by Cara Summers
She touched the corner of her mouth. “Do I have lip stick all over my face?”
He licked the spot. “Not anymore.”
“Oh, God, don’t start.”
He breathed deeply. “Yeah, I know.”
“We’re headed that way, right?” she said, pointing toward Amsterdam Avenue.
“Yep. The red door.”
“Here’s your jacket.”
“Keep it until we get inside.”
“Okay, and then I’m going straight to the ladies’ room.” She smoothed her dress over her hips, and he had to look away. “I’ll find you after that.”
“I’ll be waiting right outside. Ready?”
“Let’s go.”
He took her arm and steered her around a crack in the sidewalk. Selfishly he liked that she wore the sexy shoes, but he didn’t want to see her break any limbs. Even a small nick marring those incredible legs would be a crime.
They got to the door, which was promptly opened by a doorman standing discreetly off to the side. With a sweep of his hand he directed them toward the right, and they followed the strip of red carpet that obviously had been laid for the occasion.
Good thing. Or Eric wouldn’t have known which way to go. The brownstone had once been a mansion belonging to one of New York’s rich and prominent families, but the building had been gutted and divided into several exclusive shops and a pricey art gallery.
“I haven’t seen a restroom, have you?” Dallas whispered.
“Nope, but we’ll find it.”
“This place is huge. You’d never know it from the outside.”
“There it is.” He heard classical music coming from the end of the hall and figured that’s where they were ultimately headed. “I’ll wait right outside.”
“I won’t be long. Unless damage assessment proves otherwise.”
He frowned, not getting it at first, and then he grinned and snatched her hand before she got away. “Come here.”
“Why?”
He pulled her close enough that she had to tilt her head back to look at him. “You still have some lipstick on that I haven’t licked off.”
She laughed and started to pull away, but he captured her mouth with his and, taking advantage of her soft gasp, slid his tongue between her lips. Without hesitation she looped her arms around his neck and pressed herself against him.
Ridiculous how quickly and how hard he got. A smart man would back off. He pushed his tongue deeper into her mouth, exploring the soft, wet flesh, her perfect teeth. He drew his palms down each side of her body, outlining her seductive curves.
Voices coming from the hall behind them brought him to his senses. He broke the kiss, his breathing al ready out of control. “Go,” he said. “I’ll be here.”
She nodded, her lower lip quivering slightly, and then she disappeared inside. The voices got closer and he realized he needed a quick adjustment himself so he ducked into the men’s room.
What the hell had happened to his focus? What the hell had happened to him? This was absurd. Acting like a kid at a client’s function. He knew better. He should never have brought her here.
After finishing his business, he left the restroom to find her already waiting outside. Her frown immediately turned into a smile when she saw him, and all his misgivings vanished just like that.
“I thought maybe you’d decided to go on inside,” she said, her lips tinted peach again, some of the stray tendrils of hair tucked back into place.
He liked the wild look better. Reminded him of the way her hair had fanned out against his sheets. There he went again…shit! “Let’s go mingle.”
She unnecessarily clutched the tiny black bag that hung from her shoulder, as if unsure what to do with her hands. Wisely he kept his to himself. Obviously he couldn’t be trusted to touch her. Once they joined the party it would be easier to get through the evening. Especially since he had no intention of staying long.
They entered the large reception area bordering the art gallery and a well-known jewelry store that sold unique baubles that Eric’s annual salary couldn’t cover. The room was attractive but staid, furnished with over stuffed chairs and sofas, antique rugs on the floor and rich dark wood paneling on the walls.
In the corner was a humidor with a collection of expensive cigars and floor-to-ceiling racks of wine, probably French and cost prohibitive. At least for Eric. The place looked more like an old gentleman’s club from the seventies, when they could still exclude women with out ending up in court.
Apparently the rain had either scared some of the guests off or else they were delayed. Less than twenty people stood talking and sipping from martini glasses or champagne flutes. Lawrence’s “little” bashes were known to include a hundred or more guests.
