Книга - Insatiable

Insatiable
Leslie Kelly


There's no such thing as enough…When the star player of a professional hockey team gets handsy, event coordinator Viv Callahan performs the slap heard ‘round the world of sports…and is fired. So when she meets a sexy stranger, Viv decides the perfect way to forget her troubles is to have one wild, uninhibited night…Damien Black finds Viv intriguing. She doesn’t know he’s the owner of the aforementioned hockey team, as well as a chain of upscale hotels. Damien is used to hangers-on, and for once he’s enjoying a woman desiring him just for being him. But he quickly discovers how addictive pure desire can be, and how quickly a few lies of omission can endanger everything he loves.







There’s no such thing as enough...

When the star player of a professional hockey team gets handsy, event coordinator Viv Callahan performs the slap heard round the world of sports...and is fired. So when she meets a sexy stranger, Viv decides the perfect way to forget her troubles is to have one wild, uninhibited night...

Damien Black finds Viv intriguing. She doesn’t know he’s the owner of the aforementioned hockey team, as well as a chain of upscale hotels. Damien is used to hangers-on, and for once he’s enjoying a woman desiring him just for being him. But he quickly discovers how addictive pure desire can be, and how quickly a few lies of omission can endanger everything he loves.


Praise for New York Times bestselling author (#ulink_ffb97b1d-4ba1-5709-8ad9-54ee86578408)

Leslie Kelly

“Sexy, funny and a little outrageous, Leslie Kelly is a must read!”

—New York Times bestselling author Carly Phillips

“Ms. Kelly has sent her readers into the heat with this one. The perfect blend of romance and lust... This is a great story with passion and complications that make it hard to put down and easy to read.”

—Harlequin Junkie on Oh, Naughty Night

“Oh, Naughty Night is a fun, erotic story...also a thoroughly modern story... I’ll be looking out for [Kelly’s books] from now on, given her sexy tales of well-drawn characters in awkward situations.”

—Fresh Fiction

“Kelly employs a great deal of heart and humor to achieve balance with this incendiary romance.”

—The Romance Reader’s Connection on Overexposed

“Kelly is a top writer.”

—RT Book Reviews


Dear Reader (#ulink_0206a0d6-8d37-5077-8f8d-9fc6b67c036e),

When I wrote my November 2014 Blaze, Oh, Naughty Night, I didn’t really envision making a heroine out of sassy, sexy Viv Callahan. But sometimes when you’re writing, a character will just spring off the page, demanding that you tell their story. Viv, with all her brassy self-confidence, was someone I wanted to explore, to try to figure out who she really was and what made her tick.

Coming up with the appropriate hero for this very bad girl wasn’t much of a problem. Ever since the release of my Blaze novella Triple Play, I’ve heard from readers who wanted more of superrich, supersexy bad boy Damien Black. Who better to tame the wild ways of a naughty seductress than an equally naughty billionaire? Their romance sears the pages, but also touches the heart.

Honestly, I love every story as I write it, but I have to say Viv and Damien’s now holds a place in my personal top five of all my books. I love their relationship—the heat and the emotion—and for the first time have found myself wishing I could write a sequel just about this pair.

I so hope you enjoy reading about them, too!

Best wishes—

Leslie Kelly


Insatiable

Leslie Kelly






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


New York Times bestselling author LESLIE KELLYhas written dozens of books and novellas for the Harlequin Blaze, Temptation and HQN lines. Known for her sparkling dialogue, fun characters and steamy sensuality, she has been honored with numerous awards, including a National Readers’ Choice Award, a Colorado Award of Excellence, a Golden Quill and an RT Book Reviews Career Achievement Award in Series Romance. Leslie has also been nominated four times for the highest award in romance fiction, the RWA RITA® Award. Leslie lives in Maryland with her own romantic hero, Bruce, and their daughters.

Visit her online at lesliekelly.com (http://www.lesliekelly.com) or at her blog, plotmonkeys.com (http://www.plotmonkeys.com).


Dedicated with love to Kim Abod.

I’m the one who writes about dreams coming true. You’re the one who helped make that happen for my baby.

I can never thank you enough.


Contents

Cover (#ucb0270ff-faa6-520c-93dc-96258f68c4c0)

Back Cover Text (#u7934a6ef-eca7-5756-bd5f-08b7a7f7931e)

Praise for New York Times bestselling author (#ud1684364-982e-5d38-b44e-43c3deb9613e)

Dear Reader (#u1116aec8-f7fa-5f34-b420-fd4aeec8e84f)

Title Page (#ue1426af7-3a50-51d8-9add-12db94ed8350)

About the Author (#u81fead23-e42a-54af-851b-1aed495bb1c7)

Dedication (#uc6362b1c-6312-5fd3-bad0-2f68cdb15f04)

1 (#ua5f06d5d-85a5-5865-b601-a753585ac495)

2 (#u4125c60f-a69a-559a-b98d-03de0a167c31)

3 (#uafaf52fe-916e-556c-9032-c7c41ff054b0)

4 (#ua77dc652-88ba-563e-9fc5-9453e1a5d53e)

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12 (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


1 (#ulink_b3da65d2-27d9-562e-bcb5-5739f9191139)

“IT WAS THE slap heard ’round the wide world of sports. For a nanosecond, I felt the thrill of victory. Then when I realized what I’d done—and in front of whom—I felt the pure agony of defeat.”

After making that pronouncement, Viv Callahan lifted her glass of wine and gulped a mouthful. Her two best friends, Lulu and Amelia, didn’t touch theirs. Both of them looked shocked by what Viv had just told them.

“Seriously?” asked Lulu, her big brown eyes round. “You slapped hockey star Bruno Neeley across the face, in front of the other players, the press and your own boss?”

“I’m afraid so.” Viv rubbed her hand. It had been red for a half hour after she’d whacked the jerk, and it was still sore now, hours later. “Every hockey fan knows the creep’s head is harder than a rock. But I never realized his face was just as hard.”

Maybe it was because his entire skull—including whatever excuse he’d once had for a brain—had calcified.

“I’m so sorry,” said Amelia, the gentlest of their trio. Proving she could also be feisty, she added, “What a prick.”

“Thanks. You know I can put up with a lot. But when he shoved his tongue down my throat and tried to get his hand between my legs—in a room full of people—I went straight to DEFCON One.”

She couldn’t recall a moment in her life when she’d been more shocked. Surrounded by coworkers at a publicity party she’d helped coordinate, she’d been sitting quietly in the back. Viv had been caught totally off-guard when Neeley had bent over from behind her chair. Grabbing her upper thigh—and trying to go higher—he’d yanked her face up for a kiss, wrenching her neck. As soon as she’d been able to extricate herself, she’d launched out of the chair, swung around and slapped him with all her might.

Of course the cameras had focused on that. There’d been no reason for anybody to notice what had precipitated the slap; all attention had been on the team’s general manager who’d been speaking at the time, at the front of the room. Ouch.

“You shoulda kicked him in the balls,” Lulu snapped.

“I’ve been tempted to in recent weeks. Working for the team has certainly torn the blinders off my eyes about pro athletes.”

“I don’t understand how anybody could have blinders about pro athletes,” Amelia pointed out with a small moue of distaste.

“I guess I thought they were like my brothers. Strong, a bit goofy, but with big hearts and tender souls.”

“Bruno Neeley’s as tender as a rhino,” Lulu said.

Viv ran a weary hand through her hair, pulling it out of the conservative bun she was totally sick of wearing. One good thing about potentially losing her job—at least she could stop dressing so frumpily, something her boss had advised her to do after she’d started complaining about the unwanted attention she was getting from some players on the team. And that advice had come from the head of PR, who actually liked her. She could only imagine what the general manager had said—probably something along the lines of “Get rid of her.”

“I swear, it’s as though a few of the players intentionally set out to be pigs,” she admitted. “No matter how often I politely refused, they just wouldn’t stop trying to pick me up.”

“That’s probably why,” Lulu said with a sneer. “They’re not used to hearing ‘no’ and when they realized you wouldn’t go out with any of them, you became some kind of challenge.”

“You might be right.” Viv reached again for her wine. “For the first time in my life, I try for the straight and narrow, act like a nun, and look where it gets me.”

Fired. Not officially yet, that would happen tomorrow. But one second after the impulsive swing, when she’d heard the clicking of cameras and seen the shock of the reporters gathered for this afternoon’s press reception, she’d had a mental flash of homelessness. Just because she couldn’t control her temper. And Bruno Neeley couldn’t control his libido.

It sucked. She loved her job with the Virginia Vanguard, happy to have a chance to blend her event-planning background with her knowledge of sports. With five brothers, how could she not be knowledgeable? Since childhood, she’d sat through hundreds of games, dozens of tournaments. She’d been enlisted as scorekeeper, batboy, snack runner, uniform washer, locker-room cleaner. At twelve, the smell of sweat and jockstraps had been more familiar to Viv than the latest Britney Spears perfume.

It was kind of funny in comparison to how she lived her life now. She wouldn’t go so far as to call herself a tramp, but she had a reputation. One she’d earned. Having spent the first eighteen years of her life wearing a brotherly chastity belt, she’d let loose once she’d gotten out on her own.

