So what made him ignite fires inside her she’d all but forgotten existed? He was handsome, financially successful and oozed power and sex appeal like most men oozed sweat. She dealt with men like him daily and they never sent her hormones into overdrive. Just the thought of Brent Russell caused her heart to palpitate and her palms to sweat. Good thing he was off-limits.
Not that she contemplated adhering to her body’s sudden demands for sexual gratification. The fact that she probably wouldn’t see him again settled the argument raging in her head. He was off-limits not just because he was too young, but because he was her client’s husband until the divorce was finalized.
The train’s arrival at the Hatfield Station ended her internal monologue and Samantha hurried out of the station, bracing herself against the onslaught of the cold wind. Two blocks farther, she pushed open the gate to her house. As she snuck past the main house to her flat, she could hear the students arguing about what to prepare for dinner.
Renting out the rooms to the students and moving into the flat at the back of the property had been a sound business decision and one she hadn’t regretted once in the four years since she’d bought the house. The students helped her pay the mortgage and she enjoyed their company in the evenings.
Inside the flat, she changed into a tracksuit before walking back to the main house and knocking on the kitchen door. A choir of voices greeted her and everyone chimed in to help prepare dinner. An hour later, Samantha returned to her flat relaxed and calm—the day’s turmoil exorcised by the normality of her evening rituals.
Armed with a paperback she’d been meaning to read for some time and a glass of red wine, she soaked in the tub until her toes wrinkled like dried prunes. With her mind still engrossed in the murder mystery, she dried herself and padded to the bedroom. She didn’t bother to dress and climbed into bed, shivering as the cool sheets connected with her heated flesh. It was after midnight when she finally closed the book and switched off the light.
Samantha woke with the sheets tangled and her body drenched in sweat. She clenched her legs together as the dream slowly receded. Her pussy throbbed with unfulfilled need and her nipples chafed against the sheets. Irritated, she flung the blankets off her and shuffled to the bathroom. What the hell was wrong with her? Why couldn’t she get Brent Russell out of her mind?
Stepping under the spray of the shower before the water had heated dispelled some of the lingering images of his naked body sliding over hers, but failed miserably to quell the tightrope of sexual tension humming through her veins. She scrubbed at her breasts to alleviate some of the pressure, but only succeeded in increasing the almost unbearable tightness in her nipples. Disgusted at herself, she flung the sponge in the corner of the shower and hung her head while the water rinsed the soap away. When the water started to cool, she shut off the shower, dried herself then dressed for work.
* * * *
When her secretary knocked on the door at ten o’clock, Samantha was ready to have herself committed to a mental institution. She’d had to redo three draft agreements due to silly mistakes and if her secretary hadn’t spotted a glaring error in one of the pleadings she had prepared, her client would have suffered one hell of an embarrassment in court. All because the sexy Brent Russell kept intruding on her thoughts.
“This is for you.”
Samantha glanced at the secretary and dropped her pen. White and pink roses hid most of the woman’s face and she staggered under the weight of the bouquet before she set it down on the conference table. She plucked the card from the plastic stick and handed it to Samantha.
“Thank you, I think,” Samantha mumbled as she opened the card.
I’ll pick you up for dinner after work.
“You’re sure this is for me?”
“It says so on the envelope.” The secretary frowned. “Why, is something wrong?”
Samantha turned the card around. “I don’t know anyone that would send me flowers and issue a dinner invitation without leaving his name.”
She inspected the envelope, but the typed message revealed no clue except for stating her name in bold letters. Well, whoever had issued the invitation would be sadly disappointed. She didn’t have dinner with strangers.
Dismissing the secretary and instructing her to take the flowers to the tearoom, Samantha buried herself in the task of getting her table cleared before her mandatory leave started at the end of the week. An inspection by the Department of Labor the previous month had prompted her partners to issue her with an ultimatum—either take the eight weeks leave due or resign. She still couldn’t fathom why she had to take her accumulated leave, but she loved her job enough to take the eight week vacation. That is if she managed to finalize her outstanding cases in the two days she had left until Friday.
When the light started to fade inside the office, Samantha glanced at her watch. She had to leave before six-thirty to catch the last Gautrain of the afternoon. Hurriedly she shoved some files into her briefcase and made her way out of the building. Outside she turned her collar up, ducked her head and started down the sidewalk.
“Miss Owen?”
Samantha glanced around but saw nobody paying her special attention so she continued on her way. A hand on her arm stopped her in her tracks.
“Miss Owen?”
She turned to glance at the big man towering over her. “Yes.”
“Mister Russell requests your presence in his car.” The man pointed to a black Mercedes with tinted windows parked at the curb.
Several people bumped into them and she stepped out of the flow of pedestrians. “Please tell Mister Russell that I can’t see him now. I have a train to catch. Have his attorney call me in the morning if there is anything he wants to discuss.”
She turned to leave, but the man held on to her arm. “I’m afraid I have to insist you speak to him.”
The grip on her arm was firm and unless she wanted to cause a scene, she had to comply with his request. Irritated at being manipulated, she lifted her chin.
