she parroted. “I thought we were working over dinner.”
He stepped closer, so that his body brushed against hers, his thigh touching hers, his chest bumping hers as he breathed deeply. Then he leaned down and murmured, “Work is very fun for me.”
She knew that was true. He obviously loved being a lawyer, probably loved being the managing partner of Street Legal even more. What she couldn’t understand was his sudden interest in her. Was it only because she was leaving?
Something about wanting what you couldn’t have?
She hoped that was the case, so that when she made it clear he could have her, he wouldn’t want her. Instead of stepping back as she had every time before, she stepped closer to him, pressing her body even tighter against his. She felt his erection pushing against her hip. And she parted her lips with a gasp. He felt big—really big—rubbing against her.
His gaze dropped to her mouth. His pupils dilated until they swallowed the bright blue. And he lowered his head even closer to hers.
“Dinner is served,” Bruno called out, his accent not nearly as thick now, from Simon’s office.
Her boss groaned and released a shuddery sigh. “We’ll eat first,” he said.
First?
What else did he have planned besides work and dinner? Bette’s knees trembled a bit as she walked with him the short distance to his office. As if she didn’t know where it was, he moved his hand to the small of her back, guiding her. Or branding her?
She felt the heat of his palm through her sweater and the lace camisole she wore beneath it over her bra. His hand was big, so big that his fingers reached over the top curve of her butt. Could he feel the bow at the top of the G-string she wore beneath her pencil-slim skirt? A matching bow held together the cups of her bra.
She always wore lingerie—for a few reasons. He was not one of them. But would he think she’d worn it for him—if she dared show it to him?
The heat already flushing her body increased, burning her up. The lack of food and all the doses of his charm must have addled her brain. She wasn’t thinking clearly at all, not like she’d been when she’d turned in her resignation. Then she’d been thinking more clearly than she had in the two years she’d worked for him.
His fingers moved, sliding over that bow, as if he was trying to figure out what it was. He glanced down at her, and again his eyes had widened with a look of surprise. “How is it, Bette, that we’ve worked together for two years but yet I don’t feel as if I know you at all?”
She could have told him that she’d just been lucky all these years to have escaped his notice. She had been just an office fixture to him, like a computer or the coffeepot. But she only smiled and shook her head. “I have no idea.”
“Well, let’s fix that,” he said. And finally, albeit reluctantly, he removed his hand from her ass and held out a chair for her. His office was so large that in addition to his desk and chair, he had a couch and a small conference room table and chairs.
Bruno had set up their feast, complete with lit candles, on that table. The tall windows looking out over Midtown reflected back the flickering flames. She smiled at the chef as she took her seat, but his only interest was in Simon. She was surprised that he wasn’t holding out his chair.
“Is everything to your satisfaction?” the chef asked as he poured glasses of wine.
Simon took the chair right next to her and picked up the wineglass. He swirled the red liquid, studied the glass as the wine slid down the sides of it, then he sniffed it, all before taking a sip.
Bette usually went out with guys who drank beer or mixed cocktails. The few wine drinkers she’d dated had performed the same ritual Simon had but with them it had seemed pretentious and unnecessary. Simon seemed to know what he was doing and why.
She had no doubts—from the calls of all those desperate women—that he was the same with sex. That he knew what he was doing and why.
She drew in a shaky breath.
Finally, he took a sip. But he held it in his mouth for several moments before swallowing. “Excellent,” he said. Then he held out a glass to her.
She usually drank white wine. Reds were too bitter for her taste. But she was too intrigued to find out what he considered excellent to refuse the glass. Like him, she took only a sip and held it in her mouth for several seconds. Flavor burst on her tongue. She could taste berries and spices; it was as rich and full of nuances as his kiss had been, as he was.
She let it slide down her throat, enjoying the sensation and the taste. “Excellent,” she agreed.
Bruno lifted the lids from their plates. “And the meal, Mr. Kramer?”
Beef Wellington with steamed vegetables and parsnips and red-skin potatoes. Bette’s mouth watered, reminding her of how hungry she was—for food. Ever since Simon had come back to the office, she’d been hungry for something else.
For more of his kisses, more of his touch.
More of his lethal charm.
As Simon cut through the flaky pastry and the meat, juices oozed onto the plate, swirling around the potatoes and vegetables. Like with the wine, he took just a small bite and held it in his mouth for a long moment before chewing and swallowing. Then he sighed and pronounced it excellent, as well.
Bette’s heart pounded in anticipation and not just of the meal. Would sex be the same way with Simon? Would he savor every moment of it?
He cut another bite and held it out to her. Again she copied him, closing her lips around it before holding it on her tongue. The spices and flavor of the meat overwhelmed her with pleasure. She chewed and swallowed, and a moan of that pleasure slipped through her lips.
Simon groaned. Then he glanced up at Bruno, as if just realizing the chef was still in the room with them. “You can go,” he said. “I’ll have Miguel return everything to you in the morning.”
Bruno hesitated, but then, obviously realizing arguing with a lawyer would not be smart, he nodded and left, closing the door behind him.
Once again, Bette was alone with Simon Kramer. Her fingers trembled as she reached for her glass of wine. She was afraid and not just of what he would do. She was afraid of what she would have to do in order to carry out her plan. How the hell could she convince him that she was falling for him and that if she did, she would get clingy and crazy?
She’d been so focused on her designs and her career that she’d never really fallen for anyone before. Unlike her mom and sister, she hadn’t been about to let any man mess with her plans. So she had no idea how to act in love, especially with someone like Simon Kramer for whom she would never be stupid enough to fall.
For the past two years she’d seen exactly how he treated women—like they were disposable. And to him, they were. Even before he’d dumped one, another had come along. But that was a good thing for her.
He always dumped them.
So if she could pretend to fall for him, he would dump her, as well. But how far would she have to go to convince him she was falling?
