Legal Seduction

by Lisa Childs

  “Bruno!” Simon exclaimed as he strode through the reception area and saw the chef standing just outside the open door to Bette’s office. “Excellent timing.”

  “She did not know I was coming,” Bruno remarked as if disparaging Bette for not being psychic. He was definitely not criticizing Simon for not telling her. From the way he stared at Simon, it was clear he found nothing wrong with the blond lawyer and everything right.

  Simon grinned. “Of course not. It’s a surprise.”

  “For me?” Bette asked as her heart began to thump faster and harder.

  “There is no one else,” Simon said with a wink.

  She bit her bottom lip to hold in the laugh at the blatant lie. She’d never known him to date only one woman at a time—if what he did could actually be called dating.

  More like heart breaking...

  Her heart rate quickened with the reminder. But now, with his gaze turned on her, she understood how he’d broken so many hearts. He wasn’t just outrageously good-looking, as if that wasn’t enough.

  “Bruno, please set up in my office.” Simon directed him, gesturing with his briefcase toward his closed door.

  Bruno nodded and wheeled his cart away. And Bette’s stomach growled in protest.

  Simon raised a golden-blond brow. “Sounds like Bruno arrived just in time.”

  Heat rushed toward her face. “I skipped lunch,” she explained.

  “I know,” Simon said. “Miguel told me. That’s why I asked Bruno to prepare dinner for us.”

  She shook her head. “That’s not necessary. I can eat when I get home.” And work. She had so much to do for her new job. She really needed to cut short these two weeks—as short as she possibly could.

  “That won’t be for a while yet,” he told her.

  “But—but it’s already so late...” From last Friday night, she knew that it was not a good idea to be alone in the office with him.

  “We will work over dinner,” he said, “and finish up so you can get home to your...” He raised an eyebrow again as he waited for her reply.

  “Apartment.”

  It wasn’t any of his business why she was quitting; it wasn’t any of his business if she lived with someone or had a boyfriend. The less Simon Kramer knew about her the better off she would be.

  He was undeterred and asked, “Is anyone waiting for you in that apartment?”

  She let a smile slip out as she shook her head. “No. I don’t have a cat. And the building doesn’t allow dogs.”

  “Good,” he said. “I’m allergic.”

  She wanted to tell him that there was no way in hell he was ever coming to her apartment. But before the words slipped out like her smile had, she remembered her plan. So she smiled wider and murmured, “Then it’s good I don’t have one.”

  His blue eyes momentarily widened with surprise at her remark before narrowing with obvious suspicion. He studied her face. “So you’re going to invite me to your place?”

  Her pulse kicked into overdrive, racing away. She was nervous about her plan. She wasn’t imagining him in her apartment, although he would look damn good in her new place. That wasn’t going to happen. Ever.

  “That wouldn’t be appropriate while I’m still working for you,” she said. Then, summoning all the acting ability she possessed, she batted her lashes at him. “Guess you’ll have to wait two weeks for that invitation.”

  He laughed and shook his head. “I’ve never been a patient man, Bette.”

  Bette had more ability to be patient than act. She’d had to wait to move away from her small hometown in Michigan to attend fashion school and move to New York. She’d also had to wait six years for the career she’d wanted, for which she’d worked so hard, to finally take off. But now that it had, her patience had worn thin. There was no way she was waiting two weeks to end her relationship with Simon Kramer, such that it was.

  “I can leave now,” she offered. “A temp service could send over someone until you hire my replacement.”

  He laughed again and reached for her arm, tugging her toward him. “Oh, Bette, think of all the fun you’d miss if you left so soon.”

  “Fun?” she parroted. “I thought we were working over dinner.”

  He stepped closer, so that his body brushed against hers, his thigh touching hers, his chest bumping hers as he breathed deeply. Then he leaned down and murmured, “Work is very fun for me.”

  She knew that was true. He obviously loved being a lawyer, probably loved being the managing partner of Street Legal even more. What she couldn’t understand was his sudden interest in her. Was it only because she was leaving?

  Something about wanting what you couldn’t have?

  She hoped that was the case, so that when she made it clear he could have her, he wouldn’t want her. Instead of stepping back as she had every time before, she stepped closer to him, pressing her body even tighter against his. She felt his erection pushing against her hip. And she parted her lips with a gasp. He felt big—really big—rubbing against her.

  His gaze dropped to her mouth. His pupils dilated until they swallowed the bright blue. And he lowered his head even closer to hers.

  “Dinner is served,” Bruno called out, his accent not nearly as thick now, from Simon’s office.

  Her boss groaned and released a shuddery sigh. “We’ll eat first,” he said.

  First?

  What else did he have planned besides work and dinner? Bette’s knees trembled a bit as she walked with him the short distance to his office. As if she didn’t know where it was, he moved his hand to the small of her back, guiding her. Or branding her?

  She felt the heat of his palm through her sweater and the lace camisole she wore beneath it over her bra. His hand was big, so big that his fingers reached over the top curve of her butt. Could he feel the bow at the top of the G-string she wore beneath her pencil-slim skirt? A matching bow held together the cups of her bra.