Deep inside, though, she was still the sister of all those jocks, and still knew her way around a locker room better than a fashion show. And that meant she was perfect for her job.

Certainly, her siblings had been thrilled when she’d been hired a little over two months ago as a special-events coordinator for the Vanguard. They’d been talking about visits and season passes before the team had played their first game.

So much for that.

It wasn’t just that she liked the job, and that her family was so enthusiastic—she was also proud of the work she’d done to build support for the new team, which was part of a brand-new international hockey league. She’d done well, if she did say so herself, and didn’t relish going back to the unemployment line, especially in the metro DC area, where the job market was notoriously tight.

“If they do fire you, you march right out and get a lawyer to sue them for sexual harassment,” Lulu insisted.

“I could, I guess, but I doubt it would work.”

Her boss, Tim, would back her up. But his boss, Fred Stoker, definitely wouldn’t. As the general manager had reminded her when she’d complained one too many times about the behavior of some of the players, she was a probationary employee.

“When they hired me, I signed a contract saying I can be let go without cause during my first six months.”

“That doesn’t matter. You were sexually harassed almost nonstop. A good attorney can get around whatever you signed.”

“Maybe. But who can afford a good attorney? Besides, Stoker has been building a case, finding reasons to criticize me,” Viv admitted. “Little stuff, ridiculous, really. But it started right after he warned me to stop being a ‘distraction’ to the players. I’m sure he’s got a file full of excuses to fire me.”

“God, this pisses me off!” Lulu exclaimed. “You get the shaft because you wouldn’t go out with some spoiled athletes, and there’s nothing you can do about it? I can’t believe you’re not throwing bricks through their office windows.”

“Maybe I’m just tired of fighting,” Viv said, more to herself than the others. She’d always been tough, a fighter—her dad said she was as ballsy as her brothers. But the past few months had taken their toll. And it wasn’t just her job, but also what had happened last spring with Dale, the guy she’d been dating.

She was weary. And more than a little heartsick.

Making eye contact with the waiter, Viv pointed to her already half-empty glass. Lulu, and even Amelia, nodded for more, too, out of solidarity, though it was a weeknight. Viv appreciated them meeting her at their favorite bar. Lulu was a newlywed, and Amelia engaged, so their girls’ nights were few and far between. It was good to know her friends always had her back, even if the team’s management did not.

“Can you go over his head, to the team’s owner?” asked Lulu.

“I’m not sure who the owner is—some big corporation, I think.”

“That’s not unusual,” Amelia interjected. “Often a few millionaires pool their money, start up a corporation to shield their other assets and buy a team.”

Viv and Lulu eyed their completely unathletic friend.

Amelia explained. “You don’t suppose I can be engaged to a sports reporter and not pick up some stuff, do you?”

Viv sighed. “Lex is a good one. You are both so lucky.”

“You will be, too,” Amelia said. “There are other nice guys out there.”

“I’d be happy with one who didn’t believe he had the right to grab my crotch because he makes millions playing a damn game.” Running a weary hand over her brow, she added, “To be honest, I’m kinda burned out on the whole male species right now.”

Lulu waggled her brows suggestively.

“Not that I’m suddenly into girls,” Viv said with a chuckle, understanding what her friend was implying. “You know I love cock. If only I could get it without a bunch of strings.”

Amelia stuck her fingers into her ears and feigned shocked innocence. Considering she was shacking up with Lex, who was a Hottie McHottentot, it would take a lot more than that to singe her pretty ears.

“There’s always your dildo,” said Lulu.

Amelia coughed into her fist. Viv and Lulu both smirked.

“Yeah,” Viv replied, “but it’s not the same as real, genuine man meat. Unfortunately, lately, all that meat has been attached to asshole jerks.” And not just at work, either.

“The perfect guy is out there waiting to nudge his way into your heart,” said Amelia, skipping the man-meat comment.

Viv almost retorted that she only wanted one to nudge his face between her thighs, but figured she’d shocked the other woman enough for one evening. “I can’t look for one now. I have to get a new job and straighten myself out before I can even think about letting any man near my heart.” Her vagina was a different matter, but she didn’t mention that, either.

“Neeley ought to be shot for making you feel that way. Or at least arrested for assault,” said Lulu.

She laughed bitterly. “Oh, that would go over well.”

Talk about bad publicity for the new team, and she wouldn’t do herself any favors in the long run. She needed to look toward the future, toward landing another job, and fast. She lived in an expensive high-rise in Arlington, and only had enough in reserve to cover two months’ rent. Filing charges against a huge sports star—the most popular guy in the state right now—would not win her any friends among hiring officials, or anybody else.

Heck, her five brothers—all of them hockey nuts—might even be annoyed at her. Of course, they all also might want to kill Neeley. She honestly didn’t know how her family would react, and didn’t want to find out. She only prayed that the story wouldn’t go national, and her family wouldn’t see any coverage of it in the tiny Pennsylvania town where they all lived.

“I hate it, and it goes against everything I believe in, but I have to just let it go,” she said. “Gotta hope karma takes care of this one for me and Neeley gets what he deserves.”

“If there’s anything Lex can do, I’m sure he would,” said Amelia. “He’s no fan of Neeley’s. He thinks he’s a fathead.”

“Well, he’s certainly a hardhead. And thanks, I appreciate it,” Viv said, meaning it. Amelia’s fiancé was a popular DC sports reporter. If worse came to worst, it might not be bad to have him on her side. “But I guess I just want to get the firing over with and move on.”

“Don’t give up,” said Lulu. “Somebody in that room had to have seen what Neeley did. Or you can explain to the general manager. He might be so worried about bad publicity that he’ll let you stay.”

It was possible, she supposed, and she allowed her friend’s words to cheer her up momentarily.

But they proved to be overly optimistic.

Because about eighteen hours later, after a meeting with the team’s general manager that left her humiliated and angry, Viv was cleaning out her desk.

Fired.

* * *

WHAT DAMIEN BLACK knew about cars would probably fit on the inside cover of a matchbook. But as he watched a shapely blonde lift the hood of her sedan and stare with a complete lack of comprehension at the inner workings of the engine, he found himself wishing he was an ace mechanic.

One thing he did know how to do, however, was spell AAA. So without even hesitating, he changed direction, heading not toward the exit and the adjoining office building that he owned, but to the woman with the car trouble.

“Problems?”

The blonde had been mumbling some colorful words under her breath as he walked up behind her, and obviously hadn’t heard him approach. His words startled her. She jerked her head, glancing at him over her shoulder, giving him his first real look at her.

Damien’s lips parted in a small, surprised inhalation, but he quickly schooled his features. He was used to not giving anything away, and he definitely didn’t want to let this gorgeous female know he’d been briefly rendered speechless by how stunning she was.

He’d seen the golden-blond hair confined in a tight bun, and the tall body clad in a somewhat baggy gray suit as he’d approached her. But nothing had prepared him for the big baby blues, surrounded by long, thick lashes. The heart-shaped face was flawless, the mouth wide, the lips lush, the cheekbones high.

But her makeup wasn’t exactly perfect—in fact, some dark smudges under her eyes hinted that she’d either cried or wiped off some mascara in the recent past. The thin streaks on her cheeks suggested tears.

Who made you cry? And how can I hurt him for you?

“Do you know anything about cars?” she asked, her voice shaking.

He didn’t even try to lie, though he also didn’t admit that he had a driver most of the time. “I’m afraid not. But I do have a cell phone and can call you a tow truck.”

She blew out a frustrated breath. “I can’t afford that. Not anymore, anyway.”

Curious, he raised a brow.

“I just got fired.”

Damien frowned, hearing the hurt in her voice that she tried to disguise with a harsh laugh.

“Can you beat it? Lose my job and have a breakdown all within the same hour. This day’s just stellar. Hell, this whole week’s going to be one for the record books.”

“That’s too bad,” he said, meaning it. “Where did you work?”

“It doesn’t matter.” She slammed down the hood of her car, giving up on even trying to figure out what was wrong with it. “It’s their loss, anyway.”

Swinging around to face him, he saw her eyes widen, much as his just had. He was used to having an effect on women, though he didn’t necessarily try to. Part of it was his money, some of which he’d inherited from his father, but most he’d earned on his own. But he’d also been gifted with his late father’s tall, lean build, black hair and dark brown eyes. He knew when women became aware of him as a man...and this one just had.

But instead of smiling flirtatiously, as he expected, she instead jabbed an index finger toward his chest, punctuating her words. “I was damn good at my job. Or I would have been, if they’d given me a real chance. I didn’t even make it through my probationary period.” She rubbed at her eyes, her shoulders slumping. “God, I need a drink.”

“That I can help you with. There’s a nice bar in the hotel next door, where I’m staying.”

He should know. He owned the hotel, too. As well as the parking garage in which they were standing. In fact, between his family’s corporation, his own international hotel chain and his new, just-for-fun enterprise, he owned quite a bit of prime Arlington real estate. Not that he was going to reveal that to this woman. He far preferred that people not realize who he was when they first met him, wanting to be judged on his own merits and not on the size of his bank accounts.