“Amazing, isn’t it? From the street you’d never know this place existed,” Dallas whispered.
“Not really my thing,” he whispered back. “But I had to make a showing. I promise we won’t stay long.”
“I’m not complaining. Really.” She looked at him in surprise. “I understand you have to be here. I’m glad you included me.”
Eric blinked. It just occurred to him that he’d done exactly what he never did. Never wanted to do. He’d brought a date to a business function. Of course, this was somewhat different from a company party, and Dallas…well, Dallas was certainly different from his other dates.
The thought stopped him. Where had it come from? Why was she different? How? He barely knew her. Yet he felt it deep down in his gut. She was different.
“Eric? What’s wrong?”
He stared into her concerned eyes. “Nothing. I was just— Who are you?”
Her face turned guarded. “What do you mean?”
“I know Tom set up Saturday night.” He looked closely for her reaction, but she kept her expression neutral. “We saw you in the window.”
“What window?”
He smiled. “Come on, Dallas, the joke is over.”
“Eric.”
At the sound of Lawrence Horn’s voice Eric reluctantly broke eye contact with Dallas, and turned to his client—his long-standing, major-revenue-producing client, to whom Eric would do well to be paying attention.
The guy had over a dozen thriving businesses in the New York and New Jersey area and had used Webber and Thornton for two decades, long before Eric had joined the company. It had been an honor for Eric to be entrusted with the account. He wasn’t about to blow it.
“Lawrence, good to see you.” Eric extended his hand. “Thanks for the invitation.”
Short, balding and with a penchant for bright colors, the man had to be older than Eric’s father, yet he sported a diamond stud in his left earlobe. “Thanks for the invitation,” he mimicked, laughing. “Can you believe this guy?” Lawrence looked over at Dallas. “Modesty doesn’t get you anywhere in this city. This man is a publicity genius. A little more arrogance is in order, don’t you think?”
Dallas only smiled.
His gaze still fastened on Dallas, Lawrence took her hand. “Who do we have here?”
“This is Dallas.” Annoyed that he couldn’t even introduce her last name, Eric forced a smile. “And this is our host, Lawrence Horn.”
“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Horn.”
Lawrence raised her hand to his lips, his gaze staying on her face.
Amusement twinkled in Lawrence’s pale blue eyes as he continued to study Dallas with an odd fascination. “Do I know you?” he finally asked.
She blinked and darted a nervous glance at Eric. “I don’t believe we’ve ever met.”
Lawrence squinted at her. “I know this face.”
Eric didn’t say a word. He was enjoying this way too much. Let her try to wiggle out of this one.
She shrugged a shoulder and casually withdrew her hand. “I guess we blondes all look alike.”
Lawrence laughed heartily. “No, my dear, not all blondes are created equally.”
A waiter appeared with a tray of ca
napés, and Dallas took an exceptionally long time to choose one of the morsels. Not that it mattered. Eric had faith in Horn. The guy was like a dog with a bone when he wanted some thing. And Dallas had clearly piqued his curiosity.
“I know.” Lawrence nodded knowingly once the waiter had gone. “You’re a model in Eric’s ads. That’s where I’ve seen you.”
“No,” Eric promptly offered. “She’s never worked for me.”
“Come now.” Lawrence frowned. “It’ll annoy me until I figure this out. You are a model, yes?”
Dallas chewed thoughtfully, and then said, “I used to model, but it’s been quite a while.”
“Hmm…” Lawrence shook his head, looking con fused, and then started to say something further, but Dallas interrupted him.
She put a hand to her throat. “I’m sorry but—Eric, would you mind getting me something to drink?”
“Stay.” Lawrence put his hand up to forestall Eric. With his other he snapped his fingers in the air and a waiter came running. That kind of behavior Eric despised. But Lawrence had other good qualities. Besides, he alone was responsible for about twenty percent of Webber and Thornton’s revenue. And most of Eric’s annual bonus.
