When by-the-book economist Lane Davis’s first sexual encounter convinces her she doesn’t have what it takes to impress in bed, she does the most logical thing: she hires an expert to give her private lessons and get her out of the bottom percentile.
Adam Quinn has his own agenda. His sister—one of Lane’s best friends—wants him to be just awful enough to convince Lane to give up on her crazy scheme. Once he meets Lane, though, Adam can’t quite bring himself to reject her. There’s a naive vulnerability just beneath her cool, composed exterior…. The thought of another man taking advantage of that makes Adam a little bit crazy.
As for Lane, she makes the uncomfortable discovery that her carefully composed contract doesn’t cover everything. Her goal was to seduce a banking executive, but it turns out that she kind of has a thing for Adam. Maybe it’s time to renegotiate….
The Contract
Avril Tremayne
For Adam Carr—definitely hero material—for treating @KdeR like a princess, no matter what.
And for the many wonderful Wattpadders who have given me such generous encouragement—thank you.
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter One
Where was he?
Thirty minutes late was too late.
Late enough for Lane to wonder if, perhaps, Adam had changed his mind and wasn’t coming.
Lane swallowed, trying to get her head around that. Around the idea she might have to go back to the drawing board. She didn’t want to face that possibility. It had been excruciatingly embarrassing getting to this point; the thought of starting again was enough to make her feel faint.
She took a deep, calming breath as she looked around her living room, checking again nothing was out of place—which she’d already done a dozen times—and calculating how long it would take Adam to drive from his house in out-there Newtown to her house in not-so-out-there Mascot. Fifteen minutes, tops.
Still…he may have been caught up on a building site. Or stuck in traffic somewhere, given how close she was to Sydney Airport.
She took another deep breath. Settle down, Lane. There is no reason for him to back out.
Any man would jump at the chance—that’s what her friend Sarah had said. Sarah had told her that he, specifically, had jumped. He knew the score, and had already agreed. Tonight was just a formality. Signatures on the page.
Lane felt her hands start to clench, and wiggled her fingers to ease the tension.
Nerves. She hated nerves. Had perfected the art of not letting them show, no matter how much her insides rioted, because the flustering, dithery fluttering of them made her look like a twit.
Logical, rational financial economists did not flutter, or pace floors, or chew fingernails. They crunched numbers and analyzed data and predicted trends so high-yield decisions could be made, built on a sound base.
A sound base. That was one way of looking at the succinct checklist she’d prepared for tonight, to review with Adam before they signed the contract she’d drawn up.
The checklist. She would just have one more read. That would help calm her down.
She walked swiftly to the glass-topped coffee table, bent to reach into the briefcase beside it and slid out the paper-clipped pages. Three of them. Neat. Error-free. Black type on white paper.
He’d already agreed, she reminded herself, drawing in another one of her silent, secret, calming breaths, as she skimmed the words she knew practically by heart.
It was a straightforward arrangement—nothing to panic over. Adam didn’t even have to like her. Liking wasn’t a prerequisite on either side. Although, of course, it would be easier if they did like each other. And really, they probably would. Lane liked his sister, Sarah. Sarah liked Lane. And Sarah adored Adam. Logic suggested there would be a mutuality of liking in there that would encompass Lane and Adam in some way, right?
Still, the most important thing was he had the credentials for the job.
Sarah had assured Lane that Adam was the quintessential alpha male—a concept Lane didn’t quite believe in—with hordes of women making booty calls with impressive frequency.
Twenty-five years old. Builder. No unmanageable character flaws. No disgusting habits. Clean, handsome, not a psychopath.
What more do you need Lane?
And Lane had been so happy to get her problem sorted out, she hadn’t given much thought to Adam as a flesh-and-blood being. She’d been relieved, of course, about the “clean” and “not a psychopath” bits, but she didn’t care about “handsome.” She hadn’t been particularly interested in what he looked like, which was why she hadn’t been worried that the photo Sarah had emailed her had been grainy and out of focus.
Now, though, thinking of that dark shadowy image when she was on the very verge…
There went her fingers again, tensing up.
Stop it!
She slid the checklist back into her briefcase. Walked to the entrance hallway, listened carefully for sounds of arrival. Nothing.
She checked her watch. She would give him ten more minutes.
She caught sight of her face in the mirror above the glass-topped hall table. Pale—but that was normal. Blue eyes almost too calm—so deceptive. Lips very faintly smiling—nicely controlled. Hair pulled off her face—no stray wisps.
Perhaps the hair was too severe. She tugged a few copper-red strands free of the confining band and tried to arrange them around her face. Hmm. Messy. Unattractively messy. She removed the band completely and retied her hair into a ponytail at her nape. It would just have to do.
She gave up on the mirror and ran her eyes, as best she could, over the rest of her.
She hadn’t had a clue what she should wear tonight and had ended up staying in the square-cut navy suit she’d worn to work. Plain. Businesslike.
Boring.
She sighed. It was so hard, the clothes thing. And tonight, harder than usual. How did you manage to look attractive, but not flirtatious? Appealing, but not desperate? Like you weren’t trying too hard, even when you were?