She sighed heavily. “Oh, here we go.”

“What?”

“See a helpless woman and move in for the kill, huh?”

He frowned. “First of all, you don’t appear helpless.”

“I’m not.”

“Second, I’m not a killer.”

“Maybe I worded that badly.”

I should think so.

“Lady-killer is more like it.”

His frown deepened. “I wasn’t moving in for anything. I’m not trying to prey on your tearful state, ply you with drink and have my wicked way with you.”

Well, not really. Mostly, he’d asked her to join him for a drink because she looked as if she’d been having a really crappy day. And, okay, he’d admit it, she was pretty damn stunning.

Damien hadn’t been involved with anyone in a few months. He’d had his nose to the grindstone because of a major expansion in the family business, plus stealing what time he could to oversee his own personal endeavors.

But it wasn’t just his work schedule that had kept him celibate. He’d also been trying to avoid the matrimonial traps single females sometimes laid out for him. Nobody was ever going to catch him in one of those—love and marriage just didn’t seem to work for the men in his family.

Even purely physical relationships had been difficult to arrange lately. Hell, his own mother threw a never-ending stream of “appropriate” women in his direction. So he’d found it easier to just keep his head down and his libido in cold storage.

This blonde had made him begin to wonder if it was time to change that, though. It had been ages since he’d been so instantly attracted to someone. He’d gone from cold storage to overheated in fewer than ten minutes, and he wanted to know more about the woman who’d so easily thawed him out, even if that only involved a drink.

She shook her head and closed her eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m a bit of a man-hating psycho-bitch right now.”

“Was there a recent breakup to go with the firing and the breakdown?”

“Let’s start calling it ‘car trouble.’ ‘Breakdown’ sounds mental, and I haven’t reached that point. At least not yet.”

“Noted.”

“And the breakup was a few months ago. But more recently, a man made my work life hell, and another man fired me for it. I’m not fond of the male sex right at this moment.”

“I don’t blame you.” Then he shrugged. “Their stupidity, my loss.”

“I guess so.” A frown tugging at her brow, she suddenly squared her shoulders and stared at him, hard. “Why not?”

“Why not what?”

“Why weren’t you trying to pick me up?”

“Didn’t you just accuse me of being a killer?”

“Lady-killer. But you weren’t making moves on me. Why? Is there something wrong with me?”

Odd, now she seemed annoyed. He had thought by her reaction that she’d be glad he wasn’t coming on to her. Even though, technically, he supposed he was. For altruistic reasons, of course...at least until later, when she’d recovered from her post-firing, car-breakdown slump.

Damien wasn’t a hypocrite. He liked women; he especially liked beautiful women, as long as they didn’t expect anything long-term. And this one was an interesting combination of beauty and brains.

He suspected she had problems because of that mixture, judging by the fact that she dressed severely to play down her appearance, and kept what he suspected was a glorious head of hair so tightly constrained.

“Nothing’s wrong with you. Maybe I’m just a nice guy.” That amused him, since few in the corporate world thought of him as anything of the kind.

She snorted. “I’d like to meet one of those someday. Haven’t come across any in a long time.”

He sensed she was talking about her job again. He was suddenly curious about this position she’d lost. Given the way she spoke about the men she’d worked with, and the outfit, he suspected sexual harassment had been the underlying cause. Which totally pissed him off. He had younger sisters. If something like that had happened to them, he’d be out for blood. He also had a strict policy against sexual harassment in all his companies, even the hotels in countries where discrimination against women was rampant.

Nobody deserved to be judged or treated differently because of their sex or their looks. As ridiculous as it sounded, he’d learned that himself over the years. He’d been called a pretty boy when he’d inherited a huge mantle of responsibility at a young age and been underestimated more than once, though once was usually enough for most people. Of course, it hadn’t been enough for those closest to him...his own mother, for instance. Which was one reason he spent most of his time in his hotels and rarely went back to his Miami home.

Shoving that situation out of his mind, he focused only on this stranger. “I suspect you could use a friend—and a mechanic—more than a date.”

She glanced down at her suit and made a face. “It’s these ugly clothes, isn’t it? I guess that’s one nice thing about losing my job, I don’t have to dress like a seventy-year-old librarian anymore.”

Noting she’d just confirmed his suspicions, he barked a laugh. God, did the woman really believe a baggy gray suit could disguise the fact that she had more curves than a circle?

“I doubt anyone would ever mistake you for an old lady.”

“Still, you didn’t try to pick me up, which means I’ve been playing good girl for so long, I have completely lost my touch.”

Playing good girl? Hmm.

“There was a time when I would’ve had you offering to buy me a drink, dinner and breakfast, in that order, within five minutes of meeting me.”

Would you have accepted?

“Under other circumstances, I probably would,” he admitted. “But the truth is, I’ve got two kid sisters, and if one of them had had a day as bad as yours, I’d hope some nice guy would offer to help her without any selfish motives.”

She eyed him steadily—God, those blue eyes—and finally a slow smile spread across her face. “You’re really serious.”

He couldn’t help returning her smile with one of his own. It creaked across his face slowly. He wasn’t used to smiling lately, given how hard he’d been working and the family nonsense he always had to deal with. “Yeah, I really am.”

Nibbling her lip, she cast an uncertain eye toward her car.

“If you can’t afford a tow,” he said, “let me call somebody. I have a friend who’s good with cars. He can be here in five minutes.”

That would be his driver, Jed, who’d just dropped him off on the main floor of the garage, near the doors leading directly into the building. He’d gone up to park in the reserved corporate level one floor up.

“Five minutes?”

Damien didn’t answer, instead pulling out his phone and dialing his driver. When Jed answered, he described the problem and then disconnected. “Less than five minutes,” he told her with a shrug. “He said you can leave the car unlocked and the keys under the mat.”

Her brow went up. “Seriously?” Quickly casting an eye over the dented vehicle, she added, “Then again, even if it could start—which it won’t—who’d want to steal it?”

“Good point. Now, while he checks it out, you and I can go to the bar, get out of the heat and talk about your horrible, no-good, very bad day.”

She glared. “You have kids!” Grabbing his left hand, she yanked it up. “You’re married, aren’t you? I should’ve figured.”

He couldn’t help chuckling at her indignant expression, and her assumption. “Not as much as a tan line on that finger, see? Not married. Never have been. No kids. But I have a three-year-old nephew who loves being read to.”

Sheepish, she murmured, “Sorry, Uncle...?”

“Damien.” He extended his hand to hers. “I’m Damien Black.”

He waited for any sign of recognition, such as dollar signs rolling in her eyeballs—he’d certainly experienced that before. But he saw nothing in her eyes but that same wary interest, as if she was trying to decide whether she could trust anyone with a Y chromosome.

Or maybe she was wondering if she could trust herself?

If she’d been, as she said, “playing” good girl...who was she when she wasn’t playing?

Hmm. He’d like to find out. He only hoped she decided to give him the chance.

Finally, after a long, breathless moment during which his heart started pounding with anticipation, she took his hand and said, “It’s nice to meet you, Damien. I’m Viv Callahan. And if you can have a gin and tonic in my hand within thirty minutes, I might just revise my opinion of the male species.”


2 (#ulink_759ad1e8-6a6b-5961-912e-d9b33ea42639)

VIV HAD BEEN a good girl for a long time.

She didn’t just mean the nine weeks she’d been employed by the Virginia Vanguard. Even before that, she’d been steering clear of men, though she’d never come clean to her friends about why. They knew she’d been bothered by her breakup with her ex, Dale, last spring. They didn’t know she’d actually been heartbroken, however.

It seemed as though the real Viv had been in hibernation ever since. But this guy, a complete stranger who in ten minutes had shown her more courtesy than any of her coworkers had in months, called to every wicked, suppressed instinct she owned.

As they walked together, side by side, out of the garage, she couldn’t help casting surreptitious glances at him. Under the bright, late-afternoon sunshine, his black hair gleamed luxuriously, like a sleek cat’s. His profile was incredibly masculine—the cheeks sharply cut, the jaw square, the nose strong without being overbearing, the brows thick over dark, chocolate-brown eyes.

Having been surrounded by beefy, brawny, self-important meatheads who’d been harassing her for weeks, she found his tall, lean-but-powerful body incredibly attractive. The tailored suit couldn’t disguise his broad shoulders, strong arms, slim waist and hips and long legs. Absolutely delicious.

Vixen Viv, who’d been in hiding since being so badly burned, began to awaken within her.

Damien was gorgeous, sexy, unattached and interested. Judging by the clothes and where he was staying, he was probably a successful businessman visiting the DC area. Not being a local, he wouldn’t be sticking around. That was just perfect, since she was in no mood to even think about anything serious. She hadn’t been kidding when she’d told her friends she wanted some cock without complications. He could give her the one while letting her avoid the other. Win-win.

She had nothing to lose and no longer had a job to worry about holding on to. If she tried, she could seduce him into bed and not leave it until next week.

Besides, she was sick of allowing herself to live a life based on what one rotten man had done to her. If she’d told herself a year ago that a guy could hurt her so badly she’d give up men—and sex—for months, she’d have laughed.

