by Fiona Murphy
I’m buried in a file, trying to figure out how Ethan put up with a dick client, when the door to my office opens without warning. Mary not letting me know he was here is such crap. The sight of Chris Baldwin leaning against the closed door has me blinking fast. Is this a dream? Yes, I dreamed about the arrogant asshole last night. Best. Dream. Ever.
He’s clean shaven today, all the better to see his dimples, which don’t detract from the pure sin of his smile. Gone are the jeans and sweater of yesterday; how the hell does he look so yummy delicious in a steel-gray suit cut to perfection? His shirt is light blue, with his silk tie a tight checker of gray and blue. Am I actually beginning to like the diamond in his ear? Bizarre. The man is sexy enough to be an advertisement. “Ms. Bishop, let’s go.”
“Fine.” Saving my work, I shut down. By the time I’m up he has my coat open for me, and I warily step closer to him to slide my arms in. He wraps the coat around me, then uses it to turn me toward him. The heat of him is turning my bones, my spine, my resolve to mush. There are six large buttons, and slowly, very slowly he fastens each one. His large, long fingers are nimble—I can’t take my eyes off them—until one of those fingers tilts up my chin, just a soft grazing of his skin against mine. Yet, I’m gasping at the burning sensation, at how I want more.
Fear kicks me hard, and I pull away. No. He’s a client. “Are we going or not?” I shoot for bored, but the breathless wobble is laughable.
The slow slide of his mouth up is kinder than I deserve. “Oh yeah, we’re going.”
He opens the door for me; I try to get out ahead of him except his long legs eat up the distance. A large hand finds the small of my back. Even though we are both wearing multiple layers, his body against mine, the scent of him teasing me, turns my skin hot and tight. Once we’re in the elevator I try to put some space between us, but he doesn’t let me. His hand never leaves my back, bringing me back in contact with him. Two women in the elevator eye him hungrily; I’m not proud of the way it sends me closer against him.
All the way to the restaurant he says nothing to me, instead chatting to the cabbie about last season. I refuse to care that he’s basically ignoring me.
Inside the restaurant the heat is welcome after the cold wind blowing outside. My back is beginning to hurt from holding myself so stiffly. I sigh in relief as we are shown to the back.
Then I slow, I never sit back here, this area is usually reserved for use only in the evenings. No one else is here. Biting my tongue, I sit down in the large booth. This is just lunch, a half hour, forty-five minutes tops. He’ll figure out I’m boring as hell, then move on to the next stripper ho he belongs with.
4
Chris
“What do you want to know?” I’m trying hard not to laugh—she’ll probably deck me if I do. I raise my eyebrows in question instead as I bite my lip from inside. “You said this lunch was about getting to know me better as your lawyer. What do you want to know? I got my bachelors at Penn State, my law degree from Harvard. I started at this firm as soon as I graduated. I’ve been here ever since. What else is there to know?”
Yeah, I’m an asshole. I’m enjoying watching Amelia Bishop fight against her attraction to me. I’m sure it’s a part of her appeal. For years, I haven’t had to so much as ask twice if a woman was down to fuck.
I’ve had women undo my jeans in the club and try to climb on my cock. Amelia fighting her attraction has nothing to do with me being her client. No, there’s something else to the lady doth protesting too much. I’ll find out why, then find out just how hot the fire in her burns. “I know all that. Tell me something I can’t find online.”
Rolling her eyes, she tilts her head. “My favorite food is sushi, I like to read, I like coffee but not that pumpkin spice latte crap. I like sunsets, long walks on the beach, my favorite color is clear, and mean people suck.”
I couldn’t contain my laughter if I wanted to, I can’t believe she’s quoting mock centerfold answers to a questionnaire. I’m glad I didn’t as I watch her go still as she stares at me. I swear if she weren’t so damn responsive and as hungry for me as I am for her, I’d walk away. Fuck, I’m such a liar. “You really can’t be such a brat, then stare at me as if you want to know what I taste like.” She blushes—bingo. “Sugar, I’m thinking the same thing as you. It’s like I said, though, this is just lunch. I want to know more about the woman who will be handling my very expensive business for the next few weeks.”
