by Lisa Childs
In fact, there was very little she liked about Simon Kramer, except how he looked. But that was more a curse than a blessing—for her and all the weak-willed females he’d seduced. Not that he would seduce her or even try. She’d seen the women he dated: models and actresses—beautiful women. He had no interest in her. Just as she never looked at him, he never looked at her, either.
He shook his head. “I don’t understand.” And his brow was still furrowed with confusion. “Why are you quitting?”
She’d kept the resignation letter short and sweet. This is official notice of my resignation. My last day of employment will be...
Two weeks from now. Or hopefully sooner if he got mad and just fired her, and that was what she was hoping for. She doubted anyone had ever dumped Simon Kramer before—personally or professionally.
Thank you for the opportunity.
Thanks but no, thanks. She wanted no part of Street Legal anymore. No part of their high-profile cases. No part of sending flowers to their jilted lovers. No part of fielding the pleading calls from those same lovers.
She hadn’t said any of that, though. She’d given no reason for leaving—because she hadn’t had to.
So predictably he asked, “Why?”
Nonconfrontational by nature, Bette could only shrug. She was the one who apologized when someone else bumped into her on the street or jostled her on the subway. And that wasn’t just the manners instilled with her Midwestern upbringing.
“You must have a reason.” He persisted.
She had several. But she only shook her head. Her hair, which was so heavy, pulled at the knot that had slipped to the back of her head. The pins shifted, sticking into her skull. If she’d been home, she would have pulled them out, let down her hair.
But she couldn’t do that around him. The tight bun—the glasses—that was her armor to protect herself around him. Not that he would make untoward advances. She knew even with her hair down and glasses off, she wasn’t his type. But she felt more protected in her office camouflage. So that he wouldn’t know the real her. Only her most trusted friends knew the real her. And she would never trust Simon Kramer.
“If you had no reason to leave,” he said, his deep voice husky with frustration, “you wouldn’t be leaving.” He crumpled the letter in his fist.
And Bette’s pulse leaped with fear. Although she was well aware of Simon Kramer’s ruthlessness, she had never been afraid of him before. He’d never been warm and fuzzy with her, but he’d never been mean, either.
“I—I just want to leave,” she said. And she wasn’t talking only about his employ. She wanted to leave his office, too. But he stood in the path between her and the doorway.
He shook his head. “No.”
“But—but you can’t refuse my resignation...” Could he? Before deciding to leave the firm, she’d read over the employment contract he’d had her sign when he’d hired her, and she’d seen nothing about not being able to quit. But he was the contracts and trusts lawyer. He was the one who would have come up with the clauses and legal jargon that would make it possible for him to legally enslave someone.
“I can change your mind,” he said, and even though his lips curved into a smile, his eyes remained cold and hard. “How much will it take?”
“You think this is about money?” Street Legal paid all their employees very well. That was why she’d come to work for him although she’d really wanted to work in a fashion house. But after interning at fashion houses, she knew how little they paid and how hard she would’ve worked.
He tilted his head, and his blue eyes narrowed as he studied her face. “Isn’t everything about money?”
Maybe it was the wine that made her less censored than she would have ordinarily been but she admitted, “Unfortunately it is—to most people.”
“Are you saying you aren’t one of those people?” he asked, and one of his golden brows arched in skepticism. But there was more than skepticism in his eyes. He was looking at her a certain way that he never had before, a way that had nerves swimming in her stomach. He was actually looking at her, and there seemed to be an appreciation in his gaze as if he liked what he saw.
Damn. She was such a lightweight. She had to be drunk to imagine that Simon Kramer would look at her that way, like he wouldn’t mind seeing more of her—naked.
“I wouldn’t have taken the job working here if money didn’t matter to me,” she admitted. But having him to look at, to fantasize about, had given her the inspiration to succeed at her other job.
“So then more money will get you to stay,” he said dismissively, as if he’d closed a case. He tossed her crumpled-up resignation letter into the brass trash can sitting beside his desk.
Frustration—and not just with this conversation—overwhelmed her, overcoming her natural inclination to avoid confrontation, and she blurted out, “No!”
Working for him these past two years had increased her frustration because of all those damn fantasies he’d inspired.
“But you just said—”
“I took the job because I needed money,” she said. “I needed money then.”
His eyes narrowed more as he studied her face. “And you don’t need it now?”
“My reason for leaving has nothing to do with money,” she said. Had she not found another source of income, she would have been forced to stay, but he didn’t need to know that.
“So you do have a reason.”
He wasn’t the trial lawyer of their partnership, but he could have been. She felt like she was being cross-examined on the witness stand. And she didn’t enjoy it one bit. Quitting was not a crime.
“I don’t have to give you a reason.” At least she didn’t think she did.
Maybe she should have had a lawyer look at that employment contract before she’d written her resignation letter. But no matter how much she paid, no lawyer would be as good as Simon Kramer. He was the best.
And, according to his ex-lovers, not just at the law...