Damien Black might end all that. He could help her shake off the unaccustomed insecurity she’d been experiencing since Dale had shattered her self-confidence.

She just had to make him want to.

Seeing a crack in the sidewalk, she edged closer to him, not wanting to trip. She also wanted to feel the brush of his sleeve against her arm, to catch a whiff of his spicy cologne.

“Watch your step.” He put a hand against the small of her back as they reached the jagged crack in the cobblestone.

“Thanks,” she murmured, not pulling away once they’d passed it. His hand stayed where it was, too, a fiery brand on her spine that she felt through her blouse and jacket. She didn’t mind the possessiveness of it, because it was simple and noncontrolling. He made no effort to manhandle her, but the power of the touch reached her on a deep, visceral level.

It had been a long time since she’d given up control in a sexual relationship, and she sensed by the power this man exuded, as easily as he wore his designer suit, that he was used to being in control. Having a man take what he wanted—as that ignorant hockey player had done yesterday—infuriated her. But letting him take over, now, that was a totally different story.

The thought made her shiver with naughty anticipation.

They were heading toward the ritzy new Black Star Hotel, which was on the opposite side of the garage from the high-rise where she worked.

Had worked, damn it.

The hotel had opened fewer than six months ago. Viv had eaten lunch at the restaurant a few times, since the place was so close to her office—former office. But she’d never stayed there. It was definitely out of her price range, as it catered to wealthy international tourists, who came to explore the nation’s capital, or Wall Street bigwigs on business trips.

Speaking of which... “I didn’t ask, were you heading somewhere when you decided to play Sir Galahad wielding his mighty cell phone?”

“Yes, but it’s nothing I can’t reschedule.”

“You’re sure? I don’t want to keep you from an important meeting or anything.”

“No. I was planning to stop in and check out a business interest of mine, but I didn’t have an appointment.” He glanced over at her, his lips quirking up into a smile. “It can wait.”

They reached the hotel, and the doorman immediately opened the door for him. “Good afternoon, Mr. Black.”

Nice service they had here, at least for the registered guests. Keeping staff good enough to remember the names of the clientele had to be expensive, which could explain why the rooms started at five hundred dollars a night.

“Have you been staying here for a while?” she asked as they entered the opulent lobby, tiled in sleek, black marble.

Tasteful gold accents brought in some color without making it look ostentatious.

“I got into town last night. But I always stay here when I visit DC.” He smiled and nodded at the concierge, who had immediately snapped to attention. “This is my favorite hotel chain.”

“They’re pretty new, aren’t they?”

“Not really. They started in Miami around twenty years ago, and have about fifty locations around the world. The Paris one is my favorite.”

Mmm, Paris. Visiting the city of lights was number one on her bucket list. She’d always loved the idea of it—the art, the music, the food, the romance.

Probably few people would believe it, but Viv was a romantic at heart. Most saw her as either a tough girl—as she’d had to be, being raised with all those brothers—or a sexual siren. So she seldom had a chance to reveal her softer side. And the one time she had...well, her ex hadn’t exactly been the romantic type, and had been amused to find out she was.

She tried to shove Dale out of her mind. Not easy since his damn campaign signs were all over the place. Whenever she saw one, a chant of, “Lose, lose, lose,” roared through her mind, but she had a sense that he was going to win his coveted-above-all-else Virginia delegate seat this fall. The bastard.

She supposed it wasn’t a surprise that Dale was on her mind now, even though she was definitely over him. Well, she was over the tender emotions, not quite over the hurt or anger. Anyway, losing her job had brought all those feelings to the forefront again. Dale had commented when they’d broken up that a “woman like her, who worked around a lot of men” was bound to get into trouble. Damn, she hated that he might hear about this and decide he’d been proved right.

“Jackass,” she mumbled.

Damien immediately stopped raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, sorry, I guess I was talking to myself.” Feeling herself flush, she quickly added, “And I was not talking about you.”

“Your boss?”

She shrugged, noncommittal.

“You talk to yourself a lot, don’t you. I heard one of your scintillating conversations when I walked up behind you in the parking garage.”

She winced. “Did I singe your ears?”

“Don’t worry about it. Anybody who’s had a day as bad as yours gets a pass on language and just about everything else.”

“Everything else, huh?”

Possibilities flooded through her mind. She could think of a lot of things that would help her get her mind off her ex, her job, her car and all that ailed her. Getting back in the saddle, sexually speaking, was the perfect way to move past everything that had been going wrong for the past few months. She could get her rocks off, have an unforgettable night of passion and walk away tomorrow, clean slate, ready to start again. And doing it with the incredibly sexy man escorting her to a private table in a corner of the bar sounded heavenly.

Remember—make him want to.

She hadn’t come on to a man in months, hadn’t even really flirted, and definitely hadn’t tried to get a guy into her bed. But it was kind of like riding a bike, wasn’t it? A woman never really forgot how to make a man want her. At least, a woman as skilled at it as Viv Callahan had once been.

Instinct kicked in, her body making the decision one second ahead of her brain. As he pulled out her chair, she reached up and unbuttoned her suit jacket, slipping it off. There was nothing she could do about the shapeless skirt that reached her knees, but she was wearing a silky white blouse that could be considered sexy when it wasn’t concealed by the jacket.

She made it even sexier by surreptitiously unfastening two more buttons while he took his seat opposite her. When he looked at her, his gaze traveled to her suddenly much-deeper neckline, lingered there for a moment and then moved up to her face.

His smile said he’d read her every move.

She didn’t care.

Didn’t blush.

Didn’t retreat.

No.

Instead, she went one step further. Smiling innocently, she said, “Another good thing about unemployment. I no longer have to put my hair into hideous buns, either.”

Reaching up, she pulled out the pins that constrained her thick, long hair, and shook it out, running her fingers through its length. It fell in a golden curtain around her shoulders.

He didn’t take his eyes off her, as she’d known he wouldn’t. There wasn’t a man alive who didn’t see an attractive woman’s long, silky hair and imagine twining his fingers in it as she rode him into oblivion.

Damien watched her, his lips parted, his eyes hooded. And a surge of feminine power rose within her. For the first time in ages, she felt strong, sure of herself, certain of what she wanted and how she was going to get it.

The real Viv was back—in charge, in control and ready to get wicked.

* * *

STARING INTO THE face of a woman who’d gone from extremely attractive to drop-dead gorgeous, Damien felt like a baseball player standing on the field who’d just learned all the rules of the game had changed. Missed swings no longer counted as strikes, and three definitely didn’t mean you were out. As for a grand slam, well, he had the sense that was suddenly well within his reach.

What, he wondered, had happened?

She’d been prickly when they met—with reason, given what she said she’d been going through. She’d warmed up and become a little flirtatious, but mostly just conversational. He’d noticed flashes of wit, but nothing that could have been described as provocative. And then, between the time he pulled out her chair and when he sat across from her, she’d armed herself with every potent, sexual tool in her arsenal. She’d gone from buttoned-up, sedate businesswoman to vamp with a few unbuttons and a swish of that glorious mane of blond hair.

Only a fool, or a male virgin, wouldn’t get the message.

“What are you up to?” he asked, blunt, as always. He didn’t play games, not when it came to anything important. And he sensed she could be important.

“Hmm? What do you mean?” she said with a shrug, playing innocent.

He nodded toward the hair, and cast another pointed glance at the extremely interesting cleavage. “I asked Miss Marple for a drink and ended up with Jessica Rabbit.”

“Who’s Miss Marple? And, uh, Jessica who?”

Not many people shared his enjoyment of old mystery novels, so he gave her a pass on that one. But a woman built like Roger Rabbit’s wife ought to be familiar with the cartoon character.

“She...”

“Kidding.” Batting her lashes and vamping her voice, she purred, “‘I’m not bad, I’m just drawn that way.’”

Oh, yeah. She most definitely was.

“Why the costume change?”

She shifted her gaze away, but before she could reply, a server stopped by their table. The young woman deposited two glasses of ice water, garnished with lemon, and offered them each a perfunctory smile. That was good. He didn’t want to be recognized and called by name by everyone in this place, not in front of Viv.

“Two gin and tonics, please,” he said, remembering his companion’s drink preference.

When the server was gone, Viv glanced around. “This is beautiful—the view of the river is lovely. It’s even nicer than the one from the restaurant upstairs.”

“Coward.”

Her jaw fell. “What?”

“No subject change allowed.”

“Did I do that?”

“You know you did. Now answer the question,” he murmured, enjoying the sparkle in her eyes and the tiny smile lurking on those lush red lips. She was slightly annoyed that he was pressing her, but also, he suspected, excited that he was following her where she’d led him with those two unfastened buttons.

“I suppose you’re right,” she finally admitted. “Remember that librarian comment? Well, I have been wearing a costume. Not by choice. It was at the suggestion of my supervisor.”

Back to the job with the shitty coworkers and asshole of a boss. He stiffened, instinctively growing angry on her behalf again. “Why was that?”

“I worked with a lot of poor, weak, helpless men. Isn’t that sad?”

