“I do. It’s a shortcut. And in a way that puts her in control. Discreet and businesslike.”
Adam gave a short laugh. “Ah, my secret fantasy—a control freak who doesn’t know what she’s doing.”
Sarah wasn’t amused. “If your initiation into sex had been as bad as hers, and broadcast to half your workplace, it might have put a limp even in your obnoxiously cocky stride, Adam.”
He paused in the act of pouring more scotch. “Hang on, you mean the douchebag was her first time?”
Sarah nodded.
“As in first time ever? As in she was a virgin?”
“Yep. DeWayne Callaghan, the premature ejaculator. Two minutes and forty seconds—not that he highlighted that in his Facebook post. And on that note, I need a drink.”
Adam, obligingly, got up to fetch a glass, poured a tiny measure of whisky into it and handed it over.
He settled into his chair again as Sarah looked intently at the liquid in her glass. “I love her, you know,” she said. “She’s so sweet and funny and unsure of herself, under the skin.”
“Are we talking about the same woman? Because I saw rigid and frigid and frosty.”
“And she was so…valiant,” Sarah went on, ignoring the interjection. “In the face of what that bastard did. Didn’t say a word to him, didn’t lower herself to respond—and I can tell you, if it were me, the premature ejaculation would have been tweeted to the world! But not Lane. She just kept going to work, not rebuking DeWayne even when their paths crossed in the corridor, until she found a new job.” She swallowed the scotch and made a face. “Needs coke.”
“Coke? Heathen! Give that back. Let me get you something with an umbrella in it instead.”
“Well, anyway,” Sarah said, yanking her glass out of reach. “I’m not sorry it’s come to this. I trust you with Lane.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“I mean, you’ve got to do better than speedster DeWayne, right?”
“The ice you’re standing on is getting thin, Sarah. Very, very thin.”
She didn’t seem perturbed. “And think about it—sex on tap for three months, no strings.”
“I already have sex on tap, no strings.”
“Well, this one comes with a nice, bloodless breakup at the end, which should suit you to a T, Mr. Love-’em-and-leave-’em. No histrionics. No stalking. No drunk texting.”
“Shut up, Sarah.”
“I just hope I haven’t oversold your abilities.”
“The ice is cracking,” he warned.
“Although I’m sure Lane has non-performance covered in the contract.”
That startled a laugh out of him. “Actually, she does.”
“Well don’t tarnish the family name, for God’s sake. I’ll never be able to hold my head up if you don’t go the distance.”
Adam gave her a look of acute dislike.
“I can’t wait to talk to Erica about this,” she said, laughing.
Adam slammed his glass down on the table between them. “Not one word on the subject. Not to me. Not to Lane. Not to bloody Erica.” He glared at Sarah. “From now on, what happens between Lane and me is none of your goddamned business.”
He got up, snagging the half-empty bottle of whisky from the table along with his glass, and prepared to storm out of the room. “And I don’t remember asking you to wait in my house.”
Sarah chuckled. “She sure got under your skin.”
“Leave your key behind on your way out,” Adam ordered, stalking past her.
“You know you’ll just end up giving it back to me.”
“Not for three months, at any rate,” Adam muttered.
But by the time he stumbled into bed two hours later, Adam’s mood had improved to the point where he was actually whistling to himself.
Nothing to do with half a bottle of single malt.
Everything to do with two hours of concentrated planning.
Tomorrow, he would call Lane Davis. He knew what he was going to say, how he was going to say it.
Tomorrow, he would start to heat up his icy new lover.
Lover.
Adam had a sudden, sharp vision of Lane, naked. Tall, slender, pale except for the vivid hair. He could almost feel her hair; the image in his head was so real. She was looking at him, and her eyes were hot with lust.
He sucked in his breath and tried to shove the picture of her from his mind. But his skin felt tight and he could hear his pulse too loudly in his ears.
Tomorrow, he would take back control.
And tomorrow couldn’t come soon enough.