All right, she officially hated this!
She was calling it off. He was too late. It was too late. What had she been thinking?
She walked purposefully back to her briefcase and wrenched out the checklist, the contracts, ready to rip the pages to shreds.
Then it came. The sound. A car pulling up.
Stay calm. Breathe. Breathe. In—out—in—out. Maybe it’s not him.
Her front gate squeaked.
Good God, he’s here. He’s actually here.
Something being muttered outside the front door. A curse?
Oh. Oh, oh, oh.
The knock was loud and short. Two raps.
Lane closed her eyes, just for a moment, gathering her courage. To calm herself, she neatened the edges of the pages she’d nearly torn, then positioned them on one end of the coffee table and headed for the door. He wouldn’t notice the tremors in her fingers, she told herself, as she reached for the handle to let him into her house.
Then the door was open. She stared at his work boots and scanned up past his blue jeans and faded black shirt. Chest. Neck. Face. She was looking up—and she was five feet ten!
The
n her mind went blank. She was staring. She knew she was staring, but she couldn’t seem to stop. He looked…good.
Not conventionally handsome, but…oh, my, the alpha male concept was real after all.
He waited, unsmiling.
“Oh,” she said, feeling breathless, and thrust out her hand awkwardly to shake. “You must be—”
“Yes, I must,” he said, and took her hand—not to shake it but to hold it. As she blinked up at him, he drew her close to him. Close enough that Lane could smell the soapy scent of his skin. He smelled wonderful.
He drew her a little closer and she stumbled, catching her heel on the hallway rug. He reached out his other hand to steady her, gripping her arm. Two hands on her now, reeling her in. “Careful…Lane,” he said softly, lingering over her name.
Her heart lurched and started beating fast as their eyes locked. His eyes were dark. Black almost. With laugh lines fanning out from the corners. He must laugh all the time, Lane thought. But he wasn’t anywhere close to laughing now. He seemed about to pull her even closer—could she get any closer?—then stopped. Frowned as though he’d lost his train of thought. Released her and walked inside.
Lane rubbed at her arm, just above the elbow, where his hand had gripped her. He hadn’t hurt her, but she had felt him down to her bones.
Squaring her shoulders, Lane turned to face him. He stood dead center of the living room, looking around without any indication he liked what he saw, which was basically her mother’s cast-off furniture.
Lane saw him glance at the canapés she’d arranged on a white oval platter in the center of the coffee table. She fought a blush. It was so obvious, now she’d seen him, that Adam Quinn wasn’t a canapé eater. And suddenly she felt like she was pretending to be a grown-up. Blue suit. Canapés. What would he expect next? A Scrabble board, lap rug, and cup of hot cocoa?
He turned and faced her. His lips were smiling but his eyes were not. “Now where were we? Ah, yes, I must be—” The smile vanished. “Adam Quinn. Reporting for duty.”
Reporting for duty? Another deep breath. “I was hoping we could approach this situation with some…sensitivity.”
Adam looked down at the coffee table. “It will take more than smoked salmon on rye to achieve that, don’t you think?”
Lane felt her stomach dip. “Sarah said you were willing,” she said.
“I know what she said.” Adam’s voice sounded almost like a growl.
Something wasn’t right.
She ran her eyes over him, trying to work out what it was. Her heartbeat, which hadn’t yet recovered from his entrance, kicked up an extra notch. Black hair, close-cropped in a don’t-mess-with-me style. Stubble on his jaw. He wasn’t only tall; he was incredibly big, too. He filled her living room the way an army tank might. The fact that he was watching her just as intently as she was watching him made a funny, jittery feeling that wasn’t exactly nerves erupt in her stomach.
Was he disappointed, now that he’d seen what he’d be working with? Was that the thing that wasn’t right? Her? Could he tell, just by looking at her, what a massive job he had ahead of him? Perhaps she should let the poor guy off the hook. Tell him thanks, sorry for the inconvenience, I’ve changed my mind, goodbye, give my love to Sarah.
But…he was here. And he smelled wonderful. And he looked like…well, like he could teach her things she’d never even imagined.
She could find someone else, her rational brain argued.
Or maybe she could just buy a book or a DVD.
Or look it up on Google—and get three trillion suggestions she could spend the next few years sorting through.
Her nostrils flared as she caught that soapy scent again.
No—she was not going to resort to Google or a book or a DVD, and she was not going to find someone else. She didn’t want to take any more time. She would do this, and she would do it with him. He had already agreed and she was holding him to it! He would just have to suck it up and make do, regardless of what he thought about her. She didn’t care what he thought of her; she wasn’t paying for his thoughts.
She set her jaw. “Adam, have you or have you not agreed to help me?”
“Yes, but—”
“Good. Regarding the smoked salmon, I was aware of the inconvenient hour I chose for this meeting, so I thought you might like some refreshments. But of course, you’re late, and I imagine you’ve eaten. Fine. I’m happy to get down to business straightaway.”
