“I had fun,” she said.
Fun. Like he had taken her to Dairy Queen and a movie. He stared at her, wanting to come in, wanting more of what he had experienced with her in that shower—wanting her heat around his cock.
He stepped forward, her perfect face tilting up, looking into his eyes. He studied her, thinking about the weekend. Even though he had broken every rule he had set, had touched her in ways he shouldn’t, he didn’t regret the trip. Didn’t regret accepting her advance, spending that half hour inside of her—a half hour of f**king that could destroy everything. He didn’t regret the opportunity to know her, even if it was for only those brief moments in time.
I don’t want a damn boyfriend. I want your cock.
Had she meant it? The next few days would be the real test. Would show how much crazy lived behind those intelligent brown eyes. He leaned down, pressed his lips gently again hers. “Goodnight.”
“Night.” She gave him a small wave and a tired smile and shut the door.
He watched the white door swing, heard the loose rattle as it fully shut, and wondered how long she’d wait before calling.
The porch light went out, draping him in darkness.
Brad sat at his desk, listening to the men in front of him with half an ear. This meeting was important, a strategy session for a big case, but he couldn’t focus.
It was Wednesday, three days since he had dropped Julia off at her home in crack town. And no call, no email, no surprise drop-by in the East Wing.
It was a relief, having a detached conquest. He should be back-flipping happy. But it was too early for that. Three days was a good sign, but not long enough to put him in the clear. Give it a week, and then he would relax.
Eight days. Brad ground a cube of ice between his teeth, rattling the cold glass before sliding it across the counter. Eight days and no contact from Julia. It had gone from being refreshing to being annoying. Women always called. They called after he spent fifteen minutes f**king them on his desk, much less after two days drowning in limos and caviar under the Vegas skyline.
He had spelled it out in Vegas. Explained to her how he regarded sex. As entertainment, joint pleasure. How stock shouldn’t be put in the act, how relationships shouldn’t form just because of a sexual connection. He had told her that he couldn’t be a boyfriend, couldn’t be what she wanted or needed in a man.
But she should still be texting, emailing, calling, begging for more of him, especially when he had delivered more than any partner before, with both his mouth and his cock.
Instead, silence. She was doing godknowswhat with godsknowswhom and not giving him a second thought. It was maddening, made even worse by his realization that he had noticed the slight. He stood, tossing a twenty on the bar and headed home.
Ten days later.
Brad stood at the conference room table, bent over, signing documents as they were presented, a flurry of pages before him.
The woman on his left notarized, the woman to her left witnessed, and the stack moved, page after page, motion after motion. He heard, through the open door, a conversation occurring in the lobby and paused, halfway through a signature.
“Naw, they finished up. Word is Broward is closing the West Wing down early, letting everyone off at five.”
“About damn time. Let’s go out tonight, the group of us. I’ll invite Julia.”
“You get a piece of that yet?”
“No, not yet. I’ll run over there now and make sure she comes.”
He tilted his head, listening as the pair moved on, the sounds of the office reentering his subconscious, his attention returning to the monotonous task before him, his mind turning, moving without his control in a direction he knew was dangerous.
He straightened, setting down the pen and walking to his office, shutting the door before picking up his phone. Back in the conference room, the women exchanged confused looks.
She answered quickly, a lilt in her tone, no sign of mourning or anguish in her greeting. “Julia Campbell.”
“What are you doing?” He aimed for a manner that was casual, just-calling-to-chat, but the words came out rough, uncivilized. He took a deep breath, loosening his tie, and willing the anger in his body to cool.
“Just sitting here.”
“With who?” He bit out the words, wanting her in front of him. Wanting to push her back on his desk and see the vigor in her eyes.
Her voice sharpened. “I assume you know or you wouldn’t be calling.”
Vain woman. As if he would care about her daily comings and goings. “Meaning?” he growled.
“I’m talking to Todd,” she said sweetly, as if that was f**king normal, everyday business. For a brief moment, he wondered if it was.
“Let me talk to him.”
“Why?” She was irritated, the emotion seeping into my voice.
“Because I need to, and he left his cell phone here.”
“Just tell me the message, and I’ll pass it on.”
This woman would be the death of him. He growled into the phone, wanting to punish her in the only way he could think. On her hands and knees, with her sweet mouth begging him for more. Jesus. He was getting hard. His words came out clipped and measured. “Stop being difficult.”
“I just feel like we’ve been here before—the only thing missing is your intimidating self darkening my doorstep.”
That could be fixed. He could go four thousand square feet west and see her, tell her exactly where she could put that sassy mouth. “Just tell him to get his ass back here.” He ended the call, slamming the phone down and striding to the door. He flung it open, catching the attention of the women seated before him, their dignified suits rising to see what it was he needed.
“When Todd gets back, send him in here. Immediately.” He shut the door and paced to his desk, cursing every bone in that delectable woman’s body.
Four hours later.
Brad ran—through the streets of downtown, weaving and ducking through three-piece suits and haggard crowds. Through neighborhoods his family controlled, streets he had been raised on, through alleys and strip malls, his legs pounding up hills, then coasting down. He breathed easily, his mind clear, peace in his eyes. He finally felt back. In control. Todd was staying away from Julia, he would stay away from Julia, and everything would return to normal. His life back in balance, work and pu**y regaining their appropriate places on his score sheet. He slowed as he turned down his street, pavement turning to cobblestone, towering trees casting his body in shade, large homes set back from the street watching him as he passed. He stopped running, walking the lane of his driveway, stepping up and onto the large back porch, waving to the Mercedes as it pulled in, its confident path leading it into the garage, the doors sliding shut behind it.