“Why don’t you want to tell me?” he asked, and he stepped closer now, so close that she could feel the heat of his body through his suit and her cardigan and skirt.
Heat flushed her body, making her skin tingle. She tried to step back but the desk stopped her, the hard wood pressing into the backs of her thighs as he nearly touched the front of her. Her breasts pushed against the front of the gray cardigan as she struggled for breath. She had never been this close to him before. It was more than unsettling. Her knees trembled and her already tripping pulse quickened even more.
“Because it’s personal,” she murmured. And they had never been anything but businesslike with each other, except in her dreams.
He leaned down, so close that his warm breath whispered across her lips as he asked, “Are you in love with me?”
Chapter Two
HER MOUTH HAD fallen open with the same shock Simon had seen on her face when he’d first caught her in his office. So he repeated his question, like he’d had to repeat his first one. “Are you in love with me?”
Color rushed to her face again. But she wasn’t embarrassed. She was amused because she started laughing. Hers was no flirty, girlish giggle, either. Her laugh was deep and husky and had his pulse racing with attraction even as his pride bristled.
Focused on his face, her dark eyes widened. “You’re serious? You think I’m in love with you?”
“No,” he said, and his face heated a little with embarrassment. But it wouldn’t have been the first time someone had fallen for him without any encouragement from him. “I don’t.”
Not anymore. Not after her reaction.
Apparently, it was a good thing he’d never acted on the attraction he’d felt for her. He had no doubt she might have sued for harassment. But now that she’d already given her notice...
“Then why would you ask...?” She tra
iled off as her voice cracked with the threat of another giggle. It turned into a hiccup instead.
He caught the faint scent of wine on her breath and asked, “Have you been drinking?”
“What does that have to do with anything?” she countered. “It’s after office hours, and I’m not working. It doesn’t matter how much I’ve had to drink.”
“It does if it’s affecting your judgment,” he replied.
Just how affected was her judgment? He wasn’t thinking about just tonight or about just the drinking. Other things could affect judgment. Like greed. Or some other kind of coercion. Maybe she had a lover at an opposing law firm. Had something like that affected her judgment enough that she’d sold information from their case files?
Was that why she didn’t need money any longer?
He had to find out. Right now was probably his best chance—if she’d had enough alcohol to bring down her defenses. He had never seen Bette like this before. Or maybe he’d just never let himself see her like this—except for a stolen glance or two at her assets.
Simon hadn’t been able to stop himself from admiring the lush curves of her hips and ass in her pencil-slim skirts. And the little cardigans she wore did nothing to hide the fullness of her breasts. They strained the buttons at the front, showing little glimpses of the lace camisoles she wore beneath the sweaters.
“So you think the only reasons I could have for wanting to quit are because I’m drunk or in love with you?” she asked, a smile curving her full lips.
Since she didn’t usually look at him, he’d never noticed before how full her lips were—so full that she had a slight dimple in the middle of her bottom one.
He wanted to tug at that lip—with his lips and with his teeth. He wanted to nibble on it until she gasped for breath. Then he wanted those lips to touch him, to close around his cock as she sucked him deep into her throat.
His heart slammed against his ribs as desire sneaked up on him. This was Bette, his boring assistant. Except that she didn’t want to be his assistant anymore.
So what did that make her? The spy who’d betrayed their practice? Simon needed to know for certain if she was the office mole. But how the hell was he going to get her to talk?
She wouldn’t even give him the reason she was resigning. Why didn’t she want him to know? What was she hiding?
In order to get her talking, he needed to talk first. The best way for a con to gain the confidence of his mark was to share a confidence of his own.
“I’ve always had a problem keeping assistants,” he admitted to her. It wasn’t exactly a deep, dark confession, but it was the truth. “You’ve lasted much longer than anyone else has.” About a year and a half longer than her longest-working predecessor.
“I know people who would love to work for you.”
He sighed. “For the wrong reasons. Professionally, they want to get ahead.” They wanted to use the position as his assistant to launch their own legal careers.
Or they wanted to give him head. He wouldn’t mind if Bette had wanted to do that, but that obviously wasn’t why she’d taken the position as his assistant. She had never once showed any interest in him. Until now. “Or, personally, they want me.”
Her eyes widened again, and so did her pupils, dilating as she stared up at him through the lenses of her black-framed glasses. The glasses were too big for her delicately featured face, which was probably why they kept sliding down her small nose.
“I—I don’t want you...” she murmured, but there was no amusement in her voice now. Not even a hint of laughter. But her voice had grown more husky, and her pulse quivered visibly, erratically, in her long, slender neck.
He leaned even closer, so his lips just brushed over hers as he whispered, “Liar...”
She gasped, which moved her lips against his. He took advantage of her open mouth and deepened the kiss. First, he nibbled on her lips, like he’d wanted. Then he slid his tongue between them, into the sweet heat of her mouth. Would her body feel the same?
Hot and wet? He wanted to find out.