He rolled his eyes, knowing exactly where she was headed. “Men with no self-control?”

“You win the prize. You want to hear the really fun part, the kicker I found out today when I was being fired?”

He wasn’t sure, but nodded anyway.

“I was a bet.”

Damien’s hands clenched into fists on the table.

“Excuse me?”

“Yeah, during his we’ve-decided-not-to-keep-you-through-the-rest-of-your-probationary-period speech, my boss’s boss said the guys had bet on who could get me into bed first.”

“Are you serious?” he asked through a clenched jaw.

Damien had the urge to hurt someone, and vowed that by the end of the day, he’d have found out the name of her ex-employer, invested in the company and fired her son-of-a-bitch supervisor. Hell, he could buy the damn company and fire every man who worked there.

“Entirely. Seems I was just too much of a distraction, so it was best for everyone—including me, for my personal safety—if I left.”

“Jesus Christ,” Damien muttered. Lifting his water glass, he half drained it, trying to cool himself off. He was stunned by the idiocy not only of her male colleagues, but also of a higher-up who would hear about that bet and react by firing the victim. If the man had been one of his employees, Damien would have hit the roof. Not only was it wrong on a moral level, but the guy had also just opened up his employer to serious lawsuits.

When he felt capable of being rational, he said, “Call your lawyer.”

“I can’t afford one.”

“I’ll call my lawyer.”

“Thank you, but no.” She offered him a small, humorless smile. That, and her slumped shoulders, told him how crushed she was by this entire situation. “I just want to forget it ever happened,” she said. “I got severance, and I’ve been promised excellent references.”

“All to keep you from suing or making trouble.”

“Yes. Normally, I’m good at making trouble.” She traced the tips of her fingers across the condensation on her own glass. “Maybe I’m losing my touch.”

He watched her long, slender fingers, so delicate and feminine, but also strong. He sensed she wasn’t so much giving up as she was choosing what she thought was a better option.

“I’m sorry. And I’m goddamn angry. Let me help you.”

“I don’t need any help.”

Used to taking care of things, and bothered that he couldn’t in this situation, Damien bit back a frustrated retort. She was independent, he respected that. But he couldn’t stand the idea of anybody getting away with that kind of bullshit, especially when Viv was the injured party.

Their drinks arrived. Damien glanced at his watch. “Twenty-nine-and-a-half minutes,” he pointed out before sipping, enjoying the icy bite of the alcohol.

Remembering her comment in the garage, she smiled. “Okay, I officially resign from Man Haters Anonymous. At least for the rest of the day.”

Lucky him.

“Now, back to your situation...”

“I meant what I said. I know men like to solve things—boy, do I ever know that. But I have already made up my mind.”

As if she sensed he was about to argue, Viv tossed her hair, lifted her chin and managed a real smile. He suspected she was trying to downplay her sadness and humiliation as she said, “I must say, though, I’m not happy my good behavior went to waste. I was so nice, so plain and sweet while trying to get those guys to lose interest.”

Plain she could never be. He doubted sweet was used to describe her very often, either. No, she was spicy.

“The deck was stacked against you because of that bet. You could have come in to work literally wearing a nun’s habit and it wouldn’t have changed a thing.”

“I understand that now. But I gave it my best shot, believe me. Though, I didn’t think of the habit angle, and I should have, given my Catholic-school upbringing.”

Something else they had in common. “Nuns are terrifying.”

“No kidding. My second-grade teacher, Sister Margaret, wouldn’t have recognized me over the past several weeks, I was so demure. If she had, she’d probably have fallen over dead of shock that her predictions of my future wickedness hadn’t come true.”

He sipped again, wondering just how wicked this woman could be. “Future wickedness, huh? Did she believe you were destined for damnation?”

“Or prison.”

He chuckled.

“You think I’m kidding? Yeesh, let a nun catch you in a coat closet with two boys, playing my-underwear-are-better-than-yours, and she’s pegged you as a bad girl for life.”

“Were they?

She cocked her head. “Were who what?”

“Were yours better than theirs?”

Snorting and rolling her eyes, she said, “Well, duh. Angry Beavers beats Darkwing Duck or Animaniacs any day.”

He had just taken another sip of his drink but her response made him swallow the wrong way, and he had to cough into his fist, half laughing, half groaning. When he could speak again, he asked, “Your parents let their seven-year-old daughter wear Angry Beavers panties?”

“Caught that, didja?” she replied with a snicker. “They worked a lot, raising six kids, five of them strapping, athletic, eating-them-out-of-house-and-home boys.”

Ouch. Five brothers. He wondered where she fell in the Callahan family lineup.

She continued. “Because of my parents’ work schedules, my oldest brother had to take me back-to-school shopping that year. He didn’t want to be caught by any of his high school friends in the little girl’s department at the mall, so I had free rein when it came to choosing panties. Heh. But hey, better than Ren and Stimpy, right?”

“I don’t know, ‘happy-happy, joy-joy’ seems like a good underwear motto.”

“Speaking from experience?”

“I don’t think they make Ren and Stimpy drawers in my size.”

“Bummer. That would be a wicked-good theme song to have in your pants at all times.”

They laughed together, and Damien found himself relaxing more than he had in ages. Strange, considering the fact that he was sitting here, drinking gin and tonics, with a gorgeous woman he wanted to take to bed, and they were talking about childhood cartoons. He hadn’t had a completely normal childhood, given his family’s wealth, but he’d enjoyed the occasional after-school Nickelodeon binge, and remembered fighting with his sisters over who got to watch what.

Funny that this new stranger made him remember those days, so far in his past he’d nearly forgotten about them. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d had a conversation like this. Lately, all he talked about was business when at work and shopping and finances when with his family. He avoided relationships, knowing he wasn’t cut out for them, but, on occasion, he did talk sex with women who expected nothing more from him.

This one had him talking cartoons.

He suddenly realized he liked her. Quite a lot. Not just because she was strong and independent after going through hell. Not just because she made him laugh. It was also because he suddenly realized she’d done what she’d set out to do. She’d distracted him from the issue of those two buttons and that tumbling sea of hair. Clever girl.

“So, Wicked Viv—”

“Vixen Viv,” she interrupted.

“Even better. So, Vixen, was Sister Margaret right about your wickedness? Are you planning to seduce me?” he asked, not letting her evade the subject this time.

He kept his eyes focused directly on hers, so he saw the way they flared. She licked her lips, and a faint pink tinge rose in her cheeks. He knew she wasn’t blushing; that wasn’t embarrassment or modesty.

It was heat.

And he had his answer.

“Are you saying you would have to be seduced?” she finally asked.

“No, I’m not saying that at all.”

Seduction implied having to be coerced or convinced to do something. That wouldn’t be the case with Viv. He’d been attracted to her at first sight, and his interest had heightened with every passing minute.

It wouldn’t take a seduction for him to ask her to come up to his suite on the top floor of this hotel. How had she put it—he could ask her to join him for a drink, and then dinner, and then breakfast. She most definitely wouldn’t have to be the one doing the seducing. All she had to do was say yes.

“Viv, would you—”

She cut him off. “Yes.”

He smiled. So did she.

And that was that.


3 (#ulink_5ed20f6a-e5e1-5da6-b6e6-187e7b069da9)

VIV HADN’T BEEN sure how to answer his question about her seductive intentions. With Damien Black’s unfinished invitation, however, she hadn’t needed to. What was happening between them was on both their heads...and would soon, hopefully, be on their bodies.

No, this was not a seduction. This was all about instant connection, shared desire and pure heat. It also had something to do with timing. She was in the right frame of mind to have a wild, one-night fling, and he was the right man—oh, Lord, he was right in all the best ways—in the right place, to make it happen.

That was why she’d cut him off, not even needing to hear the rest of his question. The answer was yes to anything he cared to propose.

There was one thing, however. “One night,” she said, wanting to make sure he knew where she stood.

“What?”

“I just want to make sure we’re both on the same page. One night is all I’m interested in, and since you’re here from out of town, hopefully that’s all you want, too.”

He stared at her, intent, assessing. Finally, he replied, “You’re serious.”

“Very.”

“Why?”

“Why am I acting like a guy, wanting just a one-night stand?”

“Nobody could mistake you for a guy.”

“Not in looks, maybe. But my attitude—about this, anyway—is probably more in line with a man’s.”

He didn’t deny it.

She ran the tip of her finger around the rim of her glass. Would she turn him off by admitting she was a woman who wasn’t afraid or ashamed to go after what she wanted?

“My life is too convoluted right now to consider any kind of relationship.” Lifting her finger to her mouth, she licked off the condensation, eyeing him wickedly, making promises about what kind of night they could have. “But I want you. I want one hot night with somebody I won’t have to deal with tomorrow when I start picking up the pieces of my life.”

He appeared indignant. “Deal with? You don’t want to have to deal with me?”

She shrugged, not repentant. Better to lay things on the table now. “Well, not you personally. I just don’t want to care about any repercussions or expectations. I don’t want to worry about whether you’ll call, or have you worry whether I will.”

He nodded slowly. “I can understand that. And yes, I’m here on business, and I won’t be in town for too long.”