Chapter Three
“Lane?”
Lane clutched the phone to her ear in a death grip. “I’m at work—I can’t talk right now,” she said carefully. “Can I call you back?”
“No. Now.”
Deep, slow, silent breath. Lane muted the phone and managed an apologetic smile for the analyst with whom she’d been discussing the consumer price index. “I have to take this. Just a minute, okay?”
She hurried away from the meeting table to the most private spot she could find—not easy in an open plan office. “Adam, the deal is that you call me outside office hours. I don’t take personal calls at work.”
“Lane, you’re hiring me for my expertise, right?”
“Yes, but—”
“No buts. The first lesson is this—anywhere, any time. Starting with this phone call. So are you ready to schedule our first…date?”
Another breath. Calm, calm, calm. Maybe this phone call was a test. Of her resolve or…something. She had to trust that Adam knew what he was doing. That’s why she was paying him after all. She put on her best professional voice. “This week I’m free Wednesday or Thursday evenings, or any time Sunday.”
“Thursday’s fine with me. I’ll pick you up from work.”
“No. Not at the office.”
“Why not? It’s business, isn’t it?”
Lane couldn’t think of an appropriate answer—not that Adam gave her a chance to respond.
“Ah, I see,” he said. “You’re going to hide me away and only roll me out when you’re ready for a quick f—”
“No!” Lane interjected, then hurried on. “I just feel a little…I don’t like the people here to know…I mean…” Lane squeezed her eyes closed in an agony of embarrassment.
“Sorry but you’re going to have to deal with it,” Adam said, before she could address her own incoherence. “Because I’m coming to your office at six o’clock on Thursday. And if you’re not ready to leave, I have no qualms about using your desk as a bed. Anywhere, any time. Got it?”
Without waiting for Lane’s response, Adam hung up.
Lane was left holding the phone, stunned into silence.
* * *
Adam smiled. Lane Davis wasn’t sounding as utterly controlled as she had last night.
Ha!
He figured a methodical, control-freak economist would hate not knowing what was going to happen next. If she were always wondering when or where he was going to pop up and what he was going to do with her when he did, he’d keep her nicely on edge. Maybe she’d even end up calling the whole thing off. But Adam, perversely, hoped she wouldn’t. Not yet, anyway. Not until he’d managed to get her hot and bothered. Making her lose her cool was the least he could do after she’d rocked his equilibrium so badly.
Never in his life had he been a mirror-gazer. Until last night, when he’d had a good, long look at himself.
Okay, he wasn’t exactly elegant. He was big, and dark, and brawny. Square-jawed, bold-nosed. Maybe a little long on the frown and short on the hair. A bit…intimidating. Maybe. But not hideous.
Anyway, women liked looking at him. Women wanted him. What did Lane see that was so different?
You look like you’d be good at it. That’s what she’d said. But he hadn’t seen any evidence she might enjoy what he was about to teach her. She’d managed to sit across from him and talk about sex in the most businesslike fashi
on, without giving him even one seductive look. Not one!
Oh, she’d been a little frazzled at the end, but not enough, dammit.
Adam pulled himself up. Did it really matter? A contract, that’s what the two of them had. She didn’t even know him. She was right to be leery of parading him around her office.
Still, he wasn’t a trained seal, he told himself, rallying. She couldn’t expect him to perform when and where she wanted, begging her for a treat when he came up to scratch.
No way.
Lane would be the one begging.
And until she was begging, until she wanted him the way he needed her to want him, he’d be damned if the contract was going to be consummated. One precious little detail she’d left out of that document was what they’d actually spend their two to four nights per week doing. Imagine that—a contract, a three-page checklist—but no mention of an actual sex act!
Adam smiled. An amazing oversight, but a fortuitous one. There was a lot he could teach her without actually consummating their relationship.
An awful lot.
