Amber Nights - The Esquire Girls Series - Amber's Story (Books 1, 2, 3 & 4) - Box Set

by Cassie-Ann L. Miller

  “This looks delicious,” I murmur. My mouth is already watering. Wild rice and grilled asparagus with salmon filets topped with sundried tomatoes. There’s an arugula and walnut salad on the side. Without waiting for an invitation, I dig my fork in and take my first bite. “Mmmm. Oh, wow!”

  Spencer beams as he sips on his wine.

  “You made this?” I ask, covering my mouth with my napkin.

  He nods.

  “You lie! You shoved the chef into the closet before I walked in, didn’t you?” I take another bite.

  He chuckles at the idea. “I made it,” he assures me.

  “Wow, who would have thought that billionaire playboy, Spencer Harrison, would be an amazing cook,” I muse between bites of salmon.

  “Billionaire playboy? That’s how you see me?” He raises an eyebrow at me. There’s something hollow in his smile.

  I chuckle. “Okay, questionable characterization of the cook notwithstanding, this meal is delicious!”

  “Well, to be fair, this is the one meal my wife ever taught me to cook.” The instant the words tumble from his lips, I can tell that he wishes he could take them back.

  My eyes shoot to his ring finger. “Your wife?”

  “She – she died – three years ago.” His complexion pales at the confession.

  “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that, Spencer.” I instinctively reach across the table and squeeze his hand. A tight smile runs across his lips. “What happened to her?” I inquire in a small voice, letting my curiosity get the best of me.

  He pauses, his eyes downcast. “I’d rather not talk about it.” I shift uncomfortably in my chair, silently cursing myself for being so nosy. He looks up feigning enthusiasm. “Besides, we agreed to keep it professional tonight. How about I tell you about DisSpence?”

  “Yeah, I’d like that,” I say trying to mimic his upbeat tone.

  Spencer spends the rest of the meal telling me about his business and his plans for moving forward. I listen intently wishing I’d brought a pen and pad to take notes. He has a fascinating mind and his ideas are so innovative. He’s determined to buy that building in Montreal. He will stop at nothing to own it. He has no clue how sexy his ambition is to me…Why is it again that I’m not supposed to fuck this man’s brains out?

  Nearly an hour and two bottles of wine later, I lean back in my chair and pat my distended stomach. I blush realizing that that is probably not the most ladylike thing to do.

  “You look like you’re stuffed,” Spencer remarks as he gathers our dishes. I stand to help. I follow him into the kitchen and hand the dishes to him as he loads them into the dishwasher.

  I stifle a yawn before checking the time on my wristwatch. “Darn. It’s almost 10:30. I really need to leave. I still have so much work to do,” I say casually toying with the beautiful crystal lion figurine sitting in the middle of Spencer’s kitchen table.

  He watches me keenly. “I’ll text my driver to get you home,” he offers. He pulls his cell out of the pocket of his khakis. I probably should stop him. He’s already been so generous tonight, but the thought of jumping into a cab, or worse, catching the subway, is just not appealing right now. After sending the text message, Spencer stuffs his phone back into his pocket. This time, the yawn escapes my lips. Spencer smiles at me tenderly. “He’ll be here in a few minutes. Do you want a cappuccino while you wait?”

  “That would be perfect,” I murmur.

  He bustles over to his espresso machine and, within minutes, presents me with a cup of warm, frothy coffee. He leans back against the counter and watches me in silence as I take small sips.

  We both jump at the sound of his telephone buzzing. He’s received a text. He takes my cup from me, informing me that his driver is waiting downstairs.

  He approaches me. Real close. I brace myself wondering what comes next. He reaches out and gently runs the pad of his thumb across the edge of my lip before bringing his finger to his mouth. My breath hitches in my throat. “Foam on your mouth,” he whispers. The longing in his eyes is enough to melt me. I feel hot desire brewing between my thighs.

  “I have to go,” I mutter breathlessly before slipping out the door.

  Chapter 8

  Like a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar, I’m jolted by the sound of my phone buzzing on the night table beside my bed.

  It’s 11:30.

  Less than 15 minutes since Spencer’s driver dropped me off. And I’m only a few strokes away from my second orgasm.

  Sorry, but – I just had to release all the tension that had racked up inside of my body during my “hands-off” dinner with the sexiest CEO this side of the Atlantic.

  I’m able to pry my fingers away from my core just before the call is filtered to voice mail.

  “Hello.” The words tumble out much sexier than I had anticipated. I clear my throat and try again. “Hello?”

  “Amber?”

  I bolt upright at the sound of his voice. “Spencer?”

  “Hi. I just wanted to make sure that you made it home safe.” The low rasp of his voice reverberates throughout my body.

  “Yes—yes. I did. I’m in bed.” Shit, why did I say that? That was so unprofessional. All that wine from dinner has probably just started kicking in.

  I hear his breathing shift under the weight of my innuendo-laden admission. The pause is heavy. I can tell that he wants to say something.

