Hers for the Evening

by Jasmine Haynes

  Devon Parker reclined on the couch, her desk lamp softly illuminating the tableau. Her suit jacket fell open to reveal a lacy black camisole. Her skirt bunched beneath her hips, she held her legs spread wide. A man’s dark head bobbed between her thighs. She fisted her fingers in his hair and rocked against his mouth.

  Hunter froze, his breath trapped in his throat, so damn hard, he ached. She was gorgeous. She was a wet dream. She was hot as Hades. Her body rocked against her lover, wordlessly begging for more. Her eyes closed, she made hot little throaty noises that sent his blood pressure soaring. What the hell was he supposed to do? What did she want from him? Join?

  Watch? Salivate? Maybe she wanted him to see what he could have had all these years if he’d had the balls to ask.

  She writhed. Fuck, he wanted to be that mouth on her, that tongue tasting her.

  “Yes, Hunter, please, Hunter, God, Hunter.”

  Blood roared in his ears. She was calling his name. She was asking for him.

  “Yes, Hunter, do it like that, exactly like that.” She tossed her head back and forth on the couch. “Oh Hunter, you don’t know how many times I’ve dreamed about this, wanted you like this.”

  Somehow, perhaps by miracle, everything fell into place. Devon had hired a courtesan to play him, Hunter. Part of the game was for him to watch. The madam of Courtesans—or Devon herself—had set him up to be there. And watch he did. Her orgasm blossomed, her body shaking with it, and she cried long and low, ending with his name, “Hunter,” soft yet recognizable. 114

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  He wanted to see the flush on her body, feel the quake in her limbs, but he could only watch. It was so damn fucking beautiful. Before she’d even come down, the courtesan rose, hauled her across the couch and laid her flat. “Do you want me to fuck you, Devon?” The light hit the side of his face, and damn if he didn’t look a bit like Hunter himself, dark hair, same build.

  “Please, Hunter, yes, yes, please do it, Hunter.”

  She said his name as if she were trying to convince herself it was really him. The man reached into his pocket, came out with a condom packet. Unzipping his slacks, he pulled out his cock, then gave the foil a practiced tear with his teeth. Rolling on the condom expertly, he pulled Devon’s leg to his shoulder.

  “Tell me who’s fucking you, Devon.”

  “You are, Hunter.”

  The courtesan rewarded her with a deep thrust. Her cry melted into a moan. It was the hottest fucking thing Hunter had ever witnessed. Almost like watching himself in a mirror. He wished to heaven he could see Devon’s face.

  “Do I feel good?” his substitute asked, body pumping against her, inside her.

  “Hunter, yes, there’s never been anyone like you. Never.”

  The guy looked up, shot Hunter with his gaze. “You crave this, don’t you, Devon. You’re going to beg for more. Every day, every night.” He knew Hunter stood beyond the door, and he wanted him to hear every word. “You’ll never want me to stop, will you, Devon.”

  “I’ll never want you to stop, Hunter.” Tears leaked through her voice. “I’m going to want this forever.”

  She screamed his name as she came.

  Hunter was a goner.

  MONDAY MORNING, TO QUOTE A CLICHÉ, DEVON WAS WALKING ON air. It was amazing to give herself over to the fantasy. She didn’t have to be in control, she wasn’t the boss, she didn’t have to impress or dictate or run the show. She didn’t even have to hide her feelings. She simply allowed the stand-in to direct everything, while she let it all go.

  She’d never had sex like that. She’d always had an agenda. With her husband, it had been to placate him because he claimed she was a workaholic, putting him second. With a courtesan, it was to make sure she got her money’s 115

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  worth, every last orgasm she deserved and wanted. With the stand-in, all she had to do was close her eyes and indulge her fantasies, let him be Hunter. It had been a taste of freedom she might very well have to indulge in again.

  Devon entered the conference room for the weekly executive staff meeting she held first thing Monday mornings so the VPs from the Milpitas manufacturing facility could stop on their drive in. Wearing high heels that were an inch taller than her usual, she was the second to arrive. “Morning, Stinson.” VP of R&D and Engineering.