  She always wore lingerie—for a few reasons. He was not one of them. But would he think she’d worn it for him—if she dared show it to him?

  The heat already flushing her body increased, burning her up. The lack of food and all the doses of his charm must have addled her brain. She wasn’t thinking clearly at all, not like she’d been when she’d turned in her resignation. Then she’d been thinking more clearly than she had in the two years she’d worked for him.

  His fingers moved, sliding over that bow, as if he was trying to figure out what it was. He glanced down at her, and again his eyes had widened with a look of surprise. “How is it, Bette, that we’ve worked together for two years but yet I don’t feel as if I know you at all?”

  She could have told him that she’d just been lucky all these years to have escaped his notice. She had been just an office fixture to him, like a computer or the coffeepot. But she only smiled and shook her head. “I have no idea.”

  “Well, let’s fix that,” he said. And finally, albeit reluctantly, he removed his hand from her ass and held out a chair for her. His office was so large that in addition to his desk and chair, he had a couch and a small conference room table and chairs.

  Bruno had set up their feast, complete with lit candles, on that table. The tall windows looking out over Midtown reflected back the flickering flames. She smiled at the chef as she took her seat, but his only interest was in Simon. She was surprised that he wasn’t holding out his chair.

  “Is everything to your satisfaction?” the chef asked as he poured glasses of wine.

  Simon took the chair right next to her and picked up the wineglass. He swirled the red liquid, studied the glass as the wine slid down the sides of it, then he sniffed it, all before taking a sip.

  Bette usually went out with guys who drank beer or mixed cocktails. The few wine drinkers she’d dated had performed the same ritual Simon had but with them it had
seemed pretentious and unnecessary. Simon seemed to know what he was doing and why.

  She had no doubts—from the calls of all those desperate women—that he was the same with sex. That he knew what he was doing and why.

  She drew in a shaky breath.

  Finally, he took a sip. But he held it in his mouth for several moments before swallowing. “Excellent,” he said. Then he held out a glass to her.

  She usually drank white wine. Reds were too bitter for her taste. But she was too intrigued to find out what he considered excellent to refuse the glass. Like him, she took only a sip and held it in her mouth for several seconds. Flavor burst on her tongue. She could taste berries and spices; it was as rich and full of nuances as his kiss had been, as he was.

  She let it slide down her throat, enjoying the sensation and the taste. “Excellent,” she agreed.

  Bruno lifted the lids from their plates. “And the meal, Mr. Kramer?”

  Beef Wellington with steamed vegetables and parsnips and red-skin potatoes. Bette’s mouth watered, reminding her of how hungry she was—for food. Ever since Simon had come back to the office, she’d been hungry for something else.

  For more of his kisses, more of his touch.

  More of his lethal charm.

  As Simon cut through the flaky pastry and the meat, juices oozed onto the plate, swirling around the potatoes and vegetables. Like with the wine, he took just a small bite and held it in his mouth for a long moment before chewing and swallowing. Then he sighed and pronounced it excellent, as well.

  Bette’s heart pounded in anticipation and not just of the meal. Would sex be the same way with Simon? Would he savor every moment of it?

  He cut another bite and held it out to her. Again she copied him, closing her lips around it before holding it on her tongue. The spices and flavor of the meat overwhelmed her with pleasure. She chewed and swallowed, and a moan of that pleasure slipped through her lips.

  Simon groaned. Then he glanced up at Bruno, as if just realizing the chef was still in the room with them. “You can go,” he said. “I’ll have Miguel return everything to you in the morning.”

  Bruno hesitated, but then, obviously realizing arguing with a lawyer would not be smart, he nodded and left, closing the door behind him.

  Once again, Bette was alone with Simon Kramer. Her fingers trembled as she reached for her glass of wine. She was afraid and not just of what he would do. She was afraid of what she would have to do in order to carry out her plan. How the hell could she convince him that she was falling for him and that if she did, she would get clingy and crazy?

  She’d been so focused on her designs and her career that she’d never really fallen for anyone before. Unlike her mom and sister, she hadn’t been about to let any man mess with her plans. So she had no idea how to act in love, especially with someone like Simon Kramer for whom she would never be stupid enough to fall.

  For the past two years she’d seen exactly how he treated women—like they were disposable. And to him, they were. Even before he’d dumped one, another had come along. But that was a good thing for her.

  He always dumped them.

  So if she could pretend to fall for him, he would dump her, as well. But how far would she have to go to convince him she was falling?

  Just being alone with him was a risk. Not that he would ever physically hurt her. He didn’t have to physically coerce anyone to do his bidding. He used his sex appeal instead.

  And even though she knew exactly what he was doing and that it was just a game to him, she was not immune.

  She doubted she would escape this time with just a kiss. But she wasn’t entirely sure that she would mind. For two years she’d dreamed of what it would be like to have his attention turned on her. For two years she’d imagined how his kiss would taste, how his touch would feel.

  Now she knew. And she wanted more.