  Finally, he breaks the silence. “Can I ask you something…personal?”

  “Sure, I guess.” Why the heck not? After all, I’m the one lying in bed climaxing off of the memory of the way his fingers sizzled on my lips, the way his beautiful eyes bored into me over dinner. I might as well answer a personal question.

  “Are you seeing someone?” he asks.

  Personal indeed.

  I should probably lie just to put an end to the flirtation between us, but instead, I tell the truth. “No, I’m not seeing anyone.”

  “So, why is it that you won’t even consider dating me?” I hear a trace of vulnerability in the question.

  “I never said that.”

  “So, you would? You would consider dating me?”

  “I can’t”

  “Why?”

  I sigh deeply. “My firm has a strict ‘No Banging the Clients’ policy. I could lose my job.”

  He chuckles. “I didn’t say anything about banging you.”

  “So, you’re saying that you would date me and never try to fuck me?” Jeez. Where have all my inhibitions gone tonight?

  “Touché,” he laughs. “I guess that would be next to impossible.”

  Silence hovers above us. I imagine his long, toned body sprawled across his bed, wearing nothing but some boxer shorts. The visual only makes me hotter.

  He speaks again. “I just wish…” His voice trails off. He groans softly. I hear rustling on his side of the line. I imagine him shifting under his sheets.

  “What do you want with me anyway, Spencer?” My words come out in a whisper.

  “Truthfully? Do you really want to know what I want with you?” His breathing is jagged.

  I nod even though he can’t see me. “Tell me,” I nudge wondering if he wants what I want.

  “I want to come over to your apartment right now. And crawl into your bed. Get under your covers and run my tongue across your skin.” I cry out at the confession. “I want to hear you screaming for me as you come over and over again. I want to rattle your body. Pound you. Fuck you hard. So hard you forget your own name. I wanna keep you up all night, Amber. All night.”

  My hands have found their way back to the core of me. I’m quaking on the edge of a climax. The moans escape my lips and there’s no way to hold them back.

  “Say my name, Amber.” He coaxes me in a breathy timbre. “Say it.”

  I accelerate the rate of my strokes. His prodding pushes me over the cliff. His name is on my lips as I free-fall into ecstasy.

  Chapter 9

  Gripping a granola bar and ban
ana in my hand, I look around the small break room skeptically looking for a familiar face to have lunch with. There are about two dozen or so employees huddled around the laminate lunch tables but none look pleasant enough to share a meal with.

  “Ugh, girl don’t even bother,” a cheery Texan accent hums behind me. I turn around to find Hailey, brown paper bag in hand. “Here, follow me,” she says using her free hand to grab me by the wrist. She leads me to a fire exit at the far end on the hallway and looks around before nudging it open.

  Nadia, Luke and Ruth are crouched down in the staircase chowing down. They all look up at Hailey and me as the door clicks shut behind us.

  “Hey, y’all,” Hailey says as she slumps down next to Nadia.

  “Wow, it looks like I got invited late to the party,” I remark as I ease down next to Luke.

  Nadia chuckles. “Well, Miss Hot Shot, it seems you’re always working on some high profile case while us peasants have to grovel around for the privilege of checking citations on some second year associate’s briefs.”

  “Or making photocopies of 19th century case law,” Luke pipes in.

  Ruth smirks. “You guys are lucky. Mr. Stevenson’s secretary was sick yesterday afternoon…I ended up having to go to the break room to make him a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Can you believe it? I’m at the top of my class at Cornell and I spent the afternoon trying to adjust the settings on a toaster oven to make sure that my boss’ bread was crisped just right.”

  We roar with laughter at Ruth’s plight.

  “No worries, Ruthie,” Luke says, reassuringly. “A hot Brazilian bombshell like you – it’s just a matter of time before some high-flying business magnate scoops you up and gets you out of here.”

  “Yes, trophy wife. That’s the dream! I think I forgot to mention that in my cover letter.” Ruth is able to nail sarcasm perfectly despite her thick Brazilian accent.

  Hailey looks at Ruth longingly. “If I had legs like yours, there is no way I would become a lawyer. I would be pregnant and barefoot on some billionaire’s 40-foot yacht in the middle of the Mediterranean.” At that instant, she reaches into her brown paper bag and pulls out a clear bottle filled with a cloudy yellow-brown liquid. She unscrews the cap and pinches the tip of her nose before chugging it back. A deep scowl spreads across her face. I stare at her quizzically. “Apple cider vinegar. Pure. Unpasturized.” She says in response to my silent question. She offers me a swig. I reach for the bottle and swipe it under my nose to take a sniff.

  “Eww! No thanks!” I yelp shoving the bottle back at her as I get a whiff of the pungent smell.

  Nadia giggles uncontrollably crumpling up an empty cookie wrapper in her fist. She nods in my direction. “Welcome to the Esquire Girls’ Lunch Hour. You still have lots to see, my friend.”

  Luke frowns at Nadia before looking over at me. “And just for the record…I’m not ‘one of the Girls’.”

