Blind Trust

by Lynda Aicher

  Relationships were tangled with traps. Nasty, often blind, sinkholes that dared a person to believe in false truths. That stronghold of conviction worked its way in to support the teachings beaten into him when he’d had no understanding that things could be different. And it was too late now.

  He’d walked away from his parents the second he’d turned eighteen. His brains had gotten him out of the stench, and they’d laid out the path to get him a corner office in the most respected law firm in the city.

  He wasn’t the silent kid in the corner anymore. The one with high-water pants and hair buzzed to his scalp under the shaky hand of an inebriated mother. But in so many ways he was still that roughed-up kid made stronger by the hours spent locked in a dark closet.

  His parents hadn’t defeated him no matter how hard they’d tried. But they’d taught him well. Emotional attachments only led to pain, and he refused to place that hurt on anyone. Especially someone as passionate as Brie.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Brie marched down the hallway, thoughts centered on the meeting ahead. She’d barred all the lascivious ones from her mind after her last trip to the land of hedonistic sex. There was no place for them in her daily life, especially at work.

  She could control that much at least.

  That didn’t stop those same wicked thoughts from invading her dreams and penetrating her daily awareness. In too many ways, she’d awakened a beast with little knowledge of how to contain it, but she would.

  She owned that bitch called her libido, and although she wasn’t ready to stuff her back in a box, she also didn’t get to run around willy-nilly creating havoc in her life.

  There were hours and hours of work to keep her focused, and if she planned correctly, she was too exhausted to do more than dream about case points and briefings. Her libido was checked into an extended time-out. Period.

  She rounded the corner and entered a small conference room close to Mr. Cummings’s office. The Palmaro brief was tucked beneath her arm along with a couple of others Mr. Cummings was working on, just in case the conversation strayed to them.

  She blinked and quickly dodged the late afternoon sun that pinged off an opposing building at just the right angle to create a focused laser beam of brightness. Darkness ringed her peripheral vision as she took a quick glance around the room and found it empty. Good.

  She chose a chair opposite the door, clear of the death rays. Her laptop came to life with a quick tap on the touchscreen. She tucked her hair behind her ear and arranged her folders neatly beside her.

  And there she sat.

  The room wasn’t a boardroom. There was no coffee credenza or fancy paintings, and the table was simple oak instead of gleaming cherry or dark mahogany. Would the wood smell the same? She barely resisted the urge to bend over and check.

  She rubbed a distracted path over the sharp edge of the table. Five days later and she could still feel the bite of the table edge on her thighs. The bruises had faded to a faint purple with no lasting sting, but she knew they were there, just inches below her pussy.

  She’d discovered the perfect line bisecting both thighs the next day. Shock had been quickly followed by wonder as she’d traced it. A swivel of her hips had revealed another matching set of prints on each side. Did he know he’d left them? Had he wanted to leave a reminder? To what purpose?

  Yet the hidden bruises had gotten her through another country club brunch filled with the barrage of petty rivalries and reminders of her failures.

  She shook her head, frustrated at her lack of control. Lori had assured her this wild fluctuation of emotions would fade, only she hadn’t said when. A week? A month? Years?

  She pressed on her upper thigh, hunting for the lingering hit of pain. He hadn’t criticized her, not once, for what she’d wanted or who’d she’d been.

  And it meant nothing when he was barely more than a figment of her imagination.

  Approaching footsteps had her straightening. Mr. Burns stepped through the doorway, all put-together power and focus—until he ran into the deathly sunbeam.

  He lurched back, scowled darkly as he moved down the table, head turned away.

  Her smile bloomed at the simple sight of normal coming from the impeccable man. “The sun can be deadly sometimes,” she quipped, unable to resist. He was still just a guy, right?

  He dropped his files on the table before a chair diagonally across from her, the corner of his mouth turning up in that hint of a smile. Did it ever fully bloom?

  “Ms. Wakeford.” The greeting came with a nod.

  “Mr. Burns,” she said right back with the same formality.

  Mr. Cummings stepped into the room, stopping before he encountered the death beam. “Brighton. Burns,” he greeted them. “Let me know if you need anything,” he went on before they could respond. “And Burns, I do appreciate you taking this on. Barbara will be pleased to know it’s being handled.”

  Brie kept her expression neutral. She’d pulled the briefing together and knew exactly why his wife would be pleased. A win for their client would be a financial boon for members of Barbara’s family, whereas a loss would mean the opposite. The land agreement had complex ties with prominent names on both sides of the dispute. It was big, messy and filled with political land mines.

  Burns had grilled her on the intertwined connections when they’d reviewed the document. But for some naive reason, she hadn’t realized Burns would take the case. Willful blindness maybe?

  “Brighton,” he said, shifting his focus to her. “Give Burns whatever time he needs. You can hand off the Chalmers and Hanson work to Casey. She has room and has agreed to take them over.”

  The thought of turning over the work sparked an instant jolt of rejection that dried out her throat and dug at her chest, but she gave him a smile. “Certainly.” She glanced at Burns, her heart doing that strange pinch-and-drop thing it had no right doing around him. “I’ll be happy to assist you as needed.” Not that he was known for handing much off.