They all gave the waiter their orders, and after he left, Lawrence said, “Please forgive my poor manners. I practically ambushed you at the door.”
“Oh, please.” Dallas put a hand on his arm. “We’re flattered that you personally greeted us. But I was wondering if it would be okay to wander into the gallery.”
“Yes, of course.” Lawrence waved expansively with his hand, the giant ruby he always wore on his ring finger flashing like wildfire under the lights. “No place is off-limits to you, pretty lady.” His mouth curving, he inclined his head toward Eric but kept his eyes on Dallas. “Talk him into buying you a piece of art. Always a good investment, in my estimation.”
Eric snorted. As if he could afford anything in the building but a cigar.
Dallas laughed and then winked. “Maybe I’ll buy him a piece of art.”
Lawrence chuckled, clasping his hands together. “Such a delightful girl you are.” Someone called to him and he briefly turned his head and waved. “Ah, I must go. But I will see you two later. Eric, she’s a keeper.” He smiled benignly at Dallas but again addressed Eric. “But I can see I don’t have to tell you that.”
“Odd character,” Dallas said when Lawrence was out of earshot.
“Yeah, but he grows on you.”
“I didn’t mean odd in a bad way. I love interesting characters. People who don’t fit the stereotype. Or don’t try to mold themselves into an image to meet other people’s expectations. I admire them.” Her mouth twisted in a wry smile. “Even though he called me a girl.”
Eric said nothing but studied her for a moment. Her expression and voice had changed. Subtly but enough that he noticed. Did people stereotype her? Is that why she was so guarded? Because of her looks, he easily saw how she could be misjudged. Truthfully, he’d pretty much done the same at first. But there was so much more depth to her. He’d only been allowed a glimpse so far, but he sensed the well was deep and he intended to dive in. Immerse himself.
The waiter brought their drinks—scotch for him and merlot for her—and then left to take Lawrence his apple martini. Eric recognized only a couple of people, who were busy talking to someone else, so he didn’t feel as if he had to hang around and make small talk.
“Did you really want to go see the gallery?” he asked. “Or were you just trying to avoid the conversation?”
She smiled and took his hand. “Let’s go see the gallery.”
He followed her like a damn puppy dog. Hell, if she’d wanted to go to Siberia, he would’ve followed.
Like the building, the gallery was larger than it looked from the outside. Still, there were few paintings displayed, along with a ridiculous sculpture of what looked like a worm in the center of the room. As they passed it, he caught a glimpse of the fifty-thousand-dollar price tag and almost spit out his scotch.
She glanced over at him. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“You don’t really want to look at these paintings, do you?”
“I don’t mind—” Chuckling, he shook his head. “Not even if they paid me.”
She grinned. “Want to go back to the party?”
This time he took her hand, and pulled her close. “How about we go back to my place instead?”
Her eyes sparkled with promise. “I thought you’d never ask.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
DALLAS MADE A DECISION. IF THEIR RELATIONSHIP lasted for longer than a week, she’d tell him about herself. Everything. Well, not everything, but the stuff he needed to know. The part most important to him. That she wasn’t a model or a socialite or something pretty to put on a pedestal. That she didn’t have a power job and wasn’t on the fast track at some Fortune 500 company.
The admission would probably end the relationship. No, it was an affair. Fantasy, really. But what did she expect? The whole thing started with a gag. For one night. She was the one who’d wanted to draw out the fantasy. Play dress up and pretend. And the sex. Oh, God, she got heated just thinking about the way he touched her, the way they moved together in perfect rhythm.
How did she know she’d actually start feeling something for him? That was the last thing she’d expected to happen. She didn’t go for ambitious exec types. They reminded her too much of her father and brother.
She watched Eric unlock his apartment door, open it, reach inside to turn on a lamp and then stand aside for her to go in first. Yet he wasn’t anything like her father or Cody. She doubted either one of them would give up their precious time to help a struggling Chinese immigrant save his restaurant.