She runs a hand through her long hair; obviously she flat irons it every day. I wonder what it will look like wild and free. “I’m unclear how knowing what I binge watch on Netflix, or the books I like to read, is relevant in me being the right person to handle your case. If you trust in Ethan, if Ethan trusts me to handle your needs, that should be enough.”
“I trust Ethan, I’ve never doubted his skill. I do have a right to make sure there isn’t any nepotism at play.” I bite my lip, hard, to keep from laughing at the outrage on her beautiful face.
“I’ve worked my ass off for Ethan to treat me as an equal. If anything he was harder on me than on others in the firm. I come in early, I stay late, I read case files at lunch, after work, and on the weekends. I don’t have a life so I could be on his level, if you think I—” She stops when she realizes what she’s said. Her eyes fall, but not before I see them swim for a moment before she blinks.
“Ethan is what? Ten years older than you?” She nods, refusing to look up from her glass of sparkling water. “You two didn’t really grow up together, did you?”
“No, he was mainly in boarding school. When I was five he got kicked out. He was home for about a year and half before...things changed.” There’s a story there for sure. “One day he was there, then he was gone. I didn’t see or hear from him again until I was thirteen, when I went to boarding school. I was able to find him online.”
I want to yell at the waitress for interrupting when she comes to take our order. I’m right, Amelia goes back on the defensive the minute we’re alone again. “I don’t really care to discuss my personal life with a client, which is what you are. Even when Ethan gets back it won’t change my mind in regards to getting involved with you, Mr. Baldwin. You’re wasting your time flashing your dimples and trying to sweet-talk me.”
Ah, I smile. I knew she liked my dimples. “Favorite author.”
Her sigh is loud. “That’s like asking a mother her favorite child. I don’t know. It depends on the day, the mood, or if it’s sunny or overcast. Shakespeare, Jane Austen, Dickens, Twain, Virginia Woolf, Agatha Christie, Toni Morrison, Angelou, Rowling, Stephen King, Elmore Leonard, I don’t know. All of them are authors I like to read more than once.”
“You’re leaving a few out, aren’t you?”
She blushes. “It’s none of your damned business what I read. As long as it’s not how to build bombs and overthrow governments in your spare time, it’s completely irrelevant.”
“Let me guess...you have first editions of Jane Austen and Dickens you simply stare at and fondle from time to time, but leather-bound ones you reread so often they’re falling apart. You have two or three different espresso makers at home for the weekend, but you’ve found the perfect little coffee shop for during the week, and while you say you love sushi you get the same two or three rolls every time from the same place.”
Her eyes go big, then narrow. “So, what? Are you going to tell me my future now too?”
“I have a future for you, you sure you want to hear it?”
“No, thank you. I don’t need you ruining my appetite.”
Our plates arrive. She opens her mouth to no doubt take another swipe at me. I shake my head as I point to her plate with my fork. “Eat, you can go back to insulting me when you’re done. It’ll give you some time to think up better comebacks then you have so far.”
With a glare she cuts into her steak furiously. I’m sure she’s picturing me on the plate. Damn, she’s adorable when she’s pissed.
The waitress c
omes to check on us with one of those invitations in her smile as she asks if I want anything else. With a smile I decline. “If you want her, don’t let me being here cramp your style. Are you going to get her number, or do you just need five minutes in the restroom?”
I count to three, but it doesn’t work; it’s not until I get to ten before I trust myself not to roast her pretty soft skin with a verbal lashing. It helps that her jealousy is clear in those bright eyes of hers; she’s also picking up on my anger as she goes docile. “Five minutes? If that’s what you’re used to, no wonder you’re so damn cranky. I like to take my time—five minutes isn’t even a quickie in my book.”
Her tongue comes out to wet her lips, and I want it on my cock. Shaking her head. “Is this enough? I have to get back to work.”
Not nearly enough, but then again, we’re just getting started. “For now.” I toss some cash on the table.