* * *
On Thursday morning, Lane dressed and undressed three times before deciding on the same square cut navy suit she’d worn the night they’d met, on the basis that Adam hadn’t run screaming in the opposite direction at the sight of it. Then she applied a full face of makeup, only to realize her bank colleagues would think she’d gone insane if she turned up for work like that, and scrubbed it all off. In any case, she’d hate for Adam to think she’d taken any special care for their first…time.
Whew. First time. Funny what that thought did to her insides.
Pull yourself together, Lane. She looked in the mirror—her new favorite pastime—and nodded, satisfied. No way would Adam guess she’d spent ages thinking about what to wear.
Then her shoulders drooped. “And that’s a good thing, is it?” she asked her reflection.
“Aaaaand you’re talking to yourself. Isn’t that the first sign of madness?”
* * *
Adam arrived at 6:05 p.m.
Lane had packed up early and was waiting in the reception area. Such atypical behavior caused the receptionist to keep shooting curious glances at her, which Lane tried to counter with brief, unconcerned smiles. There were no other people around—they’d either left for the day or were out of sight, hunched over desks.
Just as well, Lane thought as she caught sight of Adam’s imposing frame emerging from the elevator, because he would have drawn every eye. He looked casual and sexy, in blue jeans and a fitted navy henley T-shirt, the top two buttons open, the long sleeves pushed up to his elbows.
Adam spotted her almost immediately and headed straight for her, glancing neither right nor left. Lane knew it was going to be an awkward moment and cast around in her head for a suitably safe topic of conversation. He was a builder so…house prices maybe? Because she’d seen some research today that indicated a boom in the Sydney market, which could create a dilemma for the Reserve Bank. And with city house prices set to rise by—
Oof.
She was suddenly in Adam’s arms, looking up, and she couldn’t remember what she’d been thinking. Something to do with ten percent…or was it—
Ahh.
His mouth was on hers. His rock hard chest was plastered against her.
And her brain went dead.
His mouth was firm and soft at the same time. It was like he was…ohh…massaging her mouth with his. Insistent, nudging, nuzzling. She realized her breath was stuck somewhere in her chest, and opened her mouth to drag in more air. Then his tongue—his tongue, God, God—was inside her mouth, pushing, licking at her own.
She felt his hands slide down her back, down, down, and cup her bottom. He pulled her closer, fitting her to his pelvis.
She heard a soft moan and wondered where it had come from. He deepened the pressure on her mouth, his tongue sliding rhythmically, luxuriously, licking into her like she was warmed honey and he was searching out every taste. Another moan. Oh, God, it had come from her. She was moaning. And she couldn’t seem to stop herself.
Lane’s hands crept up, clutching at his T-shirt as she held on to him, leaned into him. Dear Lord, what was happening to her? If not for her hands anchoring her to him, she’d keel over. The kiss was so…delicious. Smooth and rough. At the same time. How could that be? Her legs felt unsteady. And there was a shivery sensation flowing down through her chest to tingle in her breasts, in her stomach…lower. She should be concentrating. Trying to work out what it was about Adam’s technique that was making her feel like this. But his tongue was everywhere inside her mouth and she couldn’t think.
Adam raised his head, slowly, so slowly; his breath a warm mist against her lips. And then he stepped back. “Hello sweetheart,” he said softly.
Free of the intoxicating kiss, Lane recovered quickly. She looked around, saw the receptionist staring at the two of them. This was not good. There would be gossip. Uptight Lane Davis kissing a hot guy in the reception area! How did boring old Lane get such a gorgeous guy? Lane Davis, the ice queen, getting into it with a man who anyone could tell was out of her league—way out!
Lane’s insides clenched. She didn’t want to be gossiped about. Not ever again. And she didn’t want this little episode to find its way to David Bennett, in particular. God forbid he should think she was already taken.
If there’d been a real purpose to telegraphing her relationship with Adam to her colleagues, Lane would have understood. But it wasn’t as though “anywhere, any time” was a real lesson. Adam had only kissed her here and now to make a point. He wanted to be the one in charge; he’d chosen her workplace deliberately, because she’d said not here. She’d read up on the alpha male in preparation for tonight; understanding them wasn’t exactly rocket science.