  Chapter 10

  Ugh!

  I’m so sick of constantly having to clean up after Oksana and her useless friends! If I have to wipe shoe prints off of our coffee table one more time, I swear –

  And, I have work to do tonight – a translation of a 20-page French memo that city officials sent to the firm to explain why they refuse to remove a tax lien they’ve put against Spencer’s Montreal dream property even though we’ve offered to pay whatever it takes to have it removed.

  It’s already 11:25.

  I drop the broom and dustpan to the floor and slump back against the tattered, faded couch.

  Jeez. A few pills would really, really make me feel better right now. I struggle to remind myself that the relief offered by the pill would be fleeting. Then I would be left to deal with the awful withdrawal – the nausea, the dry mouth, the general feeling of yuckiness.

  I missed my NA meeting today. I stayed at the office late so I didn’t get back to Brooklyn on time. I could really use some encouragement right now. Or at least a distraction.

  As if on cue, my phone buzzes in the pocket of my gray shorts.

  “Hello?” I say without even checking the caller ID.

  “Amber.”

  I feel my chest tighten just a bit. “Spencer. Hi, how can I help you?”

  He laughs heartily. “That’s cute.”

  “Cute? What do you mean?”

  “Okay, so I guess you’re gonna act like last night didn’t happen?”

  “It shouldn’t have.” My voice is small. Embarrassed.

  “Well, it did happen,” he growls primitively, “and I couldn’t get your moans out of my head all day.”

  “Spencer, I –“

  He cuts me off. “Did you think about me, Amber?”

  I can’t lie. “I did.”

  “Say it to me. Tell me you were thinking about me.”

  “Spencer, I –“

  “Tell. Me. Amber.”

  The words push out of my mouth on their own. “I was thinking about you, Spencer. All day.”

  I’m rewarded with a hungry rumble. “What were you thinking?”

  “We really shouldn’t do this, Spencer,” I say despite the sore yearning inside of me.

  I hear his frustrated sigh. “Look, Amber. I’m not good at playing games. I want you. I like you. This doesn’t have to be difficult.”

  I feel my defenses unraveling at the sound of his commanding tone. “I was thinking about your lips…and how I want them on my body.”

  “Where on your body?” He prods.

  “You know where.” I say meekly.

  “No, I don’t…Where?” His tone is insistent.

  I can’t believe he’s going to make me say it.

  I whisper it low and I feel my cheeks blazing. I guess this is what naughty feels like.

  I hear him growl. “Amber, I’m gonna need you to take your panties off so I can tell you what I’ve been thinking about you.”

  Goosebumps rise all along my flesh at the hauntingly sexy sound of his voice. All hesitation slips aside as I glide each article of clothing off of my aching body.

  Chapter 11

  “Package for you,” announces the mail guy as he wheels the mail cart by my cubicle.

  “For me? What is it?” I ask, half to myself, half to him, as I pick up the small rectangular parcel he’s just slipped on top of the mountain of folders on my desk.

  “I don’t know. Open it,” He says dryly as he continues down the hall distributing mail to the various offices.

  “Yeah, open it,” Nadia echoes peeking over the edge of the partition separating our cubicles.

  “Honey, your curiosity is showing,” Hailey shoots playfully in Nadia’s direction, her eyes peeled to me as I use scissors to cut through the packaging. Luke and Ruthie approach, too. I gasp as I pull out a red leather box with the word ‘Cartier’ etched in gold letters across the top.

  I flip the box open and a solid-gold fountain pen gleams under the fluorescent office lights. With my hands shaking, I gently lift it from the box and find my name engraved alongside the clip. “Oh my god,” I hear Hailey pant, her face registering pure bewilderment as I run my index finger across the pen’s fine nib and the cluster of diamonds and precious stones adorning its cap.

  Just then, Matt and Madison walk by. Madison glances at me and my gift with that perpetually-cocked eyebrow of hers. She doesn’t say anything but I know she’s thinking what I’m thinking; What the hell is going on?

  “Back to work! Back to work!” Matt hisses, snapping his fingers at the group hovering over my desk. There’s not even a hint of humor in his voice. The crowd quickly disperses.

  I reach into the packaging and find a neatly-written note on thick cream-colored cardstock:

  Amber,

  A gift from the DisSpence team – you’re doing a fantastic job!

  Spencer.

  Heat rolls through my body as I read the note over and over again.

  Spencer Harrison just bought me a pen that costs enough to cover my rent for several months. I’m still
sitting there, stunned, trying to decide on an appropriate reaction when the phone on my desk rings, jolting me back to my senses.

  “Amber Roberts,” I say into the receiver.

  “Did you get the gift?” He doesn’t present himself. He doesn’t need to. I’d recognize that low, smoky voice anywhere.

  “Um – uh, yes. I don’t know what to say. I wasn’t expecting it. I really don’t know what to say.” I’m obviously flustered both by the surprising gift and by Spencer’s impromptu phone call.