“Fine.”
The man pulled her toward the car and opened the back door. Samantha stood her ground outside and leaned forward. Brent Russell lounged on the back seat, his left foot resting on his right knee. With his jacket on the seat next to him, his wide shoulders filled the royal blue shirt to the brim. Samantha swallowed. Damn the man for being so sexy.
“Good evening, Miss Owen. I trust you received my invitation this morning?”
So the flowers and dinner invitation were from him. At least she had a legitimate excuse to refuse the invitation.
“Evening, Mister Russell. Thank you for the flowers, but I’m afraid I can’t talk to you without your attorney present, so I have to decline the invitation to dinner.” Why was her voice so husky?
He shifted closer to the open door, causing the muscles in his thighs to bulge and her pulse to skitter. “Won’t you get in so that we can at least discuss this without me craning my neck?”
She shook her head. “I’m afraid not. As your wife’s attorney, it would be a conflict of interest to talk to you without your own attorney present.” She nodded toward the pedestrians on the sidewalk. “You are quite famous so the chances of us being recognized are high and I can’t take the risk.” She turned to leave. “I have a train to catch. Good night, Mister Russell.”
“Wait.”
Samantha ignored his command and hurried toward the station. She was late as it was and couldn’t afford another delay. Her ire at the arrogant Brent Russell increased another notch. Did he really think a bouquet of flowers would win her over to have dinner with him? Even under normal circumstances, it wouldn’t have worked and she would not have gone out with him just to see whether this attraction to the man could lead anywhere. Besides, she refused to put her career and reputation in jeopardy. Even if her heart raced and her palms sweated by merely thinking of him.
Chapter Three
Damn the man for invading her sleep—again.
She th
rew the brush into her makeup bag. If she applied any more foundation to the circles under her eyes, she’d look like Larry the Clown. Trying to untangle the bird’s nest she’d once called hair, she cursed the man again for wreaking such havoc in her life.
Irritated, grumpy and above all, still horny, she reached the office ten minutes late on the one morning she had an early meeting scheduled. Finding the client waiting in her office—despite explicit instructions to her secretary not to allow clients into her office unattended—further soured her mood.
By ten o’clock, she was ready to wrestle a rattlesnake and win. Her secretary chose that unfortunate moment to crack open the door.
“There’s some deliveries for you, ma’am.”
Samantha lost her focus on the document she was busy perusing and glared at the secretary. Had everyone lost their marbles today? Why didn’t the bloody woman sign for the things as she usually did? She inhaled to calm herself lest she shout at the poor woman.
“Sign for them.”
A short pause followed then the woman squeaked like a frightened mouse. “They wouldn’t allow me to sign. The deliverymen insisted on your signature.”
Samantha flung the pen on the file and rubbed her temples. As if she didn’t have enough on her plate, trying to clear her desk before her leave started. She sighed. No use taking out her foul temper on her secretary.
“All right. I’ll be there in a moment.”
The sight of two deliverymen each balancing three bouquets of red and white roses caused her temper to rival an African elephant bull in musth. The arrogance of the man knew no bounds.
“Please return these and tell your supplier we won’t accept any more deliveries with the same origin.”
The men stared at her as if she had grown horns. One of the men shifted his weight round uneasily while the other man stepped forward.
“You want us to return all these flowers to their sender?”
“Correct.”
“May we ask why?”
“No, you may not. Now please evacuate my reception area, we have work to do.”
Without waiting for a response, she stepped into her office and shut the door behind her. Resting her head against it, she closed her eyes. Brent Russell had tangled with the wrong woman today. It didn’t matter if he managed to set her panties on fire with a mere glance. She would not tolerate interference with her work. One bouquet of roses was romantic. Six bouquets…well it was just downright tacky.
She stomped to her desk. The divorce file lay buried under a pile of other matters, but after a brief search, she managed to extract it. Her secretary had stuck the contact details of the parties on the inner jacket and she copied Brent’s mobile number to her phone.
Doubt set in when the phone rang three times without him answering. Maybe it wasn’t such a great idea to confront him over the phone while resentment still simmered in her veins.
“Brent Russell.”
The die was cast and she inhaled.
“Hallo?”
“It’s Samantha Owen calling.”
“Good morning, Miss Owen. Did you like the flowers?”
The resentment boiled over at his condescending tone. “No, I did not. If you ever, ever place me in the same situation again at work, I will…” Words failed her as her temper soared.
“You will what? You sound upset. I’m a bit busy at the moment, but I’ll see you after work.”
The arrogant swine. “I don’t want to see you, hear from you, talk to you or receive anything from you. Do you understand or should I repeat it in an African language?”
His chuckle resonated over the telephone line. “Most women would be flattered by the attention. Why are you so upset?”
“First of all, I’m not most woman, and secondly, I don’t appreciate insincere flattery aimed at getting into my pants.” She stopped the tirade long enough to breathe. “Goodbye, Mister Russell.”