Once we’re in the cab she’s doing her best to put distance between us. Pulling out her phone, her eyes barely raise from it. I let it go. I’ve gotten more than she thinks she’s let on.
At the last minute I decide against seeing her back up to her office. When the cab stops, the building is on her side. I don’t bother to look up from my cell phone as she gets out. As the cab gets back into traffic, though, I see her standing on the sidewalk, staring forlornly after the cab. Tension eases inside me. A little more time and patience and she’ll be mine.
***
Chris
My cell phone buzzing as it dances across my hardwood floor pulls me out of sleep. I roll off the large chair in my office slowly. Blinking a few times to clear my vision, I swipe my phone off the floor to see it’s a little after eight o’clock. Six hours, nice, it almost makes up for only three hours this morning. The phone vibrates again. It’s Trent, a teammate, asking if I want to hit the clubs. He’s back in town after spending Christmas in Florida. I decline. He responds back to let him know when I am up for hitting the clubs. I’m not about to tell him the clubs are out for me until I’m done with Amelia. I have no doubt she’ll take a strip of skin off me if she finds out I was in a club. With a chuckle I imagine her angry, and I can’t wait. It won’t be about me going out to the clubs though.
I’m starving, so I head into the kitchen. I cook in batches to keep healthy, home-cooked meals in the fridge. The turkey chili is appealing as the wind moans around the house. I give in to grabbing some oyster crackers with the chili. Body satisfied, I clean the dish then set it to dry.
The house feels empty, which is weird. This is the first time since I moved I thought it. I like being alone, I’m not someone who needs noise or people around all the time. Going to into my office and library I imagine Amelia in here reading the day away with a big mug of coffee. An antique mahogany and leather desk sits in the left half of the large room, behind the desk are some sports memorabilia, a few vintage balls, a few pictures of wins, the picture from my last visit to the White House. It feels weird to put my trophies up here, so they’re downstairs where I work out.
In the middle of the large room are two large chairs, one overstuffed, the other a wingback far more comfortable than it appears. Instead of a coffee table I use a leather ottoman. The two walls on the right are covered in books. With a smile I go to the wall of my first and second editions and other rare books, behind glass. Then right beside them are the leather-bound, gilt-edged books, copies of the rare and first editions. The leather-bound books are worn and falling apart.
5
Amelia
My phone beeps. “Yes?”
“Mr. Baldwin is on his way up. In case you want to take a moment to brush out your hair and fix your makeup.”
Shit. “Tell him I’m out of the office. I’m too busy.”
“Can’t. I already him told you’re free and you haven’t eaten.”
“You’re fired.”
“Two minutes.”
She is so fired. I run a hand through my hair then check my face in the mirror. No, stop it, I scream internally even as I pull out the translucent powder to soak up my oily t-zone and give me a hint of glow. There is no warning before my door opens. One minute I’m chewing on my pen, the next my body comes alive as his eyes run over me. The suit is gone today, he’s in jeans and another black sweater, this one a cable knit.
After the way he left me standing on the street yesterday, a part of me was sure he was done with me. Which was good. I’d done what I set out to do, made him go away. Yet, as I watched the cab pull away from the curb, I was oddly hurt he didn’t even say goodbye.
Lying awake last night, I told myself it was a good thing. I needed a guy like Christopher Baldwin in my life like I needed a class-action lawsuit. Only, my bed felt big, empty, cold. I fell asleep around three in the morning, and now I look and feel like hell.
“Hey sugar, I got a table waiting for us at Giorgio’s. Let’s go.”
The way my whole body jumps to do his bidding is so scary it slams me back to earth. There is no way I’m leaving with him. “I’m busy, Mr. Baldwin. Another time.”
The smile disappears, he’s deadly serious. Sky blue is gone, and his eyes are the color of a storm. Instead of the fear any normal person would be experiencing, heat bubbles up inside me. “That’s three: you lied the first day we met, yesterday, now a lie today. When the time comes, don’t say you weren’t warned.”
My mouth is completely dry. I croak out the words, “Warned about what?”