“Perfect.”

“And, for what it’s worth, I don’t do the love-and-relationship thing anyway. I don’t have the right genes for it.”

Fine by her. “So we’re good?”

He held up a hand, palm out. “Just to make sure I’ve got this straight, you want me to fuck your brains out tonight, make you come in a dozen different ways, bring you breakfast in the morning and then go away?”

Wow. She swallowed hard, noting that he could give as good as he got. His words scooped out her insides and replaced them with boiling lava. Just the idea of the kind of night he promised made it hard for her to think.

So she didn’t. She merely agreed. Finding her voice, she said, “Yeah. Pretty much.”

A brief hesitation, and then he nodded. “All right.”

Her heart leaped. Though she’d known he desired her, she was glad he hadn’t been turned off by a woman who was so nongirlie about sex. Some men couldn’t handle women who were blunt about what they wanted—and what they didn’t want—and felt as if their masculinity was threatened, or something.

She suspected that had been partly why she and Dale hadn’t worked out, though he’d used any number of other excuses when he’d dumped her. And she also imagined it also explained the ridiculous bet among her former coworkers.

Fortunately, Damien was an unusually confident man. He would never be threatened by a strong woman who was unafraid to admit what she was really thinking. He’d be challenged by her.

It was almost too bad they would only have one night. She suspected they were pretty spectacularly matched.

She quickly squelched the thought, because she’d set out the parameters and he’d agreed to them. They were both out for a one-night stand, and no possible future. She couldn’t change her mind—or try to change his—ninety seconds later.

Licking her lips, she murmured, “So, a dozen different ways, huh?”

He gave her a confident smile.

Viv did a quick mental calculation, and could only come up with seven ways previous lovers had brought her to orgasm. Adding in what she could do with her own fingers, a sex toy or a handheld showerhead brought her to ten.

A dozen would be very interesting indeed.

Just picturing a few of them made all that lava boil over inside her, dripping down to her sex. She was swollen and sensitive, so wet she might leave a stain on her damn skirt.

Imagine...ninety minutes ago, she’d been at one of the lowest points of her adult life. Now, well, as the saying went, things certainly could turn on a dime. Or on a broken-down car.

“Maybe thirteen,” he said, as if suddenly remembering something. Something wicked. But oh so good.

“I could live with that,” she mumbled, halfway to her first climax without a single touch from the man.

Before she could say another word, however, his cell phone beeped, indicating a message. He glanced at the screen and said, “It’s Jed. He’s had a chance to check out the car.”

If anything could cool off her rapidly burning self, it was that. She reached for her glass and sipped her drink. She could not afford any pricey car repairs. Part of her wished somebody had just stolen the thing before the mechanic had gotten there, but she knew it wasn’t much of a temptation. Compared to most of the cars in this upscale Arlington neighborhood, hers was a top-of-the-line piece of crap. Nobody would want it.

“All fixed,” he said, reading from the screen.

Her mouth fell open. “Seriously?”

“Dead battery, that was all.”

“Finally something goes my way.”

“You mean things weren’t going your way?” His tone was silky; his eyes gleamed. “And here I thought your day had improved tremendously.”

She licked her lips. “I’ll clarify—things are continuing to go my way.”

“As they should.”

“Spoken like someone who’s used to things always going his way.”

“Not always,” he admitted.

“Ninety percent of the time?” she asked, teasing him.

He shrugged, not smiling in response. “I didn’t get where I am because of luck.”

“Are you a workaholic?”

“Would I have blown off a business meeting to spend the afternoon with you if I were?”

“Thought you didn’t have a meeting.”

“I didn’t, not officially. Sometimes I pop in on my staff by surprise.”

“Your staff.” She stiffened, recognizing the implications. “You run a business that has offices in this part of Arlington?”

Another shrug. “Just a start-up, and it’s not entirely mine. There are other investors. I’m not even sure if it’s going to last a year. It could all blow up in my face.”

Just a start-up. In this zip code.

Viv found herself wondering if she’d gotten in over her head. Judging by his clothes and his self-confidence, she’d already pegged the guy as wealthy and successful. She hadn’t, however, banked on him being a one-percenter. She’d had experience with a few überwealthy men. They were usually spoiled, and could be petulant when they didn’t get what they wanted.

Of course, Damien was going to get what he wanted, as was she. And considering he wasn’t an arrogant jerk, she suspected he was only moderately well-to-do, which suited her just fine.

He glanced at his gold watch. God, his hands were strong, yet elegant. Every inch of him was a mix of masculinity and grace. Again she found herself comparing him to the other men she’d interacted with recently, and found them all lacking.

She wanted him. Badly. And she didn’t want to wait any longer to have him. Those dozen—or thirteen—orgasms were practically screaming for her to hurry things along.

“It’s after five. Early dinner, or more drinks?” he said, his tone silky, as if he could read her mind.

“I don’t want my senses dulled the least little bit tonight,” she said, the words almost purred. “So let’s skip the next round.”

She noted with satisfaction that his hand shook the tiniest bit. He might be Mr. Calm, Smooth and Seductive, but he was definitely affected by her. God, it was good to feel the surge of feminine power that pushed up through her. It had been too long since she’d allowed herself to play this sexual game. She’d once played it very well, and was glad to know she hadn’t completely lost her touch.

Dropping a few large bills on the table, Damien rose from his seat and walked around to pull her chair out. He didn’t say a word. He didn’t have to. They were both caught up in the excitement of what was about to happen.

Viv had had a few one-night stands over the years, but none had ever excited her like this. Knowing she would never see him again after tomorrow had forced away all her inhibitions—what few there were. There was a special kind of freedom in realizing she could do, have, take or give anything she wanted from the sexiest man she’d ever met. There would be no embarrassing run-ins in days to come, no wondering if he’d call, no stressing over whether he’d thought she was good. Nothing but wonderful memories of a night she was already sure she would never forget.

It was the perfect treat she could give herself as consolation for her lousy day, week, month, summer and year.

Not that anybody would ever complain about having Damien Black for a consolation prize.

As they exited the bar, he put his hand low on her spine again and she shivered. Her jacket was slung over her arm now, and only her silky, thin blouse separated her skin from his. Her nerve endings sizzled and sparked at the faint brush of his fingertips on her body, and she almost arched her back, wanting to invite him to keep exploring downward. His big, strong hand would cup her rear end perfectly.

“The hotel restaurant is great, but the room service menu is pretty extensive, too,” he murmured, his voice sounding a bit strained, as if he’d be disappointed if she said she wanted to eat in the restaurant.

She hadn’t even considered that. “How’s the room service breakfast menu?”

“Also extensive.”

“Then we don’t have to leave your room for a good fifteen hours, do we?” she said, certain it would be ages before they got around to eating anything resembling food.

His hand dipped the tiniest bit lower, and his laugh was low and sultry.

Crossing the foyer, Damien offered a short nod to a staff member who hailed him. Beelining for the elevators, he cast one hard glance over his shoulder, and the staff member backed off. When a ding signaled the car’s arrival and the door slid open, she noted the interior was empty. Viv breathed a sigh of relief that no one was waiting to board it with them.

They entered together, in lockstep. The moment the door swished closed, he moved close...close enough that his breath fell upon her cheek. Holding her jaw, he tilted her face up and bent to brush his lips against hers.

Sparks erupted at that faint connection, and she quivered, melting against his body, drawn to him as metal was drawn to a magnet.

“Protection?” he asked, his voice low. He seemed the type who preferred to get business out of the way up front, and she appreciated that about him, too.

“I’m on the Pill,” she replied. “And I have no communicable diseases. I had to get a physical for my job, and I haven’t been with anyone in forever.”

He stiffened and stepped away. “Forever?”

Laughter burst from her lips as she realized he’d momentarily thought she meant she was a virgin. Good lord, after the conversation they’d just shared?

“Five months is kind of forever for me. I haven’t gone that long without sex since I lost my virginity to Ollie Winpigler in the computer lab in eleventh grade.”

His tension eased. “Ollie?” His frown deepening, he added, “In the computer lab?”

“He was a nice guy—a total computer geek, not at all athletic, which was why I chose him. He flew under my brothers’ radar. Any of the jocks who tried to get with me found themselves up against the Callahan defensive line and none of them could make an end run around it.”

Huh. Maybe that was why she preferred smart, sexy guys to beefy jocks. And maybe that deep-down disinterest had communicated itself to her coworkers in recent weeks. She didn’t think she’d done or said anything to throw down a gauntlet, to make them compete for her. Was it possible they were competing because they sensed her innate disinterest in their type? It bore considering.

Or maybe not. They were horny, spoiled jerks, and she was an attractive, available woman. End of story.

He cleared his throat. “Should I be worried about these brothers of yours? They’re not going to burst into my room and try to sack me from the ten yard line tonight, are they?”

She appreciated that he’d continued her play with words. He was clever, as well as smart. “Well, we’re all close, but they do live hundreds of miles away. I don’t see them nearly often enough. I haven’t been home since Christmas, though I am going next month to my parents’ anniversary party.”