  He stared back at her, his expression once again void of...anything. Yet that strange awareness vibrated over her skin and shimmied down her spine.

  “Great,” Mr. Cummings said, clapping his hands together in a final declaration. “I’ll let you two get to work.”

  Brie blinked, snapping around to shoot a smile at her departing boss. Her pulse hitched up a notch for no understandable reason. She’d worked with many attorneys—most of them men—in her years as a paralegal. This was no different.

  Yet her skin still heated when she turned her smile back to Burns. Why? There was no logic to it. Zero. Zip. None.

  But her body was apparently completely disengaged from her brain. Her nipples puckered in blatant awareness when he did nothing more than return her regard.

  “Should we get started?” he asked, slipping his glasses on as he glanced down.

  “Yes.” They should get started, right now. Maybe then she’d have a chance at locking her misbehaving libido back away. With a dead bolt. Three dead bolts.

  And tossing the keys.

  “Let’s start at the top,” he went on, flipping a folder open. “I’m going to need...”

  Thankfully, her mind engaged immediately. She automatically started typing every request he made into her case notes. This she could do. Just work. It didn’t matter if the cadence of his voice slid over her nape to tease her with longing or if each shift of his hand drew her gaze to his fingers that had no right being sexy.

  How was that even possible? Sexy fingers?

  It wasn’t. Full stop. End of thought process.

  Work. Focus. Be the professional she was.

  A long while later, he sat back, lifting his arms over his head as he did. His shirt pulled across his chest as the stretch held, a look of relief falling over his features.

  Brie couldn’t drag her gaze away from the
stunning sight. He’d removed his suit jacket around the same time she’d officially dropped the Mr. from his name. Or maybe that’d happened when he’d scrubbed a hand through his perfect hair and left the strands sticking up in front.

  He’d become human then. A simple man doing his best at a job he obviously loved. His passionate dedication spoke to her own thriving need to succeed and be seen as such.

  He slid his glasses off and rubbed his eyes, elbows propped on the table like any normal tired person. Papers were splayed in orderly stacks that tracked the work they’d defined and information they’d both printed over the last—she glanced at the clock. Five hours? Wow.

  She stretched her neck and turned around to glance out the windows, finally logging the setting sun and hazy strips of fog snaking their way toward Alcatraz. The little lump of rock sat like a beacon in the middle of the bay, tempting the elusive streams closer.

  “I think I’ve kept you long enough,” he said, rolling his shoulders back. The half-smile he shot her nailed her with authenticity. And it was a smile, no matter how small it was.

  Her heart did that strange tug she dismissed as utter fantasy. She was way too smart to fall for her boss. She was, right? But she could still admire him from afar.

  “Did you want to continue tomorrow?” she asked.

  She double-checked that her work was saved before closing the windows on her computer. Burns had retrieved his own laptop not long after they’d started dissecting the personal entanglements between the plaintiff and their new client. The action had stunned, impressed and irritated her at once.

  Mr. Cummings had never done his own research—at least not since she’d been working for him. Did Burns not trust her? Did he doubt her competence? He’d obliterated those doubts not long after they’d divided the tasks, removed their jackets and gotten to work.

  “What’s your schedule like?” he asked, moving his mouse and clicking, his focus on his screen.

  She tracked the line of his forearm, bared beneath his rolled-up sleeve. His wrist flexed only slightly but it mesmerized her. The power was controlled, exactly like him.

  Her gaze jumped to the slick watch strapped to his other wrist. The black leather band emphasized the strength beneath it while the sleek silver timepiece declared the reserved class he exuded but never flaunted.

  Her fingers itched to wrap around it and let all that power sink into her. To feel the bite of it in her palm and the rush of hunger that’d come with it.

  She was fully aware she was overlaying her fantasy experiences onto him. It didn’t stop her imagination from going wild. In fact, it fed it now. The thought of being fucked over the table until she couldn’t breathe raised the temperature in her crazy-ass libido. The damn bitch refused to stay quiet.

  Burns wasn’t married, that much she knew from office gossip. Was he dating someone? Gay? No. That rumor had fluttered around for a brief period before it’d been squashed by the openly gay men in the office who swore by their gaydar. Did he—

  “Brie?”

  Her eyes jerked to his, heart lurching into her throat. He stared back at her, expression cloaked. He didn’t move a muscle and neither could she.

  Had she imagined the tone? The low rumble that’d swooped in to caress her lust.

  Could it be? No! God, no!

  The silence stretched on the insistent beat of her heart. It roared between the tension that’d sprung so tightly between them she swore it was going to snap and crush her on the spot.

  How did he know her nickname? She never used it at work. Never.

  Her gaze dropped to his watch, dragged up his forearm covered with a light down of hair to the rolled-up cuff, over his chest to the smooth line of his neck and jaw, his beard stubble nonexistent even now.

  Blood rushed in her ears. Panic skated beside the counter-logic she tried to apply. It couldn’t be him. Please, please no. But...