“Naughty girls get spanked, Amelia.” No, I am not wet. Oh god, I am. “Lying is very naughty, indeed. I was going to let the first lie go; however, this one shows a pattern I believe needs to be nipped in the bud from the beginning. Three, Amelia, remember it for when it comes time for you to count them off.
“You get five minutes to wrap up whatever you’re working on. Every minute after that is another spank.” He looks down at the slim gold watch on his wrist. “Your time starts now.” Then he walks out of my office as quietly as he walked in.
When I close my eyes, they burn. I realize I haven’t blinked since he said the word spanked. Holy fuck. I do not want to be spanked. My nipples harden at the thought, calling me a liar. I don’t even bother saving my work; I grab my bag and my coat, but I stop with my hand on the door, thanking god for the frosted glass. Am I really doing this? Am I really getting involved with Christopher Baldwin, bad boy, manwhore, asshole? No, this is lunch, just lunch. Liar.
I open the door to find him talking with Mary. His eyes go down to his watch, and he lifts a dark eyebrow before he smiles. “With a minute to spare, what a good girl you are.”
“Have a good lunch.” Mary chuckles.
“You’re fired,” I toss at Mary as I walk away.
“What?” We’re in the cab when I break. I can’t take the silence anymore.
A dimple appears. “I’m simply doing the math on how many more hours I have to wait. When is Ethan due back in town?”
I blush, shaking my head. “He’ll be back at work on the fifteenth.”
“That’s four.” My eyes widen as I shake my head, no. “Yes, Amelia. I didn’t ask you when Ethan was due back at work. I asked you when he is back in town. Shake your head all you want, sugar. When your breath catches in anticipation you aren’t fooling anyone. When is he due back?”
“The thirteenth,” I gasp out. Oh god. My face is so red I’m lightheaded when the cab comes to a hard stop. The sidewalk is on my side. I open the door with every intention of escaping, only my legs are so weak I don’t get far before he’s out of the car, at my back. Chris wraps a hand around my arm, bringing me back up against him. The strength of him seeps into me; I don’t want to get away from him.
Once we’re in the restaurant, Chris finally lets me go to take off my coat. I’m annoyed I miss his touch. At least I don’t have long to think about it before Shelly steps toward me to take my coat. “Amelia, how have you been? Julie passed the bar.”
“That’s awesome. I’m happy for her. Is she working toda
y?”
“No, she isn’t back from vacation yet. She’s in Iowa for another few days. Follow me, we have somewhere quiet like you requested, Mr. Baldwin.”
I’m blushing at the wink she gives me. Then I tremble when Chris slides his hand down to the base of my spine as we follow her. In the back of the restaurant, an area I never come to, the seating is round booths and low lighting. Of course, there isn’t a single person back here, this area is usually only used in the evening.
Now that Chris is no longer touching me, my head clears and sanity screams at me to stop being such a wimp around him. “I want it clear I’m here under duress. If you are going to insist on this lunch meeting, I’m not going to argue with you, if I did I would have to charge you for it. However, as this is merely a short-term issue until Ethan gets back, I’m not going to risk him losing you as a client. And I’m hungry and this is one of my favorite places.”
He shakes his head as he chuckles. “You are so going to be a pain in the ass. Duress, sugar? The only duress you’re under is knowing you’ll have to wait to get your ass spanked. Your pussy creamed at the thought and that’s why you’re here. You’re hungry all right, only your appetite isn’t for food.”
Oh my god, he did not just say that. I am not wet at his dirty, naughty, hot as fuck words. Yes, yes, I am. “I cannot believe you. Do you talk like this to every woman? Is this a part of your witty enticements to get a woman into bed?”
His smile is slow, and the heat is building down there. Seriously, how does he do that? “You believe me, what you can’t believe is how wet I make you. Honesty is not your biggest strength, I’m learning. I don’t need to talk a woman onto my cock; women crawl over me because they want to come long and hard, using my cock to scratch that itch deep inside them. You have an itch, you’ve just never had it scratched before, have you? So it aches a little, you don’t know why, you don’t even know where it is. I do.