  Stinson mumbled a greeting. Maybe it was the introversion of an engineering mind—though she’d met her shares of extroverted engineers—but Stinson never spoke clearly. The tall, lanky, slightly unkempt professor type, he possessed a brilliant mind, but had a harder time with the social skills. No one was perfect, and he’d gotten them out of many a hole with a slightly jumbled inarticulate dissertation that was nevertheless pure genius. Merrimac from Manufacturing and Gigi from HR arrived next. Gigi was their only female VP. Her head count was small but her bailiwick huge. Devon had pulled HR out of Accounting and Admin last year. Wells sauntered in, taking a seat next to Gigi. Director of IT, Wells reported to Hunter, but due to the update she wanted on the search for the new integrated computer enterprise system, Devon had invited him.

  Hunter came last. At that first sight of him, a flush rode through her body, heated her skin. He’d warned her he might be late due to a conference call, but he’d managed to keep the tardiness down to a minute.

  “Let’s start with the audit update, Hunter.” She loved saying his name, remembered how it rolled off her tongue as she pleaded for the first orgasm, then another.

  She didn’t care about the meeting agenda or the audit or the computer system or the search for a new S&M VP. She let his voice caress her, intensifying the silky slide of her lingerie beneath her staid business suit. Stockings, garter belt, thong panty, lace bra. It wasn’t her usual work fare, but this morning, the urge had been irresistible. Her breath quickened. Her pulse beat at her throat. She was warm and wet remembering Hunter’s touch. That was the beauty of Saturday night: For all intents and purposes, the man who’d made love to her had been Hunter Nash. She loved the sexy sensations stealing through her. She 116

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  felt like a woman instead of an automaton.

  “Thank you, Hunter.” She smiled at him. She’d heard every word of his report, absorbing the timbre of his voice.

  He tipped his head, giving her a look. She usually asked a lot of questions. That was her style. Today, she didn’t care to hear more. Any problems, he’d handle them. He was capable. They all were. That’s why she chose them.

  “Gigi, how’s it going on the executive search?”

  Gigi rattled off the steps she’d taken, yet Hunter still perused Devon’s face, her body language. Did he sense something different in her? She pushed back slightly from the table, crossed her legs, rocking her foot. His eyes dropped briefly to her high heel. She imagined he could see all the way up her skirt to the lace top of her stockings. And that he’d remember the stockings she’d worn for him on Saturday.

  Again, the perfection of the night allowed her to put the real Hunter there with her. Electricity arced between them. Delicious. She could walk around in bliss all day imagining that she was boffing her CFO on the side. The ruse had actually worked for her.

  Hunter cleared his throat.

  Devon realized Gigi had finished her accounting. The meeting went on as she deliciously, blissfully relived every moment of Saturday night. Back in her office an hour later, she sat at her desk, her attention focused on the couch. Door closed, she held her private cell phone. She hadn’t called Isabel yesterday, wanting to savor the moment without explanation or comment, deciding what she liked best about it, how it could be improved.

  “Hey, you,” Isabel answered, obviously reading the caller ID first.

  “You were genius,” Devon congratulated her.

  Isabel purred. Devon could almost see her buffing her fingernails on her sleeve. “I assume you were pleased.”

  “The resemblance was uncanny.”

  “You’d be surprised what t
he right hairstyle, clothes, and lighting can do. How about the performance? Worth it?” Isabel liked her clients to be happy and her friends delirious.

  “It was worth a helluva lot more.” She didn’t, however, mention the price she’d paid. Isabel never liked specifics about remuneration going out into the airwaves. No one ever said aloud that they paid for sex. 117

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  “Were you able to fool yourself?”

  “Yes.” She thought a moment about how much she wanted to reveal. “I never thought I’d like giving a man the control.”

  “Don’t tell me you let down your legendary reserve?”

  “Smart-ass.”

  Isabel’s laugh was delightful. “Seriously, sometimes you can be rigid.”

  Her? Well . . . yes. “They need to be apprised of exactly what I like and do everything the way I want. That’s not too much to ask.” So she was asking for the world: She was also paying for it.