  She met his gaze again, heart still locked in her throat where it made a frantic attempt to escape. A clammy sweat broke over her chest and nape the longer he sat there. Not moving. Not speaking. Not questioning her obvious freak-out.

  The silence became a physical thing as it wrapped around them, shoved them closer. Her stomach swirled in sick understanding she refused to accept. No. No way.

  He gave away nothing. Not a hint of emotion showed, when she was pretty damn certain every one of hers was blaring across her face.

  Another long moment passed before he slowly closed his eyes.

  Her panic launched into a full-on attack.

  She thrust up, her chair wheeling back unchecked. Her legs shook. Her stomach heaved in the sick soup of embarrassment and anger. Her head was swiveling as she inched away, denial holding strong despite the intuitive knowledge that it was him.

  Him.

  He slowly stood, his movements cautious yet sure. His focus remained on her, his stone-cold facade still locked in place.

  “How—you—no!” She shook her head harder, still refusing to accept what her instincts had known all along.

  She was moving before she consciously thought about it. She flew around the end of the table, focused on escape. She had to get out so she could think and process the impossible. Denial still rang a loud no, no, no in her head when she knew it to be a lie.

  But he beat her to the door.

  She came up short, breaths chugging out on a panicked wind as he deliberately closed it, his eyes never leaving hers.

  What? Why? What did he want? Or should she be asking what did he expect?

  “Brie—”

  “No!” she cut him off, hand held out in firm refusal. “I am not Brie here. I’m Brighton or Ms. Wakeford. Not Brie. Never Brie.”

  Brie was for her closest friends. Brie was the woman who let herself be fondled, sucked and fucked while she hid behind a blindfold. Brie didn’t exist in this space.

  He gave a single slow nod that could’ve been acknowledgment or a passive-aggressive knock to her fleeing sanity. The urge to yell at him was squelched by her inability to form a coherent rant. What could she say? She’d gone into that room willingly.

  And he’d been there too.

  The denial didn’t rear this time. Nope. There was nothing left but dread and burning humiliation.

  “I apologize.”

  He what? Apologized? “For what?”

  The meaning didn’t log in her scrambled thoughts. Was he apologizing for fucking her—twice—or for letting his secret out?

  His deep inhalation sent a wave of apprehension through her. Her mother did the exact same thing whenever she sought patience for some perceived misdeed Brie had done.

  “For—” He cut himself off this time, lips pinching tight. “I’m sorry you found out this way.”

  Her shoulders went back, spine stiffening in rejection. The ache in her throat turned hollow as she tried to process that. Oh, no. He wasn’t getting off that easy. She might not be an attorney, but she wasn’t stupid—or that gullible.

  She cocked her head, frowning. Her show of cunning was one of her best performances. “Found out what, exactly?”

  Her stomach gave another sick heave, but she refused to let him off. Maybe she was wrong. And maybe unicorns farted sparkling pink rainbows.

  His soft chuckle held a hint of admiration she refused to read into. He tucked his hands into his pockets, nodding as the corner of his mouth turned up. It fell a moment later, taking the hint of emotion with it.

  Her stomach contracted with the last nugget of wishful hope.

  “I was in the boardroom.” He paused. “Both times.”

  The floor dropped out from beneath her. Her head spun, so many of her dreams sinking into the abyss. Was this the end of her job? Would he demand something in return for keeping her secret? Would the harassment begin along with the undermining of her position?

  Bu
t...wait.

  Her head snapped up, the big picture coming into focus. The swashing in her stomach diminished to soft swells as logic finally kicked in. Her eyes narrowed with each piece of the puzzle that fell into place.

  This wasn’t just about her.

  “You were in the boardroom. Both times,” she repeated, voice clear and even. And that meant he had even more to lose than she did.

  Chapter Fifteen

  For the first time in years, fear curled in Ryan’s chest. It snuck up his throat, choked his thoughts and paralyzed his muscles.

  He’d fucked up. Bad.

  His future and all he’d worked to obtain sat on the precipice of her discretion. The Boardroom had always been a calculated risk. It’d been the one and only dalliance he’d ever let himself have in his forty-one years of life.

  And now it could sink him.

  “I was,” he stated, despite the screaming urge to deny his own admission. He’d been in the Boardroom with her. He’d fucked her twice. Inhaled her scent, tasted her skin, her mouth, her pussy until he’d drowned in the decadent flavors.

  He couldn’t deny those things even if it cost him everything.

  She sucked in a breath, acceptance passing over her features in incremental shifts from understanding to resolute. And she’d never been more beautiful.

  Brie Wakeford didn’t cower or crumble or preen under the weight of her newfound knowledge and subsequent power. Her initial fiery reaction had given way to this cool control he could only admire.

  She’d pulled her hair into a low pony about an hour into their working session, but thin wisps fell free now to frame her face in tempting softness. Her cheeks were flushed an alluring shade of red that’d risen with her anger. Resentment spewed from her glare to darken those normal blue eyes to a deeper, richer hue.

  The power she held over him extended far beyond her knowledge of his sexual activities.