“So nobody’s nearby to defend your virtue?”

“Nope, you have me completely at your mercy.” She stepped closer, putting her hands on that hard chest, toying with the buttons of his crisp, white shirt. “As to your original question...I’m protected and healthy. So if you’re clean, too, bareback is fine with me.”

Although a pleased smile widened those masculine lips, he also groaned, as if he’d suddenly imagined plunging into her, all heated strength to wet sheath. No barriers, nothing but hot, slick pleasure.

“Thank God I’m not a teenager and I don’t go around with a rubber in my pocket. And, uh, I can say the same. I haven’t been very active lately, either.”

Curious, she watched him, wondering if he’d explain.

All he said was “It’s complicated.”

“As long as you’re not cheating on somebody else with me, complicated is fine,” she said, presenting him with her one unbreakable rule. She’d noticed he wore no ring, so she wasn’t truly worried.

Some women might believe she had no boundaries, but she’d borne witness to what one of her brothers’ affairs had done to his marriage and family. Seeing the devastation the big, dumb idiot and his trashy girlfriend had wrought on her sister-in-law, nieces and nephew, she’d erected a big No Trespassing sign in her head when it came to attached men. Viv abided by it, always. She might flirt indiscriminately, but when it came to men in relationships with other women, she was strictly hands-off.

“I’m definitely not a cheater. I just don’t do relationships. I’m not cut out for them.”

She slipped one button of his shirt free, licking her lips. “Then it’s all good.”

“It most certainly will be. God, I can’t wait to get inside you,” he said, grabbing her hips, his fingers digging in to her curves. Holding tight, he pulled her hard against him so she could feel the ridge contained behind his zipper.

A big ridge. An overstressed zipper.

A whimper escaped her mouth, but he took it from her lips, kissing her again—deeply, hungrily. He plunged his tongue against hers, exploring her, tasting her, ravishing her.

Twining her arms around his neck, she let him take her places with that kiss, loving the feel of him pressed against her. Every inch of him was hard, which so appealed to every inch of her softness that she moaned out of sheer helpless need.

His tongue continued to dance with hers, hard and then light, teasing a response out of her. She was responding as she never had to anyone, craving his kiss, his strength, his body. She loved everything about it, from the silkiness of his tongue, to the warmth of his breaths, to the taste of mint and lime and gin on his lips.

Pushing her into the rear corner of the elevator, he began to pull at her bunched skirt. Viv lifted a leg and twined it around his, arching against him, almost crying in anticipation of being filled by that powerful cock pressed against her sex. She was wet, steamy hot and separated from what she wanted by only a few layers of clothes. It was exquisite torture, for him as well as her.

Hearing his groan as he, too, bemoaned the barriers, she chuckled throatily.

“Witch,” he grumbled. “Better be careful or I won’t wait until we get to my suite.”

“Who told you to wait?” she purred, her mood edgy, dangerous and wild. The elevator could stop at any floor before reaching the top one, where he said his suite was located. But she honestly didn’t care. She’d never taken that kind of risk in public...but he made it sound worthwhile.

“Very well, then. I won’t,” he said, a dangerous smile widening his mouth and making those dark eyes gleam.

Called on her dare, Viv sucked in a surprised breath, wondering just how far he intended to go.

It turned out, he went too far for her liking—all the way to the front of the elevator car. Hmm.

Glancing over his shoulder at her, a self-satisfied expression on his face, he pushed the emergency-stop button on the control panel.

Viv gaped, hearing an alarm go off somewhere in the elevator tower. Damien wagged his brows, appearing utterly mischievous. There was nothing boyish about the man, he was all adult male, yet that expression said he’d probably been a holy terror as a kid.

God, she liked holy terrors.

A voice emerged from a speaker set below the panel. “This is security, what’s happening?”

Damien pulled open a small box that contained a phone, obviously for emergencies only. He lifted it and spoke into the handset. “This is Damien Black, from the penthouse suite.”

Penthouse? Nice! No wonder he’d suggested room service—if she was staying in the penthouse of a place as ritzy as this, she’d never leave.

But you are leaving in the morning, she reminded herself.

Right. This was a one-night stand so she could get back in the saddle and get over being fired. She couldn’t get emotionally involved with anyone until she got her life straightened out. And even then, it wouldn’t be with a gorgeous rich guy who probably picked up women in cities all over the world. One who didn’t “do” relationships.

She could take being his DC-area pickup...as long as she remained emotionally disengaged and never looked beyond tonight. It was when she expected or hoped for more that she got bitten in the ass. While she wouldn’t mind this guy nibbling on her posterior, she didn’t want to be left with any real, lingering scars.

“Yes, we’re fine, thank you.”

She couldn’t hear the other end of the conversation, now taking place only through the emergency phone, and could only imagine the security guy was asking why they’d stopped the elevator. Part of her wished Damien hadn’t bothered; they would have probably reached the top floor by now if he hadn’t pushed that button. Another part loved that he’d pushed it because he hadn’t wanted to wait one more minute to have her.

“There’s no real problem, I just wanted to test the alarm and the emergency procedures.”

The person on the other end of the call spoke more loudly, but Damien, staring at her, barely paid attention. Viv sensed a naughty opportunity to twist the screws even tighter. Reaching up, she slowly slid free the next button on her blouse to reveal the curves of her breasts, covered by a pretty, lacy bra. She had nice breasts, not huge, but high and firm. More than one man had gotten a little stupid over them.

His only reaction was a slight tightening of his grip on the phone handle.

“Give your supervisor my name and then put him on the phone,” he finally said with a heavy sigh, as if he’d grown tired of hearing the other man’s arguments.

The fact that he was going over the security guy’s head indicated he knew the hotel really wanted to keep his business. Of course, nobody wanted his business more than she did right at this minute, particularly judging by how big and hard that business had felt pressed against her.

After a brief pause, someone else apparently spoke on the other end of the phone call. She couldn’t hear the conversation, but after a moment, Damien said, “Yes, I am. And it’s quite all right. I’m sure you’re doing a fine job in security. Please just give me five minutes and then I’ll restart the car.” He glanced up at the corner. “And turn off the in-car camera.”

She stared up at the black dome, which concealed a camera. She’d been so heated up by her sexy companion that she hadn’t even noticed it. Honestly, she wasn’t entirely sure she’d have cared if she had noticed it. She wasn’t an exhibitionist, but she wanted Damien Black that much.

To her shock, a small red indicator light blinked off. Amazement filled her as she wondered just how the guy could get a security camera shut off with a phone call.

“Who are you?” she asked.

“Somebody who spends a lot of money at these hotels.”

“Are you a platinum member of their frequent guest program or something? Is that why they kiss up to you no matter what crazy request you make?”

He shrugged. “Something like that.”

“You do realize they were watching us on the camera and know exactly what we’re up to, even though it’s now off?”

“Of course.”

“And you don’t care?”

“No.”

“But...”

“Do you really want to waste what time we have talking about this?” he asked, stalking closer, each slow step an exercise in restraint, as if he wanted to make sure she hadn’t changed her mind.

As if.

“No, I really don’t,” she replied.

“Good.”

He burned her with a hot, possessive stare. The fire of it blazed down her neck, to her cleavage. Her breasts pushed up and out of her open blouse.

“Five minutes,” he said as he reached her, sliding a hand into her hair to pull her face to his. “This is gonna be fast.”

Fast, slow—she wanted both. She wanted it all. They had all night, and she wanted him every way she could have him. But fast would do for a start.

Then he was kissing her, returning her to the heights of insane want. Even as he devoured her, again eliciting all those crazy, hot sensations, raising the level of need into the stratosphere, he began undressing her. His hands were unfastening her buttons, pushing her blouse open, and he kissed his way down her throat to the swell of her cleavage.

“Gorgeous,” he muttered as he licked along the edge of her bra. When he moved to the front and breathed on the dark nipples straining so hard against the lace, she squirmed, wanting a more intimate connection.

“An hour wouldn’t be enough to suck you the way I want to,” he muttered. “So that’s going to have to wait.”

She whimpered, both in disappointment and excitement of the promised hour to come.

“Are you hot for me, Viv?” he whispered as he kissed his way down her midriff, dropping to his knees to better reach her.

“Find out for yourself,” she purred, lifting a leg and draping it over one strong shoulder. She was wanton, arching toward him, inviting him to push her skirt up and explore her hottest, wettest secrets.

He did, gliding his hand along her thigh, pushing the skirt up inch by inch. When his fingers brushed the edge of her panties, she hissed. Her hiss became a moan of pleasure when he pulled the fabric out of the way to slide a finger into the crevice between her legs.

“So hot,” he groaned.

Viv closed her eyes, wanting him so much. The circular motions of his thumb on her clit were driving her to madness, and the strokes of his tongue on her belly were timed to perfectly match it, filling her with a more primal need. But it was the slow thrust of his finger into her core that made her frantic to be filled by him. All of him.

“Three minutes left,” he muttered against her skin.

“No,” she groaned, not sure how she would survive if he stopped what he was doing for the painfully long ride up to the penthouse.

“What can I do for you?” he asked, teasing her clit again, and adding another long finger to the one slowly moving in and out of her channel.