But if this was an indication of how their arrangement was going to proceed, she had trouble on her hands. So best get the derailed train back on the tracks immediately.
“Sweetheart,” she repeated the word, as though tasting it. Shook her head. “No. Not necessary, I think. No endearments.” She straightened her jacket. Raised her eyebrows at the receptionist, who quickly averted her rapt gaze. Turned back to Adam. “Shall we go?”
“Yes ma’am,” Adam drawled, any hint of softness disappearing. “I’m parked in the station across the street.”
“How nice for you,” Lane said. “My car, which I will be driving home, is in the car park of this very building.”
She started walking toward the bank of elevators, but sensed she was walking alone, so she stopped, turned back. He was standing where she’d left him, rooted to the spot, his countenance dark.
Now what?
It felt a little like pistols at dawn. Her at one end of the reception area; him at the other; both waiting for the goggle-eyed receptionist to signal the start.
And suddenly, Lane wanted to giggle.
But she didn’t. She couldn’t, if she wanted the upper hand.
The thing was, the kiss had been good. Very good. And that was part of the alpha male, too—the part she needed. Let’s not cut off our nose to spite our face, Lane.
So Lane, smoothing a hand over her tied back hair, walked swiftly back to him. “I’m sorry, Adam,” she said, very softly, so the receptionist wouldn’t hear. “I know it can’t be easy, taking…” She stopped, trying to choose a word that wouldn’t set him off.
“Orders?” he supplied.
“Well, yes…no…not exactly.” She searched for the words to explain. “You did read the contract carefully, right? Because I had everything covered in there, so neither of us would do something the other hadn’t bargained on. The clause about the lessons being taught in my home. It’s there for privacy reasons. Mine and yours. Now, there’s wiggle room in there—for example, I’m happy to come to your place—but the office is completely out of bounds for me. You can understand that, can’t you? I’m sure you don’t want me popping up at…at building sites, or at family functi
ons or—well, you know what I mean.” There, that was very logical, very reasonable. He’d have to see she was making sense.
“I understand you want to call the shots,” he said. “But I don’t work like that. So how much of that ‘wiggle room’ am I going to get?”
She took one of her deep breaths, then continued, still keeping her voice low. “That’s going to depend on how valuable you turn out to be.”
“Oh, I’m worth it.”
“But I generally don’t enjoy surprises.”
“Sex is full of surprises, Lane.”
“But the contract—”
“Don’t make me tell you what to do with your contract before we’re even through our first date, Lane.”
Lane had to take three deep breaths before she felt she would be able to get another word out. Even then, all she could manage was, “I’m going home. We can discuss it there.”
“Let’s not talk it to death. Let’s just suck it and see as we go along,” Adam said. Then he gave her a cold-eyed smile, and stepped closer. “An expression you can think about while you drive home. In fact, why don’t you spend that drive imagining what I’ll do to you once we’re nice and private.” Another of those cold smiles. “Lane. Sweetheart.”
With a swallow and a nod—which was a ridiculous response, because what was there to nod at?—Lane headed again for the elevators.
She turned for one last look at him as the elevator doors opened and he—good God!—winked at her. Which ruffled her so much, she took a fraction too long getting into the lift and the doors semi-closed on her as she stepped in. She heard him chuckle, and it wasn’t a pleasant chuckle, by any means. Great. Just great. She knew all about being a laughingstock to the man you were going to have sex with.
She leaned weakly against the wall as the elevator descended to the car park. She had a feeling Adam hadn’t listened to a word she’d said about the contract. Would bet her life he didn’t give a damn about the contract.
This was not good.
On the other hand… On the drive home, she fired up her imagination as he’d suggested, and the visions in her head were fairly eye-popping for a girl who was almost a virgin.
The Contract Page 3