Once her breathing had returned to normal, she paced the floor. Why wouldn’t he accept she didn’t want him or his gifts? A man like him could have his pick of women, so why her? Would he leave her alone if she surrendered and went out with him?
The mere idea quickened her pulse. Granted, the man knew how to set a woman on fire, but regardless of how tempting the prospect might be, she was not going to jeopardize her career for a quick roll in the sack. She crossed her legs to curb the incessant throbbing in her pussy, shoved all thoughts of the man aside and concentrated on the contents of the file in front of her. She had work to do.
* * * *
It was after four in the afternoon when she slumped in her chair and flexed her shoulders. In all but two of her cases, she’d managed to arrange substitute appearances with the partners and briefed them on the details. The only cases where she still had work to do were Amber’s and another one where she was waiting for her client to sign the revised settlement agreement. Satisfied that her Thursday would be much calmer, she left the office.
Once on the train, she watched in fascination as two large men shrunk themselves into the seats on the opposite side of the passage. A bulge under the arm of one of the men gave her pause and she shifted uneasily in her seat, but security on the trains was tight and if those bulges were guns, they probably had permits to carry them.
The men stared straight ahead and Samantha turned to stare out of the window. As the train started to move, a large form squeezed into the empty seat beside her. His arm brushed against hers and sent a shiver of awareness along her spine.
Really, she needed to get laid more often. Alternatively, make better use of the toys in her closet. If every man who touched her caused such havoc with her hormones, she’d be a wreck before the week was over.
“Hi there.”
The hair above her ear fanned out on his breath and she tilted her head to see the man’s face. Dark glasses hid his eyes and a few strands of black hair peeked out under the cap pulled low over his eyes. A thick jacket and blue jeans completed the picture.
“Mister Russell?”
He grinned and nodded.
How did he know where to find her? Had he followed her from the office? She mentally chided herself. With his connections, he’d probably known her daily routine ten minutes after he’d left her office on Monday afternoon. Still, she realized he didn’t scare her.
“What are you doing?”
He shrugged. “Riding the Gautrain. Must say, this is a first for me.” He glanced around the train car. “Do you use the train often?”
Despite the heat in the train, she shivered as his presence skittered awareness across her skin. Brent took off his jacket and hung it over her shoulders. The pure male smell engulfed her and threatened to send her hormones into serious overdrive. Especially when he leaned over to pull the sides of the jacket together while ensuring his knuckles gave her hardened nipples a thorough rub.
Her breath caught and he smiled. “So, Miss Owen—may I call you Samantha?”
“Take your hands off me,” she whispered and wiggled her shoulders. He ignored her request and she glared at him. “Mister Russell, are you out of your mind? I’m your wife’s attorney and not even supposed to talk to you without Rob being present.”
Keeping his hands firmly in place, he leaned closer. “You’re not talking to me. We’re just two people riding the same train. I made it from the car to the train without anyone recognizing me, so I doubt my identity could be an issue now.” He leaned back a little and their gazes locked. “As for touching you? You are very touchable.”
Her pulse rate escalated. He could be a problem she didn’t need at this stage of her life. It had taken her years to establish her professional reputation, and getting involved with him, could jeopardize everything she’d worked so hard for. Maybe she could reason with him. If he would just take his hands off her tits for two seconds, she might be able to form more than one coherent thought at a time. She inhaled deeply in an attempt to regain a measure of control.
“It doesn’t mat
ter that nobody recognized you. I know who I’m talking to and you’re putting my reputation at risk. In our business, reputation is everything and could mean the difference between being employed and standing in line at the unemployment office.” She tugged the jacket off her shoulders and held it out to him. “Please find another seat.”
He draped the jacket over her legs, held it in place on her thigh and pretended to scan the patrons inside the train. “Unfortunately the cart appears to be full. Besides if I get up now, it will draw more attention. Something we both want to avoid.”
If she wasn’t so scared of the ramifications, his smile would have knocked her stockings off. As it was, she just wanted him to leave.
“I merely want to get to know you better.”
She jerked her head. “No, for the umpteenth time, I represent your wife in a matter of divorce.”
Amusement flickered in his eyes when he grinned and she swore she saw the devil dancing for joy in the blue depths—inviting her to take the forbidden fruit he’d packaged so enticingly. This man had no idea how potent his presence could be to the female species. Well, maybe not everyone, but she had difficulty breathing when he focused his attention on her. Not to mention the way he made her body ache for his touch.
Heavens, Samantha, get a grip. The man must be twelve years younger than you. He has an ulterior motive. A man like him could get any girl he wanted. What would he want with an old hag like you if he could get a supermodel to hang onto his arm?
Exactly.
She squared her shoulders. “Stop the games, Mister Russell. I’m too old for you and you obviously need something from me. So, get it over with so I can enjoy my ride home in peace.”
His hand slipped under the jacket and rested on her thigh. Skillful fingers softly stroked her leg. She moved her legs and glanced toward the men seated across the passage. Both men stared straight ahead and paid no attention to them.
“Stop it. You’re causing a scene,” she hissed.
Brent's Law Page 2
