pointed. “That one.”

  He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and she was reminded of the day Hunter caught her on the phone with Isabel.

  “Your fantasies make me nuts.” He backed up, pulling her with him, then turned, lacing his fingers with hers and leading her to the sofa.

  “Clothes on,” he murmured as he pushed the coffee table out of the way with his foot. Holding her gaze, he accordioned her skirt in his fingers, and tugged it slowly, inexorably upward. “Every time we’re in a board meeting,” he said, “I dream about bending you over the conference table and fucking you from behind.”

  Heat sizzled through her.

  The skirt was tight; he pulled harder. “When we’re having cocktails with customers to discuss contracts, I envision putting my hand up your skirt and fingering you.”

  It was dirty and oh-so-sexy. Her pussy turned creamy. He yanked the skirt to her waist and palmed her butt. “You’re not wearing panties.” He pulled back to survey her. Black stockings fastened with the camisole’s garters. “You’re so smooth,” he whispered.

  “Do you like it?” She shaved herself bare, loving the feel of her naked pussy as she walked or drove or sat or moved.

  “I fucking love it.” He slipped one finger along her pussy lips. “You’re wet already.”

  “Touch me, Hunter. I’ve waited so long for this.”

  He parted her, nudged her clit, circled. Her body jerked.

  “Christ, I need to taste you.” He damn near shoved her down on the couch, then spread her legs, as if he couldn’t get to her pussy fast enough. His intensity thrilled her, sending a new rush of moisture through her. She’d thought her obsession had been about wanting Hunter. Deep inside, though, it had always been about him wanting her just as badly. Mutual desires. Bending his dark head to her moist center, Hunter blew on her. She moaned.

  “More, please, more.”

  He drew her clit into his mouth. Throwing her head back against the sofa and closing her eyes, she threaded her fingers through his hair. Tightening her 111

  The Stand-In

  thighs, she clutched him to her, riding his tongue. “Yes, oh God, yes,” she cried out.

  He sucked and circled, dipped down to slide his tongue in her pussy, then back to suck her clit. A finger, then two entered her, finding her G-spot and sending her shooting off a cliff in what felt like two seconds flat. She chanted his name, “Yes, Hunter, please, Hunter.” So damn perfect. The stand-in was the best idea she’d ever had. 112

  The Stand-In

  5

  HUNTER PARKED HIS CAR IN THE LOT NEXT DOOR. AS HE PULLED IN, he noted Devon’s car parked at the back of the GDN building, another vehicle next to it.

  He glanced at his watch. Dead on nine-thirty. He closed his door quietly, not that he figured anyone inside GDN would hear him, then stepped over the small hedgerow separating the two parking areas. The blinds of Devon’s office were closed. There might have been a light on, but he couldn’t be sure. When he used his card key, the alarm didn’t beep. Someone had already disarmed it. The lob
by was dark, only the outside lights falling through the window illuminated the tile floor. He cocked his head, thought he heard a sound but couldn’t be sure. Standing at the mouth of the executive hallway, the view was straight into Devon’s admin’s office. A desk lamp burned. That was all. The sound again. A woman’s voice? A moan?

  The voice mail played in his mind. There’s something you need to see. He moved silently past two doorways, HR VP and Garrison’s old office. His heart beat in his ears.

  Devon’s office. Nine-thirty tonight. Don’t come early or the play might not have started.

  He didn’t know exactly what the message meant. He had no clue what to expect. Devon had mentioned improvisation and the message referred to a play. He was, however, convinced of the prurient nature of that conversation. There was no way he’d have missed showing up tonight. At the entry to the outer office, he knew for sure that was a woman’s voice, but through Devon’s door, the words were indistinguishable. He stopped once again right before it, realizing the door had not been pulled completely shut. A woman moaned. There was no mistaking the heady sound. His cock felt it, rose to it.

  He put a finger to the door. Swallowed. To open it constituted an invasion of her privacy.

  He wouldn’t, if not for the voice on that voice mail. The madam of Courtesans. He’d utilized their services a couple of times, on a lark, introduced through an old college chum of his. The encounters hadn’t given him the 113

  The Stand-In

  connection he enjoyed during sex.

  Isabel would not have left that message lightly. Had Devon put her up to it?

  Somehow he thought not. Devon Parker was straightforward. She would have left the damn message herself.

  A feminine groan drifted through the slightly ajar door. He swore it was her. Devon. Privacy be damned. She was in the fucking office with the door unlocked. She couldn’t be expecting complete privacy. And he wasn’t walking away. He pushed. The door, barely latched, snicked open. The lighting was minimal. Now he felt her pleasure sounds deep in his gut. She moaned. “Yes, yes, please.”

  He pushed the door wider.