  Isabel laughed. “But you liked letting Hunter”—Isabel stressed the name—

  “decide what you needed.”

  “He surprised me.” Devon didn’t usually like surprises. This time, she’d loved it. “I’d enjoy seeing him again.”

  “Gee”—Isabel snorted—“I’ll beg him to do it as a favor.”

  The facetious tone meant the stand-in had reported positively. Of course, Devon paid him handsomely, but even with a courtesan, money wasn’t the only factor. Some people, it didn’t matter how much they paid if they didn’t show the proper respect and appreciation. “I have to go to Sedona on a business trip in a couple of weeks. I’d like to see him there.”

  It was freaky, true, but she wanted to play the next date as if she and Hunter were being naughty at a work function. She’d seen it happen, John and Jane from So-and-So company getting tipsy and flirty in the bar, then sneaking up to one or the other’s room. They thought they were fooling everyone, but you could practically scent the attraction on the air. She’d never done it, but always found it extremely titillating. In fact, she’d once mentioned such a fantasy to Isabel, she and Hunter in a hotel restaurant, his hand suddenly finding its way up her skirt. It wasn’t possible to pull it off exactly that way since the real Hunter would be at the same conference and she couldn’t afford to be seen in public with a man who looked so much like him. She’d have to devise another way of playing the scene to maximize the naughty feeling she craved. Damn, had she simply traded one obsession for another?

  “I’ll set it up.” Isabel paused overlong. Something else was coming. “Is this really working for you?”

  “Absolutely.” One obsession for another? It didn’t matter. This morning she’d looked at Hunter without the desperation. She could replay the whole thing as if 118

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  it were him, get the kick, and not end up with that overwhelming, frustrating need burning in her belly. She might have daydreamed in the meeting, but it had been . . . different. Which sounded like rationalization, but honestly, she felt more normal than she had in ages.

  Her desk phone beeped and Robert’s voice came through. “Do you have a minute for Hunter?”

  The intercom was loud enough for Isabel to hear. “Ooh, he wants to see you,” she cooed as if they were teenagers.

  “Stop that,” Devon chided, then punched the TALK button. “Tell him to come on in, Robert.”

  “It’s an invitation he won’t be able to refuse,” Isabel murmured. “I’ll get back to you. Toodles.”

  Devon had to laugh. Toodles? Who said toodles, except maybe Paris Hilton?

  Isabel always popped out with something completely unexpected, and Devon liked her more every time.

  She set the phone down and undid the top two buttons of her blouse. 119

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  6

  SHE MYSTIFIED HIM. HUNTER HAD WALKED INTO THE CONFERENCE room Monday morning, and Devon had given him that smile. Not a smile, but a sexy, satisfied cat-that-ate-the-cream smile, her skin flushed pink. As if he’d been the one making her scream on Saturday night. As if they shared a secret. It made him nuts. He couldn’t figure out what was going on in her mind, but she looked at him as if the taste of his come still lingered on her tongue. Holy hell, he’d looked through that door and gotten an eyeful. He was a goddamn peeper. It wasn’t enough that the man fucked her; no, he’d pulled out, stripped off the condom and fed her his cock, crooning to her—and maybe to his cock—the entire time. She’d eaten him alive.

  A cold shower when he’d arrived home hadn’t done a damn thing. Instead, he’d taken his own cock in his hand and worked himself to the image of her taking another man deep down her throat.

  Devon Parker sucked cock like a goddess. The guy had jerked and groaned for one hell of a long time, telling her how hot her mouth was, how well she sucked. Playing the scene out behind closed lids in the shower, he imagined her lips on his dick, her hand massaging his balls, squeezing, caressing. The hot, sexy little sounds she made were for him.

  He damn well better not shut her office door when he went in there or he’d have her flat on her desk with her legs spread. She had him that worked up.

  “Go on in.” Robert pointed a thumb over his shoulder.