  Chapter Four

  FOR THE PAST two years Simon had surreptitiously ogled his assistant, but he’d had no idea that she might wear lingerie beneath those tight skirts and buttoned-up cardigans of hers even though he had seen lace peek out between those buttons. Friday night he’d seen that lace when he’d undone a few of those buttons and discovered that sexy bustier. He wanted to undo all the buttons tonight, and he wanted to unzip that skirt and peel it off her luscious ass.

  He wanted Bette Monroe.

  His hand shaking a little, he set his wineglass back on the table. He hadn’t had much to drink but he made a point to never overindulge. At least not on alcohol...

  He wanted nothing affecting his mind or his control. But Bette, sitting close to him, was affecting the hell out of him. What was wrong with him? When he was focused on something—like he was now on finding the office mole—he was never distracted from his task.

  But she distracted him. He watched her lips part as she forked in a bite of steamed broccoli, and he wished her lips were parting for his tongue. While Bruno’s food was as incredible as it always was, Simon wanted to taste her more than the meal.

  And not just her lips or her mouth.

  “What?” she asked as she lifted her hand to her face. “Do I have broccoli in my teeth?”

  He shook his head.

  “Why are you staring at me?” she asked.

  She really didn’t seem to know. He wasn’t used to that, not when he usually dated models and actresses whose egos rivaled his.

  “Are you completely unaware of how beautiful you are?” he asked.

  Her lips curved into a smile but it was a little mocking and she murmured, “For the past two years, you were completely unaware of me.”

  He grinned. “That’s what you thought?”

  “It’s what I know,” she said. “I might as well have been a copy machine for all the attention you paid me the past two years.”

  He narrowed his eyes and studied her face. Was that why she’d done it, why she’d given information to the opposition? Because she’d been resentful that he had never seemed to notice her?

  “Did you want my attention?” he asked.

  Her gaze slipped away from his, and her teeth nipped into her bottom lip. Maybe she was too embarrassed to admit that she’d wanted him to notice her, so he assured her, “You had my attention.”

  Her teeth still nibbling on that full, sexy lower lip, she shook her head. “I find that very hard to believe.”

  His seduction wouldn’t work if she didn’t believe that he found her attractive. So he leaned closer, pressing his thigh against hers, and he murmured, “I have spent countless hours admiring your ass...ets.”

  Her lips curved into a smile. “If only that were true.” She gave a wistful sigh then.

  “You really did want me to notice you?” he asked as a warning bell began to sound inside his head. She was acting very differently than she had Friday night when she’d left her resignation on his desk.

  Her brown eyes widened behind the lenses of her glasses, and her lashes fluttered. “Yes...” Then she leaned against him, and her fingertips skimmed over his thigh.

  His body tensed, with her touch and with the thought that just dawned on him. Maybe he wasn’t the only one turning on the charm. He had a feeling he was definitely getting played.

  For what? More case file secrets?

  But he was curious as to how far she would carry her charade. So he covered her hand with his and guided her fingers to stroke up and down his thigh.

  She glanced sideways at him, and her lips curved into a smile while her already-dark eyes darkened more with desire. Or was that wishful thinking on his part? Then she moved her hand farther up his leg, toward his groin.

  And he sucked in a sharp breath. “Bette...”

  She tugged her hand from beneath his and brought it back to the stem of her wineglass. Then she stroked her fingers up and down it, like he wanted them stroki
ng up and down his cock. Mischief sparkled in her dark eyes; she was completely aware of what he wanted, what he needed.

  The need startled him. Sure, he’d felt desire before. Often. As a teen runaway, he’d wanted so much stuff—stuff he hadn’t had. Like a safe place to sleep, food, clothes.

  He’d wanted those things so badly that he’d used some questionable methods to get them. But he’d succeeded then, just as he would now. He would succeed in getting the truth out of Bette.

  The truth wasn’t all he wanted from her. He wanted release from the tension gripping his body. He was so damn tense that when she leaned against him, he jumped a little, making his chair squeak and nearly tip.

  Her smile widened. And he knew for certain he was being played. While he hadn’t been as unaware of her as she’d thought these past two years, he’d had no idea what she was really like—or who she really was.

  But he intended to find out. He had to regain control in order to do that, though—over himself and over her. So he reached around her and poured some more wine in her glass.

  She giggled and asked, “Are you trying to get me drunk to have your way with me?”

  “Would it work?” he wondered aloud.

  “I’m a lightweight,” she said. “Just a few more sips and I’ll either be stripping off my clothes or passing out.” She brought the rim to her lips and tipped up the glass for a long, deep sip.

  “If I have a vote in this, I’d prefer the stripping,” he teased.

  She arched a dark brow above the top frame of her glasses and murmured, “I’m sure you would.”

  Was she mocking him? The arched-brow gesture was one he’d been doing since he was a kid. While he wasn’t as aware of her as he obviously should have been the past two years, she seemed to have been aware of him.

  “Do you play cards?” he asked.

  “Why are you asking?”

  “I was thinking we could play a hand or two of poker—strip poker.” He was really good at cards but most especially at poker.

  She giggled again. “We’re supposed to be working,” she reminded him. “Not playing. You said this was a working dinner, something about taking notes.”