He clutched the back of her head in one hand, his fingers closing over that knot of soft, thick hair. It tickled his palm, making his skin tingle. The sensation surprised him. This was Bette, his assistant. She wasn’t supposed to make his skin tingle or his cock swell and throb behind the fly of his dress pants.
But she was...
And it was...
His body pulsed and ached. He wanted her aching for him, too. So he moved his other hand, the one not in her hair. He slid it over the curve of her hip down her thigh to the hem of her skirt. He wanted to lift it, wanted to skim his fingers up the inside of her thigh to the heat of her core. But how drunk was she?
He didn’t want to take advantage if she’d had too much to drink. And he suspected that she had because she was kissing him back, her tongue chasing his into his mouth. He tasted the wine on her tongue, crisp and slightly sweet. He wasn’t surprised that she would drink a sweet and fruity white. She wasn’t sophisticated like the women he usually dated.
Not that he wanted to date her. All he wanted was the truth. Why was she leaving? And was she the one who’d sold their secrets to opposing counsel?
At least that was all his mind wanted. His body was making demands of its own. And he found himself giving in to temptation. He moved his hand beneath her skirt, stroking his fingertips up the inside of her thigh.
She wore stockings, but they stopped halfway between her knees and her core. His finger touched lace and silk. She was wearing a garter?
He never would have thought Bette was the type to wear sexy underwear, let alone lingerie. His breath caught as he touched bare skin, which was even silkier than the stockings and the garter.
But the stockings and garter excited the hell out of him, too. Was she hiding something else—something super sexy—beneath that cardigan?
He moved his hand from her hair down the nape of her slender neck, then around her throat. Her pulse beat madly beneath his fingertip. She was as excited as he was.
He traced his finger lower, over her collarbone to the first button of that sweater. He flicked it open and then moved down to the next and the next, revealing the deep valley of her cleavage. She wasn’t wearing a camisole, like he’d thought. She wore a red lace bustier adorned with tiny bows.
A garter and bustier?
His breath escaped in a ragged groan. Who knew Bette Monroe was so damn sexy and sensual? He’d had no idea.
Did someone else? Had she worn this lingerie because she was meeting someone? At the moment he didn’t care. He didn’t care about anything but the desire burning him up. His cock pulsed with excitement and the need for release. A release only Bette could give him...
She gasped and trembled against him. Then she tensed. And her hands pressed against his chest, pushing him back.
“I—I...” she stammered. Her face was flushed with color, and her eyes glittered behind the lenses of her glasses.
“You want me,” he finished for her.
She shook her head and her hair tumbled down around her shoulders. He’d loosened the pins, which fell onto the hardwood floor. Her hair was long, so much longer than he’d realized. It reached nearly to her waist. And it was thick and wavy. How had he never noticed how damn sexy it was? How damn sexy she was?
“I want to leave,” she said, her voice steadier now as if she’d forced herself to stop stammering.
He stepped back and swept his arm toward the door. “Go ahead.” He’d never had to hold a woman against her will. Usually he was the one who had to fight to escape.
Bette moved forward but swayed slightly. Maybe she’d had more to drink than he’d thought, which was another good reason to stop. Because despite what she claimed, she wanted him. He could easily change her mind about staying with just another kiss, another caress...
And he was tempted to do just that because he wanted her, so much that it surprised him. She could have betrayed his and his partners’ practice. She could be a con, like him, like his father. Maybe the cardigan sweater and black-framed glasses were just part of the act and the lingerie was the real her.
Was that why he was suddenly attracted to her, because he hadn’t had a challenge in so long? Bette Monroe might pose his greatest challenge yet. He watched as she walked toward the door, watched her hips rock back and forth beneath that tight, sexy skirt. And he swallowed a groan of desire.
Then she stopped, halfway to the door, and turned back to him and said, “I won’t be coming back.”
He arched a brow. “Really?”
“I am not working out a two-week notice,” she said, and her voice wasn’t just steady. It was dead calm with determination.
He grinned at the challenge she was going to pose. Then he told her, with equal determination, “Yes, you are.”
She shook her head, tumbling all that glorious dark hair around her shoulders and over the cardigan. The thick tresses hid some of the red bustier he’d revealed. He’d always been a sucker for brunettes.
Had she known that? Was that why she’d interviewed to be his assistant two years ago? Had she been working him all this time?
“No,” she said. “I can’t work with you now.”
He shrugged. “Why not? Because I kissed you?” He intended to do a hell of a lot more than that to her. Over and over again. Now he wanted to see what was beneath that lingerie. He wanted to touch and taste every inch of her silky skin.
She nodded. “That’s sexual harassment.”
“You already turned in your resignation,” he reminded her. It was probably a fine line, but he was a damn good lawyer. His employment agreements were indisputable. “And you will serve out your notice, just as stipulated in your contract.”
“But—but...” Her mouth fell open on a gasp. “You can’t want me to work here still.”