Adam crossed his arms over his chest in what Lane considered a very…well, “alpha male” pose. “By all means, Lane, let’s get down to business. Oh, sorry, should I call you Lane? Perhaps you’d prefer Miss Davis? Ms. Davis? It’s not Dr. Davis, is it? Because I know you were some ace university student, right?”
Lane did not allow even the flicker of one eyelid as she picked up her briefcase and retrieved the all-important paperwork off the coffee table. “It’s Ms., but Lane is fine.”
“All right. Lane.” He drew out the sound of her name until it was thick and honeyed and beautiful.
Lane caught her breath before it could hitch in her throat. Checklist. Checklist. Concentrate on the checklist. But her eyes didn’t seem to want to focus on that perfect document in her hand. “Then let’s move on,” she said. “We can sit at the dining table and get away from the smoked salmon. Follow me, please.”
She could feel him following, though he lagged several steps behind. The knowledge of him was as pervasive and intimate as a layer of musk oil on her skin.
She was about to contract Adam Quinn for three months of sex.
God help her.
* * *
His sister was dead meat. Chopped, minced, fricasseed, barbecued.
Adam nurtured the thought as he followed the uptight Ms. Davis to her precious dining room table.
Why had he let Sarah talk him into this?
Adam sighed inwardly. Why? Because he was a sucker when it came to his sister and since she damned well knew it, she took shameless advantage of him. And because it had been sold to him as a fifteen minute job. Walk in and unsettle her quickly. Be unpleasantly intimidating. Not cruel, not disparaging, not nasty to innocent, awkward Lane Davis—just intimidating. Enough to scare Lane out of her cockamamy scheme. Enough that she’d be ripping up her contract and showing him the door.
Innocent? Awkward? Did Sarah even know this woman who was supposed to be one of her best friends?
Sex lessons! Who in their right mind would contract a total stranger to teach them about sex? And not just tell them but also show them! For all Lane knew, he could be some depraved murderer. A pervert. A weirdo.
God alone knew what she would have ended up with if she hadn’t gone to Sarah for help. Any other man would have had her stripped and under him by now. Forget the come-hither-and-do-it-now sexiness Lane Davis lacked—the untouchable, unruffled calmness she exuded was more seductive. An almost irresistible challenge, like a citadel daring you to breach it. And she was pretty enough, in a clear-cut, haughty way that would make any man want to mess her up a little. Yep, any other man in his place right now would—
No, he wasn’t going to think about it. For his own sanity, he was going to put it out of his mind.
He watched, narrow-eyed, as Lane placed her briefcase on the floor and the papers in her hand on the dining table. Surprise, surprise—more glass. Cool, inscrutable glass. He hated glass furniture.
She looked every bit as inscrutably cool. Cool as a goddamned refrigerated cucumber. No, cooler. Three months. If he agreed to do this, they’d be able to cut up his body for ice cubes at the end of it.
Not that he was going to agree. Nope. No way.
She gestured with one hand to the opposite side of the table. She had to be annoyed with him after his graceless entry, but not by one dip of her thick auburn eyelashes did she show it. Everything was tightly controlled, even the precision of her hand movements. The movements that said: “Sit—just do it.”
Adam dutifully sat. Dammit
, he thought immediately, he was obeying her. He felt at a distinct disadvantage. It was a foreign feeling—one, he decided, he didn’t like.
Keeping Sarah’s firm instructions in mind, he tried a glower. People had been known to run full pelt from one of his scowls, so it should at least give her a few second thoughts about what she was getting herself into. “Hard to believe you can’t find a man to provide the service free of charge,” he said, with his best attempt at surly belligerence.
“I’m sure I could have, if all I wanted was a fun night out. But this is not about fun. It’s about knowledge and technique.” Lane smoothed out the papers. “And I’ve been assured you’re highly skilled.”
What the…? “I’ve never had any complaints.”
Lane nodded solemnly. “Good. Then let’s get started.”
Adam felt his teeth grinding. She was infuriatingly controlled. “By all means,” he said, not knowing where the hell this was going to end up.
His teeth were still grinding half an hour later when she had painstakingly, without a blush, gone through the ins and outs of an exhaustive list of terms and conditions. It was an effort to match her detachment as she calmly discussed confidentiality, payment, the minimum two/maximum four nights-per-week schedule, the fact that the lessons would be taught at her house, blood tests, contraception, the unlikely event of pregnancy…
And after it all, she folded her slender, pale hands together and waited.
Without a word, he tossed his copy of the contract onto the table.
Her hands tightened for a fraction of a second. “Any questions?”
How would his sister expect him to respond to that? Actually I’m only here to scare you out of it?
Surely Sarah realized that once Lane Davis made up her mind, nothing budged it. He’d only just met her and he could see it. Just the effort Lane had put into the contract told him he was going to have his work cut out for him. He was reluctantly impressed. It was a wonder every law firm in the country wasn’t beating her door down with an employment offer.
What the hell was he going to do? Sarah’s plan was failing dismally. Adam thought he’d done a good job of being unpleasantly intimidating, but Lane wasn’t scared.
The Contract Page 1