  “Thanks,” he said, passing the man’s desk. In days of old (last week), he’d simply have knocked on her door and walked in without preamble. Robert would have stopped him if it was something he shouldn’t interrupt. The worst thing was, he’d manufactured an excuse to see her. It slid idiotically off his tongue as he stepped into her domain. “Can I show you something on the screen?” He pointed to her computer on the credenza behind her.

  She gasped, her breasts rising, and he suddenly realized she had two more buttons undone than in the meeting.

  “What do you want to show me?” There was a slight catch to her voice.

  “It’s nothing disturbing,” he said, because her eyes indeed widened as if he’d 120

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  disturbed her.

  “No, sorry.” She shook herself, held up a hand. “It reminded me of something else.”

  He rounded her desk, stood behind her as she hit the screen saver. Her scent played havoc, subtly sweet and laced with . . . the musk of arousal? What the hell had she been doing in here with the door closed? Staring at the couch, remembering, and getting hot all over again?

  Oh yeah, he’d gone fucking nuts.

  “Pull up the cash forecast,” he instructed. The file was in a shared folder accessible by password only to him, Devon, his general accounting manager, and her subordinate who prepared the spreadsheet. When the file came up, he pointed to a number, then took the cursor from Devon’s hand and highlighted the accompanying comment. “We’re going to have to deal with this.” A sizable past due receivable, he’d already made the appropriate calls. Normally, he’d let his accounts receivable clerk handle it, but the amount was so large, he’d gotten involved. He didn’t need Devon in on it. He’d needed an excuse to get close.

  “Do you want me to give Bowman a call?” she asked.

  “Let’s wait and see if we need to escalate.” They wouldn’t have to. “I wanted to make you aware of it.”

  She glanced up at him. “I saw it this morning, but I figured you’d handle it with your usual style.” She smiled. It wasn’t the cat-that-ate-the-cream smile, but it got him going anyway. “Thanks for making sure, though.” She turned once again and shut down the file. From his angle above her, he could see straight down her blouse to her cleavage. His heart trip-hammered. She had full, milkwhite breasts. A hint of nipple showed above the lace of her bra. He wanted to touch.

  Holy hell, he’d lost his mind. She’d never studied him the way she’d done today. She’d never unbuttoned her blouse that far. Did she know he’d been watching Saturday night? Had she planned it? Was this some look-but-don’ttouch game she was playing?

  “Anything else, Hunter?” She swiveled in her chair, her knee brushing his leg. He forced himself to back up. Saturday night ha
d changed something fundamental. She was as sexual and hedonistic as anyone else. She probably always had been, but now he knew it.

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  Despite himself, Hunter smiled. “Nothing right now,” he said. She was playing a game, and he was dying to play it with her. She had her rules, he didn’t care. That’s why it was going to be so fucking fantastic, because he had no idea what the game was or how to play out the hand.

  “I’ll see you later.” He headed for the door, turning at the last moment to catch that sexy, tantalizing smile again.

  Oh yeah, things were different. She was different. He wanted her lips around his cock in the worst—or best—way possible.

  When he reached his office, he pulled out his cell phone, punched in a number, and a woman answered. He was going to set about adding his own rules to the game right now.

  MID-NOVEMBER ARRIVED, AND ROBERT HAD BOOKED DEVON A SUITE at the resort where the investors’ conference was being held. Basically the conference was a schmoozefest of people who had money and people who wanted money. You talked about how great your company was, what a sound investment you would be, and convinced the shakers and movers to open their wallets. She often entertained in the room after the day’s activities were over, which was why she needed a suite rather than a single room. You didn’t invite people into your bedroom, and you never invited one person to your suite alone, of course, especially a man. That was asking for trouble. The suite was, however, hers after all the schmoozing was said and done. Devon intended to use it to its full extent after Friday, the last day of the conference, after the last dinner and the last cocktail. She’d arranged for an extra night she would pay for herself. Devon was a stickler. No one could accuse her of charging anything personal on the company expense account. It would have been so much easier if Hunter hadn’t decided to take another day, too. “You don’t have to stay Saturday because I am,” she told him. “I’ll hire a car to take me to the airport on Sunday morning.” She planned to return with the courtesan since she was paying for his rental car.