Maybe she was judging Eric too harshly. Maybe what she did for a living wouldn’t matter to him.
“Hey, what are you thinking so hard about?” He pulled her in his arms as soon as they both got over the threshold.
“Uh, are you going to close the door?”
“First things first.” He covered her mouth with his and kissed her so thoroughly, she literally couldn’t breathe.
With a light push to his chest she fell back laughing and gasping at the same time. One of her heels caught in the carpet, and when she missed a step, he caught her arm.
“How do you walk in those things?” He frowned at her black stiletto heels, and then closed the door behind him. “They look great but dangerous.”
“Oh, they’re lethal, all right. I’m lucky I haven’t bro ken my neck.”
“Why in the hell do women wear them? Not that I’m complaining.”
She shrugged. “It’s the style, I guess. Why do you guys wear baggy pants riding halfway down your butts?”
“Um, excuse me, but I don’t think you’ll ever see me wearing baggy pants riding halfway down my ass.”
She laughed. “Okay, and I don’t think you’ll be seeing me in stilettos much in the future.”
Shrugging out of his jacket, he reared his head back, feigning horror. “Wait a minute, I hope that’s open for discussion.”
Smiling, she walked farther into the room and dropped her purse on a chair. “It used to be easy when I wore them all the time. Now, I have to admit, looking graceful or at least like I’m not teetering takes some maneuvering.”
He tossed his jacket next to her purse. “What do you usually wear?”
“Boots.”
“In the summer?”
“Yep.”
“I’ve seen some killer heels on women’s boots.”
“Not the kind I wear,” she said, watching him care fully. “Steel-toed work boots.”
He laughed. “Really? Trying to start a new trend?”
“No, they’re practical.” For work, she almost added but stopped herself just in time. Perfect time to tell him. But she just couldn’t do it. Not yet. It would ruin the evening. Ruin everything, probably.
At the end of the week, she promise
d herself, she’d explain. No, wrong. It wasn’t about an explanation. She owed no such thing to anyone. She’d simply enlighten him. What he chose to do at that point was up to him.
She took a step closer, looking up at him, her smile purposeful as her gaze moved slowly to his mouth. “Why are we wasting time talking about boots?”
That’s all it took. His eyes blazing, he pulled her against him, and just when she expected him to steal her breath away, he gently nibbled on the corner of her mouth and then lightly bit her lower lip. She closed her eyes and let her head loll back. With his tongue he traced her jaw to her earlobe, his touch so feathery light, she wasn’t totally sure she wasn’t imagining it.
“I take it these diamond earrings are real,” he whispered, his warm breath penetrating her skin, and her nipples tightened in response.
“Yes.” A graduation present from her parents, they were ridiculously expensive.
“Then I suggest you take them off.” His tongue swirled around one of the diamonds, his breathing growing ragged. “Take everything off.”
She smiled. “Is that an order?”
His mouth slowly curved against her skin. “It can be.”
“Honey, if we were going to role-play, I’d be the general and you’d be the private.”
“Want me to take my clothes off, ma’am?”
She laughed. “You’re so easy.”
He straightened and smiled at her. “Disgustingly easy, I know.” He cupped her shoulder, wedging his fingers under the slim strap of her dress. Slowly he slid the fabric down and then he did the same with her other strap.
She undid his red silk tie, impatient when she had trouble with the knot, then pulled it from under his collar. He didn’t try to help but just stared at her, the de sire in his eyes so potent, it seemed to coat her skin like warm honey clinging to a biscuit.
When she tried to unbutton his shirt, he gently shoved her hands aside and reached around to unzip her dress. He pulled the zipper down halfway and then slipped his hands inside and stroked his palms down her bare skin to the curve of her buttocks.
Shivering, she moved closer so that she barely had room to unbutton his shirt. But she managed to free one button and then another. He massaged her lower back, his chest heavily rising and falling, and for a moment her hands stilled, her mind went blank. She closed her eyes.