“You can give me one of those orgasms you promised,” she said, opening her eyes and looking down at him. She grabbed two handfuls of his hair and turned his head so he was gazing up at her. “Or proceed directly to fucking my brains out.”

He immediately rose, unzipping his pants. “Maybe I can kill two birds with one...”

“Cock?”

He chuckled. “I love that sassy mouth of yours.”

Viv reached out to help him, quivering at the satiny steel in her hand.

“Holy mother...” she mumbled, staring at the big, thick erection. Though she hadn’t ever been nervous about sex, not even that first time with Ollie in the computer lab, she hesitated. It had been five months. What if she’d...shrunk?

“What’s wrong?”

“You’re so big,” she whispered, wondering if he could correctly interpret her tone as a combination of nervousness and pure, utter want.

“And you’re so wet,” he murmured, pressing a kiss on her mouth. “So soft and warm and ready for me.”

“Okay then,” she said, trusting him. He would certainly know.

“Hold on,” he ordered, nodding toward the stainless-steel handrails on each wall of the elevator.

She quivered; she was in for a wild, fast ride.

Grabbing the handrails, she watched as he pulled her skirt back up, pushing her panties to the floor. He lifted her by the hips, arching her toward him. The panties fell off her ankles and she parted her legs wide in invitation.

Gripping her hips, he stepped between her thighs, that big, hard ridge nudging into the slick lips of her sex. She had a second to gasp at the amazing sensation before he plunged into her, filling her to her core.

Her gasps became cries as he claimed her. She couldn’t believe how delicious it was to be so thoroughly taken. The emptiness that had been with her for so long—physically and emotionally—suddenly evaporated as she savored the ultimate connection with another human being.

God, how she’d missed this.

He gave her exactly what she’d asked for, thrusting hard, his hands almost punishing on her hips, his cock pounding so deep inside her she felt as though she was being split in half.

She loved it.

Meeting him thrust for thrust, she held on tight to his shoulders, digging her nails into him. Their mouths met and locked in deep hungry kisses. Viv squeezed him deep inside, eliciting a guttural groan. The angle was perfect for penetration, but also gave her just the right amount of pressure on her clit, and she rode him as much as he took her, both of them drunk on the freedom of being able to throw away thought and inhibition and convention, and just have wild, crazy sex.

Waves of heat rolled through her, electricity dancing across every inch of her skin. The deliciously achy tension of need rolled through her body, wave after wave, and Viv knew she was going to come—had to come—or she’d lose her mind.

There would be time for a slow build later. Now she was desperate for an orgasm, and she rubbed against his pelvis, giving herself exactly the right amount of pressure to make sure she got it.

But just as she began to reach the highest wave of this churning surf of erotic sensation, a faint buzzing began to intrude. She didn’t notice it at first, focused only on the wildness, their harsh breaths, the pounding of flesh on flesh. Soon, though, she realized the persistent sound wasn’t coming from either of them, but rather from the emergency phone set in the front panel of the elevator.

He obviously heard it, too.

“Shit,” he muttered. His hands still gripping her hips, his glorious erection still buried hilt-deep inside her, he stopped moving.

She groaned. “No.”

Damien closed his eyes and banged his forehead against the wall. “Our time is up.”

Viv squeezed him again, deep inside, and was rewarded with a slow thrust. His mind might imagine they could stop, but his body was nowhere ready to. “Five more minutes?” she cajoled, licking her lips, tightening her legs around his lean hips.

“It’s going to take a lot longer than that,” he told her, the words as much a promise as a declaration.

“Not for me.” Not that she didn’t want a lot more. But oh, she wanted an orgasm, and she wanted it now.

He pulled away so he could look down at her, and obviously noted the hot hunger she couldn’t disguise. Her body was quaking, tingling, the pressure so enormous she felt sure she’d either have to climax or punch something, just to relieve the sensual stress. At no other time did pleasure and pain mix so exquisitely, with boundaries almost impossible to discern, than right before climax. When it came, there would be no better sensation in the world. When denied, nothing was worse.

“Two minutes,” she begged. “I need... I have to...”

“No.” He shook his head once, and let go of her hips, until she was standing on her own feet.

Viv was ready to cry, but when those lips curved up, she held off.

“Thirty seconds.”

Her brows went up as she heard the confidence in his voice. But when he immediately dropped to his knees, lifting her leg over his shoulder, as he had before, she knew she wouldn’t require the full thirty seconds. Not if he was going to... Oh, God.

He did.

A cry escaped her throat as he licked her sex, covering her clit with that warm tongue. She was panting, desperate for breath, hungry for release. Twining her fingers in his thick, black hair, she arched toward his hungry mouth, glorious sensation washing over her. He encircled the sensitive nub, licking at the base, sucking gently, and all brain function ceased. She closed her eyes and began to whimper as the heat centered and pooled right there...right... “There!”

Attaining the highest heights her body could reach, she let it rock her from head to toe. Warm waves of satisfaction rolled through her. She couldn’t stop herself from gently thrusting her hips, loving that he continued to lap at her as the hot currents pulsed and scattered through her veins, bringing light and energy and pure deliciousness to every cell in her body.

She was so lost to it, she barely even noticed when he stood up, dropping her skirt into place. Missing his warmth, the intimate connection, she managed to open her eyes. Sucking in deep, hungry breaths, she watched him walk to the control panel and reengage the elevator. And then they were moving again, slowly rising, past one floor, heading to the next.

Finally, she found a functioning brain cell and muttered, “I might not be able to walk out of here.”

“I’ll carry you,” he said, those dark eyes gleaming as he assessed her, from her tangled hair, to her gaping blouse and her crumpled skirt.

She gave him her most wicked, come-hither smile, but it faded from her lips when she realized the elevator was slowing. And they weren’t yet to the top floor.

“We’re stopping!” She ran a quick, assessing stare over him. For the most part, he looked perfect, gorgeous, the hair smooth, the face innocent—but for the gleam of hot woman on his lips—the jacket, shirt and tie just fine.

But, uh... “You might want to put that away,” she said with a giggle, gesturing toward his unzipped pants. His penis was still free, all big, hard and delicious. If they weren’t about to be boarded and invaded, she’d love to drop to her knees and repay the intimacy he’d just bestowed upon her.

He didn’t immediately shove things into place again or try to zip and hide. No. Instead, he took a few steps toward her, to the back corner, and braced his hands on either side of her. Without even glancing over his shoulder or acknowledging that the door was sliding open behind them, he pressed his mouth to hers in a wet kiss, sucking on her tongue, letting her taste her own essence. Viv twined her arms around his neck, tilting her head, kissing him, not really giving a damn that someone else had boarded the elevator.

The kiss was long, slow and surprising. Damien cupped her face in both his hands, his thumbs scraping gently over her cheeks. His touch was tender, careful, his kiss a soft promise, not a demand. Viv was still dying for more, but she found her heartbeat slowing, and her breaths, too. She slid her fingers into his hair, stroking its silkiness, and gave herself over to the pleasure of a long, leisurely kiss.

Of course, this wasn’t just a regular kiss, and in a tiny corner of her mind, she couldn’t quite forget that. First, they had an audience, albeit a quiet, unobtrusive one. Second, she could still feel Damien’s rock-solid erection pressed hard against her stomach. The people behind him couldn’t possibly see, but oh, just knowing it was there—hot, throbbing, inviting—was enough to make her tingle all over.

Eventually, they came to another stop. Damien slowly ended the kiss. Smiling at how much she’d enjoyed it, Viv glanced over his shoulder, appraising their audience. It was a younger couple, both wearing workout clothes and carrying water bottles. They’d apparently gone downstairs to use the fitness center.

Both were watching them closely. Both were grinning.

Viv wasn’t the blushing sort, but still a bit of heat flashed up into her cheeks. If those people had any idea what had been going on in the elevator right before they’d stepped onto it, they wouldn’t be grinning, they’d be wide-eyed with shock.

Then again...those grins said they were aware they’d stumbled onto more than a couple kissing in an elevator. Hmm.

When Viv inhaled a deep breath and caught the rich odors of earthy sex, she winced. There was no way those strangers didn’t realize what they’d been doing. The very air betrayed them.

Resisting the urge to bury her face in Damien’s shoulder, she groaned softly, praying she never ran into the other couple again. But just to make things a tiny bit worse, as they began to exit the elevator on their own floor, the young woman glanced at Viv over her shoulder. “Uh...don’t forget those,” she said with a wink, pointing to the floor.

Viv glanced down. And groaned. Her lacy white panties were tangled around Damien’s black leather shoes.


4 (#ulink_1b7351e9-739a-55da-9455-4a566fd6eb0d)

“I BELIEVE WE’VE gone well past number twelve.”

Making no effort to keep the satisfaction out of his voice for having beaten his stated goal, Damien rolled over onto his back. He breathed deeply, enjoying the rich, combined scents of sweat, sex and woman. His thudding heart gradually began to slow, and a lazy smile curled at his lips as he waited for Viv to respond, hopefully with admiration that he was a man who could make a plan and stick to his goals.





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